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thewidowsghost · 3 years

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The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 8

3rd Person POV

Later that night, (Y/n) crawls under her covers to go to sleep; Marvel lies her small head on (Y/n)'s chest.

"'Night, girl," (Y/n) murmurs, drowsily scratching behind the cat's ears.

. . .

A few hours later, Marvel lifts her head, nuzzling (Y/n)'s face to try to wake her up. She lets out a whimper, pawing (Y/n)'s face.

The girl was sweating and her neck was resting at an awkward angle. Her breath had quickened and her eyes were moving rapidly under her closed eyelids.

Marvel jumps off the bed and streaks into Hermione's room. Hermione had always been a light sleeper, so when the cat jumped onto her bed, she wakes.

Marvel meows, and Hermione's head tilts in concern.

"What's wrong, Marvel?" Hermione asks and the black-and-white feline paws at Hermione's hand and jumps off the bed, stopping at the door, then looking back at the brunette.

What a peculiar cat, Hermione thinks, throwing back the covers and following the cat across the hall to her sister's room.

Marvel streaks over and onto the bed, her green eyes wide as she tries to nudge her companion awake again.

Realization and fear dawn in Hermione's eyes and she walks across the room and switches on (Y/n)'s bedside slight before placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, shaking it roughly.

"Come on," Hermione murmurs. "You've got to wake up."

(Y/n)'s eyes flash open, and she sits up in her bed, her eyes closed, head leaning against the headboard, her hands trembling.

Hermione sits down on the edge of (Y/n)'s bed, and takes her sister's hands in her own.

(Y/n) looks up, her eyes wide with shock - and a bright silver.

Hermione looks at her sister and (Y/n) subconsciously moves over and Hermione slides under the covers, her back leaning against the other half of (Y/n)'s pillow.

(Y/n) leans against Hermione's shoulder; Hermione, used to these nightmares, remains silent.

After a few minutes, she reaches over and turns off the bedside light.

(Y/n) turns on her side, her head resting on the pillow, and Hermione does the same.

. . .

(Y/n) and Hermione don't talk about the nightmare the night before as the two go about the rest of the break leading up until Christmas.

After breakfast Christmas morning, (Y/n), Hermione, and their parents walk into the living room.

"You girls want to pass out gifts?" Mrs. Granger asks and (Y/n) and Hermione nod.

After passing out the gifts, (Y/n) settles back down at her place in front of the couch. (Y/n) pulls the wrapping paper off one from Fred, and sitting on top was a card. It said:

(Y/n), Somebody got this picture of your first Quidditch match, I thought you'd like it.

- Fred

Lifting up the card, (Y/n) smiles seeing a picture in a frame. It was a picture of Fred and George lifting her up onto their shoulders after her first Quidditch match.

(Y/n) sets the picture and card beside her before picking up a gift from Harry. She smiles when she sees a Advanced Charms book and a book on Magical Creatures.

(Y/n) looks over at Hermione as the brunette at her side opens her gift. (Y/n) had given her sister a copy of Hogwarts: A History.

"I have a copy already," Hermione says, turning to (Y/n).

"There's a charm on it," (Y/n) explains. "Whenever something important in Hogwarts' history, it get's copied down in here. Look," (Y/n) says, opening a page. It says, October 31, 1991 - Hermione Granger, (Y/n) (L/n), Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, defeated a mountain troll in a girls toilet.

Hermione stares down at the book and a smile slowly spreads across her face. "This is really cool! I love it! But that's not how that went," Hermione says.

"Ah, but it's better than what actually happened," (Y/n) argues. "That was not my best birthday."

(Y/n) grabs another gift, pulls the paper off, and finds a box of chocolate frogs from Harry, and she sets them aside, promising to have one later.

One of (Y/n)'s last gifts is a package wrapped in glossy blue paper with wolves printed on it.

(Y/n),

Happy Christmas! I'm very proud of what you have accomplished at Hogwarts in such a short amount of time.

-Love,

Uncle Remus

(Y/n) gazes down at the card, a small smile on her face. Then she sets the card at her side and looks at the contents of the box. Inside was a small stuffed wolf with a tag on it's ear that read - (Y/n)'s first stuffed animal, a gift from Uncle Remus. Under that was a new stack of photos that (Y/n) promises herself to look at later.

(Y/n) opens a package and finds a red sweater with a silver (First Initial) on it. Under the sweater was a large box of homemade fudge and a letter.

(Y/n), My sons Ron, Fred, and George have told me a lot about you. My husband, Arthur, and I wish to meet you soon. Happy Christmas! -Molly Weasley

Grinning, (Y/n) pulls the sweater over her head and the four finishing opening all their gifts, both (Y/n) and Hermione take all their things upstairs.

3rd Person POV - with Harry - A few hours earlier

On Christmas Eve, Harry goes to bed looking forward for the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he wakes early in the morning, however, the first thing he sees is a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," says Ron sleepily as Harry scrambles out of bed and pulls on his bathrobe.

"You, too," says Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" says Ron, turning to his own pile, which is a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picks up the top parcel. It is wrapped in thick brown paper and and scrawled across it was to Harry, from Hagrid. Inside is a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself; Harry blows it - it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contains a note. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note is a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," says Harry.

Ron seems fascinated by the fifty pence, "Weird!" he exclaims. "What a shape! This is money!"

"You can keep it," says Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron is. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle - so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," says Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and - oh, no," he groans, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," says Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," says Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

Harry's next present also contains candy - a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione which Harry thought was kind of funny because he had gotten (Y/n) the same thing.

Harry's next parcel was from (Y/n). Opening it, he sees a small box. Feeling curious, Harry opens the box to see a couple of photos. One was of a raven haired man with amber eyes, Harry's father, and a red haired women with emerald green eyes, his mother. The two are standing with a (M/H/C) haired women, (Y/n)'s mum; all three were smiling.

Harry looks at another picture of two kids, probably about a year old. One was a boy with raven hair and emerald eyes, the other was a girl with (H/C) and green eyes - Harry himself and (Y/n).

Then, Harry sees a piece of paper sitting in the box.

Hey Harry,

I found these pictures in the box my godfather left me and I made a few copies. I figured you'd want them.

-Love,

(Y/n)

Harry smiles and picks up the final present. He picks it up and feels it. It's very light, he thinks, and he unwraps it.

Something fluid and silvery gray goes slithering to the floor where it lies in gleaming folds and Ron gasps.

"What is it?"

Harry picks up the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It's strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," says Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is - try it on."

Harry throws the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gives a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looks down at his feet, but they are gone. He dashes to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looks back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulls the cloak over his head and his reflection vanishes completely.

"There's a note!" says Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulls off the cloak ans seizes the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well

A very Merry Christmas to you

There is no signature; Harry stares at the note, while Ron is admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," Ron says. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," says Harry. He fells very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? he thinks.

Before he can say - or think - of anything else, but the dormitory door is flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounds in. Harry stuffs the cloak quickly out of sight. He doesn't fell like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look — Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George are wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it,the other a G.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," says Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demands. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moans halfheartedly as he pulls it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observes. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid — we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley sticks his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carries a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seizes.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."

"I — don't — want —" says Percy thickly, as the twins force the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," demands George."Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-march Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas;tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce —and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulls a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet,and is chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings follow the turkey. Percy nearly breaks his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watches Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he calls for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggles and blushes, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally leaves the table, he is laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry has a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs.Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they return to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry breaks in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. Harry suspects he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone feels too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbs into bed is he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Harry leans over the side of his own bed and pulls the cloak out from under it. His father's ... this had been his father's. He lets the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.He has to try it, now. He slips out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he sees only moonlight and shadows. It's a very funny feeling.Use it well.Suddenly, Harry feels wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts is open to him in this cloak. Excitement floods through him as he stands there in the dark and silence. He can go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunts in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something holds him back— his father's cloak — he felt that this time — the first time — he wants to use it alone. Harry creeps out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbs through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawks the Fat Lady. Harry says nothing. He walks quickly down the corridor.

Harry, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He sets off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.The library is pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lights a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looks as if it was floating along in midair,and even though Harry can feel his arm supporting it, the sight gives him the creeps.

The Restricted Section is right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separates these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles. They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book has a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be. Harry had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulls it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, lets it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek splits the silence — the book is screaming! Harry snaps it shut, but the shriek goes on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbles backward and knocks over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside —stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he runs for it. He passes Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slips under Filch's outstretched arm and streaks off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He has been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going.Perhaps because it's dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There is a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library — Restricted Section."

Harry feels the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he is, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice is getting nearer, and to his horror, it's Snape who replies, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stands rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape come around the corner ahead. They can't see him, of course, but it is a narrow corridor and if they come much nearer, they'd knock into him - the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

Harry backs away as quickly as he can. A door stands ajar to his left. It's my only hope, Harry thinks. He squeezes through it, holding his breath, trying to to move it, and to his relief, he manages to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walk straight past, and Harry leans against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. They had been close, very close, It is a few seconds before he notices anything about the room he his hidden in.

It looks like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs are piled against the walls, and there is an upturned wastepaper basket — but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It is a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame,standing on two clawed feet. There is an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there is no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moves nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again; he steps in front of it.

He has to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirls around, his heart pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed - for he had not seen only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room is empty. Breathing very fast, he turns slowly back to the mirror.

