#YES i agonized for 15 minutes over where to put it before settling on my first idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perpetual-stories · 3 years

Text

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really��blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #original writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writersconnection #writersofig #writersofinstagram #writings

376 notes · View notes

jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

Read on AO3

Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating.

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies.

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk.

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game.

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head.

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips.

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice.

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod.

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire.

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made.

How he loved her.

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair.

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?”

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed.

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office.

But it wasn’t work he had in mind.

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute.

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone.

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness.

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him?

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes.

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath.

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.”

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended.

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home.

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him.

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth.

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow.

Grief over the thought of losing Claire.

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her.

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser.

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared…

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go.

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do.

He’d tell her.

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs.

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision.

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face.

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open.

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily.

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s.

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly.

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.”

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them.

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair.

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him.

God, she was beautiful.

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly.

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw.

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open.

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern.

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face.

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked.

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.”

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home.

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts.

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.”

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time.

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself.

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her.

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her.

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance.

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.”

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong.

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap.

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time.

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable.

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further.

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization.

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one.

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form.

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home.

And that was that.

This was his last night with her.

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips.

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

#oh boy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #claire/jamie #fae claire

56 notes · View notes

elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

February Contest Submission #15: The Old House

words: ca. 6000 setting: 20th Century. Real world (with a twist) lemon: No cw: Some angst. Mentions of parent death. Referenced/implied child abuse.

“It’s time to go.”

She saw through the mist a hand, reaching out for her. Large snowflakes swirled past them like a swarm of puffy hens. The hand could not hold her. It slipped away. She called her parents’ names, or so she thought.

They found her moribund little body in the snow the next morning.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

Anna woke up with a start, chest heaving.

It was dark in the hotel room. Her roommate— partner?— stirred groggily next to her.

“Anna? What’s wrong?” Her raspy voice asked. “Was it another nightmare.”

“No,” she lied. “I’m sorry. Y-you can go back to sleep.”

She could feel Elsa’s eyes on her.

“What do you need?” She asked. Her voice spread warmth across Anna’s chest.

“…I could really use a warm hug.”

Next thing she knew, a pair of arms were gathering her into an embrace. She tucked her head under Elsa’s chin and sighed.

It would be a long day, it seemed.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

Arendelle was a small town on an island north of Norway. It was born as a fishing town in the 1890s and never changed its trajectory. Only a few dozen houses, a fish-oil refinery, the docks, one church, one school, one hotel, and an administrative building uphill. The people of Arendelle were rustic and gloomy, much like the weather they were brought up in: hail twice a week, snow in winter, and rain the rest of the time. In short: Arendelle hadn’t changed one bit since Anna left.

Being at the foot of the mountain, Arendelle’s surroundings were prone to avalanches, and the most recent one had taken place only a week back. It missed them by a few miles, but it opened up a door for archaeologists from the University of Bergen, who came to study what had been uncovered by the snow.

Anna wasn’t an archaeologist; she was a girl on a mission. She left while her grandfather slept, hopping into a cargo ship to travel north. Her passage was worth weeks of work. She hadn’t expected the sight of the town in the distance to hurt her as it did, so she kept her mind busy, and spent her days searching.

The day things began to go downhill, she was, as always, searching for her parents’ bodies.

She climbed up the mountains with her wooden stick and stabbed the snow with it, searching for something harder than mud. Bones, hopefully, although she was terrified of finding frozen flesh sticking to their cheekbones. The sky grew dark and cold, and Elsa would kill her if she arrived one minute too late, so she decided to turn back. She followed her own tracks towards the dig (where they let her sit by the ever-burning campfire as long as she wasn’t too noisy). The skeletal tree-branches rattled above. The wind whistled and swooshed sharply, blowing rough snow that clawed at her reddened cheeks. Her hands were numb even inside her pockets. Anna’s only comfort was thinking about Elsa’s arms around her. Not even the sight of Arendelle downhill quelled the chill.

Anna might be a born-Arendellian, but she grew up in the south of Norway. She was ill-prepared for the hostile North.

However, if Elsa had taught her anything, was that even under the dark frozen sky there were objects of wonder.

As Anna trudged across the snow-sea which reached her mid-calf, something caught her eye. A narrow stone-wall led deep into the forest. Only two feet tall and falling apart already. Frost covered its surface.

Her heart leaped. She deviated from her path without a second thought, legs racing, pulse and breath quickening with emotion.

The picture-stone came into view after. It lied deeper into the woods. A bow-shaped slab. Abstract ships, stick-people, reindeer herds gathered on it in a violent array of reds. Waves, antlers, and swords, a story carved in stone. A sacrifice.

And in the center, she found her.

There was something else to Arendelle.

“The Queen,” The hotel-butler had explained.

“The Queen of Norway?” Anna had asked, much to his amusement.

“No, the real Queen.”

The Snow Queen, who with her reindeer-pulled chariot cast a shadow of frost over every corner of the North. Her arms rose towards the sky, where her snowflake curled like clouds, like the winds she sent south. The slab was thirteen-foot-tall and rose high above Anna, with its depiction of the nordic spirit. Below her, was an inscription.

As it usually did, time halted. Anna’s throat dried, her eyes widened. She covered her mouth. She could no longer hear the sharp branch-rattling or wind-whistling over the sound of her own warm blood pounding in her ears. She no longer felt cold.

She reached forward, tracing with a fingertip the carvings.

The finds couldn’t be younger than seven hundred years old. Had it truly been that long? Oh, Anna could nearly feel the sculptor’s trembling hands, their warm breath. She placed a hand where someone else’s hands had once been.

She searched for her journal inside her coat and scribbled down the runes she saw, as well as the stone and the wall she’d seen before.

Anna was no archaeologist— she wasn’t nearly smart enough—, but she understood why someone may choose this path. When she gazed upon this stone, it was as if there was no distance at all.

The icy wind pushed against her, pulling her out of her haze. Yes! She began to stroll downhill. She’d prove her usefulness! She’d alert the scholars of the new find.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

Anna and the archaeologists were two land mammals sharing the same habitat, only, while they searched with brushes and trowels, Anna searched with a wooden stick. As non-competitive species, they often shared the same space, considering they knew her story. Anna wasn’t sure why the scholars tolerated her, but maybe it was because she and Elsa were a package deal now.

As soon as she reached her destination, Elsa threw her arms around her shoulders, kissed her cheek, and asked:

“Are you alright?”

She pulled back, anxious eyes studied her from head to toe. Anna’s heart always swelled with adoration when she heard that voice.

“I am,” she soothed her. “Oh, Elsa, you won’t believe what I found!”

“Wait.” Elsa tugged her towards the campfire and caressed Anna’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re cold. Come here.”

Soon, they sat on a log before the magnificent dig. A farmstead, they’d said. Stone walls and a half-rotten roof still mostly standing, surrounded by icy farming grounds where lamb bones were found.

The more awe-inspiring part, of course, was that a family had lived there. The farmstead was someone’s home. Elsa had described the findings in length: a family of three. All of them Christians, and funnily enough, also sheepherders. Thirteenth century. The settlement of Árnadalr lied many kilometers south, but this family lived in solitude.

Anna now wore an extra coat, held a mug of cocoa in her hands, and had Elsa fussing over her like a mother hen.

“What took you so long? You could get lost out there! And you left your scarf behind again. Here, let me find it.”

“Well, aren’t you a protective one,” Anna teased her, sipping her drink. Elsa’s pale skin flushed.

“It’s my job, isn’t it?” she muttered.

Before Anna could snort and ask what that meant, Professor Mattias, who was in charge of the dig, intervened to ask about Anna’s findings in the woods. Her enthusiasm immediately reassured everyone that she brought good news, and while they couldn’t travel at night, they still celebrated in the hotel. They cheered with vodka at the charcoal-sketch of the picture-stone Anna had presented. Yes, she’d made herself useful.

As they congratulated her, Elsa remained silent.

The hotel was so old, half the lightbulbs didn’t work. There was only one phone, and a dozen residents lined up every day to make their thirty-minutes calls and clog up the narrow smelly corridor. Each curtain was half-eaten by moths; you’d be wise not to put your clothes in the closet. Three stories of dusty light, creaky stairways, and dirty cracked windows. You could hear every neighbor from three doors away, and the ice clawed down from the roof into a fang-curtain before every window. They offered only one blanket per bed, but Elsa had provided Anna with a woolen quilt on her first night. That had perhaps been the first step towards falling in love with her. Between paying for both of them and giving up her own warmth, Elsa had extended unconditional kindness towards Anna from day one. Maybe they’d been doomed from the start.

“They’re out of single rooms,” she’d clarified upon Anna’s arrival. “And I’ve been paying for an empty bed for the past week. Please, I insist.”

It might have passed as simple pragmatism had Elsa not been Elsa. It wasn’t only about her treatment towards Anna, no, but about how she’d treat a stranger in need, that made Anna lose control of her heart.

She asked her about her silence, in the light of their whale-oil lamp (their room’s electricity hadn’t worked since the ‘30s), as she tried to translate the runes with her journal and a book she’d grabbed from the local library.

“Is everything okay, Elsa?”

Elsa was sitting on her bed, silently combing her hair. She wore only her slip, which was quite distracting, but she didn’t have the intention of getting into bed, despite looking so tired.

At Anna’s words, she tilted her head.

“Why? Are you feeling poorly?”

Anna snorted.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Anna sighed. She closed the book and stared at Elsa.

“You never let me pull off this whole.. avoiding the subject thing,” she protested, and then extended an arm towards her, begging to come closer. A new anxious question settled on her tongue. “Are you…? Do you feel…? I mean, do you feel safe with me, Elsa? Like you can trust me?”

Elsa’s eyes studied her for one agonizing moment. She stood up. Well, they did only meet a month back. Weren’t they moving too fast? Her grandfather would certainly disapprove.

“It’s not that,” Elsa murmured as she approached Anna. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and nuzzled the top of her head. She planted a kiss there, and Anna’s heart skipped a beat. “I do trust you.”

Anna saw her pale fingers brush over the pages of her journal. Her uncertain translation read:

This stone was raised in memory of Agðar and Iðunn, who met their end in their travels. Their daughter carved this stone.

“You’re becoming quite a good translator,” Elsa commented, and placed another kiss on Anna’s hair. Heat crept up to the tips of her ears.

“T-thank you,” she replied, as she ripped off the page and stored it in her folder, alongside all other translations and sketches she’d scribbled since her arrival: small runestones, illustrations of archaeological finds, and multiple petroglyphs of the Queen, all of which she’d shared with the archaeologists. “You’re an excellent translator as well! I mean, I suppose you are. You work at the dig, after all.”

Elsa hummed.

“I’m not an archaeologist. I’m only a volunteer.” she argued. “In fact, I believe you’ve been more helpful than me.” She flipped over a page. “The Snow Queen?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” Anna stammered. “Kind of a passion project.”

“For the Snow Queen?” Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Should I be jealous?”

“Well, legend has it she was single, right? Oh! Thy Majesty! Pardon my manners, but I shoult say thy bosom looks exquisite. Are thee by any chance in need of a shieldmaiden?”

A hand snaked around her waist. Anna shrieked as Elsa’s fingers dug into the sensitive spot. Between laughter and screeching, she curled on herself and tried to swat her hand away.

“Come on,” Elsa laughed. “It’s getting late. And keep working on your performance. That’s not how people spoke back in the day.”

She ruffled Anna’s hair and strode back towards her bed, and— alright, she saw swaying her hips on purpose.

Anna pulled her knees to her chest, placing her heels on the edge of the seat and hugging her legs.

“You said you grew up here, right?”

“More or less, yes. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering. About the Snow Queen, you know.”

“What about her?”

“…That’s what I meant to ask.”

Elsa sighed. She rubbed her eyes.

“Just… some fairy tale,” she dismissed it, with a wave of her hand. “To make children behave. If you were nasty, a monster would feel your frozen heart and take you to her palace.”

“Was it a nice palace, at least?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was quite obedient growing up.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

Elsa chuckled, and Anna’s heart fluttered with affection.

“I was!” she insisted, giving Anna a mischievous look. “But no. I don’t think it was a nice place. In fact, they say everything about the Queen was cruel and horrible. She never seemed like girlfriend material to me.”

“You think?” Anna asked. “I don’t know. Maybe she was lonely.”

Elsa cast her eyes down, lips curling into a melancholic smile.

“Well, I doubt even she could resist your charms.”

With a delicate finger, she pulled Anna’s hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Now the heat was in Anna’s stomach, in her chest, in the way Elsa gazed at her with such an unexpected adoration, she couldn’t help but to raise her head and kiss her lips. Elsa sighed contentedly, her hand cradling the back of Anna’s neck. Her mind spun around as their lips brushed together.

Then Elsa pulled away, with a pensive expression. She bit her lip.

“Tell you what,” she said, grasping Anna’s hands. “Come with me tomorrow. I want to show you something.”

Anna grinned. That was good enough for her. She’d wait for Elsa to speak in her own terms and time.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

“That’s the thing,” she remembered her grandfather say, when she was seven. “I doubt they got lost. We would have found the bodies by now. I bet the reason they’re gone is because they didn’t want to deal with the responsibility, so they thrusted it on me.”

Anna woke again. Her hands trembled.

That had been a lie.

That had to be a lie.

He had always lied, hadn’t he? Maybe he just despised her.

Yes, she’d find them and prove him wrong.

They loved her. They were dead.

Thankfully, Elsa wasn’t disturbed by her pathetic dreams. Anna was surprised she still put up with her, but it was better not to take risks.

She grabbed her coat and got ready for the day.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

Elsa guided her through the lonely snow-sea of the mountains in the dark winter morning. The Queen seemed to have it against them, because she blew her snow all over and made them struggle to climb up the hills.

“Um… Elsa? How much until we get there?” Anna asked, as she could no longer feel her toes.

“Not much,” Elsa absently replied. Her eyes drifted all over the hills. She grasped Anna’s hand and pulled her along.

The cliffs overlooking Arendelle were a dark shadow in the distance, but they gained definition as both women approached. They didn’t draw a 90 degrees angle with the ground— rather, the earth elevated slowly, in bumps and rocky points, rising like a heavy breath towards the cliff’s foot. It was a rather secluded spot, where the snow didn’t hit as harshly. There they could rest until the time to search came again.

