#Like I don’t owe you the right to make full masterpieces of art every time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

direnightshade · 3 years

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Inferno

Warnings: Violence / Gun Violence, Post-Apocalyptic Themes, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Death / Major Character Death, Pandemic, Major Injury Word Count: 6,705

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

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An arid landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The familiar rows of brownstones and businesses of Brooklyn have long since vanished, replaced by a sun-baked desert. On the horizon, two figures stand facing one another, their muscles tensed and their focus solely on the other. Neither notices Sackler’s advance toward them.

The leather palm of the fingerless glove that the gunslinger wears creaks with the brief flex of fingers. You are itching to reach for the weapon holstered at your hip, eager to pull the warm steel from its confines to unleash the fury that you’ve been waiting to deliver for years now. But now, you know, is not the time. You will not be the first to make the move. No, this is dependent upon him , the man dressed in all black who stands opposite you with a look of smug determination.

The rough terrain crunches beneath Adam’s shoes and the dust that kicks up clings to them with each step forward that he takes, but as he draws nearer he notes how the sky grows increasingly darker. Large, grey clouds, swollen with an impending storm darken the sky and blot out the sun until a familiar rumble in the distance can be heard. It isn’t long until the first bolt of lightning strikes, effectively halting his steps. The electric current crackles and sizzles on its path downward and it’s then that Sackler realizes the strangest thing: the bolt does not disappear into the ground but rather into the fingertips of the man in black who now holds his hands upwards towards the sky.

Adam’s gaze shifts to where you stand. Your hand has since migrated to the gun at your hip and your thumb has lifted the leather snap of the holster, making for a quicker, easier draw of the weapon. It’s like slow motion, watching the scene unfold before him as your head swivels while your hand grips the gun and lifts in one fluid motion. With a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet rips through the air, the bang of the gun mirroring the echo of the thunder that accompanies a second bolt of lightning that careens down towards the parched Earth.

The moment that the bullet nears the man in black, it’s as if someone has flicked a switch and time has resumed its correct rate of movement once more as the man lowers his hands and faces his palms out towards you, both deflecting the bullet and sending a stream of electric current in your direction. Your eyes widen and just as the current reaches you...

The familiar blare of an alarm clock startles Sackler awake, immediately causing his eyelids to part to now take in the sight of the stark white ceiling above him. Gone is the dry landscape of some foreign desert; he has found his way back to the comfort of home. A large hand settles atop his chest and he takes a moment to puff out his cheeks and exhale a long breath whilst he feels the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath his touch. This is not the first that he has dreamt of you and the man in black, nor does he suspect that it will be the last, but this time, he realizes, was different. This time the man in black had seemed to have the upper hand, something in which he’d never managed to in dreams prior.

Sackler had never believed much in astrology or dream meanings and the like, but the brevity and the sheer vividness of each one chipped away at his stance little by little until finally he’d found himself up and out of bed, pouring over page after page of varying dream meanings. From the cracked, barren wasteland of the desert to the storm that raged above, every meaning—if Sackler looked close enough— could feasibly be tied back to one problem or another in his life. But even with the research and the meanings loosely tied to reality, he still found the tiniest seed of doubt sprouting in his gut—a little flutter of worry that something just wasn’t quite right .

The scrape of a wooden chair across the linoleum floor sounds out into the small apartment when he rises up from his spot at the table, suppressing the unease for the time being. Sackler grabs his backpack and slings a strap over his shoulder before making the short stroll across the space to retrieve his bike. He’d forget about this for now, chalking it up to nothing more than a dream. Because that’s all it could possibly be...couldn’t it?

***

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Shoshana stands beside Adam, her hand gently swirling the wooden stirrer to mix her cream into the coffee that she holds.

The noncommittal hum that she receives in response isn’t to her liking, however. She huffs and nudges Adam’s ribs with her elbow, careful to not waste a single precious drop of the still piping hot liquid.

When Adam turns his head to look at her, she speaks up again. “You have to come! Marnie already said you’d told her you’d be there.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he replies, eyeing the board overhead that contains a multitude of hand-written items available to order. A brief moment of silence follows and then: “Wait, what time does it start?”

“Adam!”

A pinch is delivered to his side, eliciting a dramatic yelp in response to minimal pain. “Wh— ow! What?!”

“It’s six o’clock. And don’t be late,” Shoshana says, pausing momentarily to blow gingerly across the heated surface of her coffee before taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You know how Marnie gets.”

Sackler’s lips purse, thumbs hooking around the straps of his backpack while his eyes continue to peruse the board overhead. Another moment passes before he feels a nudge, this time another elbow, in his side. “Why bother, just get it black like you always do.”

He huffs out an amused breath and smiles down at Shoshana who mirrors the expression prior to excusing herself and pivoting on her heels to make her exit. He watches as she steps out of the door, the bell overhead ringing to signal her vacation of the premises; when the familiar blonde head of hair disappears among the crowd on the other side of the exterior wall’s windows, Adam’s gaze slides over to the clock that adorns the nearby wall. One thirty.

With a sigh, he turns back to face Ray who is already in the process of sliding him the usual: one black coffee in a plain off-white insulated cup complete with lid. Tossing down enough money to cover both the coffee and tip, Adam flashes Ray a grin and turns to follow Shoshana’s path back out onto the street.

***

The unassuming brick building that sits on Willoughby is lit by a pair of skyward pointing spotlights, illuminating the red brick against the dark backdrop of nightfall. Inside, the stark white of the walls and grey concrete floors reflect the blinding fluorescents overhead. Art is dotted sparsely along the walls, ranging from geometric abstraction to realism. Hushed tones fill the space as would-be patrons, guests, and painters alike all speak to one another among the art.

The soles of a pair of scuffed tan leather boots carry Adam further into the gallery while his gaze sweeps the area, roaming from one piece to another. The hands that are shoved deep into his one good pair of pants flex within the stiff material of his pockets as he stops in front of a painting by someone with a name he doesn’t recognize. Like nearly every other piece of art in this place that he’s laid eyes upon, this one is loud; bold, bright colors are splashed across the canvas in such a way that it almost appears angry, as if someone had been in the throes of being upset when making this. Though, what the fuck does he know about art?

Adam snorts to himself and pivots, stepping away from this piece and moving on, one after another until…

“Hooooly shiiiiiit,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

“It’s a masterpiece isn’t it,” says a familiar voice abruptly to his right. “I’d say it’s my best work yet.”

Sackler’s gaze slides over to the nameplate that sits beneath the painting, though he doesn’t have to. He knows precisely this belongs to by their voice alone.

“I call it The Duality of Life and Death,” says Booth with an air of smugness. “You see, the Gunslinger, they’re the embodiment of life; all light and warm tones, whereas Death here is in all black, being kept at bay by the Gunslinger’s trusty weapon.”

He cannot believe what he is seeing. In fact, he is so focused on the painting before him that Sackler fails to register any and all words that leave Booth’s mouth. It is as if this artwork has been pulled straight from his most recent dream. Everything, right down to the bolts of lightning, tinged purple by the storm, is an accurate portrayal of the vividness of the dream he’d lived through the night prior. Impossible. And yet…

“Shut up,” Sackler mumbles just loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Excuse me?” Booth balks at the audacity of Adam’s sudden intrusion upon his well-rehearsed pitch and not so modest boasting about his talents.

“How much?”

The conversation lapses, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of the murmurs of the other patrons. Booth huffs out a laugh, unsure of whether or not this is a genuine inquiry.

“Too much for you.”

“How much,” Adam asks again, this time more forcefully. His head turns and, for the first time since Booth’s arrival, he directs his full attention to the man beside him.

Another brief silence follows. “Fifteen hundred.”

“I’ll give you seven,” Adam counters.

A scoff follows the attempted negotiation. “Absolutely not. Fifteen hundred and not a penny less.”

Sackler’s jaw twitches in irritation and he knows without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Booth is taking him for a ride with the price, but he simply cannot walk away from this. Not when the coincidence is far too great for him to ignore.

“Fine. You have yourself a deal.”

***

Hours later, Adam finds himself back in his apartment fifteen hundred dollars lighter and one painting in hand. Having disrobed down to the grey pair of boxers he still dons, he settles his weight heavily onto the edge of his mattress, his eyes fixated on the acquired painting that now hangs on the wall directly opposite of where he sits.

It’s uncanny, he thinks to himself, unable to shake the familiarity of it. Just as in his dream, the Gunslinger— you —are looking at him, and from even this great distance, your stare seems to pierce right through him. He stares and he stares and he stares until finally, sleep begins to wrap its tendrils around him, pulling him further down into a groggy state until he gives in and lies back against the mattress.

His eyes slowly slide closed, thoughts still on the painting, on his dream, on you . In the distance, an impending storm rumbles.

***

‘As many of you in the city have noticed, there has been a rather unusual weather pattern that’s settled over us, bringing with it an unsettling amount of rain and near hurricane level winds. Our storm tracker seems to indicate that this weather pattern is swirling in place, only delivering more debilitating rain that’s quickly turned to flash flooding in the area. The Hudson and East Rivers have both begun to breach their respective banks. But this isn’t the only unusual thing to come from the storm. There have also been strange electromagnetic pul—’

The nearby lamp flickers and then shuts off just as the television screen turns black, cutting off the meteorologist mid forecast. This has been, provided Sackler’s been keeping count accurately, the twelfth time this morning that the power has cut out. If this time is like the others, he can expect it to come back within the next five minutes.

He puffs his cheeks out prior to exhaling a deep breath, his eyes casting downward towards the phone in his hand—the very one he’d only just allowed himself to be talked into purchasing a mere three days ago. A large thumb taps the darkened glass screen to bring it to life. Twenty-eight percent, reads the small battery icon at the upper righthand corner. He sighs, opting not to waste more of the battery life by calling anyone. There’s no use, he knows. Instead, he tosses the device to the side, watching as it bounces against the worn cushions of the couch he sits on.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Rising up from his spot on the couch, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he crosses the small space of his living room to approach the window that gives him the perfect vantage point of the street below. Rain batters against the window, blurring his view, but below he spots a figure striding with purpose down the street.

Behind him, the microwave beeps and the light of his lamp clicks back on with the sudden return of electricity. Static sounds from the direction of the television and then:

‘In other parts of the world we’re seeing an emergence of a previously unknown virus. To date, there are no cases that we are aware of within the United States, but the CDC is urging anyone with the following symptoms to make a report—’

The story fades into the background as the figure draws closer and grows more visible even through the streaks of water that continue to distort the view from the glass in front of him. His eyes widen in recognition of the long, brown leather duster that hangs down nearly to the pavement. The holster isn’t visible beneath it, but the gun held firmly in hand is a dead giveaway.

“You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Without hesitation, and without allowing his mind to catch up with the actions he now takes, he pushes himself away from the window and makes a break for the apartment’s door, leaving behind the nearly dead phone on the couch.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Plants of varying nature have long since begun to sprout through the cracks in sidewalks and pavement alike, their tendrils crawling up brick exteriors of buildings and brownstone homes. The hustle and bustle that the city is known for has quieted to a deafening degree; where once there were horns and shouts, now there is nothing more than the occasional whipping of the wind and, if one were so lucky, the rare sound of another survivor’s voice.

The illness that had swept across the globe crippled economies and decimated nations, including this very one. Businesses shuddered, families suffered, and in the end, no hope for a cure had been found.

Except for you, that is.

Ever since your arrival to the city where the man in black has taken up residence, it has been claimed by you that you are the only one who can put a stop to the man who’d brought a near end to civilization as Sackler knows it. Back in the realm from whence you have emerged, you have failed to stop him once, but this time, you vow, you will not falter in your mission.

The unmistakable metallic sound of a can being opened can be heard nearby. Sackler turns his head to look over at where you sit, your body curled over the pot that sits atop the lit tabletop burner. His face scrunches in distaste when he watches you dump the tin of beans unceremoniously into the empty pot in order to heat them up. It is the involuntary sound of displeasure that emanates from the back of his throat that captures your attention.

“What,” you ask as your head lifts to look in his direction.

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug just as his attention shifts to the window of the apartment you find yourselves in currently. His head shakes once, twice, and then: “I don’t think I have it in me to eat another can of fuckin’ beans. At this point I think my blood’s made of it.”

The soft snort that emanates from where you stand pulls his attention back to you. He hadn’t heard you pick up the wooden spoon that you now hold, but he watches as you gently stir the warming beans, bringing them up to the desired temperature.

“It’s not like we have many options these days.”

Sackler notes how you refrain from looking in his direction, and instead direct your reply downward towards the soon to be meal. He grits his teeth together, jaw muscles ticking in visible agitation at the remark. It’s been one year, three hundred and sixty-five days, since the man in black’s arrival to Earth and only you, or so you’ve claimed, are the one that can stop him—only you can stop the sickness that he’s wrought on the planet and its people, and yet here you stand in his shitty apartment’s kitchen of all places, cooking some fucking beans.

It’s enough to drive him mad.

“We might not have options, but you sure as shit do,” he snaps, now having lost his patience. “That man, or whatever the fuck he is,” he says, pointing a finger in the direction of the window, “is out there. We know where he is, where he’s been for the last year and still you haven’t done shit about it!”

The wooden spoon once held in your hand now clatters against the side of the pot, the beans forgotten as Adam watches you twist off the flame and turn to face him with a sneer.

“I told you, it isn’t that simple. He’s dangerous , and he’s stronger than he’s ever been. And in case you haven’t noticed—”

“All the more reason to get it done, Kid! No use standing around here wasting time.”

“—I’m the last one of my kind left!”

Silence fills the space when your respective outbursts subside, and it isn’t until then that Sackler notices that you’ve taken steps to bring yourself closer to him. He wonders if you’ve noticed it too. Adam watches as your lips press together into a thin line, evidence of your displeasure with him and the situation the two of you find yourself in.

In a moment of seemingly perfectly choreographed movements, the two of you reach for one another, hands grasping at fabric, skin, anything and everything that you can reach. A groan of satisfaction tumbles from Sackler’s mouth the moment that he draws your body closer until you are firmly pressed against him, the sound greedily inhaled by you amidst a clashing of lips.

***

Hours later, when the light sheen of sweat covering your bodies has cooled, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against his, Adam turns his head and deposits a kiss to the crown of your own. In immediate response, you exhale a barely audible sigh.

There is a palpable energy that fills the space now; it is not the same explosive kind from earlier, the very one that led the two of you to the mattress you currently find yourselves on, no… This time it is different, uncomfortable. Sackler’s lips press together briefly, his jaw working in the familiar way you’ve come to notice in the short span of time that you’ve known him.

“I can practically hear the gears grinding in that head of yours, Kid,” he murmurs.

In reply you hum, though a moment of silence elapses before you respond. “We can’t,” you begin, the two words spoken with a quietness to rival your earlier sigh. Quickly, you lapse into more soundless thought.

Sackler’s arm tightens around your form, holding you closer to him; it is a wordless response that speaks volumes. Don’t , it says. Let us have this one moment of peace before the inevitable storm comes raging in and one of us finds ourselves swept away .

“Adam…” His name is a whisper, spoken so softly that if there were any other remaining souls in this building, not one would hear.

“Don’t,” he exclaims more forcefully than he’d intended. The words that follow are quieter, mournful, even. “Just don’t…” A shaky breath is inhaled and Sackler closes his eyes, an all too familiar ache beginning to make its home in the depths of his chest.

Beside him, bedsheets rustle as you lift yourself up out of the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Slowly, Adam’s eyelids part to look up only to find that you have propped yourself up by your elbow to peer down at him with a pained expression etched onto your features. A hand lifts and his eyes flutter closed once more when the sensation of your fingertips delicately tracing his cheek can be felt.

Such a tender touch only seems to feed the ache.

“We can’t be together.” The pain that he feels seems to be echoed in your own statement. It is a realization that drives the proverbial knife deeper and then twists. Your fingertips skim along his lips which now quiver with unshed sobs for a love that has died before it has even had a chance to bloom. “It’s too dangerous.”

A large hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you in place so that he may press kiss after kiss into your open palm in what feels like a desperate bid to prevent this moment from fading from existence. Adam shakes his head and slides your hand over to rest against his cheek, nuzzling into the touch before opening his eyes once more. This time when he looks up at you, he can see the tears that have gathered at your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks at any moment.

You exhale a trembling breath and when you close your eyes, the tears fall freely. Sackler lifts his hands, thumbs wicking away the moisture from your face as best he can. With a gentle hush, he guides you down to lay against him again, this time with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You understand that, right,” you ask through the sobs that now begin to rack your body.

In response, Adam wraps an arm around your back, his other hand now cradling your head as you rest against him. “Yeah, Kid… I do,” he whispers in reply, his own tears now blurring his vision.

***

A rustling of wrappers can be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. When Adam cracks one eye open, it’s to find that the light of an early dawn has begun to creep its way through the sheer curtain draped across his window, spilling in to illuminate your form as you work to close his backpack. He groans and lifts a hand to rub his palm against one eye, working the grogginess from it whilst he begins to sit upright.

“Whasssgoin’on,” he slurs, voice still thick with sleep.

He’s met by the thump of the backpack as it lands against his chest, and coughing out a breath, he wraps his arms around the material in immediate reaction.

“Get up,” you say, now turning your attention to your own gear, ensuring that you have everything that you need. “Get dressed and make sure you take that with you. We’re heading out.”

“Out?” The sleep that had laced his voice has dissipated entirely, now replaced with a brief bout of confusion. “Out where?”

Sliding your gun into its holster, you pivot simultaneously, the soles of your boots scuffing the old worn hardwood floor. “We have a stop to make. I need more ammunition and then we’re headed into Manhattan.”

It takes him a moment, but when the weight of your words hit him with full force, it’s impossible for you to miss the look of recognition that passes across his face. He scrambles from the bed, momentarily discarding the backpack in order to grab his clothes from the pile he’d discarded on the floor just a day earlier. At long last, after everything he has endured over the course of the last year, after everything that you have endured, as well as the two of you together, the day has finally arrived. And yet…

There is a small seed of hesitation that has sewn itself into the depths of his belly, sprouting up into worry.

***

Brooklyn remains as quiet as it has been for this past year; a gentle breeze cuts through a brownstone-lined street, rustling Sackler’s hair and causing the near floor-length duster that you wear to billow in its wake. The soles of your boots scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles that have torn up from the once heavily-traveled road. Beside you, Sackler adjusts the strap of the backpack that dangles precariously from his shoulder.

“You know you aren’t going to find any ammunition in any of the stores around here.” The words leave him matter-of-factly, as if he knows this to be true.

Your head swivels to look over at him and your eyes squint slightly as if to ask for further elaboration on the subject at hand. In automatic response, his hands lift, palms facing outward as if in defense though the two of you carry on walking alongside one another.

“Gun laws,” he says. “They’re super strict here.”

You huff out a grunt in reply and mutter a barely audible ‘that’s fine’ in return to which Adam quickly follows with: “T-that’s fine? What do you mean that’s fine? Hey! Hey , where are you going?!”

Stunned into momentary silence, Adam watches as you veer off course and make a beeline for one of the passing brownstones that sits vacant. “I don’t need a store,” you call out from over your shoulder.

With a swift, solid kick of your boot to the center of the door, you manage to dislodge the lock and allow yourself entry. The interior of the home is dark in spite of the sun that hangs high overhead just outside—a byproduct of city living. Upon further investigation, the home looks tidy, orderly, as if whomever used to live here locked up and left long before the sickness that swept the nation one year ago was able to settle in and take hold of the building’s occupants.

“Up here,” Adam says, the sudden boom of his voice cutting through your thoughts.

He is already halfway up the wooden staircase that leads to the second floor by the time you look over, taking the steps two at a time to reach the landing. It isn’t long until you are close behind, following him into one of the spacious bedrooms. Sackler’s backpack falls to the floor with a light thump just as he all but dives to the floor, his lean body stretching out as he peers beneath the bed. A hand reaches under, retrieving a small black case along with two boxes.

“Check these.” He rises up from his spot on the floor and immediately pivots to make his way into the large walk-in closet.

The sound of hangers sliding along metal rods can be heard as he pushes row after row of clothes aside in order to hunt down what he suspects will be a second weapon. By the time that he re-emerges, it is to find that you have scattered the boxes of ammunition from beneath the bed on top of the duvet. Beside the discarded ammo sits the black box, now opened to reveal Glock.

“This isn’t what I need,” you reply before turning your head to look over at where he stands at the threshold of the closet. “But that is.”

Just as you nod your head to the boxes of ammunition belonging to the very same revolver that sits on your hip, you stride across the expanse of the bedroom to approach him. Sackler hands the boxes to you without hesitation, watching as you squirrel the individual bullets away in the bandolier that sits snugly around your waist.

When the last of the ammunition has been tucked away, you lift your gaze to find Sackler staring back at you with an expression that you can’t quite pin down. There is an air of wistfulness about it and something else you cannot put your finger on.

“Ready,” you ask, lacing the question with an enthusiasm that is so manufactured that it feels bitter and foreign in your mouth.

Sackler nods but does not respond verbally. Instead, he turns and makes his way out of the bedroom first with you following close behind. Back by the bed, still lying on the floor, remains the backpack that Sackler had brought with him on the first leg of your journey.

***

Even from the Brooklyn Bridge, it is impossible to miss how the tallest residential building in the whole of the city looms above all else. But here, now, standing just beneath it on Park Avenue, makes all other vantage points pale in comparison. The front wall of the building that once housed luxury accommodations is all glass, pure and pristine—not a single pane disturbed or broken, unlike the remainder of the buildings that have gone neglected since the planet’s downfall.

“This is the one.”

“Yeeeeah.” Adam’s head tips back, eyes squinting to peer up at the sheer size of the building. “I figured.” When he rights his stance, head turning now to look over at you, he rolls a shoulder into a shrug. “Nothing says ‘the villain’s in here’ like the only untouched building in all of New York, and my guess, the world.”

You hum out an unintelligible reply—a grunt of sorts, something that requires no retort from Sackler, but receives one nonetheless.

“Hey,” he calls out, a hand snapping out to grasp your upper arm just as you begin to take steps towards the building’s front door. Only when you turn to face him again does he ease his grasp and then release it entirely. “Whatever happens in there—”

“Adam…”

“—whatever happens in there…” Sackler pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly, eyes searching your own. “That son of a bitch is dead, yeah?”

He watches as your head nods, albeit a bit more slowly than he’d like. When he says nothing, you nod again, this time with more conviction. “Yes.”

In turn, Sackler nods and utters a ‘ good ’ before following you through the front door. The lobby of the building is just as the outside stands: untouched and in good condition just as the day that it had been prior to the man in black’s arrival to the city. Despite the lack of people in the space—security or otherwise—it’s impossible to miss the hum of anticipation that shoots through the air like electricity. Every hair on the back of Adam’s neck seems to rise with the feeling, and his eyes dart around the room whilst he continues to follow your lead to the nearby staircase.

“Woah, hold on,” he whispers as the stairwell’s door clicks shut softly behind him, his hand once again reaching to grasp your arm to effectively stop your advance towards the stairs.

“What?!” The words that you hiss out in reply echo slightly against the concrete walls and floor alike.

A gentle tug pulls you closer, and though you don’t resist, it isn’t lost on Adam how your eyes narrow ever so slightly at the abrupt halt of your plans. “Something’s... off … It,” he starts, sighing and releasing his hold on you to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It feels wrong.”

When your brows crease in momentary confusion, he elaborates.

“You don’t think it’s weird that no one’s here? There’s no, I don’t fucking know, evil henchmen or some shit to stop us?”

A huff of air is expelled just as you turn your gaze upward as if to look to the floors above where you will undoubtedly find the man at long last. Adam watches as your lips press together momentarily before you look back to him and whisper once more. “Does it really matter? He’s here,” you insist, your own hand reaching to grasp his forearm. “You feel it. I know you do.”

When silence fills the space between you, Adam nods once in affirmation to your statement. He does feel him, it’s impossible not to. The crackle of electricity in the air has only grown more intense even only having moved a few hundred feet upon entry into the building.

“Come on,” you say, loosening yourself from his hold just as your hand slips from his arm simultaneously. “Let’s finish this.”

***

Thunder rumbles beyond the panes of glass that makeup the exterior walls by the time the two of you reach your destination and the final floor of the eighty-five story building. The door staircase’s door leads to a small hall that in turn leads to a solid black door complete with a tiny peep hole that the former occupants undoubtedly used to peer out at any visitors. Sackler surmises that now such a peep hole is useless and unused.

The feeling of unease that has settled into the depths of his stomach only seems to grow when you reach for the handle, turning it without resistance and finding that the door is unlocked. It’s a trap, he wants to call out, but that—he knows—would only serve to verbalize the obvious. You are just as aware as he, and yet…

The two of you push onward, stepping into the penthouse apartment that overlooks the entirety of Manhattan. Beyond the panes of glass that makeup the living area, Central Park stands empty, bathed in the purple light of the rapidly impending storm. To your left, movement captures both yours and Sackler’s attention and when your heads collectively turn to find the source, a sweeping sense of dread drapes over Adam like the heaviest of blankets.

“I see you’ve finally found me.” The soles of the boots the man in black wears, land heavily against the cool marble tile that covers the floor where he walks. “It only took you, oh,” he pauses briefly, pretending to check his watch, “a little over a year now. I thought your tracking skills were far superior than that, Gunslinger. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough,” Adam sneers, taking his place beside you.

The man’s gaze slides from you to Sackler and back again. There is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before his lips part, stretching wide across his face in a toothy grin. Laughter fills the space as his head is thrown back momentarily. Though the sound fades, the amused grin remains when the man’s attention is turned to you, effectively dismissing Sackler.

“Who is this? Is this the reason you’ve taken your sweet old time?” The man tuts in disapproval, his gaze flitting to where Adam stands, sizing him up with a single sweep down and then back up again. “You always did have a weak heart,” he mocks. “It’s a wonder you are the last one of your kind standing.”

The clouds that roll in now block the sun entirely, casting a dark shadow over the city that spills over into the living room and draping itself across the three of you. Outside, lightning strikes nearby as thunder rolls ominously overhead. The hand that rests at your side twitches in eager anticipation of the quick draw that will undoubtedly occur sooner rather than later.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s gaze once again slides over to where Adam stands, hands balled into fists as if in preparation for the fight to come. The charged air seems to thicken to an uncomfortable degree and for a fleeting moment, Sackler wonders if this sullen energy is radiating from the man himself.

