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SEX, LIES AND CHEAP COLOGNE: AN ORAL HISTORY OF ABERCROMBIE & FITCH’S SOFTCORE PORN MAG

The story of how an oversexed, strangely intellectual magazine by a polo shirt brand completed the improbable task of changing the course of sexuality in America’s malls, homes and moose-print boxers

Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries was a shrewd businessman, but he didn’t always make the best decisions. Between the blatantly racist T-shirts he signed off on, the child thongs he called “cute” and the series of public statements he made admitting that his brand intentionally excluded anyone who wasn’t “cool” and “good-looking” with “great attitudes and a lot of friends,” it’s no wonder that he spent the majority of his reign at Abercrombie in hot water. (For the uninitiated, Abercrombie made what fashion writer Natasha Stagg calls “sexy versions of the clothes kids already wore to school: T-shirts and jeans, stuff you could toss a football in or throw on the grass if everyone decided to go skinny-dipping.” More importantly, as she writes in her book Sleeveless, it was “for those who were casually peaking in high school.” It, meanwhile, peaked in the 1990s.)

An exception to Jeffries’ questionable CEO-ing would be A&F Quarterly, the glorious, controversial and questionably pornographic “magalog” he created at the height of the brand’s popularity in 1997 in order to connect “youth and sex” to its image. Woven in amongst surprisingly thoughtful interviews with A-list humans like Spike Lee, Bret Easton Ellis, Rudy Guiliani and Lil’ Kim was a cascade of naked photos from photographer Bruce Weber which showed nubile youngs in various states of undress. They were frolicking, they were caressing and they were deep in the throes of experimenting with types of sex that — at the time — had never been portrayed by mainstream brands.

With issue titles such as “XXX,” “The Pleasure Principle” and “Naughty and Nice,” the Quarterly dove headfirst into the risque. During its 25-issue run between 1997 and 2003, it printed interviews with porn star Jenna Jameson, offered sex advice on how to “go down” in public and suggested — on multiple occasions — that its readers dabble in group sex. One issue published an article on how to be a “Web exhibitionist,” another featured a Slovenian philosopher barking orders to “learn sex” at school and big-dick Ron Jeremy even stopped by to talk about performing oral sex on himself and using a cast made from his own penis.

The actual Abercrombie clothing being modeled in the magalog was an afterthought, appearing in Weber’s photos as more of an impediment to nudity than an actual, purchasable item. The whole thing was, as journalist Harris Sockel put it in an Human Parts essay, “20 percent merch, 20 percent talk and 100 percent soft-core aspirational porn.”

None of this would have been vexing had a more adult-oriented brand been the ones hawking it, but Abercrombie & Fitch was — and still is — marketed toward suspiciously toned teenage field hockey players named Brett. Though he might have looked like a man in his big salmon-pink polo, Brett was but a child. Abercrombie was fond of saying its clothing was for college-aged clientele, but we all knew where its real haute runway took place — inside the crowded halls of every middle school in Ohio.

The Quarterly, too, was intended for college kids, and to prove it, Abercrombie shrink-wrapped it in plastic and sold only to those over 18 for $6 a pop. You could buy it as a subscription, of course, but it was more commonly found in-store, nestled alongside A&F’s cargo shorts and “thongs for 10-year-olds,” a questionable placement that prompted concerned parents, conservatives and Christians to accuse Abercrombie of sullying their children’s minds with impure thoughts.

As such, the Quarterly became the subject of a mounting number of boycotts, protests and controversies that some believe were responsible for its eventual demise. By the time circulation peaked at 1.2 million in 2003, it had been denounced by organizations like the National Coalition for the Protection of Children and Families, Mothers Against Drunk Driving, the American Decency Association, Focus on the Family, the National Organization for Women and, of course, the Catholic League.

Yet the outrage against the Quarterly was matched — if not exceeded — by its cult following, who found its frank portrayal of sexuality to be transcendent. Journalists, artists and the teens whose hands it fell into adored the magazine, and its rarity — plus its utter absurdity — makes it a sought-after collector’s item to this day.

At the same time, few people know about the Quarterly and even fewer realize what it meant to the generations of young people discovering themselves and their sexualities through the unlikely lens of branded content. As journalist Emily Lever puts it, “There’s no weirder way to learn about sex than to pick up a magazine by Abercrombie & Fitch — a brand for hot, mean mostly white kids who shoved you into lockers — but, I guess I’ll take it?”

This is the story of how an oversexed and strangely intellectual magazine by a polo shirt brand completed the improbable task of changing the course of sexuality in America’s malls, homes and moose-print boxers.

AND IN THE BEGINNING, THERE WAS ASS

The first issue A&F Quarterly debuted in June 1997. With 70-ish pages of full-color hard bodies, it was relatively tame compared to later editions, but it quickly became popular when Abercrombie’s nubile clientele realized it was a paper-backed portal into an adult world of sex, nudity and the kind of unbridled sensory hedonism their parents warned them about. As rumors of its legend began to spread, people began to wonder: What the hell is A&F Quarterly, and why is it printing ass for teens?

Emily Lever, journalist and chronicler of the Quarterly’s absurdist philosophical leanings: A&F Quarterly was an in-house magazine put together by Abercrombie & Fitch that published a who’s who of literati to accompany their images of young adult and teen bodies in order to hawk expensive distressed jeans and polo shirts to kids who would shove you inside a locker.

Alissa Quart, author of Branded: The Buying and Selling of Teenagers and director of the Economic Hardship Reporting Project: From what I recall, it had a Bruce Weber-y vibe — gorgeous young men and teens unapologetically objectified, a leering retro pin-up element, also sort of like the highly stylized, sexed-up, nostalgic 1980s and 1990s black-and-white Guess ads. Men — boys, really — were photographed without their shirts, elaborately muscled abs, sometimes naked.

Harris Sockel, in his Human Parts essay: [It was] Playboy crossed with Fratmen.com and a bit of Field & Stream. The Quarterly made my hormones do a kick line across my frontal lobe. I wanted to nibble the soy ink for snack until sunrise. To absorb it so deeply I sweat grey drops onto my pillow. To rip a page from that issue and fold it into a paper flower and stick it all the way up my ass until it came out my mouth.

Lever: Yeah, it was hot. But it was also extraordinarily literary. It featured big-time thinkers, writers and philosophers — stuff that was supposedly intended to expand your mind. It was way too high-brow for the average Abercrombie teen, and its existence made almost no sense given what the brand represented.

Savas Abadsidis, editor-in-chief, 1997-2003: There was nothing else like it. We were the first mainstream brand to combine playful, irreverent, intellectual content with sex and youth in this beautiful, high-art magazine format. Was it controversial? Sure. But it made the entire country take notice.

What they didn’t necessarily see, however, was what was going on behind the scenes. Not only were we the first brand to do this kind of advertising, we were also the first big brand to normalize gay culture for a mainstream audience, expose America’s youth to some of the era’s most progressive thinkers and use our platform to address sexuality in a useful, hands-on way. And you wouldn’t necessarily expect that from Abercrombie. That’s what made it so cool.

It all began in 1996. I was 22 and working at a temp job for a prominent New York architect who happened to be friends with Sam Shahid, a big-time creative director for Calvin Klein, Banana Republic and later, Abercrombie & Fitch. He was looking for an assistant. I had taken a deferment to go to law school and was looking for a job for that interim year, so I applied. I got in.

It was a horrible gig at first. Just awful, Devil Wears Prada-type stuff. I left crying many nights. But I had two things going for me. The first was that Abercrombie had a really small office in the West Village. Mike Jeffries, the president and CEO of Abercrombie, used to come in. He wore flip flops, had a desk made out of a surfboard and began each sentence with the word “Dude.”

Mike Jeffries, ex-CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, speaking to Salon in 2006: Dude, I’m not an old fart who wears his jeans up at his shoulders.

Abadsidis: I didn’t know it at the time, but Mike was gay (I wouldn’t find out until much later). I think that was part of the reason why he and Sam — who was also gay — took me under their wing. They actually didn’t realize that I was, too — it’s not like we all sat around a bonfire at Fire Island and talked about how us gay guys were infiltrating Abercrombie — but that dynamic dovetailed nicely with Bruce’s photography for both the brand and the Quarterly, and it certainly set the tone for what was to come. I was grateful to get what amounted to an unofficial apprenticeship from both Mike and Sam, and eventually, they had me doing much more involved tasks than I was hired to do.

One of them was sitting in on important meetings. At the time, Mike was inviting all these different editors from magazines like Interview, Men’s Journal and Rolling Stone to come in and brainstorm ideas for what the Quarterly could be, but their ideas were flat. They felt like ideas coming from 45-year-olds writing for college kids, and I could tell Mike was getting frustrated by how little they seemed to grasp what he wanted.

One day in a meeting, one of the magazine editors threw out an idea. Without even acknowledging him, Mike turned to me. “Savas,” he asked. “What do you think about that?”

My mind raced — I could tell he was testing me. If I flubbed the answer, I’d be done. I briefly considered censoring myself, but then I thought better. What did I have to lose? I was young. Surely, I’d find another summer job. “I don’t think it’s a great idea,” I told him.

Apparently, that was the right answer. Mike practically threw the guy out of the room.

After that, I started to think more about what I’d want to see out of a magazine. I was just out of college as a French comparative literature major at Vassar, and I was super into that sort of 1950s-style Esquire journalism with the dapper closing essay. I was deep into The New Yorker, Interview Magazine, 1990s-era Details, MAD Magazine and 1980s pop star mags like Tiger Beat, too — those were all an influence. I also loved philosophy, social theory and comics. And graphic novels. You know — college stuff. Then it hit me: If the magazine was for people like me, why not get actual college kids — not 50-year-olds — to create our content?

I suspected my ideas were what they were looking for and knew they’d look fresh compared to what other editors were throwing out, so I decided to take a risk. I got up at 2 a.m. and typed out a 20-page proposal for what I thought the Quarterly should be. The next morning, I faxed a copy to Mike. I left another on Sam’s desk.

About a (very anxious) week later, Sam called me into his office and told me to pick up his phone. Mike was on the other line. As I reached for the receiver, he leaned over to me and said, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I didn’t even have time to comprehend what that meant before Mike’s voice was in my ear. “Congratulations, kid,” he told me. “You get one shot.”

Shortly thereafter, I was promoted from Sam’s assistant to the completely green, 23-year-old editor-in-chief of the Quarterly. It was a Jerry Maguire moment. I was thrilled and terrified at the same time.

They gave me a month to put together a staff and get the first issue out. Bruce Weber was named as its exclusive photographer — he’d already been shooting ads and campaigns for Abercrombie — and Sam was the creative director. As for me, I knew I’d need an editorial staff, and stat.

HOLY SHIT, THERE ARE NO LIMITS

Abadsidis quickly throws together a team composed of two college buddies, Patrick Carone and Gary Kon, who he describes as “pretty funny and stuff.” Carone became the only straight guy on the editorial side. Kon is Jewish and gay. The three of them vow to stay as true to the idealized college experience as possible with their content — even if it means chasing white whales.

Abadsidis: I can’t remember the exact starting budget, but it was upwards of a few million, probably much larger than most magazines get for their first issue! But our budget was also Bruce’s budget. He was getting advertising money, so we were well taken care of in that regard.

We weren’t really expected to turn a profit, though. That was never the point. Come to think of it, I don’t even think we tracked how much the magazine impacted clothing sales, although from what I can remember, clothing sales bumped up double digits every quarter after we launched (for a while, at least). [This statement is unverified.] But that didn’t matter: Our mission was just to set the brand image and make people aware of us. That was our version of success. We were also our only advertiser for a while, so we could get away with a lot of stuff that other publications couldn’t.

Gary Kon, managing editor, 1997-2003: When Savas offered me the job, I jumped at the opportunity. I’d already interned for Sam, and I’d have to scan hundreds of Bruce Weber images that he shot for Abercrombie as part of the job. And I fell in love with his work. It was the visual connection that seduced me. Weber’s photos were like a new Greek mythology; the men and women depicted in the photos were both idealized and sexualized. As a gay kid, who was pretty comfortable by that time in my own skin, I had no problem recognizing the eroticism in his work.

Abadsidis: Me, Gary and Patrick was definitely something special. I don’t think I’ll ever have an opportunity to create anything like that again. I was a huge comic book fan. If I had to describe it, it’s the closest thing I’ll ever come to Stan Lee’s Marvel comics bullpen. Pretty much everyone I hired was super unique. We weren’t all gay (maybe half of us were) but few of us really adhered to the Abercrombie image.

I think Sean came on in 2001.

Sean T. Collins, managing editor, 2001-2003: I was a little skittish about it at first because Abercrombie & Fitch represented everything I was not. They marketed, almost exclusively, to the lacrosse players that called me names I cannot repeat. It was very preppy, and that was not me at all.

I was alternative, maaan. I was a big fan of Nine Inch Nails. I wore a lot of black. A&F was everything I wasn’t, and in a way, everything that had tormented me as a kid. The irony of me working for them was palpable, but what I learned very quickly was that at the Quarterly, you could do anything that you wanted.

One of my first articles was an interview with Clive Barker, the writer and director of Hellraiser (he also wrote Candyman). Now, if you’ve seen Hellraiser, you can imagine just how far of a departure a sadomasochistic horror film was from Abercrombie & Fitch, but getting him to sign on was easy. He’s gay, and at the time, he was super ripped. I think he appreciated the extravagant gayness of the Weber stuff in particular. He was also a photographer, and his husband was, too. I think he recognized what was going on with the photography.

We had an unlimited expense budget, so I took him out for drinks at the Four Seasons. I talked to him for hours, and then he invited me to go back to his house and hang out and see his art studio. He had three mansions in a row on Sunset in Los Angeles, up in the hills. One for his office, one for his actual domicile and one that was a painting studio. I got to see that. I was just a 23-year-old kid. This was my first job out of college, and I felt like Cameron Crowe from Almost Famous. After that, I was like, “Holy shit, there are no limits.”

Kon: I have to credit Savas with pushing us to work without limitations. We were very lucky. At some point during my tenure, I realized that as long as we worked within our (sizable) budget, we had almost full autonomy. We could plan trips to Hollywood to shoot our favorite actors. We could travel to Thailand to reenact our version of The Beach. We could tag along to London or Rome or wherever Bruce was shooting the catalog. We could stroll into the office at 11 a.m. and work until 11 p.m.

Collins: If I wanted to talk to Bettie Page, the pinup model from the 1950s, they’d be like, “Okay, sure.” If I wanted to feature Underworld, my favorite electronic music band, it was, “Sure, go ahead.” It was total editorial freedom, which was so strange knowing how specific of a person the “Abercrombie type was.” I’ve been writing for two decades now, and I’ve never experienced anything like it since.

Abadsidis: Everyone wanted to be in it, too. At first, it was just indie musicians. But then, in the second issue, we snagged Lil’ Kim. That’s when I knew we’d made it big. She was into it — she loved everything about the Quarterly. A lot of people did. The whole high-brow/low-brow thing was really appealing, and the idea of going to college, reading good books, getting drunk and having sex felt uniquely nostalgic and fresh in the context of America back then. Clinton was getting impeached for getting a blow job. It was just a weird, puritanical time, and the Quarterly gave people a national platform to let their freak flag fly.

We had Rudy Guiliani, early Britney Spears, Paula Abdul. There was the New York issue where we talked about the Harlem Renaissance. Spike Lee — one of my idols — asked me if he could be in it. He’d done advertising, you know? I remember him being like, “Yo, this is the deal. I’ve got to give you mad props. This is the dopest thing out right now, advertising-wise.”

We had big-time philosophers and literary figures, too. They were great. We wanted to mimic the experience of being in college and having your mind expanded, so we got writers like Bret Easton Ellis and Michael Cunningham on board. There was a whole Sex Ed issue plastered with musings from Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek, a friend of a professor’s from college. I believe Jonathan Franzen was in there, too.

Jonathan Franzen, award-winning novelist and essayist: I gave hundreds of interviews between 1997 and 2003, almost all of them at the request of various publishers. One of them must have thought it was a good idea to talk to A&F. The fact that I apparently did (I don’t remember it) signifies nothing except that I felt grateful to my publishers.

Collins: We got a lot of weirdos, too. John Edward, the guy who talked to dead people. Chuck Palahniuk, who wrote Fight Club. At the time, it didn’t have the meathead reputation that it does now. It was legitimately looked at as this piece of anti-corporate, anti-capitalist art, the irony of which was just delightful given that we were a capitalist brand trying to sell polo shirts and $90 ripped jeans.

Abadsidis: The only guy who refused an interview was Donald Trump! I have a feeling his 90-year-old secretary had something to do with it. Though we were technically a magalog and did belong to the brand, our stuff was just really visionary. David Keeps, who was the editor of Details at the time, always defended the Quarterly as a real magazine and publicly said that we were doing more innovative stories than most “real” magazines at a time.

ASPIRATIONAL HOMOEROTICS

It’s no secret that the photography and creative direction of Weber and Shahid contained homoerotic undertones. Irreverent, minimal and moody, it was suggestive without being literal, spinning entire storylines into a single frame. At the same time, it was too idealized to be “real.” The queerness that their photos showed was, as Collins puts it, “aspirational,” meaning that like the mostly white, ab-riddled models instructed to sell cargo shorts by taking them off, they didn’t necessarily represent the full reality of what queerness actually was.

Still, the photos that the Quarterly published during its seven-year run did more to normalize and represent queerness and non-monogamy than any other mainstream brand at the time — weird, considering that Abercrombie’s target market was hegemonic suburbanites whose parents bred genetically pure golden retrievers and had cabins in Vail. Without these photos, the Quarterly might have read more as a minor-league Esquire or Ivy League MAD Magazine, but with them, it became one of the least-discussed, most under-appreciated items queer history.

Collins: Our editorial content — which almost functioned as a parody of so-called “Abercrombie people” — was always accompanied by this extremely beautiful photography that was also extremely queer. But it was never explicitly so. It was all this nudge, nudge, wink, wink stuff. I don’t know how you could miss it, though. The homoeroticism was so overt.

Abadsidis: You’d have had to have been blind not to consider the imagery homoerotic (though, it was really in the eye of the beholder). We had the Carlson twins posing on the cover and riding a motorcycle. We had a drag queen named Candis Cayne. There was a lesbian couple kissing at a wedding.

Kon: David Sedaris, Gus Van Sant, Gregg Araki, Avenue Q, Stan Lee, Peaches, Fischerspooner… you could teach a queer theory class with everyone we featured.

Abadsidis: At the same time, we never labeled anything as “gay” or “lesbian” or “queer.” We never came out and said, “Welcome to our gay magazine!” and we never had a meeting where we were like, “Okay, guys, let’s figure out how to make this thing gay.” It was more nonchalant. The imagery implied it without saying it.

Hampton Carney, A&F Quarterly spokesperson, 1999-2003: The message we were sending was clear: “You do you, whatever that is. Have fun!”

Abadsidis: That was a very 1990s thing.

Collins: There was a specific brand of Abercrombie gayness that got shown, though. The word that they always used to describe Abercrombie as a brand was “aspirational.” They didn’t want to make it like an everyday, normal-people brand. They wanted it to be associated with money, glamour and that WASP-y aesthetic. So all the gay raunch of it was presented within the context of what appeared to be a very square, nuclear family: white, wealthy and secure.

At the same time, that was really when same-sex marriage was kicking off as a political issue. I think you can see a commonality in how Abercrombie was essentially making an argument that you could be a normie and also be gay. That was a newish thing at the time (though I’m barely an expert as I’m not gay myself). Still, I can’t help but see a resonance between coming up with this clandestine content that normalized being gay at the same time this big political fight that was brewing.

Maybe being more forward about it would have come across as “too political.”

Abadsidis: Part of me wishes we’d gone a little further with being more outwardly queer, but I don’t think the time was right. Maybe with a braver CEO — no one at the time was brave enough to take on queerness or gay rights as a mainstream brand, including us — and that’s why few people remember the Quarterly as the sort of transcendent queer thing that it was.

Kon: It’s never been credited as such, but the Quarterly is really an item of gay history. I don’t think we were pushing a “gay” or “metrosexual” lifestyle on people as much as we were showing that it already existed, even out in Middle America. Perhaps that’s what made people uncomfortable. We took that thread of counterculture and taboo that ran through the imagery and continued it into the editorial content. We dealt with topics like drinking, drugs, religion, politics and sex. Again, these are issues young people dealt with daily, but were rarely editorialized.

At Vassar, there was a yearly party called The Homo Hop. It was one of the biggest parties of the year and leaned on Vassar’s history as a women’s college. I bring this up because, on the night of my freshman Homo Hop, I was instructed that each student had to do something sexually that they had never done, and one drug that they had never done. It wasn’t that you had to be gay, but you had to experience something that was new and different. I think that translated well into the Quarterly. Yes, there were a bunch of gay guys writing and shooting and drawing images. But we were simply trying to expose Cargo Short Brett to ideas, images, artists, books, writers and directors that he may have never heard of before. Our shared experiences would become his.

Collins: It was culture jamming, really.

Abadsidis: It was also very “college” to be fluid or experimental without labeling it. I think it’s safe to say that college is one of the gayest places there is in life, maybe not sexually, but definitely in terms of having your mind expanded about different types of people.

Carney: I was in a frat. I’d see fraternity brothers streaking across campus together. It was never a big deal. There are a lot more people in the middle of either extreme of sexuality than people talk about. We’re not one and 10 — we’re one through 10, if you will. That kind of stuff has always happened on college campuses, and that’s the kind of mentality we had around sex. We just happened to editorialize it really beautifully.

Collins: There’s a Barbara Kruger print that reminds me of the mood we were trying to capture: It reads: “You construct intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men.” That’s basically what Abercrombie & Fitch was. It was an intricate ritual that allowed sunkissed lacrosse players to metaphorically touch the skin of other men.

Carney: You know what’s funny, though? It was never the gay stuff people had a problem with. It was everything else.

LET THE CONTROVERSIES BEGIN

For almost every moment of its seven-year life, The Quarterly was a controversial publication. Parents, politicians and conservative-types didn’t appreciate its no-holds-barred approach to rampant fucking, and they could not, for the life of them, understand how such an adult magazine was making its way into the hands of their precious teens (who were probably jacking off to dad’s Playboys long before the Quarterly came along, but I digress). There was approximately one year — 1997 — where the amount of people it pissed off stayed below a critical mass, but after a certain somebody published a story that vaguely suggested underage kids drink, it was off to the races.

Abadsidis: We got in our fair share of trouble with Christian groups and concerned parents right off the bat. Let’s take one of the earlier issues — I believe it was Summer of 1998. It was my story. Basically, I suggested that people could do better than beer and that they should “indulge in some creative drinking.” There was one drink I made up called the “Brain Hemorrhage” and a few others you could play a drinking game with. We also included a spinner insert people could cut out.

None of it had anything to do with driving, of course, but the issue was called “On the Road.” It was a sort of beat-focused, Jack Kerouac thing, so some people interpreted that as us promoting drunk driving (though we did nothing of the sort). Also, the kid on the cover was underage. He was 16, if I remember correctly. Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) didn’t like that.

Karolyn Nunnallee, vice president of public policy for MADD: We had been really focused on underage drinking and had been instrumental in getting the country’s legal drinking age raised to 21. Then Abercrombie & Fitch comes out with this weird magazine that basically said, “Don’t go back to college drinking the usual beer. We’re going to show you a new way to drink.”

Not only did they have this drinking game, but they had recipes for these mixed drinks for young people to partake in. I was like, “Abercrombie & Fitch? Aren’t they in the clothing business?” What in the world were they doing? I mean, they were a high-end brand, not Walmart. Why would they take their focus off of clothing and put it toward alcohol? Were their clothes not good enough that year or something?

Needless to say, we weren’t happy with them. Curse words were handed out. We sent a letter to them and started a whole media campaign about it. We went on as many news media outlets as we possibly could with the story of how incensed we were.

Abadsidis: I was sure I was going to get fired over that. We had to remove the page with the spinner out of every single issue across the country. We apologized, of course, but it ended up backfiring against the protesters — that incident gave us so much publicity. It put us on the map. It also made us a target for conservative types. They hated us. After MADD, boycotts of Abercrombie started flaring up all over the place. That’s around the time we hired Hampton to do PR.

Carney: It was my job, at the time, to defend the brand. I’d go on talk shows like Entertainment Tonight or Today Show and explain away our latest controversy (there were a lot). It wasn’t hard, actually; each time, I’d give them what was more or less my go-to response: “It’s a beautiful publication intended for college-aged kids.” And that was the truth! It was way ahead of its time and was absolutely meant for people 18 and up.

Though not everyone saw it that way. The sex and nudity really got to people. A lot of them definitely thought we were making porn. That was the constant complaint: We were deliberately putting porn in the hands of young kids.

Lever: The Quarterly featured about the same level of nudity as a European yogurt commercial. Which is to say, a lot. It was a “clothing catalog” with almost no clothing. Of course [American] people thought it was pornographic!

Carney: Okay, sure — there were photos of like, six girls in bed with one guy and more than a few spreads that enthusiastically suggested naked non-monogamy — but it wasn’t porn. It was tasteful. And let me tell you — nothing we had in there was surprising to kids.

Abadsidis: The models ranged from 16 to 20. It was erotic. It was art. I don’t think there’s anything pornographic about the Quarterly unless you think that nudity, in and of itself, is pornographic.

Illinois Lieutenant Governor Corinne Wood did, apparently. In 1999, she called for a boycott of Abercrombie & Fitch because its “Naughty or Nice” holiday issue “contained nudity” and “even an interview with a porn star.” That porn star was none other than Jenna Jameson, who at the time was well on her way to becoming a household name. A so-called “child prodigy” occupied the neighboring page, sparking accusations that the Quarterly somehow intended to connect children to porn.

A cartoon of Mr. and Mrs. Claus experimenting with S&M across from the statement “Sometimes it’s good to be bad” didn’t help, nor did the “sexpert” who offered advice on “sex for three” and told readers that going down on each other in a movie theater was acceptable “just so long as you do not disturb those around you.”

The Illinois Coalition of Sexual Assault joined Wood’s boycott. Later that year, Michigan attorney general (and eventual governor) Jennifer Granholm sent a letter to Abercrombie complaining that the “Naughty or Nice” issue contained sexual material that couldn’t be distributed to minors under state law.

