#the tower's foyer is PACKED

[batgeance]

just imagine all the fruit baskets and shit he gets this time of year

#the tower's foyer is PACKED #and the only reason the fruit baskets don't get bad from just sitting there #is because of dory and alfred putting them properly away/donating them #otherwise bruce probably wouldn't even notice #he doesn't even use the front door #bruce one day breaking routine and running into a pile of sherry's berries on the way out to JUSTICE #does jersey even have sherry's? jessie please confirm #also bruce thomas wayne eats fruitcake. disgusting. he's a garbage disposal though so....KJNSRTKJH #a bull shark if you will KJNSRKJTNHKJN #anyway bruce thomas wayne is being bullied by the butler to send out thank you cards today #and rionach is being bullied by the visiting grandmother to play chauffeur (again) today #drink ur water!

[cockslutpadalecki]

Mean!Steve Rogers! Working at the daycare on the ground floor of Stark Tower is your dream job, though it has often landed you in rather... interesting situations. Least of which, is acting as something of an on call babysitter for Earth's mightiest parents. Luckily though, it's just the littlest Stark that usually requires your attention. And you're glad of it too; it seems like every time you're around, one man in particular has a slick comment waiting for you, a snide remark that makes everyone else laugh while you force an uncomfortable smile.

Who knew Captain America had a little mean streak?

😈

Hot For Teacher

Characters: Dark!Mean!Steve Rogers x F!Reader.

Words: 1.4K.

Warnings: non-con, mean!Steve, workplace bullying, misogyny, sexism, explicit sexual content, 18+.

A/N: Been a hot minute since I posted anything, but here is my (very late) entry to @boxofbonesfic Monkey’s Paw challenge. Thank you so much for allowing me to participate— I so hope you enjoy and congratulations on 7K, you deserve every single one and more! Many thanks to my pre-readers @maladaptivexxdaydreaming and @yarnforbrains, you’re the best. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback and reblogs are golden.

Stark Tower is almost in complete darkness when you show up, save for a few sporadic lights coming from the lower floors where you know most of the night staff will still be working.

You reach the front door and swipe your key card, the little green light granting you entry as the door automatically unlocks. It’s eerily quiet as you walk across the main foyer and past reception, pausing to stop at the security station to your left. Mike is already on his feet, a curious look on his face.

“You’re not usually here this late,” he observes with a smile. 

You lean onto the desk, noting several coffee cups and a half-eaten pack of donuts as a basketball game plays out on one of the many screens flicking in front of him.

“Duty calls,” you say with a little sigh, nodding towards the front door of the daycare behind you. “Has Ms. Potts dropped Morgan off yet?” 

Mike furrows his brow, looking puzzled. “I don’t follow.” 

“I was called-” you start to explain, but think better than to bore him with your strange arrangement with the Starks, “y’know what, don’t worry. I’ll just go and wait inside for her.” You step to walk away before turning back towards Mike. “Can you buzz me when they arrive?”

You can tell he wants to question your request further, but keeps his mouth closed as he nods in understanding. “Of course, will do.”

You can’t remember the day you realised you’d effectively become the Stark’s on-call babysitter— the first time it happened their nanny had been struck down with food poisoning. Pepper called you in a frenzy, asking if you could watch Morgan while they attended a Stark Expo that they couldn’t get out of.

You had said yes without much hesitation or thought, more than happy to help out seeing as Morgan is never any trouble. 

The second time, it was a family emergency. 

You never questioned what happened to their nanny after the third and fourth occasions, it had seemingly just become the new arrangement overnight. You take care of S.H.I.E.LD agents’ children during the day and watch Morgan at night when Tony and Pepper need you. 

-

You fish in your pocket for your keys as you reach the door and place your hand on the handle, surprised when it pushes down. 

Weird. You swear you locked it when you closed up earlier in the evening. Shaking your head, you rebuke yourself for clearly not double-checking it when you left. 

You head inside, choosing not to bother putting the lights on as you manoeuvre your way through the myriad of toys and play sets to get to your office. Setting down your overnight bag as you turn on the lamp on your desk, you mentally plan to check the windows to make sure you didn’t forget to lock up anywhere else, when a noise from the playroom startles you. 

Whirling round, you’re met with nothing but darkness. Just your imagination. You turn back, suddenly eager to check that nothing is out of place when there’s another sound from behind you. Once more, you spin on your heel and this time, come face to face with Steve Rogers. Even though his features are welcoming— soft and kind, his steely stare is paradoxical, making you feel cold under the muted office light sending twisted shadows up the wall. 

“Fuck, you scared me,” you huff, placing a hand to your chest to calm yourself.  

He doesn’t apologise. In fact, he almost looks happy that he frightened you as he casually leans against the door frame, blocking you in. “I know it’s all career with you women these days, but it’s a bit late to be here, isn’t it?” 

His tone sets you on edge immediately, and you scowl. 

“I’m waiting for Morgan, remember? You called me on behalf of Ms. Potts.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he waves you off nonchalantly like the phone call he had made to you at Pepper’s behest only an hour ago is a long-forgotten memory. “Guess they’re caught in traffic coming back into the city,” he adds with a shrug as he pushes himself off the frame. 

“I guess so,” you reply tersely, walking towards him. He steps back a little when you squeeze past, but not enough to stop you from having to brush up against him to get through.

Feeling his stare burning a hole into your back, you pick up the pace towards the nap room, eager to create as much space between you as possible. You’ve managed to prevent being in such close proximity to him for the past three years of working here, you’re damn well not ready to start now. 

Steve has always been somewhat… hostile towards you for unknown reasons. A little cold. Belligerent even. You’re glad you’ve not had cause to be in his company much, the cruelty of his snide comments always makes you have to swallow down your contempt, even when everyone else around you laughs at your expense.

It all started a few months after the daycare opened— at first, Steve would blank you in the corridor even when he’d happily acknowledge the person you so happened to be with. Pepper often reassured you that he was just shy, probably a little apprehensive about getting to know someone new. You briefly held out the hope that one day you might strike up a friendship with the super soldier, but he just seemed to get nastier and more intimidating as time went by. 

Clearly you had done something to upset him considering his behaviour, but you never had the opportunity to find out why.

You hurry to the clusters of beds, straightening out the blankets and fluffing up a pillow ready for Morgan’s arrival when you feel him close behind you. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you question brusquely, glancing at him over your shoulder. The way he stares at your bent over form makes your stomach knot in disgust. 

He shakes his head. “No,” comes his reply. “Can’t have you waiting here alone; you never know who might be lurking in the dark corners of this place.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like you were?” 

You straighten up and edge past him, desperate to widen the gap between you. Mindlessly, you rummage through a cupboard, not looking for anything in particular but for an excuse to keep yourself from maintaining eye contact with him for too long. As soon as you sense him closing in behind you, you shift from your position and head out into the play area, determined to keep your distance, but Steve easily keeps up.

“Why do you keep running away from me?” he queries with curiosity. Picking up a large stuffy that’s fallen onto the floor, you wish you had the strength to suffocate the man with it as you shove it back amongst the other teddies.

With a deep breath, you turn around to face him. “I’m not.” 

“Are you afraid of me?” His eyes almost flash with excitement at the prospect.

“Afraid of America’s Sweetheart?” you scoff. “No.” 

You’re certainly afraid of his sharp tongue towards you, but you put that down to the misogyny that was still rampant back in the 1940s. Some men never grow out of that ideology.

His jaw ticks as his smile drops. “I suppose this is as close as you're gonna get to having kids, isn’t it?” Your eyes narrow as he continues, stepping closer and closer until he’s practically towering over you. “Single dame like you, all alone. I bet you haven’t had a decent fuck in years.”

The shock of hearing him curse is outweighed by the sound of the slap resonating around the room just as your hand smarts from the contact. Steve’s cheek blushes claret, and the weight of your action comes crumbling down as he almost tackles you to the floor. 

The pile of teddies helps to cushion your fall a little while you punch and slap at his chest, but your struggle seems to spur him on even more, and he’s laughing as he nestles himself between your spread legs. A horrible weight settles in your gut when your hips react to his touch, unconsciously seeking out more as he rips right through the material of your yoga pants, just enough for him to gain access to your cunt. 

“It’s okay, I’m here to change all that for you.”

“Stop- Morgan- be here-” you croak, tears thick in your voice. 

Steve plunges two fingers into your wet heat, your stomach rolling with nausea as your walls hug and clench around the invasion.

He laughs, the sound chilling you to the bone. “Don’t worry, she’s not coming. She never was.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @dandywinchesterbras @deangirl93 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @roxyfan14-blog @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @simpformarvelmenandwoman @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#boxofbonesfic #answered #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x you #dark!steve x reader #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

[neewtmas]

Hello hello! Could I please request George x gn!reader either sharing an umbrella in the rain or being caught out in a storm and having to find shelter together? 😊 thanks in advance, love your writing!

Kisses In The Rain

A/N: omg when I tell you I threw my phone through the room when I saw you requested something??? This is so nerve-wracking to post bc I love your writing omg🥹 i hope you like it!! The idea was the cutest, and I just decided to do both🤭

pairing: george karim x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

masterlist

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You closed the door of 35 Portland Row and adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder before you turned around. The bright sunlight made you squint your eyes. For a moment, you just closed them and enjoyed the warmth on your skin. It was a lovely day, the sky bright blue and no clouds in sight, and that was a rarity in London. You were meeting up with George at the Archives today and decided to walk instead of taking a cab. This weather ought to be taken advantage of. A slight breeze ruffled your hair as you walked through the streets, a slight spring in your step. You were feeling good - the weather and the prospect of spending an entire day with George lifted your mood immensely.

It didn't take long before you arrived at the Archives and found George sitting at the table you usually shared, surrounded by books, nose buried in a particularly heavy one. As usual, he was so focused that he didn't hear you coming, and so you took the opportunity. You quietly moved behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing. "Hi, George", you whispered in his ear.

He gasped, the book he had been holding up slamming on the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. "Y/N!", he hissed, wriggling out of your embrace. You just chuckled to yourself and sat down on the chair opposite to him. George cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair a few times before returning to his book. You smiled softly as you watched him search over the page with his finger, trying to find where he left off. His ears were tinted pink and you could tell he was flustered by the way he flexed his hands while reading. You loved the effect you had on George in situations like this. You were just lucky he didn't know what effect he could have on you.

The next few hours you spent reading, scribbling down notes, every now and then showing each other a particularly interesting paragraph. Time flew by, like always when you and George hung out.

It was late afternoon when you finally packed up your stuff, ready to head home. You stretched your arms over your head, your stiff muscles protesting after being in a seated position for so long. You and George made your way through the long aisles of bookshelves, down a few stairs until you reached the foyer. Outside, the air was still warm like in the morning, but the atmosphere felt heavy.

"That does not look good", remarked George, critically eyeing the big, towering heaps of dark clouds that had taken the place of the sun. "Do we take a cab?" you asked.

"We might be fine if we hurry."

As it turned out, you were absolutely not fine. You had walked for just about five minutes when the first heavy raindrop hit your cheek. When you looked up, there was no trace left of the blue sky you had woken up to this morning. The wind had picked up considerably, blowing leaves over the sidewalk. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Raindrops began to fall, quickly beginning to turn into a heavy downpour.

"Shit shit shit", George mumbled and started to rummage around in his bag. You looked around to see if there was maybe a cab or at least someplace dry where you could find shelter, but the street was deserted.

"Aha!" You turned back to George to see the reason for his excitement. He held up a little umbrella. "I knew I was gonna be useful." He opened it up, inspecting it briefly. "It is a little small though. I hope you don't mind?" He smiled at you, a little bashful, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Of course you didn't mind. "Why would I?" you asked, linking arms with him. He quickly averted his eyes, but you were sure you saw a blush creep up his face. The rain intensified further as you walked down the street, impossibly close together under the small umbrella that didn't do a very good job of keeping the rain away.

Soon, everything from your chest down was soaked, as the rain now splattered down, driven under your umbrella by gushes of wind that became stronger by the minute. The temperature had fallen quickly, and suddenly you wished you had packed a jacket this morning. George was gripping the umbrella handle tightly, the wind threatening to rip it from his hand. He leaned closer to you, his breath brushing over your ear. "We should try to find shelter, don't you think?" Now it was your turn to be flustered. You just nodded.

The wind kept jerking at the umbrella and George's knuckled turned white, trying to hold it in place. But to no avail. Booming thunder sounded through the rain as a particularly forceful gust picked it up. George's fingers slipped off the handle, and immediately the wind took the umbrella, blowing it high up in the sky. George cursed loudly, looking after it. There was no chance of retrieving it. You pointed down the street, where you could barely make out the logo of a little corner store through the heavy rain that had immediately soaked you to the bone. George seemed to understand because he grabbed your hand and together, you sprinted through the rain.

The ground was littered with puddles, some big, some small, but you didn't care to avoid them. At this point, you couldn't get much more wet anyways. But that was a mistake. You didn't have enough time to register what was happing when your foot caught in something and you tripped and stumbled. Your hand scraped over the wet concrete as you caught yourself right before you landed face-first in the giant puddle beneath you. George was still gripping your hand and immediately pulled you up again with all the strength he could muster. But the momentum was too much - you collided with his chest, and without thinking about it, he wrapped his arm around you to stop you from falling a second time.

You stared at him, your mind still processing the fall and the fact that you suddenly were so close to him, pressed up against his chest. His one hand was still holding yours, the other gripping your waist, keeping you in place. You were so close that you could count every single freckle, every drop of rain on his face. His curly hair stuck wetly to his forehead, and you couldn't resist the temptation to gently brush it to the side. As you lowered your hand again, his cheeks were flushed, but this time, he did not look away. Instead, he studied your face intently, like you were the most fascinating person he had ever laid his eyes on.

You couldn't help feeling flustered under his intense gaze. Suddenly you were hyper-aware of how close you really were. Just leaning in a little would be enough… George seemed to have the same thought because he leaned down impossibly closer, until his lips were ghosting over yours. You held your breath, butterflies jittering around in your stomach and you closed your eyes in anticipation.

But what you anticipated never came. Instead, deafening thunder tore through the air, startling you into opening your eyes again. George immediately let go of you, almost jumped away, and you suddenly had the sinking feeling that you misread the entire situation terribly. George looked at you wide-eyed, and you could not for the life of you read his expression. What was he thinking?

Without a word, he grabbed your arm - not your hand - and pulled you over to the little corner store, that was closed but at least provided some shelter from the rain if you kept close to the walls. You were still dazed from the almost-kiss you just shared out there in the rain - was it an almost-kiss? Or was that just what you wanted it to be?

You tried to get some of the water out of your hair and wipe off your face, and it took only a few seconds of being out of the rain for you to start shivering violently. Every piece of clothing on your body was soaking wet. George looked over to you, and without a word, he got out of his jacket, crossed the short distance between you and carefully draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered there, and you could tell that he didn't know what to do.

"(name)-" he started, but you decided whatever it was that he wanted to say, you didn't need to hear it. You took a quick step closer, cupping his face and pressing a kiss on his lips. Immediately, you pulled back again, gauging his reaction. He looked at you stunned, with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted. Your heart was beating so loud you were scared he was gonna hear it as you searched for his eyes, for confirmation that this was what he wanted. "Do it again" he whispered, barely audible.

#george karim x reader #george karim #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #george karim x you #lockwood and co x you #lockwood & co x you

[areyoudreaminof]

Sleepover House Rules

I was chatting with some friends and were talking about Nesta as an awesome aunt, so I wrote something real quick, specifically for @velidewrites, @xtaketwox, @thesistersarcheron, @popjunkie42-blog, @itsthedoodle, @the-lonelybarricade, and @c-e-d-dreamer

Update: you can read this on AO3 now!

Nesta swept into the river house without knocking. She didn’t need to anyways, she knew where she needed to go. Waving absently to the twins, she hiked her skirt up as she went up the stairs, following the carpeted hall to the little room where her nephew was playing. Nyx had his back turned while he played. A large tower of blocks and connecting parts stood in front of him as his wings twitched and flapped absently. Cassian’s wings did the same thing when he was bored. Nesta was going to rectify that.

She softly tapped on the door before Nyx turned around. Bright recognition melted his surprise away as he flung himself into Nesta’s arms. His feet rose off the floor as he flew to her.

“Aunt Nessa!” he hollered as he latched onto her with his arms and legs. Nesta held him back just as tight, softly rocking him back and forth before planting a kiss on his cheek. She loved his small little lisp and the way he couldn't quite say her name right. She secretly hoped he’d always call her Nessa. “What are you doing inside on this nice day?” she asked, as she set him down. 

“I’m playing with my new building set. Aunt Elain and Uncle Lucien sent it to me from the Day Court.” he said as he held the small toy brick in front of her. “Mama is at class and Papa’s meeting with someone in his office, so I’m playing up here for a little bit. We went to the park this morning.” Nesta sat down on the rug to join him as he slowly scooted his tower forward. Nyx began to add more bricks and poles to the tower, so she began to latch the bricks on, taking great care not to tip anything over. 

“Well, Uncle Cass had to go to Illyria tonight, and Uncle Az is going to be off doing whatever it is he does. So, I thought we could have a sleepover at the House.” she said, knowing his answer already. Nyx gasped as he shot to his feet, his tower wobbling dangerously. 

“Yes! Can we go now?” Nyx’s blue eyes were lit from within, as he began to bounce on his toes. Nesta laughed as she rose to her feet, “If you pack we can go when you’re ready.” she said as she crossed to Nyx’s closet. 

Nesta and Nyx descended down the stairs hand in hand while she carried his small overnight bag. As they stepped down into the foyer, Feyre entered through the front door with a surprised look on her face. Nyx rushed over, hugging his mother around her waist, “Mama! I’m gonna have a sleepover with Aunt Nessa at the House, she said it was okay.” Nyx was breathless with excitement as Feyre threw her head back and laughed. “Well then, if Aunt Nesta said it was alright. Is it alright?” Feyre asked. Nesta nodded, “Cass is in Illyria, Azriel has to pick up some things in the city before he leaves, but he’ll fly us up. I thought we’d have a sleepover. You and Rhys could have some alone time.” 

Feyre nodded as she wrangled her excited boy, guiding him towards the living room. “Do you have everything you need Nyx?” The boy nodded firmly. “Yep. I got my pajamas, and an extra coat.” 

“What about your toothbrush?” 

“I got that too!” he protested, looking at Nesta for confirmation. “He has it. Even so, the House would give him an extra one if he forgot.” 

“Who’s got a toothbrush? Oh, hello Nesta. We weren’t expecting you.” Rhys said as he entered the living room, crossing to kiss Feyre. Nyx wiggled with impatience as he tolerated a hug from his father. “I’m taking Nyx for a sleepover tonight.” Nesta said. 

“Taking?” Rhys said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“That’s what I said. I’m giving you two some alone time. Be grateful.” Nesta replied with a smirk. Rhys chuckled as he pointed to the door, where Azriel entered, “I take it you don’t need a flight up?” Nesta shook her head, as she watched Nyx pounce on Azriel. “We’ll be fine.” 

“Alright then, but please Nyx, don’t eat sugar all night and go to bed at a reasonable hour please,” Rhys said as Nyx rolled his eyes and grumbled, as if he was fourteen and not four. “We’ll have some cookies and cake before bed, and we’ll turn in at 10, I think.” Nesta exclaimed as she met Rhy’s eye. “We have different rules at the House.” Feyre doubled over laughing as Rhys threw his hands up in surrender. 

The flight up to the House was something of a success, as Nyx held tightly to Azriel’s arm as he practiced his flying. An entire flight up was too hard for him just yet, but with some supervision from his father and uncles, Nyx could practice at higher altitudes. The flight up stopped being an issue for Nesta years ago. After depositing their bags inside, they hugged and waved Azriel off, watching his form fly south out of the valley. Nesta spun, placing her hands on her hips in mock authority. “So, what is on the itinerary tonight?” Nyx scratched his head thoughtfully, as his wings absently flapped in thought behind him. 

“We’re gonna build a fort and sleep in it! Then we can go down to the library and see Gwyn and get a book to read. Then we can eat dinner and cake on the lawn for a picnic.” he said with finality. “Can we eat fried chicken and cheese noodles?” 

“We certainly can. What kind of book are you thinking of?” 

“A scary one! I want a scary one this time. I won’t have nightmares, I promise.” Nesta nodded as she asked the House to provide an age appropriate book. “Well then, Nyxie let’s get going. We’ve got a fort to build!” 

The room that the House provided was littered in pillows and blankets. Nesta layered the thickest and softest blankets and pillows down for their bed, while Nyx set the sheets and fleece blankets over the chairs that were strewn around them for coverage. The House added small little fae lights inside their cavern and had deep fried chicken shaped like bats and cheese noodles waiting for them on the lawn. Nesta and Nyx watched the late summer sun set behind the mountains, the sky melting pinks and purples across the city. “It looks like lightning bugs from up here.” Nyx said as he gobbled down his chicken bats that he slathered in a thick white dipping sauce. “They do, don’t they?” Nesta said as she pointed to the multicolored lights by the river, “Do you see that? I think that’s The Rainbow!” Nyx gasped with excitement as more lights began to flicker through the valley. He then showed Nesta all the constellations and planets he knew, explaining that it was summer and the most planets were out. The soft breeze dropped in temperature, making Nesta rise from her spot on the lawn, rubbing her sore bottom and stretching. “Why don’t we go down and see if Gwyn is working and say hi. Then we can grab a book.” Nyx shot up and ran inside. 

In the library, Nyx and Nesta greeted Clotho, who produced a small caramel candy in gold foil for Nyx. They found Gwyn a level down, Nyx slowly creeping behind her as he flapped his wings, mussing her hair and papers. “Boo!” 

“Ah! I thought you were a ghost!” Gwyn said as she gave Nyx a bear hug, “What are you doing here?” 

