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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

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36. Angel

prompt used - Lifting the other one up | fluff | mentions of f*cking | to @drarry-is-my-therapy because she's an angel and it's her birthday. Happy Birthday love.

The drowning sun reflected over the stagnant waters, making it glow in red and yellow, the soft breeze humming in their ears as they Walked barefoot with their shoes in their hands intensely conversing about the movie they had watched a week ago. It was in a faint hesitation harry spoke up to the silver boy glowing in golden.

" think we should try to recreate that scene where he picks the girl up in the air, for fun "

" oh yes, golden boy, as if it's that easy "

" it seemed easy" harry shrugged.

Draco contemplated for a moment, he would be lying to himself if he said that he didn't wanted to try it out but it seemed far too risky

" it wasn't "

And yet somehow harry with his amazing pursuing skills had convinced draco to recreate that specific dance scene from dirty dancing.

" I can't believe you're making me do this " draco shook his head as his rubbed his palms together as if he was getting ready.

" just run alright, I'll catch you. Just trust me " harry motioned his hands in a gesture to indicate draco to run towards him

" that's the problem, I trust you too much " and with that Draco ran forward towards Harry and just when it came for harry to catch him, he stepped aside, making him fall on face over the beach sand.

" what the fuck was that for?" Draco looked up from the ground at harry

" I'm sorry, I just got scared. It suddenly seemed scary, I'm sorry , fuck I should've said something-"

" damn right you should've said something " draco groaned, half wet from falling over the sand and his hair covered in sand itself.

" I'm sorry, I really am " harry nervously said as draco flipped so he was facing harry

" you bloody idiot " draco grimaced

" sorry " harry pressed his lips in a thin line and offered his hand for draco to take, which obviously in his pride he didn't take and swatted Harry's hand away.

"fuck " and just in the moment harry immediately grabbed onto draco's waist and helped him stand

" are you alright ?" Harry asked concerned

" I think- I sprained my ankle you dimwit " draco grimaced in pain

" let's get you to hospital" and with that harry grabbed all his thing's and apparated them to a muggle hospital nearby.

" well, whatever happened, the sprain is a bit more severe, not that it's a fracture but it will take a few days to recover. So try not to walk too much and apply these ointments " the doctor with spectacles said

Draco shot harry a threatening glare before thanking the doctor and leaving with harry.

" I said I'm sorry " harry rolled his eyes at Draco, taking away the bag of ointments from him and his jacket too, leaving draco to carry nothing

" that doesn't change this sprain harry " draco rolled his eyes. Just as they stepped outside the doors of the clinic, draco winced.

" maybe we shouldn't apparate. I wouldn't want you to have any splinching " harry suggested

" I can't walk " draco responded.

" well, there's not much option-"

" carry me " draco smuggly said as if he was waiting to say this for a long time

" what?" Harry questioned, somewhat shocked at such a proposal

" yes carry me. It will compensate for you causing this injury and we'll go home too. It's not that far anyway " draco frowned trying to explain harry how it wasn't such a bad idea.

" I- well it only makes sense though " harry pouted looking at the road ahead, thinking about how far he'd had to go.

" you've not more options. Give me a piggy back ride. I'm sure the flirtatious doctor would appreciate it "

" one,he wasn't flirting with me and second you're very demanding "

" you wanna fight me ?" Draco raised his eyebrows in a threatening way

Harry chuckled " Darling, I think you'd definitely lose. Now hop on" he kneeled onto the ground for draco to cling his arms and legs around him.

" don't drop me " draco said as he finally put his arms around Harry's neck. In a Swift move, harry put his arms under draco's thighs and got up.

" wow, you weigh too much. Draco I think you're getting fat " harry teased as he hopped draco a little to get a good grip then finally started walking

" I have not " draco hit Harry's head Playfully, adjusting his face in Harry's neck, breathing into it

" are you sure, because I think otherwise"

" please I work out. Have you seen yourself ?"

" you mean being fit and having a good physique, thank you very much "

As much as draco wanted to deny that, he didn't because God knows why he had Always adored Harry's body. Well adore is a bit too smooth of a word for saying he had always found himself staring at harry if he ever got a chance. It was so finely carved with all the curves and abs at the right places, the toned muscles, the slightly broad shoulders with perfectly not too much toned arms and a perfect arse. Draco every once in a while allowed himself to gawk like an owl at harry, but never would he ever admit that harry was considerably hot, especially whenever harry wore draco's sweater.

" whatever " draco rolled his eyes hoping he had not blushed.

They talked on their way over, giggling about things, making jokes about each other, discussing celebrity crushes. Harry felt odd with draco breathing on his neck. He had never felt this way before, the way draco's giggles in his ears sounded so soft and his breathing down his neck causing shivers and the smile he'd feel over his neck caused a fluttering effect in his stomach, like butterflies and the way draco just seemed to talk today was so different that harry wondered how had he never admired his voice before, of his hands, or his fingers or his laughter, everything about him but whatever it was, harry enjoyed feeling it. It was new and Harry was a sucker for new things.

Just as they reached draco's flat, harry first helped him get waters, then taking him to his bedroom while harry fetched the ointments he left at the kitchen table top. When harry returned to his room, he only found draco standing with his sprained leg spread out, without a shirt. He did work out, and it seemed pretty hot..

" what ?" Draco asked when he saw harry simply staring at him

"you're fat " Harry lied blushing, keeping the ointments on the bed

" well, thank you harry for thinking I'm hot " Draco smirked, putting on a new shirt. Harry allowed himself to stare at his soft chest, the left part of his chest covered with a phoenix tattoo, the v line disappearing under his pants and his abs glowing softly in the dim room light and the way draco was putting on a shirt, Harry only wondered why ?

But before could notice harry practically lusting over him, he had moved his eyes to the opposite side of the room, much to draco's disappointment.

" well, I'd come back later?" Harry asked

Draco thought for a moment before nodding " you're going to be at that get together at Ron's place, right " harry nodded " right, so pick me up. I don't think I'd be able to drive or apparate till then "

Harry nodded again before telling him when would be come to pick him up and finally going home with such eruptions of feelings he had once felt for Ginny, but something completely different. Harry didn't think much about it.

Over the next few days as harry spent picking up draco and helping him with regular things, he found it hard to resist himself from feeling things for him. Even if so he wanted to ignore them, he'd just find draco fondly looking at him and harry would blush like a flower and simply turn away, inappropriate thoughts rushing into his mind. The truth as harry spent thinking about in night was that, harry might've always liked draco in some way but right now, the way he felt just made him want to do things he could only possibly think of. But having learnt about heartbreak ages ago, he found himself Afraid of such feelings. He promised himself that he wouldn't fall for anyone who was just, ordinary but then again, draco wasn't ordinary.

The night finally came for the get together at Ron's place before he left for a 6 month mission to southern Europe and would not return until it's done. Despite the fact that it was a normal get together, everyone invited for forced not to dress too casual nor too formal, something harry never quite understood. Voila, comes the fashion king into his mind, draco. He had irrevocably amazing fashion sense and nobody could deny that so he picked up a few shirts, pants and jeans and drove to draco's place an hour early.

" you're early " Draco frowned as he opened the door wider for harry to come in

" fashion advice " and without a doubt draco understood what he meant..

They moved into the living room, draco settling down on the couch with harry standing in front of him with a bunch of clothes.

" what the hell not too casual and not too formal Is supposed to mean ?" Harry rolled his eyes as he dropped everything onto the chair.

" well technically it means the event is special but with close people. I have dibs on how maybe he's going to propose Hermione "

" you know what, I thought soo too " harry gossiped

" anyways, I think you should go with a nice pants and a button down shirt " draco suggested

" that's what I'm standing in " harry said with a as a matter of factedly face

" well- that's right. Show me what you got " draco ordered and one by one harry started showing him everything he could bring only for all of it to be rejected by him.

" well, we've run out of clothes " harry said as he looked down at the pile of shirts and pants on the other chair.

" that is true- you know what. I have a shirt for you, I bought it sometime ago but it's a bit lose and you can just pair it up with any of the black pants "

" what are you waiting for then. Show me " harry excitedly said

" well a fractured man can only walk so fast "

" you don't have a fracture "

" but I can take the advantage of saying that " Draco's voice echoed as he walked down the hallway into his bedroom, fetched the shirt and came back.

" I've got to admit you're quite dramatic. I'm pretty sure the sprain is fine by now. It doesn't even have a swelling " harry said as he took the shirt from draco's hands

" what do you know " draco narrowed his eyes at harry before settling down in the couch before harry.

Harry placed the blood red shirt over his chest, frowning at how good it looked

" didn't know you liked red now ?"

" rare occasions. Wear it. I've got to get ready too "

And with that Draco departed into his room to get ready. Harry had just began to put on his shirt when draco walked into the living room asking for something.

" oh " Draco's Throat echoed as he saw harry shirtless

" what ?"

" I didn't know you were- well undressed " draco blushed

" not like you haven't seen me this way before" Harry shrugged putting on the shirt.

Why, god, why, draco's inner voice screamed in lust.

" anyway- which one is better ?" Draco asked still blushing

" both are good draco. You've got a nice dressing sense "

" don't flatter me. I can't wear both, choose one " draco asked again. Harry scanned both the shirts.

" the light blue satin shirt. Makes your skin- eyes look good " harry Blushed.

Draco wondered what the fuck was harry blushing for when he was the one complimented with one of the finest compliments.

" I did not know that " draco said lowly

" well now you do " harry smiled. Draco nodded before walking away, the glimpse of harry rolling his sleeves invading his senses.

After about half an hour, they both were fully dressed and ready to go.

" you look good " harry complimented

" so do you " draco smiled in returned

" shall we ?" Harry as he pointed the door.

When Draco finally nodded, they both departed to Ron's place, realising the get together was at the roof top.

Half-way through the party, harry sensed Draco was probably right and was still finding it hard to not see Draco from all the way across the room. There was no men finer in the entire room other than him and harry hated it as much as he loved it. It was excruciating to find someone so attractive who was your best friend who you had no chance with but the desire to want him was longingly growing inside his chest.. he was so desirable across the entire room, bunched about with a few people, laughing and smiling over something harry couldn't possibly decipher. His thoughts ran in his head like an endless loop until the boy in Harry's desirable dreams saw him and paused his ongoing conversation and made his way towards harry. Caught in the act he tried to busy himself with the bottom of his shirt until the other man cleared his throat.

" oh, didn't see you there draco "

" right, so you were looking at ..."

" pansy. She looks good in that dress "

" Pansy isn't even here harry " draco chuckled, blocking Harry's line of sight.

" oh"

Draco genuinely smiled at harry knowing exactly that he wasn't the only boy caught in the loop of desiring the other.

" so you want to pretend that you weren't looking at me for half the party, not to mention with an admirable gaze " draco smirked crossing his arms in front of him

" that would be nice " harry frowned lightly

" well then I have to pretend that I wasn't checking you out back at the flat almost as admirably as you were " Draco smugly said as he shifted besides harry, standing against the railing..

" as long as we're pretending then I think I'll pretend I didn't check you out a couple of days ago when you were changing " harry replies smiling, almost liking this pretend game.

" okay then, I'll pretend that I haven't checked you out everytime you're shirtless, or everytime you wear one of my sweater or when you ruffle your hair " draco smirked. Harry raised an eyebrow at Draco, slightly amused

" then I'll pretend that I didn't enjoy carrying you on mu back a few days ago because I got to be close with you " harry smirked

" then I'll pretend that I don't like being this close to you " draco said as he stepped forward..

" then I'll pretend that I don't have these fluttering feelings for you which seems to invade all my senses "

" I'll pretend that I haven't liked you for almost forever "

" then I'll pretend that I don't want to take you home right now "

" I'll pretend I didn't agree "

______________________________

" I knew you bought that shirt for me " harry lazily smiled as he softly grazed draco's naked arms spread over his chest covered on blankets

" don't flatter yourself potter " draco rolled his eyes as he snuggled further into harry

" fine I won't but doesn't stop me from teasing you about how you let me fuck almost 5 times last night alone " harry grinned cheekily as if it was proud achievement

" If you do it again, you are going to regret it " Draco softly threatened

" well you did let me, not once, not twice, not thrice, not fou- what's the word- four times , five times-"

" you're an asshole " draco rolled his eyes

" well I'd like to be your asshole, if you want me to be ?" Harry asked, worried if he had ruined the conversation by bringing this up.

" if you don't shut up and let me sleep, I won't let you be my asshole but if you do, I'd let you be so much more " draco yawned, tired from all the activities from last night.

Harry chuckled at the lightness of the tone before kissing the top of draco's forehead.

" sweet dreams angel "

And draco hummed, falling fast asleep again in Harry's arm..

Unedited

Day 35 - every inch of you | Day 37- you're my home, draco

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allie1804-fan · 3 years

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Kerensa

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Parting Is such sweet sorrow

There was just over a week before Keanu was due to head home. He was browsing in the Round House Gallery on the Harbour front for gifts to take home - he’d already bought an oil painting of Tresco from there for himself, arranging for it to be shipped home.

At the counter, a flyer advertising a production of “Romeo and Juliet” being staged at the Minack theatre caught his eye – The Minack is a famed open air theatre carved into the dramatic clifftop above Porth Curno. He took a flyer back to the cottage and showed it to Kerry suggesting they get tickets.

The night arrived and, at her suggestion based on previous experience, they took a couple of cushions to sit on and a rug for their knees to guard against the cold as night fell. The weather is mild in Cornwall but it was still only late May and temperatures would drop as it’s still cool at night.

Before the start, they bought some hot Cornish pasties and a bottle of red to share. The wine came with little re-usable cups with a cute image of the theatre printed on them that they could take home afterward as a keepsake. With pasties eaten, it was time for the rug which Kerry tucked around them both and they settled down, knees pressed together, to enjoy the show. During the show, Kerry could see Keanu silently mouthing some of the lines, especially Mercutio’s - he explained during the interval that it had been one of his earliest roles, aged at 21 for the Leah Posluns Theatre in Ontario.

The show ended to rapturous applause under the spotlights and with the moonlight sparkling on the sea below it was really a breath-taking spectacle.

They lingered a little in their seats while the crowd made its way up the steps to the exit. When it had cleared a little Keanu suggested they take in the beach before heading back to Sennen. They had a little time before their taxi came which they’d booked knowing they’d be having a drink and that the Cornish roads at night did not favour a driver with even just one drink inside them!

They stood on the sand, gazing up at the cliffs and stars - Kerry was tilting her head back so much she nearly lost her balance! You could see the main constellations really clearly and it was fun to name them. Keanu was enthralled by her wonderment - she looked so beautiful gazing up at the midnight blue sky and the clifftop theatre, her face lit up by the moon. She shivered a little with the cold breeze off the sea and he took the rug from her hands and threw it around her. As he tucked it around her, they smiled at each other. Her eyes had a twinkle, one he recognised from their time in Tresco when they’d got a bit giggly drinking in the New Inn and he remembered the same look when he’d said goodnight to her after they’d got drunk in the pub at Sennen with her sister. Her guard was down and the affection she felt was clear in her eyes. He stepped closer to her, still holding the edges of the rug in each hand. A voice in his head said this was rash but he couldn’t help it. Scrunching the rug up and using it to pull her to him, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. His arms slipped around her and the kiss deepened but just as their tongues touched and he felt virtual fireworks going off in his head, she pulled away, pushing on his chest and breaking their kiss.

Swallowing thickly and clearly holding back tears, she blurted out:

“No stop, we can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t - you’re going home soon and this, this will make it hurt even more”

She looked down at her feet, shoulders slumped, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, I know shouldn’t have done that, it’s just, God, you’re so beautiful tonight and I feel so much for you and it all just came spilling out, you know, in the moment.”

She took his hand in hers, softly rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

“Thank you” She sighed heavily “I feel so much for you too - just protecting my poor old heart I guess.”

He nodded, his expression as sad and wistful as hers. They were quiet on the climb back up to the car park from the beach. It was steep and a bit treacherous in the dark so she relented on one aspect of physical closeness and let him hold her hand up the path, dropping it when they got to the car park where the taxi was just pulling in. On the way back to Sennen she took the front seat and he the back. Keanu cursed himself for his impetuousness whilst also pondering that it had surely been a long time since a kiss had made him feel something so intensely. Once back in Sennen they said their goodnights with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Keanu slept terribly, tossing and turning all night, dreaming of Kerry, of kissing her, of Kerry naked rising and falling above him, taking him inside her, her hair cascading over her shoulders. He woke with a start, grateful he hadn’t had a wet dream, then relieved his pent-up lust in his morning shower, pressing his head against the glass after he’d cum, finally letting tears of regret fall.

For the next two days, he didn’t see Kerry at all. Usually, they saw each other every day somehow or other but she was obviously avoiding him – he guessed she was taking Scout for super early walks knowing he wasn’t a naturally early riser.

On the third day and his last in Cornwall, he set an alarm for 6 AM and listened out for her leaving the house, then scrambled to get dressed and head out himself. He looked down the beach and could see she’d gone that way today so he’d be able to catch her up or meet her on the return leg of the walk. He had to apologise for the kiss.

In the end, he caught up on the outward leg as she’d stopped by the shore to let Scout run in and out of the waves and was just staring out to sea.

“Hey there!” he called.

“Hey” she said, her voice expressing her surprise.

“You’ve been avoiding me” he stated “So I set an alarm to make sure I could speak with you. Listen Kerry, about the other night. I’m so sorry, I know it was stupid and I’m sorry, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you – I was just so caught up in the moment, the beauty of it all. The play, the moonlight, the sea and the stars.”

“I know, and I know you’d never hurt me. You’re too kind for that” she smiled but it was with sad eyes.

“And I should be saying sorry too, for sneaking around avoiding you. I’ve been a coward. And I promised myself I would stop that behaviour, you know, after the divorce. I said I’d be true to myself and honest with people and I need to stick to it.”

Up to this point Kerry had been mainly looking down, almost talking to herself but now she drew in a shaky breath and looked him in the eye.

“I could fall, no let’s face it, I am falling in love with you and I know there’s no future for us and a fling or a one nighter would be wonderful in the moment but would just be too painful in the end so that’s why I’ve avoided you! And I’m sorry for that, there I’ve said it now”

She blew out another long breath and let her shoulders droop, relieved to have said her piece.

Keanu was taken aback. Half thrilled and half devastated. Why did this have to happen now and here, over 7000 miles from his home?

“I’m falling in love with you too” he said quietly, sadly “but you’re right my life’s back there in LA. I have to go, I have commitments ……….. meetings, another location shoot. I’m sorry.”

She moved closer, took his hand and kissed it.

“Just one of those things, huh?”

He nodded and pulled her into a bear hug, she pressed her face against his heart which he knew was beating a little faster than usual.

“Come on let’s go walk it off, up on the cliffs, let the fresh air clear our heads.” he suggested.

They headed off up the beach and onto the coast path towards Lands End. They walked mostly in silence, each thinking about what was around the corner for them, each heartsore that the other wasn’t part of their futures.

“You know, I’d like to stay in touch” Kerry offered as they paused for a while on the path when Scout went scurrying off after spotting a rabbit.