Yet Elsa had other plans. She toiled forward, along the cliff-wall, until the runestones came into view.

Blood-red lines coiled around the edges of a small stone plate, only half as tall as Anna herself. It protruded from near the foot of the cliff, high above. They exchanged a quick look.

“Can you read what it says?” Asked Elsa. Anna cringed thinking about her rune-reading skills.

“I can try?” She vacillated. Looking up, she read: “…Sif and Afvaldr erected this stone in memory of Nafni, son of Ulfarr, father of Afvaldr and husbandman of Sif, who met his end fighting the snow.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She saw Elsa grin from the corner of her eye.

“Anna,” she tugged at her hand. “Look.”

Anna followed the direction of Elsa’s finger, and saw extending into the distance a trail of stones with engravings on them. Small, big, at some points more spaced out than in others. They followed the length of the cliff-wall like a series of little stars, so tiny under the mountain’s shadow.

Anna’s throat tightened with emotion.

She stepped towards the next stone. This one had a cross on it.

“Feykir and his daughter, Esja, had this stone raised in memory of Rjúpa, Feykir’s wife and Esja’s mother, who was taken by the wicked snow. May God help her spirit.”

This one was close enough to touch. Anna traced the edge of the cross with a finger.

“How did you know this place?” She asked.

“Oh, you know.” Elsa shrugged. “This is my home.”

Many of the stones were cenotaphs, Elsa explained. No one was buried beneath this soil, but they might as well be, because each of these people, with names and loved ones, felt only a breath away.

“Bersa raised this stone in memory of Ilmr, her father’s sister. She was killed when trying to kill the snow.”

Anna’s breath grew heavier. She scrutinized these patterns, these strange writings, for several hours; they all dated to this wicked, living, killing snow.

Her heart vigorously pounded warm blood into her fingertips.

Then, she spotted a particular runestone. It was the greatest one of all, far away from the others, and it sported the same figure she’d seen only a day before; the Snow Queen with her arms towards the sky. Around her coiled a serpent with words on its skin.

In her blind excitement, Anna hastily climbed over rocks until she reached it. Elsa followed closely behind.

“Do you know what it says?” Elsa asked when she reached her.

Anna squinted at the words. Its inscription was the longest she’d seen so far.

“It says… Agðar and Iðunn came from the south. It was with them that the snow came.” She stepped to the side, to read the following line. “It was their daughter that brought the evil, with which she could slay a hundred men in… Árnadalr? So… um… Crap. I don’t know what it says here.”

She turned around, expecting to find Elsa willing to lend a hand, but her expression was painted by an unexpected sadness.

Anna’s stomach sank a little.

“Elsa?”

Elsa lowered her head.

“It says they killed her,” she explained. Anna squinted.

“She was real?”

“So it seems.”

“The Snow Queen? No. That’s… too much even for Arendelle. Besides, vikings wrote a lot of weird stuff, right?”

“It’s what the stone tells.” Elsa pointed out. “I know I said it was only a tale last night, but…”

“Wait. Agðar and Iðunn?” Anna checked the names on the stone again. “Were they…? Oh, Elsa… She really was real. And her parents…”

“…Yes. Agðar and Iðunn were the names of the people who lived in the dig,” Elsa clarified.

“So, the Snow Queen… she…” Anna looked at the carvings in stone again. Despair seized her heart. “Oh, no, Elsa. She had a family. They… Oh, goodness…”

A family, yes, one the Snow Queen had missed very much, enough to raise a stone in their memory. To think about this loss, this pain that she thought she knew even if she wasn’t quite sure, tore her heart in half.

Her eyes watered.

“I don’t think she was a monster.”

There was… a long history of death and pain in that family, wasn’t it?.

She heard Elsa breathe behind her.

“Anna, there’s…”

She dropped whatever it was she was about to say when she noticed the mist behind Anna’s eyes.

“I really hope I find my parents,” she murmured, then furiously rubbed her eyes. “D-did I ever tell you what happened to them?”

She could feel Elsa’s pain-stricken gaze on her.

“If that’s something you want to do, I’ll listen.”

Anna nodded. Her throat constricted.

“There was a storm,” she recalled. “I don’t remember what happened very well. I-I can’t even remember their names, and my grandfather won’t tell me, and besides…”

“He won’t?”

“Yeah, so I think I got lost, because I couldn’t see them anywhere. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. My grandfather adopted me afterwards.”

“But you’re the one searching for the bodies?”

“What can I say?” Anna shrugged and forced a crooked smile. “Guess he didn’t want to… unbury any painful memories.”

“He didn’t care to find his son?”

“…Or you could put it like that, too.” She wiped her eyes, looking down. “I think I’m beginning to understand him, though.”

Elsa squinted.

“How come?”

“Well…” She kicked the snow at her feet. “He told me once they’d left me in the snow. I like to think I actually got lucky, but I…” She shook her head. “I feel so selfish, Elsa. Like I want them to be dead, just so I can know they didn’t abandon me.”

“They didn’t,” Elsa blurted out with a thick voice. “Anna, your family loved you.”

“Then I shouldn’t be looking for them like this.”

Her voice sounded pathetic even to her.

She brought her hands together, and carefully leaned against Elsa.

“What are you going to do, then?”

She sucked in a ragged breath.

“I don’t know,” Anna admitted. “I don’t wanna go home. My grandfather…”

“Does he hurt you?”

“He’s never hit me.”

Elsa’s arm snaked around her waist.

“What will you do?” Anna then asked, trying to shift the attention from herself. “After the dig is over, I mean. You’ve lived your whole life here, right?”

“In a way.”

“Will you stay?”

That was a difficult question. Elsa could imply she’d leave her and neither of them would know, because Anna didn’t know what she’d do, either. Maybe she’d be the one to leave Elsa.

Elsa closed her eyes.

“I don’t know. Arendelle brings a lot of memories, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Then Elsa lowered her gaze. Screwed her eyes shut. She pulled away from Anna and wrapped both arms around herself.

“Let’s just go back,” she said curtly. Anna’s heart weighed heavily in her chest— from thinking of her family, from thinking about the Queen, from this sudden rejection—, but she respected Elsa’s space. Had she done something to scare her away? Oh, she surely must have.

They climbed down from the hills even though Anna’s toes were freezing. The mountains made her feel hopeless but so did the sight of Arendelle, and with Elsa walking several feet before her, not even glancing back, Anna felt as though there was no respite from this tired heaviness. She wanted nothing but to curl into a ball and sleep.

Just before they entered the town, Elsa stopped.

“Anna… listen.” She began. Her tone made Anna’s shoulders droop. “I-I can’t keep doing this. We can’t.”

Anna’s heart quivered.

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean… this has to end.” She raised her shoulders to her ears. Avoided Anna’s eyes. “I-I’m sorry. Goodbye, Anna.”

Her heart cracked open. Anna shook her head.

“What? W-why?” She shouldn’t feel this surprised. “Did… did I do something? I’m so sorry if I did. Just…”

The pain behind Elsa’s eyes was indescribable.

“No.” She interrupted. “It wasn’t you. Just… please. I can’t say it right now.”

Anna wanted to reply (to scream, cry, seize her hands and not let go), but words failed her as Elsa turned her back to her and entered Arendelle.

As simple as that, Anna was alone.

She didn’t begin to cry until Elsa was out of sight, like a pathetic little child.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

During her last night in Arendelle, Anna dreamed of her sister.

Yes, she’d had a sister, and even though she didn’t remember her name or face she remembered she’d loved her, once. She remembered holding her hand and running in the snow, building snowmen and drinking chocolate with her. The affection and tenderness lingered after, as if carved on stone.

ᚼᛅᛁᛘᛦ•ᛅᚱᚾᚬᛏᛅᛚᛦ

"Anna, wait.”

Her breath and heart came to a halt. Turning around, she found her standing there, in her blue dress and gripping a rucksack. Her expression was both serious and desperate; pained. She raised a hand as if to grasp Anna’s.

“Oh. Elsa,” Anna blurted. The need to cover her face nearly overpowered her. “Uh… Hello.”

Elsa took her acknowledgment as a cue to come closer. Two long steps and a stare, just for a moment; and Anna understood she didn’t know what she was doing, either. Did she intend to apologize for being brusque? Her approach seemed to indicate so. It wouldn’t be unlike her. Anna was willing to accept and move on if that was the case, but truth was, she didn’t deserve an apology when she’d been the one in the wrong.

However, Elsa looked anything but angry.

Rather, her blue eyes drifted over to the ship in port; the sea. Her throat bobbed up and down.

“I suppose we’ll be leaving in the same ship,” she pointed out with a lopsided smile. Anna tried to smile back.

“Yep. So it seems.”

“Though I believe we’re early,” continued Elsa. “I was wondering if you cared for a walk in town.”

Anna looked to the side.

“Elsa, I… don’t know.”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she insisted. “I know. I know. Y-you don’t have to listen to me. But I promise I’ll explain everything, if you’ll have me.”

“Oh, Elsa, there’s nothing to explain,” Anna reassured her. “You just… don’t feel the same way I do. That’s normal. I’m not mad, you know.”

Elsa shook her head.

“That’s not it,” she insisted. “It's… more complicated than that. Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this ever since I found you.” She wrung her hands together and looked down. “I just hope you’ll believe me when I’m done.”

Regret and desperation were draped over her posture like a heavy cloak, dragging her down. Even when hurt, Elsa still made her heart skip a beat with every gesture of kindness, and this one was no exception. Both her lovestruck haze and her intellectual curiosity compelled her to give Elsa a chance.

She picked up her bag and extended her arms to the sides.

“I’m all ears.”

Elsa’s grin reminded her of why she loved her.

“Really?”

“Yep! One-hundred-per-cent. Now, hurry up!”

Elsa sighed in relief. She placed a hand on her chest.

“Alright. Come with me.”

She led her out of the port and into town. Despite having spent the last few months in Arendelle, Anna wasn’t eager to revisit it, but it was different when she knew that’d be the last time she’d see it. She spotted the playground where she and her sister had played (her big sis always hugged her from behind when they went down the slide, because it wasn’t fun going alone), and saw the place where they bought cod and salmon on the weekends. The little kindergarten she’d attended had closed down, but the building still stood. Most streets hadn’t been paved. Mud stuck to her boots. The sky was still white and cold, the houses dull, and the people as austere and uncaring as they’d always been.

“When I was little,” Elsa began. “My family and I were hiding from a very dangerous man. Of course, I didn’t know that until I was much older. At the time it all felt like a game of hide and seek. We left the mainland, and when that wasn’t enough, we went even further.” She gulped. “We crossed a line that night, and someone else suffered the consequences.”

Anna bit her lip but didn’t interrupt. She feared any disturbance may break the spell and chase Elsa away.

“Anna, what do you remember from the dig?”

“There was a family. With a kid. The Snow Queen. And… her parents died.” Anna recounted. “Is that it? You were reminded of your family?”

“…I was, yes,” replied Elsa. “Anna…”

Was that it? Had it been a dumb case of miscommunication? Of course! She’d been so stupid. Neither of them had been in the right place back then, but now they were, and they could sort out the problem. Perhaps, Elsa didn’t hate her.

Only then Anna realized they were standing before the old house.

Her stomach sank. Her breath hitched and a shiver ran down her spine, mouth hanging ajar. She stepped back.

“Oh, no,” she heard Elsa mumble.

The house was still made of wood, although it had lost its color. Two stories. A window was broken and so was one of the steps leading up to the entrance. From inside came the smell of dust and rust and rot.

“Anna?”

She looked at Elsa, and couldn’t find the words to beg or cry or scream, but she didn’t need to because Elsa didn’t ask questions. She held her reluctant gaze for a moment and then she nodded, stepped forward, and took Anna’s hand.

She managed to hold her composure and lead Elsa inside.

The house had been empty for thirteen years, and it had collected dust and spiderwebs over time. It still felt like home, though. A cold fireplace, where Mama often sang to them, or the rocking chair by the windows, where Papa sat to tell bedtime stories.

Anna’s ribcage unlocked with force. She exhaled shakily and blinked the blurriness away.

Elsa was dreadfully silent, but her thumb caressed Anna’s knuckles. This gave her the strength to climb up the stairs towards her old bedroom. The window was so dirty, you could barely see at all. Nearly all the furniture was gone, save for a pitiful nightstand.

“Anna?”

Anna placed both palms on the nightstand and screwed her eyes shut.

“W-would you tell me about your family? Please?”

She did not have a family to embrace her but perhaps she could bask in the comfort of someone else’s warmth.

“My father was a physicist. My mother was a historian,” continued Elsa. “A-and I had a little sister. Even then, I loved her with everything I was.”

The drawer was stuck. Anna struggled with it.

“W-we never meant to leave her behind.” Elsa’s breathing was laborious. “But there was a blizzard; a small avalanche. And she got lost. We tried to go back for her but it was too late. We’d already reached the other side.”

The wood made a horrible rattling noise, but it eventually gave in under Anna’s strength.

“To this day I still don’t understand how such a thing could happen. We spent thirteen years trying to go back, a-and my parents didn’t make it. The people in town saw something in me. They feared me, and I never knew why. I-I didn’t mean to scare them. My parents tried to find a way back, but they—they didn’t make it. I-I took care of them myself. Gave them a proper…” her voice cracked horribly. “T-they deserved to see her again, yet only three years later the very same window opened itself to me. I didn’t cross it. In fact, it crossed over me.”

Inside the drawer was a single photo frame. Anna picked it in her trembling hands.

“Elsa…”

“I was happy. I was back, after so long. And then I found my little sister, too. I can’t describe the way I felt when I saw her again, all grown up after thirteen years.”

Anna traced a finger around her sister’s childish face on the frame’s glass.

“Elsa, I…”

“But then, I began to feel… something else. I thought I was just… happy to have her back, even if I hadn’t dared to tell her the truth. But I was wrong. What I felt… scared me. I wanted to be with her all the time, but I couldn’t stand to look at her face. I felt disgusting. I-I still do.”

Anna put the frame down, and studied her sister from head to toe. The same blue eyes, snow-like hair. The same gentle features but also the same inner strength her broken little mind still remembered. Her thoughts were no longer made of words; she couldn’t hear them over the blood pounding in her ears— her heart would jump out of her chest at any moment. They had all come to a halt as her brain processed Elsa’s words. Her sister. Her sister, who had been away for so long, who was now back, who had taken care of their parents’ burial alone and who still made Anna feel like the most loved person in the world.