“Sleeping over at the House with Aunt Nessa. We’re getting a scary book to read in our fort! We built it, it’s really neat!” Nyx exclaimed. Gwyn giggled, “I’ll bet it is! You’re a master builder, Nyx.” 

 Nyx nodded with agreement before he turned to the shelves. “Is Em’rie here, too?” he asked. 

“No, she’s in Illyria with Uncle Cass.” Nesta said, “They’ll be back tomorrow.” As Nyx searched the shelves, Gwyn produced a small leatherbound book from her cart. “I take it this is what you’re looking for? It’s scary stories for children. Nothing too terrifying, just lots of ghosts” Nesta nodded as she flipped through the volume, assessing the strange illustrations that looked like water and smoke. “It’ll have to do. What time are you off? You should come up and join us.” Nesta said as she slipped the small book onto a nearby shelf within Nyx’s eyeline. 

“Thanks, but I’m working on a project for Az and I’ll be up too late.” Gwyn sighed as she motioned toward the cart piled high with papers and books. “Come up for breakfast then, if you’re up.” Nesta insisted as they watched Nyx snatch the carefully placed book from where Nesta had placed it. “Ooohhhh, I found a good one!” Nyx said triumphantly as he held the book up, “I want this one.” They said their goodbyes to Gwyn before they returned to the fort. Nestled into pajamas, Nesta read two ghost stories and one vampire story to Nyx, before she announced it was time for dessert. The stories weren't terribly scary, but the illustrations were a bit frightening. The House left two slices of chocolate cheesecake and milk on the small table in the fort room, and Nyx devoured his slice in what felt like a breath. The small clock in the hall chimed ten times, making Nesta realize how late it was. Crawling into their fort, Nyx insisted he wasn’t tired at all. But as Nesta rubbed his arms, the boy’s eyelids drooped. 

“Good night Nyx, I love you.” Nesta said, giving her nephew one last kiss. 

“Love you too, Aunt Nessa.” he slurred as sleep took him. With Nyx’s small hand in hers, Nesta drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face. 

Nyx and Nesta met the morning over the table, as Nyx devoured scrambled eggs and pancakes swimming in syrup. Nesta sipped her tea absently. The fort had felt comfortable when she fell asleep, but the crick in her lower back confirmed that maybe sleeping on the floor wasn’t her best idea. 

The dining room door swung open, as Cassian, wind chapped and smiling, bounded over to Nyx. “I didn’t know we had a guest!” he said as he kissed Nyx’s head and ruffled his hair. “Yep! Me and Aunt Nessa had a picnic and made a fort and read some scary stories. Sorry you missed it, Uncle Cass.” Nyx exclaimed as he turned back to his food. Nesta rose and greeted her mate, who smelled like morning fog and cedar. “You made a fort? Where?” Cassian asked with excitement. “Upstairs. It’s actually quite nice. Though I think next time we’ll drag a mattress in there.” Nesta said as she rubbed her lower back. Cassian turned to Nyx, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Hey Nyx, what do you say about spending the night again tonight?

#nyx #nesta #nesta is the best aunt #quick fic

[just-another-siimp]

I was wondering if you could write a fluffy piece about Gaz and his partner having a sweet domestic moment in bed. Thank you

The Gaz homies are in the house today???? Please keep the Gaz requests coming!!! I fucken insert feral screaming here love him. This is more than a sweet domestic moment, but it counts right???

Warnings: No use of Y/N, Reader goes by Chip. Read the Enemy at the Gate series to understand some of the lore about where Gaz and Chip live!! I overdid it again. I'm sorry

Leave was something that every military member craved at one point or another, for you and Kyle leave was something neither of you saw often. When the Captain had announced that the 141st would be going on a two week leave it was a surprise, a pleasant one at that.

There was a buzz of excitement that radiated from Kyle as you both packed the jeep, an excitement that once upon a time you did not share. Except now that excitement was shared with him as you both prepared for the long journey home, it was roughly a 9 hour drive from the base in London to your home in Metz, France.

Normally you and Gaz would divide the driving into 2 hour blocks, arriving home just as the sun set and with enough time to go into town and buy a hot meal. On this occasion however, Kyle had convinced you to stop in Paris for a few nights. It had taken quite a bit of convincing, even Ghost had stepped in telling you about a new exhibit at The Louvre. When you finally caved in Gaz promised that he would organise the rest.

That was how you ended up in one of the fanciest hotels you'd ever stepped foot in, you almost felt out of place with some of the dirt and grime from previous missions still clinging to your skin. While Gaz spoke to the lady at reception you took a moment to send Soap a selfie, trying your hardest to showcase the grandness of the foyer.

S: Looks fancy as dove! I'm staying at Lt's place for a few nights, I'll show him the picture.

C: Try not to murder each other while you're there.

S: No promises, C. Ghost says congratulations!

Before you even had time to think about what Soap had said Gaz was by your side again, gently taking your phone from your hands and replacing it with a keycard. You gave him a questioning look, head tilted to the side as he ushered you forward.

"Come on, love. Our room is ready."

-

You didn't have a chance to interrogate Kyle on the way up to your room, the attendant in the elevator having struck up a conversation with you both as he took you to the top floor. Kyle's hand had slipped into yours as you were guided through the halls, eventually stopping in front of room 141.

Kyle laughed.

To say that the room was lavish would be an understatement, the evening sunset gave the room a gorgeous orange glow as you rushed forward to look out of the window. The busy Paris nightlife bustling below your feet as you turned to look back at Kyle.

"This is amazing!" You took a second look over the living room. It was spacious, decorated with plush white couches, priceless artwork and fresh flowers. "Kyle this is perfect.. thank you."

"Just wait til you see the bedroom." There was a joke hidden somewhere within that statement, one that you would have made if Kyle hadn't practically dragged you into the bedroom. You could've sworn that this was all a dream when your eyes caught sight of the familiar tower just outside the window.

It was hard to contain the squeal that came from you as you ran out onto the small balcony, taking in the magnificence of the Eiffel Tower. This really was the perfect surprise.

"This is- Kyle this is too much." You blurted out, turning to face him with a smile.

"I wanted to surprise you with something nice, dove." He stepped closer to you, body framing yours against the balcony. "Do you remember when you first joined the 141st? That time I got shot-"

"Because you jumped in front of a bullet, to save my life." you interrupted him, chest clenching at the memory. Kyle soothed your worry with a kiss.

"Yes, that time. Do you remember what you said to keep me awake?" Your eyes went wide, suddenly remembering what you'd told him that day. "You said 'one day when I go on leave, I'll book a hotel room that looks out at the Eiffel Tower and eat enough croissants to last a lifetime."

"I really did didn't I?" Your heart felt as though it could burst out of your chest, smile never leaving your face even when you kissed him. That night was spent in the hotel, admiring the view and eating croissants until you both passed out in the comfiest bed imaginable.

-

Kyle had always been an early riser, something you secretly hated about your beloved. It was the way that he could be awake and functioning before 9am, while you were still trying to consume enough caffeine to wake you up. For once both of you slept well past noon.

The both of you took your time to wake up, over time you'd moved from his side to laying on top of him. Enjoying the feeling of his hand in your hair, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and how it rumbled when he laughed at something you said.

It was moments like these that made everything you both fought for worth it, all of the violence you'd both seen made moments like these possible. Even then the selfish part of your brain never wanted it to end.

"Kyle?" His hum in response forced you to look up at him, slowly creeping forward so that you could press a kiss to the corner of his lips. "I wish we could stay like this forever."

"Me as well." He whispered, lips pressing to your forehead silence taking over the room again. Eventually you rolled off of him, settling against his side and taking his hand. Comparing it to yours.

"You have pretty hands, Kyle."

"I think yours would look prettier with a ring on it." he spoke softly, index finger pointing to your ring finger. "Right there."

"Kyle-"

"Chip- I was going to wait for a more romantic moment but I realised.. laying here in this bed with you. It's the perfect time. Because there is nothing more in this world that I want, than moments like this spent with you in bed but with you as my partner." Suddenly he was moving, taking a small velvet box out of the nightstand offering it to you. "Would you do me the honour.. of marrying me."

It took a moment to process what he was saying, tears threatened to fall as you nodded your head. "Yes.. A million times yes." You whispered, face now hidden in his chest as he held you to him. It wasn't clear how long you'd both stayed like that for, eventually you'd pulled away to kiss him. Your phone aggressively vibrating in the background, ruining the sweet moment.

"It's probably Soap-" You mumbled turning the phone off, realisation hitting you like a ton of bricks.

"What is it love?"

"So that's what Ghost meant by 'Congrats'" You laughed looking at Kyle, watching as he glared at your phone.

"I knew one of those bloody idiots would ruin it-"

-

It wasn't until a year later that you and Gaz visited that hotel, as newly weds.

#kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #captain john price #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warefare ii #call of duty x reader #modern warfare x reader #task force 141 #i'm so sorry #i went overboard #but like i'm a simp for gaz #what can i say #i loved writing this #send in more requests! #simp writes

[joestvr]

༺✮ atashi no kimyona jinsei // あたしの奇妙な人生 ✮༻

༺✮ summary: five years after the fall of diavolo, you, y/n romano, who was sent away to japan at 11 to further your studies—find the courage to come back to naples after living out your schoolgirl & gaijin university student facade in morio-chou to see how your clan’s worsened—as well as become the “donna” of your father’s gang, il terrore, while your older brother is the real leader behind the scenes, just using you as a front. with plans to murder your clan, you seek the particularly handsome young don of passione for friendship. with your tyrant father’s intervention, your friendship with the don turns to something you never saw coming.

★ 1 // il terrore

★ 2 // bella

★ 3 // viva romano

★ 4 // morte al romano

★ 5 // sorellina

★ 6 // amore

a/n: me pretending this chapter isn't short af

tw for whatever idk

1 week later

After a week of trying not to kill yourself or packing your bags and fleeing Italy, rotting in your bed and rethinking your life decisions, you finally forced yourself to get up.

In a daze, you took a taxi and made your way to where Trish was staying. AKA: Giorno's mansion and Bucciarati gang household.

You rung the doorbell and prayed Trish would answer it, and she did not. It was Bucciarati... He was quite handsome, you noticed this from the first time you met him. Charming, too.

"Ah, Donna Romano." He smiled charmingly, inviting you inside.

"Please, there's no need for honorifics." You stepped inside the beautiful foyer. It was just as Trish had described.

You wondered if Giorno would buy a house like this for you after marriage.

"Bella, it is, then." He kissed your hand and looked up, "Trish is just upstairs."

"Thank you." You squeezed his hand and nearly ran up the stairs in excitement.

You burst through her room and shut it, locking the door. "Triiishh~"

"Babe, what happened?" She stood up from her bed and hugged you.

"Bucciarati's kinda hot! That dark hair, eyes, and charming smile~" You giggled and sat down in bed with her.

Her smile faded into a cringe as she put her hand on your shoulder. "Babe, please don't say that again. Bucciarati's like a father to us."

"He could totally be a DILF then! Isn't he so cute?" You said through your laughs.

"Gross."

You chuckled and hugged her more.

"Y/n, are you okay? You seem a little..." she furrowed her eyebrows, "Are you high?"

You stopped laughing. "What the hell? No!"

"You must be high off of insanity, if not a certain substance..." She mumbled incoherently.

"I'm just trying to be positive." You replied increduosly.

"Is everything okay?" She replied, starting to get concerned. You always acted delirious like this when you were-- more or less, depressed.

You shrugged. "Um, I'm getting married off, so..."

"WHAT?!"

★★★★★★★

On your way out, you noticed Giorno waiting by the door. You felt a sense of dread, he had probably known about the arrangement by now, but you hoped he wouldn't mention it.

"Giorno." His name left your lips with a sigh as you stared into his beautiful emerald eyes, feeling solemn. You put on your heels and coat, picking up your purse, a little too close to him for comfort. The tension was thick in the air, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"Bella. Everything okay?" He said in his usual smooth, charming voice, with a sincere smile. His tall figure towering over you, his golden hair was down, curled in intricate ways, the familiar scent of his cologne making you crave more, the setting sun's light hitting his face so perfectly.

What was this feeling?

"Yes," you said in a raspy voice after a moment of silence, looking down.

"Do you need a ride? I don't mind."

"No, thank you, I can just walk." You shook your head, moving a few strands of hair from your face, then tried to walk past him.

"Please, I insist." He pleaded, taking your hand, making heat rise to your cheeks and look up at him. His warm calloused fingertips brushed over the bandages that covered your hands, and he looked down, a pained expression coming over his face at the sight. How embarrassing, you thought, wanting to cry.

You immediately pulled your hand away, frightened at his sudden touch, at a loss for words.

"Sorry." He noticed your tense demeanor and took a step back, not wanting to make you uneasy. That's a sight for sore eyes, you thought. Vince was never like that.

"No... I—You can take me home..." You mustered out nervously.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." He said with such a tender and caring voice, you would melt. When has Vince ever treated you like this?

"Maybe this won't be so bad... Being with Giorno." 

"It—It's okay, I really appreciate it." You managed to smile, avoiding eye contact with him.

He grabbed a key and opened the door for you, letting you go first.

He went to the garage and opened it, revealing the most gorgeous burgundy Lamborghini. You bit your lip and squealed, your apprehension suddenly fading away.

Your second most beloved interest besides fashion: Cars. You loved cars as much as you loved fashion, which said a lot.

"What a beautiful car, GioGio!" You smiled wide, looking up at him.

He smiled back down at you. "Not as beautiful as you, amore."

"Waaah... He's mega rich... He really is a Don..." 

He unlocked the car, the winged doors going up, allowing you to sit inside the luxurious passenger seat.

He got in and started the car, pulling out of the driveway with ease and driving smoothly.

After five minutes of silence, he sighed deeply and kept his eyes on the road, and spoke up. "Y/n, if you are not happy with this arrangement... I will gladly break it off. I don't want to force you into anything." His tone was serious, but so loving.

"No, Giorno, I— I don't have anything against this..." You mumbled earnestly.

"Please, amore," he pleaded, "I would never do anything to force you into this engagement and I will not be angry if you're not comfortable going through with it. I understand if you don't want to, we don't know each other very well."

You shook your head. "I'm willing to give this a try. We can get to know each other."

"As you wish." He nodded.

A few minutes later, he stopped at a red light and looked down at your hands, then back up at you. "May I ask what happened to your hands, Bella?"

"...Just an accident while cooking." You responded gravelly, then cleared your throat.

"Are you sure? Doesn't look like it." He pried, frowning.

"Don't worry about it." You murmured.

"I should heal this for you. My stand ability—"

"No, it's fine, really." You interrupted.

"Very well then." He muttered.

The car ride was silent until he arrived at Alexander's estate.

"Thanks... Giorno." You forced a smile and quickly got out.

You opened the door and all the lights were off, it was also totally quiet. You had an eerie, sinking feeling as you took your shoes off and quietly walked inside.

"Alex...ander?" You called out, "Alima?"

You walked slowly into the living room, your heart dropping as you saw a trail of blood slowly traveling across the floor.

You came closer and gasped.

Alexander. Alima. Leo. Elena.

Slashes across their chests, their backs... You looked down at your hands and they were suddenly covered in blood, your katana stained with blood in your right hand.

"No..." You whispered, "This isn't real..."

"No! Cheri Lady..." You called out your stand, only to hear her soft giggles as she morphed her appearance to yours, face and clothes stained in blood.

"This is your future, Y/n." She said, grinning, "Isn't this what you want?"

"No! This is all but an illusion..." You whispered, your vision spiraling. You felt wetness running down your cheeks, but they weren't tears.

You wiped your cheeks and saw the blood flowing from your eyes. A side effect of something Cheri Lady's abilities rarely allowed you to do—A premonition. A look into the future.

"Your hatred will drive you to a dark, dark place, Y/n... The grudge you've held in your heart for so many years is fueling your yearning for vengeance..." She laughed more.

"No, Cheri Lady!" You cried out.

"This is why I've allowed you to have a glimpse into the future, Y/n. Don't you remember the last time?" She laughed deeply, "You saw your handsome friend—Josuke-kun, was it? Murdered by that killer. And your other friends, too."

"I-I—I prevented Yoshikage Kira from killing my friends, y-you showed me how everything would play out..." You stuttered anxiously.

"Now, here you will." She opened her arms and smiled at the scene before you.

"I—"

"But wait. Isn't the rest of your family what you want?"

You turned and you found yourself in the Romano populated neighborhood where all of your extended family lived. Blood smeared on the windows and walls of each house, bodies with slashes across their backs and chests littered each house. The influence of your longing for a normal life—the grudges you aimlessly held in your heart over the years desperately whispering, "Make this your reality. They're nothing to you."

"Come back to reality, Alexander's come back home." She interrupted your psychological turmoil, then vanished. Her giggles echoed in your head.

You turned around, seeing Alexander standing by the door taking his jacket off. "Y/n."

"Alexander." You muttered, regaining your composure.

"Another glimpse into the future, sorellina?" He smiled almost mockingly. Just like his father.

You shook your head and went to grab a tissue to wipe the blood running down your cheeks.

"You should talk to Vince, cuore. He's a mess."

You stopped. Oh shit.

You totally forgot about Vince.

"Ok." You replied, raising your eyebrows.

"I told him about your... engagement. Stupid motherfucker punched me in the face." Alexander hissed and took off his hat.

Yikes.

"Yikes." You remarked.

"He said it's my fault, how I'm just Father's puppet, I don't care about you, blah blah blah." Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Maybe he's right." You shrugged.

He frowned then went back to a normal expression. "Anyway— after we roughed each other up, he started tearing up. The poor guy felt so bad after your argument."

"Ok." You nodded.

"He really wants to apologize, but he can't imagine you with another guy besides him."

"Ok. I don't really give a fuck, so..." You shrugged.

"God, it's like talking to an unemotional psychopath whenever I'm with you." Alexander scowled.

"Ok."

"Where's my wife?" He asked.

You shrugged again. "Dunno. Housewife stuff. It's not like she has a job to go to...her university degrees are collecting dust on the mantel."

"Why don't you get a goddamn job and stop wasting my money all day? Or maybe go to grad school and do something with your life?" He retorted condescendingly.

"Should I make dinner, my handsome and kind brother?" You said mockingly.

"No, I'm afraid you might cut yourself again." He leaned in and mumbled as he took your bandaged hand and glared down at you coldly.

"You don't know anything." You muttered as you met his gaze, eyes beaming a slight red from your stand's instigation.

He gripped your wrist tighter, not letting you pull away. "Those eyes, sorellina... What do you see?"

"I see you dead at my feet." You murmured, a smile creeping up against your lips.

His expression darkened and he shook his head. "Just me? Or the entire clan, too?"

You smirked in response, staying quiet.

He let go of your wrist, shoving you away. "You traitorous, conspiring—"

"Ah, ah, Alexander, I see the truth behind your meaningless lies. No need to curse me." You interrupted, your hands shaking for the release of spilling blood.

"Maybe I should kill him."

"You shouldn't have come back here, Y/n. I can just see that murderous look in your eyes. It's sickening, waking up every day and seeing you plotting on all of us." Alexander replied, rubbing his eyes.

"It's because of you, Alessandro. You made me this way."

He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not some man you can use your pretty face to manipulate, Y/n. I'm not Vince, nor your little boytoy the Don."

"Don Giovanna is lucky to be betrothed to me. I'm the most sought after woman in Italy." You smirked more.

"Dio mio, Y/n... Your arrogance is painful to listen to." Your brother winced at your arrogance.

"But I'm the most beautiful woman around, na? I know how those mobsters speak of me when I'm not around." You retorted pridefully.

"You don't know shit about how our organization works, Y/n. You're just a pretty face among a crowd of lustful men." He grew more intimidating as he leered over you, making you a little nervous.

"S-Stop it, Alessandro, I'm not a child anymore." You retorted, taking a step away from him.

He grabbed your collar. "Why do you think they bow down to you so easily, hm? Because they respect you?"

Sweat started to form on your forehead and you put an innocent, fearful look on your face. Alexander couldn’t stand it.

“Get out of my face,” he murmured, shoving you to the ground roughly as he let go, “I don’t know how you turned out this way…”

“And how exactly did I turn out?” You inquired.

“Manipulative and conceited. Get the fuck out of my sight.” He snapped.

You got on your feet dizzily and smirked, walking upstairs.

“M-Me? Manipulative? How could you say that…” You whispered to yourself, making a false hurt expression.

You were more manipulative than you’d like to admit, but so what? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have some control over other’s emotions.

Your judgement was clouded. It was hard to tell what was good and bad, everything was just a blur for you.

The influence of your hatred had driven you this far.

Murdererous intent, bloodlust, invasive thoughts-- You were just one more argument with Alexander away from going to the Romano estate and slaughtering everyone.

You sighed shakily, running a hand through your hair.

"Whatever." Your conflicted expression faded into an unaffected one.

"I did this to myself."

#jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #giorno #don giorno #vento aureo #jjba part 5 #giorno giovanna x reader #jjba giorno #tw unstable y/n

[ewritesfanfics]

The Nutcracker Prince

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52473646

The Nutcracker, but make it Krexie. --- Inspired by both the original story and the ballet - follows the plot of the George Balanchine version of the ballet with some elements taken from the original story.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Tarron family’s Christmas Eve Party, and to be invited is an honor of the highest degree.

The stories always begin with the first winter snow, flying like the flurries outside the windows. Those who have the honor of being past invitees will regale you with tales of the grand ballroom decked out in candles by the hundreds and yards upon yards upon yards of glittering fabric. They’ll tell you of the Christmas tree, taller than any you’ll find anywhere else, towering above them and decorated from top to bottom in that same fabric and shining garland and sparkling baubles. At its roots sit more presents than can be counted, and around those, the children gather to ooh and ahh in wonder. They’ll tell you the feast is simply divine, and the music is played by only the greatest musicians in the region – sometimes from even outside of the region, some of the musicians having traveled many, many miles to play for the renowned Tarron Christmas Eve Party. The dancing and merriment are second to none, and they’ll tell you once you get a taste, nothing else will ever measure up to the grandeur and jollity of it all.