“I’d like that too” he paused “but maybe not too much, too soon, you know. I guess we both need some space to let this be a friendship we cherish and not something that makes us sad.

“deal” she said sticking her hand out to shake on it.

“deal” he smiled back but like hers, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The next day, Keanu left for home. She came into the cottage to tell him the taxi was out front.

They shared a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“We’ll keep in touch yeah?” he said.

“Yeah but remember not too much, no mooning!”

He laughed

“I’ll have you know I’m a veteran mooner” and he turned away from her pretending he was going to do the other kind of mooning, making her laugh. At least that broke the tension and he picked up his canvas hold all and his carry-on bag and with that, he was gone.

@fortheloveoffanfic@ladyreapermc@paperplanesandwallflowers@toomanystoriessolittletime@omg-imagine@fics-not-tragedies@ficsnroses@keanureevesisbae

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves #keanu #keanu reeves ofc

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faunusrights · 3 years

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Citrus Summers (GWS AU)

just had this idea nip into my head... i really wanna do more with menagerie and the scarlatina fam but for now have this lil snapshot of velvet growing up :)

great weiss shark au, weiss's pronouns are she/her, velvet's pronouns are she/they

###

"So, what was your hometown like?"

Velvet's used to Weiss's interest in her life; they come from two radically different ends of some bonkers spectrum of lifestyles, where one end (Velvet's) is radical self-acceptance, anti-cop sentiment, and a Scroll full to bursting with communist memes, whilst the other end (Weiss's) is... well, to be honest, Velvet doesn't like to think about what that end entails, exactly. All she knows is that it was exactly what a young shark Faunus without any clue as to her heritage didn't need. So, Velvet entertains her with stories of growing up in the deserts of Menagerie, of her time running along the trash-strewn beaches of Kuo Kuana, of her years shooting up like a weed under the relentless freckling kisses of the bright and vibrant sun.

Sometimes Velvet can tell she can't quite wrap her head around how different their lives are, yet have somehow ended up on such an intersection as to be able to call each other friends. Velvet just goes with the flow about it all.

"Well, we didn't have a hometown, really," Velvet starts, attention half-drawn to sets of plans scattered about her desk in her dorm. She's got big plans to improve Anesidora's projector and fix the information compression problems; drawing a flat 2D image into a 3D projection has always been a sticking point, but she's nearly got it down to the extent that her wireframe tests very nearly reveal the dents and dings and imperfections that it'd previously ironed out by mistake. Accuracy is key, and she crawls ever closer to a perfect 1-to-1 copy each and every day. It's just really boring work, is all. "We lived outside of the nearest town by a couple of miles, but we went there pretty regularly, so I guess you could call it that."

Weiss hums, letting herself fall back onto Velvet's unmade bed, the handwoven blankets of orange and black brought straight over from the homeland and still gritty with red dirt to prove it. "What's it called?"

"Desert Sands. Very original, I know."

"You know a lot of the people there?"

"Shit, they trade us meat and gas for potatoes and carrots and tomatoes, not to mention almost everyone there immigrated in a group with my grandparents. I know that town like my own family."

"What's your favourite thing there?"

That pulls Velvet up short, and she worries at her bottom lip as she stares as a variety of absolutely godawful equations. Thank the maidens Weiss has given her something meaty to say, because she can't bear the idea of redoing all this horrible maths. "Uh, probably the inn, as everyone else who lives there would say. Can't go wrong with a good old fashioned pint and a few rounds of pool."

"Even as a kid?" Weiss says, and Velvet can hear the raised brow even though she can't quite see it.

"Even as a kid," Velvet agrees. "My mam had a couple of pints and my da flirted with the guys and I'd go out with my siblings to meet our friends and raise a little hell. Not very often, but often enough."

Weiss goes sort of quiet, in a way that Velvet recognises as an intensive processing of what she's just heard. She wonders, briefly, if Weiss can even imagine that sort of freedom after a childhood spent locked in the same old rooms of the same old house--even when it's as big as the Schnee manor--and then pushes that thought away. If Weiss wants to ever get into all that, it'll be in her own time.

"Describe it to me?" Weiss asks in a very little voice after a few seconds, and Velvet nods. She can do that. She remembers those halcyon days like they were yesterday.

###

"Trench, I swear, if you don't repaint those window sills I'm gonna sneak down here and do it myself, asshole."

This was about as typical an entry as Taffeta Scarlatina could ever make, shouldering open the dark wood door into the Desert Sands Inn with a grin on her face and children in tow, Ash bringing up the rear and trying to pretend he couldn't see everyone turn in their seats to look to the new arrivals. It was one of those establishments with a big boxy interior and just a handful of rooms to the side, where the only three doors led into the toilets and the kitchens and the stairwell to the rooms above, and much like everything else on Menagerie, nothing ever matched; the doors had been collected from a variety of sources, the floorboards uneven and scratched and recut, the paint on the walls patchy with mismatched shades and covered with picture frames in some last-ditch attempt to hide it. No two stools matched, no three tables carved by the same hand, but that was the price of the community effort--everything you ever needed, maybe just not in the way you always expected.

"Taffeta," Trench greeted from behind the bar, turning to fetch a pair of glasses without prompting whilst making sure not to jostle the hanging bottles overhead with his great buffalo horns, split like a strange middle parting on the top of his head. "You're welcome to it, to be frank; Cinna doesn't have a clue where she's put the paint, last we saw it."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, letting go of Velvet's hand to pat her between her ears instead, the ten year old quick to laugh and duck away. "I'm sure. Not at all like I said I have some lying around the last three times I was here. You really that scared of scraping all that flaking paint off?"

"Well," Trench said after a moment, leaning under the bar for a second. "I did get some in my eyes last time, and boy, that hurted. You want your usual?"

"Pint of porter for me, and something weak for my pretty boy, lest he forget which way is up," Taffeta agreed, shooting a wink Ash's way and cackling when he blushed. "And some juice boxes for the kids?"

Trench didn't even pause, turning about to fish out a variety of colourful cartons adorned with a collection of cartoon characters, and Taffeta lifted Velvet up to plop her onto one of the few cushioned stools, Chiffon quick to use her older, longer limbs to scramble her own way up. Trench offered the drinks out freely, letting them decide between orange and passionfruit flavours, before noticing the new addition on Ash's hip. "Oh? This the newest Scarlatina?"

Satin--hardly a year old--was clinging to her da's loose shirt, dark eyes looking about in wonder, and Taffeta smiled before reaching over to brush her loose, light hair out of her eyeline. "Sure is. Gettin' real big already, so we thought it was high time to meet the folks around here. She won't be the last, though." At that, Taffeta leant across the bar, dropping her voice low. "Would you believe me if I said Ash is already askin' for the next one?"

"Slander," Ash shot back, face still pink. "I just said four is a rounder number than three."

Trench made a face, glancing pointedly away. "My girl woulda mounted my horns on the wall for that one. We had just the one and she swore off the rest before I could even consider it. Count yourself lucky."

"Cinnamon's a good kid," Ash offered, rearranging Satin to sit a little nicer in his lap. "I think that all worked out in the end."

Taffeta rolled her eyes, watching as Velvet picked the orange juice for herself, leaving the eldest to the passionfruit. "Doesn't that imply we have so many 'cause you don't think just one was good enough? Chiff's a darling, if a bit of a pain in my ass, huh, baby?"

Chiffon ignored them both to instead help Velvet punch the straw into the carton, and Ash grinned. "Just one was perfect, but you told me yourself that you don't think I know when to fold."

"You don't," Trench interjected, pouring out a pint of something dark and bitter enough to linger on the tongue. "When we played poker last year... phew. Thank the maidens it was a couple's night, else you woulda been walking home absolutely stark--"

"--drunk," Taffeta quickly interrupted, glancing towards the kids who stared back with wide eyes. "Been walking home absolutely stark... trashed. Wasted. Uh, Trench, what's on the menu today, whilst it's on my mind?"

As they discussed the menu (Taffeta eager to point out the contributions of the family crops, asking, overly sweetly, and who traded you those lovely chickens? they must have been very generous), Chiffon turned to Ash in her seat, legs swinging freely, bumping into the overly-varnished wood of the bar. "Da? Can me 'n Velv go out and play?"

"Sure can, kiddo," Ash said, though he was quick to grab Chiffon's arm before she could throw herself off the stool with the straw still in her mouth. "Woah, take that out first before you end up swallowing it. You remember the rules?"

Chiffon nodded, face cast all seriously. "Don't go outta town. Be back before dark. If someone tries to bully us, punch 'em in the nose."

"And?" Ash added, drawing his brows together.

Velvet chirped up. "Cops aren't friends!"

At that, Ash broke out into a grin, as bright as Velvet's and twice as toothy. "That's right. You go have fun, and don't eat too many snacks; we're having dinner here before we go home."

Chiffon slid free of her stool, turning about to help Velvet down too, and then the pair scampered towards the door with a harmonised yes da! before pulling it open to the main road outside, the sunlight blisteringly bright, the sky an endless, cloudless blue overhead. The paint on the windowsill peeled off and flecked away, and under their shoes, the ground crunched.

Everything tasted of oranges.

###

Weiss sits silently.

"Did you get back before dark?"

Velvet snorts, sitting back in her chair until it creaks dangerously below. "Just about, though my mam didn't look all that impressed. Still, can't do much about it; we didn't even have, like, landline calls back then, let alone Scrolls and shit."

Weiss laughs to herself, rolling over and tucking her legs up onto Velvet's bed until she's curled atop the blankets, running a thumb over the wool quietly, repetitively. Truth is, they still smell of Menagerie, of home; Velvet could wash it a thousand times, but the earthy scent of hot summers and prickling scrublands sticks like its own aura.

"I'm jealous," Weiss says simply, and then she draws the blankets up to partly cocoon herself, tight across the ribs, loose about the ankles. "Will I... would you show me it, sometime? If I went there?"

It's sweet. Velvet wishes she could travel through time and show it to Weiss from the start; she wishes she could have told her what she would have, in the future. Look, see? This is real. You can have this too. Happiness doesn't only exist for people far away; you get to feel this, too.

"Of course," Velvet says with a smile, instead. "Bold if you to think my parents don't demand they meet every single last one of my friends."

Weiss grins back, all shark-toothed and sharp, and Velvet likes how it looks on her face. It took her team months to eek it out of her more often than every couple of weeks, but now, it's practically daily. "I'm afraid the offer doesn't extend back to you."

"Thanks the maidens," Velvet says, very seriously. "Because if I ever meet your dad, I'm setting his car alight."

#rwby #weiss schnee #velvet scarlatina #gws au #great weiss shark #its one of those tags #my writing #just a lil thing #(taffeta paints the windows as payment for the beer)

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

Text

Sunset Swerve - Part 2

Pairing: Luke x OC

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: one character has a panic attack, mentions of death (specifically death of self and death of family members)

A/N: Here’s part two! We’re still in episode 2 but I had some more things I needed to establish about Jordan before we could get to the Bright performance and I’m kinda liking the shorter chapters for this. Let me know what you think and send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged!

Part 1 Masterlist

___

“Why are you in a cemetery?” Alex asked when he finally found Jordan.

The dark-haired girl was sitting on the ground facing away from him with her knees pulled up to her chest.

“I was hoping my grave would absorb me so I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever the hell this is.” She didn’t even turn to acknowledge the boy’s arrival, her eyes still trained on the tombstone in front of her.

“Huh,” Alex said under his breath, lost for words. “I figured you’d, like, go to your parents’ house or something, someplace familiar. We went to the Orpheum our first night.”

“That’s kinda depressing,” Jordan remarked, her tone emotionless as she stared straight ahead.

“Says the girl literally sitting on her grave.”

Jordan cracked a smile at that.

“There’s room for two if you don’t mind getting your pants dirty,” she offered, shifting her bag to the side to make room. “Is that even possible anymore?”

Alex shook his head, taking a seat beside her, arms wrapped around his knees as he mirrored her position. “Reggie sat in the sand at the beach today and didn’t have any issues.”

Jordan sighed, “Well, I guess that’s one pro to being a ghost, no sand where sand shouldn’t be.”

Alex laughed and Jordan turned her head slightly to look at him.

“So they sent you, huh?”

“Nah,” Alex breathed, “I volunteered.”

Jordan cocked her head, looking at him fully now. “Why?”

“I don’t know…. You just seemed overwhelmed and I figured Luke wasn’t gonna help any.”

Jordan nodded, turning back towards her tombstone. It was unnerving to look at, her name carved into the stone even though she was still walking, talking, living. At least that’s what it felt like, but she knew that six feet below her was her body, probably very decomposed by now and oh my god- Jordan started to shake, her thoughts becoming more panicked.

“Woah, hey, Jordan are you okay?” Alex asked, alarmed by the sudden change in her demeanor. Her breaths were becoming shorter and more frequent and she was practically vibrating with the way she was shaking.

She shook her head in response to Alex’s question, unable to tear her eyes away from her name. “I can’t breathe she gasped,” which only caused more panic from her. “Ghosts can’t breathe, why-“ A sob wracked through her, cutting her off.

“We gotta get you out of here,” Alex muttered, wrapping his arms around her and poofing them out.

They landed with a light thud on the floor of the garage and Alex pulled himself away from the now crying girl.

“Okay, Jordan, can you look at me?” Alex asked softly, moving to sit cross-legged in front of her. “Okay, let’s do a breathing square, yeah? Breathe in on the up, breathe out on the down, and hold in between okay?”

He started drawing slow squares in the air with his finger and repeating the instructions as he went. It was a couple of minutes still before the girl’s breaths became somewhat regular.

“Good, okay. Now name five things you can see.”

“Rug, coffee table, piano, you, window.” She answered through shaky breaths.

“Alright now four things you can feel?”

“I can’t feel anything!” She snapped, panic starting to well up again.

“Hey, hey, that’s not true,” Alex soothed, placing his hand in hers. “You can feel me, right?”

Jordan nodded and took another shaky breath before continuing.

“Okay, um, you, the ground, I can feel my shoes? And my bag?” She said unsure.

“Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense but yeah,” Alex affirmed. “Three things you can hear?”

“You, the air conditioning, and myself.” She answered faster and more confidently.

“Two things you can smell.”

“Uh, fret polish and dust.”

“Good. One thing you can taste.”

“I don’t know what the inside of my mouth tastes like right now but I’m glad it’s not poisonous hot dogs.” She answered, letting out a genuine sigh of relief.

Alex smiled.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked after a moment, lightly squeezing the hand that he was still holding.

“Uh, better. Still kinda shaky.” Jordan laughed awkwardly, pulling her hand away to play with the hair ties around her other wrist. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” Alex waved it off and Jordan rolled her eyes. “I get it, y’know? I mean, I cried for twenty-five years. That’s one hell of a breakdown.”

Jordan laughed for real at that and Alex joined in, the pair sharing an understanding smile.

“Oh hey, you’re back!” Reggie exclaimed as he poofed back into the garage, “Ooh, are we sitting on the floor?” He gasped excitedly before plopping down next to the pair.

Jordan tilted her head and narrowed her eyes curiously at the boy. The three of them sat in silence for a minute, Jordan and Alex staring at Reggie while the dark-haired boy grinned contently.

“So, why are we sitting on the floor?” Reggie finally asked, breaking the silence and Alex sighed while Jordan barked out a laugh.

“We just felt like it,” she lied and Reggie shrugged, seemingly content with that answer. “Where’s Luke?”

“I dunno,” Reggie shrugged. “He left a little bit after you guys did.”

Jordan nodded and stood up, dusting off her pants before remembering she didn’t have to do that anymore, and headed for the door with Alex following suit.

“Wait, where are you going?” Reggie questioned, not quite catching on as he scrambled to his feet.

“Seriously man?” Alex raised his eyebrows at the other boy.

“Ohhh, to find Luke, right,” Reggie realized and Alex rolled his eyes following Jordan through the garage door.

Jordan turned around as she stepped through the door, thinking decidedly that she’d need to get used to that because it was really weird. In her distraction, she had stopped paying attention to where she was going and ended up walking right into the boy she was looking for.

As she stumbled backward, her hands reached out for something to grab onto, landing on his shoulders while his arm instinctively grabbed her waist, pulling her against his chest. Jordan was certain they’d never been this close to each other before and as she looked up at his face she could see the rings of gold around his pupils, the creases around his eyes and mouth from smiling, the slight dryness of chapped lips. When her gaze returned to his eyes she found them peering into her own and she swallowed roughly at the intensity of his gaze.

After what felt like an eternity but was realistically only a few seconds, Luke cleared his throat, averting his eyes and stepping away from Jordan and she did the same, trying desperately to fight the heat in her cheeks.

“Oh, hey! You found Luke!” Reggie exclaimed as he and Alex stepped out of the garage.

“Uh, yeah! He just got back?” Jordan responded, looking anywhere but at Luke as she stepped further away.

“Yeah, sorry about just disappearing,” Luke apologized. “I just needed some air.”

Reggie nodded, accepting the excuse at face value but Alex looked between the two skeptically, clearly noticing something that Reggie hadn’t.

“I wonder what Ray is up to today?” Reggie thought aloud, his mind clearly having wandered.

“Who’s Ray?” Jordan asked Alex in a whisper, watching as Reggie stared thoughtfully at the home.

“It’s Julie’s dad,” Alex answered and Jordan just looked more confused.

“Okay, who’s Julie?” She asked, brows raised expectantly.

“Oh, right! She’s the girl who brought us back. She can see us,” Alex summarized quickly and Jordan nodded.

“And her family lives here now?” She asked, gathering up the context clues and Alex nodded.

“So when do I get to meet her?”

“Uh, well, she’s at school right now,” Alex explained.

“She’s trying to get back into her music program,” Luke added in, and Jordan jumped slightly, not expecting the boy to interact with her. “That girl is wicked talented.”

The boys began to explain the rest to her as they followed Reggie who had started wandering up to the house.

Somehow they had ended up in Julie’s bedroom, the four ghosts scattered around the immaculately decorated space.

“You understand that this is incredibly invasive, right?” Jordan questioned as she sat in the corner while the guys poked and prodded through Julie’s bedroom.

Jordan hadn’t met the girl yet, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t want them in her room, especially not trying to rifle through her belongings like Luke was.

“She said we could stay here,” Luke defended, climbing up on a stool to get a closer look at one of Julie’s shelves.

“She said you could be in her bedroom and go through all her stuff?” Jordan asked skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow to express her disbelief.

“Well… We…” Luke fumbled and Jordan rolled her eyes.

“So you have no excuse.”

“What? don’t tell me you’re not curious,”

“Curious? Yes. Rude? No.” Jordan quipped and Luke rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, before the two could get into another fight, the door opened and a girl who couldn’t have been much younger than any of them walked in. Based on the photos placed around the room and the context of their location Jordan assumed it must’ve been Julie.

“What are you guys doing in my room?” She gasped, clearly angry and Jordan smirked at Luke triumphantly.

The guys all started speaking with various “Umm’s” and ‘Uhhh’s” all trying to come up with an excuse before Luke, frozen in place atop the ottoman, said, “We were looking for the kitchen.”