Another strike of lightning illuminates the space, followed rapidly by another that seems to pass through the nearby floor to ceiling length windowpane. With a wave of an outstretched hand, the man sends the bolt in your direction, seeking to put an end to this before it can even begin. Your hand lifts to retrieve the gun from your holster, but quick of a draw as you are, not even you are quick enough for the event that unfolds before your very eyes.

Whilst the bolt comes careening towards you, a large body steps in front at the last possible moment, absorbing the blow.

“No!” You cry out in disbelief, pulling the gun free and firing off three shots in rapid succession, two of which hit their intended target.

As the man in black clutches at his torso, stumbling back behind a nearby piece of furniture for cover, you collapse down onto your knees beside a wounded Sackler.

“No, no, no, no, no, Adam.” The gun in your hand clatters to the floor heavily whilst your hands now roam over his body frantically. You know that there is nothing you can do, the blow has been dealt and the damage has been done. No amount of wishing can save him now.

Sackler chokes, splutters, and wheezes as he struggles to catch what little breath he can. “Kid,” he manages to gasp through labored breaths.

An anguished sob sounds from the back of your throat upon hearing him. Tears begin to fill your vision, spilling over onto your cheeks as your head tips forward to rest your forehead against his shirt near the blackened edges where the lightning bolt made contact with his chest.

“Kid,” he rasps again.

A large hand settles at the back of your head when you lift it just enough to peer down at him. He’s gone impossibly pale, and the realization makes your heart shatter into the smallest pieces imaginable. He is, you know, on the verge of death.

“I—”

“No, Adam. Don’t,” you hush softly, bringing your own hand to his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. “Just rest, you’re going to be okay.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, like ash after a fire has decimated everything in its wake.

There is a slight shake of his head, and the hand at the back of your own presses just enough pressure for you to follow his lead, allowing him to draw you closer. Weakly, he lifts his head up from the ground to meet you on your descent. The tears come effortlessly now when your lips meet, and the hands that once roamed his form now hold his face as you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

“Kid, I—” A series of coughs wrack his body as you help to lower his head back down to the ground. “I. Kid.” Sackler’s eyes roll as he inhales an arduous breath. “I lov—”

The breath leaves his body in a rush, chest stilling and body falling limp.

The golden rays of the setting sun part through the black clouds and cast themselves upon the scene as if to highlight the tragedy that’s just unfolded. But now is not the time for mourning; there will be a time and a place for this later, though every fiber of your being screams for you to stay with him now.

Rapidly you blink, seeking to dispel the tears from your eyes and rid yourself of your blurred vision. Slowly, you push yourself up and onto your feet, grabbing your gun as you go, your gaze still focused on the now lifeless body that lies in front of you. This mission, the one you’d been on solely for yourself and the realm from whence you have traveled from, is now a quest for the man you’d come to love so completely. For him you will do this. For him you will see to it that the man in black will be no more, that order will be restored to Adam’s world once more and that things will revert to the way they once were.

This will be his legacy.

-------------------------

Tagging my fellow Sackler lovers!

@livelongdolan @daydreamsofren @crimsoncounties @caillea @candycanes19 @gurl-ly @duty-isnt-always-honour @exit-goat @little-laamb @themuseic @kylosbitch @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @desiraypark @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @mazeltovcocktail555 @historyandfandoms50 @leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @xxcatrenxx @alpha-lobito @cornmousequeen @tashastrange89 @10blurredsmoke10

If you'd like to be tagged on works going forward, give me a shout!

#Adam Sackler #Sackler #Adam Sackler x Reader #Sackler x Reader #Gunslinger!Reader #Adam Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Dark Tower AU #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: angst #cw: unhappy ending #cw: pandemic #cw: major injury #cw: death #cw: character death #adcu fic exchange

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themattress · 3 years

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My Top 30 Favorite Video Games

Inspired by @ultraericthered’s Top 30 Favorite Anime post.

Although I’m doing mine in countdown form, ‘cause it’s more fun that way!

30. Super Mario Bros. - Arguably the first “blockbuster” game to be released, not only does Super Mario Bros. still hold up over 35 years later but it’s a gift that keeps on giving with how many different incarnations, remixes, fan games using its assets, etc. that we have now.

29. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - OBJECTION! While I cherish the entire original Phoenix Wright trilogy of the Ace Attorney franchise, I’ll always be the most partial to the original outing. The sheer audacity and hilarity of the concept, which is grounded by endearing characters and compelling mysteries, shines brilliantly in this little, easily accessible game.

28. Trigger Happy Havoc: Danganronpa - While similar in many ways to Ace Attorney, Danganronpa boasts a variety of more actual gameplay than mere point-and-click text scrolling. But what really makes this stand out, beyond gameplay or even the strength of its concept, story and characters, is the atmosphere it creates. For good and for ill, traversing the pristine, neon-lit hallways of the abandoned Hopes Peak Academy looking for clues as I’m forced to play by Monokuma’s twisted rules is an experience that will stay with me forever.

27. Star Fox 64 - Beyond all the entertainment this game provides through memes, it’s really just a fun, reasonably simple but just moderately complicated enough game that’s accessible to any player even if they usually don’t go for aerial shooters. It’s also one of the earliest console games that I ever played, so of course it’s going to hold a special place in my heart.

26. Batman: Arkham City - It’s an impressive feat when an open world game can still feel so claustrophobic in all the right ways, and that’s what Arkham City accomplishes. This game is essentially The Dark Knight to Arkham Asylum’s Batman Begins, escalating the action, suspense and sheer Batman-ness, providing unlimited opportunities to enjoy yourself playing as Gotham’s defender and facing down the greatest Rogues Gallery in comic book history.

25. Red Dead Redemption - Look, I know that Red Dead Redemption 2 is technically the superior game. But its complicated story, sprawling cast of characters, and vast canvas of a world can be pretty daunting, whereas I feel like the original Red Dead Redemption struck a much better balance. Allowing open world freedom within the confines of the straight-forward story of John Marston’s redemption really makes you feel like you’re in an old Western film, and the way that choices you make as a player impact the way that film ultimately turns out is one of the strongest arguments for video games being worthy of consideration as true art.

24. The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - So, ten years ago an open world adventure video game series releases its fifth entry...and to this day, we’ve had no sixth, in favor of expansions and updated re-releases of said fifth entry. But that’s not a sign of laziness; it’s a sign the developers know they hit such a peak in quality that they have no need to rush anything further out the gate, as Skyrim is a gift that keeps on giving. Addictive in how unlimited in possibilities it is, with each playthrough never being the same as the one before, Skyrim is a gaming masterpiece that I don’t think I’m going to get bored with playing anytime soon.

23. Super Paper Mario - This may be an unpopular opinion, but I vastly prefer this game’s action-platform-RPG hybrid gameplay style to the prior installments’ traditional turn-based RPG style, which feels more at home in stuff like Super Mario RPG and the Mario & Luigi series. But gameplay aside, I think this has the strongest story of any Mario game, trading in the usual “save the kingdom/princess” fare for saving all of reality, with legitimate emotion and drama and even character development. It’s one of the Wii’s shining gems, to be sure.

22. Epic Mickey - This game’s graphics are by and large unremarkable, its gameplay is fraught with issues (that camera is unforgivable), and it’s nowhere close to the best on its system or genre. But Epic Mickey is a case study in where the effort put into crafting the game’s world and story, not to mention the obvious love and respect for the material being worked with, pays off. Any Disney fan will love this game for its story, which puts Mickey front and center as an actual character rather than a mascot and dives deep into his history as he meets his “half-brother” Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, and its mystical, unique atmosphere - what the graphics can’t deliver, the fucking music more than makes up for. All of the game’s flaws mean nothing compared to the sheer heart on display, and I treasure it greatly as a result.

21. Batman: Arkham Asylum - I already mentioned that Arkham City is the superior game, but as was the case with Red Dead Redemption and its sequel, personal preference strikes again. The simpler story and narrower confines of Arkham Asylum just appeal to me slightly more, and I feel like the borderline horror atmosphere this game has could never fully be replicated by all of its sequels and spin-offs. Also, you can play as the Joker in this. WIN.

20. Metal Gear Solid - And on the subject of Arkham Asylum, it owes much to this game, which created the template of a lone badass hero having to use stealth and weaponry to liberate a government-owned island from the lunatic terrorists that have taken over. Hideo Kojima famously never wanted this game to have any sequels, and I can definitely see his point, as it’s a complete and wholly satisfying experience in of itself and I don’t feel like it’s ever been topped. At the very least, it’s certainly the most enjoyable of the series to me.

19. The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask - Also, speaking of “borderline horror atmosphere”, we have the freakiest game that the Legend of Zelda series ever put out. What was supposed to just be a gaiden to Ocarina of Time mutated into this beautiful monstrosity that’s become just as iconic. Nobody who plays this game is ever going to forget that fucking moon and all the constant jumping back and forth in time across three days as you try to prevent the apocalypse of Termina. It’s the kind of gaming trauma that’s well worth experiencing.

18. Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories - Like Majora’s Mask, this game is a case study where you can take a bunch of recycled assets and gameplay, and then make something unique from it if you have a well-crafted story with a dark and disturbing atmosphere. It’s hard to experience or appreciate the transition between Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II without playing this midquel, which takes the narrative and characters to deeper levels without being pretentious about it and sets the stage for the proper console sequel perfectly. And if you can’t get into it being on Gameboy Advance, then just play the PS2 remake (which is arguably the superior version anyway) and you’re good! Just...don’t mind the cards, OK?

17. Sonic CD - And now we have another game about jumping back and forth through time to prevent an apocalypse! See the common threads at play here by this point? Sonic the Hedgehog is at his best in 2D gameplay, and I personally enjoy this the best out of all the 2D games in the series. As obscure as the Sega CD was as a system, it was powerful enough to take the blue blur’s speed to its maximum level, set alongside beautiful graphics and a kick-ass soundtrack (well, two different kick-ass soundtracks; and I actually prefer the US one).

16. Pokemon Black & White - While there were advancements made to story and graphics and gameplay features in the third and fourth generations of the Pokemon series, nothing felt as truly ground-breaking as the second generation games until the fifth gen with its Black & White games. This was arguably the game series’ peak in quality on all fronts, but its specifically the story that lands it on this list, as its well-written and paced, subverts many formulaic elements from the previous games, is set in one of the most unique regions in the Pokemon world, and has a timeless message that has only grown more relevant with age.

15. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate - The whole series could really go here, but fortunately the most recent entry is the perfect embodiment of said series, with every playable character there’s ever been and then some. The sheer variety is unmatched by any other fighting game out there, and its story mode, “World of Light”, is quite possibly the greatest video game crossover in history given how many characters are featured as both fighters and spirits.

14. Super Mario 64 - I’m pretty sure this game used to be higher in my favor, but replaying it on the Nintendo Switch recently has made me aware of how, as the first game on the Nintendo 64 and the first 3D platformer, it’s poorly aged in several areas. However, I must stress that it is still a very good game. The fun of going to the various worlds within paintings in Peach’s Castle hasn’t changed, nor has how smoothly and seamlessly Mario managed to make the jump from 2D to 3D. Just like Super Mario Bros., the number of games that owe something to this one is too great to count, and that’s an achievement that remains timeless.

13. Dark Chronicle - Also known as Dark Cloud 2. I hadn’t heard a damn thing about this game before renting it on a whim many years ago, and I was caught off guard by just how good it was. It’s got a simple but effective story and likable characters, a timeless atmosphere, beautifully cel-shaded graphics, dungeon-crawling gameplay, action-RPG combat gameplay, literal world-building gameplay, and even a fishing minigame! This game can actually stand besides the Zelda series without shame; it’s truly an underrated gem.

12. The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - Oh, speaking of Zelda, this game goes full Lord of the Rings-style epic fantasy with it and it is glorious. Between the near perfect gameplay, beautiful 3D graphics, and one of the best stories in the series (with one of the best characters: Midna), Twilight Princess’ most prevalent complaint from critics all the way up to its own developers is that it wasn’t even MORE expansive and awesome given how long it was hyped, and if that’s the biggest issue with the game then I’d say it’s in pretty good shape.

11. Super Mario Galaxy - Super Mario 64 may be held back a little by how its aged, but no such thing is holding back Super Mario Galaxy. Super Mario Odyssey might be as good or possibly even better, but I just don’t hold the same feelings of amazement and respect toward it that I do for this game. From the blitzkrieg-style attack on the Mushroom Kingdom by Bowser to the discovery of Rosalina’s space station, this game had me hooked from the first few minutes, especially with it blaring that awesome orchestral score the whole way through. To this day, I maintain that this is Mario’s greatest 3D adventure. It’s simply magnificent.

10. Final Fantasy X - Ha! See what I did there? This game has caught flak for some of the awkwardness that comes from being the first fully 3D entry in the series, but I think that’s tantamount to nitpicking when compared to all it does right. To me, this was the last really good installment of the main Final Fantasy series, with a story and world so brilliantly developed that the game earned the immediate breakthrough success and acclaim that it found in its native Japan. 20 years later and, as the HD remaster has shown, it still holds up as one of the most engaging JRPG experiences I’ve ever had the pleasure of having.

9. Banjo-Kazooie - At the time, this was basically Rare’s copycat version of Super Mario 64, although considered about as good. Now, however, there’s a difference: the aging issues I mentioned for Super Mario 64 don’t apply for Banjo-Kazooie. Whether replaying it on the Nintendo 64 or on whichever Xbox you’ve got, this game is still just as fun, imaginative and hilarious now as it was back then. It’s quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made.

8. Pokemon Crystal - The definitive edition of the Gold & Silver games of Pokemon’s second generation, taking what was already a phenomenal advancement and improvement to the first generation and making it even better with additional features such as the ability to play as a girl for the first time and a more clearly defined storyline centered around the legendary Pokemon featured on the game’s box art. Pokemon had been written off as just a passing fad up until this point. This was when its staying power as a video game juggernaut was proven.

7. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild - Talk about a win right out of the gate for the Nintendo Switch! This game returns the Legend of Zelda series to its roots while also applying all that has been made possible in video games since the original game’s release, and the result is an enthralling, addictive, open world masterpiece that has set a new standard of quality for both the Zelda series and for many modern video games in general.

6. Kingdom Hearts II - The Final Mix edition to be precise, although in this day and age that’s basically the only edition people are playing anyway. This game is the apotheosis of Kingdom Hearts as both a video game series and as a concept; filled to the brim with Disney magic and Square Enix RPG expertise and paired with some of the most refined action-based gameplay there is. And when it comes to bringing the original Kingdom Hearts trilogy’s story to a close, does this game ever stick the landing. The series could have ended right here and I would have been completely satisfied (and its reputation would be a lot better off, too!)

5. Pokemon Yellow - While I maintain that this game, the definitive edition of the original first generation Pokemon games, still holds up as fun to play even now, I’ll admit that it’s pure bias that it ranks so high. It was the first proper video game I ever played, there was no way I was leaving it off the top 5! Its blissful nostalgic atmosphere is always such a delight to return to.

4. Banjo-Tooie - Remember when I said Banjo-Kazooie was “quite possibly the greatest 3D platformer ever made”? The “quite possibly” is because its in stiff competition with its own sequel! And personally, I’m in Banjo-Tooie’s corner; something about how inter-connected its worlds are and the addition of so many things to do all while maintaining your full moveset from the original game is just beautiful to me. Both it and its predecessor are like obstacle courses that I never tire of running through, which is the hallmark of brilliant game design.

3. Kingdom Hearts - Another case where the sequel may be the superior game, but my own personal preference leans toward the original. And in this case, it’s a highly personal preference: this game and my memories of playing it for the first time are so very dear to me. The characters and worlds of Disney put into an epic crossover RPG was like a dream come true for me and no matter how far the series it spawned has deteriorated, nothing can detract from the magic of this game. It’s got a certain, indescribable feel and atmosphere that’s never truly been replicated, and that feel and atmosphere still holds up whenever I revisit it. The gameplay may not be the best, particularly when compared to Kingdom Hearts II’s, but the charm of the story and the characters and the world and the very concept more than makes up for that. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of Disney and Square’s greatest masterpieces.

2. Final Fantasy VII - I was aware of the hype this game got and was totally ready to call it overrated, but damn it, it got me! I don’t know what it is about this game with its blocky early 3D graphics, poor sound quality to its excellent soundtrack, and frequently mistranslated script that proved to be so gripping and enjoyable to play through, but man did it ever Limit Break its way into my heart. This is considered a JRPG classic for a damn good reason.

1. The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Do I really need to explain this one? It’s famous for being frequently cited as one of the greatest video games ever made, and like Final Fantasy VII, its hype is well-deserved and totally justified. Whether you’re playing it on the Nintendo 64, the Gamecube, the Wii, the 3DS, and hopefully the Nintendo Switch in the future, there is a magic quality to this game that permeates through every step you take in its fully 3D world. It’s a triumph that has stood the test of time, cementing the Zelda series as truly legendary.

#Video Games #Opinion #Analysis

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frodos-bizarre-adventure · 3 years

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@gingerreggg heya

Heads Up- Part 9 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

Two weeks had passed since the fateful day, when Joseph's project took on a life on its own-- literally.

And almost just as quickly as he'd come to life, Caesar just became another part of Joseph's household. By now Joseph just saw Caesar first, and an animate clay bust second: it was strange, in hindsight, how Joseph found himself making the very extraordinary...ordinary.

And so over time Joseph adjusted to everyday life with a living sculpture in his home. Suzi visited every other day or so, and her regular presence was welcome to the daily grind of the bored, bouncing bust.

Joseph became so accustomed to Caesar that at times he even forgot he wasn't a regular person.

"I brought some soda!" Joseph happily announced as he came home one evening with takeout dinner. He poured himself a glass and tried to offer Caesar some.

"Wanna try? It's good."

Caesar just glared at him with narrowed eyes. "Seriously?"

Joseph laughed awkwardly. "Oh, right." But then he had a realization.

"Say, remember when I sprayed and varnished your bottom? You complained about the smell. Maybe you could taste too, even if you can't drink."

Caesar was intrigued by the idea. "I'd...I'd never bothered to try. I never feel thirsty anyway."

Bending down to Caesar's level, Joseph dipped his finger into his cup. "Open wide," he said. Caesar stuck out his tongue.

Joseph put a single drop of the soda on his tongue, and the bust's face lit up joyfully.

"This...this is good." said Caesar, taking a moment to savor the tiny speck of flavorful goodness. "A pity I can't drink it."

"You don't even have a throat," Joseph said. "But I'm glad you can at least enjoy it."

Caesar smiled.

------

Indeed, with Caesar virtually fated to remain a bust, much of Suzi and Joseph's usual tasks came around to helping Caesar enjoy the fullest life he possibly could.

One morning Caesar came bouncing to the kitchen to see Joseph hard at work at a peculiar contraption next to the kitchen table.

"What's that?" Caesar asked, perplexed.

"What's what?" Joseph mumbled in reply.

"That," Caesar answered, pointing with his lips. Joseph giggled, amused at his gesture.

"Oh, this little thing?" Joseph said, stepping aside to allow Caesar a closer look. "I figured you'd need some help getting up and down high surfaces, and since I think you'd like some independence I whipped up a little something for you."

Caesar was amazed by the device. It resembled something like a small dumbwaiter that Joseph had fixed to the kitchen table, with an elevating wooden platform attached to two ropes on pulleys.

Gently, Joseph guided Caesar onto the platform. "Now pull on the ropes with your mouth." he instructed, tugging on one.

Caesar did just that, and to his surprise he felt the platform, and himself, moving upward with each tug of his mouth. Five tugs later, he was onto the level of the table, and Caesar easily hopped off the platform and onto the table's top.

"And when you want to go back down, you just pull on the other rope," Joseph demonstrated. The 'up' rope, on the right, was colored red and the 'down' rope, on the left, was colored blue, just in case Caesar mixed them up by mistake and risked getting hurt.

"You're really good at making crafts, aren't you," Caesar said, now sure the kitchen table was going to be less of a problem.

"Of course," Joseph said, a bit boastfully. "I'm not just good at making works of art, but also creating works with a purpose!"

The last word struck a chord with Caesar.

Purpose.

"So, Joseph," he asked quietly, after a pause. "What is my purpose?"

Joseph was taken aback. He hadn't once considered it.

Caesar was supposed to be his finals art project. He was supposed to be submitted to the university and put on display at the gallery. He created Caesar for the sake of a grade. But looking at him now, so bright-eyed and warm and so full of life, how could he ever give him up? To leave him in a glass case in a public place, to be stared at by strangers?

Caesar was far too precious for that.

"You're my friend, and Suzi's too," Joseph told him. He leaned forward, and gently, lovingly, planted a kiss on the clay bust's forehead.

Caesar felt the warmth of the gesture, but at the same time, couldn't help but feel a little sad at the prospect of being an artistic masterpiece.

He was pretty to look at-- but he felt he wasn't useful for much else.

----------

When Suzi arrived the following morning, she was greeted by the smell of varnish and the noises of Caesar's loud complaining.

"Morning, Suzi," Joseph greeted as she walked into his room, his voice muffled by a face mask to keep out the smell.

He was gently painting Caesar all over with a clear, polished varnish, though one that was brushed on instead of sprayed.

"Since we can't make a body for Caesar, and he'll have to remain like this," Joseph explained to both his fellow artist and his artwork, "I figured that I ought to at least make life easier for him as much as I can." He showed Suzi the bottle of varnish.

"This ought to protect him from chipping off his paint, since he's gonna be hopping a lot. At least he won't scratch or deform himself when he presses onto things."

Caesar was none to pleased, however. "This stuff smells like shit!" he complained.

With a giggle, Suzi picked up a pair of cotton balls from a jar on Joseph's supplies and inserted them into Caesar's nostrils, one in each. "That should do it," she told him.

Caesar could only give an annoyed glare.

In the meantime, Joseph began painting the varnish onto Caesar's hair. It was his hair that tended to squish the most, especially the spikes of hair on his bangs.

"Won't the varnish make Caesar look too shiny?" Suzi queried.

"Don't worry, I picked a less-glossy matte finish to paint him with," Joseph reasurred. "I wouldn't want him looking too...sweaty."

"Though I do have another, glossy finish here too," Joseph added, picking up a smaller bottle with its own little brush, almost like nail polish. "This one is for his eyes."

Caesar panicked a little. "You're going to paint my eyes!?"

"Don't worry there, Caesarino," he said with a reassuring smile. "This won't hurt much. Hopefully." Caesar flinched a little as Joseph unscrewed the bottle.

"Ow!" Caesar said, as Joseph gently pulled his eyelids open and began to paint his eye with the glossy finish. It felt very weird. Even Suzi couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable.

Once both eyes were done Caesar gave a few tentative blinks.

"So, how's that, Caesar?" Joseph asked.

To Caesar's surprise and amazement, his vision seemed quite clearer. "I...I can actually see quite better," he told the sculptor.

Joseph firmly pressed a finger into Caesar's cheek, which, thanks to the now-dried varnish, no longer left a dent. "Yep, this worked well. This should make you waterproof too."

"And now you're finished! Ta-da!" Joseph said, turning a mirror toward Caesar. Looking at his own reflection, Caesar could see how much more gorgeous he seemed, now that Joseph had given him a bit more texture.

"So, we're good?" Joseph asked Caesar, as he admired himself. "You need any other finishing touches? Perhaps I could pad out your bottom with extra clay? Since you can't feel any more clay we add on, it could protect your underside more."

"No need," Caesar answered. "It's actually quite nice being able to feel the ground beneath me."

"Alright, just make sure to be careful," Joseph said, lowering him back down to the floor once he was sure that his varnish had dried.

Suzi wasn't convinced. "He's still naked. We ought to dress him up!" she said, pulling out colorful ribbons from her backpack. "This would looks pretty as a bow on your head!" she grinned, holding them out to Caesar.

"NO!" screamed Caesar, panicking. "I am not naked! Get those things away!"

And with a powerful thrust of his neck, Caesar hopped out of the room as fast as his little clay blob of a torso could carry him.

"Huh," Suzi said, as she watched the bust clumsily bounce away. "I guess he's not really into fashion."

-------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

#jjba #gingerreggg #hands of life au #heads up #jojos bizarre adventure #battle tendency #sculptor!joseph #bust!caesar #caejose #caesar x joseph

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spnfanficpond · 4 years

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June 2020 Angel Fish Awards

(New Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle @mrswhozeewhatsis or Mana @manawhaat to check and make sure we got your submission.

Be sure to read through this whole post as people who were nominated more than once only had one tag activated for tumblr tagging purposes!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE JUNE’S ANGEL FISH AWARDS!

Nonimated by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters

I Thought You Were Going To Die (oneshot) by @fun-and-fandoms

My nominations for the month wouldn’t be complete without a little bit of angst. Though this one isn’t just that. If you’re easily triggered by mentions of depression and its symptoms, this one’s not for you. But it’s an important topic and I will always encourage any creator who uses their art to remind people it’s okay to talk about it. (Note from Kale, this was actually submitted in May but I missed it.)

More to Me (oneshot) by @becs-bunker

No spoilers, but I’m so glad this ended the way it did. So sweet <3

Help (oneshot) by @blushingjared

I came across this fic and was immediately intrigued. Then I started reading and I was captivated from the first sentence until the very last. The author did such a good job with setting the scene and painting the right picture.

Talking Bodies (oneshot) by @ne-gans

This AU-Sam is such a huge weakness of mine. That, in combination with this dangerously filthy masterpiece, is nothing short of perfection.

Nominated by @focusonspn

Into The Woods (series) by @amanda-teaches

So well written, interesting plot and great development. The chemistry between Y/N and Dean is also amazing, and I loved how this mini-series could be so easily part of the show. Totally worth reading.

Nominated by @thoughtslikeamindfield

Stranger Than FanFiction (series) by @cherry3point14

The premise is similar to the film Stranger Than Fiction – a story about a story being written about you – and it’s just as hilarious. Also, Cherry Pie is still one of the funniest writers in this corner of SPN fandom.