Carney: There were four states that tried to ban us after that. I remember Granholm. She was my arch-nemesis at the time — we really got into it. I respected where she was coming from, of course, but our whole thing was that we weren’t showing anything that wasn’t actually happening on college campuses. And I’d already made it pretty clear to the press that the magazine wasn’t for minors.

Also, it’s not like we were the only magazine talking about or showing sex. You could find all the exact same stuff in Cosmo or Playboy — it’s just that we were a clothing brand, and one whose major customer base just so happened to be teens and young adults. No one expected that from us. Brands weren’t “supposed” to be talking about sex period, let alone to teens and young adults. But we took it upon ourselves to pioneer a more open, honest view of it. That’s the wrinkle that made it so interesting.

We did come to an agreement with Granholm. We decided to wrap the magazine in plastic and make it available for purchase only to those over 18, that way, it’d be even more clear that we weren’t “selling porn to the underage.”

Kon: I believe it was one of the few times the company acquiesced.

Collins: Other than that, don’t remember getting any instruction from Savas, Mike or Sam to tone it down. It was kind of mutually assumed that we weren’t going to apologize for the sexual nature of our content. We knew we had to keep things sexy, as it were — that was our whole thing.

We weren’t deliberately trying to piss off people, but we were trying to push the envelope, and there was definitely an element of deliberate trolling of conservatives and Christian groups. It was a good thing if we pissed them off. It created the controversy that made the brand seem edgy and dangerous, which is what you want if you’re trying to appeal to young people.

Carney: We were also just showing real things that happened at college. And as anyone who’s been to college knows, it’s not just about reading and writing papers. It’s also about sex. Not only that, of course, but we’re sexual beings. We respond to images that are sexual. We were trying to take the stigma away from that and acknowledge that it’s not a bad thing to do.

But no matter how clear we made it, our stance on sex polarized people more and more. I could tell, because almost as soon as I started speaking on behalf of the magazine, strange things started to happen to me. I got stalkers. People left me messages saying I was going to hell and I’d have no afterlife. I got hate mail to my house. One person left a package containing their dirty, stained underwear at the front door of my apartment with a note saying they’d be “coming by later” to “talk to me about it.” I had to call the police on that one.

I was the face of the publication, so I got the vast majority of the harassment. But I didn’t mind. It was my job to take the fall, and I heard and respected every single person’s complaint and talked to them about it. Plus, for every message I got banishing me to hell, I got another from a journalist or a fan begging me to save a copy for them. People collected them. They really loved it, precisely because it was so sexual.

Abadsidis: Mike didn’t flinch about any of this stuff. He wanted to defend it because he could see it was working. We weren’t about to tone anything down (at the time).

Flash-forward to June 2001. The Twin Towers are still standing tall, tips are being frosted and Apple has just unleashed iTunes onto an unsuspecting populace. A&F Quarterly, now in its fourth year, is in hot water once again. Having survived a number of boycotts, lawsuits and controversies since its inception, it’s now in the midst of weathering another minor national conniption over its use of nudity.

Jeannine Stein, describing the Summer 2001 issue in an excerpt from a Los Angeles Times article called “Nudity? A&F Quarterly Has It Covered”: [It’s] explicit in ways that most catalogs and fashion magazines are not, and its use of male nudity is uncommon among general-interest publications. It features 280 pages of young, attractive men and women alone and together, in serious, romantic, sexual and party modes, wearing lots of A&F clothes, some A&F clothes and sometimes no clothes at all. Among the coffee-table book-ish photos by Bruce Weber is a man, covered only by a towel, surrounded by five women; a woman at the beach reclining body-to-body with three men; a back view of a naked man getting into a helicopter (we haven’t quite figured that one out yet); and a few topless females.

There are many naked butts and breasts.

Abadsidis: We also had photos of nude women in a fountain — which were inspired by Katharine Hepburn skinny-dipping at Bryn Mawr College — and a whole set dedicated to the Berkeley student that spent a day naked in class. It was par for the course for us, but even though we’d done the whole shrink-wrap and over-18 thing, people still felt it was too sexual for branded content.

In response, an unexpected alliance formed between cultural conservatives and anti-porn feminists to boycott Abercrombie & Fitch over the Summer 2001 issue of A&F Quarterly. According to Wikipedia, the offending issue included “photographs of naked or near-naked young people frolicking on the beach,” “top-naked young women and rear-naked young men on top of each other” and an “interview with porn star Ron Jeremy, who discussed performing oral sex on himself and using a dildo cast from his own penis.” Once again, Wood was at the helm.

David Crary, journalist, excerpt from a 2001 Associated Press article: Illinois Lt. Gov. Corinne Wood — a Republican who has been sparring with A&F since 1999 — announced the boycott campaign last week in Chicago. She has recruited a diverse mix of supporters more familiar with facing off against each other than with working together.

Wood, writing on her website in 2001: A&F is glamorizing indiscriminate sexual behavior that unsophisticated teenagers are not possibly equipped to weigh against the dangers of date rape, unplanned pregnancies and sexually transmitted disease.

Michelle Dewlen, president of the Chicago chapter of the National Organization for Women, speaking at one of Woods’ press conferences in 2001: It’s not a catalog. It’s a soft porn magazine.

Rev. Bob Vanden Bosch, head of Concerned Christian Americans, as quoted by the AP: It’s very important for people to get involved. The exploitation of sex and young people in A&F’s catalog isn’t only atrocious but also a psychological molestation of their teenage customers.

Quart: It was predatory in a few ways, really. One was that it confused the corporate identity of Abercrombie and the advertising with the editorial. It preyed on young consumers not understanding the difference between editorial content and sales content. Back then it led, I saw, to a way that girls were objectifying themselves and commodifying themselves. It ultimately led to boys also objectifying themselves and commodifying themselves — not to the same extent, but far more than they were when I started reporting Branded a little more than two decades ago.

I have the stats on the male body image dysmorphia at the time in Branded (which has only worsened). Then, male body shaming and “manorexia” was on the rise, for the first time on a mass scale. It couldn’t help for the most popular brand at the time to have a dedicated giant glossy magazine filled with pictures of male teenagers with zero body fat half undressed.

Abadsidis: I mean, sure, as much as any advertising does. It wasn’t like we were leading that charge. Any effect on self-image was certainly unintentional, but I do think it did make people want to be athletic. You definitely saw a lot of guys trying to look like that during that period, especially as time went on. If you look at the first few issues, the guys aren’t that built. Ashton Kutcher was actually in the second one — that was his first big break — and they get increasingly more cut from there. That whole era is when men’s body issues started to come out.

Lever: I’d also submit that all this was controversial because it was pre-internet. The internet mainstreamed sexual content in a way that makes A&F or other “scandalous” ad campaigns (like the 2003 Gucci ad with the model’s pubes shaved into the shape of a G) seem quaint, even obsolete. Like, do you remember that Eckhaus Latta ad a few years ago that scandalized people for five minutes because it showed people having real (albeit pixelated) sex? Neither does anyone else.

SLAVOJ ŽIŽEK TEACHES SEX ED

Always filled with philosophy, social theory and intellectually minded topics that likely soared over the heads of most Abercrombie consumers, the Quarterly outdid itself in the Fall of 2003 with its penultimate issue. A gorgeous romp of summer-spirited abandon accompanied by some delightfully incoherent, Dada-like musings from Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek, it connected a “back-to-school” theme with a pretty clear directive to fuck. Yet, the information it presented was actually rather safe and tame, a reality which confused and irritated Quarterly staff. Their content was legit, so why was everyone up in arms?

Abadsidis: The “Sex Ed” issue was the second to last one that we did. It got some of the most criticism, and was supposedly the reason everything was finished. I literally had stuff in there cited straight from the University of Michigan’s freshman student handbook on sexual conduct, and it still pissed people off! Then, of course, there was Žižek.

Lever: Žižek identifies as a radical leftist. He’s very famous for his work on cultural theory and critical theory. He analyzes all kinds of topics in his signature, impenetrable — but also approachable — style. And when I think of him, I think of his very distinctive manner of speaking, that some people have described as being on cocaine constantly. But he’s definitely kind of a cult figure, a favorite of people who consider themselves highbrow, but also fun.

He’s really touted as the greatest anti-capitalist of our time, and yet, here he was, “sexually educating” the mean girls and boys of your high school, in a brand catalog whose entire goal was to ensnare young people for the purpose of selling them distressed jeans.

According to the magazine’s foreword, the editor wrote to Žižek and said this: “Dear Slavoj, enclosed please find the images for our back to school issue. We’ve never had a philosopher write the text for our images before, so write what you like. We’re looking for that Karl Marx meets Groucho Marx thing you do so well. Thanks, Savas.”

Abadsidis: I love Slavoj. He was friends with one of my professors from school. He only had 24 hours to write this, so we actually sent someone to London where he was to drop off the images we wanted him to write text for. They hung out for a day and then flew back with what he’d written.

Lever: It was basically a series of insane, absurdist ramblings pasted over really hot naked people.

Žižek, excerpt from A&F Quarterly’s 2003 Sex Ed issue: Back to school thus means forget the stupid spontaneous pleasures of summer sports, of reading books, watching movies and listening to music. Pull yourself together and learn sex.

Lever: I mean, that’s like the first episode of every teen TV show, where these three nerdy boys start high school and they’re like, “Okay, we’re going to be cool this year guys. We’re going to lose our virginities.” It’s very formulaic. But there’s more.

Žižek: The only successful sexual relationship occurs when the fantasies of the two partners overlap. If the man fantasizes that making love is like riding a bike and the woman wants to be penetrated by a stud, then what truly goes on while they make love is that a horse is riding a bike… with a fantasy like that, who needs a personality?

Lever: The “go learn sex at school” part really struck a nerve with conservatives. But I don’t think it was that transgressive. Fourteen-year-olds are receiving messages to have sex all the time — what did it matter if some Eastern European anti-capitalist was hitting them over the head with it through the pages of a polo shirt advert?

Abadsidis: Fox News got involved, if I remember correctly. That was one of the few times I actually got pissed off about how an issue was being covered. I mean, the information in there was handed out to students by an actual university. Half the issue was quotes from this really influential philosopher. But for some reason, people really took offense to the language of it. That whole year [2003] was just a bad one for us.

THE LAST HORNY CHRISTMAS

For its final trick, the Quarterly released a holiday issue featuring 280 pages of “moose, ice hockey, chivalry, group sex and more.” It had oral sex, group sex, sex in a river, Christmas sex and pretty much every other type of sex you could think of, all which followed an earnest letter from Abadsidis which read: “We don’t want much this year, but in keeping with the spirit, we’d like to ask forgiveness from some of the people we’ve offended over the years. If you’d be so kind, please offer our apologies to the following: the Catholic League, former Lt. Governor Corrine Wood of Illinois, the Mexican American Legal Defense and Education Fund, the Stanford University Asian American Association, N.O.W.”

But the issue didn’t really hit. By fall 2003, Abercrombie was involved in a number of lawsuits and protests related to exclusion and discrimination, which left people cold despite the inviting warmth of a crackling, fireside circle jerk (a Weber offering which, I’m told, can be found on page 88 of the final issue).

Cole Kazdin, journalist, writing in a 2003 Slate article called “Have Yourself a Horny Little Christmas”: The challenge for me, when masturbating with my friends to the nubile nudies in the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, is trying not to think about serious things like racial diversity; it tends to kill the mood. But because most of the models in the catalog are white and because a lawsuit has been filed against the clothing retailer for allegedly discriminating against a Black woman who applied for a job at the store, it’s hard for the issue not to rear its nonsexy head. [In 2004, Abercrombie also agreed to pay $40 million to settle a lawsuit that accused the company of promoting whites over Latino, Black, Asian-American and female applicants.]

Collins: As a brand, Abercrombie did a lot of things that were quite gross. I’m sure you remember when they came out with these T-shirts with these racist stereotype characters on them. You would just see it in the catalog and just be like, “Jesus Christ.” It was awful and stupid and self-defeating, just tone deaf. And we just couldn’t figure out how no one at the company saw the problem with it.

Stagg, excerpt from Sleeveless: Kids in my high school wore shirts that read, “Wok-n-Bowl” and “Wong Brothers Laundry Service: Two Wongs Can Make It White,” accompanied by cross-eyed propaganda-style cartoons. If you weren’t part of the in-crowd (and white), A&F was oppressive. Non-jocks made their own anti-A&F T-shirts, using the brand as a catchall for exclusionary, competitive behavior and old-fashioned bullying.

Carney: That stuff was indefensible, really. Those were the darkest days of my job — listening to calls and reading letters about how offensive those shirts were. Even though the Quarterly was quite separate from the brand and we had no influence over what they did or what clothes they designed, we did still have to print their stuff at the back of the magazine. It was pretty uncomfortable.

Stagg: By 2006, Mike Jeffries’ most controversial public statement on sex appeal was really just saying what we were all thinking: “Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.” Those remarks were followed by lawsuit after lawsuit, mostly involving staffing discrimination. An announcement about the store refusing to carry anything over a size 10 reportedly marked a noticeable decrease in sales.

Abadsidis: There were a lot of underlying problems at the company. The amount of negative press Abercrombie was getting was getting silly. No matter what we did, we’d end up in the news, especially if it was related to the Quarterly. After so many bad news incidents, it just felt done, like its moment had passed. It was bound to crash at some point.

Gina Piccalo, excerpt from the Los Angeles Times: Clothing retailer Abercrombie & Fitch has pulled its controversial in-store catalogs after outraged parents, conservative Christian groups and child advocates threatened a boycott over material they said was pornographic. However, a company spokesman said the move had nothing to do with the public outcry. The catalogs were pulled to make room near cash registers for a new Abercrombie & Fitch fragrance.

Abadsidis: People like to think that the boycotts and Christian protests had something to do with it, but that wasn’t the case at all. By 2003, Abercrombie’s stock was low — something to do with ordering too much denim. The store was having negative sales for the first time. There was the line in the New York Times, who covered our demise, that Mike was “bored” with it.

Collins: We had no warning. We were all there one day, and the next, we were gone.

Lever: The Quarterly was a relic of a different time. I feel like it could never have been made after 2008 for so many reasons — economic, and cultural and political. It would just never fly. It was made before feminism pervaded everything, at a time where you could be completely flagrant about gross patriarchal shit and still get away with it.

It was kind of like this last gasp of a certain conception of what’s desirable — a very hegemonic coolness exemplified by white Ivy League frat kids who got fucked up the night before their philosophy class. That doesn’t have much currency anymore. Abercrombie kept that image on life support until its last gasp.

Now, 20 years later, what’s cool is not that. What’s cool is to have depression and ADD. The ideal is out. The real is in. And the Quarterly, having always existed in the liminal space between, is neither here nor there.

EPILOGUE

In 2008, Abercrombie resurrected the Quarterly in the U.K. for a limited-run special edition to celebrate the success of its European stores. The original team was reunited — Abadsidis, Shahid and Weber — with the hopes that Britain’s more “open-minded approach to culture and creativity” would provide a welcoming substrate on which to re-grow their original ideas of sexual liberation. The issue, “Return to Paradise,” was “more mature” than its American cousin. It was well-received — aside from the usual protests about sex and nudity — but it wasn’t continued.

Two years later, in 2010, the Quarterly was revived again, this time as a promotional element for Abercrombie’s Back-to-School 2010 marketing campaign, which bore the unfortunate title of “Screen Test.” The lead story Abercrombie put out on its website sounded like a cross between American Idol and a gay porn shot: “The staff of A&F Studios opens up to editorial to explain the steps the division takes to find new, young, hot boys. The cattle-call approach to herd young talent ends with the best of the beefcake earning a screen test that ‘could be the flint to spark the trip to the star.’”

Bruce Weber would be shooting, of course. This would become especially ominous after he was accused of a series of casting-couch style sexual assaults by 15 male models beginning in 2017. According to the accusations, he subjected them to sexually manipulative “breathing exercises” and inappropriate touching, insinuating that he could help their careers if they complied.

Arick Fudali, a lawyer at the Bloom Firm, which represents five of Weber’s alleged victims, declined to confirm or deny whether any of the alleged assaults happened on a Quarterly shoot. If they did, they’re not prosecutable as sexual assaults in New York. Because the states’s statute of limitations on reporting rape is only three years, anything that happened during the Quarterly’s run wouldn’t count toward a sexual assault charge (unless a minor was involved, which Fudali also declined to confirm).

No one I spoke with for this story remembers seeing, hearing or experiencing anything like what the allegations against Weber describe, but some expressed concern over how they might affect the legacy the Quarterly leaves behind. “The accusations are pretty grim,” Collins told me. “You feel for the people who are put in that position. People had power over them. It just makes you think, ‘Was any of this worth it?’ Not really, if people were getting hurt.”

As such, it’s difficult to conclude with definitive sign-off about the Quarterly’s legacy. Either it was a bastion of progressive and transversive sexuality that simultaneously trolled and nourished the very audience it sought to mine, or it was the product of darkness and pain. Either way, Sockel sums it up just right: “The Quarterly was discontinued in 2003, after the American Decency Association boycotted photos of doe-eyed bare-assed jocks in prairies and glens,” he wrote in his recollection. “It was nice while it lasted.”

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thewildomega · 4 years

Text

Doughnut of lies Ch. 5

Feeling blood drip from your mouth and run down your chin to fall into the large puddle on the floor you blinked slowly and listened to the two men talk outside of the room.

"Are you questioning my decisions?" the man that had been beating you for the past... you didn't even know how long it had been... said in an annoyed voice

"No! No boss all I am saying is well the girl isn't talking. She hasn't said one thing about the Big Mom pirates. She's ain't gonna hold up much longer so maybe we should just cut our losses and sell her..."

"Sell her?! Do you know how much treasure Big Mom has on her island?!"

"Yea but that girl's an omega, they go for a high price, I ain't seen no claiming mark on er' either. An unclaimed omega is rare, more rare than even mermaids..."

Hearing the other male hum you closed your eyes, God you'd rather die than be someone's slave. Just kill me. Please just let me die.

"If the bitch doesn't talk by the end of the day we'll sell her."

"Yes boss."

Looking up when the door opened you glared at the male who narrowed his eyes at you.

"I'm guessing you heard all that?" he huffed. When she still didn't answer he shook his head and grabbed her small neck in his hand. "So what's it gonna be girl? You tell me what I want to know and I'll let you go."

Lies. All of it was lies, even if you told him what he wanted to know he would still sell you. You weren't stupid like he thought you were. Besides even if Big Mom wasn't the nicest person she had still taken you in and her children were your friends, you would never betray them. You would never betray the man you loved. Spitting blood on his face you heard the deep growl leave his throat as his hand tightened around your neck.

"You've done it now bitch." he growled. Pulling his knife from his belt he held it up for her to see before he dragged it down her breastbone, leaving a bloody trail and cutting up the front of her shirt.

Gritting your teeth you tried to hold back your cry of pain, your eyes closing tightly. When he stopped the knife at your diaphragm you tried to breath in as much as you could with his hand squeezing your throat.

"If you beg I just might forgive y...AHH!"

Swinging your foot up you kicked him in the groin as hard as you could, taking in a sharp breath when he released his hold on your neck to fall to his knees. Whimpering at the intense agony in your chest from what you assumed was your many broken ribs you looked down at him and grit your teeth. Wrapping your hands around the chains connecting your cuffs to the ceiling you lifted you used all your strength to lift your body up, giving your leg the momentum to land a hard kick to his back. Out of energy you let go and dropped back down to your feet, your toes barely touching the floor as your body swung a little.

Groaning and growling the man pushed himself up from the floor, his balls throbbing along with his middle back. Looking to the omega with fire in his eyes he moved over to grab the wooden cane from the corner.

Seeing him swing the cane through the air you closed your eyes tight and thought of Katakuri.

....................................

Sitting in the office of his mother's old cremate he kept his eyes closed. Marco, Whitebeard's second in command had come into the room a little over an hour ago and showed them that only a small corner of y/n's vivre card was left and still burning away. She was dying and the knowledge made him feel sick to his stomach, like someone was squeezing his heart. Over the past two days both ships had been sailing in the direction her card said she was in and he and her father had spent most of the time talking about her. He had admitted to denying her when she had finally found him, sending her away and threatening to kill her if he ever saw her again. It had taken everything in his power not to attack the man then and there. He knew how much it meant to y/n to find her father, how long she had been looking. There was no doubt she had been crushed by his rejection and he was sure to let the man know as much, not feeling sorry at all for the guilt clouding the huge male's eyes.

"How did you meet her? How did she end up with you Charlottes?" Whitebeard asked the young alpha sitting in the chair with his legs and arms both crossed and his eyes closed.

Sighing slowly he kept his eyes closed as he thought back to that night over twenty years ago. "She found me hiding from slavers in the shed, we got in a fight and she beat me up pretty good. When they came for me she hid me in their house." he wouldn't tell the man that she was the first only person who ever smiled at him, who never belittled him because of his mouth, how she was his only friend. "She somehow convinced her mother to allow us to stay with them until mama came back..."

"You knew Selena?" Whitebeard asked.

"For only a short time. She was already very sick when we came along. She was mostly bedridden and stayed in her room where y/n cared for her." he told the male and saw the man's brow furrow. He had told him how he hadn't known about y/n, how he had thought his mate had been killed.

"How old was she, y/n?"

"Five, almost six."

She was so young, too young to be taking care of her dying mother. It should have been him, he should have been there.

"She passed about a month or so later. When mama came to get us I... we took her with us. We have been together ever since."

Humming he looked down, looking again at the pictures that had been bundled together with the stack of old letters he had written to his dear Selena. Most were aged but he could see his mate in them, along with a little girl, his pup. The first one was of Selena sitting in a bed, she looked tired but a smile was on her face as she held what he assumed was their newborn daughter in her arms. A few others were of Y/n was a baby and small child. His favorite was the picture of his mate and pup sitting in the grass, flowers around them. Selena was sitting back, resting on her hands while what had to be a three or four year old y/n laid in the grass by her legs, a large, carefree smile on her face and her blonde hair, hair she had gotten from him forming a halo around her head. Looking the the last one he saw it was a close up picture of the both of them, only their faces in the picture and y/n's little arms making him think she had taken it. Selena was smiling softly but her eyes looked so tired, so weak. The boy in front of him, Katakuri had said she was sick, she was already dying in this picture. Quickly swallowing the knot in his throat he closed his eyes. The guilt that his omega had been sick and he wasn't there to take care of her weighted heavily on him. Always he felt like a failure for not being there to protect her when he thought she had been killed but to now know she had died slowly while their daughter, a little omega herself was forced to care for her, to take on the responsibility which was his made him feel less than dirt. Opening his mouth to speak he was cut off by a loud knocking on his door.

Snapping his eyes over to the large door he saw Marco throw it open.

"Pops I think we got her. That ship, if I'm not mistaken, I think it's the Reaper Pirates." he told his old man.

Hearing this the massive man quickly stood from the chair and hurried out onto deck, Katakuri right behind him. Looking out in front of them, just on the horizon he saw the black ship with black sails and growled.

"Who are the Reaper Pirates?" Katakuri asked Marco when he heard alpha growl.

"A bunch of horrible people. Slavers, murders, rapist, you name it. They don't care who they hurt so long as they make out in the end. If they've got her then it isn't going to be good." Marco told him honestly. Holding the small bit of paper out for the large male to take.

Taking the paper from Marco he saw it was only as big as his thumb nail now and grit his teeth. Looking back towards the ship that the woman he loves could be on he felt his heart hammer in his chest. Remembering what Nebula had said about an unclaimed omega going for a high price he grit his teeth.

.....................................

You were so cold, your arms were numb from being chained above your head and holding your weight for so long. You wished you could say the rest of your body was numb as well, at least then you wouldn't be in so much pain. Every breath you took felt like your chest was being stabbed with a bunch of needles. Blinking slowly you had to fight to open your eyes, they felt so heavy. How much longer would this last? When would it end? Closing your eyes again you heard what sounded like cannons but you couldn't will your eyes to open anymore. Things were starting to get muffled sounding now, yelling, it sounded like yelling... you were so tired. Sleep. You just wanted to sleep. Sleep and dream. Dream of him.

...................................

He was the first one on the ship, using his devil fruit to fly across to the deck. Using anything he could he started cutting down man after man. Their bullets went through him with no problem, hitting the men behind him. He heard as Whitebeard yelled but he paid him no mind. As soon as he had seen the boxes and crates from Toto land he knew they were the ones that had attacked y/n's ship. Seeing the Captain run out of his cabin he growled at sight of the man adorned with y/n's sword. He gave him no time to attack, throwing his spear through the air and into the man's chest just as he saw his legs change into what looked like those of a frog. Being pinned to the wall he walked over to him and wrapped his hand around the man's throat. "Where is she?" he growled.

"Where's who?" he chuckled, blood staining his lips.

Gritting his teeth he shoved the trident into the man completely and watched him die. Ripping y/n's sword from his side he tossed it to one of his men, "Take it to my cabin." he told him and saw the man nod.

Glancing to the sword Katakuri had handed over he recognized it as Selena's old one and looked to his crew, "Search the ship, find her." he told them. The ship wasn't made for his size, nor that of the Charlotte but the young alpha was quick to duck down and go bellow deck in search of y/n. It angered him to know he couldn't help look for her but the least he could do was make every man on this ship pay.

Hurrying down the stairs he easily killed any person that dared stop him. Looking over every space he saw no sign of her. Squeezing down to the haul of the ship he kicked open doors, looking over storage rooms and such. Getting to the end of the hall he got to a thick wooden door with a bolt lock. Quickly unlocking it he threw open the door and what he saw made him almost fall to his knees and he would have if he hadn't fell tot he door frame instead. Oh God NO! His whole body trembled as he hurried over to her. There was so much blood. She was covered in it, her skin, her clothes, her hair. It was puddled on the floor, staining the wooden boards a dark red. Her clothes were torn, hanging on her small frame only by pieces here and there. Looking down to the sea prism cuffs holding her body up he swallowed hard at the raw, bloody skin under them. Her tiny fingers, the only part of her not smeared in blood were a light blue from holding her weight for so long. Swallowing hard he looked the room over for the keys but didn't see any. Hearing someone behind him he commanded for them to find the keys.

"Y..yes sir..." the person said quickly before scrambling away.