There he is, reflected in it, white ans scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, are at least ten others. Harry looks over his shoulder - but still, no one is there. Or are they invisible, too? Is his, in fact, in a room full of invisible people and this mirrors trick is that it reflects them, invisible or not?

Harry looks in the mirror again. A woman is standing right behind his reflection is smiling at him and waving. He reaches out a hand and feels the air behind him. If she is really there, he would touch her, their reflections are so close together, but he only feels air - she and the others exist only in the mirror.

She is a very pretty woman. Dark red hair and her eyes, emerald green eyes. Harry edges closer to the to the glass. Bright green - exactly the same shape as Harry's, but then he notices that she is crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wears glasses and his hair is very untidy. It sticks up at the back, just as Harry's does.

Harry is so close to the mirror that his nose is nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispers. "Dad?"

They just look at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looks into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and sees other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man, who looks as though he as Harry's knobbly knees - he is looking at his entire family for the first time in his life.

The Potters smile and wave at Harry and he stares hungrily hack at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he is hopping to fall right through it and reach them. He has a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stands there, he doesn't know. The reflections do not fade and he looks and looks until a distant noise brings him back to his senses. He can't stay here, he has to find a way back to his bed. He tears his eyes away from his mother's face, whispers, "I'll come back," and hurries from the room.

Harry does for the next two nights and Dumbledore had found Harry the last night. Dumbledore had told Harry the purpose of the mirror, to show the deepest desire of their hearts.

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the Invisibility Cloak stays folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wishes he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he can't He starts having nightmares. Over and over a again he dreams of his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice crackles with laughter. What Harry didn't know, was that (Y/n) was having the same dreams. Repetition from the one on Christmas Eve night.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," says Ron, when Harry tells them about these dreams.

Word Count: 3759 words

#hermione granger x sister reader

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weasleydream · 4 years

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A story of love, pain and shitty parents - part 4

The fourth part is finally here, I’m sorry it’s been so long!

To be honest, I’m really disappointed with this chapter, I feel like I haven’t been able to write down what I really wanted to transmit. It was a really important part for me and no matter how bad I think it is, I won’t be able to do better, I’ve made it too personal for that sooo I still hope it’s okay!

As usual feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist

The first of September was near and it looked like all the students had begged their parents for one last trip at what had become their favourite place in the world. To be fair, Weasley Wizard Wheezes was a beautiful shop, and it looked even more alive now that most of the other shops in Diagon Alley had disappeared.

“I don’t understand why your name isn’t on the storefront.” Mrs Hoggs, an old lady who couldn’t refuse her grandson any visit here, was looking for a few Sickles in her bag. “I mean, you’ve helped with this shop, right? You should have your part of recognition, that’s all I’m saying.” she added without letting me a second to reply.

Her eyes fell on the picture that was hanging on the wall right behind me. It had been taken on the inauguration of the shop, and I was squeezed between Fred and George in front of the dream of a life. If Mrs Hoggs was particularly obsessed by the fact that I “didn’t have enough recognition”, she wasn’t the only one wondering why I seemed to be “left on the sidelines”. That was so annoying that even her grandson sighed.

“Aren’t you bothered? If you want my opinion…” Mrs Hoggs kept babbling. She was so passionate by her one-sided debate that I exchanged an exasperated look with her grandson. “Oh, Mr Weasley!” she suddenly exclaimed at the very moment Fred’s arm wrapped around me. “I was talking about-”

“I know, Mrs Hoggs, I’ve heard that same speech a few times already.”

Fred smiled kindly, and I once more wondered how he would stay so calm in all circumstances.

“And we don’t need to change the shop’s name for the very good reason that one day, Y/N will be a Weasley too.”

Fred left with a broad smile on his lips, leaving me alone with a flabbergasted Mrs Hoggs and my shaky legs. Suddenly, my heart was beating harder than ever and I could have sworn my cheeks had never been that red.

“Can I have my pygmy puff now?”

_ _ _

I found Fred lying on the couch, his eyes closed and an arm thrown on his face. Thinking he was sleeping, I silently grabbed the brush I had left on the table and detangled my hair, which were still wet from the hot shower I had just taken. I headed to Fred with the intention to wake him up, but his steady breath and his peaceful attitude made me stop. It was more and more rare that Fred was calm, and no matter how hard they tried to hide it, I knew that both he and his twin were worried sick. About the war, obviously, but I was willing to bet that they were also scared for me. Without realizing it, I had sat just in front of him and modeled my breathing after his.

“Are you going to watch me like this for long?” Even though his voice was quiet, I jumped and looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Hey, love, come here.”

Fred opened his arms and I curled up against him like a cat. He embraced me and pulled me against his torso as hard as he could without hurting me, and at the moment I wanted nothing but being closer to him. But instead, I murmured in his ear, scared my voice would either show how overwhelmed I was or how desperate.

“Did you mean it? What you said at the shop, did you really mean it?”

Fred shivered, and a part of my brain realized it was the effect of my voice.

“Of course I meant it. I love you Y/N, and I think Y/N Weasley sounds more than good.”

I wanted to say so many things, that I loved him too, more than anything else in this world or every other world, that I wanted to be his for the rest of my life, I wanted to find a good joke to avoid expressing my deepest feelings, but I found myself unable to do that. Instead, I smiled, broadly, and I kissed him.

“Fred, Y/N, are you- Merlin, not again!”

Fred groaned and let go of me, and I got up to face George’s amused look.

“Don’t you think it’s time for you to find an apartment of your own? I mean, as much as I tolerate you, always walking in on you snogging is getting annoying.”

George was smirking, but in fact, the three of us knew what the situation was. The war was imminent, the terror had taken an important place in our lives and the only future we could see was uncertainty. No matter what he would say, George didn’t want to let us go, nor did Fred and I want to leave. That’s also why talking about a wedding was so strange for me. For all that we knew, we could be all dead within the next month.

“Is there a reason why you interrupted us?” suddenly asked Fred to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Actually, yes. Mum is going to kill us if we aren’t at the Burrow in an hour. You know how obsessed she’s been with Harry’s birthday.”

_ _ _

Once again, everything happened without me understanding anything. One second, Bill and Fleur’s guests were dancing and laughing, and for the first time in what felt like years I was genuinely smiling and enjoying a dance with Fred, and the second after everything was chaos and everyone was screaming. I didn’t know where George was, and I didn’t have any other choice than to assume he was alright. Fred jumped aside when a green flash of light flew toward him, grabbing my waist before falling on the ground.

“Leave!” he screamed, gesturing toward the Burrow.

I shook my head and pushed him out of another flash of light’s way.

“Y/N, please, I need you to leave!”

To be honest, I didn’t know why I did it. Maybe it was something in Fred’s eyes; this pure terror that made them look almost black, or maybe it was because of the crack of his voice as he was begging me to leave. Maybe it was something else, an instinct that was murmuring that I had something else to do. I didn’t know, but I eventually nodded and gave my back to Fred. By now, a lot of guests had disappeared and I found a way to leave the tent quite easily - without paying attention to the Death Eaters trying to kill everyone, of course.

And suddenly, I understood. I understood why something had made me leave Fred alone in the danger, I understood why my instinct prevented me from apparating away from the carnage.

First, it took the form of a reflect, light and almost insignificant, a little golden spot in the darkness. I fixed it, and slowly, the shape of a person appeared. The silhouette was darker than black, and I knew the man’s soul was ten times worse.

I had thought my hatred would get over my self control. I had spent so much time hating him, promising myself the most terrible of revenges, I had sworn he would die because of what he had done to Fred, and I had imagined this moment a thousand times. But I hadn’t imagined I would walk calmly toward him, toward the man who had tortured me and killed the first person who had ever loved me. I could have never imagined it, yet I was walking toward my father, almost a year and a half after the last time I had been in his presence.

“I’m surprised.” he spoke up, and I shivered. Too many memories were flooding in my mind, things I had tried so hard to forget. “I thought you would have tried to kill me.”

The acid line I wanted to throw at his face stayed blocked in my throat, and all of sudden I found myself on the verge of crying. I didn’t know why, but I was feeling like I was a little girl again, trying to hold back her tears as her father was walking slowly toward her, a glass of whisky in one hand and a cane in the other. My eyes fell on what had produced the golden light, and I gasped when my necklace shone. Slowly, I lifted my hand, reproducing a gesture I had done a thousand times, except that this time my fingers found nothing.

“I wanted to talk to you.” he said, his voice calm as if he had never done anything to me. As if he had never tortured me. “I wanted to explain.”

He took a step forward and I took three backwards. My breathing was shaky, along with my legs and the rest of my body. For a few seconds, all I could see was the light hitting me, the chimney masked by a veil of tears, Mary bathed in a green light, and then my father’s figure, more terrifying than ever, and too close for my own good.

“I want to explain why I will destroy everything you ever cared for.”

A hundred of Cruciatus curses would have been less painful than imagining him killing Fred, George, Molly, Arthur and all of those I had ever loved. My hands were shaking and only now did I notice I didn’t have my wand.

He took a step, and I found myself unable to move.

“I want you to know why I’ll make you suffer like I suffered.”

Everything else seemed to have disappeared. There was only him in front of me, and the weight of the promise he was making, a weight so heavy that I was suffocating and weakening more and more.

“You killed the love of my life. I will kill you for that.”