And this Christmas, it’s no different.

The invitees gather here this Christmas Eve, young couples newly married or still courting arriving in pairs looped arm in arm, parents corralling rambunctious children and trailed by teen boys and girls who know this is the social event of the season that they’ll be telling all their friends about for weeks to come. They all stop to ooh and ahh at the décor upon their entrance into the foyer, dazzled by the golden glow of the oil chandelier reflecting off the garlands, enchanted by the wreaths strung up with red velvet ribbons, delighted by the candlelit greenery, though they all know the best is yet to come. The boys yell and laugh as they chase each other around, and the girls can be found giggling in smaller packs of three and four, discussing what they might get this year for Christmas. You’ll find teen boys stationed wherever mistletoe is hung, and teen girls daring each other to go make one’s night.

The adults usher their children along and follow the carpet rolled out for them from the foyer to the main room where the party always happens. The children all squeal in delight at the sight of the huge Christmas tree, covered in red and gold ornaments, clear glass, covered in glitter, spherical, conical, and everything in-between, nestled tastefully amongst the garland and leading upward to the beautiful star that sits at the very top. They abandon their parents without another thought, swarming around the tree, poking and prodding and giggling, trying to see which of the presents they might want when it comes time for the gift-giving. The adults mingle and talk merrily, their glasses of champagne ever being refilled. The teens move somewhere in between, childlike wonder drawing them toward the tree, but newfound want to be seen as mature warding them off and pushing them toward the adult chatter.

All save one teen.

Krel Tarron, only son of the Tarron family, sits apart, neither excitedly gazing at the presents nor socializing with the adults. But this is hardly unusual. He’s always been described as a sensitive boy, easily overwhelmed by the noise and the people.

And while it’s true that he’s an introvert and deficient in social skills despite his best efforts, call him sensitive to his face and he’ll have a few choice words for you. His verbal impulse control is about as stalwart as his ability to handle the people at his parents’ party.

Right now, he is watching the party and sorely wishing he could be anywhere but here. Not even counting the unbearable amount of people, all of whom treat his parents like gods and are positively nauseating to watch kiss ass, he just plain does not want to be here. The Christmas Eve Party is a special to-do, but when it has taken place every Christmas Eve of your entire life, the charm is all but nonexistent.

But not all of it is so terrible.

There is one event even he looks forward to every year without fail, one event that makes the whole night worth it even with how much he hates the rest.

You never want to miss the gifts from Mr. Ambrosius.

An eccentric old man, he’s a visionary, a genius! An inventor and purveyor of the wonderful and marvelous, the likes of which no one in this town has ever seen before. His toys and machines enchant and intrigue, and not even young Krel is exempt from this. If anything, he’s even more spelled than most other people – while others are content to watch and enjoy, he has always wanted to know how. If there is anything more wondrous than the toys themselves, it’s how they function.

So, Krel’s just got to hang on until he arrives.

He watches as the children go wild when the adults announce it’s time to hand out presents. They rip through the wrapping paper with no hesitation, the boys immediately taking up their new tin soldiers and screaming at each other, the girls twittering excitedly about their new dolls. Frankly, he’s never seen the appeal in either toy.

The boys proceed to run around, chasing each other with toy swords, their fathers scooping them up and removing them when they start to terrorize the girls, and when they try and go back in, the girls retaliate with more force than the boys anticipated. Before long, half the girls have commandeered toy swords for their own and have declared war on the boys, forcing the mothers to step in before any of them hurt each other (unfortunate – he rather wanted to see the girls beat the snot out of the boys, as they undoubtedly would have).

Before he knows it, it’s time for the traditional Father-Daughter dance. His father and his sister Aja, only daughter of the Tarron family and eleven minutes his elder, are the first on the floor, followed promptly by all the other fathers and daughters. But even surrounded by others, she still shines brightest of them all. Her white-blonde hair is braided up into an elegant bun, a gold tiara on her head complimenting the sparkling red gown she wears that flares and twirls beautifully as she does, tied at the waist with a golden bow, golden shoes bright against her black tights. Her ensemble of course is meant to go with his own tuxedo, his coat a dark red with gold filigree over a black undershirt and a black and gold tie, a white cymbidium orchid pinned to his lapel to match the one tucked into her bun. However, she’s much happier to be in her specially-made Christmas Eve Party ensemble than he is.

Aja’s always taken to this party better than him – she’s an extrovert, so she takes to the people, and she is also just naturally likable, so the people also take to her. Up until now, she’s spent the entire party moving amongst the other teens here, her friendly and peppy demeanor instantly charming them. That’s not to say she’s not weird, like Krel – she certainly is. He would know. But when you’re upbeat and outgoing, and also a beautiful young woman who’s the eldest child of the wealthy Tarron family, ‘weird’ becomes ‘quirky’ and ‘fun’.

He does find a bit of a smile, though, watching her. She’s having so much fun, and he likes seeing his sister happy. Even if he’s actively unhappy.

But his misery quickly comes to an end.

Just like every year, when the grandfather clock strikes 8 PM, the grand doors fly open to reveal the one and only Mr. Ambrosius, cloaked in a green so dark it’s almost black, a lively spark in his eyes promising something as amazing as always.

“Right on time, as always,” Mr. Tarron says to the man, beckoning him in.

“Welcome, Mr. Ambrosius,” Mrs. Tarron says. “We are honored to have you.”

“The honor is all mine,” he says, bowing to the couple, before turning to address the entire room, his voice booming at a volume that belies his age. “Gather ‘round the tree, good folk! It is time to unveil my newest marvel!”

All the chatter ceases, every guest coming to gather in front of the tree as Mr. Ambrosius talks to the hosts, the three quickly leaving the room, more than likely to fetch Mr. Ambrosius’s gifts. Krel doesn’t hesitate to use his position as a child of the Tarrons to push his way to the front – this is the one event he likes, and he is not letting the other kids ruin it for him.

He’s joined by Aja, her smile wide, looking as giddy as he feels.

“What do you think it will be this year, little brother?” she asks.

“I’m not even going to try and guess – I just know he will just blow anything I come up with out of the water,” Krel says.

There’s the sound of shuffling and complaining from behind them, and Krel has to use all of his self-control to suppress his eye roll upon seeing who’s pushed through the crowd in order to stand next to him and Aja. It’s the Blond Oaf – Steven Palchuk is his real name, but Krel prefers Blond Oaf. He’s been desperately trying to woo Aja for months now, and for reasons he simply can fathom, Aja quite likes him, far more than any of the other boys who’ve been vying for her attention. And a few weeks ago, they finally declared their relationship official, so Krel hasn’t had a moment’s peace from the two of them being disgusting.

“Steve, there you are!” Aja says, beaming at the Blond Oaf.

“Sorry it took me so long, my princess,” the Blond Oaf says. “Everyone wants a piece of the Palchuk.”

Krel snorts at that. As if. He probably just spent the whole time panicking about his first Christmas Eve Party as The Boyfriend.

The Blond Oaf and Aja drift off into their own world, leaving Krel the third wheel to the Blond Oaf’s awful flirting and Aja eating it up. Watching the two of them is nauseating.

He swears he’s never dating anyone.

But thankfully, a few short minutes later, Krel is spared, the Tarron parents returning with Mr. Ambrosius and carrying with them four … people?

Krel watches closely as the figures are set on their feet, and he realizes that they’re all actually made of wood. They’re beautifully painted, looking almost lifelike, but other than that they seem like ordinary statues.

Krel knows Mr. Ambrosius too well to even believe that for a second though.

Once all four are set up, the Tarrons retreat to stand at the side, and Mr. Ambrosius turns toward the musicians.

“A tune, if you would!” he calls out to them. Then he turns back to his audience. “I present to you all, Richard and Lucille, the Lord and Lady Blanken!”

As the musicians start to play, Mr. Ambrosius reaches for two of the figures, touching something on the backs of the matching lord and lady.

As soon as he pulls his hands away, they literally spring to life, and a collective gasp resounds through the room.

They’re automatons! Life-sized automatons!

The two automatons dance together beautifully, their movements nearly as smooth as an actual person’s, their joints so well disguised, Krel knows anyone just walking in would believe themselves present at a live performance for a moment.

For them to dance so well to a tune unspecified, their programming must truly be a wonder! Krel can feel his fingers itching to poke and prod. He so desperately wants to take a look inside of them, to analyze Mr. Ambrosius’s marvelous machines.

“I’m telling you, Mr. Ambrosius must be magic!” Aja says, her eyes glued to the dancing automatons.

He runs theories and calculations through his head as he watches, trying to put together how they work through observation. When Mr. Ambrosius activates the remaining pair, both done up like soldiers – “I now present Commander Barbados Veitch and his Lieutenant Sandra Taillon!” – Krel luckily gets even more data to work with. These ones move in a distinctly different way from the first pair of automatons, their joints simply having to be more robust and an ingenious recoil system in use for them to jump and spring as they do.

When they finally wind down to a stop, the room is filled with uproarious cheers and applause. Mr. Ambrosius truly never disappoints.

With the performance over, Mr. Ambrosius brings forth his large sack, within it a present for each and every guest as there is every year, from the youngest kid to the oldest adult, smaller than the wondrous automatons but marvelous all the same. The children basically froth at the mouth as they circle the man like starved wolves. Krel can only tut at the display.

Krel decides to go ahead and try and slink off. He knows Aja will get his own present from Ambrosius – while he’d like to get it himself, he does not want to wade through the sea of feral children – so he feels no need to remain at the party any longer. His parents will chew him out for skipping and missing the grand dance, but he stopped caring years ago.

Except–

“Young Mr. Tarron, if you would come over here with me for a moment?”

He looks up at Mr. Ambrosius in shock. The old man is smiling, a hand laid gently on his shoulder as he beckons Krel to follow him. Krel looks over to see his own parents handling Mr. Ambrosius’s bag and handing out the gifts.

“O-of course, Mr. Ambrosius!”

Mr. Ambrosius leads him aside, away from the rest of the party.

“Now, Mr. Tarron, I know you are unlike the rest of the children,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “You’re not so easily entertained by tin soldiers and dolls. No, you are like myself – yours is a brilliant young mind. And I have something special for you.”

By the grand doors, Krel finally notices a gift box placed in a chair, wrapped in white and tied with a blue bow.

He looks up at Mr. Ambrosius who nods toward the box, and he doesn’t wait a second longer. He runs to the present and rips the paper open.

Inside, he finds …

A nutcracker?

He pulls the wooden nutcracker carefully out of the box and looks it over carefully. Its outfit is white and blue instead of the normal white and red, and its hair is black, without any sort of facial hair either, which Krel thinks is the oddest part. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a nutcracker without at the very least a mustache painted on. But aside from the outfit and facial hair, he doesn’t see anything else especially odd. He must be missing something here.

“Um …”

“I know he doesn’t look like much,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “But I promise you, what you are holding is quite precious.”

“What’s so special about it?” Krel asks.

“Allow me to tell you the tale of the Nutcracker Prince,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

///

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms.

In each, an heir was born. In the kingdom to the far north, it was a handsome prince. Two years later, in the second kingdom across the northern sea, it was a beautiful princess.

Both kingdoms rejoiced at the births of the heirs, unknowing of the misfortune that loomed on the horizon.

As the prince’s fifth birthday passed, a great disease overcame his kingdom. Many died, including the king and queen, leaving the small boy alone in the world. Alone, save the beautiful Sugarplum Fairy, the Queen of the Fairies and a longtime family friend. He was in no state to rule the kingdom so young, and she already had ample experience ruling her own people within the bounds of his kingdom, so it was agreed she would step in as his regent until he was ready.

At the same time, the young princess’s mother was killed by a stalkling in the forests surrounding the second kingdom. Her father then grew hateful of magic, and outlawed it within his kingdom, seeking to exterminate each and every last magical creature for what was done to his queen. His sister, being a witch herself, resisted him, and a devastating schism grew. The sister fled the kingdom, vowing vengeance on her brother.

That Christmas, the prince’s maternal uncle visited him from the northern kingdom, wanting to finally meet the boy and comfort him in equal measure as he wanted a break from his increasingly crazed lord. See, he was employed as the Court Sorcerer under the magic-hating king, and while the king still trusted him and kept him employed, witnessing such vehement hatred and brutal vitriol was taking its toll on him.

During this visit, he discovered his nephew had magic as well. He was overjoyed and desperately wanted to teach the boy. However, he could not stay to do so. The Sugarplum Fairy, in all her grace, offered to take complete control until the boy reached 18 – that way, the sorcerer could take the boy with him and teach him.

And so the sorcerer took the prince to the second kingdom, introducing him as simply his nephew, earning the king’s leniency by way of their relation and his blind eye as well by way of concealing the boy’s royal status.

Years passed. The boy lived and grew happily with his uncle, dedicating himself to the art of magic. Simultaneously, the girl lived and grew into a beautiful young woman, the envy of all who laid eyes on her, the spitting image of her late mother.

And thus, she became the perfect target.

In the prince’s 17th year, the princess’s 15th, the sister returned from her exile. All these years, her hatred had festered, and she had devised a plan to seek her revenge. A month before the princess’s 16th birthday, the day she would come of age and become eligible for marriage, an event greatly anticipated by all with sons of marrying age, the sister appeared in the castle and wrought a great curse upon the girl. Every day, more of her would turn to wood, until finally, on her 18th birthday, she would complete the transformation, becoming a wooden doll. Though the king tried to stop her, the sister escaped.

He commanded the sorcerer and his apprentice to find a way to break the curse and find one they did – only there was a problem. The only way to lift the curse was for the princess to drink a potion, the primary ingredient of which was the Krakatuk Nut, a magical nut said to be impossible to crack.

While they were able to find one, cracking it was another matter. No matter what the sorcerer tried, nothing worked – no tool or spell in the world could crack the nut open.

As the month drew to a close, things looked bleak for the princess.

But, at the last moment, the apprentice finally figured it out. He used a special enchantment on his own teeth and then cracked the nut open himself.

They were then able to quickly brew the potion and feed it to the nearly entirely wood princess.

Instantly, she was transformed back into her fully human self, and the king and the kingdom rejoiced.

A feast was held in honor of her saving and her birthday, a grand affair to which the entire kingdom was invited.

It was here that the boy had his next idea – he had seen the persecution of the magical creatures, and his heart ached for them, and so now that magic had saved the princess’s life, perhaps she could convince her father to end his crusade once and for all.

He spoke to her and asked her to speak with her father, hopeful that finally, magic could be free here once again, and that that could be his parting gift to this kingdom before he returned to his own.

But she had grown up her father’s daughter, and though she was grateful he had saved her, she spit in the face of the boy’s request.

This is what the sister had been anticipating all along. She had placed the curse knowing the sorcerer more than likely would cure it in time. She had hoped it would finally teach her brother and her niece their lesson. But since it did not, her secondary curse took its effect.

At the stroke of midnight, the princess and the king both would be turned into nutcrackers, a poke at how the princess was saved in the first place and leaving the way open for the sister to come in and claim the throne.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was the apprentice. He noticed something was wrong, and at the last moment, he was able to counter the curse.

Only, it was a powerful curse done by a magician many years his senior. He was unable to mitigate it – he could only redirect it. In place of the king and the princess, it was the apprentice who was turned into a nutcracker, his teeth forever bared to crack the Krakatuk Nut.

Understanding what had happened, the sorcerer pleaded with the king to make up with his sister – with the curse completed, it could only be undone by meeting the prerequisites set by the caster, and he was sure the sister would only reveal them if the king made up with her.

The king refused.

So the sorcerer set out to figure out how to save his nephew. He wouldn’t have to search for long, though.

See, the sister had promised the nutcrackers to the Mouse King, whose people had greatly suffered under the king’s anti-magic rule. The Mouse King came with the intention to chew up the nutcrackers, his own vengeance upon the man and his offspring who had harmed his people so. The sorcerer discovered that with the spell linked to the Mouse King, the only way to save the prince would be to kill the Mouse King.

But the sorcerer could not kill the Mouse King himself, nor could the king – the Mouse King was too small, too tricky. He would not be denied a prize, even if it was not the king and princess as promised, and he would only reveal himself if the sorcerer left the prince alone. Beyond that, his own magic was great enough that he could even evade the magical traps set by the sorcerer.

With nothing else to do, the sorcerer fled the kingdom with the Nutcracker Prince, swearing he would find another way to save his nephew.

///

“That’s quite the story,” Krel just says.

“Well, whether you believe me or not, I can promise you, this nutcracker is special,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “Those automatons I showed today were my experiments to try and figure out how I might artificially bring the Nutcracker Prince to life. As of yet, though, I have been unable to figure out how to downsize the internal mechanisms without losing complexity and function. But perhaps … maybe you can.”

He … wants to make the nutcracker an automaton? He wants Krel to try and make it an automaton?

Krel inspects the nutcracker a little closer, and sure enough, he realizes it’s had joints installed, small metal balls and hinges installed everywhere it could bend, and hidden just as well on this nutcracker as it was on the life-sized automatons.

Turning it over, he also finds a small keyhole in its back.

Mr. Ambrosius then reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a small silver key. He holds it out to Krel.

Krel smiles and takes it.

“Thank you, Mr. Ambrosius,” he says. “I love it. I promise I won’t let you down!”

“I know you won’t,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “Now, I believe it’s almost time for the next dance.”

Krel looks back over toward the festivities, and sure enough, people are milling around, getting into pairs, and moving out onto the floor, the bag of Mr. Ambrosius’s gifts now empty and set aside.

“Right!” This is very much a dance he can’t miss without getting into trouble, and he missed his window to escape, so he better get over there.

He runs back over, setting his nutcracker carefully next to Aja’s present.

“What’s that?” Aja asks.

“It’s Mr. Ambrosius’s present for me,” Krel says.

“Ooh! Can I see?” she says, not waiting for an answer before she scoops it up.

“Aja!”

“Come on, Krel, I’ll just be a moment, I’m just looking!”

“Be careful with it!”

“I will!”

He knows she’ll certainly try. But he also knows his sister, and while she’s well-meaning, she’s not exactly known for being delicate. But he also can’t just take the nutcracker back without upsetting her and/or drawing attention, and if he draws attention, all the kids will want to see it and play with it! And that’ll end with him making a bunch of small children cry – because he will be damned if he lets a bunch of snot-nosed gremlins touch his nutcracker that Mr. Ambrosius gave to him – and getting in trouble for it.

“So … is it just a nutcracker?” she asks.

“I mean, there’s more to it than that,” Krel says. “Mr. Ambrosius wouldn’t just give me a plain old nutcracker.”

She looks it over, opening and closing the jaw a few times, poking at the keyhole.

“What’s inside of it?” she asks.

“Gears, probably,” Krel says impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Oh, stop being a grump,” she says, teasingly elbowing him.

“I’ll stop being a grump once you put my nutcracker down,” Krel says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aja says.

“Aja! Krel!” their mother calls. “Come along now!”

“Coming, Mama!” she calls back. She quickly sets the nutcracker back down – too quickly. She lets go just before it’s actually on the floor, and it topples over, hitting the floor with a sickening crack.

Krel falls to his knees and snatches up the nutcracker – to his horror, there’s now a deep fissure in the wood, starting at the jaw and traveling up its face to stop just under its eye. The jaw itself is also broken.

“Oh! Oh no!”

Aja must have heard the crack and come back.

“I-I’m so sorry, Krel! I didn’t mean to!”

“Aja! Krel!” their mother calls again.

“Krel–”

“Just go,” Krel says. “And tell Mama I won’t be joining the dance tonight.”

She lingers silently for a second longer, but finally turns and walks away.

He runs a finger along the crack and sighs. He works with metal, not wood, and the crack is so deep. He had no idea how to fix this.

But Mr. Ambrosius gave this to him, so he’s just going to have to figure it out!

He tucks the nutcracker further beneath the tree behind Aja’s present and runs out of the room to grab his tools. This is more important than his parents’ stupid party.

When he returns, he finds the big dance halfway over and has to creep around the dancers along the edge of the room. He spots his parents dancing at the center, with Aja and the Blond Oaf near them, so he hopes they haven’t spotted him yet. He is not in the mood to be scolded right now.

Thankfully, the nutcracker is where he left it, and he wastes no time retreating to a back corner of the room where they had pushed the settee for the night and getting to work.

He looks over the larger crack and decides to leave it for later. He has a better idea of what he’s doing with gears than with wood, so he’ll do what he knows first.

Still, he finds himself saying, “Sorry for leaving your face like that. But I’m not much of a woodworker.” It makes no sense for him to apologize, it’s a nutcracker, but he still feels compelled to.

He then carefully repairs the jaw – not too difficult, just needs some glue and a new hinge mechanism. Once it’s done, he finds himself smiling down at the repaired nutcracker. It was only fixing a toy’s jaw, but he still finds satisfaction in the work.

And there’s also the child-like giddiness that fills him at the fact that this is from Mr. Ambrosius, he’s working on one of Mr. Ambrosius’s things and Mr. Ambrosius is trusting him to get it right where he couldn’t! He doesn’t think he’s ever loved a gift as much as this one!

This is about when the music stops playing, the party having reached its conclusion. He waits for his parents to approach as the guests all file out, but neither do. Not even Aja bothers him. Looking around, he sees that the room is empty save the decorations and furniture and the toys forgotten by exhausted children scattered around that’ll no doubt be returned for in the near future, and that all but the lights on the tree and the oil lamps nearest him have been put out.

Well, at least his family knew to leave him be for now.

With the jaw done, he fishes out the key and unlocks the small door in the nutcracker’s back. He finds a complex set of interlocking gears. He can’t help but stare for a few seconds, appreciating the beauty of the mechanism. But then he gets back to work.

First, after dragging one of the side tables over to the settee to give him a better workspace than just the cushions, he tinkers with the gears and connections, testing them out and making adjustments and replacements as he goes. He sees what Mr. Ambrosius was talking about – with it being so small, setting up the mechanisms within for it to do everything a life-sized automaton could do is a monumental task.