While waiting he gently, his hands shaking reached out to cup her head in his palm, tilting it up so he could look at her. Seeing the deep bruises littering her beautiful face he grit his teeth. Blood ran from her nose and mouth, along with the large cut on her cheek. Her eye was slightly swollen shut as well. At first glance she would almost be unrecognizable. Licking his lips he looked her over, "Y/n? Y/n wake up. Come on sweetheart look at me, open those pretty eyes." he said in a deep low voice.

There was a voice, a soothing deep voice. It was calling to you. Something warm was touching your face and that smell, vanilla and leather. You knew that voice, that smell but it couldn't be him, he couldn't be here. Trying to open your eyes you just couldn't lift your heavy lids, you didn't have the strength, you couldn't even move your lips to say his name.

Her eyes didn't open but he did hear a barely audible whimper leave her busted lips and it sent a aching pain straight to his heart, made something in him come alive. "I got you sweetheart, you are going to be alright." he said, wither it was to her or himself he didn't know. Hearing boots running towards him he looked back to see the man from his crew standing there with the keys in hand. Snatching them from him he quickly started unlocking the chains around her wrists. Trying to hold her to him and unlock the cuffs he saw as Marco hurried towards him, helping to unlock the cuffs while he held Y/n in his arms. Once her arms were free he felt her entire body fall limp but he was there to catch her. Holding her in the crook of his arm he watched as Marco's hand moved towards her and he growled in warning.

"Calm down Charlotte, I am a doctor." he told the alpha male and heard his growl stop but his noticed his body still tense. Feeling her pulse he knit his brows. "Her pulse if fading, we need to get her back on the ship quickly." he told him.

Without another word he was rushing out of the haul of the ship with her cradled to his chest. As soon as they reached the deck he saw the emperor's eyes shoot to him and then down to the battered omega in his arms, his face contorting into one of pure fear and anger.

"Come on we have to hurry." Marco called already going up the gangplank.

With a nod from Whitebeard he followed the male to the room that was designated for medic. Laying her small body on the large bed he watched as the other male started moving about, grabbing this and that. Seeing a woman come into the room as well and start helping Marco he guessed she was his assistant or a nurse of some sorts. He could only stand there in a frozen state, staring at her near lifeless body. With the lights in the room he could now see more of the damage that littered her body. Her shirt was cut open, almost revealing her breasts. If it would have been under any other circumstance he would be a blushing mess right now but seeing her skin stained red and black he felt nothing but worry.

"She has lost too much blood, she will need a transfusion. Do you know what blood type she is?" Marco asked the male who seemed to be in a state of shock. "Charlotte."

Snapping his eyes to the male he blinked to focus. "Ah yes she... she is XF." With a nod he saw them set up the IV, watching as they cleaned away a part of her arm.

"She's too dehydrated...I can't find a vein."

"I'll have to do a central line." Marco said, moving to grab the things he needed. "I need you to go outside."

Looking to the male he knit his brows, "I am not going an..."

"I can't risk her getting an infection, it will kill her. You are also in the way. You can wait outside and when I know something I will send Nina out to get you."

Looking from the male back to the omega and he took a deep breath. Nodding he took one last look at her before he left the room. Getting outside he saw a few chairs in the small room and took a seat in them. Looking down he saw blood on his hands, arms and chest. Her blood. Closing his eyes he tried to steady his heart. He had swore the day Brulee had gotten hurt that he would get stronger, that he would always be there to protect the people he loved. He hadn't kept true to his word though because the woman he loved deeply was in the other room, on the brink of death and he hadn't been there to help her. Even now he was unable to help her. Clenching his fists he made a promise to never let her get hurt again. Hearing a door open he looked first to the one she was behind and saw it still closed. Glancing left he saw Whitebeard coming through entrance. The large male closed the door behind him before moving to sit in one of the other chairs. Not a word was said, there was nothing to say. All they could do was wait.

........................................

Hours later, long into the night the door to the medical room opened and he snapped his eyes open to see a tired looking Marco walk out, wiping his hands on a towel.

Looking to both men he took a deep breath before starting. "She is stable. I'm not going to sugar coat it, she's in rough shape. She was beat, I'm guessing by that cane that was in the room with her. Her body is littered with cuts and bruises as well as some nasty welts. She has many broken or cracked ribs, as well as her cheekbone. I pulled a bullet out of her shoulder and a few large splinters out of her thigh and hip. I am guessing it has been at least a good week possibly more since she has eaten anything and considering how dehydrated she was I'd probably say they didn't give her any water either. Lastly she has a mild concussion and the ligaments in her shoulders and wrists have been torn from holding her weight for so long. I've healed her the best I can for today, she's too weak for me to do anymore and I don't want to push her but I will do more tomorrow. It will take time but she should make a full recovery."

Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding he closed his eyes. "Thank you." he said and saw the male give him a small smile and nod. "Can I see her?"

"Sure, just give Nina a moment, she is getting her cleaned up a bit."

Nodding he saw the male go to stand by his captain, the two of them speaking softly. It didn't talk long until the woman came out and he was allowed inside. Walking over to her bedside he looked down at her and closed his eyes, she was covered in bandages. But, she was alive and that was all that mattered. Lifting his hand he brushed her hair back some.

Watching the young alpha with his daughter he took a deep breath. "My daughter, what is she to you?"

"Everything."

#charlotte katakuri #one piece katakuri #Katakuri x reader #Katakuir fanfiction #Alpha Katakuri x omega reader #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction

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skippysartq · 3 years

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Yokai - Ushiten Fic part 1

"It has been rumoured many generations that a very special Yokai live here in this part of the shrine. His name is Tendou Satori the fire beast Yokai.

He was known as strange person that lived just outside of the village all by himself at 16 as his family had left one day, leaving him behind with any word.

It is told that he defended the village, with his fantastic Sword skills, from a beast that went rampaging and exploded with the beast in a blaze.

Some have claimed to have seen him in the dead of night only one night every 3 years, roaming around looking for something but no one ever know what.

So that's why we have this festival on that very day every 3 years to honour his sacrifice and bravery to protect the village."

A multitude of small hands clapping together, everyone's eyes wide in awe at the story behind the Fire beast Yokai festival "That can't be true." the child sitting next to me says leaning back on his hands. I turn to look at him, scruffy Grey with black tipped hair and brown eyes stares back. "You don't believe it do you.. Uh?" he points to me, before I speak quietly.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi." I answered his unspoken question. "And I don't particularly believe it unless I was to see him, but it is a nice story regardless." I finished my reply to him as his face lit up. "Alright everyone you can go to lunch now." the kindergarten teacher called to the class of children riled up from such a exciting story, most of them would probably try to go find the Yokai on the day of the festival tomorrow.

"Oh, My name is Semi Eita. Nice to me you Ushijima." we stand up to follow everyone outside, we shake hands. My face remains the same as it always is. Semi's head tilts to the side giving me a confused look. "You don't smile much do you Ushijima?" he asked as we made our ways to the playground near by the shrine as they were on a school trip to learn about the special day. "Is that a problem?" I asked he only smiles more as we walk around just talking. "Nah it's okay, you don't have to smile for someone to tell weather you are having fun." he started again. "Sometimes all you have to do is just look in their eyes and you can just tell what they are feeling." I nod as a response, still walking not knowing where we are going.

I thought for a moment. 'Maybe Semi will be my friend.' and I got the courage to ask. "Would you like to come play Volleyball with me Semi?" I asked hopefully, looking at him still beside me. His eyes widen from what could only be excitement and shock. "You play Volleyball too." he said yes he was shocked. I nodded again. "Then yeah let's go Ushijima!" he says taking my hand and running over to the slab of concrete near the shrine. Ushijima a pulls out a Volleyball from his bag and throws it over to Semi.

The two of them had as much fun playing with a volleyball as they could with only two people. Soon it was time for them to leave. "It's time to go home. Hey Ushijima do you want to hang out at the Festival tomorrow? We can meet at the Shrine." Semi says walking with me ask we both began walking home.

"Are you curious about The fire beast Yokai?" I asked turn to him hold keeping a hole of my backpack. He slightly nods. "Actually yeah, I just want to prove whether he is real or not." Semi says at matter of factly. "Okay Semi, I'll see you there then." Semi smiled back at Me and pointed out. "Wow you can smile Ushi!" Semi grins more.

*The next day*

"Come on Wakatoshi! We are leaving now!" The voice of my farther called from the door were him, and my mother and grandmother stood waiting for me to put my shoes on. I follow them holding grandma's hand to the shrine where the festival is being held. It was all so pretty, the design of the decorations that were flames and pretty red flowers made it feel so warm, lights strung up alone all the food stalls and games glowing a orange and yellows.

The street that always seemed to empty, was now so lively, there were people everywhere. "Wow isn't this lovely?" Grandma looked down at me in her pretty pink flower pattern kimono, with matching Flower pin in her grey hair. "Yes it is." I responded simply to her as we all kept walking avoiding the others around us some other children running around laughing together. Soon my mother chimed in, "Why don't we get something to eat, Wakatoshi what do you want?" she asked, it was always easy to answer, because I always chose my favourite food. "Hayashi Rice." I say with out hesitation. "Oh but you all ways have that, what about something different for once dear." Grandma stopped in front of me. "But I like it!" I tell her, she only sighs chuckling. "You will get sick of it one day if that's all you eat Wakatoshi-chan." she warned, I stare at her mentally telling her I wasn't going to change my mind. "How about this. We will try find a stall that sells it, while you go play some games with you dad. Okay and if we can't find it, we'll get you some tokoyaki balls instead, okay." my mother says again. I gave up nodding to her and dad takes my hand from Grandma and we walk away to some stalls there are all kinds of games to play. Ring toss, water balloon filling and dart games too, all with toys and plushies most of which were themed around the festivals purpose. Some were Pokémon and all kinds of Anime characters, and some were sports mascot including the Mascot for volleyball, I have lots of those at home. But there were also The beast from the story and a plush toy that looked like the hero with his sword. "Ushijima!" I heard a voice behind us, my dad and I both look over our shoulder to see, Semi running through the crowd with a lady beside him. I wave to him and the eventually join us. "Hello, Semi!"

"Oh is this a friend of yours Wakatoshi?" my dad looks to Semi. "Yes we meet at the shrine yesterday." I tell him simply. "This is the friend you wanted to meet Eita, do you want to go play some games with him, if that's alright with his dad?" a tall lady with grey hair similar to Semi's says directed at my dad, who smiled telling it was fine. She walks off after telling him where to meet after they were done. Waving goodbye.

Soon we walked around together. Dad pointed out to a few games and we played them, and well all I can say was that either of us ever won at any of them, but it didn't upset me at all. But Semi lost his temper at some before we moved on to the next. "One more game before we will go find you mother and grandma okay?" he says to me, I smile up at my dad, nodding.

We got to the last one we wanted to try and we won, I got a bag tag of the volleyball mascot. Because you can never have to much of a one thing. And Semi got a plushie of the fire beast. Soon we met back up with Mine and Semi's mum, they got to met and exchanged contacts. Grandma took my hand walking away from my mum and dad as I heard them raise their voices at each other.

"Oh, can we go to the shrine now to, see if he will show up!" Semi says to his mother excitedly. She chuckles telling him he can and he takes my hand saying we would be back soon. We made our way over to the shrine where we were the previous day. "Here we are." he says, it's a lot quieter here then down the stairs to where the festival ground is. "It is quite pretty from up here." I speak my mind he nods smiling happily. We sat at the top step looking down. We sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. *Third pov*

"Do you think the Yokai will actually show up?" Semi asked before Ushijima could answer a rustling from a nearby bush made Semi go quiet again. They both turn to the sound when a small figure stepped out of the bushes that surround the kids. They suddenly stand in that they might have to run. blinking for a moment, and standing there was another boy in front of them. The boy in question, had short straight red hair, large dark eyes. He was skinny and fair skinned, that looked almost white in a dark purple kimono. He stood back in shocked to see the other boys and Semi getting scared hid behind Ushijima.

"H-hello, Who are you?" the small voice of the strange looking boy sounded. He looked scared as well.

The olive haired boy decided to step towards the red head and Semi only Gasped letting go of him. "Hello, I'm Ushijima Wakatoshi." he says and held out his hands to the other. He looked at him Ushijima's hand and then back at his face before reaching out his hand out too. Ushijima flinch a bit at his touch, "Your hands are so cold." Ushijima says holding the skeptic boys hand in his own gentle hand, shaking. The unnamed boy went to pull it away again, but he Ushijima holds it tight. "It's okay I don't mind." he seemed to have relaxed after those words were spoke and he smiled a bit too, "Okay, Wakatoshi-kun." the boy spoke, which Ushijima returned a gentle grin. 'His voice his kind of pretty.' Ushijima though to himself.

They shake hands and let go, when he noticed Semi lingering behind the taller boy. Staring curious and cautiously at Semi with his Cherry eyes he looks back to Ushijima with out a word, both his hands held to his chest defensively looking nervous. "That's my friend." he say to the skinny boy, and going over to Semi grabbing his hand and leading them to each other. "Uh, hi I'm Semi Eita." he holds a shake hand out to the redhead, seeming unsure of him. The boy breaths in glancing up at Ushijima. "Semi Semi!" He smiled to tell him it was okay, and his eyes widen more then they did naturally. "What's your name?" Semi asked the boy shaking hands with each other. He looked like he didn't want to answer, but breaths in deeply muster the courage to. "M-my name is Tendou Satori." his voice quiet but we had both heard him clearly.

"L-like the Fire beast Yokai?" Semi exclaimed, holding out the prize he won from earlier. The boy claiming to be Tendou, eyes widen again but seemed to understand still. "Uh, yes. Well I'm not at the age I was when I got that name." Tendou explains, opening up a little bit to the other children. Tendou stuck his hand out to the plushie and pat its head like a cat. "Wait if your really him, why do you look like a child? Weren't you 19 when you defeated the Beast?" Semi shuffled to sit closer to the other. "Uh, I don't know what happened? This is the first time this happened to me." "Yeah and you look nothing like what people say you looked." Semi says starting to get excited to talk to Tendou. Ushijima smiled to himself as they sat together he opened his mouth to say something about that too but Semi kept talking so he didn't talk. The two talking about all kinds of things under the light of the moon.

Ushijima sat listening to the two talk and pulled out his games prize looking at it and pulled out a pen from his pocket to write his name on the bag tag smiling to himself when done. Talkative Tendou looked to Ushijima as the conversation between him and Semi died down. "Hey Wakatoshi-kun, what's that you have?" Tendou asks pointing to the tag. "Oh, this is a Bag tag of the Volleyball mascot." he answered handing the tag over to the other so while could look at it better. "Oh, this looks cool. But."

"What's Volleyball?" he asked again. "It's a cool sport we're you can't hold or carry the ball and you hit over the net devising the two teams of 6 playing. And the team on the other side of the net tries to stop the ball from hitting the ground otherwise you team gets the point." Semi explains for Ushijima, who only nodded in agreement. Tendou hands the bag tag back to Ushijima, and he places it next to him on the ground instead of back into his pocket.

Soon though a voice from the bottom of the stairs called, startling us all and Tendou hid away, as the lady from before was walking up. "Eita, it's time to leave now." Semi's mum as she came into view. "Do I have to?" Semi wines to his mum, but she only laughs and tells him to say goodbye. He waved as he was dragged down from the shrine. "See you at school Ushijima!" I stayed quiet waving back until he was gone out of site. Ushijima blinks, glancing around back to where Tendou hid, poking his head from the pillar. "Who was that?" Tendou asked slowly making his way back to him. "That was Semi's mum, he had to go home now." Ushijima told him blankly.

"Why did Semi Semi have to leave?" Tendou's head tilt to the side. His red hair falls with his head movements, he continued toward Ushijima standing in the light of the moon, together. "Because we have school tomorrow." Ushijima says bluntly to the red head. Tendou's eyes looked up to Ushijima, before frowning looking away fiddling with his fingers.

"But I don't want to leave." Ushijima stares at his feet. "Why is that Wakatoshi-kun?" Tendou cox his head to the side with one brow raised. "My mother and farther are always fighting about something, sometimes it's over silly things like purposefully not going to look for a Hayashi Rice stand for me." He exhaled the started again.

"Hayashi Rice is my favourite dish, I ask for it every time." he sighed lifting his head again to Tendou, still playing with his fingers.

"Oh. I'm sorry that happened Wakatoshi-kun." Tendou gave him a sadden expression stepping closer. "What about you Tendou. What's your favourite food?" Ushijima asked simply. Tendou gladly answers. "Chocolate, I think it's called. I had gotten offerings of all kinds but I liked the chocolates the best." He smiled at Ushijima, who took a mental note to get Tendou some chocolate on his future visits to the shrine. It was silent for a few seconds before Tendou spoke up again. "Wakatoshi-kun, do you think you could come back tomorrow, to see me again?" the skinny, shorter boy questions fumbling with the waist tie from his Kimono, facing away shyly. Ushijima was taken back a bit. No one, but Semi, had asked to see him again. He didn't have many friends so it was a nice feeling, to hear Tendou say. "I will try my best to Tendou!" Ushijima took a step towards the other, reaching and taking a hold of both his hands, and the sudden action shocked the timid boy. His head whipped back to Ushijima who only smiled lightly back.

Both of them standing in the moon rays, and shining down on them. Tendou's eyes lighting up at the site of the other in front of him, staring in awe as the moon highlighted the olive hair and brown eyes of... His friend? Something of which Tendou never had in his previous life.

"Pretty" they both whispered together, enchanted by the sites of each other.

Ushijima could feel a heat raise to his checks when he noticed he was staring into the sweet, cherry coloured eyes of the little Yokai boy, for longer then was normal.

It's only raised further to his ears when he felt their hands squeeze together as their fingers had intertwined. Tendou's gaze followed the others eyes down to their small hands and a flash of pinky red rest on his face. Ushijima's eyes glancing up at Tendou, his eyes stuck in a trance with glittering red staring back. Mouths agape at the sites of each.

Tendou's lips curled upwards giving the biggest smile Ushijima has seen from him that night. "You promise to come see me again!" was the last thing he heard from the swaying red hair, cherry eyes and fair skinned Yokai boy, "Yes." as the next thing he heard was the voice of his parents yelling from the start of the stairs.

He looked down to them, just like always. He sighs, turning to look back at Tendou. But to his surprise Tendou was gone from sight. The hands he was hold close to him disappeared from his grips. Letting a gasp out of shock.

"Tendou?" he frowns, searching around, a little tight feeling in his chest with a loss of breath. "Wakatoshi it's time to leave!" his mother called. 'But I don't want to leave.' he though looking to his parents waiting on him for moments, staring back and forth over his shoulder waiting to see if he was really gone. But there was no sign of the dazzling face he stared into moments ago. With a quiet exhaled he forces himself to trudged down the stairs letting his grandma take his hand as they left the Shrine.

Staring back sadly to atop of the stairs. That was the last time he saw the other boy.

#ushiten #hq ushijima #hq tendou #hq semi #ushiten fanfic #hq fanfic #yokai au #tendou satori #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu au #haikyuu #haikyuu ships #haikyuu fanart #haikyuu fanfiction #utsui takashi #ushijimas dad #yokai tendou #semi eita

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jaeminlore · 4 years

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bard!taeil ^_^

commissioned by @warmau luv u thank you for giving me free reign i’m sorry i used it all on world building

words: 5k+

a/n: sorry this is a bit late ! also for any mistakes !

okay first thought when given free reign of a story is PRINCE or ROYAL bc that is where my mind is for every story i love a good castle moment

i just think they’re neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but yknow i was thinking about bards and also my skyrim game and how annoying yet precious the bards are in the inn. and if that is not taeil i will eat my own foot,,,,, like omg i forgot his name i think it’s mikael?? he’s at the inn in riften!!! i beat him up to preserve the honor of some lady and now we’re best friends ^_^ anyways he’s lovable and it makes me think of taeil

i miss taeil i read a post about how precious he is and it made me feel some type of way ,,,,, my favorite taeil era was cherry bomb bc the CHOKER and the EYELINER and he just felt like the embodiment of that tiktok sparkly filter

okay now that that’s over

this story is set in a lone kingdom called intima,,,, intima is a word meaning the heart of something and it’s where the word intimacy comes from and it makes me feel warm and happy so i assume it will make the people of intima happy too !!!!! it’s an island centered around the sun — and YOU my dear reader are the eldest princess, the first before six younger siblings !!!

as the oldest, the throne is in your future, and you are set to be the reigning queen WHICH you are quite excited about this isn’t one of those aus where you hate your kingdom and your job and serving,, you LOVE your people and your culture and you genuinely can’t wait to become queen

i’m going to set the world!!!! bc world-building gives me endorphins >.>

intima is a HEAVILY floral-filled island. the clivia (or bush lily) is the capitol flower, often associated with patriotism or pride for intima as an island!!! it’s the flower people pin to their chest during coronations or royal festivals!! and the yellow/orange/coral shades are often what you and your siblings wear to represent yourselves and your island.

intima is a land of equality!!! bc i said so!! and also because the culture is purely built on gratitude and kindness ,,,,, i like to think the spirituality or “religion” in the culture is the worship of the sun and the warmth it brings,,,, a sort of serving the thing that shines a path for the hopeless!!!! there are hundreds of poems and legends and songs about the sun and who she once was and why she blesses intima with her harvests and all kinds of other things and i do have the time to get into it but i know all of you do not

intima also believes that art is hard work!!! and it’s one of the most respected jobs there are!!! like a busker or a street painter are often praised and it’s expected of islanders to tip them and stay to praise them a bit!!! and usually they’ll sell their art (if that’s what they made) afterwards!!!! and poets will read for the children and adults alike and they’ll sell their services to like,,, people who struggle to put their words down on paper and it’s all very helpful and lovely

farmers and fishermen are well respected as well!!!! ofc they bring the food in and the vendors at the marketplace sell them while the artists keep entertainment going. it’s a lovely system and often as the seasons change people will shift their jobs so a vendor will decide to create for a season or a fisherman may decide he wants to sell wares,,, it’s a system so that people can enjoy where they are as well as express they’re creativity properly

and the wealth is distributed equally so that no one goes hungry!!! everyone helps each other out to find a job that fits them!!! and not many people take advantage of the system because it’s quite shameful to refuse helping your fellow neighbor

so yes!!! kindness and helping each other out is not only expected but it is often an indicator of how respected you are as a member of society

ungrateful people get the shame cone >:(

the island is HUGE and set in a sort of jagged star shape, with villages and markets surrounding the castle itself!!! and there’s a moat surrounding the castle made from the streams that trail in from the sea ,,,, and the harbors are quite beautiful if you stand atop the castle walls you can see the ships come and go and it is just *chef’s kiss* immaculate

and the moat is so beautiful i can just imagine the ferns!! like palm brush ferns and tiger lilies and birds of paradise just lining either side of the moat,,, so pretty :( and the moat isn’t to keep people out!!! it’s actually a natural pool for the villagers when it gets too hot :)!! but otherwise the drawbridge is always down so people can come and go throughout the courtyards

similarly, the castle walls run down the island as main roads, leading to the actual castle where the main courtyard sits.

you and your siblings are very personal with your subjects, and it’s not uncommon for the princes and princesses to walk hand in hand with those of a lower class than them,,,, esp bc there isn’t really a class system in place. since wealth is evenly distributed,,,, it’s evenly distributed to the royals as well, and everyone lives comfortably. the only added expense are gifts!!! so if there’s a birthday or something more wealth might be offered to the recipients by default

the courtyards!!! are so beautiful!!! there are four in total but the one i want to focus on is the coronation courtyard!!! this is the courtyard where the coronations and celebrations are held!!!

but when there aren’t any coronations, it’s where people hang out to have picnics or sell their wares or tell stories!!!

and this is where we see taeil!!!!

every day our hero brings his life and ~sings~ a different story to whoever happens to be walking by. he’s actually hugely popular with many of intima’s people,,,, mostly because his voice is like HONEY and his smile reminds everyone of home

he has like,,,,, kind big brother who only comes home for thanksgiving but each time is more memory-filled than the last energy ,,,,, anyways

you don’t actually notice him at first!!! because usually he isn’t in the coronation courtyard.

also you’re too busy planning your OWN coronation

#queenshit and all you know the vibes

it actually isn’t until yuta points out that there is a “very tiny man singing about how beautiful you are” in the courtyard that you’re actually like,,,, okay,,,,,, interesting..?

and at first you’re like shut up yuta i’m trying to work on seating placements you know ten from iacto can’t sit beside donghyuck from stella or they’ll start a prank war during MY coronation

also there are a lot of people who write songs about you and your siblings that’s just how the vibes are !!!!!

you and your siblings are known for your beauty and kindness, so many creatives often use y’all as muses

so you just brush it off

and go back to your planning

which actually consists of you begging your advisors to make little goodie bags for everyone on the entire island (they WILL eventually agree because who doesn’t want a small bee charm necklace or some cleansing crystals)

but i digress

it’s not until you visit the courtyard to finalize the seating arrangements that you actually see the man your brother was talking about

at first you don’t even realize it’s the same person

sure, this man is short, but he is nothing like the unattractie picture you painted in your mind. not that short men are unattractive, but most men who hit on you are often uhhhh creepy and old bc intima is a beautiful place but men are still a disease

this man is, dare you say it, handsome.

like prettily handsome

his hair is a warm chestnut that falls over his eyebrows in loose curls. strands curl and bend around his ears and his eyes are lined with what seems like kohl

his lips are pursed, and he’s too far away for you to hear him, but he seems to be singing

you tear your eyes away from his coral-colored jerkin and try to focus on the seating arrangements

in the end, you leave the work to your advisors, choosing to break away and listen to the lonesome bard

and just IMAGINE for a moment taeil singing like real people do by hozier

just taeil singing any hozier song i cannot get over the thought of it >_>

those are the vibes for this story

taeil a sexy irish bog man

not really but i’ll bookmark the idea for later !!!!

okay so imagine him singing real people do or sunshine and it’s so gentle and warm coming from his mouth that you’re entranced at the very start of it,,,, you’ve heard tales of sirens luring sailors into the sea,,, and they’ve always sounded quite far fetched but now that you’re hearing taeil’s voice you’re like,,,,,, maybe it’s possible

you sidle up to another listener and ask for his name

“taeil moon”

it’s a befitting name. you run it over your tongue for a good while until it feels familiar,,, and when the song is finally over, you clap and shout a few praises, thinking your voice would get caught in the crowd

but taeil catches your gaze, and he strums a sour note on his lute. it’s a swift apology and an even swifter exit as he leaves the courtyard.

you watch him go, unsure as to why he seemed so uncomfortable knowing you were there. “is he alright?” you ask the same listener who told you taeil’s name. they answer, “he’s never left a set before. perhaps you frightened him, princess.”

you DID frighten him. moving into taeil’s point of view, the man has been declaring his infatuation with you for months now and you’ve never come to listen. he suddenly feels naked and vulnerable,,, the one person he chose to write songs about is the future queen and he could very well be executed for such unauthorized poetry

(as if executing is something intima didn’t outlaw ages ago)

so taeil is just a tiny bit dramatic, and he clings to the honest hope that you came to his show late and didn’t hear his declaration. his “all my love songs of now and forever after are for the princess y/n” that he starts every set with. he feels like a fool, so he finds himself hiding in the royal gardens, far behind the brush and hedges, where a lone forgotten fountain rusts. still water bubbles out of the spout, but there isn’t enough for the fountain to actually flow, so it just makes an incredibly awkward gurgling sound as taeil strums his lute and tries to collect his thoughts

taeil doesn’t just like you because you’re the princess. it goes so much deeper than that; he has one faint memory of his graduation out of bards college (it’s a thing in skyrim so it’s a thing in my au) and it consists of you meeting with all of the graduates and giving them each a bush lily from your own personal garden,,,,,,, you also wrote everyone a handwritten letter addressing them by name !!!!!!!!!

and it’s not much to go by at all, and taeil would feel incredibly foolish even bringing up the memory, or the fact that he keeps the card in his memeriy box,,,,, because it’s obvious that you don’t remember him from it, but he can still remember the color of your eyes up close, and he knows what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your smile,, and just the memory of your fingers grazing his when you handed him the flower and card makes his cheeks warm with childlike fondness

he’s a fool, he knows. he’s also a coward, because he ran at the very sight of you

“you ran off before i could tell you how lovely your voice is.”

taeil falls into the rusting fountain as soon as you round the hedge. he has no idea how you managed to find him, but he can’t really think much about it because he’s soon coughing and shivering from the cold and dirty water he’s just fallen into. he mourns his lute,,,,,, just floating in the shallow water ,,,,,, it’s not dead it’s just wet :/

“oh dear i’m so sorry!” you grab his hand and help him out of the fountain, wincing at the way his clothes cling to his body. (Wait. wait. taeil’s lil baby tummy.... through the sheer shirt,,,,,,, like after he takes off his jerkin to dry it out :(((( omg he’s so cute) “i just wanted to compliment you.”