Her heart made up its mind. She threw her arms around Elsa’s neck.

“Oh, Elsa…” she breathed, and choked back a sob. “You’re not disgusting. Please, don’t ever say that. I love you.”

Her sister. She was back, from beyond time. She was the same girl who tucked Anna into bed back then. She’d taken care of baby sheep yet she saw herself through monstrous lenses. The Snow Queen, in love with her little sister, who one day vanished from her farmstead and was never seen again. Who raised a stone in memory of their parents, for people hundreds of years later to remember them. This girl with a quivering body, holding Anna in her arms.

A tear ran down Anna’s cheek.

“I realized that, regardless of how I felt, I would lose you again if I didn’t tell you,” Elsa whispered. “That’s all that matters. We can forget about whatever it is that I feel. That’s alright by me.”

Anna shook her head against her sister’s shoulder.

“Well, g-good thing it doesn’t have to come down to that, right?” Anna chuckled wetly. She slowly pulled back, and found her sister’s hands in hers.

“Even now that you know the truth?” Elsa closed her eyes. “No. It isn’t right.”

“What are you talking about? Elsa, can’t you see? I love you. I… will need some time to wrap my head around this, but… All these years, I thought I was alone, b-but I wasn’t! You and Mama and Papa were always out there. You were even searching for me! A-and now I have you back, and… Oh my Goodness, I got my sister back… A-and she’s in love with me.”

Anna hesitated for only one second. For some reason, she could believe her, almost without trying. Her sister, yes, it wasn’t normal, but after walking across time and back– after losing her for so long, normal was out the window for her. She wouldn’t lose her, in one way or the other.

“I’m sorry.” Elsa murmured.

“What? Elsa, have you met you?” Anna spluttered, then laughed. “Not everyone is lucky enough to say their sister loves them this much.” She stood on tip-toes and pressed her lips to Elsa’s— her sister’s— her family’s. The warmth that spread inside her body felt natural, and it did so even more when a hand cupped the back of her neck. She pulled back after a moment. “We have time to figure things out, Elsa,” she said. “Y-you’ll come with me, right? You’ll give me a chance?”

Her sister’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her hand tucked a strand of red hair behind Anna’s ear.

“I’m scared, Anna,” she admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’ll stay with you. I promise.”

Anna grinned like a lovestruck fool.

“We’ll figure it out together,” she reassured her. Then a siren came from the port, echoing through Arendelle. They exchanged a smile. Anna stole one more peck before Elsa could speak.

“Are you satisfied? Shall we go now?” Elsa giggled.

They made it outside the house, and once outside, the brightness blinded Anna for an instant. When she inhaled the fresh ocean air, she felt as if she could float. The damp, heavy odor of the house no longer clung to her lungs.

She looked back. The house hadn’t changed. Its wood was still colorless and empty of life. It was completely empty.

“Anna?”

Her sister stood next to her, more beautiful than she remembered. She looked at her with all the love in the world.

The siren blared again.

Large snowflakes swirled past them like a swarm of puffy hens.

Anna grasped her sister’s hand.

“Come on,” she said. “It’s time to go.”

#elsanna #submission #february 2021 contest #prompt: ancient worlds #cw: angst #cw: death #cw: child abuse

8 notes · View notes

seven-homosexual-dinosaurs · 4 years

Text

Reunions

Alright, so I couldn’t recover the first copy, so this is my attempt to recreate the original. Once again, constructive criticism is highly appreciated, tell me how I did!

Summary: After three agonizing months, the kids manage to track their parents down.

Mary: 15 y/o

Lizzie:7 y/o

Eddie:1 and a half y/o

Mae:6 m/o

Mary hesitated at the door. In hindsight, planning for this occasion probably would’ve been a good idea. Oh well. Not much she could do at this point.

A part of the teenager was eager for what was to come; after all, it’s not everyday you reunite with your mother, who by the way, you haven’t seen in around thirty? Five hundred? Fifteen? Whatever, point is, she hadn’t seen her in a while. Just the idea of being in her mother’s safe embrace once again was enough to bring her a sense of happiness and contentment.

But then again, what if the queens and her mother were upset at the atrocities she’d committed in her first life? Mary sure as hell was no saint, and she’d be the first person to tell you this. But perhaps the joy of being reunited with their children would outweigh whatever resentment the queens held towards her. She sure hoped so.

She shifted Ed in her arms, rather accustomed to the familiar warmth he emitted. Upon reincarnation, the kids had found that both Mary and Ed had higher body temperatures, most likely due to the fact that both of them had died of illness in their first lives. None of the children seemed to have any issue with this, on the contrary, they often flocked to Mary during cold nights, something Mary found both endearing and incredibly annoying when she’d go use the bathroom in the middle of the night only to find herself met with two whiny children, furious their blanket had the audacity to leave them cold at night, if only for a couple minutes at most.

She absently wondered if her mother would be the same, as they both died of illness.

A tug on her dress jolted her from her train of thought, and she turned downwards to be met with Lizzie, a pained look on her face.

“Mary, how much longer? Mae’s heavy and I’m tired,”

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, Liz was panting slightly, her face tinted a bright red. Mary felt a jolt of guilt at this realization, offering Liz a sheepish smile and a pat on her head. Seeing as two of the siblings weren’t able to walk yet, they’d had to settle for carrying their younger siblings. At first, Mary had been rather reluctant to let a seven year old carry a baby, but with no other alternative options, Mary had settled for carefully handing Mae over, explaining how to carry her to ensure she wouldn’t fall and making Liz promise not to drop her.

Inhaling shakily, Mary turned back towards the door. She raised her hand to knock before changing her mind and settling for the doorbell. Better chance of someone answering.

After a couple seconds where Mary began to worry no one would answer, a series of rapid footsteps and a hurried “Coming!” alerted her to someone coming. She waited awkwardly for a couple more seconds before the door swung open to reveal a tall woman, clad in a red hoodie with the words “QUEEN OF THE CASTLE” written out on the front in gold.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Mary spoke up.

“Um... is this the home of Catherine of Aragon?”

Christ, she was a queen, why on earth did she have to sound like an awkward teenager?!

The woman’s expression immediately became guarded. “Why do you ask?”

Really, Mary should’ve thought about how this must look. Four shifty children show up at your door asking for your housemate. Hmmm, yes, not suspicious at all.

Mary drew herself to her full height, hoping to appear more confident than she felt. “I am Mary Tudor of Aragon. Here with Elizabeth Tudor Boleyn, (Liz waved shyly from behind her) Edward Tudor Seymour, (Ed yawned and snuggled into the crook of her neck, fast asleep) and Mary Seymour Parr (Mae looked up at the sound of her name). We’re here looking for our mothers,”

A stunned silence followed her declaration. Mary awkwardly shifted her weight like the awkward teenager she now realized she was. Was she too forwards? No, that couldn’t be it, she was simply stating the facts. Perhaps sensing the tension, Liz spoke up:

“I want my mummy!”

Liz’s words seemed to jolt the woman from whatever trance Mary had put her in. She stood up straight, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Right. So. Um. Whatever I expected, that definitely wasn’t it. Uuuuuuh.... I don’t suppose you recognize me?”

Mary face scrunched up in concentration. Whilst this woman did strike her as incredibly familiar, she couldn’t quite place her. Giving a defeated sigh, she shook her head. The woman offered a sympathetic smile.

“That’s fine. I’m Anne of Cleves, Anna of Cleves Anna von Cleves, whatever’s easiest. Y’know, your mom’s fellow divorcee buddy,”

Mary nodded. Now that she thought about it, she should’ve guessed this was Cleves. Always wearing red, a chill, relaxed energy that could disappear the moment she thought you posed a threat to her family, plus that calm, mellow voice that Mary’d become so accustomed to in her first life. Really, Mary was surprised it took her this long to recognize her. Cleves continued:

“Alright so, you can just wait here in the entrance- don’t touch anything. Children or not, Jane will show no mercy to anyone who breaks that vase, yeah, they were gifts from the ladies. You guys wait right there, I’ll go get Lina,”

And with that, Cleves took off up the stairs, murmuring something that Mary didn’t quite catch, although she did make out a “Holy fucking shitballs holy fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” Before a loud “LINA HOLY SHHHHhhoooooot,”. That last statement was accompanied by an apologetic look sent in the kid’s direction and a questioning look on Liz’s face. Yep, definitely Cleves.

Mary hesitantly entered the home, waiting for Liz to walk in with Mae before closing the door behind her. Looking around the entrance, she saw the vase that Cleves was referring to. It was a light blue flower vase, decorated with various musical instruments. Looking around some more, Mary’s eyes landed on a coat rack, six variously colored coats on the hooks. Mary immediately decided she liked the yellow-gold coat most.

As her eyes travelled around the room, a collection of pictures hung up on the wall caught her attention. A woman with dark hair held up in two buns flipping the camera off with one hand, the other slung around a laughing girl with bright pink hair held up in a high ponytail. A blond haired woman giving an exasperated smile to the camera as three women played some sort of board game in the background. The woman with the buns was yelling at Cleves, who by the looks of it was having the time of her life as the pink haired girl facepalmed from her position between them.

Before she could investigate any more, a set of voices caught her attention. The first one, she recognized as Cleves. The second, she-

Holy shit.

She’d know that voice anywhere.

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckFUCK.

She was not ready.

But still, time waits for no one, and Mary could only wait for the inevitable.

The two came into view, Cleves holding her hands over Aragon’s eyes while Aragon’s lips turned up into an amused smile and holy shit she missed that smile.

“Anna, I swear to god if this is another prank-”

“Relax, I get the feeling you’re really gonna like this,”

“Somehow I don’t trust that,”

Cleves shot Mary an ear splitting grin as Mary swallowed the lump in her throat. Now or never.

Grinning, Cleves ripped her hands away from Aragon’s eyes. “SURPRISE!”

Time seemed to freeze as the Spaniards made eye contact. Mary became acutely aware of how quiet the room had become and for the first time, Mary felt she could properly use the expression “You could hear a pin drop,”. Forcing the unease she felt down, Mary forced herself to speak up.

“Mum-”

All attempts of speaking were silenced as Mary was suddenly wrapped in a bone crushing hug. Tears sprang to her eyes as holy fuck she was in her mum’s arms again and she’d forgotten how safe and strong her arms were and all she could smell was mum and she just felt so safe.

“Mami” Mary choked out, wrapping her free arm around her mother, tears running down her face like water dripping down a window during a storm.

“Mija” Aragon answered, digging her face into Mary’s hair, both women clutching each other as if the other might disappear if they let go, and with everything that had happened in the past few months, Mary wasn’t quite sure that wouldn’t happen. However, this moment, as all good things do, came to an end. Ed it appeared, didn’t quite like waking up squished in the middle of a hug, and promptly burst into tears.

Aragon blinked, seemingly surprised by the sudden outburst. She then looked behind Mary, and it just then seemed to dawn on her what was happening.

“Is that-”

“Yep!” Liz shouted, popping the “p”. Pointing an accusatory finger at Mary, she continued.

“You got to see your momma, I want mine!”

Aragon detached herself from Mary to her disappointment and crouched down to look Liz in the eyes.

“Well little one, I think that’s an excellent idea,” turning to Cleves, she began,

“Can you-”

“Already on it,”

And with that, Cleves took off up the stairs once more.

Aragon turned back to Liz, observing the way she shifted and struggled under Mae’s weight. “She seems a bit heavy for you love. Would you like me to carry her?”

Liz turned to Mary for confirmation, and upon receiving an affirmative nod, turned back to Aragon and nodded. Aragon carefully took a curious Mae from Liz, who sighed in relief at the absent of the sixteen pounds she’d been carrying earlier. Mae simply stared at Aragon before looking down and trying to fit her fist in her mouth.

An unfamiliar voice attracted all of their attention. The pink haired girl from the pictures was descending the stairs, her attention on the hoodie clad woman behind her.

“What do you mean they’re back? How do you-”

Her mouth opened in an “oh” at the scene before her. She stared at the children for a couple seconds before turning back to Cleves. “I take it you want me to call everyone at once?”

“Please Kitty Kat?”

Kitty Kat? Mary turned to her mother for an explanation, only to be met with a mouthed “I’ll explain later”

Kitty Kat turned back to the kids, clasping her hands together.

“Alright! So could you cover the little one’s ears please? This could get a bit messy,”

Mary complied, covering a still sniffling Ed’s ears. Aragon covered Liz’s ears, who in turn covered Mae’s. Inhaling deeply, Kitty Kat turned to the stairs.

“ANNIE GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR THE COFFEE’S FUCKING GONE!”

Mary briefly wondered how that single call was supposed to summon three women before she was met with three ear-splitting shrieks.

“KATHERINE HOWARD YOU BETTER STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE COFFEE!”

“LANGUAGE!”

“KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!”

Ah, so that was Howard.

Turning to a horrified Cleves and a slightly impressed Aragon, Howard smiled sweetly. “Done,”. She then turned to address Mary and Aragon. “Yeah, you might wanna keep their ears covered for a bit more. Mary nodded carefully, slightly worried of what was to come. Three pairs of footsteps thundered down the stairs as the last two women from the pictures flew down the stairs, accompanied by a third woman.

“Katherine Howard you will stay away from the coffee or so help me,”

A woman with curly black hair wearing a light blue hoodie.

“Kitty, let’s watch the language, k love?”

The blonde from the picture, this time clad in a light grey sweatshirt.

“KAAAAAAAAAAAAT!”

The woman with the buns from the picture, wearing a bright green crop top with the words “Not today Satan” written on it in cursive.

Kat smiled and jerked her head towards the entrance. All women froze at the sight of the children. The blonde’s hands lifted to her mouth as the woman in the blue hoodie’s hands clutched at her chest. The woman with the space buns fell to her knees in shock. Liz, who had been covering Mae’s ears with the concentration of someone trying to defuse a bomb, looked up at the women who has entered the scene. Her face lit up as her eyes landed on the woman with the space buns. “Mummy!”

Liz sprinted into Boleyn’s open arms as the two Boleyns clutched each other tightly.