“You’re not supposed to move your head if there’s someone trying to murder you, probably…”

No, I wouldn’t think so, but lollllll

“You’re being insane, out loud.”

Omgggg

“It tried, oh, how the door tried to divert her attention from the unknown men who could be terrible, rule-breaking influences on her. However the door was only wood and she was a stubborn woman made of free will and limbs—a woman who refused to be deceived.”

“Your hand is on the doorknob before the mention of your limbs has finished rattling around your head. Realistically you don’t want to encourage the voice by doing what it says. After all, the voice’s ultimate goal seems to be killing you.”

BAHAHAHAH omfg you guys

I need to stop quoting from this bc I probably seem insane to those of you who haven’t read this, so stop being judgy buttheads and go read!

Nominated by @flamencodiva

The Choice (series) by @superfanficnatural

A couple of things. 1) this is an amazing fic that highlights Dean unwillingness to let himself go until it’s almost too late. and 2) the smut in this is hot hot hot hot! not for anyone under 18 years of age.

Mert has a way with words and can literally pluck you into one and make you see it as it comes to life in your head.

Mine (series) by @holylulusworld

Lulu has an abundance of different stories she tells and this one is my favorite of her ABO’s at the moment. (although I love all of them) I think this one deserved a mention. I am glad she joined to Pond so I could help nominate and spread her amazing work!

One Night at a Time (series) by @crashdevlin

Another great fic by Cassie! This one shot full of Angst, Smut, and if you squint just the right amount of Dean fluff. She has a way of capturing your attention and putting you in the world as you read.

What He Lost (oneshot) by @jensengirl83

This short story by Brandy is sure to rip your heart out. she leaves just a bit of hope where you think there is a chance only to crush it completely with the ending. This one is sure to bring you to tears if you are looking for the most delicious angsty story to read.

Nominated by @risingpheonix761

Down The Rabbit Hole (oneshot) by @dontshootmespence

So, this was hysterical. XD I love crack fics, and bad smut in particular, and this one hits the spot. (I’ve also learned several new horrible euphemisms lol). The ending, though? Golden!

Nominated by @myinconnelly1

The Affair (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I love how well all the characters are portrayed I truly hate everyone except the reader! Well done!!

Red Riding Hood - or how you ran into a wolf... (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I have nothing to say about this. I will simply allow the puddle I have become to speak for me.

Last Omega On Earth (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

This was a great entry in the ABO world. and we need more of this and more like !!!!! Great work!

My Beta (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

I am a greedy little bitch with this fic. I think I've read it 3-4 since i first read it this month!!!!!! READ THIS FIC!

Third Period (oneshot) by @fictionalabyss

Some truly inspiring smut. Inspiring to change my panties.

Gods of Twilight (series) by @thecleverdame

I think i posted this fic in my rec before, but it is so amazing and intricate that i can't stop gushing about it. Fucking awesome.

Apple Pie (oneshot) by @bad268

The amazingness of this is great, check this guppy out!

Deal (oneshot) by @bad268

Comedy at some of its's finest!!!

Confession (oneshot) by @idreamofplaid

THE FLUFFFFFFF!!!! I don't read straight fluff. So get the tissues ready.

Fallen (series) by idreamofplaid

My therapist has told me i'm not longer allowed to talk about this fic during our sessions. So instead i shall now talk about it here... *pulls out soapbox* ahem... *gets pulled away with hook*

Memory (oneshot) by @idreamofplaid

This fic is older, but i love it so much. I recently went back and reread it, and the angst and reconciliation in this fic are heartwrenching.

Home (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

My dentist bill the month was higher than normal, due to the new cavities caused by this fic.

Imperfectly Yours (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

Cuteness overload as you get Dean's perspective of Home ^^

Second Hand News (oneshot) by @emilyshurley

Alright listen. I am a glutton for punishment. And this fic, I asked for. Also i had it set within one of the universes we now own. That all being said, reading this was like a dose of my own medicine and it fucking hurt.

Honesty And Lies (oneshot) by @crashdevlin

This was super dirty, and great. Totally recommend.

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch

The Classifieds (oneshot) by @talesmaniac89

This is rip your heart out and stomp on it angst right here. So well written, but so, so heartbreaking.

So Much More Than Perfect (oneshot) by @imagineteamfreewill

This fic is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read. It made me tear up a bit, but who doesn’t love Dean being the most protective, most adorable dad ever?!

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

Dear Dean (series) by @smol-and-grumpy

It’s one of those series that makes you wants more after every chapter. It’s a brilliant story.

Left Behind (series) by @kittenofdoomage

It’s the only John Fic I can read over and over and over again. Its hot, the plot is awesome! And it makes me wants more each and every time I read it.

Not Much Left (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

I think Beka tries to kill her readers every time she writes smut… or she just tap into our mind what we want or what we fantasize about. Every single time I’m speechless by her talents!

Yes Professor (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

It’s a Misha fic, there’s no one who write Misha the way Beka does!!!

Owe You One (series) by @supernatural-jackles

It’s such a great series! The friends with Benefit and Mechanic!Dean… I just love this so much and I don’t have words to describe how good this one is!!

Flirty In French (oneshot) by @fictionalabyss

This is brilliant, and I know its an old one, but from someone who finally decided to read more and from someone who is from Quebec, this is absolutely brilliant! The flirty french pick up line are so hilarious!

Nominated by @moosekateer13

Watching for Comets (series) by @holylulusworld

This fic beautifully captures the song that it was inspired by.

It also showcases things that when things are meant to be.

I’ll will all fall into place.

Please Trust Me (oneshot) by @holylulusworld

This fic beautifully emotionally captures what it’s like to have trust issues.

Nominated by @fictionalabyss

Last Call (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

It was everything we needed and wanted.

Culinary Exploits (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

Too utterly ridiculous not to get a mention.

His Omega (oneshot) by @iflostreturntosteverogers

A sweet little comfort fic of Dean being utterly perfect caring for his Omega. Carrie also pulled off keeping this gender neutral, which isn’t something I see a lot of, and probably something I’d struggle with, so hats off to you, babe.

Poison (oneshot) by @supernatural-jackles

YES omg i feel this on such a level. I’ve gone through that shit myself. A friend who lets you down so profoundly but then acts as if you’re the most toxic person in the world. Nothing feels as good as letting go of that shit and moving on to better things. This was beautiful, and perfect, and TRUTH.

Amara (oneshot) by @impala-dreamer

This one hurt. It really hurt, but it hurt so good that I’m left wanting more.

Take Me Now (oneshot) by @sorenmarie87

If Dawn doesn’t continue this, I’ll riot.

Stuck On You (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage

I rarely read a fic this long (I just don’t usually have the time) but it looked too interesting for me to scroll past, and it had me completely captivated. I needed to know what would happen as if I needed air, even though I could guess how it ended, I needed to read the words. Phenomenal.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

These are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#afa masterlist #afa awards #angel fish awards #spn fic rec #spn fanfic #afas #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fan fic #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fic rec #supernatural fic rec

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pinkysfaultorbrainsfault · 4 years

Text

pinky and the brain - s1e5a: where no mouse has gone before

the blood test went okay! i’m still fucking exhausted but i’m pulling through. hopefully when the results come through it’ll be something tame yet treatable.

episode summary: upon learning of a human plot to communicate with aliens from a nearby planet, brain attempts to convince them that he is earth’s leader.

the rundown:

the mice are floating around.

did i need to cap all of those images? no. i probably only needed the last one, honestly. was it funnier? absolutely. so that’s what y’all get.

brain is upside down now.

“look, brain!” cries pinky. “i’m experiencing total weightlessness!”

bonk.

they’re in an anti gravity chamber, for reasons that have not been elaborated upon. they just sort of merrily bump into each other in there until someone lets them out.

bonk.

ow. if pinky could die, that would probably be it for his spine. brain looks more like his alarm has just gone off and he really doesn’t want to get up, but god damn it, he has a 9am on tuesdays.

gromp.

“these experiments are degrading.”

“narf! i think they’re fun, brain! i can’t wait for the next ride!”

“that is because you have no dignity.”

but it’s okay. this man in terrifying sunglasses has come to rescue the boys. air mice nyoom is over.

as he takes them back to wherever, brain spots something of interest.

IT’S A DVD. HOW ANTIQUATED. but no, he’s more concerned about whatever it is this dude is polishing.

“did you see that plaque, pinky?” brain asks, and then does... this. for some reason. i don’t know. maybe i paused at a weird time. this is, uh, not a good moment, brain. there are people here.

“poit. he really ought to floss more often.”

this, at the very least, is enough to get brain to stick his ass out slightly less, and as they get lowered into fun little chairs,

he explains to pinky that the plaque "displays representations of man, woman, and the rudiments of earth’s most sophisticated science.”

see! there are the sciences right there. all sciences can be narrowed down to a bunch of dots and pi.

so then they get put in the promare spinny machine for their crimes.

sunglasses man leaves. he has done his duty for bill and country.

completely unbothered by the prospect of fueling the promepolis warp drive, brain explains to pinky that said plaque is being “sent on a probe to the outermost extremities of the galaxy, along with a disk showing earth’s arts and music.” unfortunately, this show is set in the 90s, so it’s a miracle this episode actually happened and the aliens didn’t just listen to a couple seconds of bjork and then decide to call the whole thing off.

meanwhile, the scientist turns the spinny mode up a bit.

“if the aliens look upon it, they will learn everything they need to know about the dominant species on earth!”

“naaarf. too bad there isn’t a picture of you on there, brain!”

“exactly,” says brain, who can somehow still manage a coherent sentence. “are you pondering what i’m pondering?”

“i think so, brain! but pants with horizontal stripes make me look chubby!”

awful. brain somehow manages to convey that if he puts a picture of himself on the plaque, then the aliens will recognise him as earth’s leader.

unfortunately, most of his lower half appears to be significantly broken, so he may need some assistance.

the episode cuts straight from spinny machine to the next scene, so i’m not entirely sure how long afterwards it takes place. i assume at the very least they both had a nap first, but anyway, now the mice are here and significantly less broken, and brain is standing in front of an engraving of himself and saying voila.

“voila.”

not only has he carved himself into the plaque, he’s also carved the human figures out entirely. impressive stuff, considering that tool is bigger than him.

pinky thinks it’s marvellous!

“but who is it?”

bonk.

it gets worse. brain explains that he has “slightly altered the great art masterpieces” to enhance his own importance as earth’s leader.

slightly.

“oh, this is my favourite one, brain!”

“......how did that get in there.”

undeterred, brain switches over to some samples of The World’s Great Works Of Classical Music.

BRAIN’S THE LEADEEEEEEEEEEER BRAIN’S THE LEAAAADEEEEER

he’s even included some examples of america’s contribution to the fine arts!

ROCK. AND ROLL.

A WOP BOP A LOO BOP A LOP BAM BRAIN. let it be known that little richard was actually white and dubiously canadian.

anyway brain wants them to swap his disk and plaque with the real disk and plaque, so they set off to do that.

“but brain, what about ballet? aren’t you going to give them a sample of the ballet?”

“the aliens aren’t going to care about ballet, pinky.”

or perhaps he was just too embarrassed to edit his face onto the ballets russe. it’s okay brain. we love you even if your short legs make your sissones lackluster.

time for Big Rocket.

they’re stopped at the gates, of course.

fear not! it’s only famous jet propulsion scientist wernher von brain from the braun institute in baun.

and wernher von pinky!!! from the mink institute in pink!!!

brain looks at pinky like he’s just said something stupid, and chooses to ignore the fact that wernher van braun had been dead twenty years before this cartoon takes place. very smart, brain. much genius.

still, it works on this guy.

“from now on, pinky, whatever anyone asks you, just say ‘ja’ or ‘nein’.”

BUT NEVER MIND THAT.

IT’S TIME FOR BIG ROCKET.

brain screws his custom Mouse Plaque onto the base of the rocket. he also sticks his ass out again as he does it, because he is clearly having one of those days.

pinky watches as the countdown progresses slowly, from ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-stand by for emission.

“did you hear the countdown, pinky?”

“ja!”

“what number are they down to?”

“nien!”

“nine???”

“ja!”

“excellent, plenty of time.”

(he did not, in fact, have plenty of time.)

“didn’t you tell me they were down to nine, pinky?”

“ja! nien! poit!”

there’s your answer, i guess.

but it’s fine! brain’s picture is on the rocket, as well as his cultural erasure of little richard, so surely nothing can go wrong now!

look at it nyooming around in space. how cute.

conclusion:

ALIENS LAND ON EARTH.

news man witters on about this being the GREATEST MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD as various politicians and news organisations congregate to say hi to the aliens. they are from firnobulax, and they want to meet earth’s leader!

here they come now!

squelch.

the aliens politely request to be taken to earth’s leader.

“he means me,” says bill, wriggling himself to the front of the line. “i can feel his pain.”

the other world leaders don’t seem too sure about this.

including... this guy. who is definitely supposed to be british (”oh, really, old chap, i think he means me”) but i. definitely do not recognise him. who are you??? what did you do to the queen??????? give liz back right now you bureaucrat, or the entirety of england will throw hands.

the aliens care not for this.

so they kind of explode everyone in the venue, as you do.

the politicians watch in horror as the aliens fly right past them, to this innocent looking soap box right at the back.

the inhabitants of which came prepared. very cute.

“you are the earth creature known as. brain?”

“yes!”

“i am the leader of this planet!! ruler of all i survey!!!!!”

good for you! (:

“narf. and he really isn’t just a laboratory mouse trying to take over the world.”

brain will handle this from here, thank you.

the aliens are satisfied, at least. they give pinky a little pat on the head for all his narfs (he speaks excellent firnobulax, don’t you know, narf poit egad) and take the mice away to CELEBRATE THEIR GLORY.

it doesn’t look very comfortable, but neither of them seem to mind.

“at last, pinky! we are finally appreciated!”

“what does it feel like..........”

anyway, the spaceship full of mice flies away. brain regails the firnobulaxians with tales of how he invented electricity.

“but brain. wasn’t that ben franklin?”

bonk.

brain realises mid bonk that this probably looks very suspicious, so he convinces the aliens that this is a gesture of respect on earth.

it goes about as well as one would think it would.

“you mean all those years, you were just showing me respect! i’m touched!”

“yes, you certainly are.”

luckily, they make it back to firnobulax without too much trouble.

there’s a parade and everything. the crowd cheers “narf! poit! brain!” as they’re carried through the street, which is probably a sequence of words that brain is very used to hearing.

i don’t know what these things are, but they’re scary.

they make it to brain’s “domicile” soon enough, which is a big fancy room with a chair in it.

there’s only one chair, which is sad, but hopefully that can be mitigated. brain settles himself down triumphantly.

“from now on, pinky,” he says, “everything will be different.”

which is a good time for bars to fall down over one of the windows.

donk.

the mice look on, horrified,

as it continues around the rest of the room.

and the door, too, for good measure.

“egad, brain!” cries pinky. “they’ve locked us in!”

“yes, pinky.”

“yes.”

awww. ):

as pinky attempts to break the bars, brain wanders off back to his little chair, incredibly despondantly.

he has to prepare for tomorrow night.

“why, brain? what are we going to do tomorrow night?”

“same thing we do every night, pinky. try to take over firnobulax.”

hmmmmm.

man. i just. the plan actually worked, is the thing. it did exactly what brain intended it to. and how could he have known that firnobulax wanted to kidnap the leader of earth for scientific purposes? maybe if they’d been upfront with their intent, we would have had an excuse to send some dictators into space. go figure.

but never mind.

brain: 6 pinky: 7 outside influence: 13

“ooooo, i don’t know, brain. i once saw a group of japanese tourists absolutely melt at the final scene of giselle.”

#patb #pinky and the brain #hi everyone #this blog is not doing too well at the daily updates thing #lol #a funnier and better episode should be coming tomorrow (:

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

You Didn’t Let Me! - Part 1 (Kihyun)

Summary: It took you three guys to realise you had been running from love all along. When you finally meet up again at a university reunion, you weren’t prepared to answer the question of who you wanted most.

Pairing: Yoo Kihyun x Park Jinyoung x Lee Seunggi x reader

Genre: romance / angst / self-growth au

Warnings: three hot guys and y/n’s an idiot lol none

A/N: This was initially meant to be a oneshot for the Trick, No It’s My Treat dares. However, the storyline suited being broken up and so I have made it into a mini-series. I hope you enjoy!

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“He’s calling again,” your best friend Raisa complained, holding up her phone to show as proof. “What do I say? Kihyun’s food is delicious but there’s only so many things I can try out for him before he gets annoyed with my lack of critique.”

“His food is the best, Rai. I wouldn’t turn down a single chance to taste it.”

She looked at you and then smiled devilishly. “Would you give up your night to do just that then?”

“Oh, I was planning to go to a study group,” you answered hastily, trying to avoid her gaze. It wasn’t easy when you were both seated in the living room of your shared apartment, and so you got up, moving into your bedroom to collect your belongings.

You didn’t want to admit to Raisa the sudden reason you got up to leave stemmed from your unhealthy crush on Yoo Kihyun. Before attending the same university, the three of you had gone to high school together and that was when Raisa had introduced Kihyun as her next-door neighbour. You were certain he had a crush on your best friend and so you kept your feelings quiet. The last thing you wanted to do was share a meal with Kihyun and end up blurting out how delicious he was instead of the food.

Yet Raisa didn’t miss her opportunity. “Come on, Y/N. You owe me.”

“I do not!”

“Three weeks ago, stand in date for-”

“Fine!” you caved, nodding immediately. “I’ll do it, just this once.”

“Lifesaver. I’ll tell Ki I can’t make it but you’ll be there at seven. Enjoy the food for me, won’t you?”

You hoped that you would be able to taste it accurately given how nervous you were. Still, you managed to turn up at Kihyun’s apartment a little earlier than seven, and even smiled warmly when he greeted you. He grinned and ushered you inside, the aroma already making your nerves ease some.

“Rai said you would come tonight, it means so much to me. We have culinary exams next week and I’m trying to create the best three-course meal. I hope you’re hungry, there’s a lot to get through!”

“I only brought my appetite with me!” you retorted and he chuckled, gesturing for you to take a seat at the table.

Kihyun wasn’t kidding; there was enough food there to feed a family, not just the two of you. You glanced up at him hesitantly and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, whatever you don’t eat, my housemates will clean up.”

“Oh good,” you breathed, waiting as he dished you up the first meal. You were immediately hooked on the flavour, as was Kihyun on your reactions. You tried not to feel so self-conscious under his continued stare; then again, you weren’t used to having someone watch you eat to avidly either.

“Anything to note?”

“Did you use rosemary?”

He beamed. “You picked up on that? I thought it was too subtle.”

“No, it really compliments the dish, Kihyun. I think this is a winning meal.”

Soon, he was relaxed enough to start eating himself, conversation flowing easily as you shared the meal. You were more than full of knowledge of how his life was going and of food after you placed your spoon down, cleaning up the last bits of the chocolate brownie he had served for dessert.

“You know, Y/N, you gave me so much more feedback than Raisa ever does. I think she’s just too used to eating my food now.”

“I hope it was helpful. You should ace your exams next week.”

Kihyun nodded softly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Do you uh, do you think I could ask you to come over more often? Next semester we’re going to be working in the university restaurant and we each get a night where we have to create the entire menu. I’m a little worried about what to serve and you’ve been the best at giving me proper critique. Minhyuk just eats it all and then whines that I’m over-feeding him and Changkyun just says it’s good every time. And then Rai-”

“I’d love to,” you stated and he let out a breath you hadn’t even noticed it was holding.

“Great, so can we make it a date? Every Thursday?”

A date? You pressed your lips together in hopes it would settle the colour flaring to your cheeks as you nodded your head in answer.

Kihyun grinned so much that you were certain his eyes now were two little crescent moons. You couldn’t help but melt more than the warm brownie had done to the ice-cream scoop on your dessert just before.

“Oh hey, let me walk you home,” Kihyun then suggested, reaching for his coat.

“It’s only a ten minute walk, I’ll be fine,” you assured but he shook his head as he shrugged on his coat, locking the front door behind him.

“I’m not going to let you go home this late at night alone. It’s the least I can do when you’ve given up your evening to help me.”

The walk was charged, nothing being said between you. Yet you felt as if he wanted to say something more, and with the way his hand brushed against yours once, you anticipated him reaching out and holding it.

Instead, you made it home safely without a single confession and after a friendly farewell, you went into your apartment completely confused.

“You’ve just let your emotions run away with you,” you scolded yourself, dismissing any niggling signs that remained.

Yet, they returned full force when you went to Kihyun’s the following Thursday. Soon, you were arriving earlier each time, getting the opportunity to watch him cook. God, he was so attractive in his element. You could see his passion for the culinary art, each meal basically sculpted into a masterpiece before you. And whilst there was never something you didn’t quite like, you weren’t just praising him. You pushed him to think out of the box more, offering ideas you had as you ate.

Kihyun’s confidence continued to soar.

“You’re here really early,” he mentioned as he opened the door, allowing you inside as you took off your coat. He stopped moving off to the kitchen, looking you over with concern. “Why are you shaking?”

“It’s freezing out there,” you explained and then you gasped when he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing you vigorously to warm you up.

You hiccupped and Kihyun laughed. “Here, come and get some water. If you recover well enough, you might even get to be my assistant today.”

“Oh, I – might just – like that!” you managed in between hiccups, thanking him silently for the glass of water he handed you. After gulping it down, and announcing you were ready to work, Kihyun held up an apron for you.

“We can’t let your pretty outfit go to waste,” he murmured as he leaned in to tie it around your waist and you begged yourself to not start hiccupping again, focusing on your breathing the entire time.

And then the fun began. Soon, you were giggling too much for this to be anything but a disaster. Kihyun was exasperated, stopping what he was doing every few minutes to assist you in your tasks. He shot you a trying look. “How can someone so good at tasting food be so horrible in the kitchen?!”

“Hey, I take offence to that. It depends on what I’m making.”

Kihyun snorted. “I bet you murder your ramen and do something horrific like drain out the soup too.”

You didn’t answer and that was enough to confirm his suspicions. Eventually, you made it to the table with the meal you prepared, admitting it was the worst in presentation. You giggled. “But I take full responsibility for that.”

“It’s the best-tasting meal I’ve had in a while, Y/N. Sometimes it’s not all about the looks, but what’s felt on the inside,” he mentioned and you merely stared over at him, chewing on your lip lightly.

Should you tell him that you liked him? You believed he was feeling something more each Thursday night, and with how he had started messaging you when it wasn’t about his meals, you were convinced something was brewing and it wasn’t just the hot chocolate he had put on just before in the kitchen either.

Just as you worked up the courage, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue, Kihyun’s phone rang and he nodded apologetically before answering. “What? Oh no, I can’t. No, it’s not that I’m not interested… I’m with my girlfriend right now.”

You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, Kihyun’s words ringing over and over in your head. Girlfriend? You didn’t even care how giddy you appeared, unable to control the smile now upon your lips.

“Sorry about that,” he mentioned and you shook your head immediately.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s just I kind of lied. I didn’t want to go see the game tonight so I used you as my excuse. I hope you don’t mind, Y/N.”

What part had he lied over exactly? Blinking away your initial joy, you smiled a little more weakly this time. “No, it’s fine, honest.”

“You’re a great friend, Y/N. Do you want one or two marshmallows in your hot chocolate?”

“Wait on a minute, it’s Thursday,” Raisa said, stopping in her tracks to the front door. She frowned. “You okay? Shouldn’t you be over with Kihyun? He was literally buzzing to me about how much fun hanging out with you has been lately. He has nothing but good things to say about you it seems.”

“Mm, because I’m a good friend,” you answered, letting out a sigh soon after.

Raisa came over to you and placed a hand on her hip. “Why are you like this?”

“I think I crossed some sort of line with Kihyun. I’ve had a crush on him-”

“Since freshman year in high school, I know.”

You glanced up at your best friend suddenly. “You knew?!”

“Of course I did. What do you take me for? You basically have hearts in your eyes whenever you see him.”

Deflating, you let out another sigh. “I’m just a friend though.”

“Really? I don’t know, I think Kihyun sees you as more than that.”

“No, he used me as an excuse to get out of doing something with a friend and called me his girlfriend,” you said and Raisa went to reply when you shot her a look. “Right after that, he told me I was a great friend.”

“Ouch, what was he thinking?”

“Maybe I was wrong. I confused his invitations to come over each Thursday as dates. I’ve just been blowing off study time to help his own career out. I don’t want to be a great friend anymore.”

“Okay, so maybe you need to see if he gets upset about you not coming over anymore. If his response is just about his cooking, then he didn’t like you. But if there’s more to it, then you should definitely tell him that you like him.”

“You think so?”

Raisa nodded. “Trust me, Kihyun is honest enough to let you know what you mean to him.”

You took her advice, sitting out another two Thursdays much to Kihyun’s chagrin. He had asked if you were okay, and when you mentioned you were busy studying, he was happy enough to leave you to it.

But that was it.

“Oh hey!” you enthused when you crossed paths with Kihyun on campus, waving in greeting. He eyed you cautiously, shouldering his bag a little more. “It’s Thursday, right? Do you need me to come over tonight? I’ve finished the assignment I was working on and-”

“No, it’s fine, Y/N. Honestly. I think I’ve got the menu set now.”

“Oh.” You nodded slowly, your heart sinking into your stomach. “Well, uh, if you need a hand again, you know where to find me.”

Kihyun merely stared at you before smiling firmly. “Sure, what are friends for, right?”

“Friends,” you repeated and Kihyun implored you to say something more. Yet you didn’t quite pick up on it, instead lowering your gaze enough to blink your emotions away. “Of course! I’ll see you around then.”

Heading home, you hurried into your room and shut the door behind you, crying into your pillow for some time. And then when the tears ended, you got up, approaching the full-length mirror on the back of your door. You stared at yourself, feeling unhappy with what looked back at you.

You were too shy, too quiet and you wanted a change.

You wouldn’t spend your Thursday’s worrying about not eating all day anymore to accommodate Kihyun’s meals. Instead, you would sculpt yourself into the person you wanted to be, and someone that Kihyun would regret keeping just as a friend.