“thank you, princess,” taeil manages to get out. he paints a smile on his face even though he feels like he’s never been put in a more awkward situation. “it means a lot, honestly.” he decides to avoid the topic of having a crush on you, because he thinks he has experienced plenty of embarrassing moments today, thank you very much. so he changes the topic completely. “good luck, uh, on your coronation. i’m looking forward to it.”

you lower yourself into a mock curtsy. “why thank you. save me a dance during the after party, won’t you?”

taeil nods, not trusting himself to speak, and you bid him goodbye

y’all know taeil’s face where he’s just cheesin. like :D

that’s his face for the rest of the day. and every day up until the coronation !!!!!!

and you visit him!!!! when you can !!!!!!!!

taeil has a very easygoing personality i feel like after the initial awkwardness he’d actually be the one to initiate a friendship!!! like sometimes he leaves you letters by the old fountain !!!!!! :((((

and taeil’s letters are very friendly but every once in awhile he’ll slip in song lyrics that make your heart flutter!!!! just imagine your favorite love song or folk song written out by taeil to you because he learned it and it made him think of you :(( i’m crying and i know you’re crying

one day you have a picnic!!!!!!!!! and it’s just the two of you and taeil thinks he should be nervous but he genuinely does enjoy your company,,,,, and he kinda sort of slowly starts to think of you less as a muse and more as a friend,,,,,, or even maybe a potential ,,,,,,,,, l o v e r oooohhhhhhhh,,,, omg it’s so cute tho he lays out a blanket in front of the fountain and the two of you eat sandwiches and apple juice and :(( eventually the sun makes you both a lil tired so you fall asleep side by side

and you get kind of flustered when you wake up beside taeil like oh 😳 okay 😳 now 😳

the two of you hang around each other in secret. not because it’s against the law or it would be publicized or anything like that,,,, intima is a very casual island and no one would bother the two of you too much,,,,,,,,, but taeil feels like a little secret you aren’t sure you want to share ,,, also your brothers and sisters would tease you relentlessly for giving your time to someone KNOWN for singing love songs about you

your friendship w taeil feels a bit like a bird feather on a windy day,,,,,,, like one hesitant breath could blow him away,,,,,,,, but taeil is so FUNNY and warm and gentle and COMFORTABLE that you slowly start to feel yourself fall for him.

taeil is a story-telling bard in the way that the songs he sings often tell stories of his life or the life of someone famous, installed in their hearts from the moment they were all in elementary school. like imagine him singing a tale about the greek gods or norse mythology or perhaps he goes and bit more fairytale and songs of thumbalina or sleeping beauty

he’s an amazing storyteller, so much so that when the two of you hang out, he often recites some form of verse to you, especially if it’s a legend you love dearly (SIRENS) ,,,,,, but the one thing that kind of irritates you is that he has yet to sing you one of his legendary songs that are “supposedly” for you

you’re not trying to be prideful, but this is the lovely singer everyone has told you about, and you still haven’t heard any of his original songs. or at least, his original songs dedicated to you. you’re very curious to see what you look like in taeil’s eyes, even though it might make you feel horribly vulnerable.

and taeil is like :) obviously :) i’m not going to sing love songs :) about my crush :) to my crush :)

but it’s whatever.

what i want to talk about is the coronation babey !!!!!!!!!!!

it’s very public,,, in the middle of the courtyard,,, and all the market stalls are up selling their wares to the large crowd!!!!! and kids are playing in the moat !!!!! sort of a summer festival and you’re the main event lol. like some people will gather and watch the coronation and some people will be off dancing on the other side of the courtyard but everyone is celebrating the same thing!!

and this is a high fantasy setting so there aren’t any modern things like microphones or speakers aside from a copper horn or smth ,,, but it’s all very fun and festive!!!!

merchants are selling banners of orange and gold,,, yellow roses and tiger lilies,,,,,,, flower crowns and faux scepters for the little kids!!!!!! and there’s lively music for people to dance and celebrate to,,,,,, and can you guess who is in charge of the music !!!!?! TAEIL

he’s got an entire band leading the courtyard and it’s all traditional songs for the most part of taeil is able to slip in a few love songs now and again. and ofc everyone loves them bc they know taeil and OBV it’s hard to hate taeil

but :( you aren’t really focusing on the music since it’s such a big day for you but if you were you’d know that taeil is singing his original songs :((( all the love songs about you,,,,,,,,,,

and i SWEAR i can imagine taeil singing hozier-esque songs..... omg or like mystery of love ,,,,, imagine him singing mystery of love on one side of the courtyard while you’re getting crowned queen on the other side

that image is something that can be so personal to me ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

:(((( and you’re dressed in a tan and peach maiden dress,,,, cloaked in golden silk with day lilies tucked in your hair,,,,,,,,, omg or BRAIDED into your hair,,,,,, you just look like a sun goddess okay golden by harry styles are the vibes ALRIGHT babes,,,, and there’s a speech to be made and someone made cake for the masses,,, so you get a bit caught up it everything

taeil isn’t really in the crowd for the coronation as i already stated before ,,,,, but he can kind of hear everything that’s happening and it makes him just smile to himself as he messes with his lute :((( omg if you guys haven’t heard you are gold by the national parks THATS the song taeil sings as the celebrations are dying down

and all the street lanterns are lit and people are quieting down and eating or chatting or rounding up their kids for bedtime !! omg little kids racing past and giggling, their flower crowns askew as they shout about becoming a queen one day :( that’s so cute esp to imagine taeil watching them fondling and waving at them as they pass

and there are fireflies all around!!!! lighting the pathway!!! it’s just so cute and soft and lovely think tangled at last i see the light scene OKAY except it’s not on water it’s a festival and it’s beautiful every seems to be glowing in the light

this au is partially inspired by tangled,,, or the kingdom of corona (lol) so

anyways back to you are gold

the chorus is as so: “you are gold / you are all i see / you are aurum scarce and meant for kings / and i will wait if it’s time you need / what i see in you i hope you find in me.”

and can’t you just SEE taeil singing that absentmindedly not really knowing that you’re making your way to him and then he just looks up during the final chords and he just,,,,,,, fumbles the music and his voice cracks a little (but how COULDNT it bc you’re so beautiful and angelic and taeil could easily picture the stars against your skin and in the shade of your eyes)

“h-hi,” he stutters. “you look. nice.” :D

i think taeil is pretty confident with his feelings but i also feel like he can be quite clumsy with them as well. if that makes sense. but on the other hand confessing to the now-queen of your island is a bit much and taeil isn’t really ready to be rejected on a regal level.

“thank you,” you say. AND!!! you can feel your cheeks get hot because taeil is quite handsome and you DEFINITELY heard the last few lyrics of the song and it ignited feelings inside of you that you weren’t sure you’ve felt much of before.

you kind of just want to take his hand and go spend some ~ alone time ~ with him ^_^

“you know,” you sit down beside him and wrap your cloak around yourself. “everyone has been telling me that you’re quite famous for dedicating your love songs to me. how come i haven’t heard such declarations?”

taeil’s ears turn red and he smiles down at the lute in his lap. “isn’t it a bit disrespectful to make you listen to all the songs i write for you?”

“i want to hear them!! genuinely!!”

can you just IMAGINE taeil holding eye contact and singing sunshine by hozier >:( or like ANY song by ray montangue for today we’re pretending taeil wrote all of these

hold you in my arms by ray montangue YOO :((

just taeil strumming and singing sort of under his breath because he doesn’t really want anyone else to share this lil moment with you. and he’s so sweet like i imagine after he sings he doesn’t expect any praise and he certainly doesn’t expect you to confess your love or anything like that

bc taeil is a respectful future king

LIKE JUST IMAGINE kind of grabbing his face and just giving him a lil kiss,,,,, a lil smooch,,,,, if you will

taeil is probably rlly pretty just after being kissed like his eyelashes would flutter so prettily and it would be so soft like he’d just press his forehead against yours and then omg a FOREHEAD KISS like a really gentle one

you would be so important to taeil like i think he would just be so gentle with you in every way

the relationship is a slower one,,,,,, you have queenly duties and he’s still working as a busker,,,,, getting ready to help the merchants in the winter,,,,,,,

but the two of you make time. it’s similar to before, you just set up picnics, or sometimes you watch him sing, and he’ll write you love songs and send them to you through a letter,, stamping with purple wax,,,

and taeil is always so sweet :( i think he’s more of a casual lover in the sense that he doesn’t need pda or loud declarations in order to make you feel loved flashback to him dedicating every love song to you in the middle of the square but he’d be the type to just hold your hand around the courtyard,, or he’d just send you soft smiles from the other side of the marketplace

he’s the time to buy you a basket of your favorite fruits and deliver them personally to your door

everyone in the castle just lets taeil into the chambers section at this point

the two of you will swim in the moat and play hopscotch with the village children or go shopping together or take naps beneath the afternoon sun and with taeil by your side it’s all so fond and precious and some times you’ll go days or weeks without seeing him just because of schedules but it’s never awkward when the two of you get back together

and it’s actually not until some of your very own villagers are coming up to you like hey,,,,, why haven’t you made taeil your partner yet?? he’s so precious and sweet and he would look lovely in a crown 👀👀

and uhhh who are you to argue with that lmao

so you buy taeil a ring

a pearl !!!! encased in silver <3333 i like to think that the tales he sang to you about sirens often slides to a pearl of some sorts,, so you make sure it’s the rock you place on the ring

and you take him back to that rusty old creaky old ugly old fountain :)

and you just,,,,,, ask him to marry you ,,,,,,,,,,

ofc taeil says yes, a bit frozen because the two of you have talked about marriage but only briefly,,, and he wasn’t sure you’d ever take that step so he didn’t want to pressure you

taeil ofc has always been ready,,, his soul is more open than yours if that makes sense !!! which isn’t a bad thing but he has definitely been ready for a lifetime with you for a long time now

and it’s a long-ish engagement i feel like

not that it really matters but it’s more of a betrothement !!!! so the two of you are technically already married even before the ceremony if that makes sense??? like everyone alludes to taeil as the consort and the two of you live together and receive gifts of betrothement and !!! it’s quite sweet and it’s the way they do things in intima

also you guys aren’t in a big hurry for another ceremony esp bc yuta’s coronation is coming up and you don’t want to take any of his spotlight

king!yuta hold up

but yeah taeil is a wonderful consort !! doesn’t do much yet politically bc he isn’t especially versed in politics but he’s learning!!! he’s really good at keeping a good energy in the room even if two ambassadors are fighting taeil will just be vibing like :-D and it often calms tensions

he’s just a GREAT person and a helpful ruler even tho he really doesn’t even have to be,,,, he’s just a consort,,,, but he still takes the effort to learn genuine laws and help guide the people

the people are obviously obsessed with him,,, they wouldn’t ask for another consort because he’s so kind with all of them

still sings in the courtyard as his job ,,, and the people love it just as much ^_^ esp because now all the songs are openly for you and about you and it makes people more fond of you as well

taeil creates y/n propaganda pass it on

but he works in the castle too,, and he’s a fast learner especially when it comes to settling arguements within the village or even within the court,,,, he also sets up festivals !! he’s wonderful at it !! genuinely !! taeil as an interior designer i can just see it man him designing flower arrangements and the setlist and just !! being a wonderful host

and tbh you’re very thankful because it’s nice to rule with siblings but it’s even nicer to rule with a soulmate

and taeil feels just like that — a soulmate, a missing piece of the puzzle,,,,,

and if intima is the sun , if you who rules it is the sun, then taeil is the moon,, and it’s quite obvious that the two of you were made for each other

perhaps in the future the two of you will have kids or adopt

or you guys get a puppy!!! i can see you w a puppy and taeil with a kitten and the two lil pets just follow you guys around omg

the two of you fix up the old fountain so it isn’t rusty or squeaky anymore

you guys find rocks out on the shore and create a new bed at the bottom of the fountain

and guess what!!!! you guys write little wishes on the rocks and invite everyone else to do the same with the idea that once the fountain is filled with wishes, you’ll hold a festival where you put the wishes back into the sea to be completed

omg how cute would that be like a yearly thing where the fountain would be filled with rocks and everyone gets a handful to take down to the beach and throw into the sea

it’s where lovers write their names and people confess to their crushes and anniversaries and birthdays are celebrated and it’s where artists write pictures and poets write verses and people write prayers to the sun

and it’s where you and taeil announce your first pregnancy >.<

and it’s really soft

the place between the sea and the sun is where your love lies

where your family lives

omg taeil singing lullabies to his baby :( HES be such a sweet dad

i feel like taeil already has a family just by his vibes yknow

but say it’s a daughter he’d teach her how to play the lute and he’d buy her her own

he’d let her express herself in any way and identify however she’d want and love whoever she wanted

he’d be an AMAZING father and husband and king

ANYWAYS to conclude

this was fun to write and i hope it made sense i know it’s all over the place but in conclusion taeil is sexy and deserves to be loved

#taeil au #nct au #taeil fluff #nct fluff #commissioned #destwrites

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wordsthativelost · 3 years

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Stalking Jack

Hey, look what I found on an old flash drive! I guess that counts as “words I’ve lost - and found” I don’t even have a place to post original fic any more. Might as well put it here. I wrote this when I was very depressed. I still think it’s *interesting* if not necessarily *good* CONTENT WARNINGS: suggested child abuse, hints at sexual abuse, suggested violence. -----

"My real mother would never make me do that," you say to me.

All children tell themselves secretly that they have other, better, parents somewhere -- kinder, grander, more exciting -- or so I have heard. I never did, but then I was never one for daydreaming. Not like you. Most children are not brave enough, cruel enough, to speak that story aloud.

You, however, stand before me, your eyes now level with mine, your father's broad jaw jutting forward, and cross wiry arms against a chest that is no longer quite so thin. You repeat, "My real mother would allow me to stay." To hide the trembling, you push your hand through that ragged straw hair with its gleam of sunrise, covering your eyes so I do not see the hurt. O my careless burden, my Jack, your words slice my heart in two, and it falls empty to the dirt floor between us; but no blame spills out, no blame at all.

How can I blame you for denying me, denying this the home I made for you? We are dirty and dark, rough and ramshackle, no place for you, O my shining youth, my shame, all sunlight and softness and the sweet drone of summer bees. Surely you could not have sprung from between these splintered thighs, slipped from this chinked womb.

"Good. Then ask your real mother for food and a fire," I say harshly. Like this hovel, I have no shelter left to offer, and the Spring turning is still many weeks away. "Go and find work, for there is nothing more for you here."

Your eyes, molten gold, flow away from mine. "There's still the cow. I could take her to the knacker's yard."

"What? She is all that I have left from..." I do not finish. I do not think of the time before.

"She is too old. She is useless. She requires feed and water and gives no milk in return."

"She is not yours to sell." This is true. The cow had been a gift to me, a calf then, with eyes as warm and whimsical as a promise of faithfulness and fertility. It is also true that she is now withered and dry. I am still not ready to let her go. "You would kill her to purchase a few more days of idle scribbling?"

At that, your eyes flash. "I am not idle!" You shake your hand at me, still gripping the stick of charcoal you use to etch your fancies on scraps of wood and bark. "You have never understood. You have never cared about what is important to me!"

No, I do not understand you, O my strange one, my changeling child. How you drink tales and eat stories, how you exhaust yourself from your pretend battles and lie spent, bleeding words from a thousand invisible cuts. But still the ice in my chest melts before your fire. "See that you get a good price for her, then," is all I say.

But when you return the next evening, you bring me no cheese for our supper, no wood for our fire. No copper coins to purchase a few more tomorrows. Instead, you show me a fist filled with foolish fancies, and your mouth drips with dreams like poisoned honey. A strange man, you tell me, a man with flaxen hair and the eyes of a lion, met you on the forest path and offered you great things. You traded my cow, my past, for his promises and plans.

I say nothing. You chatter on nonsensically, but I cannot hear you over the howling in my ears and I cannot see you for the darkness in my eyes. I take your folly and fling it out the door, scattering your daydreams like dirt in our yard, and you fall silent, and I think that now the rage in your heart will choke the hunger in your belly.

Maybe this time your stories are true. Maybe you are not my son.

In the morning you are gone. You have followed this stranger's ensnaring lures, I tell myself. Trapped in the clinging vines of your own imaginings, you climb them into the clouds of fairytales, the fog of let's-pretend.

I hope that someone will feed you there.

As for me, I search beneath my pillow for my small bag of precious things: a faded blue ribbon, a crumbled flower wrapped in a yellowing scrap of lace, many tiny ivory teeth that tumble onto my hand, biting into the palm. There is also the ring, the one your father gave me six months before you were born. I use my own teeth to pry out the stone, sparkling topaz, like his eyes, like your eyes. It glitters like the deceitful endings of your magpie daydreams, and I close my fist tightly. The Travelers will come by soon, when the Winter rains end. Perhaps they will trade me supplies and seeds for the empty silver band.

Weeks later, I am digging in my new garden with a stout sharpened stick. You return to me, your golden eyes blazing like the sun reflected in the puddles all around me. Sitting in the doorway, you watch me kneel in the mud, and spin me fantastic tales of a giant's mansion, filled with amazing treasures. No, you did not see the giant, you admit; but you met his woman, a delicate, fragile, timid thing. She pitied you, you say. She fed you, and cosseted you, and hid you when the giant returned, his voice like thunder. The woman told you to run, and you did, ran all the way back to me.

"And look what she gave me!" Your voice cracks like ice with excitement, as you shove a small purse into my hands. "Gold! Jewels! She says that all the giant's fortune shall be mine!"

I look inside, and my eyes see only the dull gleam of brass buttons and bright shining beads. O my besotted fool, my dreamer. When have you ever seen real gold, real jewels, so that you should recognize them? But then, when have I?

I say nothing. Instead I give you hot soup, made from the wild onions and cattails I have gathered near the lake. You eat three bowls' worth, scowling all the while, comparing the meal to the rich scraps from the giant's table. "But you shall eat such food now, shall you not?" you tease me. You insist that you must go back on the morrow, to fetch me more wealth from the giant's store.

When you have left, I pull out my last set of spare sheets. The cotton is soft from many washings, but still not worn through. I boil the cloth with the onion peelings until it is the color of ripe wheat, of new butter, of your father's hair, your hair, shimmering under the smoking tallow-dips as you struggle to soothe your frantic fantasies to lay quivering, flat upon the page. I cut and pin and stitch it into a fine dress, such as an alderman's wife might wear, and sew the buttons you brought me down the front and sleeves. Tomorrow I will bring this into town, and see if I can trade it for an iron trowel.

It is only two weeks later when you return again. I am searching the ground for fallen sticks to burn; although the days are warmer now, it still grows cold at night. "My father!" you shout as you rush to me. "The giant's woman told me of my father!" Your words spray out like stones from beneath a cart wheel. I flinch as they strike me. Your father, you say, your real father, was a great man, a fine lord, a king! Indeed, he was the true owner of the grand house where you have been hiding for so many days. The giant came and slew him, and cast you, his infant heir, away into poverty and filth. Surely, you ask me, it is your duty to reclaim all that should be yours by right?

My duty is to feed you. I grind acorns dug from the beneath the bracken and set to boil for hours. They taste bitter and flat, so I stir in a handful of dried berries and the last of the windfallen apples. You wolf down the porridge and grimace, but then you grin at me, like you are hiding the most delicious secret. "Look at what I brought you from the giant's house this time!" You thrust an odd bundle of carved sticks and wires into my hands, fingers stained brown and purple from cooking. You tell me that this is a harp, that I can hang it in the doorway, and the wind will make it sing with marvelous, magical tunes. You say that it will make me less dull, make my days pass quickly and my sleep more restful.

I say nothing. You are so pleased with yourself and your gift. O my heartless poet, my clown, what need have I now for music? Your father whistled haunting melodies to me once, when I was young and lovely, and I would hum them back to you as you suckled greedily at my breast, to put you to sleep so your father could have his turn. If I want songs I can go listen to the senseless yammerings of the forest birds. My days are too short and my dreams too empty as it is.

When you are gone the next morning, I turn the little device over in my hand, recalling your tales of talismans and triumph with a sour smile. I take the beads you brought me, and string them on my old blue ribbon, wrapping it around and around the delicate wooden frame. A few early jonquils stuck here and there give a festive look. The blacksmith believes me to be a hedge-witch, and has been pressing me to supply him with love charms. Surely he will exchange this pretty bauble for a sharp axe. Who knows, it might even work.

You return to me again, only eight days gone. I am chopping at a dead tree with my new axe, pleased to depend no longer upon finding sticks on the ground. You are running through the trees, pale hair streaming behind you, something clutched against your chest. "The axe! Give me the axe!" you shout, shoving a squirming hissing bundle into my arms. Snatching the axe, you whirl about to face the path to our house.

I look down and see that I am holding a goose. It pecks at me.

"She betrayed me!" you say, voice raw with fury and hurt. The goose? No, the giant's woman. She had assured you that everything in that fine house should be yours. That you should eat at the giant's table. Wear his clothes. Sleep in his bed. She took your hand, you tell me trembling, and brought you to his rooms with silk soft words, promising to uncover his most secret treasure.

O my wounded innocent, my dupe. I hear the axe sing like a harp as it slices through the air, chopping your story into slivers. You asked her instead to take you to the giant's larder. So that you might share his delicacies with me, foraging too long in the dirt and the muck. The giant's woman flushed red and hot and sharp, answering that she'd as soon give you a goose that laid golden eggs as provide a feast for the harlot of the woods.

Your eyes flicker with hot angry flames as you repeat her words. Do you believe that they shall burn me?

When you asked to see this goose, she laughed at you. She pointed to the kitchen gardens, where the chickens wandered foolishly, and she laughed and laughed, and then the giant returned.

Stop thief she shouted, and he lunged for you. You ran, you say, and you ran, and as you ran she grabbed shrieking at the giant, and you ran. In the yard you saw the goose, the golden goose, and you snatched it and you ran. And now the giant is running too, running after you, coming for you. Coming for us. Down the forest path to our little hut. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you cry, "I will protect you," and O my brash brazen boy, my hero, you are weeping and angry and confused and terrifying, and I lift the axe from your hand.

I say something. "Take this wretched bird into the house and shut the door." And I turn and I wait for this giant.

I stand ready, axe held level. I shall chop down that strangling vine you have been climbing. I shall hew it out, root and branch, and no clinging tendril shall remain to claim you. I shall bite deep with my blade until the sap gushes out sticky and wet, and washes away any hidden thorns.

When I come back inside the little house, you sit still and huddled on your bed. Your eyes, your golden eyes, are bright and full of tears and terror, not dark and empty like your father's are now. "You were a great lady once, mother," you whisper to me. "You were a queen in a splendid castle."

I say nothing. But I nod, and hold you close until you fall asleep against me. When your breathing is slow and soft, I go back to my small garden, and finish weeding among the pushing green that reaches already to my knees. Later tonight I will take my axe and strike the goose dead. It would be wiser, I suppose, to keep it for the eggs, but I can render the carcass for the good yellow fat instead. I will make you many dip candles, O my treasure, O my song, O my prince, my son, and they shall burn clean and bright; and you shall scribble out your stories by their golden glow for many months to come.

Besides, goose broth will taste well with these beans.

#fairy tale retelling #jack and the beanstalk #second person narration #dark

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

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Cetzu (Part 2)

Rating: General Relationship: Male Changeling/Human Woman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Lizardfolk, Changeling, Interspecies Romance, Monster Boyfriend Words: 4998

Part 2 of 5 generously commissioned by @ivymemnoch! Cetzu and the reader set up a stall to sell their wares in a local town. Unbeknownst to them, the town is gearing up for a music festival, which is something the reader is excited about. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Cetzu sat with you as the wagon ambled onward down the lane to the crossroads that would lead to Coleville, giving you more than enough space on the driver’s box. In fact, he was so far away that he was squishing himself against the rail, his knees pressed together and his tailed gripped in his clasped hands, purposefully not looking at you.