Jordan rolled her eyes at the terrible excuse and Julie did the same.

“This… This can’t happen, it’s creepy,” Julie said, staring pointedly at the boys as she waved her fingers, before adding to Reggie, “Get off my bed please.”

As Reggie scrambled off of the bed Luke turned the attention back to himself as he raised his hand, “Hey Julie, what’s in the box?”

“That’s off-limits.”

“Oh, okay, girl stuff,” Luke replied, smiling as if he understood and Reggie jumped in excitedly,

“Ooh, like butterflies and glitter?”

“Oh c’mon,” Alex groaned.

“You guys are idiots,” Jordan stated at the same time, rolling her eyes.

“Woah! Who said you could invite ghost friends to my house?” The girl exclaimed, apparently just noticing Jordan’s presence.

“Well, we didn’t invite her exactly,” Alex started before Luke took over.

“We kinda summoned her this morning while you were at school.” He lifted his hands as if to say ‘oops?’ “Like how you accidentally summoned us yesterday.”

“You summoned a ghostly stranger to my house?!” Julie exclaimed, becoming gradually more heated.

“Jordan isn’t a stranger!” Reggie piped up, “She died with us!”

“So how come she didn’t come back with you guys?”

“Cause I wasn’t part of Dumb-set Curve,” Jordan answered and Luke glared at her for mocking their band.

“At least we were better than Asshole 81,” He shot back and Alex and Reggie sighed.

“Real clever,” Jordan scoffed, “How long have you been holding onto that one? Twenty-five years?”

“They’ve kinda always had this rivalry,” Alex explained to Julie as Luke and Jordan continued to bicker in the background. “Jordan was the leader of our rival band, Apollo 81.”

Julie sighed, mumbling a sarcastic “Great,” as she watched the two, their faces now inches away from one another as they hurled insults back and forth.

“Hey! I picked something up!” Alex said excitedly, effectively gaining everyone’s attention as he walked towards the bed, picture frame in his hands before his concentration slipped and it fell, landing softly on Julie’s comforter. “I dropped it.”

“Is that your mom?” Luke asked, leaning over Alex to get a look at the photo.

“Yes, and it’s my favorite picture of us so if you break it, I’ll break you.” Julie threatened, snatching the frame up from the bed and placing it on her nightstand.

“Okay, well, sorry cause we’re kinda unbreakable at this point,” Alex pointed out.

“I don’t get it, you guys can mess up my bed, pick up your instruments, but you can’t pick up other stuff?”

“I know, right? It’s hard, but for some reason our instruments are easy.” Luke elaborated and Jordan frowned thoughtfully, all of this new information to her.

“Yeah, super easy! Check out what I learned today!” Reggie said, standing excitedly only to fall back down as his bass appeared on top of him.

“I’m sorry, we can summon our instruments?” Jordan asked incredulously.

The guys all nodded, Reggie explaining that you just had to wish for it. Jordan closed her eyes, concentration on the first instrument of hers she could think of. She gasped at the impact as suddenly she was gripping her electric cello.

“You play the cello?” Julie asked, sounding confused.

“I was classically trained,” Jordan explained, “But when we started Apollo 81 I taught myself electric, amongst other instruments. We were working on incorporating the cello into some of our songs before I, y’know…”

“What other instruments can you play?” Julie asked curiously and Luke groaned.

“Ignore him, he’s just upset because he knows I’m more talented than he is,” Jordan waved the boy off and Luke glared.

“Just because you can play more instruments than me doesn’t make you more talented,” He spoke, “Quantity doesn’t trump quality.”

Jordan just rolled her eyes before turning back to Julie, “I can play just about every string instrument you can name - I grew up taking violin lessons before moving on to cello. I can also play piano and in middle school band I played the saxophone.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Julie nodded and Jordan smiled at the praise.

Luke huffed, reclaiming the room’s attention as he stepped back onto the ottoman.

“Julie,” he whined, gesturing to the box.

“Oh my gosh, I thought I told you to leave that alone!” The girl exclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest sternly.

“I know, and you should’ve just said nothing cause now I can’t stop thinking about it, so… What’s in the box, Julie?”

“It’s just my dream box, okay!” She gave in. “Whenever I get a thought or something, I write it down and get it out of my mind.”

“Like lyrics?”

“They would be if I still wrote music like I used to with my mom,” Julie sighed, looking down to avoid their eyes. “Now it’s just full of stuff that doesn’t make me sad.”

“But you do play,” Alex said and Julie snapped her head up to stare at him. “We heard you this morning.”

Jordan narrowed her eyes in confusion, having not been “alive” (for lack of a better word) that morning.

“In the garage?!”

Luke jumped down from the ottoman to hit Alex’s shoulder, silently admonishing him for revealing that information.

“You were there?”

The guys once again stumbled for a response, their voice shooting up an octave or two.

“So, where is your kitchen, by the way?” Luke asked, diving onto the bed and staring up at Julie, doing his best to distract her.

“Okay,” she began, leaning down to meet his eye level. “We need to set some boundaries. For starters, stay out of my room!” She said angrily, pointing towards the door and the guys stumbled over each other to leave.

Jordan paused before she walked out, something on her mind as she examined the girl in front of her.

“Can I ask what happened to your mom?” She asked softly, “It’s okay if its too personal-“

“No, it’s fine, the guys already know,” Julie waved her off, sighing sadly, “She passed a year ago.”

Jordan bobbed her head slightly to herself at the answer. “I’m really sorry, it sounds like she meant a lot to you.”

Julie nodded, “She did.”

“I know how hard that can be,” Jordan opened up, “If you ever need someone to talk to I’m here.”

She didn’t stay any longer, not wanting to make things awkward. When she walked through the door she ran straight into Alex who had apparently turned back around. Jordan flushed, eyes widening as she wondered if he had heard any of their conversation but he looked just as surprised to see her still there as she did him. She gave him a tight-lipped smile before poofing back to the garage.

___

Part 3

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp 1x02 #luke jatp #jatp luke #luke patterson #luke x oc #luke patterson x oc #jatp oc #ghost oc #alex mercer #jatp alex #reggie peters #jatp reggie #julie melina #enemies to lovers #jatp fic #luke patterson fic

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avery-allyss · 3 years

Text

I guess this could be worse.

The assignment was to create a design based off of one or more creation myths. I have little hints of several because copying something too closely seems redundant. Yes it a bit of a confusing jumble and you need to stretch a lil to pick up all the references, but I like it that way.

Egg shape is from several myths, mainly because my favorite myth is the Finnish creation myth, which is also the source of the duck. I'll get more into that further down in the reflective portion of this post.

The yin/yang base for the devision of the egg is from Asia. The concept is more into the description of the energies, the yang being masculine firey intenseness of light, and the yin being the quite coolness of darkness.

The volcano ang glacier are derived from Norse mythology, and I played with the idea of making some sort of root system in the line separating the two to represent the beginning of yggdrasil.

The reeds and cat are from the native American myth. Something about a Reed carrying the founders through worlds, and loosing a war to cat people? It stuck in my mind.

This is the second time I've ever done print making, the first was over ten years ago and stamping a smaller design on an extra large Tshirt I still use as pjs.

The entire process was a mess.

We had one linoleum panel to work with. We had to carve away each color we wanted to keep.

I started slow because the white and yellow layers were so complicated.

I miss measured the paper size so the back of all four copies are a mess.

I made four copies, and every one had a different mystake. The one showed was the only one that the cat showed up on.

I fucked up carving alot, I just got good at covering it up.

The duck has no bill. I tried to make up for it by giving them an intentional halo, it didn't quite work.

The reeds are too short. This actually gives off a slightly more organic vibe than I was going for. I'm not quite sure if I like it.

One of the sun swirls is broken up a bit because my hand sliped.

The blue layer was off and ended up giving the volcano some highlight. It pops a little until you realize it's out of place, so I don't like it.

Printed red through black in one day, my entire arm hates me still. I had my entire arm tensed to prevent slip ups. It's not so bad right now because my mom told me which med to take today, but I couldn't sleep on that side or my back very well last night. At least I didn't break skin when I stabed myself! I need to lay off crocheting, but that's how I decompress...

I will repost with individual pictures of each copy and the drawing on Monday, that's when the crit is anyway.

What I would do differently

Smaller egg, let the corners interact with each other a bit.

I would play with the idea of white clouds, or white with black highlights.

I would make the sun swirls part of the red gradient. I would also simplify their shape to make them easier to carve.

I would look at different ways to portray the cat. Maybe I would play with the idea of red eyes on the cat. Red claws to represent violence? Cause I'm not going to ever go all in on a horrific portrayal, hints have to do for kitty.

Multi colored and more consistent pebble bed. Maybe mossy rocks or sand with grasses growing in? Seeds? Arthropods to pull in yet another creation myth?

Duck would have a bill and a halo or some sort. There plenty of methods to imitate and explore.

I would play with the idea of defining individual rock structure on the volcano and the small waterfall.

Gemstones on the volcano?

Maybe not even do a volcano, and just make a black dragon on a mountain? Chinese style to keep up with the theme of creation?

Shade the reeds in gradients, maybe make thin red lines to imitate their texture?

Dragonflies by the reeds?

Green layer to add moss and lichen, as well as springtime pigments for the reeds as opposed to fall, can you even marble shades effectively in print making? Green detailing on the cat would start getting Erie.

Yggdrasil roots in the division, multi color highlights on yellow, tiny branch coming around to poke out by the sun?

Grey to black gradient instead of straight black for the outline?

Use a digital painting software instead of actualy carving it all. That's the only way I will play with this image again.

The Finnish Godess of Creaton

Luonnotar

Once the universe was comprised of three things.

There was nothingness, a vast unmeasurable abyss where not even a single star shone. The power of stillness was held in the dark expanse.

There was a river, a mysterious flow of swirling posability. The power and movement of the universe was held in the 'waters'.

And lastly, there was a girl. Luonntar was the daughter of the stillness of the abyss and the power of movement. She was alone, and there was nothing for her to do, no way to express herself, or to release energy, or even just simply enrich her life. She did not know companionship, so she did not know to be lonely. She did not sleep, nor did she truly live. She only felt emptiness. There was no pain to be felt, nor was there joy to be had.

Something changed. Something tightened in Luonntar's chest, as though her heart was hurting. Over another eternity she came to recognize the pain as desire. Into her emptiness had flowed a blind longing. She wanted something but she did not know what there even was to want. She wanted change, but because she never experienced anything but the same river and the same darkness, she had no idea what it was she wanted.

Slowly (as everything so far had), an idea budded in Luonntar's mind, the first idea ever in the universe. She jumped into the river and swam. She did not sink, but floated on the surface, looking back up to the darkness she had left from. This action permanently altered the universe, though seeing how took some more time (of corse). In the meantime the girl relaxed as she drifted through the river.

Then came a duck ((grapes are not involved in this myth stahp)) swimming up to Luonntar. A duck, in a universe where there had only ever been one being, now there were two! With Luonntar's change and wish, she changed the entire universe and a new world was created in which the duck could exist too.

The curious bird swam around the girl looking at the strange other being, the girl laying very still as she did the same. The duck climbed up onto Luonntar's warm knee and sat. Then something else happened, something so beautiful that Luonntar could not believe her eyes.

The duck layed three eggs there upon the goddess' knee because it was the only warm dry place in the entire universe, and the only place the future could hatch.

Luonntar kept so very still, anxious of the fragile life prched upon her knee. The duck warmed her clutch as they grew hotter and hotter as the future drew near.

Luonntar yearned for that future like she had never yearned before, bringing back the dull pain from before. She ignored it.

The eggs grew uncomfortably hot, the ducks featherstickled her, and the bebed feet left tiny scratches on her. She ignored it all.

Suddenly the duck shifted, her feathers tickling Luonntar and she couldn't help but to twitch reflexively. She did not mean to but it was enough. She watched horrified as the eggs tumbled into the river. She berated herself, fearing for the eggs. Would they sink forever out of sight? Would the future be lost?

Instead the eggs broke open. Marvels poured forth. The yolks joined into the sun and rose up into the abyss. The whites became a silver moon, rising as well. The tiny bits of the shells became the stars, scattered disjointed with the rest of the remains of the three eggs. In a world where only darkness had existed, light was born. It was magic.

Luonntar was changed by the magic, as she dove beneath the surface. Something was calling to her from the depths. It was the mud at the bottom. She grabbed handfuls and swam back to the surface. She molded a cone from the mud upon her belly and placed it on the surface of the river. It rose into the sky and became a mountain.

She dived again and again, returning to the surface to mold more new landscapes. She carved veins of rivers through the land, scooping out lakes. The stars watched in fascination. Inspired, they rearranged themselves into designs. The moon learned out to show its changing face to the earth.

As Luonntar built the land, life burst forth. Plants grew, creatures came to be. All life was the children of the new earth. When the goddess rested at long last and looked at the bright sky, the green foliage, and the lively children, she knew it was good.

((Adlibed from "Wild Girls" by Patricia Monaghan))

#crafts #art #myths

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sagasofazeria · 3 years

Text

Beginnings

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 2

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin

(content warnings: violence, implied sex)

“So?”

“What?”

“You were making gay eyes at the guard. How’d it go?”

“I- Um. We’re gonna talk. Later.”

“Nice. Good for you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jetra smiled. A least Faulkron was quickly making friends. That would end up helping both of them. And honestly, what kind of bard would she be if she didn’t get her friends laid? Getting her new friend set up with somebody less than an hour after meeting said friend was a new record though, even for her.

As much as she enjoyed watching awkward gays at work, however, they had a purpose here other than flirting with cute mercenaries. Sighing and switching the subject to why they were actually here, she said, “Well, now that we’re here, we should see what trouble we can get into before the sun fully sets.”Seeing Faulkron’s reaction, she quickly amended her statement. “Metaphorically, that is.”

Faulkron chuckled a bit. “Hopefully it’s only metaphorical.” Then, he turned his amber eyes back towards the mercenaries, beginning to look around. “We should probably find whoever’s in charge first. Elikon, I think he mentioned?”

With eyes peeled for someone who looked important, the duo walked further into the compound. They could see mercenaries all around, some lounging, some sparring, some sitting intently around tables, planning jobs in hushed tones. Others were playing dice games or otherwise passing the time.

Jetra noted some other mercenaries around who looked promising. A particular halfling and dragonborn were sitting at a table, competitively playing cards. She made a mental note to talk to them later. She also noted a large wooden board, almost completely covered with papyrus scrolls nailed to its surface, likely detailing jobs and notices. Another thing to remember.

She was shaken from her scan of the place by Faulkron’s hand on her shoulder. She turned back to him, following where he was pointing with her eyes.

There in a small courtyard, in a pit of sand, stood 9 figures. The first 8 were standing in two rows, all of them standing dazed and sweaty. Standing in front of the two rows of exhausted trainees was a towering woman with a large spear in her hand. Her dark gray-brown skin was covered in white tattoos. The ones on her face were made like a stylized helmet, to match the gray mohawk that topped her head, as if it were the helmet’s crest. Jetra nodded her approval. Very cool. The woman watched as they approached, sizing them up as they got closer. When she spoke, her voice was rough and firm.

“Well, well, well. What’s this? Wait, hold on.”

She paused her regard of the newcomers to look at the trainees.

“Hey! You eight. You’re dismissed. Take a rest, get some water.”

While the trainees filed off to recover their strength, Faulkron walked forward, holding up a hand in greeting. “I’m Faulkron Rhodes, this is Jetra. Are you Elikon?”

The woman nodded, looking Faulkron and Jetra up and down. “In the flesh. What’s got you asking for me?”

Jetra had never really felt short before. She was happy with her height. However, given that Faulkron was nearly 6 foot, and Elikon was nearly 7 and a half, she was almost considering finding a box to stand on.

“We’ve come searching for opportunities. We were thinking about heading inland, most likely. We’d like to know of any offers, or jobs?”

“Hm. Well we’ve got a board up over by the barracks, you could look there. You’ll probably have better luck tomorrow though, new ones will probably be up by then, and I’m sure the best contracts from today have been taken already. You looking to join, or just here for the info?”

Faulkron bowed his head slightly as they began to back way. “We did not intend on joining, no. But thank you for your help.”

“Well that’s a shame. I could use a warrior like you... If you can back up all that muscle with skill, that is.”

Faulkron stopped.

“Are you insulting me?”

At his question, Elikon only crossed her arms and smirked. “Am I?”

Jetra watched as Faulkron’s eyes narrowed in response, and she suddenly was very glad she wasn’t standing on a box. It made it much easier to back the fuck away from whatever was about to happen.

So much for only metaphorical trouble. And this time it wasn’t even her fault. Which was, in itself, another record for the books.

•••

Elikon watched as Faulkron’s eyes narrowed in anger. She chuckled. “Don’t start this fight. I can spar ‘til dawn, and each mercenary here knows it, ‘cause they’ve seen it. I was only poking at ya. It ain’t worth the humiliation, kid.”

Faulkron felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t come here to fight, not technically. But he wasn’t gonna let this lady talk to him like that, no matter who she was. He’d take the challenge. And he definitely wasn’t gonna let her call him “kid”. Sure he was young for an elf, but not that young.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that at some point, most of the mercenaries had stopped their leisure activities to watch, and had even drawn a circle in the sand.

“I’m not a kid. And if you want to see skill, I’ll show you skill.”

Elikon chuckled. “Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She threw him a wooden sparring sword, taking a wooden version of her own weapon from a rack just outside the circle. Then, she quickly got back into a fighting stance. He tried to get into his own stance, but before he could, the butt of Elikon’s spear swung towards his temple. He managed to duck, leaping to the side and readying the blade.

Elikon laughed. “Not bad, not bad.”

Before she could go on the offensive again, he stepped forward, slashing downward with a heavy swing. It was powerful, enough to send sand spraying when it hit the ground rather than its target. Elikon was surprisingly nimble for such a large woman, and she had already sidestepped.

He turned back towards her, just in time to deflect away a jab with the spear and make a quick swing of his own. This one she simply knocked away with her gauntlet, before continuing her assault.

The fight went on, both fighters attacking back and forth, blow after blow. Faulkron could feel himself wearing out, but Elikon kept going, barely even winded. After quite a few minutes of intense sparring, Faulkron was panting, sweat pouring down his face. Thankfully, the sun had set, and it was cooling off now, but his muscles were aching, and the temperature wasn’t helping him much now.

He watched as Elikon stalked forward, spear held aloft. Before he could make another attack, she spun her weapon, aiming to slam the shaft into his side. Before the hit could land, however, he caught the spear, using his other hand to swing his sword forward with all his weight. She twisted to dodge, but she wasn’t fast enough, and blade cracked across her chest. Quite literally, cracked. Faulkron watched in shock as the other half of the sword fell to the ground, Elikon laughing all the while. There was no evidence, save the broken sword, that he’d even hit her at all.

“This skin’s tough, but that was a good one! I like the spirit.” He almost thought it was over, until his legs were swept from under him. He slammed onto his back, hard. Elikon just laughed again, before she offered a hand to help him up. Defeated and exhausted, he accepted. She pulled him to his feet easily, clapping him on the back. “You could use some training still, but you’ve definitely got skill. The offer to join up still stands, if you wanna think about it. You did well. Now go get some rest, and drink some water.”