“Lizzie? Oh my lord Lizzie please tell me it’s you. Lizzie tell me I’m not dreaming,”

Liz, who it appeared was trying to crush Boleyn in her hug, hummed contently. Howard gently led the two to the couch, where she sat them both down. Liz latched onto Boleyn’s neck, while Boleyn, for once in her life, seemed completely speechless. Howard, perhaps sensing her cousin wouldn’t be speaking anytime soon, took charge. Turning to Liz, she offered the girl a wide smile.

“Hi Lizzie! I’m your aunt Kitty!”

Liz returned Howard’s smile with her own toothy grin.

“Hi aunt Kitty! Look, I found my mummy! I lost her for a while, but I found her again!”

Howard laughed heartily. “You sure did!”

Across the room, Mae began fussing. Seemingly upset at the lack of attention she was receiving, she began whining and grabbing at the nearest person, who happened to be the woman in the blue hoodie. Aragon smiled at this. “Looks like the little one wants her mummy, don’t you baby?”

So that must be Parr.

Aragon placed Mae in Parr’s arms, who held her like she was made of glass and could shatter at any second. Mae immediately relaxed in her mother’s arms, snuggling into her hoodie. Parr cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Hi Mae, it’s mummy,”

Mae blinked up at her before giving a wide yawn. Parr laughed.

“You sleepy? Well love, I think after the day we’ve had today, we’re both gonna need a long nap,”

Mae yawned once more in response, prompting another laugh from the blue queen. As she shifted the babe into a more comfortable position.

A loud cry rang throughout the room, catching everyone’s attention. Mary awkwardly rocked a sobbing Ed, her attempts proving futile. Aragon stepped closer to her.

“I think it’s about time little Eddie got his turn, don’t you think?”

Mary nodded, turning towards the last woman, who she supposed must be Seymour. Seymour waited eagerly, a cross between anxiety and excitement. Mary placed Ed, who had since stopped crying and was staring at Seymour curiously, in her waiting arms. Seymour inhaled shakily before beginning.

“Hi baby, I’m your mummy,”

Ed stared at her blankly before reaching a grubby little hand out to grab at her face.

“Ma!”

Seymour gave a watery laugh.

“That right Eddie, I’m your mummy!” Her voice cracked nearing the end of her sentence as she let out a choked sob, clutching Ed tightly to her chest. Ed seemed rather unperturbed by this and settled for sticking fistfuls of Seymour’s hair in his mouth, who seemed just as unconcerned for the baby trying to eat her hair as Ed was for being stuck in his mother’s loving embrace. Smiling, Mary turned to look around the room.

Boleyn, who it appeared had regained her voice, was bouncing Liz on her lap as Howard told her stories of the shenanigans her mother had gotten into in her absence, Boleyn jumping in periodically to add a detail that Howard had forgotten. Parr was rocking a drowsy Mae to sleep, quietly singing a lullaby that Mary didn’t quite recognize. Cleves had joined Ed and Seymour and was entertaining Ed with funny faces and voices. Seymour seemed to have calmed down and was bouncing Ed, who seemed enthralled by Cleve’s voices and faces, on her knee. His shrieks of laughter echoed throughout the room.

Mary gave a contented sigh and pressed herself to her mother’s side, basking in her warmth. She was right, her mum was rather warm. Giving a final look around the room, she finally felt fully at peace. It had taken three months. Three agonizing months, but they’d made it. And suddenly nothing else mattered, because these children, these beaten, broken children, were whole again.

31 notes · View notes

goldencherryharry · 4 years

Text

#FineLineFicChallenge

@tiostyles is doing a really cool thing and here’s a story I wrote based off of “Cherry”. Hope you like, read if you feel so inclined :)

CHERRY

After the incident, Sage fled to Europe to avoid dealing with any of it. Now she’s back and confronted with a reconciliation she’s not ready for.

Don’t you call him baby, we’re not talking lately. Don’t you call him what you used to call me.

Sage: I’m bringing my nieces to the show tonight… we are all excited. x

Harry: Wait

Almost immediately Sage’s phone starts ringing. She can’t help but chuckle under her breath and mutter a breathy “Jesus” before picking up.

“Well hello!”

“You’re coming tonight and you didn’t call to tell me?” Harry’s voice on the other line is tired.

“I didn’t want to bug you. I know you’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

“Did you buy tickets?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You know I would have made time for you,”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t call,” Sage tries to explain. She hears him sigh and her chest tightens.

“I didn’t even know you were in town,” He murmurs.

“Just landed. I’m on the way to Emma’s straight from the airport.”

“Right.”

There’s a moment of silence. Sage is almost too afraid to speak, so thankfully he does.

“Will I see you tonight? I can put you all on the list to get backstage.”

“I’d love to see you, but you really don’t have to,”

“Hey, you didn’t let me get you seats so please let me do this.”

“Okay fine. The girls will be pretty excited, I’m not gonna lie.” She says, and he laughs. It’s almost normal again.

“I’m excited. Should I put Jack on there too?” Harry says, she can almost see him biting his lip and fiddling nervously with his cross necklace.

“Uh, no. Just us,” She clears her throat uncomfortably, not sure how to tell him that her and Jack had been over for quite a while, if they were ever really on to begin with. He hums softly in response.

“You’re like a proper rockstar now, huh? When did that happen?” She desperately tries to change the subject.

“Don’t ask me,” He laughs. “But it feels good. Really good.”

“As it should, H. I’m proud of you,”

“Thank you,”

“So, I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Looking forward to it,”

“Me too, bye.”

“‘bye.”

She hangs up, exhaling sharply. It had been so long since she’d heard his voice. Even that short phone call took it out of her. But she was home, after 3 months of travel and just being in her city made everything feel better. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth when she thought about getting to squeeze her nieces in just a few short minutes. Sage had even cut her trip 2 weeks short from missing home so much (She’d spent 40 minutes on the phone with her older sister Emma convincing her it had nothing to do with the coincidence that Harry was playing MSG the day she got back). And it really wasn’t that. Since she’d left the states and the incident, they’d barely spoken. And then of course, the whole Jack situation really threw her off. She wasn’t sure how he’d even heard about that or had the balls to ask her if she was bringing him to the show. It had been a while since she’d thought about Jack, which of course stirred up the dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach after seeing the pap pictures of Harry in L.A. with a leggy blonde model.

The car pulled up outside of Emma’s building, breaking her train of thought. She’d always loved Emma’s apartment building. It was a classic Manhattan townhouse, which made sense for Emma’s expensive sensibilities. It was a redbrick on 10th street, with ornate casings on the windows and green vines lacing their way up the facade. It almost made her laugh every time she saw it. It was just so Emma. By the time she made it to the door of 11B, her heart was beating fast at the thought of seeing her family again. She knocked lightly. The door swung open and she was greeted with Emma’s smiling face, which immediately fell into concern.

“Jesus, Sage.”

“Good to see you too, Em!”

“Sorry, sorry. You just look like shit,” She laughs, pulling Sage into the apartment.

“You are not helping yourself right now,” Sage said, giving her sister a hug nevertheless. After 15 hours on a plane, she knew she didn’t look amazing but Emma never failed to make her feel inadequate.

“Auntie Sage!” Came the little voices from the next room, followed by the pitter-patter of tiny feet on the hardwood floors. Sage’s smile grew indefinitely bigger and she bounced up and down, making Emma laugh. Anne and Eden scampered down the hall with outstretched arms and smiles matching Sage’s.

“Oh, my girls!” They collided into her with forceful hugs. Sage could have stayed there all night; their giggles in her neck and their warm arms wrapped around her. “I missed you so much,”

“Tell Auntie Sage how excited you are for the concert!” Emma said, walking into the kitchen.

“Can we show you our outfits?” Anne said with light in her eyes.

“Oh, please!” Sage said and let the girls lead her into their room where two white coveralls with pink sparkly breast pockets lay on one of their beds. They held them up to Sage proudly. “Emma, these are darling!” Sage called.

“Do you like it, Auntie Sage?” Eden giggled.

“I absolutely love them,” She grinned down at the girls.

“Hey, Sage,” Emma said, appearing in the doorframe. “Do you want to shower and change before you girls head out?”

“Is that alright?” Sage just about melted at the suggestion.

30 minutes later, Sage was refreshed and in a new outfit. The girls were in their coveralls and Sage snapped a picture of them in the car and sent it off to Harry.

Sage: I was right, they’re pretty excited!

Harry: This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Are you on the way?

you: Yes. Be there in like 20.

“So, for our big ladies night I have a bit of a surprise…” Sage wiggled her eyebrows at the little ones. “It just so happens Harry Styles is an old friend of mine, so would you like to meet him before the show?”

The girls shrieked and giggled in response.

“That sounds like a yes to me,” Sage laughed as the girls continued to squeal.

“It is a yes, Auntie!” Eden exclaimed.

Sage smiled to herself. Soon, all her favorite people were going to be in one room.

The ride through the hallways was agonizing. She knew he was here somewhere and she hoped she’d be able to hold it together in front of her nieces. Sage could feel the excitement bouncing off the girls and they kept looking up at her with beaming faces, which set her at ease. If nothing else, Harry was kind. He’s be nothing but the perfect gentleman. As the golf cart sped through the concrete hallways underneath Madison Square Garden, Sage thought about a Skype call she’d had with Emma before she’d left France.

“Sage, honestly. Why are you taking the girls? You know you two should have a serious conversation,”

“You just answered your own question,” Sage said, earning a scoff from Emma.

“You always do this,” She groaned.

“Do what?!” Sage exclaimed.

“You avoid difficult conversations and lose all the positive possibilities that come from them,”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do. Look, you and Harry have been making sex eyes at each other since the moment you first met, nobody is shocked.”

“Nobody should be, because nobody is supposed to know,”

“Okay, no need to get defensive. I’m just saying that you need to face this, as difficult as it is,”

The cart came to a halting stop, and Sage threw a protective arm over the girls chests to keep them from sliding off the seat. It was nothing compared to the hammering jolts of Sage’s heartbeat in her chest. She knew Emma was right, although she’d never admit that out loud, she needed to face this. The girls spilled out of the car in a stream of limbs and giggles, and each latched on to one of her hands as the cart sped off. The door was right in front of them, she knew he was behind it. Sage felt like she was gonna vomit. The security guard opened the door to his dressing room and there he was, like he had somehow fabricated himself into Sage’s vision. None of this felt real; not the way the girls suddenly retreated and clung to her legs, or the way he looked up from his phone and saw her, like saw her, or the way he looked at her, like the world was ending. She didn’t know what to say.

“Hi,” Sage said.

“Hi,” Harry said.

“Hello,” Said Anne, followed by a shy whisper from Eden.

“How rude of me,” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from Sage. “I’m Harry! It’s nice to meet you,”

“This is Eden and Anne, say hi girls,” Sage said, crouching and holding their shy bodies in her arms. “Don’t be shy now,” She coaxed. “He won’t bite,”

“I promise I won’t,” He chuckled. “I do have some presents though, if you want them…” He said, and the girls pulled their faces out of Sage’s shoulders to finally look at him.

“What kinda presents?” Anne asked wearily.

“Only the best kind!” Harry said, grabbing two tiny black t-shirts that read “Treat People With Kindness” from the table. The girls eyes widened and they held them close and murmured thank you’s.

Their time went by quickly, and Harry spent all of it talking to the girls and making them feel comfortable. Of course, they warmed up to him quickly and even sang one of his songs for him. He stole an occasional glance at Sage and it almost seemed like he was trying to figure out if she was mad at him or not. It was easy, the attention wasn’t on Sage and she could just watch him and remember how it felt to watch him light up a room the way only he could. They met the rest of his band and some other members of his team, each kinder than the last.

“Harry, 15 til places.” A man in black said, poking his head through the door.

“We should get to our seats,” Sage said quickly. “I’m sure you’ve lots to do.” Harry nodded and swallowed thickly. His eyes flicked back to the girls.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you both. I hope to see you again soon.” He said, engulfing them in a hug. Sage held open the door for them and they ran out and sat in the cart.

“Bye, Harry. Thank you for all of this, it means the world to them,” She smiled and turned to leave. Harry grabbed her forearm lightly.

“When am I going to see you again, cherie?” He asked carefully, instantly regretting the pet name that came so automatically. It takes Sage off guard too, it’d been a while since anyone had called her that.

“I don’t know,” She answered truthfully.

“Then can we talk for a second?” He scratches the back of his neck nervously. Sage looks out the door at the girls squirming in the cart, talking to Clare. She nods, slowly, and closes the door fully. Harry exhales.

Sage knows she could just stand there and stare at him for the rest of the night. He has let his hair grow out since she last saw him and it hangs around his face in delicate curls. She wants to reach out and touch them. He looks the same, impossibly radiant. He’s practically glowing. She looks at the floor.

“I’ve missed you,” He says gently, her eyes raising slowly from the ground.

“You have?” She hates how much shock is in her voice. He laughs, and she finds herself relaxing a little.

“Yeah,” He smiles lightly at her, and she feels every electron in her body glowing.

“I missed you too,”

It’s quiet for a minute, both of them not knowing where to start with the monologues of things they needed to say to the other.

“Listen, Sage…” He starts.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Harry. What happened with us was…”

“No, no. I don’t regret it. Not for a second. I just hate that it’s made us strangers,”

She looked at him. He didn’t regret it. Neither did she.

“I meant it when I said I missed you. I don’t like doing life without you,” She says.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Regret it?”

“No,” She says, quietly. “But why didn’t you call? Or anything?” She feels the pressure building in her chest.

“Fuck, Sage. I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I should have called,” He collapses into a chair and for the first time, Sage can see how physically exhausted he is. The dark half moons under his eyes make them look painfully green and his whole body looks like its at the bottom of a river weighed down by rocks.

“But you didn’t,” Her voice is barely a whisper. “And then you went to L.A....I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me,” She watches as he leans forward onto his knees and rubs his face into his hands.

“God, I’m such an ass.” He groans. “I just didn’t know if you thought it was a mistake or didn’t want to see me again. The longer it got, the easier it was to assume the latter. I’m so sorry,” He looks right at her and her heart feels like it’s going to explode. He looks so defeated.