_________________ Part 2

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goingoverthegardenwall · 5 years

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Chapter 8: Babes in the Wood

In this last hurrah of explicit homages to animation of the past, the most obvious discussion point is Merrie Melodies and its ilk: Babes in the Wood is essentially a full-episode reference to the bouncing musical shorts of yore, where everything can sing’n’dance and the villain is a blustery bozo who’s defeated with a sight gag. If we expand to children’s entertainment in general, as we did with Greg’s Beatrix Potter episode, then The Wizard of Oz is our logical next step: the song welcoming him to Cloud City owes everything to Dorothy’s introduction to Munchkinland, complete with the fact that our hero has just entered a dream.

And look, there’s nothing wrong with talking about the obvious. But as we near the end, I think it’s a little more interesting to instead explore the very beginning. So let’s go back to a newspaper cartoonist in New York—the one who inspired fellow New York newspaper cartoonist John Randolph Bray to become an animator, which in turn led fellow New York newspaper cartoonist Max Fleischer to become an animator, because it turns out that just like the birth of superhero comics a few decades later, the birth of American animation hinged on print artists who dreamed big in the city that never sleeps.

A boy named Zenas was born in Michigan on September 26, 1871. Or maybe he was born there in 1869. Or maybe he was born in Canada in 1867. He said one thing, and a biographer said another, and census data says another, and I wasn’t there. It’s similarly unclear when or why he started going by his middle name, but by the time he took his first job at age 21 (or 19 or 17) as a billboard and poster artist in Chicago, he was calling himself Winsor McCay. They sure did know how to name ‘em in the 19th century.

McCay began his newspaper career as a freelancer, but moved to New York in 1903 to work for the New York Herald, where he wrote a variety of comics before hitting it big with Little Sammy Sneeze. McCay’s art was always brilliant, but his gag work was formulaic to a fault: the joke for Sammy Sneeze was always the same, he would sneeze and ruin everything right before the last panel. That devotion to formula would continue in his second big comic Dream of the Rarebit Fiend, where a fantastical events would occur for ever-changing characters before the lead woke up in the last panel, revealing it was a dream.

That second formula was the basis of McCay’s masterpiece. Already a successful cartoonist in the two short years since he’d moved to New York, his fame skyrocketed with Little Nemo in Slumberland, which used the same “wake up at the end” formula but with recurring characters and a running story. He toyed with the medium like none had before, playing with panel arrangement and innovating the portrayal of motion in comics, and his art skills only improved with this full-color strip. His success led to the vaudeville circuit, where he turned the act of drawing into a performance, and this combination of stage entertainment and his continuing comic work led him to seek new ways to dazzle the crowds.

By 1910, the earliest animated shorts had already started to emerge, and McCay was inspired by pioneers like James Stuart Blackton and Émile Cohl to try animating the characters of Little Nemo. Under Blackton’s direction, McCay singlehandedly drew around four thousand fully colored frames to produce his first animated cartoon, presented at the tail end of a filmed short about said cartoon in 1911. As mentioned, animated shorts were already a thing. But none of them looked anything like this. (If you’re concerned that there might be racist caricatures in it, don’t worry, there definitely are, McCay had a lot of strengths but overcoming garbage prejudices was not one of them).

The sheer quality of his work, continuing with the legendary Gertie the Dinosaur, directly led to the invention of the rotoscope as a means to mass-produce cartoons of similar finesse. The influence of Winsor McCay over animation as we know it is hard to overstate (and let’s stress again that this was his side gig, and he was just as influential over comic art): as crazy as it sounds, it’s safe to say that Over the Garden Wall would not exist if not for a story about the whimsical adventures of a little boy who traveled across a land of dreams from his bed.

“Where’s Greg, Wirt?”

Babes in the Wood is delightful and goofy and lighthearted exactly once.

In the same way our fourth-to-last episode mirrored our fourth, this third-to-last episode mirrors our third: Chapters 4 and 7 focus on Wirt, but 3 and 8 are Greg’s. It’s not simply a matter of who the main character is, but what these episodes are about: Greg’s love of fun clashing with his drive to help others. Both times he's spurred by the desire to help others to go off on his own, both times he gets distracted by whimsical wonders involving funny animals and physical humor, and both times he ends up deciding to help out anyway. But despite switching his goal from making the whole world a better place to just helping his brother, the stakes are actually far higher now, so the fun has to be that much more fun if we want the full horror of the ending to sink in.

There’s no tonal shift in the series that’s more devastating than Greg falling prey to the Beast after nearly ten minutes of goofiness in Cloud City. It turns a moment of welcome relief from the growing tension of Wirt’s despair into a dagger in the heart, and the knife is twisted when we learn in our next episode what the Unknown truly is.

That despair is evident well before Wirt explicitly gives up. We get our second opening in a row featuring Beatrice in a hopeless search, and things aren’t much better for the boys. All sense of progression from the first episode feels lost, with Wirt reverting to mumbling poetry and Greg reverting to Rock Facts. Their boat is an outhouse and Greg uses a guitar as an oar, because (if you’ll pardon my French) they’re up shit creek without a paddle. When they land, Greg’s victorious bugle is a ridiculous sign of hope, but he soon drops it in the same way he abandons the guitar: in Schooltown Follies he takes instruments to help others, but this time he loses them.

Wirt’s frustration with Greg threatened to boil over in The Ringing of the Bell, only to be cooled when the Woodsman interrupts them. This time there’s no such interruption, so after Greg’s total failure to read the room gets to be too much, his brother finally snaps. It crucially isn’t entirely unjustified, as Greg’s antics might be funny to us but have not been appreciated by Wirt, and despite Greg’s age excusing his lack of emotional intelligence, it’s still gotta be frustrating for a teen to deal with that behavior nonstop. And Wirt’s “tirade” reflects his depression, because he doesn’t even seem that angry: he doesn’t shout or rave, he’s just openly irritated as he argues that they’ll be lost forever. This is apathy and fatigue, because he’s lost the energy to be furious.

But the most chilling part of the exchange isn’t Wirt cruelly blaming Greg for their mess, or abandoning their search. It’s when, after Wirt asks if they can give up, Greg responds with a chipper “You can do anything if you set your mind to it!”, a sentiment that the Beast will fiendishly repeat verbatim while tricking Greg. It’s such a generic positive expression that Greg hangs a lampshade on it, but it shows the darker side of the power our minds have over our well-being. Sure, it’s a great lesson that focus and dedication can help us achieve our dreams, but if we use that focus and dedication towards self-destructive behavior, there’s no limit to how badly we can hurt ourselves.

After a goofy sort of prayer (incorporating lines from the classic Trick or Treat poem, which will become super relevant an episode from now), Greg is whisked away by so-creepy-it’s-funny cherubim to the score of a so-overwrought-it’s-funny song. His flight aboard the bed/cart pulled by a donkey across the sky feels legitimately magical, but we soon switch to the surreal world of 1930′s songs and physics.

Cloud City is such a stark contrast to the tone of the episode so far that it instantly feels delightful, and such a stark contrast to the tone of the entire series that it lends a special sort of wonder to Greg’s dreamland. References to old cartoons are everywhere in Over the Garden Wall, and before we delve into the tension of our last two episodes, we get one last gigantic celebration of the past with a sequence straight from the golden age of animation.

The transition alone is enough to make this scene hilarious, but the actual jokes help quite a bit: Greg’s growing impatience with the numerous Wizard of Oz reception committees is my favorite gag of the night. Everything is cute to the point of being cloying, including our three angels that look and sound an awful lot like Greg, and the parade that he leads seems like such a fun and peaceful affair after so much time wandering alone. It’s easy to get as roped into it as Greg when we first watch it. But considering the events of our next episode, the scene destroys me every time I rewatch it, because there’s a very specific place Greg is being welcomed to.

Babes in the Wood gets a lot less cute when it becomes clear that it’s a welcoming committee for a dying child. Greg and Wirt are drowning, and this is the episode where the shock wears off and the cold sets in and the younger and weaker of the two looks into a bright light. Greg’s near-death experience is hammered in when we get to The Unknown, but for now it’s being rationalized in a way that brings him comfort.

The cold is Greg’s enemy, and the same childish tone is used to show that he’s willing to fight for his life: thus, the North Wind segment is ironically more hopeful to me than the parade’s warm welcome of death. This third song sounds enough like a Randy Newman number that I’m honestly still convinced it’s an uncredited Randy Newman performance, and it jolts us back to reality for a moment as we see the effect this bitter wind has on our babes in the woods. The boys are starting to freeze, and we again see Beatrice searching for them, getting so close before an owl that looks remarkably like the one we saw in our first episode scares her off. The episode doesn’t want to lose us completely to the sky, and this grounding helps keep the stakes clear as we complete Greg’s dream.

The Popeye-esque battle between Greg and Ol’ Windbag is a hoot, between the latter’s grumbling anger and the former rolling up his sleeve to get back into the brawl. Its conclusion is hidden from us, so we have no idea how Greg gets him in a bottle, but that fits right in with the weird logic of this throwback and allows us to meet the Queen of the Clouds.

I ought to bring up the theory that everything we see here is an illusion created by the Beast, even though I don’t really subscribe to it myself. The most obvious “hint” is that this sequence directly leads to Greg deciding to join the Beast with an off-screen promise, but we also have the old man in the welcoming march wearing an outfit just like Wirt’s and holding a lantern, perhaps a reference to the Beast’s intended fate for Greg’s brother. Plus there’s lines in the songs that seem like they’re luring Greg in, especially the assurance that the wonders of Cloud City “ain’t gonna lie,” which sounds a lot like what a liar would say. Both the Queen of the Clouds and the Beast pointedly call him Gregory instead of Greg, but so does Old Lady Mrs. Daniels (and Wirt when introducing him in Songs of the Dark Lantern).

While it’s a neat enough idea, I think the Queen of Clouds is pretty clearly on Greg’s side for real: she seems upset at his fate in a way that doesn’t make much sense for an ally of the Beast. I also think it’s more meaningful for Greg to truly have the choice between happiness and responsibility, between the possible peace of rest and the definite struggle of life, and for him to choose the latter right as his brother is giving in. But I’ve got no beef with folks whose interpretation of the show is enhanced by this theory, so believe what you want to believe about this ambiguous situation.

Either way, we cut back to Wirt instead of Greg when the dream ends, and he’s still annoyed as he’s trying to sleep. Greg’s strange new seriousness is already cause for concern, and asking Wirt to take care of the frog is even more alarming, but even that doesn’t compare the horror of realizing where he’s actually going. Or rather, with whom.

This is another reason why I think the Queen is an ally: while it’s obviously dangerous for Greg to go with the Beast, that’s what it takes for Wirt to snap out of his funk. It’s a hell of a gambit, but as soon as he starts to awaken, he’s immediately concerned for Greg’s safety despite whatever anger or resentment he had, sparing no time or thought to the branches creeping over him as he runs after his brother.

The quiet distortion as we follow his frantic search is soon met by the Beast’s song, but even as he blames himself for Greg’s plight, Wirt is no longer content to wallow in despair. Because it turns out that these brothers are more similar than they seem, and neither is truly capable of letting the other suffer. In the folk tale for which this episode is named, two children abandoned in the woods eventually die and are covered in leaves by small birds (with some versions seeing them enter heaven), but as we’ll see in our next episode, this isn’t a folk tale.

The thrumming noise intensifies as Wirt slips on the ice, then we add visual distortion as he plummets into the freezing water. He’s saved, but this isn’t water that sees him reborn: the distortion finally breaks as Beatrice asks the episode’s terrible question, and we’re left in the cold.

Every even-numbered episode of Over the Garden Wall, perhaps by virtue of airing twice per night, ends in a mood-setting cliffhanger that grows tenser and tenser with every iteration (or at least it does until the end). First we got a leaf symbolically caught in a fence, then the Beast’s introduction, then the fallout of Adelaide, and now the capture of Greg. Getting trapped has always been a threat for these roving heroes, but the greatest threat of all, that of Wirt trapping himself, has been handled. Things look bleaker than they ever have, but despite the glee of Greg’s dream contrasting with the harshness of reality, Wirt’s ability to climb out of the pit of despair keeps hope alive: even in absence, Greg’s influence looms large.

Rock Factsheet

Dinosaurs had big ears, but everyone forgot because dinosaur ears don’t have bones.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?

Most of these were mentioned in the main analysis, but it’s great that we hear Wirt’s description of Into the Unknown right before the episode itself shows us what happened.

#babes in the wood #over the garden wall #otgw #steven universally #winsor mccay #little nemo in slumberland

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sweetheavymetal · 4 years

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It's supposed to make you feel something: TRC fic

Hey everyone!

This is my contribution to @trcspringfling for @theongreujoy

I had such a blast writing this. This is just pure self indulgent Bronan bonding.

Summary: Blue's in trouble.

Her final art project is due and for some insane reason she thought it would be a good idea to bully Ronan Lynch into being her model. What was she thinking?

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944288

It was Thursday night. Pizza night at Nino's.

Arguably for Aglionby Raven boys every night was pizza night, but for Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, Henry Cheng and Richard Campbell Gansey the III, Thursday nights specifically had been designated as “Pizza Nights”, due to that fact that was the day one Blue Sargent worked the late shift and she always snuck them free ice tea refills when her manager wasn’t looking. Plus now the end of the school year was drawing near and the prospect of them splitting ways across the country for college, for adventure, for the beginning of the rest of their adult lives, had them spending as much time as they could together.

This particularly humid spring Thursday night, dregs of iced teas in perspiring glasses, remnants of pizza crusts curled up on plates, found Blue throwing herself down beside Ronan in the booth that had unofficially been claimed as ‘theirs’ for the better part of a year and punched Ronan in the arm. A wolfish grin marred her face that immediately put Ronan on guard, dropping the pen that he had been using to draw a tattoo on Adam's forearm as he had the world's most boring discussion with Gansey about physics or something equally dull that no one else at the table cared about if you could take the ridiculous faces Henry was making into his phone and Ronan’s aborted masterpiece on Adam’s arm by any measure.

“What’s wrong with your face Maggot?” Ronan asked, eyes narrowing at Blue’s grin that became even wider, showing even more teeth. She looked him up and down like he was a prime cut of steak that had just been served up for dinner and frankly he was quite disturbed. Had she hit her head? Was she having a stroke? In a very uncharacteristic move Ronan removed his phone from his pocket and started dialling emergency services.

Blue slapped his phone out of his hands. It landed with a soft whump on the sticky table. “I’ve recently come to notice what an exquisite physical form you have Lynch.” Blue announced. That statement drew the attention of all four of the table's occupants to Blue, the expression of ‘what the hell?’ written on Gansey’s, Adam’s, and Henry’s faces complimented the look of disgust on Ronan’s. Ronan reached out for his phone again to finish dialling emergency services.

“Stop that Lynch,” she said as she forecefully grabbed his hands holding them in hers against her chest, ignoring the others who had all opened their mouth to start interrogating her with stupid questions like: ‘Are you quite well Jane?’ and ’you do know Ronan is gay right and already taken?’ and ‘Blue I thought we had something special and beautiful and unique and I completely agree with you how exquisite Lynch is but how could you betray us like this?!”

Blue steam rolled ahead to explain herself over the mayhem she had unleashed.“What I meant to say is that Lynch is exactly the missing piece for my art project final.” Blue announced, giving the table a stern and exasperated look she had perfected over the past year. Turning to face Ronan, who had pulled his hands out of her grasp and was rubbing them on his dark jeans, “ I need you to be my model Lynch. Your face is perfect!” she pleaded.

“Fuck no!” Ronan spat. Arms folded, chin jutted, he was a model of stubborn and immovable marble. He really would be absolutely perfect for this project, Blue thought, exactly the look she needed once she convinced him that was. But if Ronan was stubborn then so was Blue, and she was pretty confident she could out stubborn Ronan’s stubborn.

“Come on Lynch, pretty, pretty please?” Blue’s voice now high and needling in a specific way she knew he found annoying. “You haven’t even heard what the project is." She grabbed his hands again and his gaze at the same time looking up at him from under her thick dark lashes. Gansey had once described Blue’s gaze as orbs of warm liquid honey in Ronan’s hearing, which they had both immediately gagged over. Thankfully Ronan was not Gansey, and it was not pleading puppy dog eyes she leveled at him now, but 'break and you lose' competitive eyes. Ronan extracted his hands again and folded his arms across his chest away from her grabby girl hands and took up the challenge.

“I don’t care what the project is Maggot. The answer is still: Hell. No.” Ronan said enunciating the last two words like Blue couldn’t understand him properly. “You have a perfectly good boyfriend sitting right across the table there why can’t he do it? Stop propositioning me.” Not breaking eye contact he nodded his head in Gansey’s direction, who started making unsure hmming noises at the prospect of said modelling request being transferred to him.

Blue huffed, little tufts of dark hair blowing upward where they had escaped from glitter encrusted clips. Arms folded she narrowed her eyes even more at Ronan, glare deeping, expression hard.

“Bluebell, light of my life, I would certainly be more than happy to help if you—“

“Not right now Henry.” Blue interrupted, not breaking eye contact with Ronan. “In any other situation yes, but unfortunately it has to be Lynch. It’ll only look right if it’s Lynch.”

Ronan lifted an eyebrow. Blue mirrored with one of hers. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and the edges of her vision began to blur but no way was he going to blink first. The group, now understanding this was some bizarre Ronan-Blue friendship ritual that no one apart from the two of them really understood, went back to what they were doing before Blue had unceremoniously ruined their peace.

Blue leaned forward into Ronan. Ronan leaned forward into Blue. Eye contact unbroken. Cross eyed Blue whispered, “You owe me Lynch. I’m calling in my favour right here, right now. Help me with my art project or I’ll tell Gansey about the time that you---ooof” Blue blinked as a palm was slapped over her mouth and she got the full brunt of Ronan's icicle stare as she opened her eyes. Her lips curled under his palm, knowing she had him in her grasp. Who was the grabby one now Lynch, she thought victoriously.

“You wouldn’t dare,” He hissed down at her. It was true. Blue had promised she would never mention that particular incident of that particular afternoon as long as they both shall live, and Blue was a woman of her word. But Ronan had to remember their terms: she would keep her mouth shut about that particularly hilarious but sensitive event she had the unfortunate hilarity of witnessing as long as he owed her a favour, no questions asked, at some point in the future. Well here she was collecting her favour.

Waggling her eyebrows, she licked his palm, sniggering as he reeled back, nose crinkled, wiping his hand on his black jeans for the second time that night.

“Fine.” He spat out, voice full of venom. “I”ll help with your stupid art project Sargent. I just hope you’re happy you little blackmailing maggot.”

Blue was spectacularly happy.

Read the rest on AO3

#TRC #trc Spring Fling 2020 #my writing #fic #Bronan #Ronan Lynch #Blue Sargent #theongreujoy #the raven cycle #trc spring fling

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Be My Nightmare Ch6

Cause...

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

Word count - 3,214

A quick note - I have gotten a few requests for permission to create fan art of this fic. This goes out to all of you - Go nuts. I'm honored that anyone gets inspired by my work and I will never have a problem with someone being creative. I'd love to see anything you guys make, but if you aren't comfortable I still want you to do it. Have fun :)

__________

You sighed as the last patient left the room, alone at last. Thoughts raced through your mind, whizzing like Mentos in a bottle of Coke. Too much happened today, you needed the chance to process and assess.

First of all, you outright lied to your boss. You risked your career, your reputation and integrity, and for what? Why did you do such an idiotic thing? It made no sense, but it was quickly becoming a pattern. First the hidden sketch, then the incomplete notes regarding your sessions, and now this. What was wrong with you?

Second, walking in on V’s…

You pursed your lips as blood rushed to your face. Even thinking about it made you feel like an idiot.

Third, the artist’s behavior with the other patients. You’d imagined a variety of possibilities for the session, but not once had you pictured him teaching, showing patience and compassion. The man seemed limitless in his ability to surprise you.

However, you struggled to believe the moment was genuine after the wink. Was he only putting on an act for your benefit? If so, why?

If his goal was to convince you of his stability the wink was a stupid choice, and V was anything but stupid. Had he simply meant it as a playful gesture, a manifestation of your strange relationship? Unlikely, but possible. His version of an inside joke, perhaps.

Or he may have only wanted to throw you off. He loved playing mind games, after all. It would fit what you knew of him so far, but something still felt off about the exchange. None of the scenarios brought you any comfort or reassurance.

Fourth on your list of weird things that happened today; his painting. Since several others already saw it, there was no chance you could keep it from his file. All you could do was cross your fingers and hope Malphas didn’t read into it too much.

You glanced at it every few seconds as you gathered the used brushes and rinsed away the paint, scrubbing at the palettes until they returned to their pristine white. He truly was gifted, there was no denying that. Even with your limited understanding of art, his skill was obvious.

But that wasn’t why you couldn’t stop looking at it.

No, that was due to the subject of his work. You took another look as you set the supplies aside to dry, searching for insights into his thoughts. Any detail might prove crucial to his treatment, regardless of what the image made you feel.

It wasn’t your job to feel; only to treat.

He’d created a sunset over a grey building, windows dripping with what could only be blood. Barren trees and wilted grass framed a narrow stone path, a pair of bats in mid-flight between their desolate branches. Every stroke led the eye to the two figures traversing the scene, their likenesses too familiar to ignore.

Kotomi’s form featured energetic shades of scarlet, evocative of rage and hatred. A sickly green hue replaced the normal chocolate shade of her almond eyes and a cruel grin twisted her lips. She resembled a demon or a monster from an old myth. Devoid of her usual radiance and beauty, leaving only spite and fury behind.

Beside her stood a figure that could only be yours. Even with her face turned away, it was clear from the hairstyle and clothing. Unlike with Kotomi, V used vivid purples and blues to create your image. He’d taken the time to use a finer brush, adding details ignored in all other areas. The gentleness of his strokes stunned you, but not as much as the tiny orb of black resting right where your heart lied.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Yet the most disturbing aspect of the image was the tightly clenched fist in the foreground, ebony lines running from knuckle to wrist. V’s hand, without a doubt. There, his technique shifted to an almost surreal level of intentional distortion. No other word suited the twisted lines or the overly bony fingers.

Is this from the night he had that episode? Did he see me and Kotomi leaving? How? He should’ve been restrained still!

You pursed your lips and unhooked the canvas, laying it on the counter to dry. There was no doubt it was you, the pattern of the shirt matched what you wore that day.

Is it possible that’s what triggered his episode? But why? Why would that make him angry?

You told yourself he envied your freedom, but the thought rang with falseness. The truth was there, plain for all to see in his work if they only knew what to look for. Why else would he paint you and Kotomi so differently?

Yet you refused to allow the words to form in your head.

Denial had its uses.

Over the next few days, you tried to keep from thinking about the painting. It was in the system and out of your control, only time would tell what consequences waited for you, if any. There was nothing to gain from thinking on it further.

Despite your best efforts, it snuck its way into your mind more than once. how could it not? It was stunning work.

In your daily private sessions, the artist created new pieces to add to his growing file. Scenes of carnage and mayhem, death and disaster. Each featured himself or Griffon, but never any others. No new details. Relief at not finding yourself his subject again mixed with disappointment at the lack of new information with every scanned image.

Today was no exception.

The page in your hands displayed the man himself swimming in red with an angelic smile. You sighed as the door to your office clicked shut as Kevin took V back to his quarters yet again. If the man just talked, this would be so much easier, but he refused to answer any questions about his past.

Maybe he’s not as interesting as I thought…

You pursed your lips. It was too early to jump to conclusions. He needed more time to develop trust, that’s all. You just had to be patient.

A harsh ping broke your reverie as an email notification lit your screen. The sender marked it as top priority and you clicked on the tab; maybe this could keep you busy for a while. A new patient? Changes to protocol?

Oh, no… it’s from Malphas.

He knows! Shit!

It was foolish to imagine he wouldn’t notice. What were you thinking, allowing it to get this far? Honestly, the man wasn’t even that interesting. He certainly wasn’t worth your career, not after so many years in medical school. Plus, you still owed thousands of dollars in student loans. You couldn’t afford to be set back, too much was at stake.

Calm down! Think it through, come on!

Your heartbeat raced as you read the message again, just to be sure. It wouldn’t do to overreact.

Do I need to be concerned about the nature of your relationship with your patient?

It was phrased as a question. All Malphas had was the painting, he probably didn’t have a clue about the rest. You’d been careful, nobody except you and V knew about the other sketches or the incident before the first group session. By the time Kevin entered the room, the artist was fully covered and the orderly was the least observant person you’d ever known.

It wasn’t too late.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a suitable response in moments. Everything rode on how well you covered your ass today; a single wrong word and you were done for.

Absolutely not. The patient is developing an attachment to me, but I assure you I remain nothing but professional. I will not allow the patient’s stance to interfere with treatment.

A sour taste filled your mouth. The lies kept getting worse, but what else could you do? Besides, he was making progress. It was worth it to restore him, right?

It had to be.

You waited a few minutes to hit send; it might be suspicious if you replied more quickly than usual. What a mess, to even need to consider such a ridiculous deception.

Well, at least I’m not bored.

A snort split your pursed lips and you leaned back in your chair. The first pulses of a tension headache brought your hands to your temples, rubbing away the pain. The last one was years ago, back in med school.

In a way, you enjoyed it. The pain and panic shattered the torturous disinterest you normally felt. Not the most pleasant shift, but a shift nonetheless. You’d take what you could get.

Another ding signaled a response. Your eyes fluttered open to read.

I thought so, but I had to ask. It’s protocol, after all. If it becomes an issue I can assign the patient to a different doctor, but until then keep up the good work!

The pain vanished and the void of disinterest returned, the danger now resolved. You released a deep grown of frustration and tried to reignite the embers of strife, but it was too late.

---V---

The artist swallowed the now familiar capsule with a grimace. What a joke, to think a mere few milligrams could transform him into a mindless sheep. There was no caging the wolf within, not now.

Not ever again.

All he needed to do was escape, then his masterpiece could finally be completed. The thought flooded his senses with delight, joy so profound a bark of laughter spilled from his lips.

Soon…

By his count, a full week had passed since his first group session. Any minute now, Kevin would collect him for round two and he’d finally get to test his theory. If all went smoothly, he might be free by the end of the day.

Only if the circumstances align. Don’t let your impatience ruin everything.