He took another step, and my knees gave up on me. I fell on the ground and cowered, my eyes closed and the sound of my sobs hiding the other sounds. I didn’t see him, but I felt him kneeling in front of me. I desperately tried to regain control, I tried to remember Fred’s blood, Mary’s body, my own pain, but my brain was dizzy and I was unable to move.

“But won’t kill you now.” he whispered in my ear. “It would be too easy, don’t you think? I want you to be scared. I want you to wonder when I’ll come back for you. I want you to stop living, I want you to be scared of dying.”

And, still unable to move, still paralyzed by his hold on me, I bit my lips to stop a scream when his fingers touched my skin, putting the necklace back around my neck.

“You look like her.” he declared with a quiet voice, the one that had always scared me the most. “You look like your mother.”

“Don’t talk about her.”

It was the first thing I managed to say, the words escaping my mouth despite the lump in my throat. As soon as they echoed in the night, I looked down and tensed, subconsciously waiting for a punishment. It was an old habit, and I doubted I would ever be able to get rid of it.

“You killed her.” I added, feeling barely braver when he said nothing.

He laughed with a terrible laugh, maniacal and without an ounce of joy. Only pure insanity.

“No, you killed her. The Dark Mark killed her. Mary killed her. But me? I just loved her. And you killed her. We were perfect together, and you came between us. You got rid of her, I get rid of you. This is a good deal.”

It felt like I was another person when I noticed I was shaking. I could imagine the way my lips were trembling, the way my hands were hidden in the folds of my dress, and the way my eyes were full of tears.

“I don’t understand…” I cried out, unable to do anything else than to express how broken I was and to despise myself for being so pathetic. “Mary- Mary was her friend and- you were the one who forbade her… I don’t understand… Please leave me alone, I don’t want to-”

“Oh no! No no no no no!” my father gave his back to me, taking a few steps forwards before turning again and throwing his arms to the sky. “Mary never listened to me! She never listened! She hated your mother, she let her die!” and he laughed, a laughter without life or joy, only insanity. His mouth was twisted in a strange way as if he was going to cry at the same time. “Mary killed her, the Dark Mark killed her, and you killed her.”

Suddenly, he was dead serious again, the only sign showing any disturbance being the compulsive clenching of his fists. I almost crawled backwards, my eyes never leaving the hand that was holding his wand.

“Looks like the fun is over. See you soon, Y/N.”

And he disappeared, leaving me alone and shaking on the grass, his silhouette burned in my retina for what I believed was forever. Only now did I realize how hard my heart was beating. It was pounding against my ribcage like a desperate animal trying to escape. I would have done anything to escape too, because my whole body seemed to have become a jail which role was to keep me ready for whenever my father would show up.

Around me, everything was silent. Too silent, like the calm after the storm. As my brain was getting less clouded, I remembered what had happened before the moment I had ended up in front of my father. For a second, I wondered why the Death Eaters were so silent, then I understood they were gone. I only reacted when voices screamed my name.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N, where are you?”

I walked away, an unpleasant impression of being watched making me shiver. When I reached the first silhouette I had seen, the whole discussion with my father had begun to sink in me, and thousands of questions were invading my head.

“Y/N?”

George took a few steps toward me, approaching slowly and talking with a small voice, as if he was in front of a wounded animal. Maybe he wasn’t wrong, maybe I was really a wounded animal, fragile and desperate to defend herself until her death which was obviously close.

Thinking about my death made something crack in me; a wall I had struggled to build and that was supposed to protect me. When the wall completely broke, it stopped containing everything I had kept hidden for years. Every pain, every tear, every scream, it all came back to me with such a vigour that I fell back on my knees and I screamed.

_ _ _

Without a word, Molly handed me a cup of tea in which she had added some firewhiskey. I was squeezed on the couch between Fred and George, still trembling even though sweat was covering my forehead. I didn’t even notice the few drops that fell on my dress when I lifted the cup, nor did I notice Fred’s arm around me. I didn’t see the concerned look exchanged between Arthur and Molly either, all of that because I was lost in my thoughts. My father had said so many things, but all of this couldn’t be true, right?

“Your necklace,” murmured Fred. “Did he give it back to you?”

I promptly yanked it out with the very strong feeling that it had left a burn on my skin. My eyes fell on my closed fist in which I was clenching and something, an image, came back from the depths of my memory. Something that looked like a book under George’s arm as he was looking for the place where he had hidden Fred. A book I had never seen afterwards, because I had refused in the first place and then because I had forgotten it. A book that had to be pretty important for George to take him with him in the emergency.

“The book.” I murmured. Fred shifted, Molly looked away. Something was wrong. “You still have it, right? I want to read it.”

“There’s nothing important in this book.” said George, his voice a bit too low for him to be honest.

I looked at Fred, and he turned his head a bit too late. I had seen his eyes fixed on my fist.

“Fred, tell me.”

He looked up, and his worried eyes met mine. He bit his lips before slowly taking my hands, looking quickly at George and Arthur before eventually sighing.

“I’m sorry if I’ve hidden that to you, love. I thought- I thought you wouldn’t want to know it. The book was a sort of journal. It was written by your mother. She…”

My heart was pounding, it was the only thing I could hear besides Fred’s voice.

“She was a Death Eater too. That’s why she was alone... That’s why she’s dead.”

The Dark Mark killed her.

Tags: @pregnant-piggy @la3divine

#Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you

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gainaxvel3o · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 5

Previous / First / Next

Watts up, Doc?

“Two of my pawns have been taken out of the board.”

Monarch paced around the room. Her face was framed by the purple light coming from the little butterflies surrounding her. Nooro’s magic felt wondrous to be around, intoxicating in it’s warmth, even corrupted by dark desire. “Tyrian Callows nearly succeeded in killing the champions,” Monarch spoke. “His pride got to him, but if trained well he would have made a proud Huntsman for me. The downside of involving the police in affairs. They let a body go to waste.”

She felt a shiver down her body. Poor Nooro… he continued to fight against her even knowing he didn’t have a chance. Such a small, whiny, pathetic little thing. Behaviors more suited to children than an ancient powerful being that of creation. Many myths would be destroyed by simply observing the Kwamis.

“I will need someone smarter. Wiser. A person susceptible to my power, who will be able to calculate the most efficient path to success.”

She closed her eyes. Butterflies were everywhere in the city, dismissed by most as just little flying insects interrupting their path. They didn’t know the butterflies could hear the whispers underneath their breath, the thoughts they hold back every waking moment…

Her eyes flashed red, her sclera briefly turning black.

“Yes… he will bring me the Miraculous!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Blake Belladonna did when she woke up was brush her teeth.

The second thing she did was inspect her eyes in the mirror. She noticed the small circles forming under them. It had been difficult for her to find sleep for any given week. It only got worse since the other day, when she fought alongside Ladybug, against Scorpio.

“YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-“

A loud ringing noise.

There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

“If you move then you’re gonna end up like him. Get down!”

“NINJA VANISH!”

Blake had heard about incidents like these. The police firing when they didn’t need to, against someone they shouldn’t have. Tyrian Callows was a murderer. There should be no guilt in his death. Even so, being in the moment when it happened, the bullet firing… that caught her off guard.

She wondered about Ladybug, imagining if her lady was having nightmares like she did. She wondered how she was able to cope with the death of a man, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“What’s been buggin’ you, gloomy cat?” Blake sighed. “Plagg.” “You gonna tell me?” The little cat Kwami grinned wildly. “Do I gotta be a bad kitty?”

“Do what you want. It is irrelevant to me.”

Blake swiped some locks of her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in. “I hope Ladybug is okay. The fight the other day was intense.” “No need to worry. Tikki picks her champions well. No doubt she’s bounced back and ready to go, good as new as can be.”

“That’s a relief.”

It was. Ladybug came across as naive and nervous every time Blake met her. Skilled yes, but nearly always in trouble every time Blake arrived. Blake admired the girl’s spirit, but knew that she would need plenty of help. So long as Ladybug needed her, Chat Noir would be happy to serve.

Blake drank the water from the sink and spat it out. She took out a small tube, bringing out the pills and swallowing them.

“Plagg?” “Hm?”

“Why are the Miraculouses so special?” “They have us, pretty sure that makes them special.” “Chadwick. Scorpio. Both of them wanted our Miraculous. What would he need ours for?” “Ah… Yeah I should tell you.” Blake’s eyes snapped open. “You didn’t think it was important before?!”

“No you’re right, let me explain.” Plagg said. “Tikki and I, we’re the Kwamis of Creation and Destruction. When we’re together we can accomplish miracles beyond anything mortal can imagine.”

“Like… genies?”

“Yeah, but we’re not bound by rules the way those twerps are. Whoever’s the boss has Nooro and probably wants Tikki and I to fulfill a wish.” “Hmmm…”

Blake shook the little rube in her hand. Her eyes narrowed a little. “So you could grant any wish right?” “Probably. Why, you gonna swipe the earrings?” “I won’t.” “Then why the question?” Blake hesitated, before deciding to risk it.

“I’m just wondering if they could…” She shook the tube. “You know, make it so I don’t have to take these?” She had only rarely seen Plagg get serious around her. His mischievous smile gave away to a frown, contemplating her question. “It could do that yeah. You’d probably feel more comfortable without ‘em. Thing is, the type of magic we are… the wishes we grant come at a cost. In order to get a thing, something has to be given back.”