“Hey, I didn’t come here with the intention of making you feel like shit. I didn’t handle it perfectly either.” She grabs his hands. He chuckles softly. “There isn’t exactly a guidebook for what to do after you sleep with your best friend,”

“There really isn’t, is there?” He laughs. Sage shakes her head, smiling. It’s so nice to see him smile. “How long are you in town?”

“A while,” She sighs.

“So am I. Can we… see more of each other?”

“I’d like that.”

There’s silence. He’d forgotten how stunning she was. Sage was one of those people who seemed to get more and more beautiful every time he saw her. Her hair was longer and blonder, she’d lost a little too much weight. Freckles dusted her nose and cheekbones, making her look younger, like the summer they’d first met. He hoped time away had done her good, inside and out. He’d thought about her more than he’d admit over the last few months and having her here, right in front of him felt surreal. He hated the memories of her that rushed to the front of his mind when she looked at him; “Baby” rolling off her soft lips, a name reserved just for private moments, washed in gentle golden light and her fingertips on his arms. He almost forgot about Jack. Jack, fuck. He thinks. He clears his throat.

“Uh, how’s Jack?” He hates how strained his voice comes out. Her eyes widen and she stands up, wiping her hands on her jeans anxiously as if she’s trying to will them to forget his touch.

“Harry, I-” She starts, but he doesn’t let her finish.

“I can’t believe you left,” The words seem to tumble out of his mouth. She just stares at him with wide eyes, unsure how to respond.

“How’s Camille?” She asks, her voice slipping through her gritted teeth. She instantly regrets asking; she doesn’t want to know. He chuckles dryly and looks at the floor.

“That’s fair,” He murmurs.

The air between them seems to drop a significant amount. This is not how Sage wanted this to go. She hadn’t planned on asking about her, but she hadn’t been expecting him to ask about Jack either.

“Hi,” He says, almost inaudible. She looks up at him, a slight smile tugging on her mouth despite Emma’s warnings blaring in her mind. Their eyes meet and there is nothing else. God, how did he still have this effect on her?

“Hi,” She whispers. He stands and pulls her into a hug, tight. His smell washes over her in an intense wave. It’s spearmint and travel and Harry. She lets herself melt into his body and she feels him exhale deeply against her shoulder. Sage feels tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, but she buries her head into this shoulder and can’t think of a single reason to cry. She has her Harry back. And he has his Sage back.

They stand there for a while, too long, just holding each other.

“Everything’s alright, right?” She whispers into his shoulder.

“It is, it is,” He murmurs.

Sage pulls away and stops for a second, just to look at him. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright, she takes a mental photo.

“I like this,” He tugs on the bottom of her Beatles t-shirt. She laughs and adjusts the sleeve self-consciously.

“The newest addition to my t-shirt drawer,” She says and he chuckles. “Hey, what time are you out of here tonight?”

“Do you miss me already?” He exclaims, falling back into the chair again.

“Maybe a little,” She says, opening the door.

“I’ll text you, okay?”

“Okay,” She says, and closes the door behind her.

Sage tried to be calm during the concert, but with Anne and Eden’s bouncing heads and little screams, it was hard not to get caught up in the grandeur of it all. Harry was too far away to see his face, or she might have not been able to focus on anything at all, but his top sparkled when it caught the light and his face shone even brighter. She danced her heart out and twirled her nieces in the aisle, their wide smiles and giggles matching hers. The show was over too soon and Sage ushered the sleepy girls into the car. They were both asleep in minutes.

Harry: I’m out of here in 15. Can I meet you somewhere?

Sage smiles at the message on her lockscreen. He really meant it. He missed her. She clutches her phone and looks out the window, her heartbeat accelerating.

Sage: Yes, dropping the girls off at Emma’s. Somewhere in the Village? Black & White?”

Harry: Ah it’s been a minute since I’ve been there. Perfect.

She hated the impact he had on her, even over the phone. Knowing he was thinking about her made her whole body buzz. Sage was more terrified and happy than she had ever been. The car pulled up out front of her sister’s house and Emma came down to help carry the sleeping girls inside. Sage and Emma laid them in their beds and went to the kitchen to talk.

“How was it?”

“They were wonderful, as always. It was a fun night,”

“You bought them t-shirts? That was so sweet. They’re adorable,”

“No, actually they were gifts. From Harry,” Sage scratched the back of her neck. Emma’s eyes widened and she smacked a hand down on the counter.

“Stop it right now. Does that mean you talked? Dish immediately.” Emma exclaimed in a barely controlled whisper. Sage let out a sputtered laugh.

“Yeah, we did I guess?” She felt her cheeks heating up.

“And?”

“And… I’m meeting him right now.” Sage covered her face in her hands and Emma stood gaping at her. “I know, I know. It’s crazy,”

“Um, yes of course it’s crazy. Please be smart. And careful with your heart.”

“Em, I’m okay. I got this,” She for sure did not “got this”.

Sage arrived at Black & White before Harry did. It made her wildly uncomfortable and she considered walking around the block a few times so she could stroll in at the perfect moment instead of standing out front like an idiot. But she didn’t and the New York air blew around her t-shirt making goosebumps stand up on her arms. There was a soft glow from the bar’s sunken windows and she could hear faint music dancing through the flickering lights of the village. Sage shoved her hands in her pockets and exhaled into the spring night.

“Sage,” His voice made every hair on her body stand up. She spun around, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

“Hi,” She breathed and they found each other in an embrace. He was wearing a black hoodie with something in Japanese embroidered on the chest and a black beanie. His cheeks were flushed and his nails were pink and blue. “I like the nails,” She smiled, putting her hands back in her pockets. He chuckles softly.

“A new thing I’ve been trying.” He reaches up and adjusts his beanie that had become lopsided during their hug as the silence sits uncomfortably between them. Sage clears her throat.

“Uh, do you want a drink?” She motions to the dark bar behind them. Harry looks apprehensively at it, knowing that being recognized would ruin any chance he had of having the conversation he needed to have with Sage. She noticed the unease on his face.

“Or we can just walk? The park isn’t too far from here,” She suggests lightly. His face softens and he nods.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. Let’s just walk.”

So they walk. Silently, at first, until Harry reaches out across the distance.

“I’m glad you agreed to meet me tonight. I know this is difficult and I want you to know that I care enough to fix this.” The sincerity in his voice shocks Sage. She looks at him, the light from street lamps and storefronts casting shadows on his face. She stops walking.

“I shouldn’t have left. I ran away. I shouldn’t have,” She doesn’t know why she’s saying this but the words force their way out of her mouth. He looks just as surprised as she does. “I don’t- It’s not easy for me to… I don’t know, I-”

“Sage, I know. I know,” He takes her in his arms and just holds her then. “I didn’t know what to say to you then.” She pulls away.

“Neither did I. I’m sorry,”

“Wait, just let me…” He straightens his beanie again and rocks on his heels. “I didn’t know what to say then, but I do now. Jesus, this is hard,” He lets out a strained laugh and looks at the sidewalk. Sage’s heart drops like a stone through her stomach. He’s gonna say it was a mistake and that he’s with Camille or something. She knows couldn’t bear losing him again.

“Not having you around, Sage, it was the hardest few months of my fucking life. When I heard you were seeing someone, it just destroyed me. I didn’t know why. I can’t- I need you. I-I love you. I don’t want to be your friend. I don’t want you to be with Jack, I want you. When you walked into my dressing room earlier I couldn’t fucking breathe, Sage, because everything I’ve been denying was right in front of me and I- fuck please say something, I’m gonna pass out if I don’t take a breath,” He pants a little and searches her face desperately. Sage’s mouth opens and her eyes are glassy. She can’t seem to form a word or a thought or anything and she just stands there like an idiot staring at him.

“I-” She starts. His beanie is tilted off to the side of his head again and she reaches up to fix it, taking a step towards him. She pulls it down and her hands find his cheeks. She smiles at him.

“I love you.” She says lowly. He smiles right back her. And kisses her. Oh my god, does he kiss her.

“Wait, wait, wait!” She pulls back, her nose and cheeks red and her smile permanent. “My turn. I wasn’t with Jack, I never was. I went to Europe because I couldn’t bear to face you after you started dating-”

“We only dated for a week. I realized she wasn’t you,”

They look at each other for a second.

“Hi” Sage whispers, finally.

“Hi” Harry beams back.

“Can we just start over?”

“Please, mon cherie,” He brushes his nose against hers, his awful French accent not enough to stop the goosebumps that rush over her exposed arms. Sage brings her lips back up to his and they seem drawn to each other with an unexplainable magnetism.

It’s everything he’s felt over the months they spent apart and thinking about her in France and dialing her number over and over again and her skin on his in her apartment and how she kissed him then and all the songs he’s written about her and how the thought of her with anyone else literally made his skin crawl and the moment he realized he’d been in love with her after writing that damn song and how he’s freezing and he doesn’t even care that they’re on the side of the street somewhere in New York City at 1am because he’s kissing Sage. Sage, who he’s been in love with since the moment they met at Rolling Stone all those years ago. And her Harry. He’s back and he feels the same that she does. He’s holding her so tight and she can feel his heartbeat against her chest. It’s all she’s ever wanted.

#FineLineFicChallenge #writing

67 notes · View notes

observing-obliviousness · 4 years

Text

All My Strength, For You

For Kaciart (https://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/623568650228596736). I am routinely inspired by your art to write these things. Some inspire more than others, and I may have an FFVII brewing in my mind from another recent pic. (Even though I know, like, nothing about it.) I love your work and am glad to be among the followers.

I know there isn’t much to go from, but I always imagine the training halls are at or below ground in this universe (the glaives’ areas obviously being an exception.) Here, it’s just below ground.

This is set the September before the events of the game. (Noct 20, Prom 19, Iggy 21, and Gladio 22)

Story under the cut. Also on ff.net

Prompto was somewhat enjoying his afternoon. Yeah, taking a few hits from Noctis wasn’t what most people call “fun”, but this was time he gets to spend with his friend.

He was still technically a recruit in the Crownsguard, but he had finished most of the basic training last month. Now it was just drilling those basics and building proficiency in his division, projectile weaponry. He thinks Noct was the one who pushed for him to get placement there, but he didn’t know for sure. He was shaping up to be as expert a marksman as Weskham Armaugh of his majesty’s retinue according to his instructors. He really hoped he was good enough to join Noctis’ retinue when he goes on his tour of Lucis.

A fist sailing closer to his face brought Prompto out of his thoughts and back to the moment. Right. Focus here, focus now, block the fist, kick the open side. He and Noctis were working on hand-to-hand combat in one of the Crownsguard’s satellite offices. And Noctis, of course, was winning more than losing.

“C’mon Prom, I know you can do better than that,” Noctis teased as he dodged the kick. Once upon a time, that would have hurt Prompto’s confidence.

Now it served to spur him on.

Prompto let out a short breath, readied his arms, and sprang at his friend.

BOOM

Everything seemed to slow as sudden tremors knocked the two of them off their feet.

Prompto noticed cracks forming in the wall as he fell. He managed to twist enough to cover Noctis when he landed. Noctis was dazed as he looked up at Prompto.

But he would not move until he was sure Noctis could get out safely, and he didn’t.

Not as another boom was heard through the ceiling.

Not as tremors rocked the area again.

Not as dust fell around them.

Not as he could hear the concrete cracking.

And certainly not as what felt like a ton of concrete landed on his back.

After an agonizing minute, Noctis’s eyes cleared.

“Astrals, Prom! -“

“You ok, buddy?” Prompto’s voice was breathy.

“Wha- Am I ok, are YOU ok?!” Noctis’s words got faster and faster the more he spoke, “Wait, no, stupid question. Of course, you’re not ok. A bunch of concrete just landed on top of you.”

Prompto’s weak smile turned into a grimace as some weight shifted. Rescuers were digging through the rubble or the debris was settling.

Noctis thought of how he could signal the rescuers when something wet landed on his face. He looked to Prompto and saw blood on what hair and clothes he could see.

“Noct,” Prompto breathed, his voice barely a whisper, “Get out of here. You can send someone for me when you climb out.”

“No Prom, I won’t leave you.”

“Please. Help can find me faster if you show then where I am.”

Noctis looked away with a frown, tears in his eyes. “Why do this?”

“Because you’re my friend. I’d give everything for you.”

Noctis could only stare in shock and wonder.

“So please.”

At that, Noctis’s face set in determination. “I will make sure they come back for you; I swear.”

Prompto gave a small nod. Noctis nodded back and wriggled out from underneath Prompto as quickly and gently as he could. He spotted a small opening up and to his right. With one last look at his friend, the Prince of Lucis began to climb.

Rescue teams and Crownsguard worked frantically to clear the rubble. According to the younger Lords Amicitia and Scientia, Prince Noctis was in the building when it collapsed. They set to work immediately after the bomb-induced tremors ceased. That was an hour ago.

The sky continued to darken slowly as crews worked to dig those trapped out. They had already pulled 15 other Crownsguard out with nearly 20 more still buried. They had a long night ahead of them.

The Prince’s shield and advisor rushed over to a commotion a little deeper in the hole. The crew there found another person. They worked quickly to uncover the person and found another Crownsguard. He was unconscious but alive. The young lords sighed to themselves and kept digging. They would not leave until his highness was safe.

Climbing through the rubble was hard. The spaces were incredibly cramped and there were a few places he just barely squeezed through. After what felt like hours, Noctis could just see some slivers of light. His climbing became more frantic but there were no spaces big enough to get through.

“Damn it!” He slammed his fist on the concrete right above him.

Noctis sighed and dropped his head. Can’t go any further until I’m unburied. He took another breath and slowly let it out. Looking up, he breathed in deep and shouted as loud as he could.

“HELP! SOMEONE! I’M DOWN HERE!”

Ignis wiped the sweat from his brow. He, Gladiolus, and the rest of the rescue crew have been digging people out of the rubble for over two hours now and there was still no sign of Noctis. He had hoped to find His Prince by now. Ignis knew that he and Prompto were in the training hall working on hand-to-hand, but he still held hope that Noctis and his friend were not too far down.

A faint noise froze Ignis in his movement.

“Iggy?” Gladiolus asked from his left.

“Shh, I thought I heard something.” Ignis motioned with his hand to still his fellow retainer.

They both stood in silence for a few moments before Ignis heard the sound again.

“Over there! A voice!” Ignis pointed in front of him before carefully running over. Gladiolus and a few others followed.

“HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME DOWN THERE?”