But not too monumental for Krel!

As he’s poking and prodding, he’s struck by a sudden idea. Something amazing, something genius!

He completely removes the central part of the inner mechanism, detaching it from the rods that connect to its limbs and head. He then completely takes it apart and puts it back together in a different way, using a lot of his own materials since he’s got some unusual gear sizes that Mr. Ambrosius either did not have or did not think of using.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to completely remake the mechanism, but by the time he’s finished, his lower back is starting to cramp from being hunched over in one position for so long, and his fingers are sore from messing around with such tiny materials for so long.

Once he’s inserted the mechanism back in, he removes the nutcracker from its stand and begins trying to start the automaton. It has a new starting mechanism, as well as a new energy production system – a simple wind-up to get it started and then, if he did everything right, the energy system should be able to self-perpetuate. He just has to figure out what the right speed for the gears is so that the internal kinetic energy not only sets the nutcracker into motion but also sparks the energy system.

It’s with the stroke of midnight that he finally gets it.

He has slowly been upping the speed little by little, moving cautiously to ensure nothing breaks until he has gone far beyond what any normal automaton would be able to handle and then some, and it’s only as he finally reaches a speed roughly equivalent to that of a human heart that the automaton finally moves.

He gasps as the arms start to move of their own accord, his heart jamming into his mouth.

Holy kleb. I did it! I actually did it!

He sets it on the side table and watches in awe and delight as it slowly shudders to life and gets to its feet.

“Look at you!” he finds himself saying. “You’re amazing!”

It flexes its joints carefully like it itself can’t believe it can move. At the sound of his voice, it turns to face him.

“And you know, the crack isn’t so bad,” Krel says, looking it over, carefully running his thumb over the fissure. Sure, he’d still rather it not be cracked, but he finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he did before. Of course, how could he? It pales in comparison to the fact that it can move now! And apparently, it can also respond to sound! That’s astounding! He simply must ask Mr. Ambrosius about what the mechanism in the head looks like!

“Hahaha! My time has finally come!”

Krel nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of a new, squeaky voice. Their handhold breaks and he looks around wildly for the source, his jaw dropping when he sees a mouse standing on the fireplace.

Not just a normal mouse though.

No, this one is absurdly large, a foot tall standing on its back legs, matching the nutcracker in height. It also wears a cape, has seven heads, and wears a tiny, ornate crown on each one.

…The Mouse King?

There’s a creaking noise, and his attention is brought back to the nutcracker, who has now turned to face the Mouse King and seems to be glaring daggers at him. He moves into a fighting stance and pulls a tiny sword from its sheath on his belt.

“I’m not such an easy feast anymore!” the Nutcracker Prince says, jumping to the floor. Says. It speaks.

The Mouse King lets out seven simultaneous outraged squeaks.

“To me, my men!” the Mouse King says as he too leaps to the floor and brandishes his own tiny sword. From under all the furniture come pouring mice, dozens and dozens of mice in red coats bearing tiny swords.

What kind of dream is this!?

“Two can play that game.” The Nutcracker Prince calls out a command in an odd foreign tongue and his unoccupied hand glows blue for a moment.

All the tin soldiers left around the Christmas tree come to life, outlined in that same blue glow, and they march over toward the Mouse King in neat rows, weapons at the ready.

Did I hit my head or something!?

Something in his gut tells him “no”. He didn’t. He didn’t fall asleep. He didn’t hit his head. This is not a dream.

Which means he has to do something. He may not understand what’s going on here, but he’s not letting this two-pound rodent hurt his nutcracker!

He rises from the settee, but then the Mouse King spits out a command in the same foreign language.

Red light flies from his paws and hits Krel.

He watches in pure and utter shock as the room around him grows. No, no, as he shrinks! The Christmas tree rises and rises and rises as he shrinks, turning from a large pine to a right behemoth. The high ceiling becomes vaulted, and the frosty windows tower above him. The wooden owl atop the grandfather clock takes on the look of a proper predator, shadowed and menacing as it is from this new angle. Before he knows it, he’s a foot tall himself, the size of his nutcracker and the Mouse King.

“We can’t have any interference!” the Mouse King says.

The Mouse King and his army then let out a shrill cry and charge forward. Krel’s barely got enough time to register what’s happening before he’s suddenly thrust beneath the settee by the Nutcracker Prince.

The sounds of metal on metal break out, and peering around, Krel can only describe what he sees as pure chaos. Mice and tin soldiers duel expertly, cutting and slashing and stabbing and killing, tin soldiers getting chopped up, mice getting beheaded and skewered. It’s a horrifying sight.

And in the middle of it all are the Mouse King and the Nutcracker Prince, their duel also a dance. He can’t help but watch in awe as the Nutcracker Prince bobs and weaves with unmatched grace despite being an automaton with a limited range of motion – of course, he is unsure of how much that counts for anymore since he can also speak and think. His fighting is truly beautiful, his beauty and poise only matched by the Mouse King’s fury and fervor.

“I didn’t follow you around the world and back for you to be able to fight back!” the Mouse King spits.

“I do have a talent for mucking things up for other people,” the Nutcracker Prince says with a wink and a laugh that makes Krel laugh a little too.

Cheeky.

“No matter! I will still have my prize!” the Mouse King says. “And I’ll take your boy’s head too as a souvenir!”

“You won’t lay a single grubby finger on him!” the Nutcracker Prince snarls, the words so emphatic they actually make his wooden vocal cords creak audibly.

“Well see about that, Nutcracker Prince!”

The battle rages on, and the longer it draws out, the more worried Krel becomes – it’s becoming increasingly obvious the Nutcracker Prince isn’t used to moving. His motions by and large are skilled, but with increasing frequency, there are moments where one of his joints will stick because of the angle he tried to move it at, or he flubs a swing because wood isn’t as flexible as he appears to believe himself. And this isn’t lost on the Mouse King. He starts forcing the Nutcracker Prince into those same positions, taking advantage of how his knees will occasionally lock and his limited range of motion.

Krel doesn’t need to watch much more to know where this is going. Without interference, the Mouse King will win this encounter. It’s not a matter of if, but of when.

He looks around, trying to think of something, and remembers he’s still got his tool belt on and his parts bag strapped across his chest for ease of access.

He rifles through his materials as quickly as he can, his brain whirring with what he could possibly rig up in such a short amount of time.

Luck is on his side tonight though – in the parts bag is one of his side projects, a concept half-realized for an ammo-less gun. He remembers now – he hadn’t been able to figure out where to go from here, so he’d decided to scrap it but hadn’t yet gotten around to taking it apart.

A cry catches his attention, and to his horror, he finds the Mouse King has landed a strike, a couple of deep grooves cut into the Nutcracker Prince’s arm, splinters of wood littering the floor around him.

Kleb!

Time to see if thinking under pressure yields results.

He throws caution to the wind, messing with gears and his half-baked definitely volatile energy cell with abandon, trying anything and everything he can think of to get it to work. If he blows himself up, well …

At least he can say he tried.

And Aja can say she told him so – she was not a fan of all the chemical experimentation he did to make this energy cell. Neither were his parents.

But if this works, he’s got something revolutionary on his hands! He’s giddy just thinking about the acclaim he would win. Everyone would see and know his genius! He might be even more acclaimed than Mr. Ambrosius!

Come on, Krel, focus!

With a couple more adjustments to the trigger mechanism, he decides it’s not going to get much better right now.

Looking over, he sees the Mouse King throw the Nutcracker Prince to the ground and raise his sword for a killing strike.

It’s now or never.

“Leave my nutcracker alone!”

He takes aim and shoots.

A shot of blue light bursts from it and hits the Mouse King.

Everything stops.

The Mouse King staggers back from the prone Nutcracker Prince, now with a large, sizzling hole in his torso. Krel’s jaw drops. He hadn’t expected anything near that extreme from this weapon – he’d anticipated a stunning effect or an electrical discharge, not … whatever the hell that was! Holy kleb!

The Mouse King looks back at him, rage, shock, and pain etched into all seven faces.

And he crumples to the ground, dead.

The room around him rapidly shrinks – rather, he rapidly grows, forcing him to dive out from under the settee to avoid either damaging it or himself in the process. He quickly stands his normal height once more.

Like a switch, everything starts once more. The blue glow around the tin soldiers disappears, leaving them lifeless toys once more. The mouse army scatters, save a small force that comes over to gather their leader’s body and carry him away. They move so fast that in a matter of seconds, it’s just him and the Nutcracker Prince once more, the Nutcracker Prince now back on his feet.

Bright gold light fills the room, coming from the nutcracker. It bathes his entire form, seeming to glow from both within him and around him. Krel can only watch in awe as the cracks and grooves from the fight reseal, along with the fissure in his face, and the nutcracker grows. Wood softens. Metal joints smooth out. Dull, fuzzy hair lengthens into silken strands of deep black to fall around the nutcracker’s face and along his shoulders. Plain black eyes fill with shining gold. Rosy color floods pale cheeks. And real lips close over real teeth, his face no longer frozen.

When the light disappears, his nutcracker stands in front of him as a real, living young man, standing even taller than Krel. His white and blue soldier’s outfit has been replaced by a regal white and blue suit, all the coat’s edges save the coattails lined with white fur, the blue vest adorned with sparkling snowflakes. With his midnight black hair and molten gold eyes, the only way Krel can describe him is beautiful. The young man looks over himself with amazement, patting his face and running a hand through his hair.

“The curse … it’s broken!” he says. He then looks over at Krel with the widest smile that makes butterflies flutter in Krel’s chest. He rushes over and hugs Krel tightly.

Krel is frozen for a second, his brain stalling out, but he manages to bring his own arms around the now warm, real body, not an inch of wood remaining. He smells like cinnamon and nutmeg.

The Nutcracker Prince then pulls away, gripping Krel by the shoulders, still beaming. “You! You did it, Krel!”

“I-I mean … wait, how do you know my name?” There are a thousand questions whirling around his head right now, so he might as well start with a simple one.

“Huh? Oh! Well, Mr. Ambrosius has mentioned you before, and your sister said it earlier,” he says, letting go of Krel.

“You … you were just an inanimate nutcracker at that point. You heard the conversation?” Krel asks in total disbelief.

“I’ve been unable to move, not unable to see or hear,” the automaton says.

“That’s … that would mean you were trapped inside your own body,” Krel says. Just the mere thought is enough to make him feel rather ill.

“I got used to it after a while,” he says. “It was pretty lonely though.”

“You had Mr. Ambrosius,” Krel says.

“Uncle Merlin didn’t know I could see and hear him, and being talked at is very different from being talked to,” he says.

Well, Krel can certainly sympathize with that. His parents tend to do more talking at than talking to.

“So … do you have a name other than the Nutcracker Prince?” Krel asks.

“Oh! Yes, I do. I’m Prince Hisirdoux Casperan, heir to the throne of Winterland and the Candy Kingdom. You can just call me Douxie,” he says, bowing. His voice is lovely to listen to, smooth and warm. “And I cannot even begin to thank you enough. I had almost given up on ever seeing my home again.”

Douxie reaches out once more and takes Krel’s hands in his own as he says this, long, slim fingers curling over the backs of his hands as their palms slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. It’s like this is a hand he was always meant to hold. It does something funny to Krel’s heart. He can feel it thundering in his chest. What is happening to him?

But then a realization dawns on Douxie. He pulls away from Krel with a gasp. “Oh, I need to go home! She’s been waiting for me for so long!”

“Who?” Krel asks, something ugly twinging inside of him.

“The Sugarplum Fairy!” Douxie says. And then he lights up – Krel recognizes the expression. Douxie has an idea. “You should come with me!”

“E-excuse me?” Krel says.

“Please! Let me show you my kingdom! It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me tonight!” Douxie says.

It goes against all logic to say yes – it’s the middle of the night, he doesn’t know where this “Winterland” or “Candy Kingdom” is, and he only just met Douxie who up until a couple of minutes ago was a foot tall and made of wood! Magic’s not supposed to be real, and he just watched a seven-headed mouse use it to make him tiny, a miniature battle between mice and tin soldier toys, and a wooden nutcracker turn human!

He’s not feeling very logical right now.

No, right now he’s just learned that magic is indeed real and that’s exciting and fascinating and exhilarating – what could he do with it? What new possibilities just opened to him?

And right now, Douxie’s smiling that smile that could shame the sun itself, his golden eyes sparkling, and just looking at him makes Krel feel lighter than air.

Douxie holds out a hand once more. “Come with me.” It’s so incredibly sincere, and Douxie holds Krel’s gaze with his own as he speaks, and Krel couldn’t say a word if he tried, his tongue tied in knots inside of his mouth and caged behind tightly clamped teeth.

So, in lieu of words, he takes Douxie’s hand.

Douxie raises his free hand and snaps his fingers. The nearest window opens, and through it flies flurries of snowflakes that encircle them, moving faster and faster until he can see nothing beyond the swirling snowflakes.

In an instant, they dissipate.

And Krel gasps at the sight of the winter forest they now stand in, his breath leaving him in a puff of steam. The snow falls calmly, with the occasional flurry dancing through the air. The blanket on the ground glitters in the bright light of the full moon. The pine trees around them are frozen, long icicles dripping from their branches, pristine and glittering just like the ground.

Douxie laughs, and Krel looks to see small flurries swirling around solely him as if welcoming him, as if the snow itself rejoices in his presence. The snowflakes that catch in his lashes and hair make him just as dazzling as their surroundings, and Krel finds himself breathless at the sight.

Douxie then looks over at him and smiles warmly, making Krel’s heart stutter in his chest in a way that’s most definitely not healthy.

Douxie reaches out to grab Krel’s hand and pulls him along, leading him up a small hill toward a break in the trees. Once at the top, his jaw drops at the sight before him.

Before him sprawls what can only be Douxie’s kingdom – and he finds the name “Candy Kingdom” to be quite literal. The houses are quite literally built from gingerbread, frosted and decorated with gumdrops and peppermints and candy canes and marshmallows. The roads are lined with candy cane lampposts, and there are bridges made from toffee that arch over eggnog rivers (though the surfaces of the roads and budges are made of ice, allowing late-night reindeer sleighs to trundle smoothly over them, and the few figures still out and about to skate on blades). At the center of it all is a castle, immense and simply marvelous, appearing to be made from more types of sweets than Krel thinks he can name, from candied fruits to caramel to cake to creampuffs and everything in between. All of it is a wonder of engineering – how does one efficiently and practically build with candy? How much material is needed to make all of it, and how do they make such large confections? Are the houses heated, and if so, how does the candy not scorch or melt? He knows an answer to it all would be magic, but he can’t help but wonder how it might be done for real.

And to top it all off, all of it is dusted with a fresh layer of sparkling snow.

“Wow …”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Douxie says, a wistful expression on his face. “It’s even lovelier than I remember.”

“When was the last time you were home?” Krel asks.

“I don’t know,” Douxie says. “I used to return home once every year for the Christmas Celebration, but then I was turned into a nutcracker and … well, I’m not entirely sure how long I was stuck like that.”

There’s an air of sadness about him as he says this, so Krel switches gears.

“Is it all magic?” Krel asks.

“Far from it,” Douxie says. “We use magic for parts and to ensure structural stability and fortitude, but quite a bit of it is done by our own hands. I’m sure our engineers would gladly show you how.”

Douxie gives him a knowing smile and Krel blushes. One night and Douxie already knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Douxie then says, which only makes Krel blush harder. “Now, shall we?”

Douxie lets go of Krel’s hand, much to Krel’s disappointment, but then presents his elbow, as a gentleman would to escort a lady. Looking down to try and hide his progressively worsening blush, Krel loops his arm through Douxie’s, and they head toward the glowing city.

They talk as they walk and Krel quickly learns that apparently Douxie’s learned quite a bit about him from Mr. Ambrosius, the old man having talked of him to Douxie while working on him before. While flattered, Krel doesn’t find the fact that Douxie knows him, but he doesn’t really know Douxie quite fair, which leads to him all but interrogating the young man as they advance toward the Candy Kingdom. Douxie happily obliges, answering his questions as they come without hesitation or even a hint of annoyance or boredom, which is a nice change of pace from his usual conversations with non-family people.

When they arrive at the front gates, the scent wafting from them telling Krel they’re made of peanut brittle, Douxie suddenly makes a turn. “I’ve got a better idea than walking all the way there.”

They walk along the outer wall until they reach one of the eggnog rivers which flows out from under another set of peanut brittle gates. A small pier made from gingerbread extends out into it, which Douxie walks him to the edge of. Douxie then extends his free hand to call out another magical command. From upriver comes a gondola made from peppermint bark. A pole pushes it along all by itself, the blue glow around it tipping Krel off that it’s Douxie’s magic controlling it.

Douxie first helps him in before joining, sitting across from Krel. With another wave of his hand, the gates open for them, and into the city they glide.

Krel can only marvel as they advance. It’s so unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Buildings topped with meringues. Fountains carved from chocolate with liquid chocolate cascading from the spouts. Statues made from fudge and nougat.

“How do you keep people from eating everything?” he asks.

“We also make sweets for consumption,” Douxie says. “People are less inclined to eat the architecture when they have the fresh, warm stuff that’s guaranteed to have only been touched by the bakers and candymakers. It doesn’t stop everybody, but those people are few and far between.”

“Fair enough,” Krel says.

“And we have the best stuff at the castle,” Douxie says. “You can try whatever you like.”

“That’s a recipe for rotting my teeth right out of my head,” Krel jokes.

“We also have the best dentists,” Douxie says. He says it in a jokey manner to match Krel, but Krel can tell he’s not joking.

They continue in comfortable silence, Krel watching the city, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Douxie’s watching him, the look on his face so incredibly soft Krel dare not look at it full on lest he combust.

Above them, the stars twinkle brightly in the crisp night. The Milky Way remains, as does the North Star, but aside from that, they’re like no stars Krel’s ever seen before. Patterns he’s known as long as he can remember are absent, the constellations of his youth scattered into new forms he’s yet to learn. It feels like he’s in a whole other world, in a whole new reality.

He lays back in the boat and allows his mind to wander, his brain whirring with all this new information, piecing together and tearing apart ideas as his thoughts drift unimpeded. He simply lets his thoughts ebb and flow as they will. He feels physically lighter than he has in a long time. Freer.

There’s a light touch on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to find they’ve stopped.

I must have drifted off.

Douxie’s smiling down at him, and thankfully he’s still outlined by the night sky, so he wasn’t asleep long.

“Sorry,” Krel says, still wanting to apologize for falling asleep on Douxie.

“No need to apologize,” Douxie says, helping him up and out of the boat onto another dock, this one located within an alcove connected to the castle. “I’m glad you were comfortable.”

As they climb a set up winding stairs, Krel takes his hair out of its small ponytail to run his fingers through it – he’s sure sleeping mussed it, so he’s gotta make sure it’s at least presentable for the Sugarplum Fairy.

When he looks back at Douxie, just as they’ve finally reached the top where a set of gingerbread double doors awaits them, he finds him staring at him with his cheeks dusted pink. He smiles awkwardly, and Douxie blushes deeper before clearing his throat and wordlessly holding out his elbow once more.

Krel giggles at the reaction and Douxie makes a strangled noise that just makes him laugh harder. He takes Douxie’s arm and together, they walk up to the doors.

“Do you still have that key?” Douxie asks.

Krel digs around in his coat pocket and extracts the silver key. Only now, to his surprise, it’s much bigger and more ornate, the handle carved to look like a snowflake and studded with crystals to glitter like one.

He hands it over to Douxie, and Douxie fits it into the lock. The doors unlock with a great clunk, and Douxie pushes them open, revealing the inside of the castle.

A great red velvet carpet leads away down a long hall that runs perpendicular to them. Great candy cane columns support a soaring ceiling, from which dangle rock candy chandeliers. There are no other doors in sight, save a huge pair at the very end of the hall. Krel’s guessing they lead to the throne room. There are also no other people in sight.

They step through, and the doors close silently behind them. When Krel glances back, there’s no sign of the doors at all.

Douxie pockets the silver key and leads Krel down the hallway, past glittering garlands and enormous baubles and intricately woven wreaths, all of which are woven together with strings of glowing gumdrops. The entire place is decked out for Christmas, much like his own house, but so much more colorful. His house is done up with special attention to aesthetics, making for a merry and warm while still sophisticated atmosphere. This place is the epitome of Christmas cheer, the halls thoroughly decked in sparkle and color and lights.

The grand doors open before them without a word or motion from Uxie, as if they were simply waiting to open for him.

On the other side is a massive hall, the walls lined with appropriately massive Christmas trees save for in front of the immense fireplace with a fire crackling within, all of which have mountains of presents beneath them, wrapping up in colorful paper and topped with bows. Unlike the hallway, this room is mostly a cream color, which makes the colors of the trees and presents pop. At the far end sits an ornate throne, looking to be made of snow, at the top of which glints a sparkling blue diamond.

And on the throne sits a beautiful young woman, who leaps to her feet upon spotting them and wastes no time darting toward them. Douxie reciprocates, releasing Krel and running toward her, leaving Krel to follow at his own slower pace.

She’s clad in a plum purple dress, studded with sparkling silver, as if it were sugared. More silver curls around her arms and legs, leading to a pair of silver rings on her index fingers and silver slivers. The bangs of her dark hair are pure white, held out of her face by a silver circlet and tied up into a neat bun, giving Krel a perfect view of her glowing violet eyes and the plum color of her lipstick. From her back sprouts a pair of large butterfly wings of the loveliest violet, darker plum purple swirls decorating them.

The Sugarplum Fairy.

The two meet in the center of the room in a bear hug, wrapping each other up tight.

“The snow told me of your return, but I couldn’t believe it,” she says.

“I know. But I’m here. I’m real,” Douxie says. “And some part of you believed if you’re still here in the grand hall at this hour.”