“Equivalent exchange…” Blake sighed again. “Nothing is ever free is it?” “I wish it were so, gloomy cat.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The corridors made Blake feel uneasy.

There were just so many… people. Students, teachers, employees… Blake tried to ignore them. She tried to ignore the noises and small talk that could be heard down the hallway; she tried not to look for any mention of her name that came with disgust or insult; no matter what she did, the feeling of anxiety came with her. At last, Blake glanced around trying to catch someone. Anyone.

Nothing came. Nobody did.

It was silly. Nobody knew her, she was practically invisible to the crowd. They were too wrapped up in the hum and drum of their own lives to think anything of her. Even so, Blake felt uncomfortable. Even if she knew, logically, that no one stared at her, that no one knew her, she felt as if any moment somebody would jump out and call her by name, revealing her to the world.

To her relief, no one did. Blake shuddered. College was supposed to be a fresh start for her. In many ways, it was exactly what she needed. Even though she walked into the room late, no one batted an eye. She took a seat behind her (so far) best friend, with no one the wiser.

“Mornin’ Blakey,” Yang winked at her. “Had trouble rollin’ out of bed?” If Plagg and Yang ever met, they’d probably make a great team. Blake thanked the universe they haven’t. Yet.

“My sleep schedule isn’t your concern Yang.” Blake placed her bag underneath her seat. “What’s the lesson for today?”

“Oh it’s just the doc rambling off. You haven’t missed much.”

“You will be missing something, Miss Xiao-Long.” The teacher twirled his brown mustache. “Your grade, if you keep speaking out of turn.” Yang narrowed her eyes in contempt before yawning. Dr. Arthur Watts was the type of man to carry himself with great self importance. His lab assistant, a man with green hair and glasses larger than his own eyes, fidgeted behind him. A machine lied in the middle of the table, a metal skeleton, the body split as if it was reaching for it’s toes.

“As you can see, students,” Dr. Watts spat out, “We’re supposed to be studying history. What better demonstration of history can there be, than actively participating in it?” “D-doctor,” Bartholomew Oobleck, the doctor’s assistant, stuttered while he sipped his coffee. “I must insist this to be a terrible idea! The prototype isn’t even out of testing stage!” “Nonsense. Activate the machine!”

Oobleck, against his better knowledge and wisdom, pressed the button on the robot. The almost sinister sounds of beeps and smoke rising were heard across the room, the metal skeleton raising itself up. It stared at the students, freaking them out with it’s slow deliberate patterns. Arthur Watts grinned.

“My machine was rejected for being an inferior product,” He said to the room. “As you can see, it is clearly nonsense. Wave at them my robot!”

It did so, mimicking the human action of waving hi at people to the best of it’s ability. However, everyone could see smoke rising from the machine’s head. A minor explosion was heard, the skeleton head twisting, turning and churning before falling to the floor, sending nuts and bolts flying around the room.

“A… minor setback.” Dr. Watts said finally. “But if I can make it work then I’ll finally be able to ascend to the scientific community! No more classes for me with idiotic, inattentive students at least!”

There was a moment of silence among the students who weren’t quite sure what to make of this display. Blake raised a hand up.

“Yes Miss Belladonna? Who I may remind you all was late to this lecture? Would you care to voice your objections?”

Blake was keenly aware of the chuckles from behind and in front of her. She put them aside. “I was late, I’ll try to keep that in check.” Blake said. “However, while this… experiment looks rather interesting, aren’t we supposed to be learning about American history?” Indignant at the response, Dr. Watts turned to his assistant, who was whispering little curses to himself. He was on his own for this. “But you are!” Dr. Watts shouted. “You’re participating in our experiment!” “Would it not be better to do it in an actual lab?” Blake said. “With actual doctors checking on it? Not in a classroom where we’re supposed to be learning something else entirely? No wonder you haven’t been certified yet, you’ve been very unprofessional.”

Laughter came. Not at Blake, but at the incompetent doctor she had to remind herself. Dr. Watts blushed furiously.

“A once in a lifetime opportunity…” Dr. Watts pouteed. “-and you throw it away?!?” “I told you this would happen Arthur,” Oobleck tried to reason. “Maybe we can open up the textbooks and get back on track, there’s still an hour-“

But the doctor wasn’t hearing any of it. He grabbed his coat and marched out of the room, ignoring the laughter of, in his mind, infantile ignoramus adults. “BAH! If this how they act then they are not worthy of me.”

The door slammed shut. Watts would complain to the Headmaster later. The stupid woman gave him an inattentive classroom. He brought out a cigar.

“Stupid children, stupid Oobleck. I’m supposed to be a genius scientist but… graaargh! I’ll get revenge at some point.”

Arthur twirled his mustache, feeling something on his shoulder. He turned to see that what landed was a small butterfly.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Oobleck looked around not sure what to say. The students erupted into conversation, completely ignoring the green haired man. Any chance of a normal class had died when Watts left the room.

“Whoah Blake.” Yang whistled to her friend. “That was awesome.” “Not really.” Blake waved it off. "An idiot is a hot air balloon that needs to be popped, less they fly off into space and have it’s occupants freeze to death.” “Isn’t space a vacuum though?” Blake rolled her eyes.

“You okay though?” Yang asked. “You seem a bit tense.” Perceptive. Blake cursed in her head coming up with an excuse.

“I didn’t sleep well, so I’m a bit on edge.” Blake supposed that would do. “How did this guy end up a teacher, let alone our teacher?” “Ah, you missed that part of the opening act.” Yang said. “Dude apparently got fired from his old job, so Salem brought him here as a favor. Since every other position was filled he had teach history since he had the degree for it.”

“Ah, that does explain it. Salem is a nice person.” “Yeah, too nice.” Yang slumped on the table, resting her head on her shoulders. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but she should be more careful with who she picks ya know?”

Blake nods. “I suppose so.”

‘Then again.’ She thought. ‘If it weren’t for her… why I be allowed here?’

“Anyway,” Yang continued. “Wanna skip class? Ruby’s got some designs she wanted to show me, and I’m getting the distinct impression the teacher won’t be coming back.” “Maybe…” She felt her ring vibrate. “Um, maybe not today.”

“Oh come on we haven’t even hung out yet!”

“I’m sorry it’s just that I remembered something and-“

The door was suddenly kicked down. Blake and Yang turned their heads bewildered ash the sight.

“Hello children!” A raspy voice spoke to the classroom. “Do you want to participate in an EXCITING EXPERIMENT?!”

Blake surmised him to be yet another freakish villain, the same as Chadwick and Scorpio. The man had credit for going for something a bit more stylish than the other two. The black long coat mixed with the red scarf around the neck, the man’s eyes by oversized goggles and a cigar on the mouth. “My my my, how come you’re not all excited? As a Huntsman of the Great and Mighty Monarch, I’m going to have to ask ALL OF YOU to sit down until those pathetic hero brats show up.”

“What is this madness Arthur?!?” Oobleck placed a shoulder on Dr. Watts. “How did you even change your outfit so quickly, you weren’t even in this when you-”

BAM! Oobleck fell to the floor, spasming from electric shocks as Dr. Watts blew away the smoke from the gun.

“Arthur Watts is a disrespected genius, but…” He smirked in delight. “KillerWatts will be happy to avenge him, I have so many plans to execute, with so little time!”

He pulled out another gun with his pocket right, firing both at the ceiling, leaving the lights dimmed and broken. The students could only watch in horror as the Shockslinger chuckled.

“What’s the doc doing?!”

“Is he like a supervillain? Like the guys Ladybug and Chat Noir fight?” “Shit we gotta go run!”

They were piling out and fast. Blake knew she needed to find a spot so she could transform into Chat Noir and take care of this villain. Perhaps she could take advantage of the chaos to find a place to hide. “Blake we gotta stick together!” Yang grabbed her friend’s arm. “Now move!” Or she could get dragged by Yang, away from any place they could do so.

“Yang maybe we need to find a place to hide,” Blake pointed in one direction. “I could look for help over there-“ “Are you crazy?!?” Yang pulled harder. “I’m not leaving you alone for a second, c’mon!”

As her friend took her away, Blake realized that transforming would be a difficult task. She knew she needed to find out, but how? Where was Ladybug?

As she thought of that, KillerWatts cursed himself for allowing the brats to get away. His master already told him the mission: find the miraculous, bring it to her, everyone else was secondary. As much as he wanted revenge, KillerWatts knew he needed to set his priorities straight.

“Those insufferable little brats will get what’s coming to them later. For now though…” He walked over to his failed machine. Gently, Watts fired a bullet from his gun into the robot, causing blue electric waves to spread over the robot’a.

“We should spread a bit of chaos… just enough for Ladybug to appear."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Hey Ren! Look at this!” Nora stuffed a pair of peas into her mouth, then brought a straw to her lips. She spat the peas through the straw into the air, where it hit Cardin Winchester. He turned around, flipping the middler finger to Nora, who just waved at him. Ren clapped.

“Fantastic as always Nora.”

“Thanks Ren.” Pyrrha and Jaune decided to shrug at that. Jaune glanced over to Ruby, seeing her focused on her notebook.

“What’s up Ruby?” Jaune scooched over to Ruby. “Working on a new design right now?”