“Do I smell bad?” You asked him. “Am I repulsive looking?”

He looked up at you in surprise. “What? No.”

“Then why are you sitting like you’re trying to climb off the wagon like that?” You asked him, an eyebrow raised and a slight smile on your face.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, making an effort to relax. It was marginal at best.

Well, this was boring.

“You’re family is… unique,” You said, attempting to start a conversation.

He seemed to understand what you were trying to get at, because he chuckled and relaxed a little further. “Yes. We’re all adopted. Mama and Papa couldn’t have children naturally, so they began taking in any child that had no place to go and needed a home.”

“That’s very kind of them,” You remarked.

“They’re very kind people.”

“People don’t end up away from their birth families without some sort of sad story, though, I imagine,” You mused.

He sighed. “You imagine correctly. We’ve all got our own unhappy tale, Mama and Papa included.”

You thought to ask him what his unhappy tale was, but then again, you’d only known him a day. Perhaps it was still too early to ask such a personal question.

“What’s the farthest away from home you’ve ever been?” You asked instead.

“Willowridge,” He replied. “My brother is the sheriff there, and I visit him often with his twin, Kurra.”

“Only that far?” You asked. “Goodness. No wonder this job seems daunting to you. I’ve been all over the country with Dad.”

“I thought you said you were isolated,” He said, tilting his head in confusion.

You shook your head. “That’s just been since Mama died eight years ago,” You replied.

“Oh,” He said, looking mortified. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You said, smiling at him sadly. “She’d been sick a long time. She’s not in pain anymore. Dad never really got over it, though, so he stays home now and constantly builds new things to stay busy.”

“How has he been selling his work if he never leaves his home?”

“Normally he gets commissions from the nearby town and the clients pick up their items from our house, but because he never stops building, he has all this spare furniture just sitting around, taking up space. I figured I could earn us some extra coin and clean out the house by selling them for him.”

“I see.”

That effectively crushed conversation for quite a while, though at least he seemed a little less tense.

Coleville had a healthy mix of humans and monsters, so Cetzu wasn’t completely out of place there. You went to the town official that oversaw the merchants and paid for a space to set up your stall for a few days. After finding your spot, which was wedged between a candlemaker and a fletcher. Cetzu helped you set up the open-faced tent and put out the furniture under the awning. On one long table, you laid out a nice maroon velvet drape to display Cetzu’s carvings, which were all wrapped in cloth to protect them.

In addition to the figurines and amulets, there were also practical household and personal type items, such as combs, kitchen utensils, mugs, drinking horns, sewing and knitting needles, lace-tatting and string bobbins, lucets, awls, beard combs, hair sticks, bracelets, brooches, pin containers, beads, dice, small boxes, and many other useful things, all ornately carved of stone, bone, horn, and wood. All intricate and beautiful.

As you were helping him pull the items out from his trunk and set them on the table, you grabbed a lovely dark wood trinket box with mother-of-pearl inlay in the shape of a cherry tree. Out of nowhere, he snatched it from your grasp as quick as lightning, and you pulled your hands away up around your face, taking a startled step backward.

“Sorry,” He said, ducking his head and taking a step back as well, clutching the box to his chest. It rattled strangely. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snatch or frighten you, it’s just… this… this isn’t for sale… it’s private. Personal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You said quietly. “I--I should have asked.”

“No, it’s alright,” He said, carefully rewrapping the box in its protective cloth and putting it under the pile of his trousers, which seemed to be the only clothes he wore. “I probably should have left it at home were it would be safe, but… it felt wrong to leave it.”

Considering his reaction, you figured it best not to ask what was so special about it. You doubt he would have answered anyway.

Ryel and Declan had sent you off with enough food to feed an army, so there was no need to buy food like you normally did. There were enough pieces of furniture there that you and Cetzu could sit and eat lunch comfortably and still have plenty on display, though almost immediately Cetzu’s wares began to draw attention.

“What a beautiful comb,” A young human woman with a bun in her hair said, picking it up to examine it. It was a decorative hair comb with a honeysuckle blossom carved into it. “What’s it made of?”

“The shell of a box turtle,” Cetzu replied softly. He seemed rather unpracticed in conversing with strangers.

“I love it,” She said, turning it over. “It’ll be perfect for the festival tomorrow. How much?”

“Uh…” He looked at you helplessly.

“Eight pence,” You said. The business side of your personality was much different than your normal timid personality. When it came to bartering and coin, you were far more confident. Haggling with your father had helped you develop an eye not only for what things were worth, but also for what people were willing to pay. Cetzu’s carvings were priceless to your eye, but you were savvy enough to appraise an item’s worth and weigh it against what a buyer would be willing to part with.

“Done,” The woman said, fishing out the coins and handing them to you. You shook your head and motioned to Cetzu.

“They’re his work,” You said. “Pay him.”

She shifted her arm toward Cetzu, and he slowly held out his hand for the coins. She deposited them in his palm, took the comb, immediately putting it at the top of the coil of her bun, and walked off with a smile, leaving Cetzu staring at the coins.

“Is that the first bit of money you’ve ever earned?”

Cetzu looked at you and nodded. You smiled at him and reached into your side satchel and pulled out a small drawstring pouch, just about the only thing you could sew well with any consistency.

“Here,” You said, handing it to him. “A place to put your money.”

“Thank you,” He said quietly, opening it and sliding his new earnings into it. “I don’t know what to do with money. I’ve never needed it before. What should I do with it all?”

“It’s your money to do with as you wish. And remember, I’ll be paying you at the end, too. We’ll be here in the market for a few days. You may find something you like. Or you could buy souvenirs for your family. You could always give it away; plenty of charities that could use some coin. Or you could give it to your family, and they could do with it as they wish. It’s yours to use or not use.” You noticed he had set the pouch on the table. “But don’t leave it out in the open. Keep it in a safe place. Lots of sticky fingers in a place like this.”

He looked at you in surprise, then tucked the pouch into a pocket of his trousers.

Throughout the day, Cetzu sold a third of his merchandise, and you sold a dining set and several armchairs for a sizable amount of coin. As the sun began to set, you and Cetzu decided to tear down the stall and pack it back into the wagon before it started to get cold.

“I’m curious about this festival that woman talked about,” You said. “I might go and find out about that after we get done here, if you wouldn’t mind staying with the wagon to guard the goods?”

“If you wish,” He said.

“Will you be alright here by yourself for a few minutes?” I asked him.

“I think so,” He said. He was kicking the ground a little and crossing his arms across his chest, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings uncomfortably. “Just… don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” You promised. “Would you like me to bring you back an ale?”

“Sure,” He replied, reaching for his pouch to give you some coins. “Thank you.”

You waved his money away and instead grabbed two of his mugs. “Alright. Be back.” And you headed for the local tavern.

You came back a few moments later in a tizzy. You handed him his mug, nearly sloshing him, and set yours down on the back of the wagon.

“It’s a music festival!” You exclaimed, twirling in place. “Oh, I’m so happy we came when we did! There will be singing and dancing and musicians and oh! I can’t wait!”

He was holding his ale loosely and watched you flit about with a smile on his face. “I’ve never been to a festival. What are they like?”

“Well, it’s good you earned some money, I’ll tell you that!” You said. “There will be all kinds of food and games and prizes and all sorts of fun things! Look!”

You pointed at several of the lampposts that lined the thoroughfare. You hadn’t paid attention earlier, but there were ribbons and streamers hung from them and spiraling the posts. Many of the houses and businesses had flowers and festive decorations on their exterior.

“I should have noticed sooner, but it’s been so long that I just didn’t realize. I haven’t been to a proper festival in years!” You danced a little on the spot in elation.

He actually laughed at your giddy antics. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as excited as you, and I’ve been to four weddings.”

You giggled. “I am excited! I haven’t danced in ages!”

“You dance?” He asked in a curious tone.

“Yes, I love to dance,” You replied. “Do you dance?”

“No,” He said with a self-conscious chuckle, sitting on the back of the wagon, carefully arranging his tail so he didn’t squish it under one of his legs. “Lymera plays music on special occasions, but she’s the only one of us who is musically inclined, and none of us dance much.”

“Well, maybe I can convince you to dance, just once,” You said playfully.

He laughed again and took a gulp of his ale. “You are more than welcome to try.”

Figuring out the sleeping arrangements were a little difficult. The merchandise was safely secured and strapped down for the evening, and at one side there was space for a single cot. You offered to stay with the cart and put Cetzu up at an inn, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“You hired me to guard the wagon,” He said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

The compromise was that he would move the wagon close to the inn and sleep in it, and you would rent the room. If there was any trouble, he would come and get you. You had a funny feeling he just didn’t like the idea of staying in a building full of strangers.

Early the next morning, just after dawn, you met Cetzu outside as he emerged from the wagon, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked him, handing him a citrus-y breakfast mead.

“Not really,” He said, taking it and downing it in one gulp. “It was a little cold. I’m cold-blooded and used to sleeping in a pile with my brothers for warmth.”

“That’s still adorable,” You said.

“Not when Asahi is farting in your face all night,” He said, though he was smiling.

You looked around you and saw food vendors and game stalls being set up and you started getting excited again. There were also platforms being set up for the musicians and dancing.

“I wonder when the festival is going to begin,” You asked, bouncing on your heels. “Probably soon. They usually start around the same time that businesses open.”

Sure enough, just as the stalls and games were put together, the callers began yelling out and people flooded the street in droves. Initially Cetzu seemed uncomfortable, but when no one seemed to pay him much attention, as there were apparently plenty of lizardfolk families living in this town, he relaxed and began to enjoy himself.

In fact, at some point that morning he got roped into a game of chase with several of the young lizardfolk children, shortly to be joined by children of other races as well, and he happily snatched them up and tickled them breathless before setting them loose to chase another one as parents cheered them on. You watched with a huge grin on your face, thinking to yourself what a good father he might make one day.

You convinced Cetzu to try some of the games, and though he excelled at both the axe-throwing, strongman, and archery games, he lost at cups, hazard, and passage. You watched him play with a shrewd eye, and it strangely seemed like he was losing the games of chance on purpose.

“Just unlucky, I guess,” He said with a smile. You let it go and said nothing.

Around noon, you decided to set up your stall and try to sell while the festival was going. Thankfully, the space you had rented was in a perfect position to watch the dancers and hear the music. There was apparently a schedule, as no musician overlapped with another. A perfect balance. You wondered how they had managed that; you’d seen fights between performers over the length of their allotted play time.

“Aren’t you going to dance?” Cetzu asked, taking coins from an older man buying a dragon toy made of bear ivory with a segmented neck and tail. Cetzu’s carvings were selling faster than anything you’d ever seen. He’d be out of merchandise by dinner time at this rate.

“Later,” You replied. “These are performances by professionals. There will be a big dance later for everyone. At least, that’s how they usually do it. I don’t know if it’s different here.”

“And you’ll dance then?” He asked.

“You’re awful eager about me dancing,” You said with a sly smirk in his direction.

He shrugged a little bashfully and didn’t meet your eye. “I’m curious.”

“Well, I can’t dance like this,” You said. “I have to put on my dancing dress.”

“You have a dress specifically for dancing?” He asked inquisitively, smiling.

“Of course! Doesn’t everyone?” You replied with a giggle, getting up and going into the wagon. You pulled down the flap for privacy and got out your nicest, fanciest, flashiest dress to put on. The skirt was a bright gold with red embellishments. The bodice was bone white with golden embroidery that glittered in sun and firelight. The chemise was wine red with dangling beads on the half sleeves. It was a dress made to catch the eye. The only time you ever wore it was to dance.

You also pulled your hair out of its long, practical braids and let it fall loosely around your shoulders to your waist. Digging into your personal effects, you found a lip rouge and dabbed some on carefully with your pinky finger. You also got out your one good necklace and put it on, as well.

You opened the flap and stepped out. “What do you think?”

Cetzu wasn’t looking at you when you came out; he was watching a troupe performing across the thoroughfare. When he turned to see, some sort of force propelled him to stand slowly. His jaw dropped and he stared at you silently.

You laughed a little self-consciously. “I can’t tell if that’s a good reaction or a bad reaction.”

“You… look beautiful,” He said. His voice was hushed, almost reverent.

“Oh,” You replied with a blush. “Thank you. My mother made this dress for me. I’ve always been so shy, but she said she poured all her courage into this dress when she sewed it, so that it would give me courage.”

“Do you feel braver?” He asked.

“I do,” You said with a smile.

He stood staring for a moment longer, then started as if pinched. Turning, he rummage through his trunk and pulled out a soft, woolen pouch, extracting a beautifully carved hair fork from it. At the top was carved a water lily with a teeny-tiny dragonfly, and dangling from the lily were two thin chains that had little dragonflies on them, as well. All of it, even the delicate chains, were carved entirely of moonstone. Seemed like he was keeping his best pieces to himself.

“Here,” He said. “Turn around.”

Your brow furrowed but you obeyed, and you felt him gently gathering and lifting tendrils of your hair away from your face, his claws deftly weaving them behind your head and securing them with the fork.

“Now your hair won’t get in your eyes when you dance,” He said quietly.

You turned around and looked at him, a little stunned, patting the back of your hair. It wasn’t coming loose any time soon. “Where did you learn to do that?” You asked.

She shrugged again. “Sisters.”

The two of you stared at each other for a solid minute without moving or speaking. You were suddenly aware that you were very, very close to him and you blinked, your throat going a little dry.

Stepping back, you cleared your throat and said, “I’ll go get us something to drink. Any requests?”

He was avoiding your eye again. “No. Anything you can find will be good with me.”

“Alright,” you replied, and made your way to a food vendor.

You used the walk to slow your heart. What were you doing? Sure, you’d spent eight years in seclusion with your dad, but that was no reason to get butterflies around the first guy you’d spent any amount of meaningful time with! Besides, the only women he’d ever spoken to were his mother and sisters. Of course he’s going to find the attention of a woman unrelated to him flattering. It doesn’t mean anything would come of it. And just because he seemed a little receptive was no reason to be… hopeful. And what were you hoping for, anyway?

Shaking your head, you bought some meat and ale and brought it back, determined to stop acting like a flustered teenager with her first crush. Especially considering you’d never had a crush.

The day wore on, and the two of you watch the festivities happily. To your delight, you both sold out of your wares before the big event that night. The various musicians were beginning to congregate on the platform adjacent to the dance floor.

“Come, ladies and gentlefolk!” A festival caller cried over the crowd. “If you’d like a dance, come up to the stage!”

There was a cheer, and you pulled Cetzu toward the stage. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor and rooted his feet, going no farther, but shooed you on with a grin. Laughing, you hopped up and waited for the music to start with the other amateur dancers.

It began with a simple estampie dance, and then a branle, and then a complex farandole, ending with a rondeau. The caller then called for a break, and invited people to come up and dance on their own. You decided to go down and watch a few of the dancers before going up yourself.

“Having fun?” You asked Cetzu as he gave you a hand down.

“Yes, very much!” He said with a wide smile. “You looked like you were, too.”

“I told you, I love to dance,” You replied.

“Are you going to do a dance solo?” He asked.

“Yes, but I’d like a drink first.”

“I’ll get you one,” He said, and darted off.

Wha--” You began, then trailed off when you realized he was already halfway to a mead vendor. You couldn’t help but notice at this distance how his scales glittered silver and gold in the light of the lamps and bonfires. When he turned and saw you, he smiled toothily, and your heart flipped over.

Stop this, You told yourself. You’re going home tomorrow. He may decide he doesn’t like this job and end it. Then where will you be? Don’t make this more complicated.

Sighing, you gave him a strained smile when he returned and took a long sip of your mead.

“Who’s next, who’s next!” The caller asked the crowd. “Who’s next for their dance?”

Well, that was your cue. Handing your mug to Cetzu, you stepped back up onto the dance floor and waited for the music to start. As soon as it did, it was like the noise and faces of the crowd fell away. All there was was the music in your ears and the floor under your feet. You began to stomp to the beat, and flew into a dance, leaping and skipping and twirling as if you were alone and no one was watching. You were in your element, and knowing Cetzu was there, watching you, made you want to give your very best performance.

When the band concluded their song, you bowed to uproarious applause. When you stood up straight again, you saw Cetzu there, clapping with everyone else, smiling the widest smile you’d ever seen. His eyes looked like quicksilver, fluid and glowing. You leapt from the stage and into his arms, and he caught you without thinking, letting you down to the grass slowly.

“You were wonderful!” He said brightly. “You were so graceful and lively! That was definitely worth waiting for!”

“Thank you!” You shout over the crowd. “I’m very tired now!”

He laughed openly. “I’ll take you back to the wagon.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening sitting on the tail of the wagon, enjoying the festival comfortably, sipping mead and enjoying snacks from Cetzu’s farm.

That night, as the festival wound down, the two of you decided to bed down in the wagon together, since there was plenty of room now that it was cleared of merchandise. It was a little awkward, but the two of you made your cots and lay down next to each other with a full two feet of floor separating you.

It had been a long, full day for the both of you, but while Cetzu fell asleep quickly, you were completely wired and could do nothing but stare at Cetzu as he slept. It was dark, but you could make out the lines of his face, the contours of his body. The hard muscles, the strong jaw, the teeth. At first, those teeth had made you nervous, but his big goofy grin was anything but terrifying. It was… charming. Endearing.

This could be over tomorrow. But tonight, you could dream.

The next morning, while he was helping you hitch up the horse so the two of you could get going, Cetzu stopped for a moment when he saw several of the children he had played with the night before exit a large, square building at the end of the lane to play in the fenced front yard. A matronly woman followed them outside, too old to be their mother, watching them as they played.

“What is that place?” Cetzu asked.

“I think it’s an orphanage,” You replied. “As far as I know, it’s the only one in this part of the county, unless they built another one.”

“They’re orphans?” Cetzu asked, staring at them. Before you could say anything or stop him, he began walking up to the building. You followed, curious.

Many of the children recognized him from their game last night and greeted Cetzu happily. He waved back at them before approaching the older woman that was keeping an eye on the children as they ran about.

“Madam,” He said, clasping his hands behind his back and attempting to make himself look a little smaller. “It’s it true these children are parentless?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” The woman said. “We were hoping that one or two of the festival goers my take an interest in some of them, but no one did. You wouldn’t be interested in adopting any of them, would you?”

Cetzu laughed a little sadly. “Oh, believe me, madam, I’d take them all if I could. Is there any other way I could help?”

“We always accept donations. Mouths to feed costs money.”

Cetzu reached into his pocket and handed her his purse and gave her the entire thing. All of the money he had earned from his carvings. The woman gaped at the offering.

“Sir! Are you certain you want to give us this?” She asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Cetzu said. “Feed and dress them well. When I return next time, I’ll have toys to bring them.”

“Oh, thank you!” The woman said, surprising Cetzu by hugging him. “Divines bless your kind heart!”

Cetzu bowed, waved goodbye to the children, walking back to the wagon with you trailing behind.

“That was very kind of you, Cetzu,” You told him.

“From one orphan to another,” He said simply. “I only wish I could take them with me.”

“Why don’t you?” You asked him.

“I don’t own the farm, my parents do. And I’m sure they would love more children, but they’re getting older. These children have a roof and food and clothing. They’re cared for and safe. That’s something, at least.” He looked at you and smiled. “Besides, if I take them, they’ll be my responsibility, and if I’m going to be traveling with you, I won’t be there to take care of them. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“So you’ll take the job long-term, then?” You asked him, your heart lifting.

“Yes,” He replied. “This was fun.”

“It won’t always be like a festival,” You told him with a chuckle. “Sometimes it’s very boring. Sometimes no one buys and you’re just sitting there, twiddling your thumbs.”

“But we can keep each other company, can’t we?” He asked, his smile widening.

Your heart was going to explode at this rate. “Yes.”

It took two days to get back to your home, but when you got there, you were eager to introduce Cetzu to your father. You found him in his workshop.

“Dad!” You called. “I’m home!”

Your father looked up from his work and smiled. “My girl! I’m so happy you’re back!” He stood up and hugged you tight. “How’d it go?”

“It went amazing,” You said. “I hired a guard. We had no problems at all, and everything sold!”

“Wonderful!” He said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’d like you to meet Cetzu. He’s the one who helped me.”

“Of course,” You dad said. He stepped outside and saw Cetzu unhitching the Jackdaw and leading him to his small stable.

“Big guy,” Your dad said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but he’s alright,” You whispered back. “Cetzu! Come meet my dad!”

Cetzu nodded and stepped up, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“And you as well,” Your father said, shaking Cetzu’s hand.

“So you took care of my girl, I hear.”

Cetzu chuckled. “It’s more like she took care of me, but yes sir. It was a pleasure.”

“That’s good to hear. She always takes care of me. It’s hard to let her go out in the world, with all the trouble she’s had on her own, but I feel better knowing she’s got someone looking after her.”

You reached into your coin pouch and took out Cetzu’s fee and handed the rest to your father. “Would you put this in the safe, Dad?”

“Sure,” He said. To Cetzu he asked, “Would you like to come in for tea?”

Cetzu smiled but shook his head. “No sir, I’m needed back home. But thank you.”

You father nodded and bid Cetzu farewell. He then went inside and left you and Cetzu alone.

“So, how will I know when you’ll need me again?” He asked you.

“I’ll send you a letter,” You told him. “It could be a few weeks, though.”

He shuffled his feet and looked sideways awkwardly.

“What’s the matter?”

After a moment, he asked, “Would it be okay if I sent you letters, even if we’re not going out to sell?”

You smiled. “Like a penpal?”

“Yeah,” He said. “I’ve never had a friend outside of the family. It would be nice to talk to someone who isn’t related to me.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I held out the money. “Here, your money.”

He waved it away. “Keep it. I had a wonderful time. That’s payment enough.”

“Won’t you need it to get home? Food and inns and things?”

It was his turn to laugh. “I’ll be going through the forest to get home. It’s quicker, and there are few threats for someone like me. I’m familiar with it.”

“I see.” You held out your hand, and he took it, holding it for a moment. “Well, until I see you again, then.”

“Until then,” Cetzu said, surprising you by pressing his lizard lips to your hand before disappearing into the woods, leaving you stunned in his wake.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Lizardfolk #Fae #Changeling #Monster Boyfriend #Interspecies Romance

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jaerie · 4 years

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2019–It’s been quite a year. It went so fast, yet at the same time, I didn’t even remember some of these fics had been posted this year and not many moons before that! Thank you to everyone who read, commented, kudo’d, and supported me this year! Even the smallest things encouraged all the words in all the fics below. 😘

🎥 going live (E,15k,abo) Harry has only done this cam thing a handful of times when another camboy pops in to view his stream and unintentionally stirs things up a bit. Or Louis and Harry are both camboys for some extra cash and meet each other in an unconventional way

🧬 The Post-War BP (E,18k,abo) The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

🏔 A Long Way From The Top (E,11k) Harry needed to find a purpose in life. Mount Everest wasn't the place he'd expected to find it, but he'd take what he could get. He also hadn't expected to come home with extra baggage.

🧊 Ready, baby? (E,1k) Harry gets an earring. Louis is the one to do it. Or a pain kink drabble.

🎒 whoops (M,1k) Louis was just trying to get revenge on Niall for the prank he pulled a few months ago. He didn't mean to find himself trapped in the closet while Niall's roommate, Harry, decides it's a self-love kind of night.

🍼 freaks from the internet (E,3k) Harry sells his breast milk to freaks on the internet. Louis turns out to be one of those freaks. He also happens to be Harry's ex.

👭 Sisterwives (E,33k,abo) This was it, the moment Louis had been waiting for his entire life. Giddy excitement bubbled up as he held hands and stared up at his soon-to-be alpha and husband and grinned. The ceremony was small and simple, but Louis didn’t mind. Fresh flowers pinned into his hair and a brand new outfit was all he needed to feel special in front of their few witnesses. It was just some members of his family and a few of the church elders in attendance as was customary for any marriage beyond the first wife within the faith. First wives were the ones to have elaborate weddings with the whole community involved. An alpha’s first wedding was a celebration of an their coming of age, his first steps into fulfilling God’s prophecy. There were many glories for an omega that came with being a first wife but also many responsibilities. Louis had never aspired to be a first wife or even a second. He wasn’t experienced enough to be the leader of an alpha’s many wives and children and he didn’t think he’d be up to the task. Louis was just fine in the position he was stepping into as the seventh. Or Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

🤱🏻 Challenging Nature: A Look Into Male Lactation (E,11k) Even taking into account all the bizarre things Harry has subjected himself to in the past for the sake of an article, Harry has received his strangest assignment yet. It comes up as a random misunderstanding in a meeting and builds into a conversation — can men breastfeed? Internet searches reveal documented cases of male lactation popping up at different times throughout history, but are any of them true? Can a man will himself into lactating? Harry has two months to make it happen.

🤏🏼 tiny exaggeration (E,4k,abo) Louis is frustrated that they've been dating for months and still haven't taken their relationship to the next level. Sometimes the foolishness of the past lingers in the present. Louis wants that to change.

👶🏼 The Time Is Now (M,1k) Louis is mid-one night stand when he finds out he's going to be an uncle in a matter of minutes.

🏨 100ft Away (E,2.5k) Harry opens Grindr for a hookup and ends up with more than he bargained for. It all works out in the end.

👽 enough tin foil for the apocalypse (G,1k) Louis comes home to a tin foil covered house and his boyfriend's secrets

🎵 Everything I need I get from you (M,10k,abo) In a world where music and sound are just as vital to health as food, Harry is stuck in a town that thinks professional music is a scam and a relationship he never wanted. One chance event changes his life.

🎶 Restless Lane (E,15k,abo) Louis had grown used to his boring life back in Mississippi as a stand-in father figure to his siblings. He never expected his childhood friend to show up on his lawn with the heat of summer or that he would remind Louis how much of himself he'd tucked away and neglected. He also never expected to find himself caught up in a tangled web of feelings or secrets that just might break him. Maybe he had never known Harry at all.

🏋🏻 you got what i need (E,3k) Harry loves his husband Louis, but his personal trainer Liam just gives him something he needs to start his day. Turns out Louis needs the same thing. Oddly enough, they get it from the same source.

🍆 the appointment (M,1k) Louis convinces Harry to make an appointment at a classy brothel. His appointment is with someone named Liam.

⚓️ Into Always (E,4k,abo) Harry finds his ex's knotting dildo and gets a little curious. Louis is more than willing to help out.