“Of course,” she says. She then draws back to cup his face. “You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“Turns out being stuck as a nutcracker works wonders for combatting aging,” Douxie says.

The Sugarplum fairy swats his shoulder. “Don’t joke about that!”

“Douxie!”

Krel jumps a little at the new voice, and he notices another person approaching behind the Sugarplum Fairy. It’s another young man, this one in full armor, sans helmet, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, as well as a scar running diagonally across his face and a silver circlet that matches the one the Sugarplum Fairy wears.

“Jim!” Douxie says. The Sugarplum Fairy steps aside, allowing him and the knight, Jim, to embrace.

Krel watches the reunion awkwardly. He’s not sure what to do, or if he should be doing anything.

That’s about when the Sugarplum Fairy finally looks over at him.

She smiles gently at him and approaches.

“And who is your guest, my prince?” she asks Douxie, though never looking away from Krel.

“Ah, yes!” Douxie says. He releases Jim and comes back over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Krel. “Allow me to introduce you all. Krel, this is the Sugarplum Fairy, Queen of the Fairies.”

She looks not much older than Douxie, far too young to be a “longtime family friend”, as Mr. Ambrosius put it, but she’s also a fairy, and he can’t say he knows much about fairies.

“Please, call me Claire,” she says.

“And her fiancé and personal cavalier, as well as my head knight and Duke of Soufflés, James Lake,” Douxie says. Krel wonders if he looks as young as he does for the same reason Claire does. He doesn’t think Jim’s a fairy, he doesn’t have wings, but again, what does Krel know about fairies?

“Jim is fine,” the knight says. “And that’d be her husband now.”

“You got married without me there?” Douxie asks with an offended gasp.

“We couldn’t know when or even if you would ever return!” Claire says.

“We could do another ceremony for you,” Jim says. “Renew our vows.”

Jim shoots Claire a dopey smile as he says that and she gives him a fond smile in return, curling her arms around one of Jim’s own to pull the two of them close together.

“That’d be appreciated,” Douxie says. “Anyway, Claire, Jim, allow me to present Krel Tarron,” Douxie says. “He was the one who figured out how to animate me when I was still a nutcracker, and it was him who struck the fatal blow against the Mouse King, breaking the curse and freeing me.”

Claire and Jim gasp at this and then separate, Claire curtseying and Jim bowing low with a sweep of his arm.

“Allow us both to thank you,” Claire says. “We owe you a tremendous debt for returning Douxie to us.”

“Er, you’re welcome,” Krel says, still awkwardly.

They straighten back up, and then Claire conjures up several small balls of violet light. She throws them into the air, and they go whizzing off in different directions, phasing through the walls of the hall, with one especially large one flying up through the ceiling.

“It’s the middle of the night–” Douxie starts to protest, but Claire cuts him off.

“Our prince and rightful ruler has finally returned,” Claire says. “If this is not the time to awaken the castle and hold a celebration, I don’t know when is.”

“And some of the nobility arrived earlier in the evening for tomorrow’s feast,” Jim says. “With them and their entourages, we’ll have more than enough for proper festivities.”

“Now, take your place,” Claire says. “People will want to see you on your throne.”

Douxie nods at this, and once more takes Krel’s arm. Claire and Jim flank them as they walk up to the throne. Upon closer inspection, Krel sees even more blue diamonds lining the snowy throne.

Before they ascend the steps to the throne, however, Claire stops them.

“Just a moment.” She then steps forward and casts a spell, her hands lighting up violet. There’s a miniature whirlwind of snow next to the main throne, and it solidifies into a smaller secondary throne, with its own blue diamond at the top, though without all the smaller ones. She gives him and Douxie a knowing smile and then gestures for them to continue forward.

“Wait a second,” Krel says, dropping Douxie’s arm. “I-I’m not … I-I can’t …”

“Krel,” Douxie says, taking his hand and pressing his palm to his chest, underneath which Krel can feel the steady thrum of Douxie’s heart. “My heart beats again thanks to you. And there is nothing I would like more than to have you at my side.”

Krel doesn’t believe in the illogical. That includes love at first sight, and soulmates, and fairytale romances.

At least, it used to.

But everything has changed in one night. His world’s been turned upside down and inside out, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And so, he steps in close, placing his other hand on Douxie’s chest as well and smiling up at him. Douxie smiles that same smile from earlier, the kind that could turn night into day and winter into summer, and takes Krel’s face into his hands, pulling him in for a kiss that warms him down to his core and lights his own heart on fire.

When Krel sits in his seat next to Douxie, he’s a little dizzy with it all. In one night, he brought a nutcracker to life, killed a Mouse King, witnessed that nutcracker turn into a human prince, toured the prince’s kingdom made of candy, met a fairy, fell in love with said prince, and now sits on a snow throne next his prince. It’s a lot.

And next to him, Douxie looks like a true prince sitting on that throne. Claire has come up to him and placed a silver crown on his head, decorated with snowflakes and blue diamonds. He sits tall with his head held high, the picture of regality.

Claire and Jim then position themselves in front of him and Douxie, obscuring them from the view of the people who start to pour into the room. They chatter amongst themselves, all obviously confused and curious as to why they were called out of bed in the middle of the night and evidently instructed to dress their best, the ladies all in elegant gowns, the gentlemen all in crisp suits.

Once the room is filled, Claire raises her hands, and everyone falls silent.

“My good people, tonight, we are to hold a grand celebration!” Claire says. “For you see, tonight, our prince has returned to us!”

With that, she and Jim step aside, revealing them, and the crowd breaks out in loud gasps and uproarious cheers.

“Hail our Prince Hisirdoux!” Jim yells out over the noise, and as one, the crowd yells out, “Hail Prince Hisirdoux!” and each person bows or curtseys.

“My good citizens, it is to my greatest joy that I am returned to you!” Douxie calls out, his voice easily filling the room without him having to yell or bellow. “As you all can see, my curse is finally broken! After a great duel with the Mouse King, it was this young man here–” he reaches over to take Krel’s hand and raise it high “–who made the killing blow, breaking my curse and allowing me to return to you all!”

The crowd cheers once more, somehow even louder and wilder than before, all of them looking at Krel.

“It was his unmatched genius that brought me back to you, and so, I ask you all to hail my savior Krel Tarron!” Douxie continues.

“Hail Krel Tarron!” the crowd cheers before again bowing and curtseying. Douxie brings his hand back down but doesn’t release it.

Claire then once again speaks, “Honored guests from afar, though you brought your shows for the grand Christmas Celebration later this very day, I ask of you to perform now as well! We have the musicians at the ready, and the tables are stacked high with food. Tonight, we throw a ball! Our Prince Hisirdoux deserves the grandest welcome home we can give!”

Sure enough, at one end of the room, a bunch of musicians have now set up, and at the other, a long table has appeared, laden with snacks and sweets and anything you could want.

A short, stocky man with ginger hair and dressed all in browns steps forward. “Please, Your Highness, allow me to go first!”

Claire looks back at Douxie, and he nods.

She spreads her arms and says, “Very well! Clear the floor, if you would, and make way for the Duke of Chocolate!”

The crowd shifts to the side until all who remain are the Duke of Chocolate and ten others, five men and five women, four clad in light, milky browns, four clad in dark, deep browns, and two clad in cream white.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you all the most amazing performance in all the Winterland, inspired by our Spanish friends from whom our Duchy received our original cacao seeds!” the Duke announces, before retreating back toward the crowd.

Music begins to play, a lively beat led by the horns. The ten people then begin to dance, the brown-clad eight serving as backup to the white-clad main pair.

Krel watches with rapt attention – he has always loved music and dancing. He’d almost forgotten with how sick of the yearly Christmas Eve Party he’d become. The arm flourishes delight and the leg flourishes amaze, leading up to the main duo performing grand lifts in time with the castanets. It’s truly a lovely performance.

When they hit their final pose, the Duke comes back out and takes a bow.

“Thank you, thank you,” the Duke says as they all applaud. “We are honored to perform for you and welcome you back to the throne! But that isn’t the last of our gift!”

The Duke proceeds to wave his hands around weirdly, and calls out, “Alakazam!”

In puffs of smoke, all ten dancers are replaced by identical chocolate sculptures in the same poses they all were in. While a neat trick, Krel can also tell it’s not real magic, but rather sleight of hand. Still, very impressive – and well thought out. Present the dancers as a performance and as a distraction from the Duke setting up the magic trick, all while they’re also part of the magic trick itself.

“Thank you for the gift, Duke Tobias,” Douxie says.

The Duke bows once more, the dancers running out from the crowd to bow with him this time, and they all move the chocolate statues off the floor.

Next from the crowd emerges a young woman with violently pink hair dressed in an Arabian outfit of a deep, rich brownish burgundy color.

“Zoe!” Douxie says.

Zoe marches right up to Douxie – and Claire and Jim do nothing so Krel supposes it isn’t worrying. Douxie untwines their hands to stand and greet her. Zoe proceeds to first punch him in the gut, making Douxie double over with a pained grunt, and then wrap him in a hug.

“Douxie!” Krel says, about to get up, but Douxie motions him to stay sitting.

“You dumbass!” Zoe says.

“Missed you too,” Douxie wheezes out.

She pulls away with a, “You and I are talking later,” and then walks back to the floor.

Douxie slumps back down into his throne.

“Are you alright?” Krel asks, leaning over to him.

“I’m okay,” Douxie says, less wheezy but still winded. “I was rather expecting that. Everything’s fine, promise.”

“Presenting, the Duchess of Coffee!” Claire then announces to the room. No one else seems shocked or worried about the fact that said Duchess of Coffee just punched the prince in the gut. So, despite his misgivings, Krel settles back into his seat.

“My performance comes inspired by the Arabs who gifted my Duchy with its first coffee beans,” she says before getting into position.

Once again, music starts to play.

The bells around her ankles jingle in an interesting way as she dances, a very different dance from that of the Duke’s people. It’s slower, darker in tone. The way she moves is captivating, her flexibility awe-inspiring, the way her hips and torso move intriguing. Krel’s jaw drops in time as she herself slowly drops into a full split.

When she finishes on the ground, the crowd again cheers, and she very gracefully gets back to her feet, curtseying, and moving aside.

She’s replaced by a pair of male dancers in yellow silk of an Eastern style, carrying a box between them.

“Presenting, a delegation representing the Viscountess of Tea!” Claire says.

“Odd that Viscountess Mary isn’t here,” he hears Jim say quietly. “I know she arrived with the delegation.”

“I’m sure she is here somewhere,” Douxie says, just as quiet.

“My money’s on the box,” Claire says.

When they start dancing, it doesn’t take long for them to open up the box and lift from it a young Chinese woman dressed in red silk, who must be the Viscountess Mary. Despite her small stature, especially in comparison to her dancers, she seems to fill up the room. He is truly awed by the strength and stamina displayed by her and her dancers. The way they jump, so much and so high, is truly impressive.

At the end, the Viscountess stands as her dancers exit with the box. “I am honored, as the Viscountess of Tea, to present a dance inspired by my ancestors, who traveled to Winterland all the way from China and established my Viscounty, and who brought with them the tea we now share with all of Winterland.”

She then produces from seemingly nowhere a pad of paper and a pencil, which she holds up threateningly. “This is all the warning you are getting, your highness – there will be portraits tonight, whether you like it or not.” And she then runs after her dancers.

“Oh my,” is all Krel can think to say.

“That’s Mary for you,” Douxie says. “She also runs The Winterland Times. She copies a lot of the portraits she takes in it so the whole kingdom can see them.”

“It’s only gotten bigger since you were last here,” Jim says.

“She’s working on a way to capture images instantaneously,” Claire says.

“Oh lord,” Douxie says. “She’ll be unstoppable.”

Next comes up a dark-skinned young woman with an afro dressed in red and white. Along with her are eight dancers in red, white, and green. All of them have green leaves tied around their wrists and ankles and they hold large red and white hoops.

Claire calls out, “Presenting, the Countess of Candy Cane!”

“We give to you all a dance inspired by the plant that grows in our native land!” the Countess says.

What is perhaps the most upbeat music yet begins to play, and the dancers commence a lively jig. It’s a fun number, the hoops being filled with something to make noise, the dancers waving them and jumping through them as they dance, making their own music in time with the instruments. The Countess makes you want to get up and dance with her in her vim and vigor, raising the spirits of the room straight to the ceiling.

Toward the end, the Countess starts to jump and spin through her hoop, and her dress skirt whirls as she dances, making it appear as though the stripes on her dress themselves are moving, nearly making Krel dizzy as he watches.

They finish with a last flourish, shaking their hoops as the music ends. They then give a bow and the Countess says, “We gift you these hoops, all made of pure candy cane and filled with peppermint shavings!”

“Thank you for the gift, Countess Darci,” Douxie says.

Countess Darci and her dancers bow once more before retreating.

Next from the crowd emerges a young woman with glasses in a dress of pale red. Behind her follow five young women in pastel tutus of yellow, pink, orange, purple, and blue. All six hold reed flutes.

“Presenting, the Marchioness of Marzipan!” Claire announces.

“Allow me to present you with the Dance of the Reed Flutes, a traditional dance from my homeland!” the Marchioness says with a deep curtsey. The dancers then get into position, and the Marchioness stands offset, putting the reed flute to her lips.

“Marchioness Shannon is actually playing?” Douxie asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard anyone from her March play their reed flutes for this piece.”

“I have heard she’s been practicing since last Christmas as a ‘return to tradition’,” Claire says.

Marchioness Shannon and her dancers proceed to perform what is perhaps the most delicate dance of them all. The dancers pretend to play their reed flutes while the band the Marchioness play the real thing, dancing on their toes, hopping lightly from foot to foot as they go. The Marchioness plays her flute quite expertly, her sound and the dancers beautifully complimenting each other as they perform.

When they finish, everyone applauds, and she and her dancers are quickly replaced by a young man who also wears glasses, though he brings with him a quite large group of dancers.

“Presenting, the Viscount of Cheese!” Claire says.

“I bring to you a very special piece,” he says. “We present the Waltz of the Flowers, a celebration of our many special cheeses made with flowers!”

“Cheese can be made from flowers?” Douxie wonders aloud.

“Yes, there are actually several types,” Jim says.

“Viscount Eli got the idea from Jim. He requested some Alp Blossom from the Viscount for one of his Midsummer Festival dishes,” Claire says.

Oh, Krel hopes the Viscount brought some of his Alp Blossom. His parents once imported some from Bavaria, and it was delicious.

When they begin dancing, Krel can’t help but marvel at how graceful the Viscount is. He just didn’t get those vibes from him – he got more ‘awkward nerd’ vibes than ‘graceful dancer’ vibes. But then again, the Viscount could easily also be an awkward nerd. Plus, the music is very much traditional waltz-type music, so that, in Krel’s opinion, does make it easier to dance to, at least if one is already familiar with how to waltz.

It’s quite a long piece, much longer than most of the other dances, but Krel finds he only just barely notices, so enraptured by it as he is. The Viscount exits the dance several times – Krel watches him once to see him off to the side, hands braced on his knees as he gulps down air before hitting an inhaler and heading back into the fray – which allows the other dancers to really shine, especially with how their skirts swirl with their movements, mimicking flower petals, making them appear to bloom every time the fabric flares out around them.

When they finish, no one else steps forward to perform. Krel goes to ask if it’s over, but then Claire holds out a hand toward Jim, who takes it readily.

“It is customary for the ruling couple to perform a pas-de-deux,” she explains, glancing back at Krel. “But since you two just got here, we can do the one we prepared.”

“Shall we?” Jim asks.

“We shall,” Claire says.

Jim leads Claire out onto the floor, and he finds himself leaning forward in anticipation. Just what will a duet between the Sugarplum Fairy and her Cavalier look like?

Claire then announces, “Presenting, your former Queen and Queen of the Fairies, the Lady Claire, and her husband and Cavalier, Sir James.”

A beautiful song plays, and he can only watch breathlessly as the couple dances, Claire lighter than air on her feet, her wings fluttering gracefully with every moment. Every lift is effortless, Jim holding her high and steady with an assuredness and confidence that allows Claire to make the most beautiful shapes in the air with her arms and legs. When he turns her in his arms, she always folds her wings in just right so as to not hit him, and when he holds her so she can do a leg it’s like they become one person, one living being with two halves perfectly in sync with each other.

The music builds and builds, and Jim lifts her sky high, as high as he possibly can, and she just floats.

This leads into more lifts, each more beautiful than the last as Jim carries her effortlessly across the floor and back, holds her and turns her.

Her grace is heavenly. His poise is divine. Together they weave a tapestry of such beauty and artistry that Krel actually starts to tear up as he watches. It’s just so magnificent. Each time they split, they shine like stars on their own, but when they come together, they’re as brilliant as the sun, as stunning as every star in the endless night sky.

At the end, the music leads into a last series of turns in Jim’s arms, the entire room breathless as they watch, finally bursting into near deafening applause upon the final pose, Claire’s legs wrapped around Jim’s torso, Jim’s arms lifted to show that he’s not holding her, both reaching out to the roaring crowd.

“Holy kleb!” he says, clapping wildly. That was simply angelic. Exquisite! Never before has seen a duet as marvelous and as palpably loving as this one.

He even gets to his feet for them, letting out the loudest whistle he can muster.

He looks over at Douxie, more a reflex than anything, to find Douxie not looking at Claire and Jim at all. No, he’s looking at Krel, his chin propped on his hand, a goofy smile stretched ear to ear.

“Douxie?” he asks.

“I love your smile,” Douxie says, and Krel nearly starts wheezing from that one. He can’t just say stuff like this out of nowhere! “You like dancing?”

“Oh, yes,” Krel says once he finds his voice, finally stopping his applause now that everyone else has stopped and begin to intermingle, talking and casually dancing to the music the band’s now playing. “I’ve always loved music and dancing. But I’ve never seen anything like this! It was wonderful!”

“I’ll teach you, then,” Douxie says, now moving to stand up as well. “I’ll teach you how to dance like that, and at next year’s Christmas Celebration, it’ll be you and I out on the floor.”

“Really?” Krel asks with a soft gasp.

Douxie takes his hands and pulls him in close. “Anything you ask for, love. Anything in the world, you need but ask and it is yours.”

Krel blushes deeply, a little overwhelmed. Douxie means every word he just said, and Krel’s not used to such treatment. Sure, he grew up a child of the richest people in his hometown, but he still had to compete with Aja. Never had anyone been so readily willing to do absolutely anything for him.

“And if I asked to stay forever?” Krel asks.

“Your wish is my command,” Douxie says, taking Krel’s hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

Will he miss home? Sure. But he figures if Douxie’s magic could bring them to this kingdom, it could take him back to visit. And maybe he could even bring Aja here! Aja would love this place, he just knows it.

He reaches out to pull Douxie into a kiss.

The music then turns bright, a fun, upbeat tune that calls to Krel.

“And if I asked to go dance?” he then asks, breaking away just far enough for the words to fit between them.

“Then I shan’t make you wait a second longer,” Douxie says.

In a flash, Krel is swept off his feet and whisked off to the dance floor.

They dance until the dark night sky outside the immense windows blooms with pinks and oranges, and the sun peaks up over the horizon, making the entire kingdom spread out below them shine like a beacon. They dance aimlessly to fun tunes and waltz to the grand numbers. He even manages to impress Douxie with his waltzing skill – hey, he didn’t grow up in an affluent household for nothing! They spin each other, lift each other, hang off each other until they physically can’t stand anymore, high off the night and giddy with an equal mixture of euphoria and exhaustion.

The few hours of sleep they get are a godsend, the two of them both collapsing into the first bed they see without even changing clothes, sleeping late into the afternoon, right up until they need to go to the Christmas Celebration. Douxie magically fixes them both up before they go down, drying out the still-damp pant legs of their suits from walking through the snow and cleaning and readjusting everything until Krel feels as though he’s just put on a freshly laundered suit and hasn’t been wearing it for over 24 hours now. If anything, the red seems richer and the gold detailing seems to gleam brighter now, as if it were sewn from actual gold. When Douxie comes up to stand behind him in the mirror, wrapping an arm around Krel’s waist, the blue, white, and silver of his outfit offsetting the red, black, and gold of Krel’s nicely, Krel thinks this might be his new favorite suit.

At dinner, he tries every food he can get his hands on, and it’s all amazing. The chocolate from Duke Tobias is decadent, Duchess Zoe’s coffee is rich, the tea from Viscountess Mary is fragrant, the peppermint from Countess Darci is fresh, Marchioness Shannon’s marzipan is sweet, and Viscount Eli did in fact bring some Alp Blossom and it tastes even creamier than Krel remembers. Everything else is cooked to perfection as well – Jim proudly takes credit for a good chunk of it, including the turkey which is juicy and flavorful. Krel’s quite impressed, he wouldn’t have pegged a knight as also being an expert chef.

He also gets to enjoy all of the performances once more, each as wonderful as they were the first time, as well as a few others presented by nobles who arrived that day, such as the Duchess of Ginger, Barbara, who is apparently Jim’s mother. She performs with her “Pochienelles”, who are the gaggle of children she adopted with her husband, the Count of Key Lime. Krel talks extensively with the performing nobles and finds them all to be quite friendly. Toby (as he learns to call him) is quite funny, and a dedicated master of the art of sleight of hand, as he demonstrated the statues. Zoe is Douxie’s oldest friend and a spitfire, unafraid to say exactly what she thinks, not to mention a bit of an inventor herself – Krel thinks they’ll get along great. Mary gets her portraits as threatened and proceeds to gossip in such a way that puts even the ladies from home to shame – he never would have described gossip as an art form before tonight. Darci is nice, a calmer presence than her best friend Mary with a good head on her shoulders. Shannon is quiet and rather shy, mostly keeping to herself, though he does learn she loves to read and manages to get some conversation in about some of his favorite books. Eli is … quite something. Krel was correct about the awkward nerd part, and Eli’s sheer passion for the weird and obscure is truly something to behold.