“……Iggy……Is that you?” The voice was soft through the rubble but definitely familiar.

“NOCT, IS THAT YOU?”

The crews in earshot gasped.

“…Yeah…I climbed as far as I could…but I’m stuck here.”

“DON’T WORRY. WE’LL GET YOU OUT.”

Gladiolus pushed away some concrete and motioned for the other crew to do the same. Ignis joined the effort. The digging was a little more rushed.

Noctis could hear the people moving above him. He doubted that Ignis heard him when he said that Prompto was further down, but he can tell his advisor when he’s a little closer. He could feel the dust fall on top of him as the light peeking through got stronger.

A crack above him suddenly flooded with light. He flinched a little but was able to wiggle his hand through.

Ignis looked for another piece of concrete he could lift when a slight movement caught his eye. A hand. He knelt by the hand only to find Noctis staring back at him through the crack.

“Noct,” Ignis breathed, “Are you alright?”

Noctis gave a slight cough. “I’m uninjured. But…Prom’s further down. He’s hurt, bad. He…he shielded me from the collapse. He told me to climb out and direct the crews to find him.”

“Alright, we’ll get you out then dig for Prompto.”

“Ok, but I’m not leaving until he’s out.”

Ignis nodded and stood back up. The crew had stopped while he and Noctis were speaking. A look got them moving again. A few more pieces of concrete moved out of the way and Gladiolus was able to pull Noctis from the rubble.

“Are you ok?” The shield rumbled.

“I’m fine, but Prom…”

“We’ll find him, Noct,” Ignis reassured, “Just tell us where to go.”

Prompto’s eyes drooped. He felt like he had been kneeling there for ages. The weight on his back became harder and harder to keep up with his shaking arms and legs. He knew he couldn’t let his arms buckle or lock, or he’d be looking death in the eye. His hands and knees dug into the concrete below him painfully. He wouldn’t be surprised to find them covered in blood by the time he got out.

He was also finding it hard to keep his eyes open. They drooped over and over again as his head fell forward. Sleep sounded so good. Maybe a short nap…

NO! Sleep means that the arms collapse and that means death. Do not fall asleep!

But keeping awake was hard.

Dust fell around him.

“You’re sure he’s around here?”

“I’m positive, Gladio.”

The crew with Ignis and Gladiolus followed Noctis’ directions and started digging where he indicated. They had been digging for nearly half an hour. Gladiolus had a few doubts about his Prince’s word. He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure. The spaces I could get through were always on my front right. I retraced my movements from where you pulled me out. We should be almost directly above him.”

Gladiolus sighed. “Ok. We’ll keep digging.”

Sleep was nearly impossible to fight off at this point. Yet Prompto remained awake. His head was about to drop again when something shifted. Somehow, the weight on him got lighter.

“What?” He murmured.

A beam of light cut through the dust almost right in front of him. Prompto stared at it for a while before putting two and two together. Rescue was close.

“Hello? Anyone up there?” he said as loud as he could.

The light cut off as feet suddenly appeared in front of him. Prompto looked as high as possible but couldn’t see the person’s face.

“Prompto?” he heard as the other knelt in front of him.

“Iggy?” Prompto’s voice wavered and wobbled like his arms.

“Yes. We’ve almost got you completely unburied. Just hold on a little longer.”

Ignis’ legs then feet disappeared as he climbed out of the hole. To help with getting me out, I guess? Prompto could feel the weight lessen as more time passed. He thought maybe another ten minutes after Ignis left, a different set of feet appeared. Arms then hooked underneath his shoulders and pulled him forward.

Prompto’s arms hung uselessly and his legs dragged through the dust as whoever removed him from the pocket put their arm under his and pulled him to their chest. Prompto looked up to see his rescuer was Gladiolus.

“Gladio…?”

“Shh, it’s ok. You’re almost free.”

“’m tired.”

“Then sleep. You’ve earned it.”

A week later saw Prompto still recovering in the hospital. The entirety of his back was shredded from the falling concrete. His hands and knees were in a similar state. He sustained a slight concussion from the falling concrete as well. The hospital staff refused to let him leave until his back was healed to the point where he could sleep on his back like normal and raise his arms without pain.

“You know you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, Noct,” Prompto sighed. They had this conversation before. “I wanted to.”

“Still doesn’t mean you should.”

“And let you die? Not a chance in hell.”

Noctis fell silent at that. He couldn’t argue the point when he would do the same.

“Anything you want?”

“Can you tell me how the bombers are doing in the Marshall’s interrogations?”

Noctis gave his friend a mischievous smile at that.

King Regis ordered a thorough investigation immediately after word of the bombing reached him. He pushed Clarus Amicitia to head the investigation upon hearing that Noctis was also in the building upon its collapse.

Investigators found a group of protestors to be responsible for the bombing. Nearly everyone in the group were brought in for questioning. Marshall Leonis was conducting the interrogations himself. The protestors cracked right away and pointed to a specific person as the instigator. That person went missing from Insomnia the day after the attack.

“They cracked like eggs. Cor is also working on measures to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Prompto smiled and went to sleep.

Poor Prom ended up stuck there for about three hours. Noct took about an hour to get to the spot where Gladio pulled him out, Gladio and Ignis took another hour after he got there to actually pull him out, and getting Prompto out took another hour. My dude was so sore. It took a physical therapist nearly a week to get his muscles to fully relax. He also had a hot bath at least once a day for a month.

I also feel like this might feel into the claustrophobia we see in game. I know like it's more likely from the MT pods, but this might've exacerbated the issue.

#ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #kaciart #her art is beautiful #but most of it is on patreon #Prompto #Noctis #building collapse #prompto whump is my favorite whump #please don't ask why #he's such a sweet ball of chocobo sunshine who's stronger than people think #this came a number of different things

4 notes · View notes

spamanosecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Fall For You

from: Everett ( @starofinsomnia )

to: Megan ( @bad-friend-trios )

Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy it!

The bell above the door rings, signalling the entrance of a new customer. Antonio sets down the bouquet he was working on, smiling as he dries his hands. “Welcome! Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyeing the handsome man.

Lovino looks up from the flowers he was admiring, blushing slightly at being caught like that. “I’m opening up a cafe across the street and I want flowers at every table. I would like each bouquet to be unique, and wondered if I might get a quote on how much. Your shop certainly has the most beautiful flowers of any florist I’ve visited today,” he says, looking back towards the flowers. He gently rubs his fingers over some rose petals, smiling slightly. “Very soft,” he whispers.

Antonio nods a little at that. “Alright! I can definitely do that. If you could give me an idea of what you’re looking for, I could have a quote ready for you in 15 minutes,” he says, smiling brightly. “If you decide to go with me, anything longer than me providing a weeks worth of flowers will require paperwork, so that I can set up reminders and a scheduled delivery,” Antonio explains. “Come come, we can sit in the back and you can look over some other centrepieces that I’ve had people commission from me in the past. Most of the restaurants that I cater flowers to still use me.”

“Sounds like you’re boasting Mr…what did you say your name was, any ways? Whatever, if you’re as good as you think you are, then I’ll probably pick you. As long as it’s not like insanely expensive, cause I’m just starting and I don’t make that kind of dough,” Lovino says, smiling a little at his own pun. His heart flutters when Antonio laughs at his pun as well, and very briefly he’s surprised at himself. Usually he can keep his cool around new guys, but he feels the urge to ask this one to coffee.

Antonio pulls out a chair for him and smiles softly. “You’re really a funny guy! My name is Antonio, but my friends call me Toni! I don’t think I caught your name either, but if we’re going to be doing business together, I think that’s probably important,” he says, handing over the binder of arrangements he’s provided for restaurants before.

Lovino takes it and nods. “My name is Lovino. How much do you think delivery would be, if I’m right across the street?” he asks, flipping through a few options. He admires a few of the smaller arrangements, thinking they’d look nice. “I like this one. It’s small so it’s not going to take up much space but it’s still lovely.” He hums softly. “So I know first time will be more expensive, because I’m buying the vases, but I’d like a quote for after that.” He fidgets a little with the paper. “And delivery expenses?”

Antonio hums softly. “Well, I’ll waive delivery expenses since you’re so close. I’ll just bring them over in the morning,” he says with a soft smile. “How many arrangements are you looking for? This one is roughly $30 each first time, then about $20 every time after.” He listens to the number of tables then gives him a rough estimate for how much it’ll be normally. He smiles when Lovino says that he’ll go with him.

Once all the paperwork is signed, Antonio makes a sample arrangement to send with him. “Free of charge,” he says, eyes sparkling as he hands it over to Lovino. “Here’s my number. If you ever need anything, help settling in, anything, go ahead and give me a call,” he says, winking as he hands over the paper.

Lovino blushes darkly at that and takes it, nodding. “Alright. Thanks. See you next Monday?” he asks, heading towards the door. “Don’t be late, I want to open my doors early.” He waves over his shoulder before finally leaving.

Antonio smiles softly after Lovino is gone, happy to have a new customer but more thrilled that he’s so cute and now a regular. He texts Francis and Gilbert that he thinks he found a guy that he wants to flirt with, then gets back to work on what he was doing before Lovino came in.

The wait til Monday is nearly agonizing for Antonio, as he’s anxious to see Lovino again. He heads into work earlier than he ever has before and gathers the flowers that Lovino ordered, heading over to his cafe. He knocks on the door, smiling when he sees his new friend through the glass. “Good morning, Lovino!” he calls, waving at him. He picks up the box of flowers and walks in.

Lovino nods at him, smiling back. “Good morning,” he says, regarding the cheerful man. “You’re upbeat for this early in the fucking morning. I made you a coffee. On the house for agreeing to just deliver them yourself.” He places a mug on the table and watches as Antonio starts to set vases on each table, tying a decorative ribbon around each.

Antonio glances up at him when he says that, smiling brightly. “Thanks! It’s no big deal, really. You’re right here,” he says, starting to put roses in each vase. He comes around with more flowers, creating beautiful miniature bouquets on every table. “There we go, all done,” he says. He smiles and finally picks up the coffee, taking a sip. “Oh, that’s fantastic, this is the best coffee I’ve ever had.” He smiles softly, then looks at the time. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to open up shop, is it okay if I stay and chat?”

Lovino hums in thought, knocking on the counter for a moment. “Yeah, whatever. You can stay for a little bit. I’m planning on opening soon and I have some things left to do. You can talk to me if you come over here.” He waves Antonio over to where the counter opens, then brings him into the back where he starts to finish up some last minute preparations.

Antonio watches him, finishing the cup of coffee. “What do you like to do? I mean, I figure you like to bake and make coffee, but outside of work. What is it that makes Lovino happy?” he asks. He smiles at Lovino when he gives him a weird look.

“Well…I haven’t had much time to do anything recently honestly, what with having to work so hard on opening this place, but I like to draw I guess.” Lovino shrugs a little bit, then goes back to cleaning a few more mugs. “I sketched up this place a while ago. But I always did prefer to draw people. It’s whatever. What about you? You don’t get to be nosy without telling me something about yourself too.”

Antonio smiles. “Wow, that sounds really cool. You should draw me sometime,” he says excitedly. He laughs at the second part and rolls his eyes. “It’s not being nosy, it’s getting to know you. Well, I guess I like to write. Poetry, song lyrics. And I play guitar. Maybe sometime I could show you,” he says, winking. “You have my phone number still right? Give me a call and I’ll show you sometime.”

Lovino rolls his eyes. “You’re incorrigible, Antonio. Maybe I will, then. Or maybe I’ll just drop by your flower shop with some coffee for you,” he says, looking back to him. “Maybe sometime I could listen to you play for the flowers. The reviews on your shop said you do that sometimes.”

Antonio nods. “Yeah, I do. It helps the flowers flourish and be happy. I need the flowers to be happy to make money,” he says, laughing softly. “Maybe you should have an open mic night, I could show off to you and see how it looks to have you as an adoring fan,” he teases. He laughs when Lovino blushes and shoots him a slight glare. “Just kidding, just kidding, you’re very pent up, Lovi.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna open in a few, so just leave when you’re done, alright?” he asks. Lovino sets the cups on a tray and brings them to the front, setting them beside a coffee machine.

Antonio smiles and leaves a few moments later, making sure to set his cup in the sink. He leaves the cafe and heads to his own shop, calling Francis as soon as he’s alone. “Franny you will never guess what happened today. I went to the cafe to set up Lovino’s flowers and I think he might have been flirting back with me. He wants to hear me play.”

Francis laughs into the phone. “You should play for him, then. To be young and in love is a precious gift. Do you need my help romancing Lovino?” he asks. “I’m a touch more refined than Gilbert, but he’s really good at making stupidly intricate plots if you’re looking for something like that.”

Antonio laughs softly, then rolls his eyes. “No no, I’m just going to play for him and see where it takes us. There’s no need for intricate plotting, Fran. I think that if I’m going to get a guy like him, I should just outright talk to him, y'know? The best thing to do is to be honest with your feelings. You told me that when I had that crush in high school.”

“Yes, Antonio, and you decided to go with Gilbert’s crazy idea about just leaving notes and the kid never figured out who you were, so I suppose I was right. Only someone who is French can speak the true language of love. Find out what kind of things he likes and do them with him, that’s the best way. And don’t listen to Gilbert’s advice.” Antonio thinks he can hear the smile in Francis’ voice as he says that last bit, and it makes him smile again.

“Alright, will do. Thanks, Fran, you’re the best.” He hangs up, humming to himself as he gets to work.

Antonio’s week is a blur, getting more business than he’s used to and having no time to himself. He nearly forgets about his promise to Lovino to play for him, until he’s walking into his shop sketchbook in hand.

“Hi, Lovi! I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he says, finishing up with the customer he’s working with. He notices Lovino has his sketchbook with him. “Not open today?” he asks.

Lovino shakes his head. “Never on a Sunday,” he responds. He looks around at the flowers. “I’m here to listen to you play. You’re the one who incited me, so don’t go backing out on it now,” he says.

Antonio laughs softly. “I invited you? I didn’t mean today, but yes, I will most definitely play for the beautiful Lovino.” He grabs his guitar and pulls up two chairs, sitting down. He starts to play a song his mother taught to him, singing along softly. He watches Lovino while he plays, deciding he likes the peacefulness of his face as he draws. He plays as long as he can before he has to help another customer, but is right back afterwards.