As Faulkron made his way out of the courtyard with his wounded pride in tow, he saw Jetra talking to two more mercenaries, where it looked like they had been watching the fight. They were all sitting around a table with some game pieces scattered across it. Jetra stood as he approached, tossing him a cloth.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was at least one hell of a show.”

Faulkron sighed. “Not much, but thanks.” He turned to the other two people at the table. “Who are they?”

The first one stood on his chair at being mentioned, hands on his hips, bringing him to just about eye level.

“I’m Fuego Tamir. Sorcerer, assassin, and baddest bitch around. ‘Sup.”

Faulkron looked over Fuego. The halfling was dressed in dark robes with flame designs on it, and the chest and arms were open, showing off a startling amount of tattoos. The biggest one, right on the center of his chest, was a large stylized skull with “RUN” written beneath it, right between two small identical u-shaped scars just under his chest muscles. His hair was dyed a fiery red at the ends, and held up in a ponytail, shaved at the sides of his head to make room for more tattoos. He had a scimitar on his hip that also had crimson flame designs carved onto it.

“I’m Faulkron. And who are you?” He looked over to the blue dragonborn warrior who sat in the other chair. Her scales were a vibrant blue, but they were covered with various cloths that looked suited for desert travel. A khopesh hung off of their left hip.

“I am Shakari. You fought well, Faulkron.”

“Thanks.”

Jetra nodded. “They’re headed inland too. We were talking, and it looks they’ve both got experience with both magic and the blade. Figured they might join us. Could always use some extra swords.”

Faulkron nodded. “Ah, good idea. If you all don’t mind though, I’m going to go recover. Jetra?”

“I’ll see you in the morning. Come find me at the Spinning Compass, by the marketplace. We can devise a plan then.”

“See you then.”

Fuego called out as well. “When you need to find us, we’ll be here.”

Faulkron nodded in response. He eventually recollected himself, and began heading off to find some place to rest. Before he could leave the compound though, he was approached by Alejandro, who was smiling and holding two flasks.

“Hola! You did pretty good out there. I haven’t been here long, but it seemed you made a lot of good impressions. Most of the warriors that spar with Elikon last half the time you did.”

Faulkron faltered a bit, not expecting such immediate praise from Alejandro, or to be told he actually did well.

“Well, I’m sure you did really well too.”

“I’d like to say I did, but it wasn’t quite as spectacular as your fight.”

Alejandro paused a moment. “I’m sure Elikon told you drink water, would you like some?” he asked, holding out the other flask.

“Yeah, she did. Thank you.” Faulkron gladly accepted, gulping down the water. After he finished, he stood for a moment, unsure what to say next.

“I... you wanted to talk, right?”

Alejandro nodded. “Sí, I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere with less rules and less deadly weapons, and talk a while? Maybe have some drinks?”

“That... yes! It sounds good, yes.” Faulkron was starting to stumble over himself a bit, still a little tired and kind of in shock that this was happening at this specific moment.

“Good! Come then. If you haven’t already heard, the wine here is to die for. It’s one of the things I’ve got to give the company credit for, they did pick a good city for a bunch of thirsty mercenaries to revel in.”

With that, Faulkron followed Alejandro back to the pavilion in the marketplace he’d seen earlier, which was now far busier. They drank and talked for a while, and by the time midnight came around they were both grinning like idiots. They danced with the music as the night went on, occasionally bumping into each other or other dancers. Eventually, Faulkron stepped away from the pavilion a few paces, Alejandro just behind him.

Faulkron took a deep breath of the night air to clear his mind. He was far more relaxed now, and he was enjoying his night with Alejandro immensely. They had talked about a lot of things, from fighting to weapons to the ocean to the wine. Overall, it was going quite well. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Let’s go on a walk. It’s way too hot and loud here, and I’m sure it looks nice here at night.”

“I agree, it is perhaps a little crowded. And the city does look quite nice at night, though I’m not certain that it’d compare with what I’ve already seen.” Alejandro said it nonchalantly, but there was a flirtatious tone in his voice as he regarded Faulkron.

Faulkron could only hope Alejandro couldn’t tell how hard he was blushing.

Decision made, they began to walk off, snaking their way out of the crowded pavilion, through the marketplace and out into the silent torchlit streets.

They walked along for a while, enjoying the fresh air, the tapestry of shining stars in the clear night sky, and each other’s company, letting the effects of the wine trickle away.

Eventually, Faulkron turned to Alejandro. It was late, and he started to ramble on before he could stop himself.

“Okay, so I know it’s late so you should probably head back to the camp and sleep. I will be fine, because I’m elvish, but you need your sleep, you know? This has been fun, please don’t get me wrong, I really liked it, but I don’t wanna keep you up and-“

He was halted by Alejandro’s finger on his lips.

“Hush. It’s alright. I can sleep in. It isn’t that much of an issue. Plus, they don’t exactly allow swordplay in the compound barracks.” Alejandro winked at the word ‘swordplay’.

Faulkron felt his face flush again as he caught the meaning.

“Oh. Good point. Okay. Yeah. I mean, if you say so. Are you sure?” Faulkron laughed a little with nervousness. How in all the worlds is he still interested?

“I’m sure.”

Alejandro grinned, then slowly leaned forward, and placed a small kiss on Faulkron’s jaw. Faulkron felt it almost like a distant breeze, and his face got warm again.

Alejandro smiled at him again. “There’s more where that came from, you know.”

And Faulkron wasn’t about to say no to that.

With that, the two wandered off into the night.

Part 1 | Part 3

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atinytokki · 3 years

Text

Paradise

iv. The Pearl in the Oyster

By the time San was seated in the boat with the wind on his face and the shores of his town on the horizon, he had overcome his shock at discovering a secret pirate refuge.

Jiyong and Mr. Shim had fussed over him and grilled him with questions after he was rescued, but from a combination of the fact that he wasn’t sure whether he had imagined the whole ordeal and the fact that he was terrified, he hadn’t given them much information.

“Please don’t tell my grandparents,” he suddenly begged as the Namhae docks came into view.

“San, you were lost in the caves for nearly an hour,” Mr. Shim argued as he adjusted the sails. “It would be irresponsible of me not to tell them.”

“But I’m not hurt!” San argued back, getting to his feet and swaying slightly with the momentum of the boat. “And they’ll only be angry at me for running away!”

Mr. Shim frowned at him, but he didn’t scold him again, so San took it as a sign to continue.

“Didn’t you ever wander off as a boy? You wouldn’t have wanted your parents to know, would you?”

“I did have my mischievous days,” the man admitted. “But I matured and stayed away from dangerous places until I could handle myself.”

He delivered this last line with a pointed glance, one that told San if he could shape up, he would be off the hook.

A smile grew on his face and he nodded eagerly.

“Alright,” Mr. Shim chuckled. “I was young once too, wasn’t I?”

San greeted the now familiar shores of his island with relief and helped to unload the boat until his grandparents appeared at the docks to collect him.

The old sailor reported that they had enjoyed a refreshing and uneventful time in the markets of Dalhae, true to his word. San waved goodbye to the two and flopped around in the back of the cart on the ride home.

Warm food in his belly and a gentle breeze blowing through his window, San told Haneul of his adventures and organised her shells into a small wooden chest until Grandmother poked her head in and told them to go to bed.

Even as he stared into the fireplace and tried to fall asleep, the eyes of the pirate lingered in the back of his mind.

Supposing San had gotten all the adventure that he needed, Grandfather put him to work in the carpentry shop the next morning and even more frequently after.

When he was out of the room, busy selling his wares in town, or asleep at the desk, San took it as an opportunity to stretch his sore leg and practice fighting invisible pirates in the carpentry shop unsupervised.

Of course, this resulted in the destruction of some of the carving displays and plank storage, so Grandfather passed him off to Grandmother while he cleaned up after him, and San was subject to quiet reading and a picnic on the beach for the afternoon.

For a boy with an active imagination, San’s life had become rather boring. Unless it was about pirates, it wasn’t interesting enough, so Grandmother in her indulgence gifted him a few naval history books in the hopes that he would be satiated.

He was unsuccessful in discovering the identities of the pirates in the caves no matter how hard he researched, especially when all he had to go on was the fact that one had been sporting a peg leg (apparently a common occurrence among pirates) and the other had seemed... young.

San had all but given up hope when one rainy day in late autumn, the familiar tapping sound of a peg leg resounded from the front path.

His head shot up from where he had been in deep focus at his little desk, whittling a wooden ship (that Grandfather had discouraged, and didn’t need to know about) and he counted two seconds before the jangle of the bell rung out and the customer was on the doorstep, silhouetted by dripping rain that blinked silver in the lightning flash.

Suddenly, the stranger stepped closer and just like that, the fantasy was shattered. San didn’t recognise this man from the caves.

“Wh-Who are you?” He croaked out weakly, standing from his chair and watching the peg leg man intently. Pirate or no pirate, San was ready to defend the house from him if need be.

The man frowned and closed the door behind him, adjusting his satchel with an unreadable look in his eye. “I was informed you’d be expecting me.”

If they were expecting him, San wasn’t aware of the fact. It had only been three days since the magistrate had been over for dinner, and San’s grandparents didn’t invite guests that frequently.

“Who are you, exactly?” He asked, trying to be polite, catching himself with a late bow.

“Oh, hello Dr. Hong!”

Right on cue, Grandfather rushed out from the back room and came to shake hands with the man, whose large bag made a lot more sense now.

A doctor.

San didn’t like doctors.

“I hope San didn’t let you stand out in the rain,” Grandfather was saying with a pointed glance that told San he was in trouble if he had.

“No, not at all,” Dr. Hong laughed as he was helped out of his coat. “The lad seemed wary, but I can see why.”

The doctor tapped his peg leg on the rug and San blushed at being called out. “I’ll tell you how I got it if you ask,” the man continued with a bright smile. “But first, I have a patient to attend to!”

Grandfather and the doctor hurried upstairs and left San to his own devices, wondering why a doctor had been called and quieting his intense curiosity about the peg leg as it began to grow again.

He finished the masts by the time Dr. Hong returned to the shop. Sensing the boy’s nervousness, the doctor quickly reassured him his visit was only a routine checkup.

“Haneul is doing well, all things considered,” he told him softly. “Though, you must always protect her and keep her healthy.”

San agreed in a heartbeat, not too naïve to forget why he was here on Namhae in the first place.

Everything was for Haneul.

“Ah, yes, the leg,” the guest remembered just before leaving.

San perked up and scooted closer to hear the tale.

“It was back in my Navy days, before I picked up medicine,” he explained. “I was a gunner on one of those cargo transport ships, the Royal Longtail, back when the East Colonies were just starting out and the trade routes were being established. We were attacked by pirates on the trip back and I, an inexperienced soldier, was shot in the leg and carted to the infirmary for the rest of the battle. I thought for a few harrowing moments that I was on the brink of death, but somehow I was saved.”

“How?” San nearly burst out, leaning on the edge of his seat.

Dr. Hong displayed his peg leg again. “The surgeon chopped off my leg just above the knee and managed to stop the bleeding. That miracle— the one that saved my life— convinced me to switch to the field of surgery. It’s quite new and underdeveloped but as you can see, real results are happening!”

San smiled at the satisfying conclusion of the story and bid the doctor farewell.

He still didn’t like them as a rule, but he could make an exception for this one.

Haneul claimed to be doing fine when San brought the evening meal up to her bedroom where she lay staring at the ceiling, but her skin was pale and clammy and from the way she was breathing he could tell she was anxious about something.

“Do you... want me to sit with you?” He asked timidly, unsure how to help once he’d set the plate on her bedside table and closed the window to shut out the breeze.

“No, just leave me alone,” his half-sister muttered, rolling over to face the wall and leaving San hurt and confused.

Without another word, he crept away and into his own room, tucking himself into bed. He knew not to take it personally, that sometimes she just got into moods like this when she was discouraged about her illness.

But it made San worry that the doctor hadn’t in fact told him everything.

Haneul appeared at breakfast but refused to play with him when he returned from school, in the few hours San had before he would be herded back into the carpentry shop.

It was disappointing but San took it as an opportunity to look for new friends, something he hadn’t put much effort into since arriving.

There were a couple of teenage girls with a five year old brother playing further down the beach on the rocks, the opposite way as Mr. Shim’s house, so San strolled over and introduced himself.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he admitted shyly. “Do you usually play further up the beach?”

“Yes,” the older of the two explained. “But today we’ve come here because of the construction.”

“Construction?” San asked, confused.

The girl pointed past the rooftops to the harbour where the masts craned like birds flocking along the shoreline. “The naval garrison. They’re finally building it.”

“It’s loud!” The little boy whined, crying when a particularly large swell washed him face-down into the sand.

San giggled and helped him up, seamlessly joining in their hunt for oysters while they told him what the garrison in town was going to look like.

He couldn’t help but glance over the hill and wonder what it would mean for Namhae. The more Navy presence, the less likely pirates would appear. And the less likely the two from the Dalhae caves would appear.

As San cracked open an oyster and, to his amazement, found a lucky pearl, he decided maybe it was for the better.

He’d had his adventure- enough adventure for a lifetime.

...

A/N: Guess who finished her semester!!!!! It was a rough one tbh but now I can write unhindered so expect more from me soon, but in the meantime don't forget to rb and comment <3

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sunshinehighway · 3 years

Note

3, 4, 12, 15 and 21 💞

3. favourite line/scene you wrote this year?

woah what a question! i wrote so many words this year and i can hardly remember half of them lmao!

but i remember being very proud of the cave scene in ocean blue:

Finally, they break through the treeline and stumble onto sand.

It’s a tiny cove of beach, just a thin strip of white-gold that’s bordered by cliffs on either side, rockpools stretching out to the water and meeting the waves, foam spraying. Ben drags him along the sand, already flicking his sandals off. Callum follows suit, and he barely notices the sting of hot grains on his soles, instead breathing out at the familiarity of it.

Ben stops them by the edge of the rockpools, just before the rock itself merges with the sand, and where the foam of the waves fizzles out to a dull trickle.

“Be careful,” he says, stepping up onto the rock. “Try not to step on the sharp bits, you’ll probably fall and crack your head open.”

“Oh, very reassuring,” Callum murmurs, almost slipping as fizzling seawater hisses over the gleaming rock. Ben holds onto him closely, and they start to tread out closer to the cliffs, where huge boulders of rock rest like tiny mountains, deep red and lined with cracks of blue where sea wind has sunk its claws in.

Before long, the seawater is lapping at their knees. Or rather, Callum’s knees and Ben’s waist. Ben drags him along quickly, and suddenly everything goes strangely dark, as they tread light feet into the entrance of a small cave.

Beneath them, the floor of the cave is dome-like, deep but still translucent blue, and Callum can see all the tiny details of it, the shadows of starfish and tiny crabs huddled close on the rocks, seaweeds and dark sponges that splay themselves out when the sun hits through the water.

It takes him a while to notice the etchings on the cave walls, the white scrapes that have been carved into the clay red, and he tilts his head up as he marvels at all the names that are engraved, that are part of this little tucked away place.

Ben interlocks their fingers under the water, and they walk to the ledge of the rock and climb up, where the tide has dipped low enough for them to step carefully over the wet, exposed surface.

“I thought you said this place is a secret?” Callum says, reading over all the names, some faded, others fresher.

“It is,” Ben says. “Well, a local secret.”

The way Callum’s heart falls into his feet is a slow, gradual thing, a pull that turns his neck and the tips of his cheeks warm, that makes the wet air around them feel too hot. Ben just watches him for a moment, and then he steps forward slowly, eyes raking up the wall until he finds what he’s looking for, rolling up onto his tippy-toes and extending his arm up to point.

BEN MITCHELL.

It’s faded, worn down and almost lost against the rocks, but it’s there, large and bordered by tiny lines, almost like cartoon sunbeams. Just beside it, Callum sees JAY BROWN in an attempted cursive. He blinks up at them slowly, roams his gaze over the other names clustered there, the ones that are almost completely invisible, drawn over by someone else. Some he recognises, others he doesn’t, but there’s one, in particular, that stands out, brings Callum’s heart right back up and into his mouth.

PAUL COKER, it reads, directly below Ben’s name, accompanied with a tiny, wonky love heart.

“This place,” Ben starts, voice so soft that it’s almost lost under the distant swell, the muted lapping of the water behind them, “It means a lot to me. It’s where I first fell in love, I suppose.”

“Wow,” Callum breathes, and he tries to fully understand the scope of this, of Ben bringing him here, showing him this place he holds so close to his heart. He tries to understand how incredibly, intricately personal this is, and why Ben has let him see it. “It’s a beautiful place to fall in love.”

“Yeah,” Ben breathes, “it really is.”

“What was his name?” Callum asks, despite the fact he knows. But this is Ben’s story to tell, and he wants to give Ben every chance he gave Callum this morning.

“Paul,” Ben whispers, eyes wet with a sad smile as his finger brushes delicately over the caved name. He pushes his other hand along the tops of his thighs, curls his finger anxiously over his knee as he releases another long exhale. Callum stares, swallows thickly. He feels worlds away but like nothing could ever move him from this point in time.

“It was two summers ago, the best of my life,” Ben starts. Callum holds his breath against the intensity in his voice.

“Paul was special, Callum. So special, and his life was just taken from him as if he was nothing,” Ben continues quietly, wistfully, but his voice grows tight and panicked as he talks, eyes watering some more. Callum's heart spikes in his chest.

Darkness shadows across Ben’s face slowly, creeping in as his eyes grow dull, and he curls into himself again. He opens his mouth again, then snaps it shut, taking in a shuddery breath.

“You can stop if you want,” Callum whispers, gentle. “It’s okay.”

“Sorry, it’s just,” his eyes are misty again, “it’s hard to talk about him. But I want to. You—you opened up to me this morning, Callum, you told me your truths, and I think I owe you mine in return.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Ben,” Callum says. And he means it, more than anything.

“Maybe not,” Ben says. “But I want you to know every part of me, and this is the biggest.”

Callum gives Ben a soft, reassuring smile, and time, time to breathe, time to gather his thoughts and do this his way. The wind wisps its way into the cave, settles itself in Callum’s bones.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, hey?” He says in the end, echoing Ben’s earlier words.

And Ben does, just as Callum had only hours earlier.

He tells Callum everything, from their first date, Ben running scared and hiding away for weeks, to their last moments, bright and brilliant until they weren’t, until they were broken down to splintering glass.

Callum suddenly feels like the cave has shrunk down, like the walls are scraping against his skin and his shoulders are hunched in painfully, knees tucked up into his chest as he listens to Ben speak, the distant, detached way he’s running his palms over the rock. He wasn’t expecting to hear all this, and now he isn’t sure he wants to, isn’t sure he deserves these explanations, these stories that feel too personal and too deeply ingrained in history to be ripped into the present.

“That’s awful,” Callum makes an odd sound in the back of his throat. “Ben, I’m so sorry.”