🍑 just remember that you did this (E,1.5k) Louis' heat inconveniently hits him at the beginning of his beach vacation. Harry volunteers to help him out but doesn't exactly tell Louis everything.

🐭 Cat & Mouse (E,2k) It's the one day out of the year that Harry doesn't have to hide and can be himself — at least he thought so. Louis is just a little more observant than he anticipated.

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🏠 I Think You're Already Home (E,38k,abo) Seeing Louis Tomlinson today, it would be hard to guess that he was ever once a member of the world's most famous boyband. These days he doesn't even the leave his own house. The truth is he can't leave his own house. He can't even remember the last time just standing at an open door didn't send him into a debilitating panic attack. But, against his friend's advice, Louis is ready to add meaning to his life again. He's ready to start a family. So what if he doesn't have an omega? There are plenty of surrogacy services just waiting to help the rich and famous become parents. He just has to find the right one for the job.

🎄 Pretty, Pretty Lights (E,3k,abo) It's the first time Harry and Louis have been home for Christmas together since their parents got married. More importantly, it's the first time they've been home together since they'd presented. They meet up under the glowing lights of the Christmas tree.

👠 High Heels, Red Dress (E,15k) Louis answers the call when Pearl Harbor is attacked and there is no way around it. The United States is at war. Hiding his queer identity isn't so hard until he attracts the attention of a particular soldier. It's all lies and secrets until the war is finally over. Maybe then Louis can finally have his happy ending. It's up to fate to decide.

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forgottenkingdomsworld · 3 years

Text

Prince Samouel’s Nameday Parade

Players: @elfishmagic @maiden-of-the-meadow

20th November 1268

People from all corners of Istara - and even the neighbouring kingdoms - poured into the city for the celebrations. The bright autumn sun was pale yellow in the sky and the air smelled fresh and sweet for a change. Music was already ringing out above the rooftops and children ran through the streets with their baked treats.

The procession was about to start from the Palace gates and make its long journey through the city. With drummers and bards, actors and acrobats. They all depicted different legends through the history of Istara. From The Sun Prince holding back the Darkness to the Rebel Prince, stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

The trumpets rung out across the city, signifying the start of the festivities.

The Nameday Celebrations had begun!

Aedan sat on a wall as he watched musicians play a tune or two. The other bandits were all unconcious in the tavern. He enjoyed the small moment to himself, imagining that he was there to play tunes and trade his crafts. Not that he had many. At least it was a relief from wearing heavy, smelly furs and pertpetually damp boots. As an iced bun seller wandered past, she offered Aedan one. He hesitated, fumbling for his near-empty pouch and remembered he spent a fortune buying medicine. 'Sorry, I don't-' 'Ah, it's fine. This one's nearly out anyway.' The bun seller handed Aedan the treat and hurried off.

Amelia had closed her shop for the day. She could have earned a little more money by staying open and attracting some new customers, but where was the fun in that. She didn't want to miss out on the celebration to. Dressed in a yellow and white dress in honor of the Sun Prince and her blonde locks only pinned back enough to keep from hiding her face but hanging loosely and put down her back, she was having a good time already. All the music playing and the people celebrating, it felt like a joyous occasion. She walked along the streets, taking in the people and different merchants selling things, a smile on her face as she wondered what would catch her eye enough for her to purchase. She herself had a satchel full of flowers and was handing them randomly off to people as she passed. No transactions being made or anything, just offering them to anyone and everyone.

Aedan almost thought he was going insane when he spotted Amelia. Estherdale was so far away that he was sure she'd never make it. But here she was. And there she was. He knew his childish crush on her would never amount to anything. It hadn't even given him a discount at her shop. He was very lucky Glade had loaned him the money to pay her. A part of him wanted to approach her. But he couldn't buy a flower as an excuse. And he didn't want to ruin her day. So he stayed back and offered some of the non-iced part of the bun to a bird.

Amelia laughed as a group of children came to her and grabbed her hands to spin and dance around in a circle. This was what she always missed most of the time. While she loved her meadow, she didn't like how lonely it could be at times. Complimenting the children, she hands them all a flower before letting them walk off. Eyes look around once again and they happen to land on someone very familiar. She stares for a moment to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, but there he was. Clear as day. She tried to contain her excitement, but her face always betrayed her when she felt something. She knew that what she felt for him may be considered foolish by some, but she was always drawn to him. It was hard to explain. "Aedan?!" She calls, in clear surprise but also the look on her face showed that she was excited to see him. Quickly approaching the man, she grinned. "Oh, this just makes the day even better. I didn't think I'd see you here," she giggles. "Are you having a good time?"

Aedan's eyes widened when he caught eyecontact with Amelia. A part of him wanted to flee. Make things less complicated. But the other - the more civilised - part of him wanted to greet her. He remained seated on the wall, the bird moving to his lap before he could stand. 'Amelia? I didn't think you'd be here. Um, but yeah. I'm having a great time. Apart from the crowds and the drunks and the walls. The music is great and...' He wagged the half-eaten bun. When he realised what he was doing, he pulled a face and put it back down. 'What're you doing up here, though? What about your shop?'

Amelia couldn't help, but laugh as the bird made itself comfortable in his lap. She bends down a bit to use a finger to gently pet at it's head, the creature responding to her soft coos. "I suppose drunks and crowds come with the territory for things like this, but they aren't too bad. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," she smiles. "Oh I wouldn't miss a celebration. My shop will be fine for a few days. If I worked all the time, I would surely go mad," she chuckles, head shaking at the thought of getting too lost in her work.

Aedan huffed with a smile as he watched Amelia pet the bird. She seemed as good with animals as him. Another reason why he liked her so much. And sadly, another reason why she probably shouldn't be his friend. 'I know how you feel.' But Aedan couldn't leave his 'work'. 'Do- Would you like to go see the market? It's got- Well.' He was going to suggest he buy them a wine, but again he realised he had no money. 'We can window shop.'(edited)

Amelia smiled to herself as the bird hoped off of Aedan's lap to perch itself on her finger. Animals always fascinated her as much as plants. They were simple yet complex creatures. At his offer to accompany him to the market, she brings her gaze back to him. "I would like that. Have you had anything to eat besides that?" She questions, gesturing with her head to the bun he had been snacking on that the bird had also taken part in. While she made money from her business, she had her inheritance from her father still tucked away too.

Aedan gave her a half-bashful look, pretending that he had eaten some of it. He'd not yet eaten any. 'No. I-I'm not really hungry.' He was starving but he knew that if he ate something, it'd just make him feel it worse. 'But we can find you something.' He jumped from the wall and brushed the crumbs off before handing a passing jester the bun.

Amelia stared at him a moment. "You are telling me that you are smelling all these delicious foods and you are not hungry?" She asks, giving a playful arch of her brow. "Nonsense. This is the time to be a glutton and I will not take no for an answer in you joining me for at least a treat and a nice cup of wine," she insists, a smile spreading across her face. Encouraging the bird to fly away once again, she brings her attention back to him. "Shall we?" She asks as she offers him her arm to take.

Aedan held his tongue and gave a closed-smile. 'How could I refuse?' He took her arm and let her lead the way. But in his head, he was struggling to think of excuses. He didn't have a bit. And a bit would pay for them both to have a wee drink. 'I don't think the market will have much of what I can eat. I'm one of those freaks who doesn't eat animals.'

Amelia wondered if she was being annoying as he gave her that smile. She pressed her lips together as she held onto his arm, walking with him. "Well, I did see someone selling lentil stew. And there are plenty of fruit stands," she encourages. "I don't really partake in eating meat often."

'Lentil stew?' Aedan was tempted. But without money... 'It's fine. Really.' If he explained his impoverished state, she'd feel guilty. And this was a special occaision. No one should be unhappy.

"Yes. It smelled devine when I walked bu. I think you'd enjoy it." Amelia was trying to get him to relax since he seemed to be overthinking things. "My treat," she offers with a small smile.

Aedan didn't want to take charity. But he'd already denied Amelia too much. 'Fine. But as long as I buy us drinks later.' He'd have money by then. He'd make sure of it.

If Amelia had known what he was thinking, she would have been quick to assure that she wasn't offering charity. What was the point of having any sort of money if you didn't share it with people you cared for? She lived a simple life and the money just sat collecting dust for the most part. "Alright, a fair trade," she replies, smiling.

With that weight off, Aedan smiled freely. He was excited to have a hot bowl of something that hadn't once been a living and breathing creature. 'So, was there anything you planned on doing while you were here?'

Seeing his at ease smile lifted Amelia’s spirit a bit. He always seemed so tense and worried and she always wondered if he ever got a moment to just be. She walks alongside him through the many crowds of people, trying to find where she had seen the stand. "Well, I was just kind of seeing where the days took me. I did see that there will be plays being held tonight so I thought I might watch those. What about you?"

'Oh, right. Those are free right now, aren't they? I might join you. I mean- I mean I might go to the plays. I'm not inviting myself to go with you. Unless you wanted the company?' Aedan felt a bit of a fool saying that.

"I believe so," Amelia replies. At his stumbling, she couldn't help but see it as more endearing than anything. "I would love it if you accompanied me," she chimes in to stop him from trying to backtrack.

Aedan smiled and gestured to one of the market stalls selling green men masks. 'Are you going to the masquerade? My boss wants me to work through it.'

Amelia looks at the masks with amusement. "I was thinking about it. A night full of mystery and magic," she giggles.

'What'll you go as?' Aedan wondered if he'd have time to enjoy the carnival. If anything, knowing what her mask was would prevent him or the others stealing from her.

"A butterfly. Silly, I know." Amelia had found the mask and thought it was beautiful and she had a dress that went perfectly with it. "Will you be going?"

'A butterfly. That's not silly. It'll suit you.' Aedan smiled at her as they walked to the stall. 'I'll be working. But I might get some free time. My mask is just a wee thing made of leaves and twigs.'

Amelia smiled back at him. "If you get some free time, I hope you can find me. I would love a dance," she replies. "I'm sure you will look handsome." As they approach the stall, she speaks up. "Two lentil stews please," she orders as she reaches for her coin pouch to take out some money, paying the vendor.

Aedan fought back his smile. 'Have you seen me walk? Imagine that, but dancing.' He tried not to pay too much attention to her purse, clinking full of so many coins. He took one of the steaming hot bowls, perfect for the chilly autumn morning.

Amelia gives a laugh at that. "Oh, come now, anyone can dance. It may not always look amazing, but that is not the point. It is all about enjoying yourself." After paying, she tucked her purse away before taking her own bowl. She thanks the woman and turns her head to look at Aedan. She gestures for a spot where they could sit and enjoy the meal.

Aedan murmured his thanks to the lady, giving his bandana a tentative touch to make sure she couldn't see his ears. He then led the way to where Amelia had gestured them to sit. He settled with a grunt and held the bowl close. Maybe not having to wear the furs didn't mean he shouldn't. It was a wee bit chilly.

Amelia settled down and brought the bowl up to her nose so she could give it a smell. She sighed in content, the spices and warmth already filling her soul. "Stew always is perfect for a chilly day," she comments before beginning to eat.

Aedan blew away the steam and started to sip the stew from his spoon. He hummed as the heat of the stew rolled through him. 'It's gorgeous.' It could've been the worst stew in the world and he'd have loved it.

Amelia hums in agreement at that statement, savoring the taste of the hearty lentils and vegetables. "I think we should have tried to find some fresh bread first to go along with it," she muses with a laugh.

'Fresh bread? I haven't had that since I lived-' Aedan hesitated and shook his head. 'I only eat the stale stuff. Use it as a wee spoon most days.'

Amelia tilts her head, expecting him to finish his first sentence. When he doesn't, she decides not to press him on the matter. "Really?" She glances around the market for a moment before her eyes land on a booth. "I'll be right back," she smiles and stands up from her seat. "Stew like this deserves the proper accompaniment," a playful wink is given before she goes off to purchase a loaf for the two of them.

Aedan spent the time waiting for Amelia to come back, stirring the stew. He let his attention stray to the jugglers nearby.

Ophelia normally she didn’t do these things. She had lived for too long to care about who is in charge or who wasn’t. She didn’t understand why the name day of a rich and spoiled boy had to be celebrated on this scale. It was a waste of time and money. She liked humans even less after for a second time someone had tried to kill her “What am I even doing here?” She said probably a bit too loud not realising people could hear her.

Amelia purchased a loaf, managing to get a cheaper price after offering a flower to the merchant seeking it. With a happy Thank you given, she returns to Aedan. "Here. Take a whiff of that," she encourages, offering him the fresh bread.

Aedan squinted when he heard a familiar voice, but had no idea where it came from. But then Amelia appeared and his confusion faded for the moment. 'Bread? Really?' He set his bowl down on the wall beside him and took the bread from her. Breathing in the beautiful scent. He almost fell off of the wall with the warming sensation. 'I'm in love.'

Amelia took her seat once more. "Yes, really. I told you, it is needed for this," she laughs. She watches him take in the scent and she smiles. "You see, you have to take in even the little things that life has to offer."

Aedan tore his bread and took a big bite without the stew on it. It was so soft and fluffy, he didn't know what he'd done to deserve Amelia's generosity. Everything had a price. Bread had a price. He needed to buy her three drinks in return for this.

Amelia let him enjoy the loaf, smiling a little as she stirred her stew a bit. "My papa used to bring home lots of treats from the city when he could come see us. Baskets full of breads, candies.. everything a child would want," she chuckles at the memory.

Aedan listened as he tucked into his meal, relishing the full sized portion and the lack of guilt. 'I remember my uncle used to buy me wee cakes full of alcohol. My ma would chase him off with a broom when he did.' Aedan huffed a chuckle but then his smile faltered. He never told anyone about his life before.

Amelia listened and smiled a little as he tells her about a memory from his childhood. "It sounds like she had a handful with him."

'With my uncle? Definitely. He was... a handful for everyone.' Aedan finished his bread and started with the stew itself.

"Do you ever miss your home?" Amelia asks as she takes another small sip of her soup.

'Olean Ridh? Or Terr?' Aedan huffed a sigh and shrugged. 'I never really got to live in the country the way I was meant to. And the farm was too crowded. Six brothers'll do that.'

"Both," Amelia replies. She wondered about his past and what made him who he was today. But she supposed that was just a natural curiosity to have about anyone you met. "The country is much more pleasant than the city, so it's unfortunate that you weren't able to."

'I wish I could've seen the forests full of ruins in Olean Ridh. But I still get to live in a forest. So I have something.' Aedan tipped the last dregs of stew into his mouth and set the bowl on the wall. He'd never been so full.

"Perhaps one day you will have the chance to." Amelia thought that there was always hope for achieving the things you wanted. Even if it was years later. She finishes up her stew before sparing a glance over to him. "What shall we do now?"

'We should go see where the parade is now. We might be able to catch a wee glimpse of the royal family.' Aedan stood and gathered up his bowl. 'First, I'm going to take these back to the stall.' He headed over to the lentil stall and offered their bowls back to them.

"Sounds splendid," Amelia smiles as she stands out too, dusting off her dress a little. She waits for him to return.

Aedan returned to Amelia and gestured towards the sound of where the music was loudest. 'Shall we explore?'

Amelia gives a nod, eager to see all the the event had to offer. She goes to follow him so they could explore everything.

Aedan had no idea of the layout of the city but it was easy enough to follow the music. As they walked, he glanced over at Amelia every once in a while. There was so much he wanted to ask but that'd open the door for her to return the favour. And he didn't want to ruin what they had. Whatever this friendship was.

Amelia follows beside him, keeping close so she didn't lose him in the crowd. The music was getting louder and it put a smile on her fair face. She was having an even better time now that she was spending it with a familiar face. She wondered if she was intruding on what Aedan had planned for his time here, but she hoped that he would have said so if that was the case.

Aedan checked over his shoulder whenever he wasn't looking at Amelia or for the parade. If the others woke up and found him, they'd drag him off to work or seduce Amelia away from him. He just wanted to spend this holiday with someone who liked him. 'There!' He grabbed Amelia's hand and ran down some stairs towards the procession.

Amelia was too distracted by everything around them that she hadn't noticed how his eyes would sometimes wander to her and over his shoulder. Feeling his hand suddenly take a hold of hers brought her attention to him and she picks up her dress a hit so she could run with him; a laugh leaving her.

Aedan grinned back at her when they reached the parade. The section they got to depicted the Dragon Prince's victory over the last dragon of Istara. Fire eaters made the air turn to flame.

Amelia can't help but stare in wonder at the parade once they reach the parade. Her eyes widen as she looks at what was happening.

Aedan had never seen anything like it and pulled Amelia through the crowd so she could see it better. He was half-tempted to put her on his shoulders, but even he knew that would've been strange.

Amelia tried to watch as best as she could with all the people wanting a look at the spectacle too. She kept a hold of his hand and watched as the fire was blown onto the air.

'I can't believe dragons used to exist.' Aedan watched with fascination. He once dreamed of seeing one in real life. But humans killed those, just as they'd one day kill off nymphs and elves.

"What it would be like to see a real one," Amelia remarks wistfully. Humans seemed to have a tendency to destroy the true magic in the world and it was always discouraging.

'There has to be some. Somewhere. Its impossible to imagine that they're all just gone.' Aedan didn't realise he was still holding Amelia's hand, they just seemed to stop hand in hand.

Amelia finds herself nodding a little at his words. "Maybe someone was able to get a few somewhere safe and they're hiding," she muses. As they stood there, she held onto his hand a little tighter.

Glancing over at Amelia, Aedan couldn't help but smile. He wanted that to be true about dragons and about any number of other animals said to be extinct. 'Like griffons. I want them to still be alive.'

Feeling his eyes on her, Amelia turns her head and gives a tiny smile. "I think that they're all somewhere safe and protected from mankind's touch."

He knew it was a childish hope. But when your life is full of darkness, you sought it out. Aedan nodded. 'I used to dream about being a performer like that,' he said, pointing at the bards who sang to accompany the other performers.

Her attention goes to the bards and she smiles. "Really? Imagine if I was watching you put there. I would be cheering loudly," Amelia grins.

'You wouldn't have met me if I was a bard up there. I'd have lass arseholes to fix.' Aedan swore under his breath and apologised for swearing. 'I'm surrounded by people who swear constantly.'

Amelia shook her head. "It's alright. I've heard plenty of swearing before," she assures with a smile.(edited)

'You say that, but you haven't heard it when Glade caught his...' Aedan's eyes widened. 'Uh, toe in a door of a temple.'

Her brow arches at that. "His toe, you say?" Amelia drawls, a little amused.

'Maybe a wee bit higher on his body. But I didn't tell you that.' Aedan said with a chuckle.

"Ahh, and was it truly a temple?" Amelia laughs.

'I'm sure he did it in a temple once. But it might not be a holy place. Look, I was trying to spare you the image.' Aedan tried not to laugh, but it was hard.

That caused Amelia to give an amused laugh, head shaking at what he was describing. "Some interesting characters you associate with."

'Glade is probably the least interesting of them all,' Aedan said. 'And I'll never let you meet them in case they corrupt you.'

"Who is to say I'm not already corrupted," Amelia countered with a playful glint in her eyes.

Aedan raised his eyebrows. 'Oh really? You've seen men catch themselves in doors often?'

Amelia gives a shrug of her shoulders, smiling coyly. "Perhaps."

He really was curious now. Aedan thought it was a very 'Glade' thing to do something so ridiculous. But to think that others had... 'Please tell me you're joking. I don't want to think it's a common thing.'

She laughs. "Men seem to do lots of things when they're in a rush," Amelia remarks.

'How many naked men have you chased out- Nevermind. No need to answer that.' Aedan tried not to imagine the scenarios, but all of them ended in either ridiculous or rude ways. It gave him quite the odd expression.

Amelia's head shakes, laughing once again. "A woman has to have some secrets, mon ami. I can't tell you everything," she jokes. The looks on his face was too funny.

'There are things better left unsaid.' Aedan huffed a chuckle and turned his attention to the next portion of the parade. The depiction of the Prince of Spirits falling in love with a swan that turned into a beautiful spirit and eloping with her. Aedan wanted to point out that he must've been an elf. An elf and a druid if he wanted to even see the spirit. But he didn't need the attention.

"Exactly," Amelia chuckles before her attention goes back to the parade. She watches with interest at the story being told. She always found these sort of tales fascinating, reminding her of the ones her mother would tell her.

'Dedrek once told me that the royal family like to pretend that they're descended from the spirits,' Aedan whispered to Amelia.

"Really?" Amelia asks as she turns her face to look at him. "The royals seem like the type to make their past seem more fantastical than it truly is."

'Of course they do. They want to justify their ownership of the natives,' Aedan said.

"If they truly were, I am sure their ancestors would frown upon their actions," Amelia remarks.

Aedan huffed a small laugh, a little sour from the treatment of his people. 'One day they'll learn. I believe they will.' He just hoped it would be through peaceful means.

Amelia nods at his words in understanding. "I'm sure they will one day. There is always hope for change."

'Oh, there the little bugger is. Oi, elf!' The sound of heavy footsteps parted the crowd and Glade appeared through them. 'Me and Neris've been looking for you. There's a thing going on where two jesters are gonna see how many cakes can they eat. Loser has to strip down and-' Glade stopped halfway through what he was saying to stare at Amelia. 'Ah, oh. Um. A woman? Or a... woman?'

Aedan stared blankly at Glade for a good minute. 'What the fuc- What are you going on about, Glade?'

Amelia's head shifts to the side towards the commotion and she sees someone approaching them. When Aedan refers to him as Glade, she almost laughs a little as she remembered what they had been talking about prior. Instead, she manages to compose herself. She puts on a polite smile and directs it toward him. "Hello," she greets, trying to be friendly, despite what had just potentially implied about her.

'This is Amelia, Glade. She owns the apocathary I go to in Estherdale.' Aedan tried not to go red with embarassment.

'Oh! Right. So that's why you insist... alright.' Glade winked at Aedan and offered his hand to Amelia in a faux courtly way.

'You pay him.'

'Glade!'

'A joke. It's a joke.'

Amelia glances between the two of them, noticing Aedan's slightly flushed features, before her attention goes back to Glade. "And what would I exactly be paying him for?" She questions, wondering how the man would respond if he actually had to say his meaning out loud. She offers her hand to give his a small shake in greeting. "Charmed to meet you, Glade. Say, you look like the type of fellow to have some trouble with doors," she remarks, keeping the innocent smile on her face.

'What do you think?' Glade said with a grin, clearly enjoying Aedan's embarassment. But then his smile faltered when she mentioned the door. Before he erupted into laughter. 'Oh, I like her! You make sure he doesn't get lose you.'

Amelia's head tilts and she shakes it a bit. "No, I haven't the slightest clue," she responds. "I will keep a close eyes on him. He's been kind enough to escort me around this big city so I don't run into an unsavory characters."

Glade glanced between Aedan and Amelia and gave a vague gesture to Aedan. 'Really? No one is paying?' Aedan glowered at Glade until he stopped with this nonsense. 'Well, a---nyway. Me and Neris are going to watch a jester puke on his jerkin and get paraded naked by his big toes. I you want to join us?'

"Sometime it isn't necessary to purchase company," Amelia replies, feeling sorry that Aedan was having to deal with the remarks. When he mentions what he was going off to do, she makes a slight face of displeasure. "No, thank you. Others humiliation isn't my idea of a fun way to spend my time."

Glade made a dismissive noise and playfully waved her away. 'You're not normal, girl. You.' He gestured to Aedan. 'You sure you want to miss out on it?'

'I'm certain. Thanks anyway, Glade.' Aedan turned Amelia away from Glade and guided her away through the crowd. He tried to urge his flush of embarrasment down. 'Sorry about him. He's a good man.'

Amelia gave a slight smile. "What good is it to be normal anyway?" She counters, giving him a wink. With that said, she follows Aedan away. She shakes her head. "Oh, it's alright. I'm sure he thought I would blush like most women would. No harm done."

'Right. Of course.' Aedan gave her a hesitant smile, wondering what she thought of him or his 'companions' given the nonsense she'd heard from Glade. 'He's actually the one who needed all that medicine last time. Something... bit his arm nearly clean off.' You wouldn't have known it given how healthy his arm looked now.

Amelia smiles back at him. "He seems nice though," she assures. She wasn't really put off by his friend, if anything she had been a little amused at the conversation. "He was?" She was surprised by that. He looked perfectly fine now. "Whoever worked on him did a very good job."

Aedan tried to hide his smile when she unknowingly complimented his handiwork. 'I don't think he'd be smiling half as much if it weren't for your medicine.'

Amelia chuckles a bit. "I am just happy it could help in some way."

Aedan flashed her a smile, but the truth was that the medicine for Glade's injury had set both men back. Aedan just hoped they didn't get sick during winter or come face to face with another monster.

"What do you all do when you can't get to the city for supplies and medicine?" Amelia questions, curious.

'I try to make the medicine, myself. I have a wee book with stuff about the power of plants. But if that doesn't work, we have to let nature take its course.' Aedan knew it wasn't the best thing to say, but it was true. And what was the point in telling her otherwise?

"Plants have so many different uses. Once you learn what they all can do, it really isn't hard to concoct remedies," Amelia nods. She thinks for a moment. "You know, sometimes I don't make enough to fill bottles fully the way I like. I have some extra stock that is just sitting around in my backroom... If you can spare to make another trip to my shop, I could give them to you."

Aedan stared blankly at Amelia for a long minute as he tried to understand that she was offering free medicine. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to impose on you and what not.’

Amelia offered him a smile. "I don't think you could impose if I am the one who is offering," she chuckles. "I'm sure." She places her hand on his forearm. "If it will help you, I want you to have them."

The idea that he wouldn't have to let Neria or Glade die made Aedan feel the kind of happiness that you feel when an old friend you feared dead had returned. And it also meant that he could prevent Tyr dying - which meant Duny would never get full ownership of the group. 'You're a literal lifesaver, you know that?' He wanted to hug her, but he found himself holding back.

Amelia watched him for a moment and she smiled at his words. She wasn't some heartless shop owner. At times, she would accept small items like bags of oats or flour as payment or just tell others that they could pay whatever they could. She even would give it to free to some of the people who couldn't afford to pay. Her business was to help people, not rob them blind. "I don't know about all that, she laughs, glancing down for a moment.