“What are you drawing?” he asks, strumming slowly as he tries to lean over and look into his sketchbook. Lovino pulls it away protectively, and Antonio sits back with a smile. “It’s okay, I won’t look any more,” he assures. Art is the window into peoples souls, he wouldn’t look without permission. He closes his store early, playing to Lovino for a few more hours as he draws.

After Lovino leaves, Antonio is left with a slight longing. He wants Lovino to come back already, but he knows he can’t be selfish with his time. He walks home in a lovestruck stupor, smiling so wide it makes his cheeks ache. The way Lovino looked when he was drawing was absolutely beautiful, and he feels the need to pour his heart out. For the first time in a really long time, he feels inspired to write a song.

Antonio sits down in his window nook, setting his guitar in his lap. He grabs his notebook as well, starting to write what he thinks about Lovino so far. It’s shaping up to be a song about love at first sight, he notices. The words are spilling out of him faster than he can try to put music to it, eventually forcing him to set aside his guitar and let the words flow onto the paper. He smiles when the lyrics are done, then picks up his guitar. He starts to get frustrated putting them to music, though and turns in for the night.

Every Sunday Antonio closes his shop early and spends the afternoon playing to Lovino among the flowers, then goes home and writes another song to him. Every Monday he calls Francis to complain about how he can’t seem to get anywhere with Lovino despite constantly flirting with him. It was after several weeks of this happening that Francis decides he can’t listen to it any more. Eventually someone is going to have to make a move, either Lovino rejects Antonio so Gilbert and Francis can pick up the pieces or they get together. He’s sick of the waiting for Antonio to actually make a move, so it’s time for one of Gilbert crazy plans.

Francis knocks on Antonio’s door, smiling when his friend opens the door. “Long time no see, Toni,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine, while Gilbert holds up a case of beer behind him.

“We’re here to figure out how to get you and Lovino together!” Gilbert shouts, pushing past both of them into the warmth of Antonio’s apartment. Francis smiles at Antonio surprised but amused grin.

“You two are the best,” he says, closing and locking the door behind them. Many plots are made then scrapped, too ambitious, too extreme, too stupid. They seem to keep circling back to the obvious: just flat out tell him.

“You know, Toni, he probably just doesn’t realize you’re flirting with him, honestly. Telling him outright that you want to go out on a date with him would be the best option,” Francis says, sipping his cup of wine.

Antonio closes his eyes and leans on his shoulder. “But Franny, he seems so uninterested in me. What if I ask and he says no and it ruins all the progress we’ve made?” he asks. “We’re such good friends now, I don’t want to lose that,” he mumbles as he starts to drift off there, tired from the alcohol. Francis sighs and looks over at Gilbert.

“He likes him too much. I think that if Lovino rejects him he might break,” he says softly. Gilbert nods his agreement, finishing his bottle of beer.

“I’m going to use the bathroom, then we can come up with something to do about this.” He gets up and walks out of the room. A few minutes pass and Gilbert doesn’t come back, causing Francis to get up, hoping his friend didn’t pass out in the bathroom. He finds Gilbert rifling through some papers in Antonio’s room.

“Gil! What the hell are you doing?” he asks, voice a furious whisper. “What if Antonio wakes up and sees you going through his stuff?”

“Look at this! We don’t even need an elaborate plot, Antonio gave us the perfect stuff here,” he says, holding out some papers. Francis gives him an odd look before taking the papers. He reads over the first few, biting his lip.

“Wow. I always knew Antonio had a way with words, but these are beautiful. These are love letters to Lovino?” Francis asks, looking up at Gilbert. “I think I have the perfect idea. We take these and leave one a day for Lovino to read until they’re gone. We won’t sign them, though. Goodness know Antonio will recognize that they’re his and it’ll help him confess! It’s perfect and romantic.” Francis smiles at the idea, carefully tucking the letters into his shirt pocket. “Let’s go, we have things to do, Gil.”

They leave the house quietly, using the key under the mat to lock the door. A more detailed plan is made before being put into effect. The very first letter is tucked into an envelope and slipped under the door to the cafe that night, ready to be found by Lovino the next morning.

Antonio wakes up with a slight headache, wondering where his friends went. He sighs and gets up, turning off whatever movie was playing when he passed out then heads to his room to go back to bed properly. Shrill ringing wakes him up the next morning, pulling a groan from his lips. He digs through his blankets until he finds his phone.

“Hello?” he asks groggily, rubbing his eye. He perks up a little bit when he hears Lovino on the other end. “What a pleasant surprise, Lovi! I didn’t realize it was you, the wrong ring tone was playing.” He hums softly as he listens to Lovino for a few seconds. “Gotcha gotcha. You want me to meet you at the flower shop? Sounds great, see you in a few.” He hangs up, getting dressed before heading out.

When he gets to the shop, he sees Lovino standing outside with an envelope in his hand, he pauses. Antonio smiles at him, then opens the door. “You said you wanted to talk? Is something wrong?” he asks, leading him to the couch in the back. His smile falls when he sees the serious look on Lovino’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Lovino holds out the envelope. “I got this letter this morning. It’s kind of creepy, honestly, someone’s been paying way too much attention to me. I thought it was your handwriting so I thought I’d ask, but you wouldn’t send me such a weird letter, would you?”

Antonio’s eyebrows come together. “I haven’t sent you anything. I would have just called,” he says. He opens the letter and immediately recognizes the poetry he had written the first time they had their time together. His cheeks slowly redden as he reads. “No, definitely not mine,” he lies, holding it out to him again. “Do you want me to spend the day at your cafe to make sure there’s no one being creepy to you?” he asks.

“No you already close your shop Sunday afternoons for me, I don’t want to make you do that today. I just wanted to ask about this. See you later bastard.” Lovino waves to him before heading back to his little cafe.

Antonio steps into his own shop feeling dread pass through him. Lovino had thought the poetry he wrote was creepy, but even worse, he somehow ended up with the poetry. He bites his lip, sitting down behind the counter. He’s not as cheerful that day, too saddened by his conversation with Lovino to perk up.

Every day, it seems, Lovino gets another one of the sheets he wrote, until he finally has the most recent one. He brings the letters to Antonio’s shop again, heading inside with the little pile. Antonio is by the side window tuning his guitar when he walks in. “Hey, stupid, we need to talk.” He pulls a chair up beside him, flopping down. He flips through the papers. “I know these are yours. They’re written the way you talk, they’re in your handwriting. I was hoping you’d just tell me when I asked about it.” Lovino looks at Antonio, cheeks reddening. “You’re an idiot. A blind fucking bastard idiot, Antonio. I have feelings for you too. I don’t write it like you do, and slip it under your door, but I’ve been showing you for weeks.”

Antonio just stares at him with wide eyes for several long seconds. “I- You called it creepy!” he whines. “I didn’t want to be responsible if you thought it was creepy.” He pouts at Lovino, setting his guitar aside. “I wanted…to keep them to myself for a while longer. I had a surprise I was making for you to actually confess to you.”

Lovino just listens to him, then rolls his eyes. “Antonio you didn’t hear a word I just said, did you? I have feelings for you too, you big doofus. I am in love with the beautiful idiot who sets up my flowers every Monday and plays me music on Sundays.” He pulls out his sketchbook and shows Antonio the sketches he did. Antonio stares, admiring how beautiful the art is. “I loved drawing you while you played. It was why I never let you see them, though. I was afraid if you saw them you’d know. And I wasn’t ready for you to know yet.”

Antonio’s stunned gaze softens finally. “I am in love with the beautiful cafe owner who gives me free coffees to keep me in longer and listens to me play my guitar and inspires me. I love seeing you, I love when you come here, I love the way you smile and the way you bite your lip when you’re concentration. Sometimes it distracts me and I misplay the song but you always ignore it to let me keep my dignity.” He reaches out and gently touches Lovino’s cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

“I wasn’t ignoring it to let you keep your dignity, dork,” Lovino mumbles, leaning into his hand. “Yes, if you didn’t, I think I’d be pretty disappointed.” He leans in the rest of the way for their lips to touch. He finds he likes the way Antonio’s lips curl into a smile while they’re touching. Lovino pulls away first, blushing darkly. “Are we dating now?” he asks softly.

Antonio grins and nods. “Pretty sure we are, Lovi,” he whispers.

#spamano #hetalia #aph spain #aph romano #submission #gift #fanfic #spamano secret santa 2018

26 notes · View notes

agentwallflower · 5 years

Text

Dull One: Epilogue

Well... shit. We’re here. I’ll talk more about it after this chapter but... that’s really all I can say. After agonizing over the last paragraph for twenty minutes, it’s time to let it go.

Thank you for reading. Thank you so much. We did it. No chapter next week. It’s done. Happy new year.

Soundtrack while writing this chapter was this and this. Yeah I have weird taste in music.

So... here we go I guess.

“And... well, that's where the story trails off. After this, it's impossible to tell what's original and what was added on later. Oral traditions are tricky like that.”

Dust motes swirled in the quiet room as the guide's words died down. A room full of quiet high school children had been hanging on his every word for what felt like a lifetime. The clock on the wall knew different – only 15 minutes had passed.

The man in front of the small crowd smiled and leaned hard on his side. “Of course, it might not even be real. It could all just be a legend that we came up with to explain some oddities of nature and along the way, pulled local traditions to the larger region. But isn't it quite the story regardless?”

His shift in motion broke the spell on the room – quiet voices sprung to life as they digested the story. The shining sun reflected rocks and the pedestal, making it all seem real and fictional at the same time. This room in the museum had the ability to do that, like a magic all on its own. Or maybe it was just what was in there. The stones held their own life, even though the real magic was the story itself.

“Remember to thank the curator on the way out. Follow me, class. We have plenty more to discuss before it's time to leave.”

A number of voices echoed thanks as they gradually emptied out of the small room, heading forward in time and space. Their guide was left alone to stare at the pedestal and the items that gleamed in the sunlight. It brought a smile to his face as he stood there, looking back at centuries of history that stood all around him.

“You know, it's an even better reproduction up close now that I get a good look at it.”

The guide turned. He wasn't alone in the room – the young woman with the pink headphones had remained. At first she had just been looking at the glyphs on the wall, but now she had turned her attention to the pedestal.

A smile crossed his face as he nodded his head. “Well, of course they're reproductions. It's not like we can keep such priceless artifacts-”

She snorted and shook her head, almost jostling her headphones. “Says the guy with one under his shirt. You're about as subtle as a brick to the face, Falon.”

Her footsteps echoed as she stepped up to evaluate the pedestal. Most would have guessed her about 19, maybe 20. The scar that cut through her eyebrow might have skewed it a bit, but that was the general range. They would have all been dead wrong, of course. After all, Mointz had been around for much longer.

Falon pouted in a playful matter as he watched. “Now, is that any way to treat your father?”

It evaporated into a smile as he evaluated his handiwork. “And honestly, I thought they were pretty good fakes. The museum thought so when we handed them over... what was it, thirty years ago?”

“Thirty? You're making me feel better, I thought it was fifty.”

Though, for them twenty years either way didn't really matter much. Mointz reflected on that as she stretched out a soreness in her shoulders. The joints popped as she worked through it, making her sigh in relief and maybe a bit of exhaustion too. Whatever it was, she had been around for a very long time. How long, she wasn't sure. Science said time varied the older you got, and calendars kept changing. One society kept them one way, and another would come along an change it. She had really given up trying to keep track.

Besides, it wasn't like she aged. By her estimation of her aching joints, she had maybe aged a total of three or four years at best. Did that make her an immortal, or just someone who aged so slowly it was impossible to know she was doing it at all? Really it was all semantics at that point, and nothing more made her head ache. She let the matter drop, as she often did when it came to this. Thinking about it didn't help.

Though... Mointz flashed a sheepish grin as she turned to Falon. “Did I ever say I was sorry for accidentally making you kind of immortal?”

In response, he laughed. Falon's hand briefly went to his shirt, or rather to the slight bump in the fabric where the medallion underneath created a dent. All the years he had worn it created that bump in all his clothes. By now it was just part of him, as much as his wooden leg or the glimmer in his eyes that never really went away. He was a good sport about it, or as much as anyone could be. She was grateful for that.

“Oh, only about a half million times, but really who's counting?”

With that he shrugged and disturbed the coils of his hair held back with a strip of leather he had long since stopped counting the replacements. “Besides, how were you to know that giving it to me would do that?”

His smile turned a little sarcastic there. Falon reached over and nudged Mointz lightly in her side. They were turning on to an old joke that made her face heat up, an there was no way to avoid it. She deserved this one for sure.

“Come on, Falon, do we-”

“It's not like you set up a stable time loop that erased a lifetime of information.”

Was it hot in there, or was it just her? Yep, her face was heating up at what by now had become an ancient barb that once, maybe, had held power. Now it was as old as she was. And yet at the same time she wasn't very old at all. Call her a true millennial and settle the difference.

Still, she looked away as the warmth leaked off her cheeks, one still bearing a faded blue mark that stood out against warm brown skin. “Better make that a half million and one then.”

“I always do.”

That made Mointz chuckle in a weird way as she walked away from Falon and the – very much a good reproduction, the best of maybe five tries that drove historians mad – pedestal that housed the fake items.

“Sorry.” A half million and two. “But hey, I get half credit for not knowing that powering up the items gave their real purpose. Who would have known that they were like the world's worst GPS for space and time?”

“Oh, I don't know... you?”

Falon smiled as she groaned and resisted the urge to smack her hand to her forehead. Mointz had walked straight into that one for sure. Still, even she had to chuckle a little as she looked over the railing, past the entry way at a window over the large doors. Outside, it was a sunny day in a city she knew in her bones. A modern city that beat over land with an ancient heart, a steady thrum that had been taken over time and time again.

“Yeah, I guess I deserved that one.” She looked back at him, a half smile playing across her features. “Though, we're pretty good at trial and error.”

Indeed, half of what they knew about the items – the real ones, not the fakes – had come from centuries of basically screwing around with them as the modern age was wont to put it. Now they had a pretty decent handle, but it had come through blood, sweat, and plenty of near death experiences that now she could laugh about. Mostly.

Her adopted father looked her over, stopping at her waist. “And where is dear old Dull One, as my esteemed colleagues translate it?”