“Huh?” Ruby blinked. “Oh yeah! Weiss suggested some ideas for designs and I’ve been trying to figure out how to get them right. I’m going to meet with her later to see what she thinks.” “… You’re working with Weiss?” Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you and Weiss umm… Hate each other?” “I don’t… hate her I guess?” Ruby shrugged. “I don’t like her, but she’s seen my designs and wants to help me get better. If I want to get a career going, I feel like I should get advice from someone who’s already working in the industry right?” “Makes sense.” Ren said. “If one studies the art of the blade, they mustn’t be too picky about who they learn it from.” “… yeah I guess?” ‘Ren can be so strange sometimes,’ Ruby thought. ‘At least he’s supportive?’ “You’re a fashion designer, Ruby?” Pyrrha asked. “Have you made any designs yet?” “Ohhhh she is, Pyrrha!” Jaune pointed at the notebook. “Ruby showed me her notebook during inauguration, she’s not half bad!” “Oh stop it Jaune!” Ruby giggled. “I’m not great… yet…” “Ruby’s a fashion designer?!” Nora popped in front of Ruby, which startled the girl. "COME ON LET US SEE!”

“Nora, that’s not how you ask friends for favors. You do it from an approximately two feet away so you’re at tackling distance.” “Oh right sorry Ren.” Nora pulled back. “May we pleaaaase see your cool stuff? Please?” Ruby felt eyes on her. She wanted to keep some ideas to herself but… well these were her friends… Ruby supposed it would’t be a problem this one time. Laughing awkwardly, she laid out her notebook for her friends.

“It’s not much but… here they are!” They looked at her notes in awe at the skill. There were pictures and drawings of elaborate, elegant outfit designs, inked to the slightest detail, with notes on the side explaining how they were supposed to be stitched, what fabrics would work with this or that, each dress not just sticking to one style but dipping into other types. Goth, pastel, others, Ruby had a talent for not just doing one, but knowing how to mix them together.

“Wow Ren look at these! I gotta ask Ruby to make our wedding outfits!” “Agreed. She is quite adept.” “These aren’t bad.” Pyrrha looked at Ruby. “Have you thought about posting these online?” “Maybe?” Ruby said. “I only just started college… I want to keep a low profile now.”

“Low profile?!” Jaune pointed at a design in the book. “Ruby that kind of t talent should be out there for all to see!”

“I just don’t think I’m ready that’s all.” Pyrrha noticed how Ruby was nervous, so she laid a hand on Jaune’s shoulder to calm him down. “I can understand what you mean, Ruby.” Pyrrha smiled. “I came here so I could avoid too much publicity. Do consider my point though. If you want opportunities you’re going to have to take risks. Not just here, for all life.” “Huh…” Ruby frowned. “That’s what Weiss said.” “She’s right, Ruby.” Pyrrha placed a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “I might be able to put in a good word for you.” “You could?!?” Ruby’s eyes lit up before she gently brought Pyrrha’s hand away. “Uh ahem, let me think about it. Maybe.”

She thought of the possibilities that could come from this. Maybe other designers will see them and give her a chance? With Pyrrha, a popular athlete, giving a good word maybe something could be done. But would it work? Of course her friends would praise her. Maybe she should need to speak to Weiss first. She’d probably tell her not to do it, being an expert and all. What if she did get people to notice her but they turn her down?

(What if she saw it?)

“HOLY CRAP, RUN!” Ruby heard it before her earrings vibrated. A panicked student ran down the mess hall just as a set of walls broke, revealing a robot with blue sparks surrounding it.

“Kill the brats.” The robot spoke. “Bring the miraculous to the Master!”

“Shit what was that?!?” Jaune got up from the chair. “We gotta move!”

Ruby knew she had to act quickly. She pushed the notebook into her bag and ran with the others. Nora fired peas from her straw at the robot. They disintegrated upon impact due to the electric current. Thankfully for her Ren grabbed her hand and moved with Jaune. “Why is it attacking us, here?” Pyrrha turned her head led and right. “Where’s Ruby?!”

Jaune turned around, having just noticed his friend’s absence. “Ruby, RUBY!!!”

The robot turned it’s attention towards Jaune, who was desperately looking around.

“RUBY!” “Jaune watch out!" A red spot appeared on Jaune’s chest. Before he could get fired on, a yoyo appeared over Jaune’s arm, pulling him away from laser fire. “You should be more careful.” Ladybug said. “This is the second time I saved you. Get going!” “But Ruby-!” “I’ll find her soon, but move!” Ruby felt guilty sending her friend away. She had ducked under a table during the chaos. She knew what she had to do.

“Okay you bucket of bolts!” Ladybug shouted to the robot. “Let’s see what you’re made of!” The robot fired concentrated electric blasts at Ladybug, but she was quick and nimble, leaping across the tables with ease. Her eyes narrowed, she used the yoyo to catch one of the robot’s legs, pulling on it to break it off. Once it did, the robot fell to the side, firing at Ladybug again. However, she jumped through the air, raising a leg to attack it’s head.

SMASH! The head went flying, falling just a few steps away. Ladybug let out a breath.

“Holy crap.” Ruby said to herself. “I should be careful with my own strength. She waited for the butterfly to come out, to de-grimmify the robot, fix the area, get some answers. Chat would appreciate a situation she didn’t have to be called for.

“I guess this isn’t it.” Ladybug said. “That means the real Huntsman must be in here somewhere.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was hard for Blake to concentrate when she could hear bullets flying in the air.

“Hahahahaha! Stupid kids are going to get what’s coming to them!”

She heard the doctor shout his grazed ramblings behind her. She cringed as Yang took her behind a wall.

“Which way do we go? That bastard’s gonna track us down sooner or later.” Yang looked around. “Where’s Ladybug and Chat Noir when you need ‘em?”

Blake wished she could laugh. She wasn’t sure about Ladybug, but Blake would certainly not be able to answer her about Chat Noir. Unless Plagg decided to take control right now, Blake wasn’t sure she wanted to risk her identity just yet to Yang.

“Maybe if we head down the mess hall.” Blake pointed. “Maybe we could get help.“

“Yeah, great idea.” Yang’s eyes widened. “Wait no. Ruby’s with her friends in the cafeteria. What if he gets there?”

Damn. Blake hadn’t considered that. “Maybe…” Blake tried to think. “Maybe we could head into a different classroom? Call someone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know I-” Yang breathed in and out. “God things have gotten weird so quickly.” “What do you mean?” “What, the superheroes, the donkey monsters, the scorpion guy, now our teacher’s a crappy cowboy? World’s gone insane since we showed up in town.”

Blake laughed. “Yeah they have. I wish I could say things’ll get better but…” “I wouldn’t believe it if it came from you. You’re too gloomy for nice thoughts.” “Harsh, though not unfair." “I’m good at reading people like that.”

Oh Plagg would love Yang if they met. Maybe…

“Yang I think…” Blake breathed. “I think I might have a way out of this.” Yang raised an eyebrow. “Well out with it, I don’t think I have any- GAAH!“ Blake watched in horror as Yang fell to the ground. She clutched her arm, bleeding from the side. Blake saw a hole where Yang’s arm originally was. “Ggh! What the hell?!?”

“Do you enjoy my handiwork?” KillerWatts grinned at the frightened teenagers. Better yet, these two were the slackers who made a fool of him in today’s class. “Foolish children. You mock and insult your betters…” He raised a gun at Yang. "Who’s laughing now?!!!?” It amused KillerWatts when Blake stood in between Yang and himself. She raised her hands in defiance.

“Don’t hurt my friend! Do whatever you want to me, just let her go!”

“B-Blake no-!” “Idiot.” Dr. Watts’s eye twitched. “You’re the one who humiliated me… You don’t deserve even one of my bullets.” He grabbed the offending student and threw Blake through the window.

“Say good bye!” “BLAKE!”

As she was tossed out of the window, Blake thought about the events that lead up to this moment. Her past, her present, her friendships with Yang, Ladybug… Ruby… she couldn’t let them die.

“Plagg, Claws-"

Blake felt arms surrounding her shoulders before she could even spout the words. She looked to see her savior, as they landed at the lawn. “You alright miss?” Ladybug said. “You’re not injured?”

Blake blushed, nodding her head.

“Good.” Ladybug cleared her throat. “You better hurry inside. My partner hasn’t shown up yet and I need to stop the villain quickly.” “Of course… I won’t get in your way.” Blake’s eyes widened. “Watch out for the doctor! He has guns! He shot my friend Yang in the arm.”

She was surprised at the way Ladybug glared. “He won’t get away with it, I promise.”

As Ladybug jumped up to face the evil scientist, Blake dashed away. She rubbed the ring.

“What’s up gloomy cat?” “Plagg, CLAWS OUT!” _____________________________________________________________________________________ “Well well well, if it isn’t Ladybug! You arrived at last.”

Ruby watched Yang bleed out next to the villain and saw red. How dare this pathetic, cruel little man do that to her sister?! He had to pay.

“Monarch demands your earrings.” KillerWatts pointed a gun at her. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your highness, would you?” “She’ll have to pry them off herself, over my dead body.” “That can be arranged.” Without a moment’s hesitation, the fight began. KillerWatts fired at her, but Ladybug quickstepped past them as if they were slower than dirt. She threw her yoyo to tangle one of Watts’ arms.

“Do you think that will be enough?!” Watts fired his other gun to break the Yoyo’s string. “You really are a child-“ A sharp pain! The gun was knocked away from his right hand. Ladybug had another yoyo in her hand.