Aedan knew he’d have to repay her some other way. Perhaps he could bring her herbs only people living in the wild could find? He was tentative to give her pelts in case she didn’t honour them properly. Maybe some of Dedrek’s home brewed cider? ‘You’ve saved my life. And Glade’s.’

Amelia looks at him once more and smiles. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you out there. So if the medicine will at least help with some things, then that is all I care about."

Aedan ducked his head to try to hide his smile. He wasn’t used to people caring.

Amelia watches him, giggling a little. "You don't have to do that, you know? There's nothing wrong with letting people see you smile."

Aedan glanced over at her, suddenly feeling very shy about how he reacted to compliments and other sweet things. ‘I wish I had more reason to smile.’

Amelia placed a hand on his cheek, her touch gentle. "You can always find a reason to smile. You just have to look for it."

Aedan huffed a small, breathless chuckle and reached up to touch her hand where it rested. If only she knew. 'Then let's make more reasons to smile.' He looked up at a small group of muscians who were allowing onlookers to try their hand at their instruments.

Amelia smiled a little. "Don't laugh, it's true. Even on my saddest day, I manage to find something to bring a smile to my face." She knew it was silly, but she thought it was important. Her gaze follows where he directed his and she nods. "Yes, let's."

Aedan knew that she would never know his situation. That she'd never really understand why he hid his smile. Taking her hand, he walked with her to the musicians and watched as they tried to play a song with a wee lad who'd never touched pan pipes before.

Amelia wished that they could get to know each other more, but it always seemed he wished to hide who he was. She didn't want to pry too much, but she couldn't help her curiosity to find out who he really was. She holds onto his hand and follows him over to the musicians, smiling at the child trying to play.

'So,' Aedan said with a wee conspiratorial smile. 'Do you want a try?'

Amelia giggles and eyes the pan flute before nodding.

Aedan waved over one of the musicians. 'My friend would like to try. Can she?' The musician grinned and took Amelia's hand. 'Come on then. Let's try out something. Pick anything you'd like.'

Amelia smiles and gives a grateful nod to the man. "Merci," she thanks before she reaches for the pan flute. She looks it over for q minute with a faint look of remembrance in her eyes. "May I?"

The musician nodded with a bright smile and gave a theatrical bow ready for Amelia to perform.

Laughing a bit, she licks at her lips and begins to play the flute. A gentle and soothing melody begins to leave the instrument as she plays for the crowd.

Smiling, Aedan folded his arms and leaned on the nearby wall to watch her play. He used to play the lute, but not nearly half as well as she seemed to play the flute. A crowd gathered, admiring her and a part of Aedan wondered if she was wholly human. Perhaps she was part elf? Or a mythical nymph? He had to chuckle at that thought. If they existed, they didn't come to things like this.

Amelia glanced around at all the people watching and she wondered if they would be doing so if they knew the truth. She liked to think so, but it was hard to say. Picking up the hem of her dress, she begins to dance around as she plays; the way she moves entrancing and graceful.

Aedan joined the crowd as they started to clap in time with the playing. Some clearly misunderstood, thinking that she was a member of the group of performers. So the real musicians joined in with her tune.

Amelia felt true joy as everyone started to clap along and the band joined in. She continued to play and dance, doing her best not to grin and mess herself up.

While Amelia danced and sang, Aedan didn't realise someone had joined him. Not until he felt someone pinch his arse. He turned to give them a mouthful until he realised who it was. 'Neris? Thought you and Glade were going to molest a jester.' Neris grinned up at him, scantily clad in only a few silks, exposing her corset. 'Glade told me that you have a new friend. I wanted to meet the special someone.' She looked about them, trying to figure out who it was. Then her eyes followed Aedan's. 'Oh. Oh, she's wonderful.'

Amelia reached into her satchel with her free hand and began to hand out flowers to people as she played. Children trids to grab at them as she offered them to all that were watching. Approaching Aedan and the woman next to him, she first offered a white lily to the stranger and then she gave Aedan a purple bell flower.

Aedan's smile only grew as Amelia started to hand out flowers. 'She's perfect,' he said under his breath. But Neris heard and couldn't help but jostle him. 'Just be careful with her.' When Amelia handed them both a flower, Aedan thanked her and ran his fingers over the bell flower's petals. 'I won't let anything happen to her. Look.' He held up his flower. 'She knows the way to my heart.'

Amelia sent a playful wink toward Aedan after she handed him his. She loved that she was getting a smile from him and that he seemed to be more at ease than any time she had seen him in her shop. She finishes handing them out before returning to the band and giving a quick ending to the song. Once done, she gives a bow, grinning from ear to ear at everyone.

When Amelia rejoined him, Aedan gestured to Neris with the flower. 'Amelia, this is Neris. Neris, this is Amelia.' He didn't realise that Neris looked inappropriately underdressed.

Once she joins him again, Amelia takes in the woman that was standing with him. Her eyes scan over her attire, but she just giggles. "You seem as if you a dressed very comfortably," she jokes. "Wonderful to meet you."

'See? Only another woman would know the joys of dressing well.' Neris jabbed Aedan playfully with her elbow. 'Lovely to meet you, sweetie. You're the reason Aedan smiles whenever we visit Estherdale?'

"If I didn't have to get dressed some days, I wouldn't complain," Amelia laughs good heartedly. When she mentions Aedan smiling when he comes to the city, it creates a flutter in Amelia's stomach. "Am I? If so, well.. I'm honored," she smiles.

Aedan flushed as the women both talked about dressing in next to nothing. The only reason Neris didn't dress properly was because of her job. Or at least, that was what Aedan had always assumed. 'I don't think men would get away with it,' he said, idly.

Amelia reaches to get a feel of the silks of her skirts and nods at the material. "Very nice," she remarks. Glancing over to Ardan, she laughs. "Probably not. I think women can get away with a little more since we're nice to look at," she jokes.

‘Are you saying that I’m not nice to look at?’ Aedan said, playfully pretending to be insulted.

Amelia pretends as if she's looking him over. "I couldn't say for sure. I've never seen you undressed."

Aedan immediately turned pink at that. ‘Few people have.’ ‘I have! But only because everyone in the camp has,’ Neris added before Amelia could get jealous.

"A shame," Amelia tells him, smiling a little. At the mention of the other woman having seen him, she felt a tinge of jealousy that quickly dissipated. "Oh? Do you make a habit of running around your camp nude?"(edited)

'Don't you know?' Neris said with a playful smile. 'Aedan's one of those special men gifted in the art of magic.' Aedan rolled his eyes and moved the women out of the way of a passing group of strangers. 'Why did I know you were going to say that?'

"Is he? And that means he has to wear no clothes?" Amelia laughs and steps aside at his guidance so she wasn't in the way of others. "Are you really a magic man?" She grins.

'She thinks all druids like to get naked.' Aedan poked Neris in the side. 'Stop telling people.' 'No and no. All druids have to get naked. They breathe through their skin and have tiny roots in the bottom of their feet. That's why they don't eat much.' Neris continued with her playful nonsense, well aware that none of those folkstories were true.

Amelia looked at him a moment. "There has to be some truth to what you hear in folklore. You tell me nature doesn't give you some sort of strength?" She smiles.

'Nature does, sure. But I don't have bloody roots for toes,' Aedan said with a chuckle.

Amelia giggles and pokes at his chest. "So you say," she jokes.

'Yes I do say.' Aedan kept smiling. 'But I don't walk about camp naked everyday. I assure you.'

Amelia still had the smile on her face, the expression not seeming to fade as she joked around with the man. "I think if you did, it would get rather cold after awhile."

'After a while? I'd be a frozen man right now if I did walk about naked.' Aedan couldn't believe Neris' cheek in dragging them to this conversation.

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we? I get a letter one day telling me you have turned into a frozen statue in some forest somewhere," Amelia giggles.

'I hope to the spirits that I never, ever get frozen while naked. I don't want to be remembered with my- Naked.' Aedan huffed a laugh.

"That would be a terrible way to go," Amelia shakes her head at the image in her head.

Aedan fell quiet as they walked aimlessly through the city, the sound of the Parade in the distance. 'You don't mind that I'm a druid?'

Amelia knew of the stories of druids, how the strong ones were powerful enough to control and manipulate her kind if they so wished it. But she felt that Aedan wouldn't do such a thing if he found out what she was. "No, not at all," she answers.

Aedan's anxiety slipped away now he knew she accepted him for what he was. 'I appreciate it. Really.'

"Of course. We all should be a little more accepting of one another... We all breathe and bleed after all," Amelia muses.

'I bleed tree sap,' Aedan said, flatly.

"So if I ever want some for a treat, I know where to get it," Amelia cheekily responds, sending a look his way.

'Of course,' Aedan said, clearly oblivious of any flirtatious connotation.

Amelia laughs bit, head shaking in amusement.

Aedan led the way to a small grassy hill overlooking the river. 'Gods, it's beautiful,' Neris practically cooed. Aedan huffed in disapproval. Nature was harmed so this city to live. He could never really like being in Farington city walls.

Amelia looked out and just observed for a minute. While she couldn't deny that cities did have beautiful architecture at times, it wasn't the same kind of beauty as nature. "I suppose so," she murmurs. Instead of continuing to look, she rested back on the grassy hill. Laying there, she felt the grass underneath her hands and she smiled.

Sitting on the grass, Aedan followed where Amelia's attention went. But Neris remained standing. 'You're not joining us?' 'I would, but Tyr said he'll be needing me soon. Speaking of, he might need you, too. But I'd wait, just in case I'm wrong.' Neris smiled down at Amelia. 'It was lovely to meet you.'

Amelia looks at the woman and smiles. "It was lovely to meet you too. Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

Neris hurried off, leaving Aedan and Amelia together. 'She was right. Our boss did mention that I might have to work this afternoon.' He leaned back on his elbows to watch the clouds crossing the pale blue autumn sky.

Amelia glances over to him and did her best to hide the disappointment she felt at the idea of him leaving. "Oh. Well I... wouldn't want to keep you."

'I'm not going anywhere, yet. Not until I'm dragged away by my feet,' Aedan said, teasing her.

That brought up Amelia's mood and she giggled. "Then lay back and watch the clouds with me."

Laying his head back down onto the damp grass, Aedan watched the clouds drift by. 'Istarans said that dragons put the clouds up there with their breath. But my people say they're spirits of air, watching over us and granting us rain with their tears whenever we need our crops watered.'

Amelia felt content and she was sure it was a mixture of nature and the man laying next to her. As she watched the fluffy clouds in the sky, she listened to his voice and smiled. "The way you explain it makes it sound like poetry."

Aedan tilted his head to look at her, a smile on his lips. 'The stories used to be. But now we have writing, no one has to memorise it all.'

"I always thought the telling of stories was much more immersive and romantic than just reading them from a book," Amelia muses. "To hear it come from people's lips, to hear how it has changed but also stayed the same since it was told from past generations."

'My people didn't even write their stories down until Istara invaded,' Aedan said.

"It wasn't their place to force the stories to be written down," Amelia replies, head shaking a bit.

'It wasn't their place for a lot of things,' Aedan said.

"They seem to just do whatever they want, don't they? And no one can stop them," Amelia remarks.

#princesday1268 #forgottenkingdomsrp #RP Group

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valkyrieofsmut · 4 years

Text

Kurt’s Mail Order Bride 5

Cowboy!Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler) x Mutant!OC

Descriptions: Old westAU In about 1900 Germany, Kurt has heard stories about the wild west and dreamt about being a cowboy for a long time. When he’s brought over to America and sent to live with Logan he’s excited, until he learns what hard work a ranch actually is. Logan knows a woman will set him straight from his shenanigans, and brings one back. Kurt hopes for love, but they can’t seem to get along.

A/n- Hmm... Some “saucy” situations in here... well, they’d have ruined reputations in the 1900s, anyway.

Masterlist

Story!

Despite Logan not being happy with her for taking Kurt into town, over the next few weeks, he was more willing to let her take him when she went, as long as Kurt stayed in the back of the covered wagon; out of sight from the other people in town.

Logan was also glad to see that Kurt was doing more around, that his chores were being done by him, and on time, instead of having to cover his part while he laid around moping.

Also making him happy was the fact that Kurt seemed to be getting along better with Beth, and he seemed to be behaving more like a man than the child he had started as.

Kurt grabbed the basket Beth had made them for lunch and the blanket to sit on as he headed to the porch.

The wagon stopped by the front of the house and he climbed in.

“Your lunch is on the counter, Logan, we’ll be back tonight,” Beth told him where he stood on the porch.

Logan grunted and headed inside as she snapped the reins to set the horses in motion. Kurt watched out of the front, leaning out and enjoying the scenery drifting past.

“Where would you like to have lunch?” Beth asked.

“Somewhere with a nice view,” he answered.

They kept an eye out and found a nice spot about a mile from town.

As Kurt laid out the blanket and Beth brought over the food, they started talking. They ate their fill, putting the leftovers back into the basket, and sat around, Beth looking up at the clouds and Kurt gathering long strands of grass.

“I think that one looks like a horse,” Beth said, looking over to Kurt. “Don’t you think so?”

Kurt looked over from the circle he was making, then up to where she pointed. “I don’t see it,” he told her.

She looked back to the clouds and lifted a shoulder. “It must have moved. What are you doing?”

Kurt held up the circle of long grass. “It is a crown, usually they are made of flowers, but there are not much flowers here.”

Beth took it when he handed it to her and looked at it in interest.

“You’ve never made flower crowns before?”

Beth shook her head.

“I thought it was something children did everywhere, especially girls.”

Beth looked up at him with a corner of her lip tilted up. “Well, there’s the problem. I never spent much time with girls. I worked on the ranch with my father and brother, and learned how to run a household from my mother, but I never really spent time with other girls my age.”

“You have a brother?” Kurt asked. “Why didn’t he get the ranch instead of them making you sell it?”

“Had,” Beth corrected. “He… He was a lot like you… Fun loving, energetic…”

“What happened to him?” Kurt asked softly.

“He… he got cholera and passed. Along with my mother…” Beth looked away, back to the clouds. “He was only ten, I was only thirteen… After… My father and I worked the ranch and kept it going, but… He was struck by illness too… a year and a half ago… I worked the ranch alone for the last year, but, it was hard with so much livestock. I ended up selling them off, bit by bit, until I had an amount I could keep. But… The town didn’t think it was proper for a lady to run a cattle ranch, so they made me sell everything…”

Kurt was silent.

She had gone through so much, lost so many loved ones. Running a household at thirteen, and a ranch at, he guessed she would have been twenty-one, since she looked only a year or two younger than him.

No one in the circus had had to do that; there were children, and one or two of them had been orphans, but the circus rallied around them and made sure they were taken care of, just as they did all of the children. No one went hungry, no one was hated, no one was different, except him, and only because he was blue. The others hadn’t given him a hard time about it, either, but he had not been able to go into town with the others, and had had to stay out of the way of visitors so they didn’t turn into a mob.

Kurt looked up at Beth as she stood.

“We should get going, there are rain clouds on the horizon,” she told him, pointing.

Kurt stood and they took their things back to the wagon before climbing in and starting off again.

When they got to town, Beth pulled the wagon over and tied the horses before going out and to the stores.

Kurt watched as Beth made her way down the raised wooden sidewalk to a store and into it. She was wearing one of her normal outfits this time, with a long skirt and long sleeved shirt, but not one that had the too tight bodice and waist that restricted movement.

After a few more minutes, she came back out, and Kurt watched her go to another store. He turned to the back of the wagon, wondering why his heart had jumped at the sight of her.

The sound of slight rain pattered on the covered roof above and Beth was soon climbing onto the wagon and hurriedly untying the small covering that fell forward and covered the buckboard to mostly stop the rain from falling on her.

Kurt looked up at her and settled close behind the buckboard. “We are leaving already?” He asked.

“Yes, it’s going to be trouble to get back through to the ranch if we don’t get ahead of the storm,” she told him.

They set off just as Kurt heard the rain pick up against the roof.

Kurt leaned out through the opening, but leaned back in as the rain splashed back on his face and stray drops flew in from the wind.

“It’s really getting heavy,” he commented, but Beth didn’t seem to hear him over the now raging din of rain.

Puddles were forming on the road and the droplets of rain were hitting and splashing back up, getting the horse’s legs and sides of the wagon muddy and wet.

They were almost to the ranch, scarcely a mile and a half out, when the wagon bumped over the road, then the back slid to the side and sank.

The horses jerked to a stop, whinnying in protest, and Beth nearly flew over the front and down between the horses, but Kurt reached out and grabbed around her waist through the opening in the wagon.

Beth fell back onto the buckboard, eyes wide and breath halting in shock and fear of what had almost happened.

Kurt realized that his arms were still around her, and let her go.

Beth took a deep breath and glanced back at him before blushing and looking away. She turned around the side and tried to stay dry as she looked back at the wheel.

“What’s going on?” Kurt asked.

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “I’ll have to go look.”

“But you’ll get wet,” Kurt protested.

“It can’t be helped,” she said, climbing down. She was nearly immediately soaked, rain dripping down her arms and back as she went toward the back of the wagon.

The wheel had slid about two feet to the side and sank into the mud there, becoming more trapped as the small stream of rain washed more and more mud over and through it.

She hurried back to the front of the wagon and climbed up, sitting down and taking the reins. They snapped over the horse’s backs, and the horses pulled, but the wagon didn’t move. Beth snapped the reins again, and the horses strained, pulling at the wagon, but it still didn’t move.

Beth groaned in frustration. “Kurt, come take these. Have you ever driven a wagon?” She asked, turning to him.

Kurt climbed through the hole and shook his head. “A little,” he told her. “But not anything fancy like turning or parking…”

“That’s ok,” she told him. “Just try to make the horses pull the wagon. I’ll get out and push.”

“Beth, it’s not fitting for a lady to push a wagon,” Kurt protested.

“There’s no point in both of us getting soaked,” she told him. “Besides, I’ve got this,” she pushed out her hand and the rain that came in contact with it was shot sideways.

Beth hopped down and hurried to the back, loving the thought of taking the tub into her room and having a hot bath when they got back. She’d boil the water and climb in when it was just barely cool enough that her skin didn’t start getting blisters.

She got to the back and called for Kurt to start the horses pulling while she stood and pushed out her arm, hitting the back of the wagon to force it forward. The weight of the wagon was too great, letting it stay in the mud filling pothole.

After minutes of rain soaking through her outer dress, and starting through her corset, Beth gave up. She hurried back around to where Kurt was slapping the horses’s backs and trying to get them to pull forward.

“Kurt, stop,” Beth called up to him. “We’ll have to wait for the rain to pass, at least.”

She took the reins from him and unlatched the horses, pulling them off to the side of the road, finding a group of trees and tying them so they were at least a little protected from the pounding rain.

Beth pulled up her skirts, feeling like she was dragging around nearly a ton of wet cloth, and made her way back to the wagon, Kurt’s hand helping her up with the extra weight.

Water dripped down her hair, the heavy mass falling down as it pushed the pins out.

Kurt climbed into the wagon and closed the back flap as Beth followed, hoping to keep the rain out. As he looked back, a puddle was forming at Beth’s feet.

Beth bit her lip and stepped closer to the opening at the front. “Maybe I should stand outside…” She murmured.

Kurt looked up at her and noticed the shivers wracking her shoulders. “Nein, you’re freezing, don’t go out there…”

Beth blinked furiously as the rain tried to drip into her eyes from her hair. “I- I can’t stay in these clothes; I’ll catch my death…” Beth told him honestly, a blush glowing across her cheeks.

The sky outside was darkening by the minute, and Kurt wasn’t sure they’d be able to get out of there at all, with the wagon being stuck, so, he was a little worried about what to do, since they hadn’t prepared for an overnight trip.

“So… I suppose you’ll have to take them off…” He mumbled, his cheeks flushing purple at the thought.

Beth blushed darker, but her shivering body pressed her forward. “Please- turn around,” she asked him quietly.

Kurt turned, listening to her struggle with the soaked fabric, and the heavy squishy thuds as it fell to the floor of the wagon. There was some slapping noises as she moved it around over the edge of the buckboard to dry.

Beth settled her skirt so that it could dry easier, and her shirt was next to it. She peeked out, a last hope for rescue, but there was no one. She shivered as a breeze blew across her, and she looked down at her muddy and ruined stockings. She unlaced and pulled off her boots, putting them in the corner, and gently pulled off the ruined material of her stockings, throwing them over the rest of the clothes; it didn’t matter if anything happened to them now.

Beth glanced over at Kurt, checking that he was still turned around, and quickly loosened her corset enough to unhook the busk and pull it off. She stood it in the corner with her boots to dry and looked around, finding the blanket they’d taken to sit on at the picnic. She shook it out the best she could and wrapped it around herself.

“I suppose I’m as decent as I’ll get until I dry,” she mumbled to let Kurt know he didn’t have to stare at the seams in the canvas anymore.

They sat down, neither sure what to do, and Beth began taking out the few remaining pins from her hair, trying to straighten it the best she could with all of the tangles it had gathered from the rain.

Kurt stood and closed the flap at the front of the wagon most of the way.

“What are you doing?” Beth asked him.

“You’re still shivering,” he answered quietly.

“Oh… Thank you,” she murmured. She’d gotten so used to the shivering by now that she had stopped noticing.

Kurt sat back down by her, watching her unwind her hair.

“Kurt-”

Kurt blushed a little at hearing her say his name out of breath like that. “Ja?”

“Your- your eyes-”

Kurt felt his heart clench. Of course she’d only found something that made him more of a freak. “Ja, they, ah, they are very bright in the dark…”

“I thought so- I mean- that first time I saw you, I thought they were glowing a little,” she told him.

He didn’t say anything, just looked away, and his eyes fell on the basket of food.

“Are you getting hungry?” He asked.

“A bit,” she admitted.

They moved closer to the front of the wagon to see better, and ate a little, but left some for breakfast in the morning.

After they had packed up their food again, they moved to the back of the wagon and settled down.

Kurt laid facing away from Beth, as was proper, covered in a spare blanket they’d found stuffed in a corner. She had wrapped herself up to stay warm, and it was warmer in here now that the flaps were closed, heated from their body warmth and breath, but he could still feel her shivering behind him.

Kurt’s tail snuck closer and wrapped around her.

A moment later, he opened his eyes and stared at the wall of wood and canvas in front of him.

He felt warm enough without the blanket, helped by his fur, but her body was shaking, a gentle but steady shiver.

It was inappropriate, he knew, but Kurt turned over, looking over Beth’s blanketed body. He scooted closer and pulled his blanket out so that it covered both of them, but he had to scoot even closer so that it fully covered them.

He blushed as he felt her body press against his with each breath.

It was like he was holding her close, a hug maybe, or an embrace shared by people who wanted to kiss each other. But he didn't want to kiss her.

…

Did he?

He mentally shook his head.

No, she was so normal and beautiful, why would he want to put his strange, irreverent lips all over her?

And when had he started thinking of her as beautiful?

Wait-

All over her?

Why had he thought that? Did he want to kiss all over her?

A feeling like panic started tightening in his stomach.

Why was he thinking all of these strange and inappropriate things now?

It must be because she was practically against him in this dark space.

It was confusing his mind and body, so much that in the middle of worrying about his thoughts, he started drifting off.

Tag List!

@otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @racheo91 @tephi101 @lilypalmer1987 @pingu89 @gifsbysimplysonia @omnomsauruswrites @keldachick @Randomfandompenguin @mannls @screeching-student-unknown @lizfawn @ya-lyublu-tebya @their-bibliophile @the-fifth-marauder03 @Jbstans

#Kurt Wagner #kurt wagner x oc #Marvel AU #old west au #nightcrawler x oc #angst #mutant oc #romance #multi part story #X-men #x-men au #Rancher AU #Cowboy!Kurt Wagner #Cowboy!Nightcrawler #valkyrieofsmut #mutual pining

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milleralexanderauthor · 4 years

Text

Prologue

So I’m a naturally very shy person, but I thought I’d post the prologue to my book.

I’m incredibly anxious about it, but any form of constructive comments would be appreciated.

Thanks

Anthea sat at the window of the Tower of Zian, looking out over an expansive city. Zian was the highest point in Newlin, a marvel of architecture yet to be rivaled. It reminded her of the mountains she only knew in her mind, the feeling of bracing wind in her face. In her heart, she was there, among a people so long before her time eradicated and displaced. Below, the denizens of the city looked like ants, working away at their individual unhappy lives. The colony was diseased. They worked not in the interest of the whole but of the self, never truly looking at the people beside them. This infection had spread to her own life.

Her son was away, as he typically was. She had been assured that his work was important. He was a representative of the people, working for peace and equality. Perhaps, years ago when he was a young man, she might have believed him. She recalls the fire that once burned in his eyes, a man that demanded change. Now, she knew he merely played the game to get ahead. He was a eunuch of the machine that used him to maintain a status quo. Her once sensitive and critical son was now hardened to light, going so far as to openly deny his bloodline. His Driag blood, something that was once a sense of pride for him, was now a secret embarrassment.

His wife, a young woman named Karliah, now sat in a rocking chair across the room from Anthea, a newborn in her lap. Karliah looked down at her third-born child, face totally expressionless. In was only a few months ago that Phillip had sent for Anthea. He had told her that his wife had come down with a case of melancholy following the birth of their daughter and that he needed her to assist with the children. He assured her it would only be a few weeks until Karliah ‘got over it’. She had been in Newlin city for four months at this point, baby Alvera still somehow full of colic and Karliah full of a quiet apathy.

Anthea did not mind helping, as she feared that this would be her only opportunity to see her grandchildren. In her philosophy, children were the light in which we all lived after death. They were wiser and older than she, a fountain of possibly spilling over. Yet, they were so unburdened by the world. She wondered how her son saw them, as he rarely saw them at all.

At her knee, the middle child sat, quietly. Felia was always a subdued child, though only five years old. Her sister Telia was an untamed spirit, never one to be reserved in voicing her opinion, truly of her father’s blood. Felia always watched, observing the world with questioning analytical eyes. Anthea could feel something in her spirit, a displacement slowly coming into alignment. She feared for the hardships she sensed in this child’s future, but for now, she merely reveled in Felia’s presence, as it was one of immense calm.

“Aba, can you tell me a story?” she peeps, soft as a newborn chick.