“It was,” Ben nods slowly. His fingers are still tracing over the rock, following the natural rivets, tracing letters. “And there was a time I thought I weren't gonna get through it. Ever. But Jay saw me through, he’s been the best.”

“I’m glad you had Jay. And Paul, he—he sounds beautiful,” Callum whispers, Ben’s head rolling to loll on Callum’s shoulder. “I can feel his warmth in your stories.”

Ben’s face tucks further into Callum’s shoulder, and gradually, Callum lets his cheek rest atop Ben’s head, the two of them resting together, eyes wet, Ben silent as he breathes slow and measured. In the distance, Callum feels that oncoming wave again, can hear that warm fizzle, that buzzing in his fingertips.

“And I think he’d be proud of you, too,” Callum continues quietly, the words escaping before he can stop them, finds heat at his neck as he speaks. “The way you’re still going, that you keep coming back here. That you could have left and gave it all up, but you’re still here. Persevering, and not letting anybody tell you who to be, or what to feel. And you should know that I admire you for that, and I…I really like you, you make me feel like I have something to belong to, and to become.”

He finds Ben’s hand, rests his fingers in the gaps between Callum’s own.

Ben pulls away a little, facing Callum fully, and when Callum meets his eye carefully, he finds that Ben’s are shiny, full, brows pinched as he stares right back, something akin to a revelation passing over his features, something Callum feels in his chest when Ben blinks, lashes gone clumped.

“It’s been so long since I cared about anyone,” he says. “But I care about you, Callum. And that’s why I brought you here today.”

“I’m so happy you did, Ben,” Callum says, voice tight and eyes wet. “It’s beautiful.”

“This place, Secret Beach as it’s unoriginally known as now, it’s like the heart of our town,” Ben explains. “It’s hidden away and some of the locals don’t even know it exists, but that’s what makes it so special? And you deserve special, Callum.”

Callum stares at him, dumbfounded and flushed, almost shrinking under the intensity of Ben’s gaze, under the open and vulnerable wideness of his eyes, the earnestness of his shuddering chest, the refracting light on the water shimmering and dancing on his cheeks. Then Ben bends down, and he dislodges a small rock from the pool beside them, slippery and shining and sharp, and he loops his tan, calloused fingers around Callum’s wrist gently, places the rock in his palm and curls his fingers over the smoothness of it.

“Ben,” Callum breathes, staring down at the rock in his hand, at Ben’s fingers folding over his own.

“Go on,” Ben lifts his hands away, and he gestures his head towards the cave wall, towards years and years of traditions and secrets and heartache and grief. “Do it.”

“I can’t,” Callum says, and his voice is caught in his throat suddenly, overwhelmed and unsure of himself.

“I want you to,” Ben says, fiercely. “Really want you to.”

Callum just stares at him for so long, the rock in his palm seeming to weigh his hand down. He can’t help but feel that there’s something else here, something more that Ben isn’t saying, the most vulnerable and delicate parts of him are still hidden by that wall of glass, that Callum’s only just starting to crack through. Other things, though, have already shattered the glass completely, and it scares Callum somewhat, the thought that he’s managed to break down that barrier. It scares him because he doesn’t quite know what to do now that he’s smashed his way through.

Turning slowly, Callum runs his fingers over the damp wall, and finds a place to squeeze his name in, where there’s a smooth gap of deep red. Slowly, and carefully, he carves; CALLUM HIGHWAY, SUMMER ‘19, into the rock, fingers shaking as he scrapes the colour away and leaves white scratches, leaves his name imprinted here. It’s more than the lingering bruises on Ben’s neck, more than the borrowed grey hoodie on his back, more than the paint on Ben’s hands, than pencil marks and colour etched there.

It’s more than the Summer.

It’s a piece of him permanently etched here.

When he lowers the rock, there’s stuttered fuzziness to his heartbeat. Ben reaches for his wrist again, and he slowly pulls them back into the water, where it’s cool against their grazed knees, and they kiss slow, unhurried, wet lips, hair trailing rivets of water along their necks and shoulders.

Callum feels something shift between them, and he opens his mouth up wider, clings close, because he doesn’t ever want to let this go.

and ben and callum’s first kiss in weekend kings made me feel so much whilst writing it!

Their mouths touch again, and it’s molten, soft and melty and cautious, Ben’s bottom lip caught wetly between Callum’s. Ben has to let out a shudder of a breath, toes curling up so hard it hurts as he starts to twist his fingers in Callum’s hair. Ben feels out of body, like he can register each touch and press, he can hear the rain tapping heavy fingers on the rooftop and the low buzz of the record player and the rasp of Callum’s breathing but it doesn’t feel real.

But it is real, so real. And it’s the most intimate moment of Ben’s life, standing in the dark, holding the warm body of this soft boy, kissing him, tender and so full of feeling.

It’s Callum who pulls away the next time, and when he doesn’t duck straight back in, Ben peels his eyes open slowly to look up at him, panics.

Callum’s chest is rising and falling noticeably, his eyes intense and gentle all at once, hooded but so open. They’re locked together for a beat, and time seems to stand still for them. All of a sudden, the rain is gone, and there’s just silence. It’s just him and Callum, standing on this invincible plane, bound together.

“How long?” Callum asks, their faces still pressed up close. He’s so warm, burning up under Ben’s touch.

“So long,” Ben answers honestly. “So fucking long.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum breathes past his lips, muffled by another kiss. “‘M so clueless. Is it too late? Please tell me it ain’t too late?”

“No,” Ben hushes him, tries to pull him closer again with a nudge to his hip, but Callum shakes his head lightly and just stares down at Callum “It ain’t too late. It couldn’t ever be too late.”

4. total number of words you wrote this year?

174,115 apparently

15. something you learnt this year?

oh uh... that i write too much fic?

nah, joking, there's no such thing as too much fic!!!! i’m not sure if this counts exactly, but i think i’ve gotten a lot better at writing dialogue ... maybe!

21. most memorable comment/review?

firslty, i literally remember all the comments people leave on my fics because it means so soooo much to me that people like my writing enough to leave a comment! and there’s been so absolutely gorgeous ones this year i couldn’t of ever imagined receiving! but any comment by the likes of @ballumory @eastendies @totallyradioactive15 always make me cry!!!

#thanks gemma!#asks #calthighway

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elderkale · 3 years

Text

like a statue, like a wave

Andromaquynh Secret Santa gift for @andy-the-scythian!

ft. sad coffin hours and excessive use of parentheses

AO3

Everything is subjective. The noise that rushes past her ears turns white and meshes with the rumble in her mind; hollow thuds like distant echoes in waterlogged ears.

There’s no time for thoughts when you’re drowning.

She thinks she screams. She thinks she doesn’t. She should be kicking, but maybe she can’t.

She heard, once—in a dream, perhaps—that the mind needs air to function. Maybe that’s why she feels like she’s lost hers.

She sees things, sometimes; blue skies through foggy gazes, black shores painted white with snow, steel that burns and cries and leaves her throbbing when she wakes.

She moves, or the water does, or maybe neither of them do and her rotting mind is just rocking in her skull.

She’d forgotten the word free centuries ago.

The water has been red for years. It’s an excellent spot for sharks.

The air escapes her before she can even manage to savour it and she’s drowning again.

It had not been, by any reasonable metric, the worst battle they’d ever fought in. Far from it, really. It had hardly even been a battle. She hadn’t even died.

Andromache had, though, and that was almost worse.

She’d been shot; she remembered that. Remembered tearing the arrow from her thigh with a scream she didn’t bother to stifle, and standing with a grimace. She’d grimaced as she stood, and bent her knee carefully against the itch of muscles knotting their way across their bones, felt the tingle of new, unmarred skin knitting itself together over fresh pink sinew.

She had, all of a sudden, realized just how very quiet it was.

(She’d marvelled at it, afterwards, in a way she hadn’t since the first time she’d pulled a blade from her throat, drawing her fingers again and again over unbroken skin until Andromache had taken her hand and pressed her lips to her palm, drawing her into her warmth.)

Still, too still, and cold to the touch.

She’d seen warriors, mortal, human ones, pull steel from their wounds only to collapse in seas of viscera and drown in floods of their own lives.

(Before, when it had been but an afterthought to her. Before, when there had always been the guarantee that they would come back.)

The blood beneath her fingers had been warm, still flowing sluggishly over skin that had felt like stone.

And she’d been so still—

(She’d confessed, once, in a whisper lost in the night to the desert winds, that there were times when she almost regretted their gift; times when she wished, somehow, that the healing were not quite so complete. Scars are promises—she is untethered.)

Andromache had spasmed beneath her and she’d jerked back, the arrow coming free in her hand. Andromache had surged up with a ragged gasp that had almost been a scream and she had let out a sob, collapsing into the heat of her embrace. Andromache had caught her, arms firm and strong around her, despite the glaze she had still been blinking from her eyes.

“Quỳnh,” she’d gasped, breath hot in her ear. “Quỳnh.”

Sound, she decides on good authority, doesn’t travel well underwater.

She speaks to the silence, screams for her blood, sobs for herself. What’s a little more salt in an ocean full of it?

Her words do not weave magic through the air, or deliver hell to damned doorsteps. She and Andromache were always joined in that; honesty over mystery, strength in hand with intensity. Her words are not a final blow; they are needles of rain and wayward winds, and grains of sand pressed into little cuts. They are blunt like rounded edges of broken glass and as smooth as the waves above her.

Poetry was for her to hear, not to weave, as music was for her hands, not her throat. Every strike of her knees against the cursed shell rips through the broken melody around her like a drum in a flood.

Her words don’t move anymore.

Her mouth opens, and her wail drags her back down into the darkness.

Andromache had been absolutely giddy with amusement. “Don’t pout, Kleanthe,” she’d chided, a grin tugging at the curve of her mouth.

Kleanthe. She’d been called Kleanthe, then.

“I’m not pouting,” she’d said with a scowl. Andromache had smiled blithely, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand. “I’m not.”

“It’s just a model,” Andromache had said, “and the boy needs practice. It’ll be done in no time at all.”

Kleanthe had huffed and shifted her foot. Phidias had cleared his throat and tapped the end of his chin. She had rolled her eyes and craned her neck face turned towards the sun. “I never thought I’d tire of holding a bow,” she grumbled, “but it seems that today is the day. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for throwing rocks from now, Andromache.”

Andromache had hummed. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Kleanthe had snorted. “How you talked me into this, I still can’t understand.”

(Andromache had been the face of more goddesses than she could count; she saw a labrys when she closed her eyes, a tablet, a spear, a queen draped in fleece. She moved like a figure carved already of gold, every rise and fall of her chest a surge of fire in a forge. She had never managed to master the same gift of stillness her love had been blessed with.)

“Have you never wondered?” Andromache had asked softly, slipping, perhaps without even noticing, into the private tongue that only they shared; words that flowed like honey down a sweat-slick wrist in the summertime, carried on a voice that bobbed and rippled like a trickle of rain down a stone in drought. “To be immortalized, some way else?”

She’d curled her fingers tighter around the polished grip of her bow. “We will outlive this statue,” she’d said. “It will be dust before we ever grow old.”

“Maybe.” There had been a distance in her voice, the kind that promised bliss and tragedy in the same breath, that offered a smile the way mourners folded themselves onto their knees before shrines.

“What is it?”

(She remembered the smile in her heart’s voice, remembered the twitch of a slender lip beneath her palm, remembered swollen lips and lines of red that vanished before her very eyes.)

“You’re beautiful,” Andromache had said.

Yusuf had believed in truth. Nicolò had believed in destiny. Andromache had believed in the world, and its endless capacity to disappoint.

She believes the universe simply likes its jokes.

She dreams of her homecoming, sometimes; imagines dragging herself across a shore of sand hot enough to sear her skin, sees herself crumple into her family’s arms. Andromache would wash the grit and salt from her hair, she knows, and run her fingers through it until it was as soft as silk, softer than when she’d found her and when she’d lost her. She’d rub her cheeks with the heels of her thumbs and kiss the ragged scabs from her knuckles and her knees.

There are no cuts, no gashes, no ragged fields of skin. There’s nothing for her to fix.

Is she healing? She doesn’t know.

The first time Andromache touched her, her skin had flaked away on her hands.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said, doesn’t remember if she’d said anything at all. It was as if she’d always been beside her, a silhouette formed by communion through sights and stars and sensations walking alongside her shadow. She’d known her name the way Andromache had known it herself, known intimately the lines on her palms and her distrust of shellfish. She’d known her annoyance every time her hair was tangled by the wind, and the way she lost knives the way birds shed feathers but would never fail to polish her strange, rounded axe every knight, starting at the handle and working her way up to the blades. She’d known everything and nothing, and Andromache had known the same.

She remembered the first beat of her heart when Andromache’s shadow had passed her, remembered the way she’d nearly sobbed at the relief from the merciless beating of the sun.

Andromache had crouched, placing her labrys by her head; the blade had flashed in the midday sun, nearly blinding her for the third time that day. She had hesitated, or maybe she hadn’t—she couldn’t recall, or perhaps just hadn’t seen.

She remembered the first touch of fingers to her cheek, remembered feeling muscles flexing and twitching beneath new skin as it bloomed from burning red salt. She’d spoken like a carrion bird learning to sing, cradling her head in her lap like she was something precious, something wonderful.

“What did you say?” she’d asked almost two hundred years later.

“What?”

“The first time we met,” she’d said. “When you held me. What were you saying?”

Andromache had hummed, nose pressed into the side of Quỳnh’s neck. “I asked you if you could see me,” she’d said, “the way I could see you. I thought I was just dreaming; I’d seen you for so long—”

Quỳnh had taken her hands and brought them to her lips. She’d pressed a kiss, feather-light, to the tip of one finger, then the next, and Andromache had flushed. “Me too,” she’d murmured against her skin. “I thought I was dreaming, too.”

She sees Andréa scrubbing blood from torn blue silk on the banks of a silver river, and feels her fist break her nose from a thousand miles away. Andrew tosses a star-striped flag into a flame, and twitches beneath a cloud of poison in a furrow carved through the earth. Andy shoots her in the back of the head, and bleeds on a carpet in front of a wall of triumph.

Victory is a pyrrhic thing.

Everything blurs. She is Quỳnh, and Kleanthe, and Quintina, and Anya. She is Sebastien, and Booker, and Nile, and Quỳnh. She is Andromache, and Yusuf, and Nicolò, and she is Quỳnh.

There’s so much she doesn’t remember.

She wants to remember.

She opens her mouth, and her next breath comes out as a cough.

“Have you seen this, love?”

“Hm?” Quỳnh cracked one eye open to peer up at the tablet Andy was brandishing at her. “I’m afraid not,” she said, closing her eyes again. “You’ll have to read it to me, my heart; you know how those screens make my head hurt.”

Andy scoffed. “Please. I know Nile helped you download Candy Crush.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Why would I crush candy? And the ads are infuriating.” She nudged Andy’s hip with her cheek and idly stroked her fingers along the other side of her wife’s stomach. “What is it?”

“Someone broke into the Met,” Andy told her.

“Ah,” said Quỳnh, wrapping a hand around Andy’s wrist. “The Met. Of course. Which one is that?”

“Oh, you know,” said Andy, grinning openly as Quỳnh tugged at her to lie down. “Big one. Kind of ugly.” Quỳnh chuckled as she slid a leg over Andy’s and sat up, straddling her hips. “Joe took you last week.”

“Did he?” Quỳnh asked, pressing a kiss to Andy’s clavicle. Andy hummed, arching her neck. “I can’t recall. My memory must be going in my old age.”

“Huh.” Quỳnh smiled into Andy’s neck, nipping lightly at the skin over her pulse. “Thing is,” she said, voice faltering only slightly when Quỳnh’s lips brushed the sensitive spot beneath her ear, “the thief only took one thing.”

“Sounds sensible,” murmured Quỳnh, dragging her lips down Andy’s shoulder. “It must be difficult to carry many things through a window.”

Andy made a small, pleased noise in the back of her throat. “You don’t want to know what they took?”

“Hm.” Quỳnh leaned back on her heels, putting a finger to her chin. Andy growled, and she grinned. “A vending machine?”

“Funnily enough,” said Andy drily, lip curling as Quỳnh leaned down, hands lightly circling her wrists. “Those were emptied, too.”

“Have you ever had a Cheeto, Andromache?” asked Quỳnh, stroking the insides of Andy’s arms. Andy groaned, wriggling beneath her. “They’re remarkable.”

“We can buy snacks, Quỳnh.”

Quỳnh pouted. “Where’s the fun in that?”

(She hadn’t hidden it in the apartment—she’s not an idiot. She’d rented a storage unit.)

Andy snickered, then turned her head and bit playfully at Quỳnh’s hand. Quỳnh yelped, drawing it back on instinct, and Andy lunged, sending both of them tumbling across the bed. Quỳnh let her head hit the pillow with a laugh, and Andy collapsed on top of her, snickering uncontrollably.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” she said when she’d finally calmed down. Quỳnh hummed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

(There was a bruise on her shin from where she’d banged her leg on the door last week, and smaller, private ones littered down her chest. The cut on her cheek was still fresh enough to be tender, though it had already closed, and, beneath her fingers, Quỳnh could feel the raised edge of a scar she knew to be thin and white.)

She shrugged lightly, and Andy moved with her. “You did,” she said simply, brushing a strand of hair from Andy’s eyes. The black was beginning to recede, and she could see the tips of time-bronzed gold at her roots.

(They hadn’t stayed in Athens long enough to see the sculpture finished; it’s still just a model. The tip of the bow had broken off, as had all but the bridge of the nose. More scratches had Quỳnh found in the plaster than she had ever counted in her own skin at once, and there was a crack snaking its way down the spine like a viper through the sand.)

Andy smiled and pressed their lips together.

(And carved carefully into a weather-worn heel:

I was here.)

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myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Beginning = End

In a world of many universes, you are tasked with guarding the doors to two of them: your home, Exoplanet, and Exodeux. Your only goals are to prevent danger from reaching your home, and to keep the monsters from Exodeux locked inside where they belong. But when a familiar voice calls to you from Exodeux, you take your chances and sneak a peek past the forbidden door.

What happens next will change the lives of both worlds forever.

(A glossary has been added to the end of this chapter!)

Masterlist

Obsession Masterlist

The pair of keys hanging from your neck were ice-cold, imbued with a mixture of liquid moonlight from the blood moon and sacred grains from the sands of time. Your hand came up to run over the edges of one key, still unused to their weight — both physically and metaphorically.

You had been waiting for this your entire life, working towards upholding your family’s reputation as one of the strongest, and most reliable of protectors in this world. As a Gatekeeper, you were tasked with guarding a door in the Realm of Gateways.

But to guard two doors was extremely rare. The last person to guard two doors had been your father, and now he was proud to pass his duties on to you. There was no one else the Council would trust, they had reassured you. Time and time again, you had proven your strength and resilience in various forms of training. You had even been a candidate for EXO, the special forces unit assembled to protect Exoplanet from any possible threats. But it was always expected that you would follow the magic running through your veins and become a revered Gatekeeper. It didn’t matter — you were content as long as you were actively doing something to protect your home.