“Why you-!” She ducked below him, kicking him off balance. KillerWatts immediately fired from his left hand, which Ladybug jumped away to avoid them. Watts got up quickly, just in time to avoid two strikes from two yoyos. Somehow Ladybug’s broken yoyo repaired itself.

“You’re fast, Ladybug.” He said. "Not fast enough.” He fired again. Ladybug dodged again.

“You’re not particularly creative, sir.” Ladybug said. “Even Chadwick varied his monsters.” “It’s KillerWatts dear. Watch what you say brat-“ The bullets froze in mid air.

“-You might end up regretting it!” Ladybug was surprised by how fast the bullets moved. She had to keep herself moving less they hit her.

“What the heck are these?” “Fool! You think Monarch hands out powers without imagination! Your efforts so far-“

The bullets glowed.

“-WILL DETONATE BEFORE YOUR EYES!”

Miniature explosions shocked Ladybug still, the current making her drop to her knees. “GAAAAAAAH!” “Heh heh.” “No…” Yang tried to get up, but her arm hurt so badly. “Ladybug no!”

KillerWatts laughed, walking over to his defeated foe with nary a concern.

“A fitting end to a worthless brat. It is a wonder that the others had so much problem with her. The difference between peons and a genius.” He reached over to the earrings… before something slammed into his chest. KillerWatts jumped away, pointing guns at the intruder. “You won’t lay a hand on her.” Chat pointed her staff at him. “Surrender now.” “Oh great.” Dr. Watts sneered. “More naughty children to kill.” He fired several shots at Chat, who smashed them all at once with her staff. One by one they were each broken to KillerWatts’ amazement. “I have to study that staff… after I take it from your corpse!”

Chat moved quickly. She didn’t even flinch at the bullets moving towards her, smashing some as she ran towards her target. “Say your prayers!” “Wrong thing to say, kitty cat.” The bullets that Chat hadn’t destroyed detonated again. This time, they formed an electric trap around her. “You…” Chat said. “What did you do?!” “I dare you to move towards me, I dare you.”

Chat glared at her opponent. She took a step, but a laser shot near her foot, leaving a black spot on the floor. The laser fired again, which Chat had to move. Ladybug came to. She noticed KillerWatts laughing while her partner was dodging the lighting in the trap. She had to figure out a way to help out her friend.

“Here goes nothing…” She whispered. "Lucky charm!” Tikki had told her of this ability. When pushed into a dangerous situation, Ladybug wielders can summon an object that will help turn the tide of battle. Ruby didn’t have a choice but to use it. The yoyo glowed, releasing…

“A razor?” Ladybug picked up the electric razor with her hand. She looked it up and down.

“What the heck? This is supposed to help me against that psycho?!? What am I supposed to do, shave off his mustache?” She blinked. “Oh you gotta be kidding me.” Given who she was dealing with, it wouldn’t surprise her. Ruby sighed.

“Okay let’s get this going.”

“Hahahahahaha dance for me you stupid cat!” KillerWatts laughed. “Give praise to your superior mind!”

Chat cursed in her head as she moved from the laser. Why did the Butterfly miraculous grant it’s users these versatile, almost overpowered abilities while she and Ladybug were so limited?! It angered her over it’s unfairness.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to rant to Plagg. Maybe limit his cheese until I-“ “Chat grab on!” She blinked as the yoyo appeared in the trap. Chat grabbed it, and felt herself being pulled from the trap.

“What?” KillerWatts’ eye twitched. “No…” “Thank you my lady.” Chat collected herself. "What’s the plan?” Ladybug showed her the electric razor. “What are you-“ Chat’s eyes darted from the razor to KillerWatts. “Oh. That makes far too much sense.” They dashed one last time. The dup kept switching places, avoiding the bullets again.

“Damn you!” KillerWatts shouted. “Die!” Chat went in front of Ladybug, destroying a few bullets, while Ladybug used both of her yo-yos to move them closer to their opponent. “Die!”

He was about to fire again, but they were knocked away by a yoyo and a staff strike.

“YOU ALL SHOULD JUST DIE!!!!” He shouted even as Blake grabbed his arms behind him, Ladybug activating the razor.

“No stop-!”

SHZZZZ

His mustache was gone. Destroyed, in the blink of an eye, by the razor. Arthur couldn't even process this blasphemy happening as the butterfly appeared. Ladybug caught the glowing insect with her yoyo.

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!” As it happens in these situations, the ladybugs fixed everything. KillerWatts was no more, as Dr. Arthur Watts lied in the ground, probably knocked out from the shock of his mustache gone. Ladybug and Chat gazed at each other.

“That man is so fired.” Chat said. “Not bad Ladybug. You were great today.” “You’re not so bad yourself, Chat.” Ladybug said. “You ok?” “I am.” “Me too!” Yang swung her arm around freely. She was cheery “Damn my arm’s good! Would be a shame if I lost it.” Ladybug and Chat laughed awkwardly at that joke. Yang smiled before panicking. “Oh crap! I need to find Blake! And Ruby! Sorry guys gotta run!" Yang ran off to the hallway. Ladybug and Chat shrugged.

“See you around Chat.” “Likewise, Bugaboo.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Foiled again. This is getting so annoying.” Monarch slammed a fist at the table. KillerWatts did come closer to capturing the miraculous than the other two, but almost is not the same as total victory. She had to change her strategy somehow. How did they arrive to the school so quickly?

She stopped herself.

“How did they arrive so quickly to the school?”

Monarch turned on her computer. She typed into the mainframe, pulling up a list of students from this year. She smirked in realization.

“It seems not all was lost today. I may have a clue.”

Author’s Notes:

I was originally gonna have Arthur be like this Frankenstein parody “FrankenWatts” but that fell through. I was also going to call hi “The ShockSlinger” but my friend came up with KillerWatts, which was a way better name. Thank you friend for having more sense than me!

I was going to have more moments between Blake and Ladybug to sort of set up a Ladrien situation, but the story didn’t feel right for such a thing. I hope you’re satisfied anyway!

10 notes · View notes

lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 48 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy parked the van about a mile away from the palace Duchemin lived in. It was the end of the afternoon and the sky was turning orange. The endless desert ground was hard, dusty and brown where the few cacti would cast their growing shadows.

"It's all on me now."

He slipped out of his van and shut the door.

"Right. Let's find the bloke."

The Aussie adjusted his rifle on his back and climbed on his van's rooftop before scoping in to watch over the impressive mansion. There were guards patrolling and…

"Sick bastard…"

Mundy had to do a double take at the impressive number of lightly dressed females lounging in the gardens, the same French gardens him and Lucien had been in back when -

"Ugh…" He sighed but shook his head. Those days were over. The days where his heart would feel warm at the sight of the expensive suits and the alluring man wearing them.

Mundy focused on his scoping again. The ladies weren't a problem in itself, no, the problem was that they looked young, very young, no doubt even... illegally young.

However, Duchemin wasn't with them. So Mundy moved the scope to align it with the windows and tried to get a glimpse of what was happening through them.

"More guards… More goons… Ugh… Where the hell is he…?"

He followed one of the guards going down a flight of stairs until -

"What the hell?! Where is he gone to?"

The man had disappeared underground.

"Wait, so there is an underground to this place? Alright…"

Mundy stayed a bit longer, counting the number of guards and watching them patrol around.

"Right, I won't see more without getting closer. But there are cameras… I hope those bullets will do the trick…"

The Aussie loaded his rifle and one by one, the CCTV cameras went off.

"Perfect, now the guards…"

Mundy changed his bullets for his double-chambered sleeping darts and started shooting. Thank God for the suppressor, no one heard him shoot and the guards fell limply one after the next, starting from those on the rooftop. When he was done with the dozen or so, the Aussie came down his van and got closer to the gardens. He found the young girls next to the pool, where he had first seen them.

"Hey - Ssh! No, don't shout, don't scream! I'm here to free you up!" He took one as a hostage to make the others obey. The poor girls were scared to the bone in their bikinis. He released the little girl that he had in his arms and looked at them earnestly. "Listen, if you run that way for about a mile, you'll find a van.. It doesn't have much space but you can hide there until I come back and take you somewhere safe, ok?"

"What about Arthur?" One of them asked. "He'll find you and kill you and us for it!"

"Nah, I'm here to kill him and look around you, no guards, no alert, nothing. You're safe. Besides, this might be your only chance to get free. Now, tell me anything you know about where he is."

"He must be underground… I heard him say that something important would happen today…" A young black-haired girl said, in tears.

"Yeah, he's about to move his merchandise someplace else…" Another added.

"Alright, how do I get underground without being seen and what's my best bet to get to him?" Mundy asked.

"There's a… A sewer pipe, it's actually a whole network of them… He uh…" The poor girl couldn’t continue.

"That's where he gets rid of the corpses." Another one explained and Mundy's pupils shrank.

"Bloody sick bastard… Alright, where does it lead? If I find the end of it, I can just work backwards to him, yeah?" Mundy asked.

"You'll have to go around the house, look down and you should see a manhole."

"Alright, I'll do that. By the way, are there any others like you?" He asked.

"There were."

Mundy gulped down hard and frowned.

"Alright. Go to my van and stay there, ok?"

"Thank you so much! Be careful!"

Mundy left them and followed their instructions. He walked in the maze of hedges that he knew from that time in the party. The only difference was that this time, the sunlight was enough to see and…

And Lucien wasn't there.