Mointz ignored the barb in favor of looked down at her bare hip. The sword wasn't there, but of course it wasn't. Now it was just weird to walk around with a weapon strapped to you. Even Spinner was kept at home now, safe from prying eyes. She kept the bracelet, though. Old habits died harder than she did.

“It's resting after somebody nearly got me killed by pointing me into a doomed timeline.”

She shot Falon a blank look, the smile still on her face. Now it was his turn to look away as Mointz felt the heat leak off his cheeks. It was fun to tease him, even if she wasn't mad about it anymore .Mostly she was just tired.

He recovered eventually. “That... was partially my fault, yes. Though I'd like to remind you, I only find the particular spot in the timeline. Corabe and the orb find the place. You're the one who takes it and jumps through.”

That was basically what they had worked out. The restored items functioned more as a set of coordinates that could be locked down in a particular timeline. Falon was the one to find a potential hot spot, then turned it over to the mage to figure a safe location. Once they were set, out came the sword. Though it couldn't slash through flesh, it had soaked up enough of the loops to cut through them just fine.

So, technically that last one was her bad too. But this was the hill she had chosen to... well, not die on. But she would certainly complain a little.

By now, it was clockwork. Mointz had lost count of dead timelines she had interrupted, searching for a hint that would take them to... well, they still weren't sure. Was it to where they had first messed up? A place past that to settle things? Even that was a matter of debate – they had eventually settled on a source of something that even their long forgotten tongue had never had words for. Just thinking of it brought up how far they had come just to get to that vague point. Centuries of work, millennia of effort, and some days it still felt like they were barely past step one. At times, all that history, that space and time, crushed down on her worse than gravity ever could. But she didn't fall, not for long. Up she went again, to try another universe.

Maybe the next one would be the last.

Mointz would have ruminated on that - a habit of her age – but she was distracted by the vibrations in her pocket. Falon shot her a blank look and pointed to a sign on the wall that reminded patrons to turn their phones off. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly as she dug it out, half expecting to see a familiar number. Instead...

Bat-pider has sent a new riddle. Will you rise to the occasion?

“Oh come on, you solved that already?” This time she really did slap her hand to her forehead. “It took me a week to come up with that one.”

Why had she ever taught that damn bat to code an app?

Falon looked over her shoulder, chuckling. “It's good to at least have some small part of the world left. You know you love it.”

She did. Mointz still frowned as she looked around at the museum. Everything in the city, even its oldest building, was far too new for her tastes. Everything was bright and electric and reminded her just how far removed from time she was. Those she had loved and cared about were long side dust, their ashes mingling with centuries of descendants that had come and gone never knowing. Even her village was long gone, no longer even a map dot. But it was still there, deep down.

Literally, it was deep down. The tree stump that had once marked the center of the village was where the museum now stood. It was no surprise she was as fond of the place as she was. Something about calling her home – who knew. She wasn't the theorist. That was Corabe's job.

Speaking of, though. Just as she was about to admit defeat, Mointz got another notification. This time, it was from the mage. It was a brief message, maybe only a few lines on a brightly lit screen. It reflected off a simple band of metal that wrapped around one of her fingers as she read the message, eyes darting quickly.

Whoever said old dogs couldn't learn new tricks had never watched Mointz text.

“She has another lead.” A pause, with another message. “Sword's charged too. We're setting up at 8 tonight.”

Falon nodded, hand going once again to the medallion under his shirt. “I'll be there once my shift wraps up.”

Mointz's head was already buzzing with possibilities and plans as she put her phone back in her pocket and started to head for the door. However, her father stopped her. As always, his eyes gave him away – there was concern there, even after millennia. Maybe old dogs didn't learn new tricks after all.

“Be safe out there. I still don't get left hand traffic.”

That got a snort of laughter from Mointz as she nodded and gave a brief wave. “Yeah, me neither.”

With that she was gone, walking forward in time through the museum exhibits. Once, these had been more than preserved artifacts behind glass. They had been used by people who had names in tongues long silenced, brushed aside by space and time. She could remember seeing them rise and fall, much like any trend did. But could you call an era a trend? She was still arguing over that.

There was a lot she was still arguing over to herself. After all, even she knew that what remained was only part of history. Even Mointz didn't know the entire truth in some places. What people got out of it, herself included, was what they made of the bits and pieces. Sometimes it wasn't true, but... sometimes it was close enough.

And sometimes some asshole translated a perfectly good name meaning like 'pain in the ass' into Blister. What damn idiot had thought of that?

Mointz left her thoughts behind to step outside. The bright sun made her wince briefly and shield her sensitive eyes with her hand. Maybe it was reminding her it was still there, and would be there long after even she was gone – like the universe telling her not to get too cocky. She appreciate the reminder. Sometimes it was easy to forget.

She merged into the bustling noonday crowd, slipping her headphones over her ears to block out most of the noise. In the silence, she could feel the emptiness that was always there, had been since Voice had left. She still hadn't found them, not through the countless timelines she had traced. Yet she refused to give up. Perhaps one day, that silence would be filled again. Or if not, there would at least be closure. That was something she treasured, even after everything else.

Even through the busy crowd, she noticed the nearby poster in a bookstore window. It drew her over, though she didn't know why. Mointz wasn't exactly a fan of sci-fi; it was a little after her time. But there was something about the poster that called to her. Maybe it was the girl standing there, blue-skinned and holding a pendant with a similarly colored gem. It was marketing, she knew – but the damn thing seemed to look right through her in a way that gave her pause.

“Heh. I wonder if we could jump through those kinds of universes.”

Mointz chuckled and left the shop behind, shaking her head at her own foolishness. Old age was making her sentimental and a little silly. At the same time, she treasured that too. After all, she deserved a little silliness. Her life was weird – the absurd was familiar. Maybe she would pick the book up later, just for a laugh.

Still, from somewhere deep beyond the veil of time, a long dead voice echoed. Four colors, four powers – pink, blue, red, and green. She was pink, and Voice had definitely been blue. Maybe it was a hint of where to go next. Or maybe it had just been bullshit as a cycle looped back on itself. But hell, why not?

Maybe it was best that it was with this thought in mind that Mointz disappeared into the crowd, heading for home and the hope of a successful jump. The last to fade from view was the bright pink of her headphones, like the flash of bright feathers on a small bird's underside. And then she was gone, off to another jump and the chance to find what she looked after. Even if she missed, it would be another story she could tell Voice one day when she found them.

No doubt it would be one hell of a story once it was finished. But it wasn't finished; she was still writing it with every step she took. So on the pages would turn, until maybe one day the chapters met up like she hoped. But that was a story for another day.

The End

#The Magpie's Stash #Dull One #It's over #I did it

1 note · View note

myenchantingkpop · 7 years

Text

Build a boyfriend - Hoshi

“Thank god for Friday’s.” You muttered when you had walked into work that morning. Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘you’re happy for a Friday morning at work?’ Yes but it wasn’t just any Friday morning. This Friday you were allowed to come in late resulting to you sleeping in for a full 2 hours, you got breakfast at the office, and your assistant had a lovely cup of green tea with two Splenda sitting on your desk when you had come in. So in all this day was starting out great.

The office was buzzing with energy and the atmosphere was swimming with positivity. It was like a breath of fresh air as you hadn’t had any meetings scheduled until 11 am, leaving you to scroll through your social media and happily sip your tea.

You plugged your earphones into your iPhone and began to play CLC’s Hobgoblin. You tapped your foot to the beat as you aimlessly scrolled through social media. Since it was Friday after all, there was the weekly posts of your family, friends, and celebrities. You smiled as you double tapped the posts, until your thumb stopped on a particular ad.

“Build a boyfriend? That’s new…” you muttered as you scrolled passed it only to ind your thumb on the same ad just a few posts down your feed. Again you scrolled past slightly confused why it was the same ad. By the 3rd time you just gave up and clicked on the ad as it so desperately wanted you to click on it.

“Okay mysterious ad, let’s see what you have to offer.” The ad took you to a link with about 20 or so questions. You glanced behind you at the clock. “10:03. I got time why not?”

The questions varied from what’s your favorite color to what his hair line should be to eye color. The one that had you puzzled the most was the name question. You stared at the empty box with a blank stare.

“Can’t I just put two names here? Like a nickname? It doesn’t say anything against that might as well try it.” You whispered to yourself before typing in Soonyoung(nickname Hoshi) and clicking submit. The little green loading bar ran across the screen before startling you with a page of congratulations with a cute star emoji and a time under it that read 11:06.

You turned toward the clock to see that it was nearing 11 and without meaning to, your heart began to speed up. ‘I guess I can be a little late to my meeting. It’s just 6 minutes and nobody gets there until 10 minutes after anyway.“ You sat staring at the clock watching it tick slower and slower each time. You spun in your roller chair, rolled across the room, and even drew a little picture and it was only 11:03. You groaned throwing your head back.

An agonizing three minutes later, it was now 11:06…..and………..nothing happened. Your shoulders slumped in disappointment before you straightened back up and shook your head at yourself as you gathered your things for the meeting. ‘Maybe it meant pm not am? I mean if it was am that would’ve been quick!’ You thought as you shuffled down into the meeting room taking a seat and starting the meeting.

You sighed in relief as your third meeting of the day finished with an exceptional amount of progress. You stood up grinning at your coworkers as they praised you for your hard work and let you slide out of the meeting room. It was now 5 pm as you gathered your belongings in order to head home.

You turned to leave and a yelp left your lips as your coworker and friend Amelia smirked at you from the doorway. “Amelia! Don’t do that!” You whined as your calmed your racing heart. She giggled at your startled state. “Sorry (Y/n). I just came to invite you to dinner with us. The boss is impressed with out hard work and he’s buying everyone dinner. You in?”

You gave her the of-course-I’m-in-why-wouldn’t-I-be-its-free-food-? Look. She grinned before pulling you out of the office. You all drove to the barbecue restaurant and sat at a large table. You talked and laughed as you ordered food and just had a grand time.

Hours later you were full and happy waving a bye to your coworkers and heading to your car to go home. You slid into the leather seat, shut the door and turned the key hearing the engine purr.

The roads were fairly busy, but you didn’t care as you drove through the city of Seoul with a content smile on your face. The stars gazed down giving a slight source of light on the road. You finally pulled into your driveway and parked your car and got out, fishing your keys out of your purse. You walked up your front porch steps and unlocked the door quickly closing it behind you to rid yourself of the crisp ice chill.

You leaned back against the door, eyes closed and just breathing in the smell of home. You were at peace. Well you were until you opened your eyes and a yelp got caught in your throat.

“It’s about time you got home. I’ve been waiting for an hour for you! Where have you been?” Holy shit, he was gorgeous. Blonde hair, puppy smile, and bright mocha irises locked onto yours. He had on a navy hoodie and black ripped jeans that accented his toned legs. He was around 5'10” making him tower over your form slightly. He was hot and oddly familiar to you. You scanned his form up and down trying to pinpoint why he was familiar, but that only rewarded you a smirk. You blinked at him confused before blushing scarlet as you realized you had just checked him out, shamelessly in front of him.

“Take a picture it will last longer gorgeous.” Damn okay you could totally get used to him calling you that. His voice was perfect. It was sweet like honey yet husky and rich like chocolate, a perfect combination to make your knees weak. You were snapped out of your thoughts as he suddenly was just a few feet from you. He was good looking he’s, but that didn’t mean that you knew who he was. Hell he could’ve been a psychotic serial killer for all you knew!

You gulped staring as him in silence. His eyes scanned your figure from your black high heels, to your matching black pencil skirt that rested slightly above your knees, to the white blouse with a bow tied on the front, to the ponytail that was loose and casual and back down again. His eyes flickered back up to meet yours and you weren’t sure if it was the lighting or his eyes had just gotten darker and the puppy smile you first saw was no longer in sight, but a dangerous and dare you say sexy smirk rested on his lips.

He stepped forward, never breaking eye contact as he came closer to you. You matched his pace taking a step back until you hit the door. 'Of course. The cliche moment where the girl gets trapped against the door. Brilliant! (Y/n)! Brilliant!’ You thought as you had no where to move to now. He didn’t stop though. He stepped closer just inches from you now, hands placed against the wooden door next to your head.

You gasped at his proximity. His nose was close enough to nuzzle against yours, lips close enough to brush against yours. His eyes stared into yours and up close they were even more hypnotizing than before.

“What’s wrong love? Didn’t you know I was coming?” He whispered as he nuzzled his nose against yours lightly with a smirk.

“W-what?” You asked flustered and confused.

“He sighed slightly. “Don’t you know what time it is? It’s 12:15. I’ve been here since 11:06 on the dot and you were nowhere in sight.”

That’s when it hit you. The events rolled through your mind like credits on a film. From arriving at work to scrolling through social media to tapping on the build a boyfriend ad and taking the quiz.

“Remember now love?” He said slightly smug as the look of realization crossed over your face.

“Soon young?” You whispered.

“Actually it’s Hoshi.”

“B-but I wrote two names. And I could’ve sworn I write for him to be sweet and cute and loving.” You said confused.

He chuckled darkly. “That’s Soonyoung. But you can’t forget that you also wanted your boyfriend to be like a bad boy, dominate, and oh so enticing.” He whispered, tone dropping a few octaves as he leaned closer nose countering down your cheek to your neck where he placed a few surprisingly gentle kisses.

“I only did one quiz though.” You whispered to yourself. A gasp left your throat as the pecks turned its light nips. “H-hoshi.” You whispered eyes fluttering shut as the alter ego of the sweet boy you thought you got pulled you closer.

Without warning Hoshi suddenly pulled his back from your neck and crashed his lips against yours. The kiss was passionate and slightly rough as his lips moulded against yours. He nipped at your lips, almost promising bruising. When your body relaxed he did a 180. The kiss was so longer bruising but soft and slow as he wrapped one hand around your waist and the other cradling your head.

He pulled away eyes opening to reveal the mocha irises replacing the darkness from earlier. He smiled the puppy smile at you before pecking your lips once, twice, before placing soft kisses all over your face making you giggle. He finally stopped his attack and settled on caressing your cheek with his thumb while his eyes showed nothing short of live and affection.

“Nice to meet you jagiya, I’m Soonyoung. I see you’ve already met Hoshi. We are looking forward to being your boyfriend.”

~Allie

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen ships #hoshi #soonyoung

133 notes · View notes