Toward the end of the meal, the grand doors slam open with a dramatic whirl of snow, and standing in them is the one and only Mr. Ambrosius, his dark green cloak traded out for a softer pine green robe.

“Uncle Merlin!” Douxie says, springing from his seat.

The old man tears across the hall. First, he pulls Douxie into a hug. Then he pulls away to grip Douxie’s shoulders tightly as he starts shouting. “Do you understand how stupid of an idea that was!? Arthur hates magic, what made you think the princess would feel any differently? And why would you try and fend off one of Morgana’s spells on your own!? You were nowhere near powerful or experienced enough! You should have come to me when you noticed the secondary curse! In all my years, never have I seen something so idiotic and reckless!”

“I-I just … I thought I could … I-I only wanted to help,” Douxie stutters out.

“Oh, you foolish boy!” Mr. Ambrosius says before dragging Douxie back in for an even tighter hug. “Thank the heavens you’re finally okay.”

“Sorry, Uncle Merlin,” Douxie says, face pressed into the shoulder of the old man.

“Well, I hope I can rightfully assume you’ve learned your lesson,” Mr. Ambrosius says, finally releasing Douxie. “And what’s done is done. You’re alright now. No use dwelling on things past.”

“And Mr. Tarron!” he then exclaims, turning to Krel. “I knew you could do it, my boy!”

“Was all of this your plan all along?” Krel asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ll admit, most of what has transpired was amongst the possible outcomes of giving Douxie to you for Christmas, which was quite a gamble on my part, you know, so thank you for proving it a wise one,” Mr. Ambrosius says. The tone of his voice as he says the last half of the sentence sends a shiver down Krel’s spine – he hadn’t even thought about that. Mr. Ambrosius didn’t just give him one of his projects, he gave his nephew to Krel for Christmas, decided to place his trust in Krel when he couldn’t fix Douxie himself.

“Thank you for trusting me with him,” Krel says.        

Mr. Ambrosius smiles warmly at him, and then says, “And in case you’re worried about your family, don’t; once I received the full story from Miss Claire, I returned to the Tarron estate and spoke with them. I told them the story and made sure they understood the truth of it. Though I am fairly certain your father is going to ground you for the rest of your life when you see each other again.”

That is certainly a relief. He hadn’t even thought about it all that deeply. He hadn’t wanted to.

But then he registers Mr. Ambrosius’s last sentence.

“I’m almost 18, he can’t ground an adult!” Krel says.

“You do realize this is Fialkov Tarron we’re speaking of, yes?” Mr. Ambrosius says.

He’s got a point.

“Well, hopefully, he will be more forgiving once he sees everything with his own eyes,” Douxie says, retaking his seat next to Krel.

“Coranda might be able to talk him down,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “And if nothing else, I happen to know he’s a sucker for young Miss Tarron’s puppy eyes.”

It hits him.

“Oh kleb. Well, I might not even have to worry about eternal grounding. Aja’s going to kill me,” Krel says with a groan.

“Miss Tarron actually seemed quite thrilled for you,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“Really? I disappeared in the middle of the night without a word on Christmas Eve,” Krel says.

“For an adventure and a romance,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“She knows about me and Douxie?” he asks.

“I did slip in a couple of details,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“Well, then that’s why she was so thrilled, she finally has good ammo! I, the person who’s been gagging at her and her boyfriend for months now, went and had a whirlwind Christmas romance! She’s never letting me live this down!” Krel says, slamming his forehead onto the table.

“Hey now, that’s my beloved you’re hurting,” Douxie says, urging him to pick his head back up. Krel looks at him and sticks his tongue out.

“Now, I believe there’s something for Mr. Tarron outside,” Mr. Ambrosius says, looking at Douxie.

“Ah! Yes!” Douxie says. “How’d you know it was for him?”

“Because he knows you,” Claire says.

“What’s outside?” Krel asks, sitting up.

“Come with me and see,” Douxie says.

Douxie takes his hand and leads him outside. He gasps at the sight of the silver sleigh awaiting them, two large, magnificent reindeer harnessed and ready to go. All their friends file out after them, standing around the sleigh, and watching the two of them, including Mr. Ambrosius.

“Douxie, what is this?” he asks.

“You ever wanted to ride off into the sunset?” Douxie asks.

“It’s long past sunset,” Krel points out.

Douxie makes the cutest pouty face and says, “Ok, yeah, it is, but you get the gist!”

Krel giggles. “I do, yeah.”

Suddenly, something cold is placed on his finger. He looks down to see Douxie has slid a silver ring adorned with a small blue diamond onto his left ring finger. “You asked for forever last night. If you still want it, here it is.”

And how could Krel not kiss him for that?

Cheers ring out as their lips meet (or in the case of Mr. Ambrosius, a supportive smile), and once he’s been thoroughly smooched, Douxie hops up and pulls Krel up into the sleigh after him.

Krel’s about to ask where they’re going before Douxie claps his hands twice, and they take off. It’s Christmas night, and they’re in a silver sleigh being pulled by magical flying reindeer through the sky, far, far above the castle, their waving friends becoming tiny specks below them. It’s still lightly snowing, and in the sky, it whirls around them in cascading swirls, their own frozen stars in the moonlight, crystalizing their clothes and getting caught in their hair.

“Haha! This is amazing!” Krel says, gazing over the side of the sleigh. The snowy forest extends as far as the eye can see to the north and the east, while white hills roll off into the west and south, with the glowing Candy Kingdom at the center.

“Just wait ‘til you see the rest of Winterland,” Douxie says. “Welcome to your VIP tour of our kingdom!”

Our kingdom.

Krel likes the sound of that.

Krel settles into his seat, snuggling happily into Douxie’s side, and together, he and his Nutcracker Prince fly off into the night.

#krexie #hisirdoux casperan mentioned #krel tarron #tales of arcadia #the nutcracker #christmas

[squeakintothevoid]

Imagine Dragons lyrics that stand out to me as an exmormon

If you didn't know, Dan Reynolds, the lead singer, was raised Mormon.

And by my own volition I've been a saint, I've been the truth, I've been the lie

I took a photograph of me When I was only nineteen I looked a little lost at sea I keep trying to find me So pray for me, brother, I need redemption I'm just a man, a man on a mission

Dan was an LDS missionary.

And the saints we see are all made of gold

The LDS church has amassed over $200 billion.

This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come

This line just reminded me of the Mormon stress about which kingdom you're gonna end up in when you die.

Everybody waiting for the fall of man

Mormons believe in the second coming of Jesus, which would happen after the world has fallen deeply into sin.

Looking at my years like a martyrdom

"Martyrdom" just stood out to me because Mormons always go on about how the founder Joseph Smith was martyred along with other figures that got killed for their faith.

Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son

This bible story is told frequently at Mormon church.

Pray it away, I swear I'll never be a saint, no way

"Pray the gay away", Mormons believe any gay "behaviors" are a major sin.

Will somebody Let me see the light within the dark trees shadowing?

Reminds me of the story of the "first vision" of Joseph Smith, the founder of the religion.

Does happiness lie in a diamond ring?

Marriage in an LDS temple is basically required to be happy and go to the best level of heaven.

Packing my bags and giving the academy a rain check

Dan got kicked out of the Mormon college, Brigham Young University, because he broke a huge LDS rule.

Oh, it's a crooked old tradition By a masterful magician

The founder Joseph Smith claimed to use magic rocks to find treasure and translate the Book of Mormon.

I've been told just what to do Where to look and point my view

Mormons have lots of rules. Mormons get regularly interviewed by their bishop starting as young as age 7 to make sure they're keeping all the arbitrary rules.

We are afflicted by fiction, by fiction Buildin' a case for eviction, eviction, circlin' Guarding a tower of ancients, of ancients

Mormons are big on genealogy. Part of having a Mormon faith crisis is freaking out about disappointing all your ancestors and rejecting your family's traditions.

Since I was young, my ancestry Was marching martyrdom across the Radadada dumbla plains of Utah

Lots of Mormons have pioneer ancestors. And lots of them died.

Have a seat in the foyer, take a number

Okay, this lyric is here just because I feel like nobody but Mormons use the word "foyer", it's just a lobby to everyone else. Here's a foyer to an LDS church. It's the stuff of nightmares, I know. (no joke, I actually did get nightmares about these halls and I'm not alone)

So yeah, maybe I'm reading into some of them, but those lyrics always stand out a bit when I'm listening. Hope this was interesting to some of you.

#exmormon #imagine dragons #dan reynolds #song lyrics #mormonism #ex lds

[cookeybg]

Unexpected Cohabitation a JonDami fic

Title: Unexpected Cohabitation

Main Characters: Jonathan Kent and Damian Wayne (some of the others show up too, the list is too long)

Eventual relationship: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne (my fave)

Stuff to know: No capes, reverse robins, high school AU, no smut, no Brucie Wayne, I know nothing about sports but it will show up, (aaand I think that's it, will add more if it comes up)

Word Count: 2,227

[Here's my table of contents]

Part 2 - Chapter 7

“Whoa.” Conner whispered as if afraid that the looming gargoyles that watched over the driveway would turn towards him if he spoke too loud.

“Yeah.” Jon nodded.

Driving into Gotham had been an experience. Even if it was Metropolis’s neighbor, the city itself looked and felt menacing. The buildings loomed and were made of old stone. They had continued driving past the dark buildings and alley ways until they reached the area where the obviously wealthy lived. As they drove, the fancy houses turned bigger and the space between them lengthened. He had been confused when they had arrived at the end of the road and were met with a set of giant wrought iron gates, a W decorating the front. When Clark had pressed the gate intercom a stuffy voice answered and let them through. To his surprise they had continued driving, passing manicured hedges that prevented any further visibility besides the one directly in front. When they arrived to what was obviously the mansion, or palace Jon wasn’t completely sure, all they could do was stare up in amazement.

He had made a last ditch attempt to convince his parents that it wasn’t polite to bother them and that he didn’t want one of the kids to give up their room for Conner and him. Lois had reassured Jon that Wayne Manor had plenty of space. The three story high mansion definitely had “enough” space. The place was huge. It had wide stone stairs that led to a double door entrance and he was absolutely sure that the two attached buildings, on either side of the palace, were towers.

“I’ll go let them know we are here.” Clark said.

“I’ll go with you!” Conner yelled rushing to catch up with their dad.

Jon watched as Clark approached the towering doors and before he even knocked they opened. A man, Alfred, if Jon remembered correctly, walked out and greeted them. He then proceeded to help them with bringing up the suitcases they had packed for their stay. Entering the building felt like a whole other era, the foyer led to an open room, with a balcony, a curved staircase and in the middle was a giant chandelier.

“You will be staying in the west wing.” Alfred said. ”If you would follow me.”

Alfred took Lois’s two suitcases and turned to walk towards the staircase.

“Conner!” Tim called from the balcony that the stairs were attached to. He ran and slid down the intricate wooden banister, hopped off and ran towards Conner.

“Master Timothy, it is neither safe nor appropriate behavior to slide down the banister.” Alfred admonished Tim, a stern eyebrow raising.

“Sorry Alfred.” Tim looked down, his cheeks reddening.

“Please do not emulated the young master’s behavior.” Alfred turned to the Kent boys who nodded, wide eyed, in understanding.

Lois and Clark hid smiles behind their hands and followed Alfred up the stairs. Once on the second floor Alfred indicated that the hallway straight ahead led to the bedrooms that the family occupied and to the right, at the end of the balcony overlooking the entrance, was the west wing of the manor. The walls were a burgundy color with wood molding and decorated with old paintings. There were also old looking pedestals adorned with busts and other expensive looking things. The wooden floor they were walking on was covered by a hallway runner that seemed to go on forever.

“The boys can choose any of these two rooms,” Alfred indicted to two doors next each other, “Mister and Missus Kent, if you would follow me.”

Jon and Conner opened the door to the left and were shocked to see the size of the room. It had a queen sized bed, two night stands, a bench at the end of the bed, a dresser and a full length mirror. It had two windows on either side of the glass French doors which led to a balcony overlooking a large yard and what might have been a forest.

“Dibs!” Jon called.

“Not fair!” Yelled Conner. “This room even has an attached bathroom!”

“Chill out.” Tim interrupted. “Both rooms share the balcony and the bathroom, that’s why Alfred prepared them.”

Jon and Conner both rushed to the other room through the shared bathroom and saw that Tim was right, they were identical.

“Plus, it’s not like you’ll be in your room much except to sleep.” Tim shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Conner asked confused.

“You’ll be hanging out with me!” Tim smirked. “I have a lot of video games and it’s always fun to explore the grounds with a new set of eyes.”

Jon and Conner looked at each other smiling, maybe this stay would be more like an adventure.

“Young sirs,” the boys turned to see Alfred at the doorway of the room, “once you have settled, you are welcomed to join us for lunch.”

“I’ll give them a tour.” Tim told Alfred.

“Thank you, Master Timothy.” Alfred turned and left them.

Jon left Tim’s bedroom door ajar just in case he couldn’t find the room on his way back from getting a drink. Cassandra and Jason had joined the three of them to play video games and were now having a heated competition. Walking down the hallway he noticed that he might have gone the wrong way. He didn’t remember passing so many doors but then again he and Connor had been enthusiastically talking to Tim about the theater room downstairs. The hallway itself was spooky, it didn’t have any windows and the dark Victorian walls had old paintings of stuffy looking people. He decided to turn around only to stop in his tracks when he noticed a fluffy orange tabby staring at him in the middle of the hallway.

“Hi, little guy.” Jon said, looking around, trying to figure out where it had come from.

The cat meowed at him in response. He decided to crouch down, extend his hand towards the cat and wait to see if it would allow him to pet it. The cat bumped its head on his had, began to rub itself against Jon’s shins and purred. He laughed enjoying the feeling of soft fur on his hands.

“I bet you know how to get out of here.” Jon whispered as if afraid he would wake the still paintings surrounding them.

The tabby stopped, cocked its head to the side, turned around, tail up in the air and started walking away. Jon’s hand was still extended as he watched it go but the cat stopped, turned around and meowed at him, flicking its tail.

“Oh!” Jon scrambled to stand up. “You want me to follow you.”

The tabby meowed again this time sounding as if it said, “obviously.” Jon chuckled, following the cat until it slipped through a slightly opened door. Jon walked up to it and hesitantly opened the door to walk in. The cat had led him to a bedroom with a four poster bed, its green curtains drawn closed, and, besides all the normal things a bedroom normally had, a floor to ceiling display case filled with swords. In awe, Jon walked towards it and noticed that the display case was securely locked. Before he could fully immerse himself in the display, the orange tabby meowed at him from atop a desk.

“There you are.” Jon said walking up to it.

The cat had made itself comfortable on a closed laptop. The desk had a mixture of art supplies and textbooks. He looked around the room a bit more, one of the walls had the beginnings of a mural, next to the door leaned a baseball bat, glove and ball and if Jon was right about whose room he might have stumbled into, he should really leave. Damian had not been happy the last time they interacted, he was sure that trespassing into his room would not make things any better.

With a sense of urgency he began walking away, but abruptly stopped. The love letter! This was probably the only chance he would have to take it back! He rushed back towards the desk to carefully move things around and at the same time trying to place things back the same way he had seen them. The envelope would be easy to spot. He had made it himself, pink like Jay’s hair. He had even used a blue wax seal to stamp a letter J to the front of it. It made him blush with embarrassment. He opened the desk and after shuffling a couple of papers he found it. Jon grabbed it with shaky hands, thrilled at the fact the jerk hadn’t even opened it, the seal was still perfectly intact. Before he could shove it into his pocket it was snatched out of his hands.

“Tt, what are you doing?”

“Damian!” Turning around John stumbled a bit causing him to lean back against the desk, heart hammering in his chest.

Damian watched him with narrowed eyes and stood closer than Jon was comfortable. Jon noticed him wearing an apron splattered in paint, a white long sleeve rolled up to his elbows and a hair band to keep his hair out of his face.

“First, you keep throwing things at my head.” Damian pointed his index finger up and then the middle finger. “Second, I catch you trespassing AND stealing.” Jon watched him tap the envelope on his chin. “How will you make amends?”

“I never threw anything at you!” Jon’s shouted, his shock slowly turning to anger. He had been overwhelmed by Damian’s anger the first three times he had come into contact with him and now was getting real sick of the unfair treatment.

“Yes, you did.” Damian used the envelope to point at a particular spot on his head. “Right here, I’ve got the bump to prove it.”

“It was an accident!” Jon pushed Damian away, “I’d already apologized and,” Jon pointed at the pink envelope Damian held between his fingers, “that’s mine so, it’s not stealing!”

Damian looked at it in thought, then shrugged.

“If I remember correctly,” Damian leaned on one foot, nonchalantly pointing at Jon and smirked, “you gave it to me.”

“Well,” Jon stuttered, face heating up, not sure if it was from embarrassment or his rising annoyance, “I want it back!”

“No.”

“N-No? You haven’t even read it!”

“So?”

“There’s no point in you keeping it.”

“It’s mine.”

“But-“

“Master Damian, I’ve brought your afternoon tea.”

Jon whipped his head towards the open door and saw Alfred holding a silver tray with a tea set on top. Alfred stared at the boys with a raised eyebrow.

“Will you be joining him, Mister Kent?” Alfred asked.

“Yes, he will.” Damian answered for him, walking towards the open French doors leading to the veranda.

“No, I wont.” Jon followed, protesting.

“I caught Jon snooping and-” Damian directed towards Alfred. Jon rushed forward to cover his mouth, the blood draining from his face. He looked at Alfred shaking his head in the negative, unable to utter a word.

“Yes, well I am sure you will resolve,” Alfred walked past them to the veranda and placed the tea set along with a plate of cookies on a small round table, “whatever it is. Please enjoy.”

“You are such a jerk.” Jon hissed when Alfred left the room.

Damian scoffed taking off his apron and placing it on a stool along with his headband. There was an easel with a canvas depicting the garden below, it was unfinished but Jon couldn’t help staring.

“Like what you see?” Damian ran his fingers through his hair, smirking.

“No.” Jon snapped back looking Damian up and down, stupid jerk looked great with his white Henley and black jeans.

Jon turned around to go sit down at the the table. He took a sip of the tea, surprised at how good it tasted, the temperature not too cold or too hot. He took a bite of a cookie and smiled. He had only had lunch and now tea here at the Manor and everything was on par with how good his grandma’s cooking tasted.

“Alfred makes the best cookies.” Damian said sitting across from him. “Your lucky you got to taste some before my siblings got wind of them.”

“My grandma’s are better.” Jon shrugged.

Damian stared at him over the rim of his teacup. Jon was always hyper aware of Damian’s intense green eyes. His scrutiny made him uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t escape, like a bug under a magnifying glass. Maybe, if he received too focused attention his stare would burn him. Jon squirmed.

“You can pay me back,” Damian began, placing his tea cup back on the saucer, “by helping me with my chores.”

“What?” Jon scowled.

“Tt, it’s the least you can do,” Damian bit into a cookie, “to make amends.”

“I am NOT helping you with your chores.” Jon gripped the edge of the table. “I already apologized for those ACCIDENTS.”

“If you don’t,” Damian wiped his mouth with a napkin, “I’ll tell your parents that I caught you stealing.”

Jon acquiesced, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. Damian sat back crossing his arms with a smug look of triumph on his face. Jon wanted to punch him.

He really wished that he hadn’t followed that cat.

Sorry for the delay on this, I had difficulty writing it. I hope you guys enjoy it!

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #jon kent #jon samuel kent #jonathan samuel kent #jonathan kent #damian and jon #jondami #damijon #conner kent #tim drake #high school au #no capes au #fanfic #fanfiction #first time writing #supersons #wayne manor

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Three days, gone in a flash.

The final grain of pitch black sand careens down the neck of the half empty hourglass to rest with its siblings at the bottom.

For a second, Zeb thinks about turning the whole thing over as if that could restart this whole thing, or otherwise postpone it. Another part of his heart wants to throw the hourglass against the wall and shatter it, but he's tried that before and he knows that the damned thing will just put itself back together the second he stops looking.

Dread sits heavy in Zeb's chest as he stares at the hourglass and feels his body refuse to move.

His bags are packed, leaning against the wall by the door.

His bed is made, neat military corners and sheets so tight you could bounce a quarter off of them.

The door is open, Sir Matthew stands at the threshold, his eyes burning holes into Zeb's face. The boy can taste the hate and disappointment in that gaze the same way he can taste the bile slowly seeping into his own mouth.

He... doesn't want to go.

Sir Matthew gets tired of waiting, lurching forward to grab Zeb by the arm or the neck, but is stopped by a soft hand on his shoulder.

The kind eyes of Sister Berenice fall on Zeb like a warm blanket fresh from the dyer, the crows feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling as she smiles at him. Sister Berenice is the closest thing to a mother Zeb has ever had, and even though he's supposed to be in the care of Sir Matthew now that he's a page she always goes out of her way to check up on the kid when she has the time.

Zeb's body finally moves, half stumbling into the nun's arms, burying his face in her shoulders as the tears he's choked back for 3 days finally spring loose.

He. Doesn't. Want. To. Go.

Sister Berenice leads Zeb out of his room in the basement of the tower and up the winding stairs to the foyer, his feet drag the entire time, the weight of his luggage holding him down and back like spectral chains tying him to this place.

Nobody looks at him when he passes.

The refuse to meet his eyes or flinch away like he's cursed or filthy, marked for death or exile.

Cold seeps deep into Zeb's guts, twisting there like a blade made of ice.

He doesn't want to go.

He can't stop crying.

The foyer is crowded, he is surrounded by Knights, by HIS people on all sides but he has never felt more alone in his life.

Lord Barnabas stands at the front gates, clad in polished armor carved from dragon bone, the sword Excalibur sheathed at his hip. For a moment Zeb thinks the Lord is here to execute him, and for that moment the thought is nothing but intense relief washing over him like the tears running down his face.