"No!" Mundy said to himself and shook his head.

No, Lucien wasn't there and that was the whole point of it. Mundy would find Duchemin and kill him such that his goons would go after him and not after the Frenchman. He had a cat to raise and someone he longed for.

Mundy finally found the manhole. He moved it with great effort and took the ladder down until his heeled boots hit the floor.

"Bloody hell, that's some stench…!" He winced and switched on the light on his little keyring.

Mundy wasn't surprised by the existence of the bad smell, after all, he was now walking in the sewers. No, what surprised him is the nature of the stench, he could clearly identify rotting flesh in the air…

"Sick son of a whore…" He mumbled to himself as he progressed in the tunnels.

He had no idea where he was going exactly or where he should be going. But as long as he kept moving, he was bound to find something. Eventually.

"Fuckin' hell, that bloke has a thing for mazes or what…?"

Those sewers proved to be another kind of mazes, just like the hedges in the French garden; only this time, the visibility was extremely low. The little flashlight on Mundy's keyring wasn't powerful enough to help him greatly and the Aussie started to regret not having taken a torchlight with him. But how could he have known that he would end up travelling in some disgusting and no doubt highly contaminated sewers?

Mundy sighed and put his hat in front of his face like a mask. The lingering smell of his soap in his old, leather hat was better than the filth floating in the air.

He walked and walked, wishing he had something to mark his way, just to make sure he was not going in a circle…

Mundy let the little light explore left and right around his feet and the sight wasn't one he wished to remember. In the dirty waters he could clearly see remnants of what used to be living beings. Sometimes animals, sometimes not. He winced in disgust and pulled the light higher up in front of him.

The cracks in the walls spoke for the age of the building Mundy was exploring, the rats too, although he didn't meet that many of them.

"That's always a good sign, isn't it? If even the rats don't want to live here…" He grumbled and kept walking.

He had no idea how deep the network of undergrounds ran, or where Duchemin would be with respect to them. And even if Mundy wanted to spin on his heels and make it back home, where the hell would he go…? Through which tunnels…? Every fifty metres or so was a junction and with it came multiple possibilities not to find the damn criminal, but to get lost entirely!

However, Mundy didn't lose patience. He thought about his parents and carried on. His parents were not shown any mercy and they were put through hell itself. There was no reason why Mundy wouldn't do the same, as penance, to pay for his absence on that day, ten years ago.

He went on, walked, and with each junction came a choice and with each choice his rage grew.

"Oh bloody hell, no, not now!"

The battery on Mundy's light decided to die, leaving the Aussie in the dark. He took a deep breath and waited a minute or so, for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. There, that's a bit better… And he went on.

"Huh?"

There was a metallic clinking noise. It came from his left. For lack of any other clue, Mundy went in that direction. He walked further but the noise had died and there was no way to see where it had come from either.

"Hm…"

Mundy put his ear on the walls.

Rumbling.

Distant but continuous rumbling, a bit like a boiler maybe, or a power generator. The Aussie tried to walk towards the noise, his ear always probing the walls left and right. And the rumbling grew louder and louder until he managed to identify what it was.

"Oh bugger…"

It sounded like a waterfall. The sewers actually went in small cascades lower and lower down in the ground. Mundy sighed.

-- Meanwhile, in town --

"Richard!"

Lucien had barged in the tailor's shop throwing politeness and courtesy out of the window.

"L?"

"Please, I need equipment urgently!"

The tailor nodded.

"Paul, occupe-toi de la boutique!"

[Paul, come and deal with the shop!]

Both Richard's sons came out of the workshop and shut the front window.

Fortunately enough, there were no customers that afternoon. Richard nodded to Lucien and jumped to the wall with the fleur-de-lis handle before pulling on it. The secret wall opened and both slipped in.

"What will you need?" He asked as Lucien ran to the display cases.

"This gun," Lucien pointed right. "With a suppressor, please..."

"Ammunition?"

"Both non lethal and lethal, please."

Richard opened the display cases and collected the items as fast as Lucien was listing them.

"Do you still have watches?" The spy asked.

"I'm afraid they are a bit outdated and modern agents don't use them much anymore nowadays…" Richard answered.

"Do you have them?!" Lucien exclaimed, furious. "There is no time to lose!"

Richard got startled but he nodded and opened a drawer that was connected to the wall.

"Here there are."

Lucien jumped to them.

"I will need this one."

He pointed at the one with the silver strap.

"Of course." Richard gave it to him and Lucien fastened it around his left wrist in a flash.

"Do you have earpieces?"

"Yes, we do, how many do you need?"

"Two, please."

Richard opened another drawer and tossed them over to the Frenchman.

"Merci… I will also need a balaclava… this one, here." Lucien pointed at the black one.

"Do you need a matching suit? I have a few black ones in stock, one of them should suit you…"

"Oui, please, and hurry!"

After a few minutes, Lucien exited a changing booth dressed in a black three-piece suit: jacket, vest and trousers, even the shirt was black.

"Parfait, merci Richard!"

[Perfect, thank you Richard!]

"Here, a utility belt with throwable knives and additional ammunition. And this is a special pair of garters with an additional hidden blade in…"

Richard threw the items above the curtain of the changing booth and Lucien caught them with ease. About a minute later, he exited the booth.

"I don't have much time, Richard. See you!"

And the masked man ran out. He hopped on his motorcycle and dashed out of town. He drove as fast as he could through the desert, not even on the asphalt itself. He needed to get to Duchemin's palace as fast as possible.

What on Earth did Mundy think he could accomplish on his own? Find Duchemin, in broad daylight and then what? Kill him then and there?! That would for sure end up in Mundy's death!

The Frenchman saw the van in the distance and switched the motorcycle to silent mode. He parked next to it and turned it invisible before dismounting it.

"S'il vous plaît, mon Dieu, faites qu'il soit encore dans son van ridicule…"

[Please, Lord, tell me he is still in his ridiculous van…]

"Mundy…?"

Lucien approached the van and heard some muffled noises coming from the inside which fell completely silent after he called for the Aussie.

"Mundy, I can hear you are in there, come out and I promise to stop punching your idiotic self before you die."

Nothing.

"Bien. You have chosen poorly, for if you do not come to me, I will come to you!"

Lucien took his blade out and forced the lock open before slamming the door wide open. His jaw dropped as he saw a group of young teenage girls in bikinis, scared to the bone, trying to all hide and fit in the van. They all screamed with their high-pitched voices at the sight of the man with the mask.

"Mon Dieu! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?!"

[My God! What the hell is that?!]

"Don't kill us, please!" One of them cried.

"I will not kill any one of you, what are you doing here?"

"Fuck! Duchemin's gonna kill us…!" Another one said, sobbing in her hands.

Lucien jumped in the van and they all gasped. He knelt down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Listen, my… friend is the owner of this van. He is off to kill himself and I am trying to save him. Have you seen him?" Lucien asked.

"He saved us… We were Arthur's girls…"

"His girls? I thought he had no children?" Lucien asked, confused.

"N-not his children…"

"What do you - ? Oh mon Dieu…"

[Oh my God…]

Lucien couldn't be more disgusted if he had wanted. "Don't tell me that…"

The girls grouped around the sobbing one and hugged her.

"I am truly sorry for what you have lived with that man. But please, tell me where I can find him. My friend, you see… He is my best friend. I can't let him die."

There was a kind of honesty in Lucien's eyes that the young girls understood without really knowing what it was.

"He is off to kill Arthur. He freed us and asked us to hide here until he comes back."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"Your friend or Arthur?"

"Both."

"Your friend is going through the sewers to find Arthur. His offices are-"

"Underground, oui, I know. Stay hidden here. I will call someone who will pick you up and hide you."

"How will we know that it's not one of Duchemin's men?" One girl asked and Lucien looked in her eyes.

"Ask them who sends them. If they answer L, they are an ally. If they answer anything else…" Lucien looked around the van and saw a few kukris hung on the wall. He pointed to them. "Use them and do not think about any consequences. You are now under protection from the French government."

"French?" One the young ladies asked.

"Oui, in coordination with local authorities. But you do not care about this nonsense. And remember what I told you: a friend of L is your friend. Anyone else…" Lucien took the three kukris and gave them to the girls. "No hesitation. It's you or them. Understood?"

They all nodded.

"My friend will be here shortly."

Lucien exited the van and shut the door. He pushed a button on his watch and put the earpiece in his ear.

"Richard…? Yes, it is me. Call Maurice and ask him to send a van or a minibus here. There are young girls who need to be evacuated. They are safe in a van so far."

"Will do immediately."

Lucien pushed the button on his watch again and headed for the gardens. The sun was below the horizon now and the Frenchman took advantage of the dark to make very fast progress.

When he arrived in the maze of hedges, he was only half surprised to find Duchemin's guards down, all struck by a double-chamber dart to the head or the neck.

"Hm. The guards are still here and asleep. No one has found them yet and I hope that the same can be said about Mundy."

Lucien headed for the house and switched a button on his watch. He looked at his reflection on a window and couldn't see any.

La bonne vieille montre d'invisibilité.

[The good old invisibility watch.]

He nodded to himself and entered through the window.

Ah, la bibliothèque…

[Ah, the library…]

The Frenchman was standing in a wooden room filled with endless rows of books. No guards there. He went to the door and peeked through the lock before slipping out of the room. He found himself in a corridor with doors left and right.