You were still close with certain members of EXO, especially those who had trained with you in your youth. In between lessons and practice sessions, you would catch up with your old friends. Some of them, like Junmyeon and Sehun, were also descended from legendary families that had long-lasting ties to Exoplanet’s history. Others like Jongdae and Chanyeol had grown up knowing only the basics about the war, just coming to realize how serious the threat of Exodeux was until they reached the Academy.

Water bubbled from the large fountain nearby as you waited in the central square of the Academy, waiting for Baekhyun to finish up his meeting with his superior. It had only been a day since you had received your keys: one for the door leading here, to Exoplanet, and the other leading to Exodeux. Even the thought of your enemy lingering behind the magical gateway was enough to harden your resolve, your promise to your father and the Council ringing in your ears.

You would guard the doors with your life.

A jingling of chains caught your attention, hand dropping from your makeshift necklace as you glanced over your shoulder. “Hi, Baek.”

“Hey.” Baekhyun settled down on the bench beside you, still wearing his tactical gear. He must have been out on a mission earlier today. “How’s the new job?” he asked, nodding towards your keys.

“I haven’t started yet. The doors are still locked, so nothing is coming in or out unless I unlock them. I still have,” you glanced down at your watch. “Three hours left.”

“Are you scared?”

You shrugged, a finger reaching out to play with a chain attached to a pocket on Baekhyun’s pants. “Yes and no. Nothing happened to Father when he was guarding the doors, or in the decades before. As long as the door to Exodeux is locked, we’ll be safe.” You looked up at Baekhyun, comforted by the face you had grown so used to. “And that means more time for you and the rest of EXO to come up with a plan for the attack.”

“The sooner that happens, the better,” Baekhyun added lowly.

EXO had been planning an attack on Exodeux for a while, but previous failed attempts had made them wary to rush recklessly into the mysterious universe. All who had entered the door leading to Exodeux had never returned, countless members of EXO never to be seen again. The Council had even reached out to other universes, looking for help in erasing the terror that was Exodeux. However, no one else would come to your universe’s aid, all of them much too aware of how many times your people had failed. The people of Exodeux were extremely feared, and rightfully so, for no one made it back alive to tell the tale.

“You need to stay safe,” Baekhyun warned you. “Even if the door is locked. I don’t like the idea of you having to guard two doors instead of one. Why couldn’t they have just assigned someone else to Exodeux’s door?”

“These keys have always been a pair.” You lifted the end of your necklace, the silver glinting in the sunlight. “They’ve been like this since we discovered the Realm of Gateways. Who knows what would happen if we separated them. Magic like this is meant to be preserved, not changed. We can’t take any chances, Baek.”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it. We’re all worried for you, Y/N.” Despite Baekhyun’s intimidating clothing and steely-silver dyed hair, his eyes were warm with genuine concern.

“I’ll be safe, I promise.”

Your words did nothing to ease Baekhyun’s anxiety, your friend’s face still pinched as he struggled to accept your fate. You spotted Jongin, another EXO member approaching and waved him over, thankful for the interruption.

“I was hoping you hadn’t left yet,” he said as he leaned down for a tight hug.

You let yourself relax in his embrace, always thankful for his presence. Jongin was the little brother you never had, the person you had looked out for the most during your time at the Academy. It hurt the most to be separated from him, but both of you had different duties to fulfill. “I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

“You’ll let us know how you’re doing, right? Don’t push yourself too hard,” Jongin warned.

“I know.” This wasn’t the first time you had heard this, the words echoed by your family, the Council, other friends. You needed to be alert and ready to act at all times, even if the door was locked. There was always a possibility that someday, Exodeux might find a way to break past the lock and through their door into the Realm of Gateways. If that happened, it was almost guaranteed that it would be the end for you all.

But you were determined to never let that happen.

It hadn’t been your first time entering the Realm of Gateways. You had been here once, many years ago when your father first taught you about the importance of your family history, of those who had spent a bulk of their lives protecting the doors not only for the sake of their families, but for their universes as well. Only those with magic, no matter how small, were able to cross over to the Realm. You didn’t possess any supernatural powers, but a tiny bit of your family’s magic still managed to flow through your veins.

You stepped into the magic circle, eyes closing as the edges began to glow brightly. Once the light faded away, you opened your eyes to see the familiar surroundings of the Realm.

The Realm consisted of endless mazes, doors scattered here and there. The magic circle disappeared, and you took that as your sign to begin searching for your doors. It was easy for you to find them, the keys growing warmer the closer that you got to your destination. You passed by other Gatekeepers, some of them from your own home, while others came from universes that you had never even heard of.

The door to Exoplanet was close to a couple of other doorways, signifying how close they were in reality to other universes. Old runes for protection were carved into the frame, while the door was made entirely of glass. It appeared beautifully fragile, but was actually capable of withstanding the most intense of pressures.

On the other hand, the door to Exodeux was almost isolated, hidden down an empty pathway and shrouded by shadows. This door was covered with scorch marks, the wooden door burnt black at the bottom. Despite its beaten-up state, you knew that this door had lasted for centuries, and would continue to do so even after you were gone. Only the most powerful magicians were able to destroy the doors, and it was made punishable by death in all of the universes to do so.

Well, all except Exodeux, as far as you knew.

Carefully, you stepped closer, one finger pressing down on the door handle just to make sure that it was still locked. To your relief, it didn’t budge.

You let out a breath that you hadn’t even known you were holding back, scrambling away and back down the hallway.

The less time you spent next to that door, the better.

A month had passed since you were bestowed with the privilege of being a Gatekeeper, and so far, you hadn’t had to deal with anything too stressful. The most that you had to deal with were Gatekeepers from other universes, or other magical beings traveling from one door to another. But other than that, everything was quiet.

Your daily routine consisted of checking on the door to Exoplanet first, then venturing down the eerie hallways to briefly check on the door to Exodeux before returning to your post.

Today, you lingered a bit longer at Exodeux’s door, caught off guard by a soft whimpering. You pressed one ear against the door, sure that you had been imagining things before you heard it again.

“Help,” a voice croaked out.

Your heart jumped up in your throat at the voice, recognizing it as Jongin’s. Reason quickly stepped in — Jongin couldn’t be behind the door. The last time you had checked in with him, he had still been on Exoplanet and training for a diplomatic visit to another universe. But still...

“Please,” Jongin’s voice begged, a sob cutting off his words. “Please, it hurts so much.”

Fingers trembling, you laid a hand against the door. “Jongin?”

All was quiet for a few seconds, a chilling silence filling the air. And then, came the screams.

“Jongin?!” You shrieked, hands immediately reaching up for your necklace. The keys slipped from your fingers in your haste, falling back against your chest as you hurried to unlock the door. The screams continued as you slipped the key into the lock, finally managing to get the door open.

Rushing inside, you slammed the door behind you. Even in your lapse of judgement, you still knew that it was important that nothing was to leave this realm. Your breath came in quick gasps as you locked the door, focused only on finding Jongin and returning him home safely.

Only after you managed to lock the door did you realize that the screams had stopped.

On this side of the door, everything was pitch black. You could barely make out your own hands from where they rested at your sides, the darkness covering everything around you.

“Jongin?” you called out, straining your eyes in search of a light source, any signs of life.

It wouldn’t be wise to stray far from the door, although who were you kidding — this was already the dumbest decision of your life. But to hear Jongin, sweet Jongin who had always been like your little brother, crying out in pain like that...

There was no way that you would have been able to ignore his desperate cries for help.

You called out to him again, and just like before, you were met with silence. The eerie atmosphere sent shivers down your spine, only adding to the growing anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

Just as you were about to leave, to go inform the Council about what you had heard, you felt the warmth of soft breaths against the skin of your neck. However, when you turned around — no one was there.

Shit. You needed to get out, and fast.

But before you could even head towards the door, the sensation was back — this time with the added presence of a person behind you. The breaths tickled at your ear, and when you heard the voice again, it was as if you had been chilled to the bone.

“Welcome,” Jongin’s voice purred into your ear.

You had only taken one step before you blacked out, body falling to the floor. The being, this monster that you had been mistaken in calling Jongin, swept you up into his arms with a triumphant smirk on his face.

He glanced down at the keys on your necklace, iridescent even in these pitch-black surroundings, eyes full of greed.

And in a burst of smoke — both of you were gone.

Glossary

Gatekeeper: A person in charge of checking who goes in and out of the door that they are supposed to guard. A Gatekeeper only gets to leave their spot from the door for rest (and any important events), and will lock the door with the special key that belongs only to them. As long as the door is locked, no one can enter or exit. Gatekeepers do not have alternate versions of themselves in other universes. (E.g There is only one Y/N, but there is a Sehun in every universe that exists in the Realm of Gateways.)

Realm of Gateways: A series of mazes that only Gatekeepers and other magical beings are allowed to enter. The realm holds all the doors (alternate universes) that exist.

Door: A gateway leading to an alternate universe. Anyone in the Realm can enter any door as long as it is unlocked. If it is locked, only the Gatekeeper with the key to the door can unlock it. The door can also be locked from inside by the Gatekeeper.

The Council: A group of high-ranking officials in charge of politics on Exoplanet. Y/N’s father accepted a position on the Council after retiring as a Gatekeeper.

Exoplanet: Y/N’s and EXO’s universe.They have been at war with Exodeux for centuries.

EXO: A military unit created by the Council to protect Exoplanet from any threats, mainly X-EXO and any other threats from the Exodeux universe. Those selected are put through rigorous training for at least 10 years, usually beginning in adolescence. Members include: Junmyeon, Baekhyun, Jongdae, Chanyeol, Jongin, and Sehun.

The Academy: A school where all who work for the Council (e.g Gatekeepers, EXO) spend years training and being evaluated until they are deemed ready to go out into the field.

Exodeux: X-EXO’s universe. They have been Exoplanet’s rivals for centuries.

X-EXO: Exodeux’s alternate version of EXO. Members are unknown.

A/N: This is my first time doing any sort of writing in this genre (I don’t even know what category to put this under) But worldbuilding has been extremely fun, and I hope that everything makes sense! If you have any questions, send me an ask or a message!

Tag list: @thalasoophilia

#exo #exo scenario #exo fanfic #jongin scenario #baekhyun scenario #jongin fanfic #baekhyun fanfic #writings

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celestialholz · 4 years

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A Good Day To Die

Hello, dear Qcard squad - happy slightly belated Tapestry Day! <3 I’m SO SORRY this is a little late, though for once it’s absolutely not my fault! I’m visiting some family up in northern England, and there’s been a hell of a storm that’s outed several power lines locally - they’ve only just reconnected this morning, so I’m finally able to pop this up as my laptop now has some charge! I shall be reblogging all your lovely contributions with commentary tags today too. <3

Let me tell you a quick story before the actual one though, friends, of a girl on a Saturday afternoon playthrough of TNG for the first time, about six years ago now; already a huge fan obviously because we’re in series six, already very much in love with Q and the indomitable captain, but I’d wondered here and there: why was Jean-Luc so special? Sure, he was clever and wonderfully diplomatic, even a bit nuanced, and a nice change of pace from Kirk, who I also loved - but where did this spark come from? Why was he a rebel sometimes, when he seemed to play so much by the book most of the time?

... And then we get to this. A fascinating premise right from the word go of an immediately deceased/critically injured Picard, going into the fascination of a void space, a god cloaked in white with his usual wondrous enigma, and what’s always been to me the single finest piece of character exploration in the whole of the Trek canon. It’s intelligent, deeply amusing, philosophical, psychological, fascinating... we watch this man fall apart and rebuild and learn his lessons, and all the while we have this gorgeous chemistry, this blatant and beautiful homosexual coding, between our two stars, with Q’s ambiguous motives and goddamn, I was enchanted.

... Honestly, it’s my favourite fucking TV hour of all time, and it’s my pleasure to finally celebrate its anniversary properly. My great thanks to @q-card for taking my idea and running wild with it, you marvellous being you. <333

I’d planned to make something much grander and mad for this accordingly, but... well, you know how it is. Very long week, depression... eurgh. So instead, please accept something a fair bit shorter but no less lovely: a parable of ancient Egyptian culture, a delicious dose of angst and love, and the promise of forever from a man who really can’t understand the meaning of the word, but wants nothing more than to offer it anyway. Set during STP, and I for one think this would be a lovely way to end it all...

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It’s fitting, Jean-Luc, he thinks serenely as he disengages the autopilot with a pang of adrenaline, a silent resignation, stoicism etched into his weathered features. Everything has its time, dear man, and you’ve had more than most.

There’s no real other method of death he’d have been content with, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s explosions, fireworks, heat, when he’s too old for any of it physically, when he’s exhausted mentally, but can still lay claim to the most youthful and adventurous spirits, the very soul of a captain; it’s plunging into a supernova at sub-warp to take out the rejuvenated Borg fleet in the resultant fire, beings he abhors so profoundly, is still so very haunted by all these years later, still has nightmares of his time amongst their number.

The protests of his newfound crew echo through his mind, the panic of five minutes prior naturally fresh; a simple plan, ultimately, forged days after he’d discovered their real enemy. Emergency transport, patterns already established, ready for the simple verbal command of a destination within reach; his friends enveloped, incapable of escape without the certainty of scattering to atoms, horror absolute.

“Admiral, you can’t be fucking serious - ”

“This cannot be how our quest ends! I will never forgive you!”

“... No, no, I know that look - JL, you can’t , you bastard - !”

“They took you once, Captain; we’ve won, dammit! There is no need to prove it further!”

He shivers with their regrets, jaw setting in defiance of his actions - it isn’t about proving anything, and he’d imagined Seven of all people would know that good and well. It’s about setting the universe to rights, ensuring continued prosperity from a species who deserve simply to be left in peace, who had been through more than enough to last them multiple lifetimes... to perhaps finally repaying a fraction of the debt he owed to the dead, the assimilated, of Wolf 359. It will never absolve him; nothing ever could.

But he can ensure it never has to happen again - not to him, not to another living soul in this quadrant. This is their last stand, and he will eradicate them. He isn’t a threat, of course - why would he be, in his tiny vessel?

Resistance is not, and never has been, futile, he acknowledges coldly, teeth beared in disgust. You wanted me to lead you, didn’t you? Allow me to make it so.

“Warning: recommend immediate retreat. Heat shields at thirty-one percent integrity; collision course with Elphoric Supernova in three minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Computer,” he announces frostily, “cease warnings.”

“With respect, my dearest admiral, perhaps you’d do well to pay attention.”

His mechanical heart skips several beats in the same moment, frenzy racing up his spine in anger, anticipation, anguish -

He hasn’t seen the speaker in four years, but he’ll turn up for the last three and a half minutes?

The flash claims his vision, the signature ping resounds, and the air falls immediately silent as he stares at eyes that read eternity and burn solely for him.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you’re doing?”

He takes a full ten seconds of his remaining few minutes to simply absorb his husband’s presence, the faint lines that crease his forehead, the unspoken despair and the silent love and the carvings of exhaustion, and it’s as though something snaps once more back into place in his soul; as though he’s finally returned home after a solid millennia of travelling, embraced instantly by recalled warmth and comfort and precious, precious familiarity.

... Perhaps he ought to be less furious.

“... War’s over then, I take it?” His voice cracks through the stagnant bridge, and for the briefest of moments, he forgets entirely that he’s voluntarily crashing to his own destruction.

Q’s gaze flickers, stricken, and he regards his spouse with disbelief, crouching before him.

“Hardly the moment.” He curls fingers around shaking ones, squeezes tightly. “Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes -”

“Four years,” Picard intones, hollow, charcoal eyes ablaze. “Four, dammit.”

Q winces, digs finely manicured nails gently into aged skin with sorrow. “Bit difficult to keep track when the universe is falling apart, though I thought my dearly espoused was rather above the ultimate display of tragic hubris.”

“This isn’t arrogance,” Picard snaps in response, suddenly furious.

The god raises a brow, turns from him for a moment to consult the cosmos; he analyses the situation quietly, eyes falling shut before they wrench open in horror.

“... Oh,” he realises aloud, returning a pitying gaze to his husband. “Well, I was planning to take you for dinner, celebrate our reunion, but... it had to the Borg, of course. It was going to be magnificent, you know. All candles, oysters, Risan teal whiskey - imagine you’ve grown a little weary of the family vintage by now -”

Picard’s internal chronometer, borne of years of starship clockwork efficiency, ticks over to ninety seconds, and he’s kissing him with desperation, with the misery of parting, the anxiety of war, the coldness of a universe where no one else can ever quite understand -

It’s brief because it has to be, given the circumstances, but it’s no less intense for it, shot through on both sides with passion and need and loss and reestablished harmony; they break eventually, slipping back to rest foreheads together, and Q is breathless with pain as he whispers.

“My universe has already shattered once, Jean-Luc.”

Picard blinks against the tears that threaten, the anguish that engulfs him at the very thought.

“It’s the Borg, Q,” he explains simply, voice woven with apology.

“... And it doesn’t count for anything that I could click them to dust, I imagine, stop them threatening anyone ever again?”

He smiles warmly, bitterness rich - not at an entity who has been trying to save his people, he could never be angry at that. He’s trying to do the same, isn’t he? Always has.

No, life is merely unfair, and it has to end eventually.

“‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it,’” he quotes gently, and a rasp of a sob trips from Q’s tongue.

“Stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot,” he breathes, thumb running over the wedding ring unconsciously. “The shen ring, Jean-Luc; you’ve always admired the ancients. The symbol of eternal protection.”

A single tear slips down his cheek, a stammered exhale follows, and he locks eyes to his in true dread. “Please, darling - tell me we can still go for dinner.”

Everything in creation drowns in silence, even as the console roars at him that he’s thirty seconds from death; nothing matters but his words, his long-spoken promise - that his husband absolutely comprehends them.

“I’d be offended we didn’t, frankly,” he whispers. “Haven’t seen you in years, we’re rather overdue a catch-up.”

He kisses his brow tenderly, physically feels the permanence of the relief that bursts through the god; he has to make sure, nevertheless.

“Perhaps tomorrow, we could watch the meteor shower on Tansid VI.” He softly pulls Q’s thumb back to the wedding ring, to the tangibility of what it offers, the vow it proclaims, and runs his own preciously across it. “Croissants. Champagne. Different region, different grapes - I’m not quite bored of that one yet.”

“And the day after?” Q’s voice cracks, brittle as sand.

“Oh, moons of Tanothry Prime, I imagine. Driver’s choice. Though I’d quite enjoy a trip to the Magellanic Clouds, perhaps in a few centuries.”

Another sob, profound this time, raises, stuttered, from his immortal spouse.

“I reserve the right to make it hurt less.”

“Oh, please do, my love. My Thoth.”

Q stifles a laugh, so wondrously enamoured. “The Egyptian god of the dead, of magic and wisdom.”

“‘As for Thoth, he crosses the sky in my presence; I pass safely.’“

“Yes, you do,” the deity vows, adoration warming the severity of his features. “Nothing will ever have to hurt you again, darling.”

It’s a strange experience, dying without fear. He’d been so certain, so determined, but so very afraid.

“Ten seconds to impact,” the computer chimes, emotionless.