Then Lord Barnabas steps aside, eyes fixed on some point behind Zeb, refusing to look at him just like everyone else.

The Knights stand in straight and terrible rows, as sharp and perfect as so many teeth. They take Zeb's sword from him, and his book of miracles, they take and they take until Zeb is no longer a page.

Now just a boy.

Just a nothing.

He can feel Sir Matthew's eyes on him still and by God he tries to find comfort in that sliver of recognition, but when he fishes his mentor's face out of the crowd Sir Matthew looks away from him without a word.

The man that raised Zeb, broke him, bled him, made him scrub floors on knees raw from prayer and penance proved himself to be a coward with one gesture. He...

Zeb swallows back mucus and bile, salted by his tears, his mouth twisting into something sharp and ugly, he feels the miracle gathering on his tongue before his lips can even part. Something black and awful plants itself in Zeb's chest and takes root there, he can feel it twisting his power into something as ugly as his own crying face.

Blood rushes through Zeb's ears like thunder, hurt and anger kill the chill in his bones, sending beet red rage pulsating up his neck.

They could save him.

They could SAVE. HIM.

All they had to do was say no, and he could stay but nobody has the fucking balls to say no.

They're throwing him away, scraps left behind for the beast so the rest may flee.

Fuck them.

Fuck ALL of them.

Fuck Sir, fuck Sister, fuck Lord Barnabas and even fuck Mew. Zeb cannot see the other boy's face in the crowd, brown robed and shaven, and that hurts worse than anything else. Mew isn't here to say goodbye or to save him or to stop this, and he can get FUCKED with the rest of them.

The gates open and the fairy stands there on the other side, dressed in human clothes with its hair dyed an unnatural color, its nails long and clawlike. Its face still looks raw from the holy water, its paws still tender from the fire, but it looks at Zeb with eyes even kinder than Sister Berenice and he can't take it. Zeb stumbles again, one shaky step after the other, his face still twisted and ugly but oh so very Different now.

All kids cry ugly until some stupid adult tries to convince them that growing up means crying pretty or not crying at all, but by the grace of whatever God loved this boy he still cried like he was meant to. Face twisted and snot smeared, jerking with each sob that tried to bust its way through clenched teeth, eyes redder than the rage that was dying within him.

He stood in front of the fairy and he cried, he hiccuped and he sobbed, trying so hard not to flinch as its hand came to rest on his head. The weight of that hand still felt Wrong but it also felt like Being Seen and like Being Known. Zeb pressed into it, stretching up like a cat, eyes shut, body shaking.

He felt the magic take him away, felt it sweep the Tower grounds from under his feet and replace it with carpet over hardwood and hard packed earth. The fight left Zeb then, replaced by exhaustion that threatened to rock him down to his knees but he kept himself upright out of pure spite and anxiety.

"Welcome home Zeb."

#ic #long post #action post #ask to tag #child abuse #child soldiers

[nevermindtheweights]

@circle-girls-tower​

Krile Baldesion had heard rumours of a Tower of late. How it had evaded her notice for so long was one thing but that no longer mattered. It was not hard to find if you followed from what people said and it was not as if the place was forbidden to travel either. It was, apparently, a hub from what she could discern. That in mind, the lardy lalafell had made the considerable effort to travel there herself!

It was quite a task for her, given the sheer girth the short girl was packing. However, it road was well-enough travelled that she was in little danger and resting was easy enough despite the wagon she was loaded with. 

But alas, here she was! As far as she knew, the Foyer was open to all souls and that was probably why it was known as a bit of a hub. Apparently, the girls within were all gifted magical users who plied their crafts alongside living and working. Needless to say to a scholar, a place where she could invest herself like that was appealing though she knew little of the Sisterhood beyond hearsay and she did not wish to rely on just that. A few documents that had come her way on her travels had given her a good overview so she felt... at least aware that this place was not only magical but impressively so. 

Waddling into the Foyer, she looked around the grand entryway and marvelled at it. Her Echo impressed upon her the sheer enriched magical sense to this tower. She was not sure what to do now however, idly glancing around..... Well, she was content to wait and look around since this along was interesting to her.

#Muse: Krile Baldesion (FF14)

[digital-corruption]

Unrecognisable Part 35

The next morning, I was woken up abruptly to Jake throwing our bag onto the bed, nearly giving me a heart attack.

“Pack everything you can! We leave now!” he ordered before leaving the room again.

Acting on instinct, I pushed myself to get out of bed, fighting off the dizziness that resulted from getting up too quickly. I slipped my pants on over my panties, threw on my hoodie, and shoved everything else I could find into our bag. Thankfully, we weren’t the tidiest of people and it was all just sprawled in one corner of the room so sweeping it all back up was relatively easy. I went into the bathroom and swept everything off the vanity and into the bag. Satisfied I had everything I could think of, I went to find Jake in the apartment’s foyer. He already had his laptop packed up but was busy wiping his history from the desktop.

“We leave via the fire escape,” he commented.

“You mean the stairs?” I asked.

“Yes,” he responded, annoyed that I would question him.

“That’s like a hundred flights!” I pointed out.

“That’s the price we pay for the luxury we enjoyed,” he sighed. “Ok, I’m done.”

Jake grabbed his backpack and led the way out the apartment to the fire stairs. As we went through, I heard the elevator ping followed by the doors opening. Quickly we ran down the stairs, one flight after another, without looking back. It became so tedious after the first 5 or so floors. Sure, the tower wasn’t actually 100 floors, but at 65 storeys, it sure as hell felt like it.

At about the tenth floor, we heard commotion at the bottom of the stairs. Jake pushed us back against the wall and motioned for me to be quiet while we waited. There were voices for a few minutes, but then silence again. Jake gestured for me to stay quiet as we slowly started down the stairs again. When we reached the third floor, he pressed gently on the door lever to make as little noise as possible as the door opened. As soon as we exited the stairs onto the third floor, Jake cautiously closed it behind us, making sure the latch didn’t even make an audible sound.

Jake sighed, “Security will be watching the ground floor.”

“What do we do?” I stressed.

“Give me a moment,” he pulled out his phone to look at the schematics of the building.

Suddenly the elevator beeped. We kept our heads low while pretending to be occupied looking at our phones as two men in grey coveralls and caps bearing the logo of a plumbing business exited the elevator. Carrying a tool case each, they passed us without even giving us a second look. We watched as they went down the hallway towards an apartment at the end. The fact that their coveralls and caps covered nearly their entire appearance wasn’t lost on us. We looked at each other and exchanged knowing glances. It was clear that it was my time to shine again. I stepped out into the middle of the hall and pretended to collapse, putting on my best fake fainting performance.

“Help! She’s having a seizure!” Jake emphasised while glaring at me as apparently my fainting act wasn’t enough.

I started shaking to mimic a seizure as best as I could, which was actually quite strenuous to do nonstop. Jake behaved as if he was trying to hold by head gently. After a moment, the older of the two plumbers came over and said something in German. Jake responded, but even I could tell he was trying to fake not knowing German. He was not nearly as clear as he usually was and some sounds he flat out bastardised. In fact, the only way I could describe it was as if he was trying to imitate an American attempting to speak German. I tried my hardest not to feel insulted by that.

The older of the two plumbers squatted down to hold my ankles. Jake yelled at the younger plumber and had him swap places. The younger one looked at me uncomfortably while I was still trying to fake the seizure as best as I could. Jake moved away and pretended to be looking for my medicine, but while the two were distracted, he grabbed a wrench from one of their toolboxes and hit the younger plumber on the back of the head, then the older one before he could react. The sound of the metal tool hitting their heads resonated so much in the quiet hallway that I was actually afraid he hit them too hard.

“Please tell me you didn’t kill them!” I exclaimed as I got up off the ground.

“They’ll be fine,” Jake seemed offended that I would suggest they weren’t. “Help me carry them over to that maintenance closet!”

Glancing to the right, I saw the maintenance closet he was referring to. He grabbed the older one by the shoulders and I held his ankles as we carried him into the small maintenance closet. Then we went back and grabbed the younger one quickly. Hastily in the closet we pulled off their work boots and coveralls, leaving them in their undershirts and briefs. Without wasting any time, we both put a set of coveralls on each. We even packed our sneakers away into the backpack and put on the work boots. Then, before exiting the closet, Jake shoved a cap on my head before putting the other on himself.

“Grab a toolbox as well!” Jake instructed.

Heading back towards the elevators, we each picked up a toolbox, acting as natural as we could. Thankfully no seemed to have heard us and the hallway remained empty. While we waited for the elevator, I adjusted my cap so it fit better.

“Do you think this will actually work?” I whispered.

“Only one way to find out,” he chortled.

I turned to him, “You’re feeling that confident in our plan?”

“I find it’s easier not to think about how ridiculous it sounds and just live in the moment,” he advised just before the elevator doors opened.

We stepped into the lift, now very much aware that we were likely being watched on the CCTV, so we kept our distance and tried to act casual.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jake spoke up suddenly. “But you somehow make that uniform look hot on you.”

I had to bite my lip to keep my cool, “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter what I wear, you’ll be busy undressing me in your mind.”

“True,” he admitted. “Actually no, there’s one thing I couldn’t stand to see you wear.”

“What’s that?” I asked with curiosity.

“A chastity belt,” he responded with a straight face.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head while trying my hardest not to laugh. I knew he was just trying to get me to relax, but he was still being cheekily cute. The doors opened again. We lowered our heads and walked past security. They glanced at our uniforms then waved us on. One of them was on the phone with police while the other was speaking to an older woman who appeared to be a professional cleaner. She was distraught and waving her arms frantically around. Knowing what she saw probably saw in that apartment, I couldn’t blame her.

We exited the front of the building, walking past the same teenage valet as the other day. Thankfully he didn’t recognise us. I noticed a van parked on the side of the road with the same plumbing company logo as the one we wore on our backs. I gulped as I hadn’t thought about that. It would be pretty odd to anyone who saw us leaving if we didn't get in. Thankfully though, I heard Jake jangle keys in his hand. The timing of that was so on point that I had to wonder if he could read my mind, or at least read my panic.

We went around to the back of the van and Jake unlocked it so we could put our toolboxes and bags in. Then we went to the front and got in. As soon as my door closed, Jake turned the ignition on. The van spurted a bit, then came to life. Wasting no time, Jake drove off.

"Oh my God, I thought that only worked in movies," I exclaimed with relief.

"Real life is actually much simpler," Jake shrugged.

"What happened anyway? Why the sudden rush this morning?" I questioned.

"The owner suddenly made a change of plans and asked for his caretaker to come through to get it ready for his arrival tonight," he explained. "It is a shame though, I liked that place."

"Me too," I smiled. "So where do we go now?"

Jake sighed, "Well we don't want to go too far if we want to meet that psychologist, so we'll want to stay local, but we'll need to ditch the van in 20 minutes or so. It’ll only be a matter of time before an APB is put out. You should go get changed in the back."

"Ok, I'll do that," I nodded, then carefully climbed to the back to change.

"By the way, your acting could still use some work," Jake commented while I removed the coveralls.

"Gee thanks," I rolled my eyes. "I don't see you pretending to have a seizure."

"And what, you’d knock them out?" He teased. "It’s good to see that you're learning how to take advantage of an opportunity."

"Is that praise I hear?" I mocked as I put my sneakers back on.

"Make sure you put the wig on," he reminded me.

I pulled my wig out and lamented over the condition it was in. It took me the rest of the trip to salvage it to make it look somewhat passable.

"I don't think this wig is going to survive much longer," I commented. “I’ll need a better disguise.”

Jake didn’t respond as he was lost in thought. When he slowed down at a set of red lights, he started to mumble to himself, "We could squat in another tenancy, but it would take me time to find something reliable. Staying at a motel would be too risky right now."

"We can’t just hole up in an abandoned building?" I asked as I put my wig on.

"They don't all have power and running water," he responded.

"It doesn't need to be permanent, just some cover until we come up with a plan," I argued as I joined him in the front again. I checked my wig in the mirror and adjusted it.

"True," he conceded. "All right I'm going to pull over on the other side of the freeway. Then we'll have to travel on foot for at least a half of an hour to make sure we get enough distance from the vehicle and hit the subway."

"I love it when a plan comes together!" I said with my best impression. Jake glanced at me confused. "You know, A-team? Oh, come on, it's a famous line!"

"Ok, I'm pulling over now," he announced nonchalantly.

I shook my head in disbelief still that he didn’t know the line while he pulled the van over to the side of the road. After turning the van off, he snuck into the back to get out of his coveralls.

"What if we don't get a response?" I spoke up after a while.

"You mean from the doctor?" Jake asked.

"Yeah, like how long do we give him?" I shrugged.

"I don't know, a week maybe? Then I don’t know,” he admitted.

I sighed, “Then what? We should probably leave Colville.”

“Yes, that goes without saying. We shouldn’t risk staying in the country actually, and we can’t go back. While my colleagues aren't pleased that I had to leave our operation the way I did, they understand the heat we are under. Trying to finish things off would be too difficult now. So that sort of makes us free agents? We can go where we like, although it will be difficult to carry on in some countries. We should probably move to a country without an extradition treaty. Perhaps somewhere tropical? The Maldives maybe? Vanuatu? Unless you prefer something more urban," Jake suggested while changing.

"Tropical might be nice, but how would we get there?" I wondered.

Jake leant over my shoulder and whispered in my ear, "Don’t worry about that. I’ll always find a way.”

"I'll have to think about it then," I turned to him and smiled.

Jake smiled back and kissed my forehead, "Take your time, but don't feel it has to be permanent. If you get bored, we could always change locales."

Before I could respond, Jake opened the side door of the van and hopped out as he put his hood up. I checked my wig in the mirror one more time, then got out of the van as well. Jake closed the door behind me, then took my hand and we started walking down the street, acting as if we knew nothing of the van behind us. We were in a medium-density residential area, but given it was already after nine, most people were at work or school so it was actually fairly quiet. If it was any other day, under any other circumstances, I would’ve been any to relax and enjoy the leisurely stroll with Jake. As it was though, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head of what our next steps were. I really needed to start getting used to this nomad lifestyle.

A few blocks later, we entered a busy commercial district with stores and eateries. The smell of pastries emanating from the bakery was absolutely divine, which reminded me that I hadn’t actually eaten yet that morning. I tried to stop to check out the goods, but Jake tugged my hand to encourage me to keep walking. That’s when I noticed his attention was primarily elsewhere. I glanced over and saw a parked police car on the other side of the street. I freaked and went back to looking down at my feet while trying my hardest to remain calm. I didn’t get a chance to see if there were police officers anywhere near the car, but judging by Jake’s stiffness, there must have been at least one in the vicinity. I had no idea if we were being watched, but it certainly felt like there were eyes following us. Jake squeezed my hand as we walked up to a red crossing light.

He whispered, “We’ve been made. As soon as the light goes green, run into the subway.”

Immediately, my back stiffened. I turned my head towards him just enough so I could see in my peripheral vision any movement behind us. Sure enough two authoritative figures were walking towards us, determinedly weaving past other pedestrians to get closer, but they were still several lengths from us. If only the light would change. I started getting antsy, feeling very tempted to risk running across the road even on a red, but there were too many cars on the road for me to feel comfortable doing that. I squeezed Jake’s hand. The police were going to be on us before the lights changed. We couldn’t wait any longer, we had to change course, but he remained resilient, ignoring me tugging at his arm.

Suddenly Jake started counting, “3… 2… 1…” I realised the cars were beginning to slow down. Just as the last cars cleared in front of us, before the light changed, Jake shouted, “Go!”

We bolted across the road while the police behind us, shouting in German, struggled to get past the other pedestrians waiting on the corner. On the other side of the road, onlookers tried to get out of our way as we ran towards them. Jake was faster than me so he reached the stairs for the subway first. Leaning on the railing, he slid all the way to the bottom. Without thinking twice, I followed suit, though as I haven’t done such a stunt in a very long time, I wasn’t nearly as smooth doing it as he was. Jake looked back to make sure I was still following. I noticed a slight eyeroll at my landing. Together we weaved through the crowded station. The police continued to shout from behind, but thankfully the other people in the station were too baffled to understand what was happening. Jake took one look at the monitor to see which track would have the next train, then immediately changed direction for that platform. We were in luck that a train had just pulled in the station. However, we were unlucky because that meant there was a wave of people coming at us on the stairs and the escalator was packed. There was no way to push past them fast enough before the cops caught up to us.

Jake jumped up onto the metal divide between the stairs and escalator and ran down skillfully, which freaked people out. I followed him close behind, but I found it was far harder than it looked. Trying to keep balance and grip on the smooth, angled surface was actually quite difficult. I stumbled at the end, but thankfully Jake caught me before I fell. Quickly he then ushered us towards the doors of the subway car just as they began to close. Jake pushed me on first and he jumped on right behind, narrowly getting through before the doors closed behind him. Meanwhile the cops had just reached the bottom of the stairs and ran up to the train shouting, but the train had already started to pull away from the station. Jake cackled, stuck his tongue out and flicked them off, revelling in their failure to catch him.

I leant up against the handrail by the door, trying to catch my breath after that intense run. I couldn’t help but notice all eyes in the car were on us. By then people were starting to put two and two together. This didn't seem to bother Jake, who cupped my face and kissed me deeply in front of our frightened audience.

"You did well," he spoke softly while smirking. "That was very close."

“Except we have dozens of witnesses right now probably reporting us,” I mumbled.

Jake rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about them.”

Jake took my hand and led me through the car to the next one. At least in the next car, no one seemed to notice. To my surprise though, Jake led us to the next car then the car after that. He stopped when we reached the end of the train.

“You’re not going to like what I’m going to say next,” Jake winced.

“What?” I looked at him, then at the back door of the train. “Oh God, no! You can’t be serious!”

“I am, it’s the only way. They’ll have cops at the next station waiting for us,” he reasoned. “It's not like we’re going to jump while the train is at full speed. That would be crazy.”

“Oh, good,” I nodded.

“We’ll jump while it’s slowing down,” he clarified.

“Is there any situation that doesn’t involve us jumping from a moving train into a dark tunnel with other moving trains?” I questioned.

“Nope,” he grinned cheekily. “Come with me if you want to live,” he teased, pulling his best attempt at a Schwarzenegger impression. “See? I do know some movie quotes.”

I rubbed my forehead in despair, “That’s it. We’re doomed.”

The train started to slow and Jake raised his brow at me smugly as he opened the rear door, “Time to go!”

As I stepped through the doorway, I took a deep breath then jumped in the dark void.

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #unrecognisable fanfic

[weavewilled]

@sanguinelf inquired: [HAND] / caring prompts

THE ROAD BACK TO WATERDEEP —— it was long, especially traveling by night. But the closer they get, the more familiar he is, and there are some portals they can take to make up some of the distance. They had a pair of horses he’d bought out of Baldur’s Gate for a good portion of the trip, only forced to sell them when moving through a portal when they neared the city. 

The trip was not without some trouble, but what travel through Faerûn ever is? There was, of course, the ever-perilous travel through the Trollclaws, and that farm near Daggerford that was being bothered by Ankhegs, and a pack of blink dogs that harassed the horses one evening —— and rumors of a bandits, of course, but apparently they looked too dangerous to bother, and traveling by night helped. 

But now —— now they are on the step of his tower — really, more of a great building set on the waterfront — that he hasn’t seen in —— at least a year, now, if not more. The stars glitter bright — it’s a chilly evening, but Tara has been made aware of their approach and has lit the arcane fireplace and set the place alive. The windows glow golden, light seeping with warmth, and he smiles and holds his hand out, taking Astarion’s in his. 

" And now, " says he, setting his free hand on the center inscription of the door —— it glows, brilliantly, light pouring 'round a sigil previously invisible. " I invite you to our home, my love. " The door opens, and the opening foyer is warm, inviting. There’s stacks of books visible even here, and he leads him over the threshold. 

#;; & trust the magic of beginnings. ( sanguinelf ) #sanguinelf #( HAVE SOME SOFT )

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Fire Meets Fate [Chapter Four] Strawberry Kiss [Vinsmoke Ichiji]

Eris shivered as she rested on her stomach with an ice pack on her lower back. She wasn’t hurting as much as she previously had, but the pain was still there. Niji could kiss her ass. She had been bedridden for two days and boredom was driving her crazy. At least before she could move around the room; it hurt just to arch her back.

What was she to do with her time?

Hearing a knock on the door, Eris raised a brow. How ironic. A soldier came in and stood in the frame of the door. She had no idea if she had met him before; all of them looked alike, it was eerie.

“Follow me,” he merely said.

Eris snorted.

“Are you not going to tell me where I am intended to follow you?”

He offered her no explanation. Eris groaned and sat up, gritting her teeth. She was in no mood for games.

“Leave so I can get dressed,” She ordered.

“Bring your pet with you,” the Germa soldier mentioned before he turned around and left her alone.

Eris raised a brow. Someone wanted her to bring Tanis. Was she sparing again so soon? The woman turned up her eyes in annoyance. Did the Vinsmokes not know how to rest?

Grunting as she got out of bed, Eris walked over to her grain wood wardrobe and searched through the hand-me-down dresses that Reiju had sent to her. She picked out one that was floor-length and moss green with short sleeves that draped down her shoulders. Her back was exposed, but at least the A-line was elegant and modest.

Eris prayed that she was not being forced to spar today. She doubted that she could in a pair of white closed-toe pumps anyway.

“Tanis, come along,” She ordered.

The serpent slithered down from the banister where she liked to rest and coiled around Eris’ waist.

“I’m not in the least bit ready for whatever is to come,” Eris uttered in dismay.

Tanis rested her head on the woman’s shoulder and yawned. Eris snorted; neither was she it seemed.

With an uneasy breath, Eris left the room and descended the tower. Three Germa soldiers waited for her at the bottom, and upon seeing them, she grew uneasy. What was going on?

“Follow me,” the one in the middle ordered.

Eris shook her head and trailed close behind him as he led her away from the tower. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw the remaining two rush in, shutting the door behind them. Her worries grew.