“Yes, Vergil. Any mistakes and all is lost.”

Do not fail me.

He swallowed at the threatening tone in the man’s voice. The consequences of falling short were dire, he knew that. The restraints would return and he’d likely be barred from future group sessions. He may never leave his small quarters again. Never be allowed to touch a paintbrush again.

Unacceptable.

So, he needed to be cautious. Meticulous in his planning. Flawless in execution and creative when something inevitably went wrong. Even the finest plans fell apart at first contact with the enemy, after all. Haste would spell his doom.

Familiar shuffling steps heralded Kevin’s arrival and V smirked, stepping to the door to meet him with arms held at the ready for the ever-present cuffs.

“Hello, Kevin. How’s your family?”

Over the last several days, he made it a point to gain the orderlies trust. It wasn’t hard, considering how straightforward he was. A question here, a comment there…

“Doing good! Sarah starts kindergarten next week, we’re taking her out to celebrate this weekend.”

The metal clicked into place and the artist followed the other man to the security gate. “Wonderful! I imagine she’s excited.”

Kevin chuckled as the guard buzzed them past, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Throughout the elevator ride and the short walk to the group room, V chatted about meaningless drivel as if nothing else mattered. He was grateful the journey didn’t take long, otherwise he might’ve lost his patience and choked the fool.

And then there you were, smiling as you spotted him.

His progress with you was much slower. It needed to be, considering how much he planned to ask of you. If he rushed the process, you wouldn’t survive. After all his careful conditioning this far, the idea alone set his teeth on edge.

“Hi, V. Kevin. Come on in,” you said.

“Hello, Dr. Waras. Are we the first again?” he replied.

You nodded and gestured at the trio of easels, as if he needed encouragement. Enough pleasantries.

The itch returned to his fingers as Kevin brought over an assortment of supplies. Plain white canvas begged for his touch, the surface naked without his work. Lightness spread through his chest and his breath hitched, mind already racing with ideas.

Ken and Kelly arrived moments later, taking the same spots as last week. The round woman looked as bleak as ever, unwashed and lethargic. Her eyes didn’t meet his once as she sat and waited for her supplies. Truly, a waste of space if ever he saw one. He turned to Ken instead.

“Hello, Ken.”

He met the man’s eyes with a slight smile, forcing his face to display honesty and welcome. Even with only an hour of experience around him, V knew Ken didn’t trust easily. Subtlety was his only hope of success.

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started. Today I want you to paint the first thing you think of when I say the word ‘flight’.”

Quite a different prompt from last week.

No kidding. She’s playin’ it safe, Van Gogh.

He ignored them, still focused on Ken. The man stared at him like an alien, struggling to respond. After an uncomfortably long pause, he ever so slowly nodded in greeting. It would do, for now.

V turned back to his canvas. Flight.

Vergil and Griffon were right, loathe as he was to admit it. The word ‘flight’ brought several ideas to mind, most of which were beneath him to bother with. Yet each idea lacked risk or daring, despite man’s natural position on the ground. Last week’s painting must have left a lasting impression, indeed.

In that case, he needed to be conservative. Too much at once and he’d lose you. No matter how strong the temptation, his resistance now meant greater pleasures in the future.

The first stroke of pale sapphire purged every thought from his mind. The second, and a shiver of delight raced up his spine. With the third came goosebumps, and the fourth stole the air from his lungs. He marveled at the myriad of sensations, reveling in how no matter how many times he painted, it always brought the same euphoria.

“Kelly, do you need help?” you asked after ten minutes.

V huffed in frustration at the rude destruction of his trance-like state. If the woman was so hopeless as to need help, she shouldn’t be there. Even a child could paint a bird. How you sounded so understanding, he didn’t know. He listened with half his attention as he continued his work, switching brushes to begin outlining the details.

“I can’t think of anything…”

A soft hum and the rustle of fabric. “Well, let’s start with things that fly. Planes, insects, maybe birds?”

“I don’t like birds.”

The artist tuned out the conversation. There was nothing to gain from listening further, besides annoyance at the woman’s stupidity. He already had plenty of that. Perhaps it was a good time to work on Ken? The three orderlies looked like they weren’t paying a speck of attention, this was as unsupervised as he was likely to get.

He leaned a few inches closer and licked his lips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Ken blinked like an owl, his hand frozen in midair several inches from the waiting canvas. “What?”

“I’ll tell you why I’m stuck here if you’ll do the same.”

A pause. V hummed and added several feathers to the wings, dabbing globs of yellow between to represent the melting glue. Ah, Icarus. The first child lost to naive dreams and foolishness.

Well, probably not the first.

“You go first,” Ken replied at last.

V knew his options. Lying would get him nowhere, the man could ask anyone on staff and no doubt they’d tell his story. Any trust between them would be irrevocably damaged. All he could do was frame the truth in a favorable light, or at least try.

“I murdered three people.”

A startled squeak slipped from Ken’s tightened lips. His eyes were comically wide, nostrils flaring. “Why?”

V glanced again at the orderlies, finding them a few feet back with drooping lids. Nothing to be concerned about. “To awaken humanity to the truth. None are safe from the folly of innocence.”

A moment passed in silence, the quiet sound of horsehair on canvas the only soundtrack to the scene. V glanced at Ken every so often, timing his next words with the moment his face began to relax from his instinctual terror.

“Why are you here? What nonsense do they tell you is wrong with you?”

“They… they say I’m delusional,” he began, adding a few shaky dollops of color. “But I swear it’s all true.”

The artist smirked. “Hmm. A familiar tune. Any who are blind to the truth refuse to even admit its possible existence.”

When he next looked toward Ken, the man was gaping at him. Fear still flickered in his shining eyes, but a hint of relief teased at the edges. Perhaps no one believed him before, how perfect. A better opening, he couldn’t imagine.

“Care to share?” he asked with an intrigued expression.

He listened in stoic and attentive silence as Ken spouted off theory after theory, gathering steam as he continued. The man seemed capable of believing anything, from potential coups to life on Mars and everything in between. He may be far more useful than he’d initially imagined. If he were to take advantage, all he needed to do was suggest a conspiracy. Child’s play.

V checked the others in the room. You were still locked in a discussion with Kelly. The woman had yet to even open a container of paint. The orderlies stood at least six feet back, only still vertical because they locked their knees. Fools.

When Ken at last fell silent, V gestured towards you and Kelly with a dismissive flick of his brush. “Look at how she fawns, it’s absurd.”

The man glanced his way and shrugged, his hand still adding blue to form a skyline. Why wait? Might as well get started now.

“Considering the state Kelly's in, the assignment seems like torture. Do you think she might be trying to provoke further depths of pain from the poor woman?”

Another distracted glance, but the first hints of concern appeared. “Who, Dr. Waras?”

“Yes, she seems manipulative, don’t you think?”

Ken’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His brows furrowed in thought and a frown twisted his lips. Perfect, it was working. Now, to drive it home.

“I’d hate to be the target of her scheming. Who knows what she has planned?”

The man closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his unsteady hand leaving a jagged line on his simplistic work.

“Perhaps this place is meant to destroy us. They say they’re trying to heal us, but have you gotten any better? I haven’t.”

Ken whimpered and V struggled to keep the smirk at bay.

“If only there was a way to escape…”

The artist lowered his eyes, his shoulders dipping as if in resignation as he turned back to his own canvas. He heard every harsh breath the man took, every squirm as he battled at his suggestions. In time, he would succumb. He lacked the will power to do anything else.

#fanfic #Be My Nightmare #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc #dmcv #my writing #tw: mental health #alternate universe

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jmeelee · 6 years

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The Pumpkin Thief

The first time it happens Stiles is seven years old and he carves a lopsided jack-o-lantern face onto his pumpkin. His mom helps him place a battery powered tea light inside, and they find the perfect spot to display it on the front porch railing. They go back inside, make warm apple cider and dance to the Monster Mash. His mom toasts the seeds they’d scooped out earlier, seasoning them with sea salt and chili pepper, just how his father likes them.

The next day the pumpkin is gone, vanished, leaving behind the tea light at the corner of their property, still flickering forlornly.

“Probably a squirrel,” his mother sighs, running her hand soothingly over Stiles’ head. “Wild critters have to eat too.”

“Must have been a mighty big squirrel,” his dad laughs. “That orange sucker weighed about ten pounds.”

Stiles has nightmares for a week about a super jacked squirrel.

——

The following year, his mom is in the hospital. No pumpkins are carved, and he doesn’t think about the one that went missing.

—-

Two years after his mom passes away, Stiles feels sentimental. He convinces Melissa McCall to drive him and Scott to the garden center across town to pick their own pumpkins.

“Stiles, they cost like three times as much as the ones you can buy at the grocery store. Why do you want to go there?” When he explains the fall ritual he and his mom used to share, her eyes get wet and she crowds the boys into the car. “Whatever you want, hunny. Let’s go get you some pumpkins.”

They get two pumpkins each and three carving kits. Melissa blasts cheesy Halloween tunes and they carve until their fingers cramp. Stiles laughs harder than he has since Claudia passed away. They load up the gourds and drive them over to Stiles’ house, laying them on top of hay stacks and next to colorful, hearty mums. Looking at their picturesque autumnal scene, Stiles knows his mom would be proud.

As the days go by, one by one, each pumpkin disappears.

—-

And so it goes, year after year. Stiles progressively carves more intricate pumpkin art, and his masterpieces always vanish into thin air.

“It’s vandals, Stiles,” his dad says, rubbing at his tired eyes. He’s been picking up more shifts at the station lately, since Stiles is finally old enough to stay home by himself. “Some neighborhood kids who think it’s hilarious to prank the sheriff.”

“After all these years? Seems like an awfully long prank to pull.”

John shrugs. “You have to let it go, kiddo. Maybe the Stilinski’s just weren’t meant to have pumpkins.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.”

Great, now he’s grounded.

—-

The year he turns sixteen Stiles buys ten pumpkins with his allowance money, and hauls them home in the back of his mom's old blue Jeep. They’re orange and white, all different sizes. He carves some, paints some, leaves one plain. And sure enough, the next morning, they’re all gone.

——

Stiles plops down on the cafeteria bench across from Scott, steals a bite from the mealy apple on his lunch tray, and says with his mouth full, “so dude I need to borrow two hundred and ninety-eight dollars.”

“What?!” Scott cries. “Why do you need that much money? And why would you think I had that much money?”

“You have a job, duh. And I need to buy a security camera to finally catch the thief stealing my pumpkins.” He puts the half eaten apple back on Scott’s tray.

“Oh my god, Stiles. Give it up! It’s raccoons or something.”

“Last year they stole ten in one night. Ten, Scott.”

“Fine, it’s a whole gang of raccoons. I’m not giving you three hundred dollars. You’re out of your mind. Go ask your dad.”

“One—They’re called a gaze, not a gang. Jeez Scott. Two—It’s two hundred ninety-eight dollars, and three—he already told me no.”

Since he has the world’s worst best friend, there’s nothing left to do but drink three espresso shots and an energy drink, put the pumpkin out on a evening his father is working a double, and vow to stay up all night, armed with a wooden baseball bat and his old BB gun, and subtly watch through the peephole in the front door.

He passes out standing up around four-fifteen, and smashes into the door nose first. He’s cursing and rubbing his face when he sees movement through the viewer and the tears in his eyes. He blinks a few times, then blinks some more because there is a HUGE FREAKING WOLF ON HIS FRONT PORCH.

He scrambles back in shock. There are no wolves in California, haven’t been in years, but there is definitely one on his porch right now, delicately picking up his pumpkin by the stem and carrying it down the front steps.

Before he can think about it, he grabs the gun and his bat and throws open the door, charging outside with a wild war cry. “Drop that pumpkin, you filthy animal!”

The wolf turns, and Stiles swears it raises it’s eyebrows at him. So Stiles raises his shaking arm, aims the BB gun at the wolf’s face. His palm is sweating, and he can’t remember if he’d loaded it. He’s no stranger to guns—he’s been going to the range with his father since he was a kid, and he’s a pretty decent shot—but he’s never had to shoot anything alive before.

It happens too fast for Stiles’ human eyes to perceive, but one moment there’s a black wolf standing in front of him, and the next moment it’s Derek Hale, the most popular senior at school. And he’s naked.

Stiles shrieks, and falls back on his ass, gun still raised. “What the everloving f—!“

“Don’t shoot,” Derek pleads, one hand reaching out to Stiles in supplication, the other desperately attempting to cover his junk. It isn’t working. “I can explain.”

Stiles tosses the BB gun onto the grass. “Derek Hale, the captain of the baseball team, can turn into a wolf, and has been stealing my pumpkins for the last ten years?”

Derek looks around, sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s the spark notes version. The annotated version involves me being a werewolf. I’ll tell you everything, but first… can I borrow some underwear?”

Stiles sighs, climbs to his feet. He’s half tempted to say no, but he really doesn’t want to squander the opportunity to have the hottest guy in school naked in his bedroom, if only for thirty seconds before he puts on some borrowed clothes. Besides, it’s a mystery that’s taken ten years to solve; he owes it to himself and his mom to finally get some answers. “I think you’d better come inside.” He gestures toward the house, but makes Derek enter first. Stiles considers the fantastic sight of Derek’s naked ass walking by the first step in reparations.

——

So turns out, Derek Hale and the majority of his family are werewolves. Also, werewolves love the taste of pumpkin. Who knew?! Obviously Stiles.

It’s a long and crazy story, involving Derek’s first full shift and seeing Stiles and his mom dancing through their living room window. It’s a story that gets told and retold countless times over the years, as Derek and Stiles become friends and then lovers, and one Halloween Stiles pulls the top off a pumpkin and finds a little black box nestled inside.

It’s a story their kids love to tell, and their grandkids, too. And every time it’s told, Stiles thinks of Claudia, and how grateful he is to have had his pumpkins stolen.

#sterekweek2018 #sterekhalloween4 #sterek #eternalsterek #stiles x derek #halloween #Thank you to the Sterek Week 2018 mods for putting on this fantastic challenge

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lifeinahole27 · 7 years

Text

CS ff: “Wait for the Moonrise” (Chapter 2/10) (au)

Summary: Emma doesn’t remember who she was before she was found in the woods, but she knows that she has a few close friends, a good job, and a loyal cat that greets her every day when she gets home from work. What she doesn’t know, however, is that her past is about to catch up to her in the strangest of ways. She learns quickly that not everything is as it seems, not even her cat.

Rating: E

Content warnings: smutty smut, brief mentions of the loss of a hand

Chapter specific content warnings: sexual situations, kidnapping (not at the same time)

A/N: My thanks are the only notes I have: to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, I owe my first born; to my artist, @clockadile, I owe at least ten fruit baskets; to the two lovely mods who had to put up with my weird brain, @phiralovesloki and @sambethe, I probably owe gold bars or something. To my guest artist on this chapter, @pompeiiablaze, I owe my meager possessions, and my eternal love. Sorry guys, I ran out of stuff, and don’t actually have any of the above -mentioned stuff. And now, for something completely different!

Chapter 1 |

Catch it on Ao3 or FFN! And catch @clockadile‘s artwork HERE!

For almost as long as he can remember, Killian has been a friend of the castle. Liam, fifteen years his senior, starts climbing the ranks of the navy even before Killian is left in his care at age seven. With their mother recently passed and their father presumed dead after he disappeared one night several years ago, Killian is left in the charge of the palace workers because of his brother’s status.

It doesn’t take long for the princess to take interest in him, this newcomer just two years older than she, and Killian is thankful for it every day. His life growing up with Emma is one of constant adventures of the mind, and their imaginations take them to every corner of the known world, and beyond.

As they grow, so does his fondness for the princess. Emma, the beloved and respected heiress of the throne, becomes known for her own brand of mischief, but also for encompassing a deep well of love for the people of her kingdom. She earns the surname Swan after it’s shown that she exhibits grace in the face of the public, even if she moves more like a calf still learning to walk when behind the palace walls. As a bonus, Killian has also been witness to another characteristic she shares with the birds that bide their time in the garden fountains. When provoked, Princess Emma will not hesitate to snap at those she feels deserve it.

When Emma begins to show signs of magic, they bring in fairies to start training her and honing her skills. Killian watches in fascination as she creates delicate swirls of fire or water, as she manipulates the air and cascades a line of sparks around her in a circle. He watches as she learns to control not only the magic, but also her emotions, as the two go hand in hand. Only once does she singe the bushes in the courtyard when her temper flares, but that’s the day that her parents tell her that she’ll be expected to find a suitor to marry when she grows older.

Killian joins the navy for two reasons. The first is to follow in the footsteps of his brother, and the second is to somehow make himself more worthy of Emma’s attentions. It’s at the age of eighteen that Killian first entertains the thought that Emma might one day view him in a romantic light, however he is well aware of their difference in status. As it happens, his undeniable intuition and his organized nature make him valuable to the inner workings of the fleet from his position on the land, while Liam moves up from captain to commodore out on the open waters.

It doesn’t hurt, either, that the strategy position means Killian is never far from Emma. Under the king and queen’s watchful eyes, they not only grow together, but also begin a very long, drawn-out courtship. They spend every moment between their duties as royal and lieutenant locked in the delicate art of flirtation and subtlety. Still, it takes them much longer to develop from first kiss to full courting.

It’s during one of these moments that Emma tells Killian to meet her in the flower fields, and he finds her playing with the tendrils of her magic, the blooms changing all colors of the rainbow with her in the center of the beautiful chaos.

“Emma!” he calls out, some mixture of fondness and exasperation in his tone as he smiles at her antics. She’s beautiful in her tumultuous jubilation, her smile shining brighter than the sun above her. With a snap of her fingers, every flower in the field goes back to normal and she makes her way over to him. The hem of her dress is slightly darkened by the dew and dirt, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls herself close to him.

“You’re getting much stronger,” he comments as his hands go to her waist.

“That’s not why I asked you here,” she says, pressing her forehead to his as she sighs in contentment. “I’ve told my parents not to invite suitors to my birthday celebrations this year.”

His heart speeds up, but he tries to keep his tone calm as he utters one syllable of a question. “Oh?” It’s been years since their first kiss, their only kiss to date, but still he hopes more than he ever has before.

There’s another hum, and she opens her eyes as she drops back to her bare feet, her smile the very definition of happiness. “I’ve told them that I have an interest in someone that I’d prefer to explore.” Her right hand comes forward to stroke along his cheek. Her thumb playfully dips into the dimple in his cheek, deepening it further as his smile spreads wider.

From there they only blossom together, much like the flowers in their field. Every chance they get, they stroll in the gardens together, her arm linked through his, and talk of everything and nothing at all. They duck behind hedges to kiss, hiding from her parents as they explore the tender beginnings of intimacy. They go no further than kissing, as is only appropriate, but as the summer stretches towards autumn, Killian knows that this bond between them is real, and he wants it forever.

In the weeks leading up to Princess Emma’s twenty-fifth birthday, a lot of changes take place. Some of these changes, like the ones that Killian is involved with, are nothing but good. He’s still in a pleasant state of shock that Emma returns his affections, and he spends the time before her birthday celebration ball looking for the perfect, official ring for his bride-to-be.

Thankfully, the palace jeweler finishes the ring he commissions with only days to spare, and with the ring in hand, Killian requests an audience with the king. He only speaks to Emma’s father as a courtesy, as he wishes for the man’s blessing, even if Emma would marry Killian with or without permission. His own brother, as beloved as he may be, knows nothing of his younger brother’s courtship. It doesn’t help that Liam is gone for months at a time. How is Killian to sum up his fortunes in a matter of lines to be sent to the Commodore of the First Armada of the Misthaven Royal Navy?

The talk with King David is nerve wracking to the highest degree. It’s not just asking for a king’s blessing, but everything that they discuss once David settles into an armchair across from Killian.

“You’ve been a member of this castle since you were very young, Killian. You’ve worked hard to gain your rank with the navy. And if you are Emma’s choice, then I have no room to say otherwise, not that I would. For what it matters, you both have my blessing, and I’ll save the protective father speech for another day.” David holds up his hand when Killian opens his mouth. He would never dream of hurting Emma, or ever leaving her.

“There are things you need to know now, to take into consideration as you head towards an engagement, and I’m sure you’re aware of some of it with your own military position.” He seems to weigh his words for a minute, rubbing a hand over his face as he stops just sort of sighing. “I almost wish I’d told you sooner.”

The king looks so serious, and suddenly so tired, that Killian fights to shift in his seat. “Whatever it is, your majesty, I am ready to hear it.”

“Of course, Killian. You’ve always been ready to jump into battles you can’t see,” David says amiably. His smile flashes quickly, before his expression reverts to one of concentration. “There is a prophecy we’ve learned of recently, in which Emma is the remaining hope for destroying the Dark One. He knows of this, and we’re afraid that he’s going to attack Emma in some way. We’ve enforced all the security around the castle that we can, but no plan is impenetrable. You understand that, don’t you?”

Killian nods, beginning to understand the delicate nature of this talk. “And I’m to help in this plan to defend the princess?”

“Everyone has a part to play here. Just stay vigilant at all times. If we can just make it out of this month unscathed, we have a chance of beating him. We’ve even called your brother’s fleet home to protect the shoreline. I just hope he’s back in time for the ball tomorrow night.”

At the mention of his brother, Killian does shift in his seat. Liam knows nothing of his plans to marry Emma, and he still isn’t sure whether or not his brother will approve.

“By your expression, I take it Commodore Jones doesn’t know what has happened on the land in his absence.”

“Aye, your majesty. I’m afraid he’s a little behind on the events of my life.”

“Well, I hope this will give you brothers an opportunity to catch up when everything settles. Have you gotten a ring for her?”

At the switch of topics again, Killian’s smile spreads again. “Aye,” he says dreamily, pulling the small pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket and upending it for the king to see the masterpiece. King David takes it from his palm and holds it up, admiring the smooth band and the reflective gem.

“Not as ornate as I expected you to get, which means you’ve catered to Emma’s tastes instead of your own. You’re already shaping up to be a wise husband.” For the first time during the whole conversation, Killian finally relaxes enough to laugh.

He excuses himself a short time later, heading towards the princess’s quarters as if his body is naturally drawn in that direction. The birthday celebrations are still a day away, but he knows she’s taken to hiding out in her quarters to avoid the bustling masses. He inspects his uniform for wrinkles, or any sign of imperfection, as he walks. After all, he has much to discuss with his beloved.

Love. It’s a concept he never fully intended to discover, as his own family being ripped apart felt like a sign that he should keep his head at his station and never look for any of life’s pleasures. And then the princess tilted her head to consider him, and even at the tender age of seven, he handed over a piece of his heart to her. He, a simple son of a captain gone missing, orphaned at a young age, somehow worthy of the cherub-faced girl that grew up into a headstrong, intelligent woman.

He’s just about to tap on the door to Princess Emma’s quarters when he sees the door is slightly ajar and voices are speaking from within. He has every intention of moving down the hall a bit, to give Emma her privacy, but he hears Queen Snow’s voice echoing the information that King David has just passed along to him.

“We’re going to do everything we need to in order to keep you safe, Emma.”

“I know, Mother.”

“I want you to have this for the time being,” the queen continues after a pause. He’s tempted to peek through the opening in the door to see what it is Queen Snow is giving to her daughter, but he cannot intrude on their privacy that way.

There’s no need, though, especially from the princess’s shocked words that follow. “This – this is your wedding ring. Why would you give me this?”

A heavy silence falls over the two women while Queen Snow seems to gather her words. “Even the fairies are worried that the precautions we’ve taken aren’t enough. There’s going to be a protection spell over the castle the night of your ball, but it can only last so long. And the fairies, well, they can only make it so strong.”

Hearing this, and hearing the way the queen speaks of her worries so candidly with her daughter, the pit that took up residence in Killian’s stomach before his talk with the king grows a little larger. He leans his head against the wall and evens out his breathing, sending up a wish with each exhalation that they can all manage to keep the princess safe.

“With this ring, and the one I’m sure is on the way from a certain young man that is enamored with you, maybe in the face of the worst case, you’ll always remember that we will find you, Emma. We will always find you.”

There’s a muffled sniffle, and he’s not sure which one of them it comes from, but he’s sure there must be an embrace involved.

"Okay, now that's out of the way, I do believe I'm off to the kitchens to see how the preparations are going for tomorrow night. You’ll join me shortly to check on all the details, yes?”

"Yes, I will. Thanks, Mother."

Killian pushes off the wall and quickly makes as if he was just walking down the hall, and it's as he's reaching the door that Queen Snow emerges from Emma's room.

"Good morning, Killian," Snow greets him warmly.

"Good morning, your majesty. It's a beautiful day for preparing for a princess's birthday, if I may say."

"Right you are. Oh, and I do hope you had a nice chat with the king," she says, a sly smile appearing as she turns just enough to look back at him. "Have a good day, Killian."

He stumbles over his farewell, taking a moment to breathe deep again before knocking on the door before entering.

"Who is it?"

"A dashing pirate, ready to steal you away and sail the high seas," Killian growls out as he sticks his head through the space. He moves further into the room, catching her eye in the reflection of the mirror on her vanity.

"Oh!" Emma feigns, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead as she spins in place on her vanity stool, "but who will save me!" They both snicker, with Emma dropping her hand as she rises from her seat.

"Good morning, love." He joins his hands behind his back, standing straight and trying to appear calm despite the roiling of his thoughts.

"And to you," she replies, moving to stand in front of him and reaching out to rub the pad of one finger down the detailing on his uniform coat. He's helpless from stopping himself when he reaches out and clasps her hand in his. He brings it to his lips, letting them linger on the soft skin on the back of her hand.

She hums, sounding content and happy as she looks at him with affection she can't seem to hide now that they've been honest with each other about their feelings.

"I trust you slept well?"

"I did, with all sorts of wonderful dreams about a certain set of lips and that spot you've just discovered behind my ear." She bites her lip after she says it, smiling so wide that her eyes crinkle up and a light blush heightens her coloring.

"I look forward to finding all the spots you enjoy as much as that one," Killian murmurs, careful to keep his voice low so if Emma's dressing maids are still anywhere nearby, they won't hear.

Emma presses forward, wrapping her arms around Killian's neck as she reaches behind him to push the door closed. "I wouldn't mind finding one or two of your sensitive spots, you know."