“I have a dog,” Picard tells his husband, eyes falling closed. “You wouldn’t much like his name.”

Q smiles tightly, clings to him.

“I do hope it isn’t mine,” he replies dryly, and the human chuckles as the ship ignites around them.

“Oh, it’s so much worse.” He beams tenderly at him, braces for impact. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Yeah,” Q breathes, caressing his ring, and together they burn.

#qcard #Jean-Luc Picard #Q #writing #tng #star trek picard #tapestry day #happy anniversary guys! <3

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thirdchildart · 5 years

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Hi there, I love your art/boards a whole lot!! I really want to be a storyboarder once I graduate, but sometimes I find it hard to create interesting/visually appealing boards, instead they look a bit flat and lifeless. Any tips on how to incorporate interesting perspective/composition?

So! Composition! I’m gonna start out with a disclaimer: any of these suggestions can be broken for artistic expression. These are starting points when it comes to building an interesting dynamic scene! BIG POST. CLICK THE READ MORE!!!

Composition is the arrangement of SHAPE, LINE, CONTRAST, or COLOR that leads your eye in a path around the screen. You don’t want the audience to search the screen for info--they should find and follow easily.

FIRST THOUGHT: Where in the frame?

Where does your eye go on each of the following images? And why? Can you connect them to a sensation or emotion?

Faces will draw attention. Movement will draw attention. Bright against dark will draw attention. Dark against bright will draw attention. And, despite size, we will look at in-focus items first.

Avoid creating static, balanced shots ON ACCIDENT. Avoid straight lines, perfectly stiff characters, and perfect shapes. Let your characters lean, slump, slouch, reach, stretch. Act in a mirror! Act out your boards. Now, you can use precise/stiff drawings and symmetrical shots for style on purpose (it’s Wes Anderson’s signature). But if you don’t make an effort to put flow and rhythm in your composition, it will feel static and dead. Organic, living, designed shots will have imbalance, they will have weighted area of the screen, and interesting use of blank spaces.

The movie screen has 5 specific areas most action takes place in: upper right, upper left, lower right, lower left, and dead center.

Since the point of a film is to cut from one shot to the next to the next to the next, we don’t want our audience to work too hard searching around the screen for their next point of information. So to avoid static, square compositions, story artists will think of the screen split into thirds.

And keep our points of interest along those lines, and those dots.

You can break out of this of course, but be kind to your audience. If you direct them to the far side of the screen, be kind and bring them back! Even with messy, simple drawings, I can help your eyes follow a simple story: Person lights a lighter.

We look at faces first--even ‘symbolic’ faces. Those two dots? You know they are eyes. You probably looked at the face first, then traveled down to that NEW blue spot in frame two, so I took you in for a closeup in panel 3 to get more information about this point of interest. Did I leave the new point of interest in the same spot? Nah, I bumped in a little closer to frame center. This leaves your eye readier to jump to my next shot more easily.

SECOND THOUGHT: What’s the Line of Action?

When you looked from the eyes to the lighter in their hand, you followed my Line of Action for that composition.

Line of Action in an art sense is the path your eyes travel to gain the information in an image. We usually start at the point of highest interest (a face, a bright spot in the dark, a green stone on the yellow sand) and then look around the frame to see what else we can learn.

When I storyboard, I focus on 4 basic lines of action: vertical, horizontal, diagonal left and diagonal right. Below are some examples from movies.

Your eye can travel up and down one character, move back and forth between two points, or following around the screen to gather multiple pieces of info.

Put the characters in a clear and interesting distance from camera. How much of the screen does your character fill up? Do we need to see their face, their body, or the set they are standing in the most clearly? Does their body language act more, or subtle facial cues? Here’s those same shots with JUST the characters blocked in. To you, what different information does each piece represent? What does the feeling of someone very far from camera say vs a face SO CLOSE we can see their pores?

Things moving through frame can also follow these lines! Having something move closer or farther from camera can give you more interest.

THIRD THOUGHT: How do my shots stitch together?

For very short shots cut close together, I use my line of action to make sure your eye is heading towards the next point of interest after the cut. If the eye is moving left, the next shot should have focus on the left side of the screen.

Mad Max: Fury Road has lots of beautiful, varied compositions--but always keeps the point of interest super close to DEAD CENTER, so eyes don’t have to travel far at all to follow the fast action!

In a slower scene, with longer cuts like a conversation, I’m fine with letting the audience bounce left and right, like watching a tennis match. BUT I want each of those slower shots to be something slightly different and interesting either by changing the composition or acting (but this post isn’t ABOUT acting, so none of that today!!!!)

Hey, guest star time: Every Frame a Painting, can you talk to us about shooting conversation basics?

youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UE3jz_O_EM

(ALSO WATCH ALL OF TONY AND TAYLOR’S VIDEOS TO LEARN SO MUCH MORE THAN WHAT I COVER HERE)

A simple scene doesn’t mean complete repetition of shots. You can have similar compositions with slight differences that make them more interesting. AND we’re gonna back that up with an example drawn by one of my favorite board directors, Johane Matte.

Original found here: https://www.deviantart.com/rufftoon/art/Last-Airbender-Spoilers-02-170233494

Now, if your interest is built off of acting, repeating shots is a-ok!

Take this sequence from the West Wing. If you are unfamiliar with the episode, it’s Thanksgiving and Charlie, the President’s aide, has been trying to find a new carving knife for President Bartlett. Charlie has presented MULTIPLE knives throughout the episode, and the President has turned down every one so far.

youtube

https://youtu.be/LQlUVfz_qbg?t=21

I’d split this scene into 3 parts, plus a transition out.

Part 1: President and charlie banter, same energy level as they enter the scene. It’s a classic walk-and-talk that West Wing fans know--they switch around spots as they walk, are sometimes close, are sometimes far. It’s fun and interesting!

Part 2: The characters plant, and have a small face-off as Charlie respectfully confronts the president. Most of the shots are the same--it’s a shot reverse shot with the patter-patter-patter of the dialogue driving the cuts.

Part 3: When the emotion gets more intense, we cut in CLOSER and really let the actor reactions land.

Transition out, they say goodbye and Charlie walks away.

Now this is a simple scene driven by dialogue and the personality of each character. We don’t need EXTREME shots or incredible close-ups. This scene has solid blocking, clear compositions, but isn’t flashy--it doesn’t need to be.

So...when is it time for flash?

THOUGHT FOUR: ACTION AND FIGHTSSSS!!!!!

LINE OF ACTION. SO IMPORTANT. You want your action to happen fast? Lots of cuts, lots of motion, lots of EMOTION!??! Guide the eye!!!!! GUIDE the EYE.

Here’s a breakdown of a short fight sequence from Voltron. This features only the silhouette of the two characters, and how much of the ground we see. Forget the story and characters for the moment--focus only on these two enemies andthink of the following questions: How much of the screen does each character they fill? WHAT side of the screen are they on? How does their size or position change from shot to shot? How does their size or position change INSDIE each shot? If the camera were held by a real person, how high or low would it be?

FIGHT SCENE!!!!

youtube

Now watch the screen and ask the same questions but add in this: How long does each shot take? When does the camera move, and when does it stay still? And what emotion does that convey?

FINAL THOUGHT: How to apply...?

I’ve asked a lot of questions throughout this post. Now it’s your job to ask yourself those questions every time you storyboard a scene.

#long post #animation #storyboarding #storyboard #composition #otternauts

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morewritingforourcharacters · 5 years

Text

Two Miserable to be One Lol Good

His eyes settled to half-lid, fixed on back of the person seated in front of him. Harvey didn’t want to watch this play but figured he wouldn’t insult anyone as long as he stayed awake. Of course, even though he’d warned Edwin that he’d hate the play, Edwin still beat him over the head with his whining until Harvey gave in. And now that he was here, he didn’t understand a word of it. Just sounded like the rich actors were making jokes about people who weren’t as good as them. That’s what Harvey figured, since most rich people did that with their free time.

The need to sleep was starting to blur his vision, so he focused in on the head of hair before him. It was a pile of stringy brown strands, pulled up, but still messy. Helen’s. Looked terrible next to the golden ray of sunshine on Perry’s head. Like seeing Dougal next to Edwin. Or himself with Edwin, or anyone with Edwin.

Helen wasn’t such a bad person though. She’d been through her trials, and Harvey was satisfied to see them come to an end of some kind. Not a great end, because that worm Periwinkle was involved in it. But better than before. She seemed happy now, especially when Harvey remembered the night he went to visit her.

The sun had just fallen so Harvey figured he could find her at the church. She said she only went back there to sleep. Harvey came by sometimes to bring news of Perry. It gave Helen some kind of sick pleasure, apparently, to hang on like that. Harvey didn’t know why he did it, it just felt like he had to. He didn't have any news today though; Daniel said it was gonna be a bitter night and Harvey had thought of her.

Helen wasn’t the only one to seek out the church’s shelter. A row of four were huddled against the towering church walls when Harvey walked up. They were wrapped in some blankets and shawls, reasonably dressed. Probably they picked those clothes from the recently dead; that was Harvey’s guess. No shame in it, it was the way you paid your respects to the deceased.

Looking them over, they were all a bit like Helen. They had whipped-dog slouches and withering bodies. Harvey pulled his mouth sideways in a look that wasn’t a frown or a sneer but something in between the two, and his brow furrowed. He didn’t have a hard time looking these sorts in the eye, like most people would. But now that he had steady work it wasn’t as easy to do. He strode right past them though, his feet making plush sounds as they sunk into the snow, heading to the door of the church. Just beside it was a bundle of blankets, vaguely forming the shape of a crouched body. Harvey couldn’t see the woman underneath, but he knew it was Helen for a couple reasons. The bold colored rug on top of the pile told him Carlos had been by. And everyone knew that Helen was always hiding under things.

He came up close, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. The blanket pile didn’t move. With the tip of his boot he nudged it a couple of times, the same way he’d knock on a door in this weather. A head poked out and sure enough it was the pale, mousey face of Helen looking up at him. Something uncomfortable stirred in Harvey then. He couldn’t really think how to describe it. From money to nothing. Like looking into a fall from grace, probably how Edwin would’ve put it in that stupid show-off way of his. Probably would have carved it into a sign too. In Harvey’s language, he would say she looked uglier than usual. Kind of dazed, too.

“Still hanging around here, huh?” he grumbled, his voice like coarse sand.

She smiled, but the tiredness in her face remained. “I probably will be for a long time.”

They were both silent a moment. Neither of them were the sort to make light of things for the other’s sake. They didn’t even try to fill up the emptiness of the moment. Their lot was a miserable one, and they both knew it. They’d known it most their lives. In their mutual silence, they had companionship.

Or maybe Harvey felt that alone; Helen seemed to be shrinking back into the blankets. He frowned harder and shook his head at her. He’d made up his mind to help so he was going to help.

“Well c’mon. I’ve got something to give you, away from all these people,” Harvey said, flicking his fingers in a beckoning gesture. Helen didn’t want to move, for the cold. But since it was easier to follow than to argue, she got up. She swayed, unsteady on her feet, and Harvey caught her under the elbow, looking unsurprised. Being on a ship all your life, you just get used to watching people lose their balance.

What did surprise him was how she slipped her arm through his, after that. He always thought that was something snobbish people did. Then again, Helen did use snobbish words, so she must’ve had something of the streak in her. Suddenly Harvey felt out of place. He didn’t know how to respond, so he pretended he barely noticed and carried on.

They walked to a lonely bench outside some smith’s shop. Harvey couldn’t tell what kind of smith, he only knew that they made things because the sign above the door had tools on it. The roof of the shop stuck out over them, making it feel like they were shaded from the outside world. Neither looked each other in the eye as they sat down. Helen had seated herself right next to him, and he could feel the bone of her hip poking through her skirt; the woman was wasting away.

Harvey fished into his jacket pocket, then pulled out a paper-wrapped block. It was cheese he’d swiped from the counter at the Goodwins’, but it wasn’t stolen. On his way out he’d announced:

“Takin’ your cheese to Helen.”

Edwin’s high pitched reply was cut off by the shutting door. Harvey knew they wouldn’t mind. That’s what made them bloody Goodwin’s. They gave you the feeling that you could walk all over them and then they’d pay to get your shoes cleaned because it was polite. Really mind numbing stuff. Even for all Harvey’s attempts to toughen up Edwin, he couldn’t shake the proper-breeding out of him. So this is what it got him; Harvey had done all he could so he had no reason to feel sorry about it.

“I brought cheese,” he said, dropping the block in Helen’s lap with his usual unaffected attitude. Helen touched the thing tentatively, turning it like she was dealing with a work of art. She obviously had no idea what to do with it.

“Oh look at this. Well made..”

“Gonna eat it or what?

Helen frowned and shot a look at him. He couldn’t say for sure, but it was like she’d just realized the food was for her. Which would also mean she thought he’d brought the cheese just to eat it in front of her. He was spared further confusion as Helen interrupted his thoughts.

“You can’t mean...All of this? Thank you. No it’s too much. I only need a little ..” showing what she meant, she broke off a tiny corner from the cheese and ate it.

Harvey had no qualms about meeting her eyes now. He stared at her dead on, his face mirthless. Normally, he didn’t get in the way of people’s stupid choices. If you wanted to starve yourself to prove a point, it was Harvey’s opinion that the world was better off without you anyway. But this went beyond stupid.

“Right. I didn’t come out all this way so you could take a sample. You’re gonna eat the whole thing while I sit here.”

Harvey saw he’d trapped her then. Her eyes darted longingly in the direction of the church.

“I don’t know how long that will take..”

“It’s gonna take a lot longer if you keep talking.” he growled, arms crossed, “Just do it, Helen.”

The darkness got darker while they sat, Helen picking away at the block one little bite at a time. They were mostly quiet, each thinking about the cold and how unhappy they were to be stuck there on that bench. Harvey could understand why Helen avoided them all. Helen had made an embarrassment of herself when she chose Perry, more now than ever. Even the people who liked her- the Goodwins and Daniel and Scott- spent nights making talk about her and Perry.

Harvey already hated when they talked about him, He might’ve just walked off the deck into the sea, if he’d been in her place.

He glanced sideways at Helen, just as she leaned into his arm.They’d both been shivering and suddenly Harvey felt like giving what warmth he had to help a poor woman in need. He tossed his arm around her shoulder, and she sunk into him, easily, readily, quietly. She might’ve been waiting for him to do that, maybe for a while. She must’ve been pretty lonely.

Between the actor’s lines, Helen stole glances at her husband. Perry’s fingers were curled into hers and his brows narrowed, watching the story unfold with intense interest. To see him enjoy it was as much a treat as the play itself and Helen smiled a secret smile. She leaned over to plant a kiss on her husband’s cheek, but stopped midway across the seat as she felt Harvey’s gaze from the corner of her eye. It drained the romance right out of the moment; Helen drooping guiltily back into her seat.

There wasn’t anything between them, and Harvey had never really wanted her to begin with. What was, ended softly and without a fight. But, for a time, Harvey’s presence was sorely needed.

She still recalled how the church made a perfect setting. At night she walked the halls like she haunted them. Even her shawl trailed in the air behind her, almost floating. The atmosphere was dark and moody, just dramatic enough to echo her feelings.

That night, moonlight streaked in from the windows and made bright spots all along the floor leading to the church doors. She hadn’t expected to see Harvey again so soon. They’d parted the evening before with a touch of embarrassment. That wasn’t to say she didn’t want to see him. In fact, she very much did. Of everyone who made her feel small, Harvey made her feel the least small. Although he should have judged her the harshest, since he was owed the right to gloat over her poor choices. If he ever thought about that, he didn’t show it.

Harvey was frowning, as usual, when he opened the door. Shuffling in his clothes, shifty glances around the room. Ever the observer, Helen wondered if he felt unworthy when he came into holy places.

“Quit hiding behind that pillar,” was the first thing he said. And Helen obeyed. “Yeah I wasn’t going to come back but Edwin was going on and on about this oily stuff here and your lips are all peeled. Ehh..”

He trailed off, looking like he was starting to regret his coming.

“If you want it. You want it?”

Harvey was right, the winter winds had scorched her lips, and she was eager to try any remedy. Miss Kitty used to prepare an herbal ointment for their skin when the air was dry. But Helen didn’t hope to recreate it; the only ingredient she remembered was the “food scrap from a bearded man”. It stuck with her, not because it was the strangest, but because it was usually the hardest ingredient to come by. She eyed the decorative glass jar Harvey held out to her now.

“Edwin doesn’t mind?”

“Bah just take a glob, he won’t notice its missing,” Harvey gestured impatiently with the jar, then added, “And even if he did, I’d just tell him that Scott was into it, making it half full or half empty or whatever. Edwin will believe it. Scott too.”

The excuses only served to make Helen more resistant.

“I’d rather not.”

As expected, Harvey didn’t like her answer. He squared up across from her, not afraid to argue with someone smaller than him.

“The blazes, Helen. I don’t see what you’re trying to do. You of anyone should know to take something when you’re handed it for free.”

And Helen didn’t know how to answer that. She pulled at the shawl around her head, slipped her hands into it. She was touched that Harvey was going out of his way to look after her, but she was in mourning and wasn’t ready to take comfort yet.

“I don’t want to expect these things. They’re not mine to have.”

“Expect what? This ain’t a promise ointment. This is a one time thing. Why you gotta make it out to be bigger than it is? It’s nothin.”

“Well...as long as it’s..nothing.”

Harvey made some angry guttural noise in response and Helen stuck her finger in the jar. It was thick and slimy, sticking to her fingers like melted wax. She slid down against the wall behind her and sat between two arched windows, the wood floors bathed in light on either side of her. Harvey did the same, sitting with his arms over his knees, slouching forward a bit. It might have been wishful thinking, but Helen almost thought he was watching her from the corner of his eye as she felt the ointment on her lips. Helen rubbed her sticky fingers together. Tense.

“It feels good, you should try it.”

“Eh not my thing.”

“I could put it on you,” she said, finishing the sentence with a nervous swallow. Her voice was a mellow whisper, loud in the silence.

Harvey’s head swiveled right around. He’d gotten her meaning, but he didn’t say no. His face just softened. Helen moved forward, haltingly, until she pressed her mouth against his. After all--Harvey was right, she had to take what was offered.

Not much came of it, since Harvey stiffened up in an unnatural way. But it didn’t matter, it felt warm and even when she gave up on the kiss, she found that when she wrapped her arm around him, Harvey pulled her in. It was a small mercy. Helen laid her head against Harvey’s chest and he let her and there was peace. They fell into silence, as it was the natural way with them.

It was a long time before Harvey moved, but when he did, he did so with a jerk. Helen followed his gaze to see what had startled him and saw a little figurine of God’s son surrounded by angels, behind the podium. It looked like the figurines were watching them. Helen also moved abruptly.

“Oh..Maybe….”

She backed off Harvey as he was doing the same, and brushed some strands behind her ear as he dusted off his shirt.

“Sorry.”

“‘S fine. ‘S fine.”

It never happened again after that. Harvey still came by, sometimes leaving things for her. It was just friendship. It was an acknowledgement of a fellow man's hardship; what one might expect from a sailor. And when he came by, he usually found a way to touch her arm or hand or something. Only for a second, because he knew she needed it.