The Germa soldier led her across the grounds, past the main palace, and to another castle on the furthest end. It was several times larger than the tower Eris lived in with its own mast and sails.

Escorting her inside, she stared in awe at the foyer. It was large and decorated with unique tapestries; one having the Germa symbol etched into it, another she recognized as the cross pattern her soon-to-be husband wore on the buckle of his raid suit.

She raised a brow. Did Ichiji live here?

To a door on the left, Eris was taken to a dining room where to her surprise waited the man in question. He sat in a chair at the head of a long table seated with five matching chairs.

“Leave,” he ordered.

Eris widened her eyes. It took her a moment to realize that Ichiji was sending away the soldier; she almost tossed her shoe at him.

Once the said man had left, she stood awkwardly at the end of the table, looking around the dining room. It was drab and gray, but who was she to judge.

“Sit down,” Ichiji ordered. “Lunch will be ready soon.”

“We’re not eating with your siblings?” Eris asked.

The redhead grinned.

“If you prefer, you can eat with the servants.”

Eris shot a glare at him. She wasn’t being ungrateful. Doing as he ordered, she sat in the chair to his right, allowing Tanis to uncoil from her waist and slither around the arm and back of the seat.

“It’s well trained for such a large reptile,” Ichiji mentioned.

“She is. Tanis has been with me since I was a kid. She was given to me when she was a hatchling,” Eris explained.

The Empress gave her to Eris as a birthday present. She was one of twenty-five hatchlings born and grew to be around 167 centimeters. Fearing that Ichiji may order Tanis to be removed, Eris was pleased when lunch arrived, and the topic was lost to them.

Soup, fruit salad packed with strawberries, and salmon were served to her. Eris was pleased. She tried to offer the salmon to Tanis, but the serpent was fast asleep; both were forced from their abode, so it was no surprise to her that Tanis was tired.

Speaking of which.

“Some of your soldiers rushed into my room when I was led away. Was there a reason for that?” Eris asked.

Ichiji took a bite from a strawberry and shook his head as he swallowed.

“I ordered them to pack your belongings,” he answered.

Why? Eris widened her eyes. Was she leaving the Germa Kingdom? Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest. Had she done something wrong? Her country was depending on her to make her marriage with Ichiji work.

“This marriage was doomed from the start,” she uttered.

“That’s what I figured,” Ichiji confirmed. “But unfortunately for the two of us, we can’t be rid of each other so easily.”

What did he mean?

“My father wants the power to conquer the seas. And to do that he needs strong followers,” Ichiji explained.

Eris already knew this.

“So, he arranged with my Empress to protect Amazon Lily using us to strengthen their bond,” she furthered.

“Then I don’t have to express how infuriating it is,” Ichiji mentioned.

Eris scoffed. He really was an ill-mannered brat.

“I don’t like the idea of having to be married to you either. And this crap about having to spend time with you is also infuriating,” Eris added.

Ichiji grinned. He took a strawberry from his bowl and motioned for her to follow him.

Eris raised a brow in question and hesitantly stood up, trailing behind him as he led her through the foyer and outside. Two soldiers stood in the yard. Should she have woken Tanis?

“Raise the anchor and set sail northeast,” Ichiji ordered.

“Yes sir!” One of the two shouted, running off.

Was the kingdom moving locations? The ground shook with such a force that Eris nearly lost her footing. Then before her very eyes, the castle parted from the rest of the kingdom and began to float out to sea.

“What is this?” Eris asked.

“I often forget that you’ve been locked in a tower for eleven years,” Ichiji mentioned with a grin. “You see, the kingdom is comprised of platforms that are built on the shells of large snails. The ships can move independently as you can see; this one is known as Castle Ichiji.”

Germa was a force to be reckoned with. Eris stared in awe as the ship floated northeast from the kingdom.

“Where is it taking us?” She asked.

“I have a task in a nearby allied country that I have to attend to personally, so you will be staying with me in my castle for the time being,” Ichiji answered.

Eris widened her eyes. She didn’t understand.

“Why?”

“Because my father wants us to get to know one another,” Ichiji answered. “So, we are going to play nice and do just that.”

He turned to her and brought up the strawberry, holding it to her mouth.

“Do we have a deal?”

Eris was confused. Did he not agree that their soon-to-be marriage was infuriating? Why did he want to get to know her? It made no sense. She took an uneasy breath and leaned forward, taking a bite out of the strawberry. It was juicy and sweet.

Ichiji grinned, then ate the other end.

She wasn’t sure the reason, but Eris figured that it was better to play nice with him rather than stay his enemy.

Was she making a mistake?

#one piece #vinsmoke ichiji #one piece fanfiction #vinsmoke ichiji x oc

[bongaboi]

Lens, the brilliant and ‘normal’ team who pushed Messi and PSG all the way: Special report

The full-time whistle blows… but nobody is going anywhere. This party started early, and will not finish before the day is out.

Yellow and red shirts have been filtering into the small city of Lens, in that far northern corner of France between Paris and the sea, throughout the day and at 5pm, the town square is packed with supporters as they prepare to make their way to Stade Bollaert-Delelis, an old-school, British-style stadium with four terraces and a 38,000 capacity greater than the population of Lens itself.

Inside, the crowd are buoyant, ready to serenade their players and later, belt out the chants of “On les a chicote” (We have rattled them) and Pierre Bachelet’s Les Corons, a hymn for the coal miners of northern France that is now the club’s anthem. Football dominates in these parts and is now entwined with the city’s identity; the stadium holds the same presence in the skyline as the slag-heaps of mining waste that tower overhead, looming pyramids that are echoes of an industrial past.

Saturday’s 3-0 home win over already-relegated Ajaccio leads to fireworks and Champagne. After soaking the waiting media in the mixed zone after the game, defender Jonathan Gradit calls the night a high point of his career.

“It (the Champions League) is Real, it’s Bayern, it’s a monumental party and once again it’s a reward for everything we’ve been able to do,” Gradit says. “This is our own reward. There were emotional tears because we’ve been together for more or less three years and frankly what we’re going through is great.” There is joy at Racing Club de Lens, to use their full name, and it has been a long time coming.

After a wait of 20 years, they have qualified for the Champions League again. By finishing second in Ligue 1, they will go straight into the group stage with title winners Paris Saint-Germain.

It resonates.

As recently as September 2017, Lens were bottom of Ligue 2, the French second tier. They had recently avoided bankruptcy for the second time in a decade and some fans got inside their training complex, La Gaillette, to voice their dissent.

Three years later, they were promoted. Three years on from that, they are dusting off their passports.

“From the first year back into Ligue 1, there was something about this team, there was something about this coach,” the club’s owner, and president, Joseph Oughourlian, tells The Athletic. “The atmosphere at the Stade Bollaert was unbelievable. It’s not just the town, it’s the region’s club.

“There has been this wait for the club to do better. Returning to Ligue 1 was a big step. But this year, the team has really surpassed any expectations, any fan expectations, any rational person’s expectations. It’s all come together.

“It has been great, and a lot of fun.”

Four hours before kick-off on Saturday, Oughourlian is sitting in the calm setting of the Louvre hotel. The team are here too, sitting near the foyer and going through final pre-match routines.

Oughourlian, who first became a shareholder at Lens in 2016 and took full control five years ago, suits this environment. It’s quieter, more sedate, for an owner who says he prefers to stay out of the limelight.

He is from a different world compared to the city of Lens and the terraces of the Stade Bollaert. Born in Paris, 110 miles (179km) to the south, he became a financier and founded the hedge fund Amber Capital in 2005. The firm operated from New York before relocating in 2012 to London (less than 150 miles away as the crow flies), where he too is now based.

The link to Lens? “There was no connection,” Oughourlian says. “It was a pure fluke.”

Chance perhaps but for Lens, it may be considered fortunate.

Twice in the past decade, as mentioned above, they have essentially gone bust, most recently in 2016 after two years where Azerbaijani businessman Hafiz Mammadov, who took full control three years earlier, stopped investing in the club. Oughourlian was initially brought in as an investor alongside La Liga heavyweights Atletico Madrid, who in turn wanted to buy into the club to help Mammadov.

“I said, ‘As long as you manage it, because I can’t manage a football club, I’d say yes’,” Oughourlian says. Ultimately, he became the majority shareholder.

“(Mammadov) did not show up,” Oughourlian says. “So I did all the financial engineering around buying the club and then found myself owning a majority and then essentially naming the management. They (Atletico) lost interest. Eventually, I became chairman (in 2018). I wasn’t expecting to buy the club and take control and become chairman.”

It was a difficult time to take over.

Lens had won Ligue 1 for the only time in their history in 1998 and qualified for the Champions League again four years later. But since then, European tours became infrequent. They were relegated in 2008 and though they bounced back to the top flight immediately, by then the rot had set in. Between 2011-12 and 2020-21 they spent just one season in Ligue 1, finishing bottom in 2015.

“It was a club that was still living in its past,” Oughourlian says. “A great club that had fallen behind — a Sunderland, where there’s still a lot of popular affection, a brand name, titles, stories. It’s a bit of a lethal combination, to be honest. They still thought of themselves as a big, amazing club. But they were in Ligue 2.

“From that perspective, I was quite lucky to have arrived after a very very long period (of difficulty). They were ready to make sacrifices and that’s what we asked of them.”

Oughourlian made cuts, pointing to the club employing “more than 80 people” despite being in the second tier. He appointed people with the know-how he did not possess, such as Arnaud Pouille, who was general manager and is now chief executive. “You have to surround yourself with people that have that experience,” Oughourlian says. “It’s not something you can improvise, or learn from doing.”

Then, in 2017, with the club struggling on the field, Oughourlian organised a seminar with key stakeholders, including fans, staff and the players.

“I asked, ‘What do you think our core values are? What do we stand for? Who are we?’. I listened. I’m not from the region. I wasn’t a fan of Lens. I didn’t follow the club. When you live in London, you’re a financier, you’ve come from New York, you’re not going to arrive at Lens and say, ‘These are your values’. What do I know?!

“We defined our values, what we stood for. We put them on our walls, and told them to the first team and across the club, from the youngest players to the staff. It was nothing shocking — passion, being respectful. It was important to have gone through that stage. You set the foundations for the club to succeed… hopefully.”

There was a resetting of club culture. Club jackets were introduced into the boardroom. On Saturday night, the players were all awarded miners’ lamps as an end-of-season memento.

“You can still have a strong local culture, as part of a particular region, and still it resonates with the rest of the country and it resonates with people outside of the country,” Oughourlian says. “Because it’s all about our values. They are mining values, but they fit well with sports. It’s community. Teamwork.”

Constant improvement followed on the field.

After the nadir of 2017-18, where they finished 14th in the 20-team second tier, losing over half their 38 games, Lens improved to reach the promotion play-offs the following season, where they were defeated by top-flight Dijon in the final. They went up automatically in pandemic-curtailed 2019-20 (Lens were second when the season was halted with 10 matches to play and later abandoned), and once in Ligue 1 again continued to thrive.

In their first season up, Lens finished an impressive seventh with 57 points (Rennes qualified for Europe with 58). They improved in 2021-22 with 62 points as they came seventh again. And now they already have 81 with one game still to play.

That they have pushed serial champions PSG all the way, even though the Parisians’ annual budget is said to be 10 times greater than theirs, is astonishing.

“We’re very ambitious, but at the same time, we’re very normal people,” Oughourlian says. “In some ways, we’re not like PSG. We’re not an all-star team. It’s a team effort.

“That’s not criticising PSG. I think they’ve been incredibly successful — contrary to what people may think because they’ve had a difficult season in the Champions League. But aside from that, we’re just the opposite. They are a global brand. We’re a local brand. They appeal to stars. Our values are collective, teamwork, there’s no one big star in our team.

“It (PSG) is the club of a rich and wealthy area. I’m not saying they do not have humble fans, they have so many different fans. But they are in the capital, and we’re the poorest region in France.”

Success has continued despite considerable challenges.

Key players have been poached. Last summer, Lens lost their top 2021-22 goalscorer Arnaud Kalimuendo, who had been on loan from PSG and was then sold to Rennes for €20million (£17.3m; $21.4m at current exchange rates). Full-back Jonathan Clauss, a beloved figure, went to Marseille for a reported €9m while midfielder Cheick Doucoure went to Crystal Palace of the Premier League in a deal worth up to €26m.

Clauss left Lens for Marseille last summer (Photo: Catherine Steenkeste/Getty Images) “If one of the big clubs in France or from the Premier League wants someone, they will get them,” admits Oughourlian. “Clauss went to Marseille. We thought of him as one of our key players. We discovered him in the second division in Germany. Marseille wanted him and could triple or quadruple his salary. There’s nothing we could do at that point.

“As much as we like the player and the player likes us, you have to be reasonable. You have to understand who you are and where you are.”

That impacts staff, too. Florent Ghisolfi, the club’s former sporting director, was seen as an integral part of their impressive recruitment programme. He was poached by fellow Ligue 1 side Nice last October.

“You have to make sure that there’s always a Plan B,” Oughourlian says. “That you react very quickly. One of our key assets is a very lean chain of command. It’s my CEO (Pouille), his sports director (Gregory Thil), the manager (Franck Haise), and myself. It’s two phone calls away from: ‘Yes, no, what do we do, who do we hire?’ I’m an hour and a half away in London. I can be here very, very quickly. We can react very quickly, which is what we’ve done so far.”

Those players who left last summer have not been missed.

Kalimuendo was replaced by Lois Openda, signed from Belgium’s Club Bruges for about half the fee Rennes paid PSG for his predecessor. The 23-year-old Belgian international has 20 league goals so far and, against Ajaccio, equalled Roger Boli’s club scoring record for a single Ligue 1 season.

Clauss, a right wing-back, was replaced first by Jimmy Cabot, signed from Ligue 1’s Angers, but after the newcomer suffered a season-ending knee injury in October the club adapted by re-positioning Przemyslaw Frankowski, who has played on the left for them and for Poland, with Deiver Machado stepping in on that flank. Machado has had a difficult first season as a regular starter, but was on the scoresheet in Saturday’s vital win.

In central midfield, Salis Abdul Samed arrived from Clermont to replace Doucoure and his presence has ensured Seko Fofana has continued to thrive.

On the staffing front, Ghisolfi was replaced by Thil, who had been his deputy. And promoting internally has brought rewards.

“It’s something I have done in business,” Oughourlian says. “I like to promote people. In business in general, people like to think the grass is greener somewhere. But you always have talent at home if you look around and if you’re a bit patient. Let them thrive, give them the means to thrive. That’s very important.”

The best promotion the club have made, without doubt, was Haise from B-team manager to the first-team job. His appointment, replacing Philippe Montanier in February 2020, was his first senior role in management. As a player, his career was mainly confined to France’s lower divisions, before moving through various coaching posts and eventually joining Lens in the summer of 2017, having been an assistant and (briefly the previous season) caretaker manager at Lorient.

“Franck embodies the values of our club,” says Oughourlian. “We wanted to promote him because he had done a very good job with our B team. It was important to create a bridge between the local talent and the first team. That’s still part of our ambition, to promote youth.”

Haise was this week named Ligue 1 coach of the year (Photo: Bertrand Guay/AFP via Getty Images) Haise has been the driving force behind the team. They have channelled the energy cultivated at the Bollaert into their style of play, a variation of a 3-4-3. But it is getting the most out of the available talent that makes the 52-year-old stand out.

There are jewels in the team; Fofana is the engine of their success, a complete midfielder who can dominate in both boxes, while Openda has shown an impressive eye for goal. Kevin Danso, a central defender who spent the 2019-20 season with Southampton, has finally found his footing under Haise while Brice Samba, who was key to Nottingham Forest winning Premier League promotion last May, was named Ligue 1 goalkeeper of the year this weekend.

But this is a team built on a collective spirit and that is typified by those who have progressed with the club.

Gradit, a smart central defender, was a part of the 2019-20 promotion-winning side and is now holding his own in the top flight at age 30. A decade ago, he was playing amateur football after a blood infection left him in intensive care, which took a year out of his career and scuppered his hopes of breaking through at Bordeaux. After five years with Ligue 2 side Tours, he got released, had a season with top-flight Caen, then moved to Lens in the summer of 2019.

Florian Sotoca has a similar story. The versatile 32-year-old has mainly featured in an attacking role playing behind the striker, and has scored seven goals and provided nine assists in Ligue 1 this year. He was also playing amateur football as recently as 2013, while working with his uncle, a wholesaler who resold shoes, to pay the bills.

“There are a group of players who experienced Ligue 2, that COVID-19 season, but today what we are experiencing is quite extraordinary,” Sotoca told the media after the Ajaccio game, standing alongside Gradit and soaked in Champagne. “We work a lot, we have benchmarks, we have never given up, even those who have not played a lot, they have always been there. ”

All of this has been achieved in union with the fans.

The ultras at the Bollaert are situated in the Marek-Xerxes Stand, which is not behind the goal as in so many cases, such as Anfield’s Kop, but runs alongside the pitch. The atmosphere is electric and unique. Last August, after a summer of speculation, Fofana signed a new contract there in front of 37,161 people after a 5-2 win over Lorient.

Following matches, the players have gone over to the Marek to share the victory with their supporters and sing On Les A Chicote, with a player leading the chant. Haise himself was the frontman after they beat PSG 3-1 on New Year’s Day, ending the Parisians’ 23-match unbeaten run in all competitions to start this season.

Lens have an exceptional home record this season of 17 wins, one draw and one defeat. It’s the best in Ligue 1. Those results speak for themselves.

French clubs that poke the PSG bear often find that their star talents are whisked away in the season that follows. It was the fate that met Monaco after their title triumph in 2016-17, and also Lens’ neighbours Lille after they were champions two years ago.

The vultures are circling again.

Haise has been linked with a Premier League move and with Marseille. Openda has caught the eye of AC Milan. Danso and Fofana, who have made the Ligue 1 team of the season with colleagues Openda and Samba, are expected to have suitors, too.

For Oughourlian, it is inevitable.

“You try and anticipate it as much as you can,” he says. “First, no one is irreplaceable — especially at Lens, as it’s a team effort. That’s part of business, of sport. You’re going to lose key players. Key staff. We might lose some key players (this summer), and that’s fine. The chance is lower (now they are) in the Champions League, players may hesitate before leaving. The Premier League could approach any player and may have a shot.

“But there is a good counterexample to that — Brice Samba, our goalkeeper who was with Nottingham Forest. They were promoted last season into the Premier League and we convinced him to come play for us. The reason is very simple. It’s the Spanish saying: ‘Would you rather be the head of the mouse or would you rather be the tail of the lion?’ What’s more interesting for you? To be avoiding relegation in the EPL or to be playing for Europe?’

“But if a bigger club came for our players, a top-10 Premier League club, it would be hard to resist. Financially, we couldn’t.”

Competing with the biggest teams consistently will be a challenge. But Oughourlian looks at examples around Europe of teams with smaller budgets who have found a way to thrive, such as Brighton, Brentford, Villarreal and Atalanta.

He speaks positively about Lens’ youth set-up too. The training ground, La Gaillette, which was opened in 2002, has nurtured talents including Raphael Varane, Serge Aurier, Thorgan Hazard and Geoffrey Kondogbia.

Varane (right), now at Manchester United, came through at Lens (Photo: Kenzo Tribouillard/AFP via Getty Images) “You just have to be smarter,” Oughourlian says. “Lean and mean. Which is the same in any business. There’s always an 800-pound gorilla, but the smaller guys still exist too. There are 17 other teams PSG will need to play against.

“The difficulty is always the same (for clubs such as Brighton and Villarreal) — to maintain your position and not go up the stairs to fall down the elevator shaft. The key for us is to remain agile, disciplined and careful, because, for us, a mistake can be lethal. Whereas a PSG can make more mistakes and weather them.”

Budget-wise, returning to the Champions League will be transformative.

Oughourlian started at Lens with a €17million budget in Ligue 2. Next season, that will rise to €120million. He is conscious of not raising expectations too high. “We’re the underdogs; yes, in the Champions League but even in the French league, trying to make the top six,” he says. “Our budget this year was around 12th, or around one off that. That we finished second is surprising, and remarkable.

“We also have a commitment to the local people that the price of tickets will remain affordable. We have to be very careful to control prices.”

He is open to outside investment and says he has been talking to possible new partners and has been approached. But he is cautious.

“It’s a special place, Lens,” he says. “PSG is the company of the world. It’s owned by Qatar, it’s Paris. It’s international. It’s a natural thing for them for an American or Middle Eastern investor to come in. Here, you have to be careful about who you bring in. That it’s not just a question of money. It’s also a question of finding the right partner.”

Oughourlian is also the majority owner of Padova, in Italy’s third division, while he has invested in Millonarios of Bogota in Colombia’s top division, and Real Zaragoza, in Spain’s second tier, where he is a minority shareholder. Those stakes are not seen as being parts of a multi-club-model framework, which is not on the cards for Lens.

“If I sold Lens to Arsenal or Chelsea, that would make sense for them,” he says. “They could centralise French talent, train them. But Lens would be a feeder club. No interest to play in Europe. That would be damaging for our fans.”

While challenges again await off the field, the Champions League will return to the Bollaert this September. Its iconic anthem boomed around the ground on Saturday night to a rapturous ovation, the excitement palpable not only on the terraces but out on the pitch too.

“(The Champions League) is the result of all the work, of all the sacrifices,” said Samba after the game. “Everyone is rewarded, individuals also stand out, and everyone has put their stone in the building (the team has built). We can only be proud. For me, it is pride. When I arrived here, it was to put Lens back as high as possible.”

And for the club president who has helped to make it all happen, have this northern club got under his skin?

“Definitely,” Oughourlian says. “Especially after six years where it’s not all been easy. In football, there’s always an element of hazard, so when the going gets good, you better make the most of it. Enjoy the moment.”

On Saturday’s evidence, that seems to be the case in Lens.

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