"You'll hear no objections from me."

“I only have a moment before I have to go help my mother,” she says, a furrow forming between her eyebrows. “Kiss me until I must go?”

“As you wish,” Killian says immediately, more than happy to attempt to put a smile back on her face before she heads off to deal with last minute details and party planning.

“The maids have all gone, if you’re worried about that,” Emma murmurs between meetings of their lips.

“That sounds like you want me to do more than just kiss you, love.”

"Maybe," Emma says coyly. She doesn't let him argue one way or the other, though, as she leans up again to capture his lips in a rough kiss. Her lips will be red if he lets her continue any longer, and her mother need not know what they've been up to, so Killian decides to take their little tryst in a different direction. Her gown is already laced over a corset, and they certainly don't have time to remove all those layers, so he improvises. It also gives him a chance to ask for something he’s wanted to try for a few weeks.

"Will you permit me to love you with my mouth, Swan?"

By the way her eyes darken and she sucks in a quick breath, he knows she's intrigued by the idea. They've not gone this far. They've barely touched each other at this point but there's something so enticing about the possibility of tasting her that makes him want it now, before he'll not get to see her again until they meet at the ball the next night. There's also a possibility that tomorrow will mean more than just the birthday of the woman he loves.

All those thoughts fly away, far far away, when Emma quickly nods her head. Pulling him down for another kiss as she drags him over to the nearest chair in her sitting room. "How...?"

"Hold on, love. I've got to - "

"Killian, just pull - "

They both pause as they laugh, trying to find their way beneath the skirts of Emma's dress.

He bites down hard on his lip when he finally makes his way beneath the necessary layers. While he is twenty-seven years of age, he’s spent most of his time pining after Emma. The rest of the time, he’s kissed a lass here and there, but just as much as Emma’s kissed a lad or two, if memory serves. This right here, as he eases her knickers down, is something he’s only heard about from ill-reputable sources or saw in the illustrated guide a group of sailors brought to the tavern one day.

“Are you sure, Emma?” They’ve already wasted so much time just getting to this moment, so maybe they should just wait.

“Are you sure, Killian?” The tone of her voice is all the answer he needs, but he makes sure to unbury himself for just a moment to see her face, to raise his eyebrow at the sass, before he ducks back under her skirts.

The stories he heard from other sailors fuel the moments that follow, as his lips brush against her heated skin. The soft ‘oh’ he hears from Emma is encouraging, though, so he presses further. Her legs widen further, allowing him all the access he needs to finally taste her properly. Her body directs him, from that moment forward. Although her quiet sounds are muffled by the fabric over his head, Killian strains to hear every whimper and gasp, obeys when she tells him to stay where he is or move to a new spot, and groans against her in earnest when she asks for a finger to be inserted. It seems he’s not the only one that’s been seeking outside education in the matters of pleasure.

When her skirts suddenly disappear from around him and her hands find his head, Killian worries that he’s gone astray from her desires. He starts to pull away but she frantically commands him not to move, to not stop exactly as he’s doing, and it takes only a few more moments before he feels her climax taking her over the edge. Her breathing stops for a moment, just a few inhaled gasps taken in and held, before she clenches her thighs on either side of his head and holds him there.

His name is her quiet incantation for the stretch of time she’s immobilized, until all her muscles relax. He eases away, then, taking in the rosy tint that spreads from her cheeks, down her neck, to even the tops of her breasts. Emma’s head is resting on the back of the chair, a serene smile lighting up her whole face. Her hands, which had fallen away as she slumped back, surge forward to tug at his shoulders.

“No, no, Swan – “ She kisses him before he can stop her, and he watches with enjoyment as she pulls away just as quickly. She touches her fingertips to her lips, her eyes slightly wide at the taste of herself on his lips, before she smiles and kisses him again.

“You were marvelous, Killian.” Her voice is dreamy when she leans back and speaks. “I can’t even find words to describe what that felt like, but I assure you, you’ll be finding out soon how it’ll feel on you.”

He’s painfully hard in his uniform trousers, and Emma’s words don’t help one bit. But she’s already surely missed from her party planning, and Killian has his own details to see to, now that he’s helping tighten up security.

“I will look forward to that, my love. For now, you must see to your celebration.”

She deflates a little when she realizes he’s correct, and they work together to make sure her undergarments and skirts are all back in proper place before she checks her hair. The flush is still fading from her fair skin, but it can be passed off as exertion when she will have to all but run to the kitchens.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Emma says as she kisses him softly after they’ve both freshened up a bit. They talk quietly, standing just outside the door to her quarters but still cautious of any who might be around.

“Until then, Swan,” he kisses the back of her hand one more time and bows over it, accepting her smile and the hand she places gently against his cheek as she returns the sentiments.

She’s gone in a flurry of skirts, after that, and Killian turns on his heel to go find the men he needs to talk to about the perimeters of the gardens.

-x-

Perhaps it’s due to Killian’s familiarity with the undecorated ballroom that makes it feel so much more amazing to walk through the double doors at the far end the night of Emma’s birthday. He arrives early, before a majority of the guests, though some have already been escorted in and are mingling with family members and friends. Killian walks the room slowly, greeting those he knows warmly and enquiring after their health before he continues his circuit.

There are troubling tales, even at such a festive gathering, as Killian overhears stories of people gone missing, or suspected kidnappings. He listens as carefully as his slow pace permits before continuing onward. These kinds of gossip are common, especially in the quiet moments before gatherings, and even more so when there’s such terrible darkness out beyond the walls of the castle.

For ages, the Dark One has lurked in the corners of the world, and the prophecy the king mentioned comes back to him, reminding Killian that Emma is allegedly part of what could bring Rumplestiltskin, along with the whole history - centuries - of Dark Ones down.

The beginning of the ball will consist of dinner, and so tables are situated through the entirety of the room. Killian walks among those to admire the details that Queen Snow and Emma have considered. The cutlery is all sleek and plain, much like Emma prefers, as are the plates and glasses at each setting. It’ll all be cleared away for the second half of the celebration, so that the guests can all lose themselves in the dancing and music.

He rests in this moment for just a moment, his finger gliding along the handle of the nearest fork before he goes to meet with the soldiers that will be patrolling and the fairies that will be guarding them. From that moment forward, the ball gets even more opulent as the chandeliers are lit and hoisted, as all the wall sconces receive their flames. The lanterns that were lit for early mingling are shuffled away until it’s time to douse all the party lights. Killian watches all of this, nodding in approval as everything falls into place for Emma’s wonderful day.

As the ball gets underway, Killian is somehow still amazed at how busy he is the whole time. He takes one moment before the guest of honor joins, off to the side with the rest of the soldiers, to eat a quick plate of the princess’s favorite delicacies. He’s thankful for the distraction of his own assignments and that he needs to circulate amongst the guests and members of his own military; Emma’s had to spend so much time and attention on all her guests that he’s not even had a moment to say hello properly, yet.

There’s a small break in the festivities, where the guests shuffle out of the way and servants replace them to clear away the tables and chairs, and then the small chamber orchestra sets up in one corner to begin tuning their instruments. It’s the midway point in the evening, and as beautiful as it all is, and as stunning as Emma looks, he’s able to breathe a little easier that they’ve reached this point. The wavering sounds of strings being tuned echoes around the ballroom for a moment before they quiet and the first true note begins.

The first dance at the princess’s birthday always belongs to the king, but Killian takes the chance to work his way closer by presenting himself to the queen for a dance. She smiles at him, that one that borders on matronly, as he bows low and holds out his hand. With the queen’s hand in his, they make their way to the dance floor to join Emma and King David.

Emma’s smile when she spots them could light the ballroom all on its own, and as soon as the first dance ends, King David gives him a knowing look and he cuts in on Killian’s dance with Queen Snow so that Killian can dance with his daughter. Other couples begin to join, forming swirls of color much like her favorite trick with the flowers, as dresses of all colors move around the floor.

It’s the first time Killian has a chance to really get a look at her, other than flashes of red from the corner of his eye as she moved from one dignitary to the other. Up close, he admires the fine details of the embroidery on her dress and enjoys the rustling of her skirts as they go through the movements of the waltz.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight, Swan.”

She preens a little at the comment, her eyes darting downward and her lashes fluttering as she graciously accepts the compliment. “You’re looking very fine yourself, lieutenant. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy the dress uniforms?”

“I know,” he says, full cockiness in her voice to make her chuckle in response.

“I’ll have to dance with a few of my guests for a while, but save me a dance or two before the end of the evening, yes?”

“Aye, your highness, I’ll save them all for you if you’d like.” He wants to reach out and stroke the curve of her cheek, to taste her painted lips, to whisper all her deepest desires against the shell of her ear. Instead, he repeats the same low bow for her when the song ends, giving her one meaningful look before moving away to fetch himself a drink.

He’s just finished a perimeter walk and checking in with some of the guards when a broad chest interrupts his path. He almost berates whoever has just run into him, but he recognizes that coat, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise to see Liam before him. He’d heard his brother was back but had yet to actually see him.

“Welcome home, brother,” Killian says, a smile breaking across his face as the older man pulls him into a bear hug. Killian slaps him on the back a few times, not only to further his greeting but also to remind Liam that he needs to breathe and that he’s hugging him too tight.

“Goodness, Killian. I couldn’t tell if they were feeding you too little or too much when I first saw you, but I do believe that’s all muscle you’ve put on. And here I figured since you took an assignment on land that you’d go all soft on me,” Liam says, the twinkle in his eye reminding Killian that he’s joking, but the barb still stinging just a touch.

“I may require that my mind be stronger than my body where I’m stationed, but I keep both very sharp, indeed.”

“Come, let’s talk about that positioning you suggested for the Second Armada outside of Arendelle.”

With one last furtive glance back at his princess, Killian lets himself be dragged away for talks of politics and military and naval strategy. Liam grills him on his choice to stay on land instead of going out to work his way through the ranks, and it takes a lot of patience for Killian to not talk back to his older brother in a manner unbecoming. Liam doesn’t question any more of his personal life, preferring instead to talk of life with his Armada or the rationing of treats among sailors to keep up morale.

It’s nearly half an hour before he can get back to the dance floor, back to Emma and that very fetching dress which he admires a little more each time he sees it, and when he’s able to slip in to be her next dance partner, he notices how much she perks up when she catches sight of him.

“Oh, thank goodness, it’s you. I’ve just had the most dreadful last few partners and I value my toes.”

“You’re only happy to see me so your dainty little feet don’t get squished by the uncoordinated men in attendance, then?”

“That, and because I happen to be rather fond of you,” she adds, smiling when he twirls her expertly and brings her back into the hold. “I saw you chatting with Liam earlier. Was it just me or were you wearing an expression akin to what I gather you’d look like if someone was stabbing you during the whole conversation?”

“Stabbing might have been less painful, love.”

“That bad?”

“Aye, which is why I’m much happier to be with you, right here, right now, instead of seeking out more thrilling conversations about the armada.” He’s thankful that the next dance step brings her close so he can whisper in her ear. “Plus, when we’re close like this, I can very nearly see down that dress of yours and I’m very hopeful that the black corset of yours is all lace and that I get to see more of it later.”

When the next move shifts them, Emma raises an eyebrow at him, otherwise staying silent, but he can practically hear her thoughts through that look. If he wants to find her maids mysteriously out of the way and the door to her antechamber unlocked tonight, he’d better be on his best behavior for the rest of the dance and evening or else neither of them will go to bed in good moods tonight.

“I’ll find you for the last dance of the evening,” she tells him, smiling a little as she says so and accepting his bow. “Go try to enjoy yourself a little, for the sake of my birthday?”

“Aye, your highness, I will do so.” He leaves the dance floor before anyone else can claim a dance with him, and heads back to the gardens for a breath of fresh air.

The security around the castle is impeccable, as far as he’s concerned. Every time he’s done a walk to check on them tonight, everyone has been exactly where they’re supposed to be. All the fairies, dedicated to their role in the realm, have been steadfastly homed in on making sure their dust and spells are all in order. When he’s reassured that everything they’ve carefully planned is still in place, he heads back to the party to mingle again. He tries to spend a little time with his brother, and even dedicates a little time to dancing with the ladies he’s met before, usually mothers of his favorite soldiers or friends of the royal family.

As promised, Emma appears at his side to save him from a dreadfully dull conversation about expense reports of some sort between Liam and another commodore. She’s clearly growing tired, but she’s still enjoying herself by the looks of it. She’s surprisingly affectionate for a public event, and over her shoulder, he catches sight of Liam’s questioning look. Before his brother can put any pieces together, he makes sure they pass behind a few more couples to hide them from view.

“For the record, as soon as I’m dressed for bed and my gown has been stored, I intend to send my maids away for the evening so they might have a little bit of an early night,” Emma says mid-way through the dance. “Just so you know, for security purposes, of course.”

“It’s important to know these things,” he comments, and longs to continue by teasing her, but the other couples dancing are far too close. Not only that, but another shift around a pair brings them side by side with her parents.

They both look approvingly at their daughter’s final dance partner of the evening, and he so hopes that when he sees them tomorrow, he’ll be betrothed to their daughter. The looks they give him before they spin away say they hope for it, too.

This time, when the song concludes, Killian makes sure to kiss her hand as he bows over it, making sure to whisper that he’ll be at her quarters just as soon as he can be, before they go their separate ways for the end of the celebrations. He watches a short time later as the princess is escorted back to her rooms, followed by her parents, and the ballroom clears of all the guests. He wants to make sure that the changing of the guard goes off without a problem, and he bids his brother a good night afterwards as they go to their own rooms.

Waiting for the palace to quiet down afterwards is one of the hardest things to do, and Killian has to make sure that he times it just right so that no one will be awake to question why he’s wandering towards the princess’s rooms. After what seems like too long of a time, he eases out of his room and shuts the door firmly behind himself. He has to take a roundabout way that seems to take him in the opposite direction at first, just to be certain that everyone else is where they’re supposed to be, before he heads swiftly to her chambers.

The antechamber door is, in fact, unlocked when he tries the handle. He makes sure to secure it after he enters, making his way back to her bedroom with a candle to light the way. He almost drops it as he turns from shutting the door behind himself, as Emma is lounging as casually as she can, wearing nothing but the lace corset and skirts that leave very little to his imagination.

“No, no, darling. I do believe it’s supposed to be your birthday, and I’m supposed to have a present for you. This feels quite backwards to me.”

“I’m pretty sure we can turn this into a mutual gift, so get over here already,” she commands. He sets his candle down on her nightstand to join the ones she already has lit before moving to stand in front of her. She sits up when he does, leaning into his hand as he caresses her cheek and closes her eyes. He wants to tell her so many different things right now, like how much he loves her and how beautiful and poised she looked all evening. He wants to say that there’s no way he deserves her, but that he would also possibly expire on the spot if she rejected his proposal. Thinking of the ring makes him consider getting it now, asking her now, but instead he leans down to kiss her.

Emma takes the initiative in undressing him, removing his suspenders from his shoulders and pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into his trousers. He bends to quickly remove his stockings, and marveling at the plushness of the ornate rug beneath her bed before he’s brought back to reality.

“Killian, I’d like to love you with my mouth, like you did to me. And then I want you to make love to me.”

“Darling, are you sure you don’t want to wait?”

“You said you wanted to give me a present. And this is all I can ask of you tonight.”

“Turn around, so I might help you out of that lovely undergarment, then.” She smiles at him, this one a combination of her excitement and her love for him, and he basks in the warmth that they will be irreversibly joined very soon. She stands and turns for him, unfastening the skirts from the waist of the corset and tossing them to the side. She’s forgone her own stockings, and he realizes she really wasn’t wearing anything else under the skirts when he gets his first unhindered look at her pert, perfect backside. His hands stray, briefly, to run the backs of his fingers over the smooth skin he finds there, before he focuses again on loosening the laces.

When enough of the corset is loose, she unhooks the front, letting the two halves part while her back is still turned towards him. She stands there, haloed by the glow of the candles, nothing but bare skin from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet, and Killian isn’t sure he can breathe. This is such a monumental moment for them, and will only be overshadowed by the moment he asks her to be his wife (as soon as he can remember how to speak again) and the moment he does truly become her husband.

And then she turns toward him.

He thought he was breathless before, but she’s now standing before him, naked, and moving to remove the trousers that have become far too confining in the past couple minutes. While she eases them over his erection, he finally moves into action and yanks his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor just as he steps out of the bottoms.

While he drinks in the sights of her skin, she does the same to him, reaching out to touch his chest in awe, to run her fingers down the hair she finds there, until her palm is closing around his cock and he can see stars behind his closed eyelids.

“Killian,” she calls to him softly. “Touch me.”

He opens his eyes to see the lust burning in hers, and he starts by tentatively reaching out to cup one of her breasts, marveling in the way it feels and the taut nipple pushing against his palm. She pushes into the contact, moaning as he gently massages and brings up his other hand to do the same to both at once.

She lets him keep up at that for a few minutes, with her fingers gliding up and down the length of him in a featherlight touch, until she guides him back to her bed. She kneels on the mattress, but when he tries to sit up, she pushes him back and instructs him how she wants him to lay. Once he’s in position, Emma seems to steady herself before she reaches for his cock again.

“You’ll tell me how you like it?”

He can’t verbalize, not when her breath is blowing across the head of him, so he nods and watches with wide eyes as she eases the foreskin down his shaft and closes her mouth around the tip.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he whispers, because it’s the only volume his voice can reach that doesn’t sound like he’s shouting in pleasure in his own mind. She hums around him, and he quickly tries to think of anything to stave off the orgasm that’s edging up on him. “Emma, Emma my love, you can’t – I can’t…” He’s on the brink of climax from having his cock in her mouth for less than a full minute and if he doesn’t stop her now, this evening will end rather quickly. And he’s so been working on longevity during his private pleasure times, too. All wasted, in the face of reality.

He shifts, careful to ease her away from his delicate part before putting her in the same position he was just in. She looks adorably befuddled, but also worried, so he moves to quickly reassure her.

“It felt too good, Swan. I wanted to be able to last for the rest of your requests, and I can’t do that when your mouth feels like heaven. Where on earth did you learn to do that wondrous thing with your tongue?”

“I practiced kissing once I was old enough with the maids of mine that are also my age.” His eyes widen at this information, but she smirks at him. “Don’t act so scandalized. You practiced kissing with my maids once or twice, as well. Anyway, they’ve given me great amounts of advice on how to please both ladies and men.”

He shakes his head, marveled as always at this intrepid princess that he fears he may always be two steps behind. With no further response to really give, he turns back to the idea of bringing them both pleasure, and decides to revisit what he tried on her yesterday.

“Killian…” His name melts on her tongue as he makes his way back down her body, stopping to kiss and love her breasts for a moment now that there’s nothing hindering him from doing so.

“Hush, love,” he speaks as he trails kisses down her stomach. “This will allow me to give you the gift you’ve requested once I’ve calmed my blood a little.”

She tastes sweeter today than she did yesterday, and he eases her thighs further apart as he dips his tongue into her. He brings his hand up to rub at her clit, incredibly glad for whichever lad it was that told them all of the pleasurable spot to ensure a woman orgasmed. He must move in the correct combination because Emma arches off the bed with a gasp, the moan that follows much more wanton than he’s ever heard in their months of tentative exploration.

Without breaking contact for long, he trails a finger down to slip inside while he moves to focus his lips on her clit this time. He finds a rhythm that she seems to appreciate, with the way her hips thrust against his mouth in time. As best he can without stopping, Killian looks up the length of her body, feeling his own arousal renewed at the way her hands massage at her own breasts, the way her head tilts back into the mattress as she makes noises that urge him to keep going. Knowing she’s about to scold him for stopping, he does so anyway, only to slide up the length of her body to kiss her.

“Are you positive you want to, Emma?”

“I’m sure,” she says, nodding. He sees the lust in her eyes, but he also sees the love she’s not spoken of yet.

In preparation, he adds another finger to the one that was already working in and out of her. He just doesn’t want to hurt her. By the looks of it, though, especially with the flush that spreads down her chest, he’s fairly certain she doesn’t know what pain is right now. Regardless, he makes sure when he replaces his fingers with the tip of his penis that he goes as slow as he can without diminishing their pleasure.

He’s barely fully sunk into her when he feels his climax building again, and it doesn’t help when Emma clenches around him. They both react to that – Emma with praise for how good he feels and Killian with obscenities at how he’ll surely die before this is over.

“I don’t care if you last long tonight, Killian. I’m so close. We’re both so close. Move and touch me and let go.” Sure enough, she’s covered in a sheen of sweat, one that has little to do with exertion and more to do with being so close to climax for far too long, especially if she was as aroused as he was when he entered her room.

He moves – slow, deep thrusts that get harder as he gets surer that he’s not hurting her in any way. He knows he’s not when Emma reaches down to grab his backside, guiding him in again and again. He remembers what else she said, working a hand between them and finding her clit with sure fingers to bring her over the edge. When she pulls him down roughly and holds him in place, he lets her take what she needs, bending to kiss her when she asks him to.

Feeling her come around his cock is an entirely different experience than feeling it around his fingers. As soon as her climax begins, it sets off his, and he sucks in a breath and holds it as he presses into her. His face gets buried in her hair and it’s only once she starts to come down from her own that Emma reminds him to breathe as her hands slide up along his spine.

The air whooshes out of him, and he groans as an aftershock of hers causes one of his own. It’s so tempting to let himself collapse on her, but he remembers that he likes her alive and not smothered, so he rolls off to the side.

They both remain immobile for a minute, their panting breaths echoing around the large room as the sweat dries on their skin. She rolls to him, then, her bare breasts pressed against his chest as she drapes herself over him, and she kisses him long and deep.

“That may be the best birthday gift I’ve ever received,” she tells him once she pulls away.

“It’ll supposedly get better once it can last longer,” he comments, enjoying the way she laughs as she moves off the bed to retrieve a towel she had folded on a nearby settee. Once she’s cleaned herself, she runs it over his softened cock to clean up some of the mess before balling it up and hiding it at the bottom of her dirty clothes. She fetches a clean nightgown for herself while Killian turns down the bed for them, figuring it’s the least he can do at this point. He considers proposing before they turn in for the night, but when Emma climbs back onto the bed, he can see the exhaustion pulling her down.

In the morning – he can make her breakfast and propose in the morning.

For now, he climbs in next to her and pulls the covers over them both. Before sleep can claim them, he remembers to wish Emma a very happy birthday, and whispers his love to her as she closes her eyes.

“So perfect,” she reiterates, murmuring her gratitude in return. He’d be offended if he didn’t know her so well to know she’s awful at expressing her emotions in words. Instead, she curls even closer to him, placing a kiss on the nearest skin she finds before drifting off to sleep.

Killian wakes before she does, with the sun filtering through the doors to her private balcony and just lighting upon Emma’s sleeping features. They’re still close – not as fully fitted together as they were when they fell asleep, but his hand is trapped between their pillows by Emma’s hand. He doesn’t mean to wake her, but she stirs as soon as he shifts his hand, and she scoots closer to relinquish his hand in favor of wrapping her arms around him instead.

“Good morning, my pirate,” she says in greeting, and he smiles down at her.

“And good morning to you, my princess.” She accepts the kiss he gives her, sighing happily as their lips move against each other. Her hand wanders across his bare chest, and he watches the cogs turn in her head as she considers his still-nude state. “Ah, ah. No, my love. You still need some rest. I’m going to make you breakfast, however, and bring it to you here and as soon as you’re nourished, you can think about ravishing me within an inch of my life again, aye?”

“Oh fine,” she responds, but it’s barely more than another sigh as she snuggles against him. “Just stay with me until I fall back to sleep, though.”

“Of course, Swan.”

She takes one more kiss from him before settling back down against her pillows. He waits until her breathing evens out before carefully extracting himself from the covers. He tucks them back around her, making sure she’s warm and safe before he re-dresses in the clothes he wore last night.

The palace is still asleep, so he makes his way back to his quarters with no issue at all, ducking into his chambers and heading straight for his dressing room. He catches sight of himself in the mirror when he enters, his grin wide on his face as he takes in the disarrayed hair and the stubble coming in. He rubs a hand over his face, considering shaving before heading to the kitchens but deciding it can wait.

He shucks his dirty clothes and pulls on fresh, making sure to comb his hair and clean his teeth before he retrieves the ring and makes off for the kitchen. Some of the staff are likely to be awake, which means he won’t be making an utter fool of himself in an attempt to cook, which actually calms him from the nerves that have built over his plan.

If any of them are surprised to see him, they don’t show it. But they happily take the gold he offers in exchange for setting up a beautiful breakfast setting for the princess. They all buzz with excitement when he pulls the pouch from his pocket, and they all help arrange the ring in such a manner that the food surrounds but doesn’t touch it. The plate is topped with a cover to keep everything warm, and then they all but push him out the door so they can start spreading their gossip about the princess being engaged.

Between the kitchen and the princess’s rooms, Killian counts his steps and his blessings, fully sure that he could spend one, maybe even two, hundred years on this earth and still not love anyone as much as he loves Emma. With careful maneuvering, Killian gets through the door to the antechamber and shoulders his way through the door he propped open when he left.

Surprisingly, the bed is empty, and Killian surmises that she may have woken up to relieve herself. Perhaps she woke and decided to dress herself – one of her favorite activities when she gives the maids a day off. But when he sets the tray of food down and goes looking for her, he finds each room empty. She only managed to throw her corset in the vicinity of her dressing room the night before, and nothing else in there has been moved. He places a hand on the sheets where he left her and finds they’re still warm, so she couldn’t have gotten far.

Outside, the sun goes behind a scattering of clouds, with the wind gusting beyond the doors. One of them creaks a little, which catches Killian’s attention immediately. They kept those closed and locked the night before. He rushes over, seeing the broken hinge immediately and starting to worry. He turns back to the bed, his eyes a little wild, his mind racing a little faster.

The clouds move away, and the sun shines back through the windows at his back. The sun catches something, and Killian moves forward, feeling as if he’s suddenly moving below water as he reaches out for the glistening strand on the pillow where Emma so recently smiled lovingly at him.

It’s gold. It’s a single strand of pure, spun gold, the signature mark of a madman. He barely has time to consider his next move beyond waking the castle and sounding the alarm. He stands in place, clenching and unclenching his fists, maiming the strand in his hand as he does so, and then his limbs finally catch up with his brain.