“Anthea,” Karliah warned from her seat, voice never really expressing her emotion fully. She felt for Karliah, having to deal with her opinionated son on top of everything. Philip disliked it when Anthea told the children stories of the old country. The more they knew about their heritage in his eyes, the worse off they were. Anthea also knew that she held the power, as she could simply leave him to deal with his depressed wife and attention-hungry children alone. She wouldn’t, of course, but she could. Honestly, she should. He needed to learn to care for the family he formed in a way that mattered. Still, she stayed, but she did as she pleased and dared him to say anything about it.

“Of course, hneleh,” This was the Driag word for a species of flower, sweet in smell and vibrant in color. Karliah groaned, knowing she had lost. “What story would you like to hear?”

“Tell me about the ocean,” she requests, looking back at her mother. Karliah looks tired, more so than usual.

“Ah yes. A good choice, darling,” Anthea clears her throat. “Millions of epochs ago, the world was full of nothing but darkness and cold. Within this expanse of nothing was a being, who was as old as the world itself named Mela. They lived for many years alone in the void and grew sad. For all Mela wanted was someone else to be with, a friend to share their time with. They wept great tears of melancholy in their loneliness.”

“That’s sad,” Telia says from beside the fireplace where she had been scribbling on a piece of paper. “I can’t imagine not having anyone at all, even Alvy even though all she does is scream and cry.”

“You mean you don’t want to sell her to the traveling circus in Filar Square anymore, Telia?” Karliah says, chuckling softly. It was a rare thing to see any light in the woman’s eyes.

Telia thinks about this, scrunching up her nose in deep contemplation. “I’m still debating. I’ll get back to you.”

Karliah rolls her eyes, and Felia sits silently, waiting for Anthea to continue.

“It is sad, Telia. Don’t worry about Mela, though, children. For something amazing was about to happen. Their tears filled up the space in the abyss, creating a great sea of clear blue. The sea became to sway and froth, sending sea spray up into the dark sky, creating the stars. From the depths of the sea below rose four figures in the four corners of the world. They vowed their eternal love to Mela, and asked how they might assist them. Mela asks for them to help fill the void with something beautiful, so they would be lonely no longer. Sympha rose into the sky and created the moon, giving light to their work. They breathed a heavy breath, creating the breeze. Dianah rose mud and sand from the depths of the endless ocean, creating the land and the mountains. Conah carved lines and valleys into the earth, creating the expansive rivers and lakes of the land.

Mela, in the flurry of creation, gathered up the stars of the sky and scattered them throughout the world, creating the beasts of the land. Within them was the primal flame of creation. Nehan presented the beasts with fire, for them to use and keep warm in the cold winter. He rose into the sky, becoming the life-giving sun. Among the beasts of the land where those who Mela favored above all else, although they loved all of the creations of the new world. To them, they gave their eye, presented to them as an azure stone. In the eye of Mela was a power---”

“That’s enough, mother,” Phillip says, having entered into the living room.

“Daddy!” Telia shrieked, running to attach herself to Phillip’s leg. He places a hand on her raven curls but says nothing. He has his gaze fixed on Anthea, a steady rage behind his eyes. She meets it head-on, backing down to no one.

“Son, you’re home early,” she says, evenly.

“Dismemberment seems a bit harsh before bed, mother. Off to bed, children,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Anthea.

“I want to listen to Grandma’s---” Felia pipes in, timidly.

“Enough,” Philip replies, sternly. “It’s late. Go to bed. Now.”

Grumbling, the sisters dragged their feet off towards the stairs. Felia ran back, grabbing her grandmother into a fierce hug before running off. Karliah followed suit, shooting her husband an apologetic look as she took Alvera away to the Nursery. Philip crosses the room, looking out the same window as Anthea had, but up into the stars and moon that hung overhead.

“I work hard to provide for my family, mother,” he says, his voice far away.

“I understand that---”

“You do not,” he cuts in, sharply. ‘If you did you would not fill my children’s heads with tales of gods that are long dead.”

It stufng Anthea to hear her son speak that way of their religion, of their culture. He was a man of no faith, a man of no morals.

“The people of this nation look upon our people as if they are vermin. They see our blood as sullied. I don’t want that shame on my children.”

“Most people in the city are our kin, Philip,” she retorts, and it was true. The people of Newlin are almost entire descendants of Driag nomads fleeing their homelands. Philip shakes his head, sadly.

“We have no kin or kind. Our people died out long ago. It would be in your benefit to accept that and to respect the way I choose to raise my children. We are Newlin, we and Mesari, nothing else.”

Silence hung heavy in the air, and it broke Anthea’s heart.

“You have no convictions. The god you believe in is one of your own making. Do not expect your family to bow before you forever,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes.

Philip says nothing as Anthea rises and takes her leave and merely continues to look out over the sea of pin-point light up above him.

#my writing #writeblr #been writing #novel writing

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the-chanteloup · 4 years

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InuYasha RP Bio

Omg. I’m alive! Things have been so hectic, I forgot I had a Tumblr! Silly me. Well, I’ve returned, and with that return, I give you my finalized InuYasha RP bio!

So, I created this character about 18 years ago when InuYasha first aired on Adult Swim. I debuted her on Yahoo!Chat, and when that died, she sort of went into hibernation. With the series coming out, and this sudden surge of InuYasha, I really wanted to finalize her, and get her out into the world. :3

Name (last, first): Setsuna ( Of the Karyukai, The Flower and Willow World )

Nickname(s): Hanyou, Runt, Pup, Geisha

Age: 55 (Youthful appearance, commonly mistaken for 20-25)

Species: Half-Dog Demon, Half-Human (Hanyou)

Gender: Female

Birthday: Around the Winter Solstice

Life Story:

Left on the doorstep of an orphanage in the village of Sawara, in a shabby reed basket during a harsh winter was not the ideal beginning, but, all great legends must start somewhere. Luckily, warm hearts were in good spirits this cold night, and the overseers of this particular orphanage just couldn’t leave a bright eyed, bundle of joy out in the elements. Brought in out of the cold, and raised alongside human children, the pup never really knew she was different, other than having two black fluffy ears atop her head. As she grew, she was given a general education along with the other children, nothing fancy since they were considered the lower class, but enough to get her by should she ever take to selling turnips.

Unfortunately, all fairy tales have to end, and when her 16th year rolled around, she was tossed out into the world to fend for herself.

Being a small Hanyou had its benefits job wise, roaming gangs of thieves were always willing to have her tag along for heists, at a quarter of the profit for most of the dangerous work. But fate is a fickle mistress, and while perusing through a shop during a heist one night, she was detained by an older man named Ino Tadataka, with nun chucks. How embarrassing. She didn’t need superb Demon hearing to know her comrades had bailed, leaving her the scapegoat. However, before she could decide which hand she was okay with having chopped off, the old man offered her a deal. She would assist him in mapping some of the harder to reach places in the area, and in return he would house her, feed her and teach her to read.

Since climbing trees for an old man was a much better option than losing a limb, she hastily agreed, and spent many years assisting “Old Man Ino”, as she called him, in completing his map of Japan.

In the Spring of her last month with Ino, he referred her to an old friend in a village called Kanazawa in the Western Lands for another job. With no other real work leads, other than going back to stealing, she took the lead. When she arrived at the mapped destination Ino had given her, it turned out to be an exotic tea house. She swore on all the Gods above and below that she would knock the taste out of that old pervert’s mouth for this. As she stood outside making her proclamation to bash an old man’s head in, she was interrupted by the tea house’s 'mother', Kikuya. Seeing a rare opportunity to be the only tea house in the district with a Hanyou entertaining, Kikuya took her in instantly.

Amazingly, after several rough years of learning, she was finally “promoted” to the highest rank, Geisha.

Fast forward a few short years, just a few months from fully paying off her debt, she is one of the more popular girls advertised at the tea house. Fully skilled in playing the kokyū, flirting with men in a proper way, starting and losing games of Janken or Daruma Otoshi gracefully, and pouring hot tea in hazardous ways, courtesy of her quick Hanyou reflexes, she has acquired several frequent guests.

A Samurai named Yorimoto quickly became her favorite “customer”, and though they saw each other as nothing more than siblings, she developed a connection to the Human. He was never short on adventurous stories about fighting, and war, which she soaked up like a sponge, enjoying the romantic way he told of their honor code. Being half-Demon, she was naturally drawn to weapons and all their convenient ways of killing things, and eventually convinced Yorimoto to teach her how to use the Naginata. Unfortunately, it was highly un-Geisha like to swing around a “blade on a stick”, as her mother called it, so, under the guise of certain services, they met and trained. Several months passed, and her Samurai was called away to battle, but before he left, Yorimoto gifted her a Naginata all her own, for emergencies, of course.

Even though she was content to stay at her tea house and practice her Naginata in peace until the day when she could afford to open her own business, she also wouldn’t mind a little bit of adventure sneaking in and stirring things up.

Appearance:

Setsuna stands an intimidating five feet tall at her black ear tips, which has earned her the nickname “Runt”. Thanks to her Demon genetics, despite her small stature, she is sturdily built, muscular and has a curvy frame. She is a milky skinned Hanyou with loosely curled raven black hair that trails down to her rear, and cobalt blue, cat like eyes rimmed in coal eyeliner. Her ears are slightly fluffy, and sport two small silver hoops in each, a gift from her Geisha mother, Kikuya. Her claws are a soft pearl color; however, they are kept at a shorter length due to her kokyū playing and aesthetics for the tea house, but they still remain filed to a point and sharp.

Her only truly intimidating feature is a deep, guttural growl that could easily be mistaken for a much larger demon. Setsuna’s normal attire is that of a typical Geisha, minus the white makeup. Elaborate silk kimonos and obis, along with jeweled hair trinkets and pins. Her hair is never tied up, allowing her ears to remain out in the open. When she is training with the Naginata, she dons a black hakama, with a royal blue sash around her waist. Setsuna is almost always barefoot as she likes the feel of Earth on her skin.

Like all Hanyou, she reverts to a mortal Human form on the night of the new moon. She becomes weaker, as she loses all of her Demon abilities. Her hair fades to a dusty blonde color, and her eyes dull to a pale gray.

Personality:

Setsuna is usually the center of the party. Having trained with her Geisha mother, she can strike up conversations easily with almost anyone. She has a laid-back demeanor, seeming to just roll with the punches. A smile of some sort is usually found on her face, giving her an easy to approach look. She has an old wisdom about her, and is always available to offer advice or find an answer to a question. She tends to have a soft spot for animals and children, but she prefers both go home with someone else. Her one true weakness is a field of wild flowers, or flowers of any kind. Though she hates to admit it, she’s a sucker for romance and intimate physical touches.

Unfortunately, with a decent amount of Demon blood in her veins, Setsuna is not the quiet, demure creature one would expect when they see her in full Geisha attire. Having been raised by thieves, her mouth is dirtier than a sewer grate, and her mind has been likened to that of a lecherous old man’s. Even with traditionally excitable genetics, she is calm, collected, and calculating, preferring her enemies to either make fools of themselves or to wander right into her trap. Though she has never been in a true battle, the canine in her usually wishes a mother fucker would so she could let her Naginata bathe in blood. Of course, that doesn’t mean she goes looking for a fight, but should one happen to peek around a corner….

Good Habit(s):

She is very understanding, and a good listener. No problem is too dramatic, or small for her ears. She offers honest advice (This could be good or bad) She is fiercely loyal to those who have earned it. Her colorful background and lifestyle have given her a wealth of wisdom and knowledge, both useful and not.

Bad Habit(s):

Hot headed, she finds a boiling point rather quickly over certain things. Decently excitable, the World is a big adventure to a young Hanyou. Territorial, what’s hers is hers. Cursing bad enough to make perverts blush.

Like(s):

Walking in the forest, feeling the sun on her skin and the Earth on her bare feet. Having her hair done/played with. Food. Training with her Naginata. Playing the kokyū. Listening to stories, mostly battle and war stories. Thunderstorms at night. Wildflower fields.

Special Powers/Abilities:

Aside from the typical Hanyou speed, flexibility and agility, she has a natural ability to hide and camouflage herself due to her small stature. She’s also decently formidable in a fist fight. Intimidating low, guttural growl usually used for intimidation. Rapid healing.

Ambition/Life-long Dream:

Even though she longs for the thrill of battle, a more reasonable ambition would be to finally pay off her debts to Kikuya, and to open her own tea house that specializes in ‘unique’ Geishas like herself.

Love Interest:

Unknown.

Occupation/Job:

Geisha, entertainer, Hanyou

Notes:

Now, I know y'all who follow the series are looking at me like, "Uh...THAT NAME IS FAMILIAR" And, yeah, I know, trust me. I had a moment when the official announcement was made, but when I created Setsuna, I actually used the name from the manga Angel Sanctuary ( showing my age here ), and this character was never meant to follow any sort of canon story line, ever, she was always strictly AU. With all that being said, please don't come for me. xD I am smol and anxiety ridden. I really just wanted to have her bio published, because I love this little shit of a Hanyou. She was one of my very first creations and holds a pretty special place in my cold black heart. A few more notes: I'm totally up for RP! Feel free to send me a note or whatever. I'm pretty laid-back, and open to most scenarios.

I usually ship Setsuna with Sesshomaru, because it's adorable, but, I’m open to any ship.

She has no art. Like I said, this has been a long time coming, so I haven't had any art of her commissioned, but maybe in the near future I will. ( -eyeballs the extremely talented @destinyfall) But, I can give you details and photo references if you decide you would like to RP.

#roleplay #rp #literate rp #inuyasha #demon #original character

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walkingshcdow-a · 4 years

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Title: The Best Revenge is Loving Well Rating: K+ Summary: Rudyard joins Chapman for an evening chat and it quickly becomes a study of the haves and have-nots in Piffling Vale. Confessions are made and blessings are counted. AU. Ships: Vicyard ( @tinfoiltemplar ), Mashap ( @hcpebelief ), mentioned Chapman/Lady Templar/Simon Templar

“-And here is last year’s Christmas pageant,” Rudyard said, pulling yet another photograph of his children from his wallet and laying it on the bar in front of Chapman.

Calliope, dressed as a scowly shepherd had been called upon by the Angel Gabriel - better known as her younger brother, James - because he was too embarrassed to tell Mary that she would soon give birth to what may or may not have been the savior of the world. Somewhere in the attic, filed neatly by a determined Victor and Georgie, the recording of the play collected dust. Every year, regardless of what their children had been cast as, Victor recorded the play and every year, even though they’d all seen it at the church, the Trevor-Funn family gathered around the ancient television set to rewatch Calliope and James take part in Piffling’s hottest take on the miracle of Christmas. Usually they did this while the goose or turkey or mallard or what-have-you finished off in the oven. Family traditions filled Rudyard with delight, but it was especially the family traditions he now forged with his husband and sister and children and Georgie that mattered most. Until raising a family of his own, Rudyard had been content to blindly follow in his parents’ crooked footsteps. Now, the path ahead felt more purposeful, clearer, less homicidal.

And he relished the chance to show it off.

Weekly drinks with Chapman hadn’t been Rudyard’s idea. In fact, when his much-hated rival first invited Rudyard to the pub in Chapman’s, Rudyard had complained about it for three days straight.

“The nerve of the man!” he said, wildly swinging a hammer to finish building a coffin. “When he knows I don’t drink! Doesn’t he know I have better things to do on a Thursday night than sit around that pub of his?”

“Darling, have you considered that Mr. Chapman wants to make amends with you?” Victor asked, eyeing Rudyard cautiously. He side-stepped easily when the hammer clattered out of Rudyard’s grasp. “This rivalry of yours is beginning to feel…”

“What?” Rudyard growled. “Do you think we’re losing?”

“I think it makes you more vicious than I’ve seen you since James’ custody hearing.”

“Your ex-wife deserved every ounce of vitriol I showed her.”

“But does Chapman?”

“Of course he does,” Rudyard snapped, picking up the hammer from the floor. “He’s stolen nearly all our business in a matter of weeks, pushed me out of the village council, and tried to steal Georgie from us.”

“Yes. And in return, you’ve stolen his mail every day since he arrived, sabotaged several of his funerals, and made yourself sick with envy.”

“I maintain that that was food poisoning. Calliope’s ceviche is deadly.”

“All I’m saying-” Victor massaged Rudyard’s wrists gently as he wrapped his hands around them. “- is that it might be healthier to focus on the things you do have.”

“Mm.” Rudyard set down the hammer. He shook loose from Victor’s grasp to stroke his hair, then his cheek. “I do have several amazing things Chapman will never have.”

Midway through kissing his husband, Rudyard realized how best to revenge himself on Chapman. As such, he began to accept Chapman’s weekly invitations to talk shop in his pub and Rudyard took every opportunity to show Eric Chapman the things he had that Chapman did not. Wedding photos. A lovely, kind, brilliant husband. Two children who lit up his life. A sister to lean on when the business became a bit of a strain. An assistant who was practically a better sister than Antigone. The world’s laziest bulldog. A best friend who, in addition to being a best-selling novelist, was a mouse and gifted conversationalist.

In short: a family.

In fact, Rudyard had rebranded Funn Funerals in these last few months. It was true enough that they got the body in the coffin in the ground on time - of course they did - but they were also the only family-owned and -operated funeral home on the island. It didn’t recuperate all their business, but it helped them make ends meet. And, more importantly, it allowed Rudyard to remind Chapman weekly of the areas in which he was clearly superior. Chapman was as popular as Rudyard was unpopular, but was he loved? Did he have a wallet full of a life truly lived? Or children’s artwork tucked in with his filing? Or someone who convinced him to make curry for dinner even though neither of them were dab hands in the kitchen?

As Chapman nursed his third light ale of the evening and Rudyard sipped on skim milk in the near-empty pub, Rudyard felt a surge of elation at Chapman’s slumped, defeated look. He decided to push his luck.

“I think I have some photos from the wedding in here, too,” he said, knowing full well that he did. “You should see Calliope as a flower girl…”

“You’re really lucky, Rudyard,” Chapman said, voice slightly slurry from the alcohol. “Really lucky. How many years has it been?”

“Seven, almost eight,” said Rudyard. He fished for the photo he wanted. “But Victor and I were childhood sweethearts. We’ve known each other since we were five years old.”

It didn’t serve Rudyard’s narrative to talk about his wife who died when their daughter was too young to remember her. It didn’t do to talk about Victor’s ex-wife who treated him like scum and tried to snatch custody of James a few years ago, despite having no maternal instinct or interest in James except as a bargaining chip to get more alimony out of Victor. What did serve him was the picture of Calliope and her new brother at the wedding ceremony, sitting at the foot of the altar with flower petals strewn everywhere and James’ pudgy fist grasping her pin-straight hair as he sat in her lap at their fathers’ feet. Alighting upon it with an “a-ha!”, Rudyard offered the picture to Chapman to view.

“They really are good kids,” Chapman said. “You ‘n Victor did a good job.”

“I like to think so,” Rudyard said, preening a little. “Calliope very well might be a genius - no doubt she’ll run you out of business if I haven’t by the time she’s old enough to run things - and James… James is the kindest boy I’ve ever known. He reminds me so much of Victor at that age…”

“I always wanted t’ be a dad.” Chapman’s voice was hazy. “I’d be a good dad, wouldn’t I?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Rudyard said.

“It’s not too late,” Chapman continued. “I could have a kid. If I wanted.”

“I’m sure,” Rudyard said dryly. Then, a little too gleefully, “But you’d need a partner for that and marriage - and parenthood - is not for the faint of heart. Over half of all marriages fail. I’m very lucky that I’m married to my best friend in all the world. He’s really the best man in the world. I’m afraid that whoever you could con into marrying you would have to settle for second place.”

Chapman laughed weakly.

“I dunno about that,” he said, reaching for his beer bottle. “If you knew this woman like I know her…”

Rudyard paled a little.

“Of course you have someone in mind,” he said. Then, horror flooded his system as he thought of a severely pretty blonde with an obnoxious laugh and a glass eye: Victor’s aunt Vivian. “You do know Lady Templar is married, don’t you?”

“Vivian?” Chapman sputtered. “Oh, no. Not Vivian. She’s great and all, but she and Simon… Well, he’s great, too. They’re a great couple. And I’m lucky they have an open relationship - it passes the time.”

Rudyard gripped his glass of milk tightly. Any trace of a smile had fled his face entirely. There were some things about Vivian Templar he never needed to know and, unfortunately, he was now imagining the most unseemly things that he would have to carry with him home. And out of consideration for Victor’s sanity, he wouldn’t be able to share his horror with anyone until Georgie clocked in tomorrow morning.

“I think I have some more pictures…”

“No, I don’t mean Vivian at all.”

“Now, look here, Georgie has told you multiple times that she’s not interested.”

“You don’t know her at all,” Chapman said. “She’s someone I met a long time ago.”

“Of course she is.” Rudyard began to pick up his photographs and tuck them back into his wallet. “Everything’s always ‘a long time ago’ with you.”

“We met doing doctors without borders,” Chapman continued.

“You’re a doctor now?”

“I studied medicine at Oxford a long time ago,” Chapman mumbled. “But, not exactly, no.”

“Oh, good lord…”

“Masha.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her name. Masha. Masha Voronina. She was - is - a nurse practitioner. Brilliant woman. Russian, spoke five languages. Licensed masseuse - talented hands - trained jazz singer… We used to go hiking together for miles and she’d always find the best views.”

“I see.”

“We used to meet up every year - sometimes every few months - either because we were assigned to the same hospital or because I happened to be passing through wherever she was stationed. And we would have the most passionate, wild nights, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, that’s not exactly a subtle way to put it…”

“Sometimes, we would be backpacking together and camp out and I’d wake up and see her sleeping in the tent next to me and I’d think: this is it, Eric. It doesn’t get any better than this. You’re in the mountains of Monterrey with the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. You just spent the night mapping the stars with her and she’s still here and you could be happy like this, every morning, absolutely anywhere if she wakes up beside you. And I’d think I should propose to her. But I never did.”

“I’m sorry,” Rudyard said. “But that sounds incredibly stupid. If you really loved her, why wouldn’t you propose to her?”

“It’s not that simple,” Chapman said. He slid his bottle between his hands, clearly thinking, but about what, Rudyard didn’t dare guess. “Not all of us are lucky enough to marry our childhood sweethearts and raise a family.”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said defensively, “Victor and I were certainly lucky, but that doesn’t mean our marriage wasn’t hard work.”

“Oh no?” Chapman cocked an eyebrow. “You married your best friend and are raising two brilliant kids with him, running Piffling’s ‘only family-owned and -operated funeral home’, making homemade dinners together every night. I’ll bet the most you’ve ever fought is over which sheets to put on the bed this week.”

“That’s not fair,” Rudyard snapped. “Victor and I overcame insurmountable odds-”

“Like what?”

“His sodding family disowned him for marrying me, for one thing.” Rudyard scowled. “Why do you think Lady Templar hates me? I’ll bet you didn’t know she was Victor’s aunt.”

“It’s never come up.”

“And for another thing, those brilliant kids of ours didn’t just get dropped off by a stork, you know. I was married before - when Victor was off placating his horrid family, I met someone and fell in love. Cordelia. She used to run the Piffling Music Emporium. She died when Calliope was six months old. Do you have any idea what being a single father entails? I didn’t sleep for three years. Meanwhile, Victor’s parents married him off and his ex-wife, the miserable hag, cheated on him and lamented having to carry his heir to term. His heir! Better known as our son! We spent months in court with her to get full-custody of James. I’m bloody grateful he doesn’t remember those months. That neither of them remembers a life before this!” Rudyard jabbed his finger at the picture of his children on his wedding day. “Yes, I’m lucky, but marriage really isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“Blimey.”

“What on earth could be so trying you haven’t even tried to propose to this woman you love so much?”

Chapman muttered something inaudible.

“Speak up.”

“I don’t know where she is anymore,” he murmured. “We used to write letters, but I haven’t gotten mail since I moved to Piffling and I just think… Maybe she got tired of me? Maybe she would have, regardless. She’s a wandering spirit and we met when we were young and reckless. How am I supposed to know if she would even fancy the idea of settling down here, with me?”

“Are you really going to let the fear of rejection stop you from proposing to this woman?”

“I don’t have her current address!”

Rudyard thought about a drawer filled with Chapman’s mail that, maybe if he was feeling benign, might merit another look through.

“Yes, well, that might be a bit of a setback,” Rudyard said. “The course of true love never did run smooth and what-have-you.”

Chapman sighed. He leaned into his hands heavily. His fingers tangled in his blond hair and Rudyard almost felt sorry for him. He didn’t know how to react and so gingerly patted Chapman’s shoulder.

“If I’d asked her when I saw her last,” Chapman mumbled, “we’d be married four years today. Maybe we’d have a kid or two by now. Who knows?”

Rudyard didn’t have the heart to tell Chapman that weddings typically took a lot more planning than he made it sound and that he would likely only have been married to Masha for two or three years by this point. Instead, he drained the remainder of his milk and pushed away from the bar.

“Who knows, indeed,” he muttered. “Well, Chapman, I really should be getting home to my family for the night. I don’t want to worry Victor…”

“Do you think we would have been happy?” Chapman asked, gripping Rudyard’s wrist. “Do you think Masha would have loved me enough to marry me? Even if it was as difficult as your marriage has been?”

“I have no idea,” Rudyard said. “But if you love her even half as much as I love Victor, you’d be willing to make it work, whatever the obstacles.”

A small smile turned up Chapman’s lips. Rudyard didn’t like the feeling of having inspired hope in his hated rival.

“You’re a wise man, Rudyard Funn,” Chapman said. “Thank you.”

Rudyard mumbled something and walked briskly home across the square. When he opened the door to Funn Funerals and was greeted by pictures of his family and the sounds of his husband going over history homework with the kids from the kitchen, he relaxed. Maybe he hated Chapman and maybe he liked having something Chapman didn’t, but maybe, just maybe, even Eric Chapman deserved some measure of happiness. Rudyard joined his family in the kitchen to see Calliope drawing on James’ forearm while Victor reviewed homework. He greeted them each in turn, finally pecking Victor on the lips.

“You’re back early,” Victor said, smiling a little. “Did you successfully demoralize the competition by showing him baby pictures of our children?”

“It’s been a productive evening,” Rudyard said. “Victor, love, do you know where my file folder of Chapman’s mail has gotten off to? There’s something I need to check for…”

#;;thy tongue; thy story quickly.| {drabble}#;;we get the body in the coffin in the ground on time | {rudyard funn}#;;drabble | {rudyard funn}#tinfoiltemplar #hcpebelief

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