In the background, the play carried on to some unfamiliar line and Helen realized she’d let her thoughts wander too long. There were whispers at her back, Edwin’s urges: “Wake up, Harvey, for heaven’s sake”. Using the guise of curiosity, Helen worked up enough courage to turn around and found Harvey grudgingly blinking open his eyes for Edwin. She gave him a little smile and when he saw her, he gave her a little one too.

#goodsailorsmakebadlovers idontshipthem butmaybeedwindoes

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atomic-r0x · 7 years

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Lola’s second Challenge

Okay so for this challenge I kind of cheated a little bit – I don’t know if you can call it a proper date, though it kind of is???

I hope you guys enjoy this and don’t hate me, hahaha

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BOOTHBAY HARBOR, February 8th

She watched him walk ahead of her, hands deep down into the back pocket of his jeans, shoulders perched up as he kept on going against the wind, his wild tar-black locks all messed up by the breeze. She was maybe ten feet behind him, or were they fifteen? The reasonable distance between two strangers walking along the same muddy dark grey-and-gold combination of sand and sea-carved rocks. Only, they were not strangers.

Lola had been trying so hard to convince herself this was not a date. She was not there because Boris wanted to introduce her to his mother. They were simply on holiday, and he had to visit his single mother before going back to their hectic life in New York City. This was not a date. This was not a date. This was not a date. This was not a date.

“Aye, Pop, look over there! Do you see that?” Boris finally spoke, stopping in his tracks, fully facing the sea, stray foam reaching out further and further as if aiming for his shoes. His right arm was extended, pointing at something towards the horizon, while his left hand settled on the small of her back as soon as the girl stepped next to his slender figure. In the distance, almost blending in with the angry restlessness of the winter sea, was a rock formation making its way ambitiously high up in the middle of the deep blue.

“The rock?” she asked, her chocolate brown eyes following the direction his ringed index finger was pointing at. Lola rested her head on his shoulder, a tenderness unfamiliar and slightly overwhelming rushing through her body, a warm feeling jolting from her chest to her belly.

“Yeah, the rock. It’s pretty massive, actually” he let out the softest chuckle as his extended arm dropped, his head hesitating a bit before he rested his cheek against her head. “I remember I’d take dad’s boat and sail there, it took a good half an hour or something, and I’d tie it to bits of the rock and them climb it. Never been to a place more peaceful.”

There was a twisted pain hidden behind his half smile and the semi melancholy way his words rolled out from between his thin lips, an ache she was aware of, but had little experience handling. Boris had told her about the loss – the shredded wooden parts, the floating body, the thunderstorm that followed –, but only in passing, little after he suggested they flied to Maine to visit his hometown. He promised he’d moved on, it happened over ten years before, the dead remain dead and he knew crying over it was no use. Lola believed him, her bare body then pressed against his, in the pitch darkness of his New York City suite. She believed him then, but now, standing beside him on a beach tormented by a ruthless wind in the middle of winter, looking out into the horizon, there was something else surfacing, quite different from hurt. Longing.

They had been dating for what, almost four months now, and as time went by, Lola started noticing something familiar in Boris, something she’s spot in some of her one-time older lovers. It was the need for security, the need to know investing their feelings in someone wasn’t in vain, wasn’t pointless, the need to know that in the morning, the bed wouldn’t be empty. And in all sincerity, it was heartwarming to witness it, to watch Boris grow completely unarmed and ready to put his heart on a plate like that. For a heart that’d been running away from feeling anything for so long, her boyfriend’s courage marveled her, how he took the world so purely, like loving and hurting in love were the two purposes that fueled humans’ existence.

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home. To meet mom, I mean” he spoke after a while, his hand holding hers loosely as they went on walking along the shore, facing the wind headfirst.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t believe it” Lola said almost immediately, as if hoping these words would help get rid of the urge to pull her hand away from his, shrink in inside herself and block out everything making her uncomfortable.

“It’s true, though. I mean, I never really had a girlfriend that lasted more than a few weeks.” Boris’s lips were curved into a small smile, the cheeky look he had when Lola just knew he was thinking much further than what he was saying, and for once, she was curious what was really going on inside his mind, what kind of thoughts were rushing before his eyes as he gave her only a restricted access to the things that clouded his brain.

“What?” she finally asked, analyzing the side of his face as they walked towards the cliffs separating the beach from the rest of the coastline.

“Nothing…” he shrugged, before he stopped and smiled to himself, facing the sea again. They stood in silence for a couple minutes, contemplating the foamy waves ahead of them, before he placed his hand on the back of her neck gently, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “It’s just that I’ve never felt this good about someone I’ve ever been with, and I know you don’t like that kind of stuff… But I kind of see myself with you. You know, the bigger picture. It’s pretty cool.”

It took a good moment for Lola to remind herself to push at least one corner of her mouth up into a smile, something reassuring, something to hide how cold she’d gone inside, how badly she wanted to run into the sea and be swallowed by it, go back to the safe busyness of New York City where having to face emotions was optional and there was always a back door through which she could escape. “Yeah, I kind of do too.”

Why did she even say that, the question would haunt her for days after the walk along the windy shoreline.

+++

Boris kept thrusting, inwards and outwards, rocking his hips against her own in a perfectly balanced rhythm, like a metronome was permanently stuck inside his heart, pumping the energy to get him through the day in a specific tempo. His hand was gripping at the cheap cardboard headboard, though not even that seemed to be much help balancing the two frantic bodies, sweaty and bare on an oddly sized bed in Boothbay’s only motel.

It amused Lola to a certain extent that they had to get a room somewhere to fuck, but it seemed fair enough considering his mother lived in this tiny one-story house with the walls so thin it almost felt like the whole floor was just one big room. In the darkness of this trashy accommodation, she could see the outline of his skinny figure hovering on top of her, his breathless gasps inches away from her ears.

Tonight was different. She knew him for the rough guy whose stamina amazed her, never afraid to go a little extreme – he was amazing in bed, that was for sure. But tonight, his performance was nothing close to the usual, although the occasional bruising and bites did happen – there was affection and care invested in the whole act of making love, he was smoother and more tender than she’d ever seen him before. And while it did make her scream, it was not the intensity of the act that had her panting and clawing at his back, but the way it felt like an act of worship, something they (or at least he) made out of love and genuine lust for each other.

They came simultaneously and never had she ever felt more overwhelmed by that, Lola’s whole body shivering with jolts of pleasure and muscle ache from all the fumbling beneath the cream-white sheets. She watched him get out but not roll over yet, lingering a little longer in his hovering position on top of her, his eyes barely distinguishing in the pitch darkness of the room. He was planting kisses now, all the way from between her breasts to her belly button, proceeding to lay down with his cheek resting against the wet skin of her stomach.

“Your flight’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” he whispered, this moment too precious to ruin with unnecessary conversation.

“Uhum” Lola nodded, her hand reaching for the messy bunch of hair that tickled her abdomen, tangling her fingers in it.

Boris took a moment before saying anything else, though his heavy sigh gave the girl a pretty good idea of what was next. “Just… Be careful what you do at Fashion Week, alright?” he finally said and planted a kiss on her belly button, making Lola giggle ever so slightly. “I’ll be there in a few more days, alright? Don’t be too bad.” He concluded, propping himself up on his hands as he hovered on top of her again, this time aiming for the richness of her lips, engaging in a long and lustful kiss.

+++

New York City, Feb 10th

Only a day in the New York Fashion Week craze and Lola was already baggy eyed and sore, feet almost on the brink of starting a riot for having been trapped in high heels for so long. It had taken five alarms and a lot of determination to roll out of bed at barely nine o’clock in the morning, and Lola was already running late.

“Coffee’s ready!” Barbie screamed out from the kitchen, dressed in her pink bathrobe as always, golden locks falling in messy woke-up-like-this waves down her back. Lola couldn’t count on one hand how many times she’d peeled the silk material off her roommate’s shoulders, letting it slip on the floor as they proceeded to kiss on the kitchen counter or against the bathroom mirror, or even on the faux leather couch they’d turned sticky with sweat so many times. But today was not the time for any of that, and Lola simply threw on one of the shirts she’d stolen long before from Benedict before heading off to the bathroom, thanking Barbie for the coffee on the way there.

In the cold light of bathroom lightning, it was impossible not to take the shirt off to step into the shower without noticing the three bruises she sported along the interior of her upper left arm, remains from the hot night of love making she had with Boris only a few days before. And Lola couldn’t help but smile to herself, the warm fuzzy feeling she had on the beach in Maine coming back again, turning her stomach into a puddle of affection.

It was five minutes past the time she’d set her last alarm – the one reminding her to get out of the car and grab a taxi –, but there was something hypnotic about the way the three love marks popped up from underneath the cutout sleeve of her dress, like a permanent reminder that she was not just a directionless pair of eyes and a beating heart.

“Girl, you’re gonna lose the first show” Barbie spoke, ready to carry on with her scolding as she rested her hand against the doorframe of Lola’s room, but stopped in her tracks at the sight of the girl staring at herself in the mirror. It took a few steps to get behind her and look at the reflection her roommate was so absorbed by to understand what was going on, and with a small smile on her lips, she covered the bruises with her long pale fingers. “You know, you really gotta wear them proud. But you need to run now.” She spoke softly, placing a little kiss on the curve of Lola’s neck before she walked back to the living room, wrapping the silk material of her pink robe even tighter around herself. “The taxi’s downstairs, hurry up now!” she shouted, giving Lola a warm grin as she watched her walk out of her room, grab her purse, and head out, not before placing a kiss on her lips.

“I’m with you right this minute, on the way to nyfw, you’re right there on my arm” Lola’s fingers typed in a second before sending it to Boris, biting on her lip as she checked the calendar, only to see there were two more days until he landed back in New York. This was a dangerous road she was headed on, but right now, she was fearless. Maybe this really was what falling in love felt like.

��<

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tekowolfsbane · 7 years

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Tale of a Murderor

Chapter 1 - Fresh Meat Darkness falls over a desert land; with skulls and dehydration filling the bottom of the cup, it is then topped with skin piercing sand. As one fateful night a mysterious conversation fills the echoing corridors of a tall stone building, that has stood for decades slowly degrading as many travel by. A slender women puffed her cigarette dunking and darkening the room, she sat dominantly in her high chair as it towered over a short stubby man while he gave his proposal to the lady. "I can't let this happen!" The Short man demanded. "If this is why you have brought me here then I will leave immediately!" "Well aren't you quick to jump to conclusions?" The women smirked sucking her life away. "All I need is a few months and I assure you he will change..." "What makes you think this murderer will change after he's employed to do exactly what he was imprisoned for!?" He yelled as she smiled creating more vapors curling around her body. "This isn't your average Company...He will get quite the surprise when he gets here" A wicked grin spreads right up to ears as the smoke escapes her lips. "Bring him along he has 3 months and if you fear he hasn't changed you can take him back, but this is much more worse than prison...." 500 miles away from the institute is the most secure prison in America; with walls stretching over 10 foot, with many attempts leaving cracks and some scratches since it was built back in the 1900's, Not one criminal has escaped and for good reason. The jail is full of the worst inmates in the world, some even not based in America; they have flown from all over the world and put in the tightest of rooms and people, all of them big muscular and frankly scary. One day this slammer got some fresh meat. Four Men stood in line as the Governor checked them all out; first in line was Bones, he was a big lad with muscles complementing his shirt, tattoo's and scars covering his upper body and his tiny legs barely lifting his weight. Next was Rocky he was your typical sized man regular height, weight and tone and finally Savage he didn't seem to look like he knew a lot or speak for that matter but he was slightly beefed up but not as much as Bones, Oh I forgotten one...There was a lot of difference between the three with this guy he was tiny, in fact in between them he was barely visible cramped between Savage and Bones, this little one's clothes looked like it was draped over him, they were so baggy he had to roll up his sleeves and tuck his trousers in his socks, his sneakers looked stolen in fact it all was probably stolen and his dog tags just poking out from the white shirt underneath. The heat was sweltering making it hard to breath, the sweat from the two big guys helping the runt; with it running to his wrists making them slip out, a huge grin was on his face as the Governor drew close. "STAND STRAIGHT FAGGOTS!" The officer instructed. "Bones, convicted for theft and before arrest smashing 5 officers ribs and bones...Don't think we won't just kill you if you act out of line" Bones snarled as the governor walked past unfazed. "Rocky, responsible for being able to crack concrete and aiding in the theft" Rocky smirks as he breaks a large rock in his hands....the chief not moved. "Savage, jailed for explicit uses of dynamite and fierce attacks on officers" Savage glared trying to intimidate him but the head just snuffed at him. "And finally D-...E-Erm Deo?" "Yo wha'sup?" Deo smirked as the Governor stood before him. "DON'T TALK TO TH-" Shouted the Officer beside him as he got cut off with a raised hand. "Are you sure your in the right place?" He asked Deo slightly bending down to his level. "You tell me?" Chuckled Deo as he smugly rocked back and forth in front of both of them. "STAND STRAIGHT I SAID!!!" The officer demanded. "Whoops sorry pal" Deo giggled. "I guess I shouldn't be so bold yeah?" "What are you smug about boy? A simple beating will wipe that look off your face" The Governor explained as the officers readied there batons. "OH PLEASE NOT THAT!" Deo sarcastically pleaded. "JUST SLAP MY WRISTS AND SEND ME TO A CORNER!" He fell to the floor exposing his unchained wrists to the Chief. "How did you!?" The Head exclaimed as Deo's wrists were quickly bonded. "Maybe you shouldn't expect big bald guys coming into your prison ey Chiefy?" Deo laughed as his hands were rapidly shackled. "You address me as Governor, Nothing else you hear me!?" Yelled the Chief spitting in Deo's Face. "Nice Slobber you got there" Deo smiled. "Maybe I'm not in the right place? But who knows there was only evidence of me with a gun nothing ELSE!" Deo Raged as he was smacked across the face with a baton. "YOU NEED TO LEARN SOME MANNERS BOY!!" Exclaimed the Governor. "I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF YOU WEREN'T BEATEN TO DEATH THE FIRST NIGHT!!" The Head of the institute left in a rage as he was humiliated by a infant; he struggled on his feet as they were dragged along by the guards to get moved into there cells, he barely was able to stand when they got shoved in the holding rooms. Each criminal was taking into a separate area and questioned for general details; Where they live, Any Relatives and what they were convicted for. This was simple for the others but with one prisoner it caused a lot of distress for him and the officer that was interrogating him; he was in the room for well over 5 minutes, not saying a word and refusing to cooperate. It came past 20 minutes and the convicts outside were waiting on him and getting very impatient. "I'll ask you again and if you don't say it this time we'll have to use force" The Guard sighed in frustration. "Where are you from?" "Why don't you beat it outta' me" Deo scuffed rocking in his chair. "WE'VE BEEN AT THIS FOR 20 MINUTES!! TELL ME OR ELSE!!" The Guard yelled with all his force throwing his chair to the floor. "If you say 'or what' you will be shot where you sit!" With a big sigh and rolling his eyes he stopped rocking on his chair and sat forward with his hands clumped in a fist, he looked directly into the cops eyes and spoke with great sympathy. "Boston....Massachusetts" Deo sighed looking to the floor. "34 Terrace St, You happy now!?" "That weren't hard now was it big Baby?" Snarked the Guard while writing the information down. "Any Family or Relatives?" "I DON'T NEED TO TELL SHIT ABOUT THAT OKAY!!!" Deo lunged towards him but held back by a officer behind him. "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING LOOK IT UP!? I'M NOT SAYING SHIT ABOUT MY FAMILY! I'M FUCKING INNOCENT YOU HEAR ME!? I DIDN'T DO FUCK ALL TO THAT WOMEN!" "Calm down..So no relatives?" Cautioned the Guard as reinforcements were going to be called in any minute. "DIDN'T I SAY FAMILY!!! I HAD ONE A'RIGHT! A FUCKING GOOD ONE...." Deo slumped back in his chair. "A real good one...but then she...she died..." He was practically on the floor as his life was presented on a board to the guard; all about his father leaving him at the age of 8, breaking his mothers heart causing her depression and then finding out the news she was addicted to pills and at the age of nine coming back from school she had overdosed herself and she lay lifeless in the tub not knowing what could happen he was on the streets for 10 years and in a gang got him in the mess he is now. The Interrogate sat there in shock as the once arrogant kid were melting in the chair before him, tears running down his now deformed face from the excessive droplets coming from the eyes of a crook. "M-Maybe I'll get details off the governor about your arrest? If your not feeling up to it?" Gulped the guard as he reduced a kid to a puddle. "Yeah...." Sniffed Deo as he whipped memories from his face. "They won't be any hold-up's either next time..." Everything seemed to skip Deo that day from the many questions he was asked by several officers, being searched and being given his prison uniform, the bundle of blankets, cups and plates, then getting seen by the doctor which didn't take long as he was in fine shape and finally being shoved into a cell with the 3 he met today; These three were a gang for sure, all from Boston and all looked like they knew nothing but to cause trouble. Bones was stood at the back dominating the room with his strength, Rocky carving into a stone like it was bread and Savage grumbling on the bench to himself...Deo just sat beside him and with a little growl from Savage he just shrugged it off and leaned on the wall putting both feet onto it. "So your the runt who took on the Governor?" Bones spoke in his american accent. "Yeah what of it!?" Deo spat still pissed after the interview. "Nothing man, takes guts to do that, me and Bones give you props to that" Rocky smiled stopping his sculpting in the process pointing at Bones. "Yeah well I don't fucking deserve to be here" Deo puffed in anger. "Ha none of us do, But who'll believe us?" Rocky chuckled continuing with his model. "They had no fucking proof with me! All I did was had a gun in my hand at the scene...THAT'S IT!" Deo fumed. "That's all they need....Especially with a baby like you" Bones joked. "Did you just call me a Baby?" Deo looked at bones with fury. "I did, I heard you crying" Bones laughed as Deo stood with dominance near him. "What are you going to do about it?" "THIS!!" Deo violently said leaping onto his opponent swinging around his neck, the brute underneath him tried grasping the twig on his shoulders, but because it was only a stick it was impossible to lay a punch into the twerp, The runt on his back were grabbing his bulky neck trying to choke his foe; since his hands were doing nothing he ripped off his dog tags and latched them around his throat the only thing saving the opposer were the one thumb separating the chain from his nape. Rocky and Savage stood there seeing who would kill the other and become there leader, at first they thought the kid would have perished a few minutes back but the fight was getting intense, But there fun was soon drawn to a close when guards flown from every angle separating the two and putting them in different cells.

***************************AUTHORS NOTES*****************************

Before publishing any more chapters I will only post this chapter on Tumblr until I get more people wanting more... If you would like to follow more of this story you will find it in my gallery on DA: http://furryfluke.deviantart.com/gallery/ On another note I apologise in the future for my bad German writing I noticed after learning some of the language that it’s shocking but I may change it in the future once I learn more thank you and enjoy

#story #teko #wolfsbane #tale #of #a #murderor #TF2 #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper

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