The guards outside the doors to the king and queen’s chambers are understandably alarmed as Killian comes running around the corner, but when he gets close enough, he tries to slow and calm the blind panic and anger coursing through him.

“Are the king and queen awake? It’s the princess.”

Both of their faces show alarm at the news and one immediately ducks through one of the double doors to report. Killian is waved in a moment later, just as Queen Snow is tying the sash to her robe and joining where King David is already situated with various parchments.

“Killian, what’s happened?”

“She’s gone,” he says, holding out the crumpled strand of gold to them and trying to maintain his composure. He wants to scream, or cry, or find a sorcerer to take him to Emma right this second, but he can’t do anything without knowing what course of action they want to take next.

King David lifts the strand, his face hardening at the evidence, while Queen Snow covers her mouth with her hand and her eyes well up with tears.

“David, our Emma. We have to find her.”

“We will, Snow. We will,” he says, determination strong in his voice as he shoves aside the reports he was reviewing and grabs several blank scrolls to send out as messages.

“Killian, I need you to go wake your brother. We’ll need both of you to round up as many men as you can to start searching. If he was able to break in, maybe he couldn’t use magic and they’re still in the area. But we have to move fast. Go now,” the king urges, and Killian immediately turns on his heels to follow his orders.

Liam is just pulling on his boots when Killian practically bursts through his door with barely a knock, and he gives his brother a very pared down version of what’s going on to get him moving quicker. They make their way back to the strategy room to receive their next assignment.

“We’re in the process of sending messages to our neighboring kingdoms for assistance, and to keep their eyes open for any possibility that he’s had to take her without using magic. All our best trackers are out there already, but I want every inch of the kingdom searched. Commodore Jones, I want you to assemble as many of your men as you can to start searching the northeast corner of the village and woods. Take your brother with you.”

He moves on to the next commodore and then to the captains after that, which leaves Killian bristling just slightly that he’s been tossed in under his brother’s command, not even with his own captain, instead of being seen as the man that was about to ask the king’s daughter to marry him. He can’t even fuss about it, however, as Liam ushers him from the room to gather the men and start their search.

It takes less than an hour for every military man, every castle civilian, and every volunteer they could round up to be searching the entire kingdom. They fan out, going door to door to either ask for clues or ask for them to join the search. They comb the woods, inspecting every bent leaf and broken branch.

Half of Killian is glad to be moving, glad to be keeping busy, but shortly after they begin their campaign to find Emma, Liam is called back to launch a portion of his armada to go to other kingdoms. He takes the news in stride, redoubling his efforts and almost refusing to turn in for the night when they start losing daylight. He has to be verbally reprimanded by his captain, reminding Killian that he’ll be of no use to the kingdom if he freezes to death overnight or injures himself without light to search by.

He tries to go back to his own room, first, but he ends up in Emma’s when that’s where his feet carry him. The lady’s maids have been through the room after it was turned upside-down for any other clues. The bedding has been replaced, the bedding they made love on for the first time less that a full night ago. Her corset and wardrobe are tidy, but the tray of food that he set down is still there, and Killian realizes that there’s no cushion to break the fall that’s about to take place.

Lifting the lid slowly, there’s the ruined breakfast, with the ring still pristine in the center. He lifts it, feeling his heart clench in pain in his chest as he stares at it in the low light of the candle he brought and the last of daylight beyond the windows.

The sun will rise on an empty room tomorrow.

“Killian?” He turns quickly at the soft-spoken voice, but it’s not his beloved magically returned. It’s Queen Snow, standing at the doorway and looking lost and bereft. Her chin quivers as she sees what he’s holding, and she slowly strides toward him with a silent request to see it. He doesn’t speak, just holds it out for her to take as he swallows hard, swallows back the tears that are now threatening to break free.

“I will find her,” he promises, his voice barely more than a growl.

“We will,” Queen Snow echoes, looking sadly down at the gem in her hand. “We just need to be patient.”

“I was gone barely a half of an hour,” he tells her. The fight drains out of him, then, and he drops onto the closest chair. “I shouldn’t have –“ He realizes what he’s said, and what he was about to say, just a moment too late, but the queen doesn’t look offended to know that he spent the night with her daughter.

“You couldn’t have stopped him. He’d have found a way to get past us eventually.” She places her palm on Killian’s shoulder, a gesture to comfort a son, and he fights harder to keep his composure. The queen needs strength right now, not to hold him together.

“May I ask a favor, your majesty?”

She nods once, also clearly trying to hold back her emotions.

“Would you mind holding onto that, until I can find her and bring her home to you?”

“Oh, Killian…”

“Please. I’d rather it be somewhere safe, and it’s only fair since the ring she has is yours instead of mine.”

At that, Snow’s lips barely crack into a smile. “I was sure that I’d be getting that back this evening. You know she’d never have kept it if she was showing off yours.”

“Aye,” Killian agrees, feeling that tightness in his chest all over again. “I know.”

“Try to get some rest. The maids have a special tea blend to help you sleep if you need the assistance tonight. I’ll have one of them take away this tray.”

“I’ll carry it down,” he tells her, waving her off from touching it. “I just want another moment before I retire for the evening, if that’s all right with you.”

Instead of a response, Queen Snow reaches out and pats his shoulder again, only bidding him a goodnight when she reaches the door so he can only slightly make out that her voice is breaking when she says it.

He hangs his head when he’s alone again, trying to rein in his emotions, tamp down the anger that boils hot in his blood, swallow down the panic that he’ll never see his almost-betrothed ever again.

“I promise to find you, Emma. No matter what it takes.”

-x-

Nearly a month into their searches, they recall the military forces out in the realm and order them home. Killian is beyond frustrated at this point, knowing that they all know it’s the Dark One and that he certainly wouldn’t be hiding in some bloody village right under their noses. The only clue they ever found was in the southwest quadrant of the woods, where a scrap of what could’ve been Emma’s nightgown was found on a bramble bush. There were no other signs that she might still be anywhere nearby.

In that time, Killian becomes more vocal about his doubts that this will lead to any breakthroughs in finding the princess. He becomes belligerent on more than one occasion, leading to a meeting with the king and queen so very different from the ones he’s ever had with them.

“Killian,” Queen Snow says gently. “We’re getting disturbing reports back from your captain about your recent behavior.”

“We know this is exasperating, waiting for news and hoping for results, but it is the best way to look for Emma right now. We have eyes and ears all over this kingdom, and several others, all looking for the same purpose. We just have to wait for him to slip up.”

“He’s the bloody Dark One. Don’t you get it? He’s not going to slip up because he knows the game better than we do!”

“Killian!” The king almost sounds scandalized, as Killian has never raised his voice at them, has never spoken so candidly to them before. And never has he sounded so defeated, either. “You are a lieutenant in the navy under your captain’s command. And if that’s not good enough, then it’s under my command. I need you to be doing your job and not squabbling with every superior you come across. Do you understand me?”

There’s a war over his emotions for a moment. There’s some shame, that he spoke to the man and woman who have only ever cared for him in such a manner. But he never had a father, and he isn’t looking for one now. Still, despite the comment that wants to come out at David’s tone, Killian holds back and steels himself.

“Aye, your majesty.” He salutes, not meeting either of their gazes as he exits the room. He nearly knocks Liam over on his way back to his quarters.

“Slow down, little brother,” Liam says, a gentle but genial smile on his face. Killian scowls, a combination of the pet name and his brother’s ability to smile about anything right now.

“It’s younger brother, and I’m retiring for the evening.”

“It’s the middle of the day, Killian. Why – hey! Come back!” Despite Killian’s attempt to exude his unwillingness for company, Liam follows him, going so far as to push into his room and shut the door behind them. “What the blazes is your problem, Killian?”

“My problem? The princess is missing. She’s been kidnapped by the vilest man in the realm, and we aren’t trying hard enough to find her. That is my problem,” Killian snaps, removing his jacket and whipping it towards his wardrobe.

“The king and queen are using every resource available to find their daughter. You know how much she means to them. They wouldn’t cut any corners where she’s concerned. Why – Killian, calm down, brother. Why are you so worked up about this?” Liam just barely manages to dodge one of the boots that Killian sends sailing across the room, followed by the other.

“I was about to ask her to marry me!” Killian finally yells. “And not in a couple days, or a couple hours, Liam, I was on my way back to her room with the bloody ring.”

Silence falls over the room after his outburst, and Killian sinks onto the foot of his bed. He runs a hand through his hair, scrubs them both over his face as the full weight of the last month sinks into his bones and soaks up his dwindling hope.

“Killian, I didn’t… I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?” Liam’s voice is quiet and serious when he asks.

“When should I have told you, brother? In a letter sent to your ship with the monthly reports? Or how about when you were shrugging off your leave? You’ve barely been around since making commodore, and there was no good time. Even at the ball you wanted to talk about my strategy moves and rations.”

Liam moves slowly to sit next to him, folding his hands in his lap as he looks at his brother. “You should’ve said something sooner,” he says, and Killian immediately stands in agitation.

“Oh yes, because that would’ve gone over well. Tell me, Liam, how you would’ve reacted if I told you six years ago when this all began that I was in love with the princess and wanted to vie for her affections?”

“I would’ve said you’re bloody stupid, but to go after whatever it is you wanted.”

“Even at the expense of my military career?”

Liam sits back and thinks about that, and Killian can see it all coming together in his mind. “The strategy position kept you in the castle. You could’ve been out captaining a ship and making twice as much already,” Liam says, as if Killian didn’t already know this.

“I don’t give a damn about the money, you fool. I care about Emma.”

“Princess Emma,” Liam commands, and Killian grits his teeth.

“She’s Emma to me, as she’s been for many a year while we’re alone. You can’t come back here and expect to suddenly control me. You’re not my commodore, Liam. I’m barely even your brother at this point. Just some lieutenant you’re in charge of at times, and nothing else.

Liam stands, suddenly, marching straight for the door with anger puffing out his chest. “Sod off, little brother. You’re not the only one who has feelings around here, and maybe it would do you good to remember that.”

He slams the door when he leaves, and Killian is only disappointed because he would’ve enjoyed applying force to something other than his uniform at this moment.

The next morning, he’s summoned to the king and queen’s antechamber again, and his stomach sinks when he walks in to see Liam in attendance, as well.

“Your majesties, Commodore Jones.” He bows to each of them in turn. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Snow sends a worried glance to David and Liam, but remains silent.

“We’ve decided that you’re to be suspended from the navy until such a time that you can learn to follow orders again. You are commanded to stay out of the strategy room for a length no shorter than one month,” David says, his face set in stone as he speaks. Liam turns away when Killian looks at him, opting instead to gaze out the window at the back of the ante-chamber as snow begins to fall outside.

He seethes inside. “Liam, what did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything, Lieutenant.” Calling him by rank after telling him he’s suspended is a slap to the face, especially when they’ve always called him by name. David takes a deep breath. “You’ve hounded our advisors and told them they aren’t looking in the right places. You’ve taken liberties with authority figures lately. You’ve spoken to a commodore with absolutely no respect. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Killian stands perfectly still. He doesn’t look at Snow, whose eyes are pleading with him to say anything to make the situation better. He doesn’t glance again at Liam, who has still not turned his attention from the window. His jaw clenches and he averts his eyes to look somewhere over the shoulder of a man whom has always received his respect. Instead of answering any of them, he bows low and turns to leave.

“Killian, wait,” Snow calls out, but he’s out the door and doesn’t stop until the door to his rooms is barricaded shut.

It takes him less than two days to formulate his plans. He works around the clock, sleeping in shifts so he’ll have the energy to enact his idea once it’s time, and otherwise staying locked away. Someone from the kitchen always delivers his meals, but he never opens the door for them, preferring instead to wait until they’ve given up and left the tray beyond the door.

On the third day after his suspension, the food is delivered, but when they come again at lunch, the untouched tray is still sitting out in the hall. They find the note addressed to Snow after they’ve had to break down the door, and all it says is “Keep it safe for me.”

When she receives the note, she shakes her head, a broken chuckle coming from her as she folds it and holds it to her chest. She’s not even surprised when a captain reports that the Jewel of the Realm, his brother’s favorite ship, has been commandeered overnight.

By the time it’s reported to the king and queen that a ship has gone missing, Killian has managed to make it a considerable distance away from the shore. The Jewel is the fastest ship they have, and even the second fastest won’t be able to catch him with the lead he has. With a ragtag group of men he managed to hire in the shortest time possible, Killian has officially claimed himself captain, and their first order of business is to get as far from Misthaven as they possibly can.

“If you see a ship, men, you alert your captain and we will take what we desire. But no harm shall come to any crew we encounter, do you understand?”

A chorus of men all respond at once, “Yes, Captain!”

“Good. You’ll all make a fine crew aboard this ship, and you’ll have more riches than you know what to do with in no time at all. Let’s get this vessel in order and be our own masters!”

With the men cheering on deck, Killian takes the helm, his fists closing around the handles on the wheel as he steers them towards his own destiny.

Chapter 3

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #csbb #csbb 2017 #wait for the moonrise #sarah writes ff #enchanted forest/modern au

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doomedandstoned · 6 years

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Papa Paul’s Groovy Reviews!

Our resident retroist is back to finish the year with a hot handful of hits for the tune toking delight of Doomers and Stoners alike! Give ear...

PAGAN ALTAR

The Room of Shadows by Pagan Altar (Official)

One of the many surprises wrought by the year 2017 was a new album from legendary English doomers PAGAN ALTAR, who fittingly saved their best for last. You may ask why I say "their last"? Well, sadly, their vocalist Terry Jones has passed away since recording this album. I say "fittingly," because everything the band had done to this day has been outstanding. The abstruse history of the band is a story in and of itself. I don't fully understand it, so I won't go too far down that rabbit trail. Suffice it to say, I've been following Pagan Altar from the moment their first album was pirated by an infamous bootlegger. I heard it was from the '70s, I heard it was from 1982. I always struggled with what to believe. One thing for sure, their official releases on shadow Kingdom Records are top notch and I recommend them to you highly, along with the rest of their catalog, which has (as the band's clippings rightly proclaim) influenced "a whole generation of doom-obsessed fanatics."

Pagan Altar are considered both a doom and NWOBHM band. I won't argue with either, as elements of both are surely alive in their music. What interests me most are the ever present elements of progressive hard rock strongly rooted in the band's genesis, circa 1978. Pagan Altar is often compared to Jethro Tull, owing to Terry's vocals sounding eerily similar at times to Ian Anderson and also to the boundary-pushing complexity of their songs. It is here, in 'The Room of Shadows' (2017 - Temple of Mystery Records), that those seeds of Jethro Tull sprout to life in a series of seven weird and wonderful creations. Truth be told, this is the kind of album I wished Jethro Tull recorded. I always wanted the band to be a mite heavier, overall (don't get me wrong, I loved them as they were). As I listen to The Room of Shadows, I can almost see Ian Anderson dancing around, flute in hand and posing on one leg, his knee held high. The only thing lacking is the flute! Pagan Altar achieve their progressive majesty with a happy marriage of guitar, bass, and drum.

Photo by Temple of Mystery

Apart from Jethro Tull, it's hard to find an apt comparison. At times, I hear hints of Tales of Creation era Candlemass, elements of Cirith Ungol in some of the heavier riffs, and plenty of Celtic folk music and poetry throughout, transporting the listener clear back to the early Renaissance. Such is the depth of writing and musicianship on display. If you only give this a casual listen, you will miss most of the album. The Room of Shadows should be -- nay, must be -- savored like a fine wine or, in my case, a deftly crafted beer. Let me tell you, friends, there are some meaty rifts just waiting for you to sink your teeth into (or your ears, as it were), but the riffs rightfully serve as foundation for the band's tell-tale melodies and harmonies, which are, as always, haunting.

Fans of newer bands like Beelzefuzz and Blues Funeral need to give Pagan Altar a spin. Maybe it's because the new Blues Funeral album was released just a day before this that I'm thinking of them. Though the two albums are separated by a span of 13 years, both conjure a similar vibe. You might say that Blues Funeral is America's belated answer to Britain's Pagan Altar. All comparisons aside, Pagan Altar's last record is a masterpiece, crowned with cover art that in a single frame so aptly pictures the artistic mood of the album and the band. I thought it might have been a repurposed painting from some classic English painting. No, this, as it so happens, is another stunning masterwork by Portland artist and doom metal musician Adam Burke.

One last note: the album was once slated for release under the title Never Quite Dead. Indeed, Pagan Altar's sound and legacy lives on, loud and proud, in The Room Full of Shadows.

Get It.

PANTANUM

Purple Blaze by Pantanum

Anyone in the mood for some Italian doom by way of South America? That's what we have with 'Purple Blaze' (2017), the latest EP from Curitiba, Brazil trio PANTANUM. Old farts like me will recognize this right away. The artwork confirms that this is, indeed, a tribute to legendary Italian doomer Paul Chain -- more specifically, a nod to his great album, 'Violet Art of Improvisation' (1989). Pantanum make a play on "violet" with the word "purple" and use a similar layout for the album art. It's a great to see a young band paying tribute to an old school legend, one that I'm sure is a new name for fans of doom who came here by way of bands like Sleep or Electric Wizard.

The two songs on the 7" are from the horror-style doom playbook the Italians were so famous for in the ‘80s and ‘90s. In fact, the 8-minute bonus track sounds like something you’d hear on a horror movie soundtrack, which is also the mood lit by Violet Art of Improvisation. If Pantanum got my attention with their first album, ‘Volume 1’ (2015), their follow-up EP has me all ears!

Get It.

THE SHELTER PEOPLE

The Shelter People -EP by The Shelter People

Fans of '70s acid rock are in for a real treat with this release. I give this a confidence rating of 100% on the authenticity scale for sounding like something from a lost FM radio transmission. THE SHELTER PEOPLE are from Tulsa, Oklahoma, but do a fine job of channeling the vibe of legendary blues-soaked acid rock bands from Japan, like Flower Travellin' Band, Blues Creation, Chinki Chen, Too Much, etc. I'm sure a good number of our readers don't know these bands I've mentioned, so a more accessible description of The Shelter People would be Black Sabbath meets Jimi Hendrix, heavy on the Jimi. This band is, in a word, tight -- excellent guitar work, riffs that are downright funky, and passionate vocals. This is the trip you're searching for.

Get It.

THE SONIC DAWN

Into the Long Night by The Sonic Dawn

I have to thank Billy for his allowing me to stretch what used to be normal strictly a stoner-doom webzine. I appreciate his wisdom and ability to see the correlation between the retro scene that was emerging a few years ago and that of the still evolving stoner-doom scene. I recognized this movement early on and have been feverishly documenting this return to roots movement ever since.

Fast-forward to present day and the retro sound is as fresh and vibrant as ever, with bands like Denmark's SONIC DAWN now carrying the baton. Their beauty of a record, 'Into The Long Night' (2017), landed #16 on the Doom Charts in April. I can't tell you how happy this made me. In all actuality, this isn't doom at all. No resemblance to Black Sabbath, no downtuned guitars, no thundering pounding of the drums. No, this is laid back, seventies-style psychedelic rock. The look, the feel, the attitude -- it's all there. Make no mistake, Sonic Dawn have captured something very special here, capturing the essence of the scene in psychedelic rhythms, swirling leads, and ethereal vocals. I personally find this music enjoyable in the early morning or late at night. If laid back psychedelia is normally your thing, consider that. This has probably been my most played album since its release.

Get It.

WATCHER'S GUARD

Watcher's Guard by Watcher's Guard

Riding over the hills of Glasgow, comes WATCHER'S GUARD armed with a doom-laden three song battering ram of a debut. I was blown away at first listen, so you can imagine there's some retro, old school, traditional doom action to be had here, with a slight touch of NWOBHM for good measure. Watcher's Guard are the doom masters. This EP covers just about every early subgenre of doom you can think of: biker doom, epic doom, slow doom, you name it. If you pinned me down to one band it most sounds like, I would have to say Revelation from Baltimore. But Watcher's guard is a bit more uptempo over all. The clear standout for me is track two, "The Ruiner." An epic just shy of 12 minutes long, this one is destined to be crowned a classic. It's easy to make the Candlemass comparison, but Watcher's Guard bring so much more to the table. The complexity of their songcraft, with psychedelic twists and turns, take you along for an heroic journey that runs you through the gauntlet of emotions. What will these four dark knights have instore for us in the future? Time and fate will tell. For now, the path to oblivion has been lit. Let's follow and enjoy the apocalyptic fireworks.

Get It.

WITCHERS CREED

Depths of the black void... by Witchers Creed

Earlier in the year, I introduced you to WITCHERS CREED, a doom-touched acid rock band from Katrineholm. We've been audience to the band's creative output with a pair two-trackers released months apart. With four superbly recorded songs to their name, I think have a pretty good read on the band now and have this suspicious feeling that they are trying to become my favorite band! That's no small statement, as you know how many killer bands I've reviewed and raved about in these pages over the years. Regulars know I am vigilantly scouring the globe in search of that authentic psychedelic sound that stole away my heart as a teenager and reporting on the unfolding saga of the retro revival in these pages. Witchers Creed are have been apparently drinking freely of the magical stream flowing through Sweden, from which springs one magical musical act after another. Nay, they are baptizing themselves in it. Even their instruments and gear bear the vintage stamp of the glory days.

I have been told I nailed down the Witchers Creed sound my review of their March release when I said they sounded like Mountain meets Sabbath meets your favorite underground seventies band. You can pick the loudest and heaviest of them, Witchers Creed is right up there with the best. They have perfected their craft with a powerful rhythm section, notable for its thundering basslines. The guitar leads are no less mind-blowing -- more than just short bursts, this soloing goes on and on, soaked with fuzz and venturing into Dave Chandler territory. You know, the master of feedback from Saint Vitus. These demented leads are brought sailing over the top by one groovy rhythm machine, accompanied by dual harmonized vocals. Imagine Leslie West of Mountain harmonizing with Gregg Allman of the Allman Brothers with wild occult lyrics, when suddenly the music stops and you hear the words: "You're all doomed!" Now that you have a visual idea of this band's irresistible charm, it's time for you to get plugged in yourself and give it a listen.

Get It.

ZEREMONY

Soul of the Zeremony by Zeremony

We're down to the last lap of 2017 and, suitably, also at the last letter of the alphabet. I think I can count just about all the "Z" bands I know on two hands. To call ZEREMONY a grower is not quite adequate, more like instantly addictive. 'Soul of the Zeremony' (2017) blew me away first listen. Yet it keeps growing on me every listen .

Photo Credit: Umsonst-und-Draussen Festival/Würzburg

You may remember hearing them as the captsone to That Seventies Compilation, which I organized last year. I heaped high praise on the the authenticity of their sound when they released that wonderful organ-driven demo that same year. Two of those three songs were deemed worthy of joining the fold of seven in this album of obscure, dark, and heavy organ-driven rock. Zeremony fit right in with my treasured favs.

Hailing from Würzburg, Zeremony seem to bear the influence of the Krautrock scene, which was erupted in the late '60s and early '70s and remains a stylistic pillar to this day. One band I hear as I listen to Zeremony is a band called Irish Coffee, just a few doors down from Germany in Belgium. They are similar in the heavy use of organ and gruff vocals. For modern comparison, try Golden Grass or Siena Root.

Listen for "She Sang a Song To Me." It is gloomy, yet earnest number with a sing-along chorus that would have all the makings of a hit single in the seventies. I've been raving about authenticity a lot in this piece and bands like Zeremony are setting a very high bar.

Get It.

#D&S Reviews #Papa Paul's Groovy Reviews #Doom #Metal #Stoner Rock #Pagan Altar #Pantanum #Siena Root #The Shelter People #The Sonic Dawn #Watcher's Guard #Witchers Creed #Zeremony #Doomed & Stoned

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thebirdandhersong · 4 years

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little bandstand moments I cry over at 2 in the morning

(I mean. I cry over all of it but I’m trying to pinpoint specific parts)

donny’s constant drive and impatient, energetic, restless energy. he just keeps going and going and going and he doesn’t let himself slow down or all the memories and feelings just crash down on him, and the band learns to see it, and julia sees it too. it comes off as maybe aggressive at the start but it really becomes clear to her that constant activity is his way of coping

“you know any other guys? who served, but young, good looking? like us?” and ALL of ‘i know a guy’. it makes me super excited. donny is gathering the gang and I’m excited.

jimmy’s plaid pants and his bow ties I LOVE him

davy’s jokes and his shakespeare (oh gosh I love him)

“it’s a B FLAT TRUMPET”

the contrast between the obnoxiously cheerful ‘just like it was before’ and donny’s charged ‘finally home and finally safe and finally free’ in ‘i know a guy’

remembering that every single actor in the donny nova band had played their respective instrument in school/earlier in life and spent many hours learning how to play it again in preparation for bandstand.... and all of them KILLED IT

the fact that corey cott practiced piano for, like, 3 hours a day for half a year (I think ? feel free to correct me) after not playing for 15 years, so that he could play PIANO (JAZZ PIANO) EIGHT TIMES A WEEK FOR BANDSTAND IN FRONT OF A LIVE AUDIENCE. the dedication astounds me

the fact that he wasn’t even NOMINATED despite this, and the tremendous heart and soul he put into bringing donny to life ??

oh yeah and the ‘ghosts’ hanging around all the band members... shadowing them and mimicking their every move.... that’s incredible imagery and it Hurts

and the ghosts that push donny’s piano. (that scene keeps me UP AT NIGHT)

ugh the stinging commentary on how hollywood/the media/entertainment often takes serious matters like war and simplifies it, or romanticises it, or tries to tell stories about it that they don’t understand/don’t belong to them/can’t be tied up in a pretty ribbon.......

“I just wanna know what happened” “and what do you think that will get you?” “sleeping through the night? closing a chapter?” OW

all the emotions julia goes through in ‘who i was’

june adams being supportive and loving and hilarious,,, being the best mama :’) (and the paprika..... bless her heart......)

johnny saying he has to transpose (on the DRUMS klsJ:FLK )

“sHE DOESN’T REMEMBER THE BRIDGE”

“kick it up, davy” “ugh, thank God”

the lyrics in ‘first steps first’, ESPECIALLY ‘”starting is daunting, too... trusting is something new... fearful your luck will be reversed, but I have a feeling I’d steady you if you tried"

All of ‘breathe’. everyone being fed up with each other, “it’s a good thing you’re one of the best, because putting up with you is an endurance test”, “I look to my left, I look to my right, and see other guys who fight the same fight, and during those few short hours of the day, the noise in my head goes away” IM CRYING

johnny’s little dance with julia !!

laura osnes’s voice in ‘love will come and find me again’. I have weirdly sensitive ears but she could belt full-volume right into my ears and I’d thank her

davy when julia asks if he could give up alcohol and he says “I owe it to myself to try” with a smile that isn’t quite a smile and I just want to give all of them a hug can I not

nick needs a hug too. he really needs a hug

also WAYNE WRIGHT i just want that man to be happy. he’s so stressed the entire musical (I mean. honestly they all are) and I was genuinely stressed for him when he was cleaning his gun

I get emotional every single time we hear the drums and then ‘there is a train’ like. please. this musical has conditioned my tear ducts to react immediately to certain phrases and I can no longer think about trains without getting choked up

‘RIGHT THIS WAY’ IS A MASTERPIECE AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ON THIS

I’VE BAWLED MY WAY THROUGH EVERY SINGLE TIME I’VE LISTENED TO THIS SONG

COREY COTT’S PERFORMANCE IN THIS SONG ALONE DESERVES ITS OWN REWARD

THE EMOTIONS!!!!! the wonder (grand central station!!), determination, the anger, the desperate hope, the understanding of everyone’s pain and how they’ve waited for so long and how they want things to be right and good again and how they CAN DO THIS and they can make things right and good again

“right this way. we’ve reserved this just for you. you’ve been waiting for this day. it’s the least that we can do. let me take your bags my friend. you’ve been carrying those far too long. troubled times are at an end, and we’re waiting to hear a song” this is the part where I have to stop cooking or sweeping or whatever and take a Breather because my chest is starting to hurt and the CHORD PROGRESSIONS make me OVERWHELMED

“YOU’VE ARRIVED AT LAST, MY FRIEND. YOU’VE BEEN FIGHTING FOR FAR TOO LONG. AFTER BUNKS ON CARGO SHIPS, AFTER TRENCHES IN THE RAIN, AFTER RUNNING FOR COVER WHILE DODGING THE FLACK, AND THREE MONTHS AND EIGHT MONTHS TO FIGHT MY WAY BACK” COREY’S VOICE IN THOSE LINES MAKES ME JUST. BREAK DOWN

and then everyone joining together at the end. oh my heart. that’s a fantastic way to end act 1

julia’s iconic upside-down singing in ‘nobody’

julia playing ukulele in ‘i got a theory’ and donny and julia improvising together and the TRANSITION into the song

johnny’s Incredible Math Skills

oliver being super not-subtle trying to help the donny nova band

“WE LOVE YOU CLEVE-LAAAND”

johnny saying he’s lucky because he doesn’t remember :(

the fact that julia has gone through So much and, from her point of view, has every right to quit the band after learning about how michael died, but looks at donny and the other boys and sees the pain they’ve gone through and the pain they’re still in, and she writes that POEM and she puts all her love and her pain into the words. and she looks at donny and she wishes she could take his pain away and I just. I JUST WANT A GOOD NIGHT’S REST

the piano in the first ‘welcome home’ and donny singing it for the first time and when the instruments all come in

oliver giving them the tickets and everyone getting super excited and donny was crying and I was crying

‘this is life’. that’s all I got for you. all the Emotion and the harmonies. this song HURTS

(I love that they say that things in real life take time..... and that romance(TM) doesn’t solve all, the way it seems to do in movies)

wayne saying that julia and donny deserve all the happiness in the world

“this is life, with the craziness of, the reality of, the necessity of being madly in love with you” THANKS!!!!!!!! NOW I’M CRYING AGAIN

all of ‘welcome home (finale)’ is just. *chef’s kiss* I think about the fact that the band has probably never heard the original lyrics and their reactions are their first-time reactions and I just... I love julia trojan okay???? I just love her and I love how she tries to love them all and I love that she stands on that stage and FIGHTS FOR THEM ALL with her voice. it’s a love song, it’s a battle cry, it’s julia saying, “and I stand here, helpless, my arms extended, knowing full well, darling, your war’s not ended. WELCOME HOME”

there’s a thousand more things but i’ve tired myself out with just this list. bandstand is a fantastic musical and I would (and could, and will) cry over it again. I haven’t even mentioned the INCREDIBLE music and the choreography and the lighting and the sound effects when donny has a flashback/a panic attack and the respect and the consideration and care the cast put into accurately portraying PTSD and the veterans’ experience post-WW2 and the costumes. it’s such a beautiful work of art and i just love it so much :’)

#it was 2 and i was crying and it was an EMBARRASSMENT but i had a good time and that's all i have to say folks #when the proshot version is available digitally you BET im buying it #and having my whole family watch it with me #i still can't figure out how corey cott managed to learn JAZZ PIANO in such a short amount of time ???? like ???????????#i've been playing for what 15 years and i can barely play in front of an audience without my fingers freezing up #bandstand #<3 #corey cott #donny novitski #julia trojan #laura osnes #bandstand musical #bandstand broadway

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lavieendonna · 7 years

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Brushwork || ArtMajor!Calum AU (Chapter 16)

Summary: An Art Major AU where Dallas - third year gawky art student at VCA - makes a deal with Calum - her cute new neighbour and project partner - and they spend the semester learning that the perfect masterpiece takes a whole lot of brushwork.

Date: 3 September 2016 Requested: i mean i guess?????? not officially. Pairing: Calum + Dallas Words: 4.4K jesus Warnings: fluffy fluffy fluffy calum goodness (oh, and there is a mention of sexual assault near the beginning) A/N: I really hope you guys are proud of me this month/months. This is the 3rd chapter I’ve updated in the span of like 2 weeks. I haven’t been this fast since I first started posting. I’m proud of me, and I appreciate everybody who has had a hand in helping my inspiration and motivation and to anyone who just reads because the love it. Big love xo

Check out my ‘Brushwork’ inspiration tag x Let me know if you want to be messaged when the next update of ‘Brushwork’ is available x

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Chapter 16: I Settled For Saying That Instead Because It Was Less Dramatic And Less Of A Giveaway That I Would Jump Off Of A Cliff If He Told Me It Would Make Him Happy.

Isabelle hadn’t slept over since earlier in my second year at VCA. It was different now than it was back then – Polly used to be a part of it, and together the three of us would be up ‘til all hours of the morning talking shit and drinking wine and doing each other’s hair. It was real slumber party happenings in our student apartment, but now it was… quiet.

“Is Polly even here?” B wondered out loud around 11pm. We were curled up in my bed binge watching Game of Thrones since we were both ridiculously behind (I’m talking entire seasons, here). She had a Costco sized packet of peanut M&M’s and I had the Ben & Jerry’s. Every now and then we’d swap over, but she had a tendency to hog the chocolate so we were long overdue. That’s why Polly had come up in conversation – she was good at mediating the snacks.

“I don’t actually know.” I admitted. “Probably at work.” It was dark but I felt like I could see Isabelle raise her eyebrow at the idea of Polly having a job.

“At the pub?” She questioned. Polly used to work at the local pub last year, and it didn’t occur to me that Isabelle wouldn’t have known that she quit that job a few months ago.

“No, no.” I said, trying to recall the story. “Well, yeah, but a different one. She left the other pub a few months ago. Her boss was sexually harassing her.”

“Whoa, her boss?”

“Yeah.”

“The middle-aged white lady?”

“Yep.”

“Blonde hair, always blown-out, really bad regrowth and ridiculous fake lashes?”

“The one and the same.”

“Huh.” She paused. “I didn’t think… well, she didn’t seem… the type?” I wanted to laugh at Belle’s shock, but I was much the same when Pol first mentioned it.

“Neither.” I snorted darkly. “Turns out white women become sexual predators a lot more often than we thought.”

“I’ll say.” Belle huffed, but it seemed off again. Not so much like she didn’t care that Polly had experienced harassment, but the same thing as earlier – just the mention of Polly seemed to bug her. I wanted to ask about it, but I got the feeling she was just going to tell me to buzz off.

“Are you okay?” I settled for asking quietly, almost afraid that I’d left it too long to ask and she’d fallen asleep (despite the graphic death scenes flashing before our eyes). But her breathing was still even and I felt her shrug against my shoulder.

“I’m okay.” She mumbled and then picked up the PlayStation remote to turn up the volume. I sat there with anxiety for a couple more hours as I finished the ice-cram and, eventually, drifted off into a restless sleep.

We both woke up the next morning to my phone blaring obnoxiously loud. It was too early for my alarm to be going off, which meant somebody thought it was a brilliant idea to call me at (I fished out the contraption from somewhere between the sheets) 6 in the morning. My eyes weren’t open enough to see who it was, so I just answered the damn thing before Belle started swearing at me.

“Please tell me you have a good reason for calling me right this second.” I grumbled out, teetering on the edge of sleep despite my predicament, and internally hoping it wasn’t my mother or someone who would take an equal amount of offence to me answering the phone like that.

“I’m sorry!” I could almost see his sheepish grin now. “I know it’s early. But Diaz is sick, he sent the email last night.”

“So… no class?” I asked, my voice almost cheerful. Calum waking me up at 6 o’clock in the morning was almost worth hearing the news.

“No class.” I could hear the smile in the Māori boy’s voice. “Breakfast instead? I was thinking we could finally work on the mural together today. We might even finish if we haul ass.” I chuckled weakly and yawned before I had a chance to say anything. Part of me wanted to say no and curl over and go back to bed. But the other part of me – the smarter part – was too giddy to think of anything to say that wasn’t ‘fuck yeah’. I didn’t say that, but I did yawn one more time.

“Uh, yeah alright.” I sat up and used my free hand to rub my eye (and smear my already smeared eyeliner from yesterday).

“Sweet.” Calum was smiling again, I knew it. “I’ll meet you at the door in half an hour?” I yawned again and Calum laughed. “Hopefully you’ll be awake properly by then.”

“Whatever.” I said but I laughed weakly too. “I’ll see you soon.” I didn’t really wait for Calum to reply before I hung up, but he probably didn’t mind. Much.

“Who the fuck was that?” Isabelle grumbled out in her raspy morning voice that, admittedly, was a lot sexier than mine.

“Calum.” I told her. “We’re going to go work on the mural.”

“At this hour of the morning?!” I felt like if we were awake properly and it wasn’t so damn early in the morning, my sister would be yelling at me.

“Yeah, class got cancelled.” I explained, looking around the room to find where I’d abandoned my jeans. I couldn’t find the ones from yesterday, weirdly enough, so I found a different pair of light-wash skinny jeans that were ripped at the knees and paired it with an old, over-sized grey Draco Malfoy tee that already had paint all over it from previous projects.

“Do you want to come?” I asked when I realised Belle would be here on her own to face the wrath of Polly (I assumed Polly had wrath, anyway). But she didn’t reply with words, so much as a muffled snore. I turned to look over my shoulder and, naturally, the girl had passed out again.

I snuck out as quietly as I could, grabbing my bag with my sketch book and colour swatches, my wallet, phone and keys in my hands before I slipped into a pair of worn-in black flats and tip-toed out of my bedroom, trying as hard as I could to make as little sounds as possible (which, obviously, was impossible considering it’s me we’re talking about. I dropped about a million things and actually swore kind of loudly when I hit my hip on the corner of my dresser).

There was a part of me was waiting for Polly to be sitting in a swivelling chair out in the living room, turning on the lights dramatically as she swung around in her reveal and demanded to know where I was going. Because that was definitely something she would do – knowing her, she’d even borrow somebody’s cat and go full Godfather on my ass. But, again, that smarter part of me knew that was ridiculous, and that I didn’t really owe her this one either. Polly had a flair for the dramatic, and being so invested in my life wasn’t a right.

I finally made it out of the front door, and as promised, Calum was waiting on the other side, beaming at me like he’d been awake for hours. He was in similar get-up to mine – dark skinny jeans, spotted with paint and ripped a few times at the knees and thighs, and a red flannel, that looked kind of too big for his limbs, thrown over a similarly paint-sotted black tank. It annoyed me a little bit, too, because he looked so damn good, even in flip-flops, and I looked like a toddler from day-care.

“I hope you know breakfast is on you.” I took for telling him over my shoulder while I locked up, trying to mask my frustration as being because of the hour of the morning and not because of my growing butterflies. “You don’t get to wake me up this early and not feed me.” Calum laughed and when I turned around to greet him properly, it was almost as if he was smirking at me, but like… fondly. I didn’t even know that was possible and yet here he was, making it a thing.

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair.” He chuckled at me with a nod before pulling me in for a ‘good morning’ hug which, you know, wasn’t overly unusual. What was out of the ordinary was that he pressed his lips to my temple and held me just longer than he normally would have, and that kind of sent me into a bit of a puddle. My knees were shaking so much I was pretty sure he could feel the trembling, too. “Cold?” He asked, and that’s when I knew for sure that he could. I just nodded with pursed lips, too scared to open my mouth in case I vomited on his feet. Not at them. On them.

“One sec.” He let me go and I desperately started to wipe my hands on my jeans on the off chance he miraculously wanted to hold hands at some point. I mean, if he was smart he wouldn’t. But everyone was under the impression we were “something” and I was under the impression that if two people like us were “something” then usually the “something’s” would hold hands at some point. I really kind of hoped that wouldn’t be today.

Anyway, Calum had disappeared for a short moment back into his apartment, and just as I was about to ask what the hell he was doing, he remerged with a black Dickies hoodie in hand.

“Here.” He said, offering me the sweatshirt with a fairly neutral expression. I just stared at it for a moment, bewildered at his complete underestimation of how much I would overthink everything he did for me from the moment he decided he liked me.

“I could have done that myself, you know.” I took to saying when he nudged the soft fabric at my goose-bump-covered arm. Calum just shrugged, totally unfussed.

“Eh, you’d already locked up.” Was his justification and then he grinned the lazy grin I kind of loved and I rolled my eyes at it to stop myself from melting any further.

“Well, thanks.” I laughed, handing him my bag while I pulled the hoodie over my head. It was kind of big, and I had to roll the sleeves back a little so my hands would be free, but it was warm and it smelled like Calum and I actually kind of forgot to be nervous the moment I pulled my hair out from inside and took my bag back from Calum who was watching me carefully. “How do I look?” I gave him a cheeky pose.

“I didn’t realise how much smaller than me you were.” He noted. “But it looks good.” I blushed again, but before I could say ‘thanks’ again he cut me off with a very serious look. “I want it back, by the way.” I bunched the collar up over my nose and mouth, shaking my head wildly.

“Nuh-uh. I like it.” I said, muffled but the soft fleece on the inside. “I want it.”

“I’ll buy you your own.” Calum said pointedly as we made our way out of the building. “But that one is the only one I have left that isn’t so scratchy.” I gave a loud laugh.

“Wow.” I deadpanned. “The only reason you won’t let me keep it is because it’s the least shitty one you own. No sentimental value at all?” I stared at him wide-eyed and teasingly. Calum rolled his eyes and I think he was even pouting a little bit.

“No, there is…” He mumbled, refusing to look at me. I bit my lip, holding in the laugh. “My mum bought it for me before I moved to Melbourne.”

I was still laughing about Calum being a Mama’s Boy when we reached the only on-campus place that served breakfast food – and to our displeasure, that was Bitters. We weren’t too keen on shitty tasting coffee and stale toast, but we were lazy and didn’t exactly want to walk any further than we needed to either. We chose the lesser of the evils – sometimes ass-tasting coffee wasn’t the biggest problem in the world.

The whole time we talked and joked (and Calum teased me about my various scars and bruises from our last early morning), I couldn’t get over how normal this was starting to feel. Early mornings with Calum, breakfast with Calum, conversations that were leading nowhere with no meaning whatsoever, while simultaneously seeming to bleed some kind of hidden wisdom that we would come to realise a little bit later. The butterflies never went away, but instead of making me feel sick it was almost like it was a comfortable encouragement that maybe, just maybe, nothing was going to immediately go wrong this time.

I was scaring myself a little bit, actually, how weirdly okay with this I was. I still trembled a little bit whenever Calum’s ankles brushed mine under the table, and my blood still settled deep in my cheeks whenever he complimented me or hinted slightly that he had feelings for me more than ‘yeah she’s pretty alright, let’s test a theory’. But it was becoming easier to ignore them – or, at least, rationalise with myself that maybe there was a chance that the world wouldn’t end if I felt a little bit safe with Calum. This was a big step for me. The last time I felt involuntarily safe around this guy I freaked out and threw myself into a spiral of depression, just about killing myself in my own stench when I refused to shower. Right now, I was seriously impressed that I hadn’t tried to smother myself in my bed covers. Or hang myself with my own hair.

“Hey, did you ever end up figuring out what tattoo you want yet?” Calum suddenly asked, excited, and snapping me out of my deep train of thought with a fright. I flinched. I knew that eventually we would end up talking about this again, and I was ridiculously underprepared for it.

“Uh, no…” I gave a tight-lipped grimace and Calum’s face fell, disappointed.

“What? Why?” He asked, and if I didn’t know him better I would have thought maybe he was actually kind of offended. I shrugged, my face contorted into some kind of frown crossed with a pout.

“I just…?!” I gave a defeated laugh, burying my face in my hands as I leant my elbows on the table in front of me. Calum laughed, his hands grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands away so he could look at my face with raised eyebrows.

“Just what?” He asked me.

I sighed. “Alright, honestly? Most of it is that I just forgot.” I admitted and Calum raised a thick brow at me.

“Uh... what?” He was struggling for words, I could see it. “How do you forget to design a tattoo?” I shrugged again through a kind of uncomfortable laugh. Calum’s hands were still kind of wrapped around mine, our fingers some kind of intertwined together on top of the table. ‘This is how!’ I felt like screaming. ‘You are the reason I forget my own fucking name half the time!’

“I don’t know.” I settled for saying that instead because it was less dramatic and less of a giveaway that I would jump off of a cliff if he told me it would make him happy. “Things have been kind of… busy, I guess. Kind of.”

“Have they?” Calum questioned me, not so much challenging the statement but more so as if he genuinely hadn’t realised that – surprise! – student life can get kind of full on sometimes.

“I mean… well, yeah.” I said, leaning back against my chair, leaving my hands beneath Calum’s. I tried to convince myself that it was for warmth, but I was already wearing his hoodie so that didn’t really work out very well. “The mural has been kinda kicking our asses, and the same with my other classes... Plus there’s this whole thing with Polly, and my sister, and my mother and Ashton and work – it’s just…” I trailed off my sentence because it was becoming impossible to finish it without giving myself an anxiety attack. My heart rate was already starting to spike (although, that could have been the caffeine).

“Jesus.” Calum mumbled under his breath, and I nodded my head in agreement while I mumbled a quiet ‘yeah’. “Hold up, your sister? What about your sister?”

“She’s here.” I said simply, thinking back to yesterday morning when she arrived and how weird it was that she’d come unannounced.

“Here, as in, ‘on campus’ here?” Calum asked and I nodded.

“Yeah, she was still sleeping when I left.” I said with a small smile that lasted only a second or two. “I think she’s been having a hard time. I didn’t know she was coming and she seemed kind of off yesterday.”

“Oh.” Calum paused, and I could see the gears grinding in his head from across the table. “If… I mean, you should have said.” He said with a small frown of worry. “If I’d known B was here I would have let you spend some time with her.” I shook my head, waving Calum off immediately. I mean, it was sweet that he was worried about her and about me not spending time with her – but, honestly, this was probably going to be more interesting than anything my sister and I would have come up with to do today.

“Nah, don’t stress.” I told him carefully. “I took her out to lunch yesterday and we had a good talk. And she slept over last night, so I think she’s okay now.”

“If you’re sure.” He said carefully, and then between the two of us we decided that if we had any more coffee we were going to shit our pants.

We gathered our things and, as promised (read: threatened), Calum paid for our meals. I said thank you, even though I’d made him do it, and Calum rolled his eyes at me and continued to dish it back until we’d reached the storage studio where all our paints were, and again until we’d reached the mural.

And we kept talking shit for an hour or so, each of us on one end of the mural and working on the detailing. Eventually we just stopped talking, both of us lost in our own little world of paint and tutus and faceless ballerinas.

“Can I ask you something?” Calum asked me, seemingly out of nowhere, around 10am. He was still sitting up on a step ladder, working on the final ballerina while I was sitting down on the ground and doing detailing on the background in the first section of the wall.

“Is that the question?” I replied with a small chuckle, mostly to myself because I was really on a roll today and it was putting me in a good mood. The quiet was nice, and being quiet with Calum was a lot more comforting than I thought it would be. Turns out, Calum was the kind of guy that didn’t make the silence awkward. He seemed just as content with it as I was – except for now, where I could sense that something was on his mind.

“Ha, ha.” He deadpanned. “I’m serious.” I looked over at him and his expression toward me was pointed. I just nodded back, curious, but also moderately terrified. Calum stared down at me, not concerned or worried, not even angry or upset. He looked more confused than anything. Like he was trying to figure me out or something.

“Why don’t you want to be the ballerina?”

I wasn’t sure why I wasn’t expecting him to ask, but I wasn’t, and the longer he stared at me waiting for my reply, the more uncomfortable I was starting to get. I shifted under the weight of his stare, looking away and turning back to my piece of wall that was meant to look like a shadow (though it was starting to look more like a brown blob than anything).

“I, uh…” I cleared my throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. And I stayed quiet for some time, trying to find the right truth.

“Dallas?” He prompted. I gave a small sigh, and offered a small, tight lipped smile. Not necessarily to Calum, but just into the space between us.

“I, um. I just… don’t think I am up to that kind of standard.” I settled for saying, and when I said the words out loud I knew they were true. I could see Calum not understanding, the look in his eyes almost more confused than they were before, and I bit my lip, trying to find a way to make him understand. “Ballerinas are… perfection.” I explained. “And I’m…” I gave a nearly wild shrug, kind of gesturing to all of myself in the hopes that he’d get it – that I was just me, and that no matter how many time I re-gathered the pieces of me that fell apart, I was never going to find the same peace in my mistakes. I wasn’t upset about it, I’d learnt to accept who I was a long time ago. I just didn’t understand why Calum was so intent on thinking I was any different.

“You’re pretty great, Dal.” He said softly, and I nearly didn’t hear him because he was so high up. My head snapped up to where I could see him, and when I looked he was smiling softly at me, the way he did when I knew he’d been watching me for longer than I’d been looking at him. I just rolled my eyes at him and turned away again, wishing that I hadn’t tied my hair up into its bun so it would be easier to hide my blush.

“Right.” I huffed. I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t help smiling as if I did. The familiar warmness, the butterflies… it was almost exciting, if I thought about it from the right angle.

It wasn’t long until Calum spoke again.

“Are you nervous for showcase?” He asked, less serious now and the air between us a little lighter. I shrugged.

“I’m always nervous.” I said pointedly and the boy didn’t even laugh which offended me slightly (but only slightly – it was a fair point, he didn’t need to be a genius to see I was completely terrified by life). “But yeah, I guess so. I mean, I only have the mural reveal that night. But still.” I gave another shrug, content with my answer and Calum seemed to accept it too. When I looked back up at him he seemed lost in his art again, one brush in his mouth, his pallet in his left hand as he concentrated deeply on the beading of the final tutu.

“Are you?” I asked, relaxing for a bit, letting my posture slouch as I looked up to Calum’s great height.

“Hmm?” He murmured.

“Nervous.” I clarified. “About showcase.” He didn’t reply for what felt like forever. I couldn’t tell if he was just distracted by the art or if he was thinking, the way I did. I’d turned back to my pallet and started painting again by the time Calum replied.

“I don’t think so.” He said conclusively, and I’d almost forgotten what I’d asked already. “We… well, look at this. We’ve done some amazing work.” I hummed in agreement. Showcase was in just over a week, and even though we were still so behind, what we had was pretty damn cool. “My folio is being displayed in the library, too.”

“Really?” I was surprised at how exciting that sounded to me. Calum nodded and he seemed to beam down on me like the walking embodiment of the sun that he was.

“I can’t wait for you to see it.” He said, and I was just so blown away by his confidence. I’d never seen someone so… in their element. It was… hell, it was kind of inspirational if I was honest.

“So you’re not nervous?” I asked again with a crooked smile. “At all?” He shook his head with a small chuckle.

“Nah.” He waved me off. “I’ve got bigger things to be nervous about.” His smile turned into a tiny smirk, and from where I was sitting it looked like he shot me a wink. I snorted unattractively, biting my lip so I didn’t laugh in his face (figuratively, of course. There was still six feet and a step ladder between us, you see).

“Are… Are you talking about our date?!” I asked, completely bewildered, at this point, at the look of seemingly genuine anxiety inside the boy’s chocolate eyes.

“It is still happening, right?” He asked fearfully and I couldn’t help the eyebrow quirk.

“Uh, yeah.” I managed to chuckle out before his worries started to catch on, and my ability to jump to the worst conclusions got the better of me. “Why, do you not want it to?” I asked, all traces of amusement slipping from my face, and a whole new level of panic rising in Calum’s.

“No!” He said almost too quickly, and he immediately realised what that sounded like and tried to correct it before I had a stroke and died the night before our first official date. “Shit, n-no… Argh, yes! I mean yes!” He closed his eyes for a second and took a breath, letting it out in a small laugh of his own that wasn’t really making me feel better, but he was trying, and that was the main thing.

“I do still want it to happen.” He explained through that small crooked, awkwardly adorable smile. “I’m just… well, I’m kinda nervous.” I shook my head, looking away and trying to hide my blush yet again.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Cal.” I said quietly. I shrugged again before I looked back up at him – but only for a moment. “It’s just me.”

“It’s more than just you, Dallas.” He drawled out, and when I looked up with a cocked eyebrow, Calum was wearing that same pointed look from before. “Anyway, I’m excited too. I like spending time with you.”

The grin I gave back was slow and crooked and filled with warmth and I couldn’t stop it even though I was trying my hardest.

“Me too.” I said simply. My heart was racing again, and it had nothing to do with the caffeine.

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