He walked through it until he met a guard and passed him without being seen.

Je ne comprends vraiment pas pourquoi les agents actuels n'utilisent plus ces montres, elles sont divines!

[I really don't understand why modern agents don't use these watches, they work wonders!]

He thought to himself as he soon found the stairs. He took them and spiralled down, stopping at each level and trying to find any way to see where the sewers could connect with him.

Lucien was on the third level underground when he overheard a conversation between a group of guards. They were sitting around a table with drinks and playing a game of cards.

"The bloke stinks like there's no tomorrow…"

"How long has he been in the sewers?"

A card was placed on the table and the guards frowned, planning their next moves.

"No idea, but when Russel found him, he got a decent beating and his nose is broken now. Thank God I arrived in time with Jimmy to help."

"The Boss knows about it?"

"Of course, we told him, he might be with him now or something, I don't know."

Another card and another second of thinking.

"Jimmy told me the bloke was weird, I mean, apart from the smell."

"Yeah, he was carrying weird stuff. When we searched him, we found a blowgun, some darts, a sword of some sort, like a machete, and some bullets."

"Just bullets?"

"Not just bullets, they're a rifle's bullet, a big one, like a sniper would use. I've seen some like that back when I was serving."

"Bloody hell… And what did he want?"

"Finding the Boss and killing him."

Another card landed on the table and the guards burst out laughing at the idea that a single man had gone through the sewers to try and get the most protected man in the whole of Oz at least.

Lucien frowned.

"Oh, God, that's a funny one, mate…" One of them resumed the chat as he laid another card on the table.

"Yeah, I know. Well, I guess the boss is gonna kill him and throw him with the others, eh."

Lucien's pupils shrank. The others?

"Yeah, I reckon he'll just scare him off a bit before killing him and poof, back to the sewers but this time, dead."

They shared a laugh around the table as they raised their glasses and had a drink.

"Oh I don't know about that, he took him down to cell 1."

Lucien frowned. Cell 1.

"Cell 1? For a dude fished out of the sewers?"

"Yeah, the Boss asked us to do that after having had a quick chat with him."

"Might be more serious than that then, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but the bloke's alone and smells of rottin' shit. He can't do much."

Lucien had heard enough. He needed to find Cell 1, which he felt was a bit of a special one, from what the guards said. He took a quick look at his watch and slithered against the wall back to explore the place.

One of the guards had said 'down to Cell 1', so presumably Lucien had to go down some more stairs…

And he did until he came across a very useful plan of the place. Finally! He had been looking for it! As secret as a place might be, there always is a fire escape plan somewhere on the walls, finding it reveals a lot of information on the building.

Lucien stared at it and studied it carefully. He was looking for a floor with cells, so presumably, a row of small rooms… Hm…

Ah! There! Two levels below him! Those must be cells!

He thurtled down the stairs as silent as a shadow and went through a few doors before finding that he had been right. He found a corridor with cells left and right and in front of him, at the end of it, was a larger cell with a man chained to the wall from his wrists and his ankles.

Lucien winced. He passed a table on which was Mundy's blowgun, his darts and a few bullets. He came closer to the prisoner and, after making sure no one was around, he tapped on his watch. Out of a thin cloud of smoke, the silhouette of the Frenchman appeared in thin air.

"Ugh… Spook…? Oooh, you look like a burglar, dressed all in black like that…" Mundy was sitting against the wall limply, he was speaking comically slowly and Lucien guessed he had been drugged.

"Ssh! Bushman, I will get you out of here but you must stay quiet!" Lucien whispered as he took his cigarette case out. He flipped it open and took the pins concealed there to pick the lock.

"Eh… Spook…? You came here through the sewers too..?"

"Non, but I can clearly smell that you did. Now, keep your mouth shut!"

Lucien managed to pick the lock and entered the cell before shutting its door again. He went straight to Mundy's wrists and ankles and started picking the locks there too when a door opened in the corridor. The spy tapped his watch again and turned invisible.

"Woohoohoohooo Spook…? I thought only yer bike could do that…!"

Lucien didn't move and just watched the guard approach.

"Eh… Eh mate? See the Spook? Hey! Can you see him?" Mundy drunkenly asked.

"Shut up in there, will ya?" The guard shouted back. He looked in the cell and judging that everything seemed normal, he left.

Lucien waited for the man to be completely gone before reappearing and dealing with the cuffs.

"Bushman, keep your mouth sealed. If they learn that I am here, we are both doomed."

"Yeah but at least I'll get to be… I'll get to be with you, eh? I mean…"

Lucien blushed but kept on trying to free his stinking friend. The ankles were free, time for the wrists.

"Ssh, Bushman."

"No, no… Listen… I mean… If we both die here and now… I mean… No… That's not what I mean… Pearl needs you…" Mundy raised an index finger and stared at it. The poor man was seeing double under the drugs he had been fed. "And there's this bloke you like… Ah, damn him… Damn him to hell and back…!"

"Oh for that, I couldn't agree more. Damn him because he can't keep his mouth shut!"

"No, not for that, Spook…" Mundy missed the meaning entirely. "Damn him cause you… you like him and that's a problem, see?"

One wrist free. Now the other.

"It's a problem cause… See, I like you…"

Lucien stopped his picking of the lock on Mundy's wrist and raised his eyes to him.

"Bushman. Stop talking before I make you."

"No… But seriously… I like ya… You're…"

Lucien expected a compliment.

"...weird." The Frenchman rolled up his eyes. "But a good kind of weird, eh…?"

"Bushman, listen to me."

"Huh?"

"If we want to make it out of here you will have to stay quiet. We can't afford to be spotted, especially you, running free outside of your cell. How often do these guards come and check on you?"

Lucien helped the Aussie up and Mundy naturally put an arm on the Frenchman's shoulders. The spy realised that he had been beaten up quite badly when Mundy started limping. They moved to the table and Lucien took Mundy's equipment that he stuffed in the poor man's pockets.

"I don't know, mate… Quite a bit of time… Gets lonely here y'know… So I just think of my parents… Heh, keeps the motivation goin'... And I think of you too… Keeps me warm inside… Can't help it…"

"Listen here. Let us make a bet, shall we?" Lucien tried another strategy to make his rescue shut up.

"Yeah, alright, anythin' for you…"

Lucien rolled up his eyes again.

"I bet that you cannot remain quiet until we reach your van."

"What's in it for me…?"

"If you succeed, I will owe you a dinner. If you fail, we will however both end up back in this cell before getting killed and thrown in those infamous sewers you went through. How does that sound?"

"Dinner… with you?" Mundy asked.

"Oui. Dinner with me."

"Just you and me…?"

"Just you and me."

"Like… a date or something?"

Lucien sighed.

"Oui, Bushman. Now, do you take the bet, yes or no?"

"Right, I'll uh… I'll shut up until we get to the van… Easy…"

"Good."

Lucien tapped his watch and both turned invisible. They went to the stairs and started climbing them. To his honor, the Aussie stayed silent even though he looked like he was suffering immensely while taking each step up. His gait was slow and heavy but Lucien was patient.

When they finally made it back outside and on ground level, Mundy tapped his friend's shoulder and asked for a break. Fine, Lucien stopped pulling him and gave him a moment.

They were in the middle of the maze of hedges and no one was around them except the bodies of tranquilised guards.

"Huh…" Mundy frowned. His vision was blurred and seeing double did not help, especially in the middle of the night. The lights from the lanterns in the garden waved and danced before his eyes and his whole head was spinning. "Ugh…"

"Mundy?!"

The Aussie collapsed but thank God Lucien caught him before he hit the floor. He carried his limp body over his shoulder all the way to the van. When he arrived, Lucien went straight to the passenger's seat and laid Mundy there. The Aussie was only unconscious, thank God.

Lucien fastened his seatbelt to secure him before going to the back door.

He opened it and the girls had gone, the kukris were all back on the wall as well. Good. Lucien rummaged through the Aussie's belongings before he found some deodorant. He grabbed it and went outside again. There was one detail to arrange: the motorcycle.

Lucien double tapped it and it appeared. He fiddled with its dashboard for quite a long time before he managed to make it understand that it had to follow the van. Once it was done, the Frenchman went back to the van, on the driver's seat this time.

"Oh…!" He winced at Mundy's smell and sprayed some deodorant on him. There, that would do, at least momentarily. For now, the Frenchman raced through the desert back to town. He needed to get Mundy to the Doctor's.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

11 notes · View notes

ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Promises Not Kept Part 4

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 4: Tommy and Leah spend the night together at the Garrison.

The Garrison’s lively hum was muffled from the outside. Bright, golden light poured out into the gray streets beckoning any Brummie passerby.

Tommy paced a short track in front of the pub. His cigarette smoke trailed after him like a ghost. He continued to ruminate on the idea that he hadn’t been out formally with a woman since Grace. He wasn’t necessarily nervous about it, he was more uneasy about the circumstances. The Blinder was pretty good at taking what he wanted and winning people over. And yet Leah felt strangely off limits to him.

But he stopped worrying when he noticed Leah walking down the street towards him. When she came into better light, he realized how utterly fucked he was.

Leah had reclaimed some of the self-esteem she had lost over the years. She held her chin a little higher than before and stood taller. As far as Tommy was concerned, Birmingham didn’t deserve the woman in front of him.

“Did I keep you waiting long?” Leah worried she had taken too much time getting ready. She had finally settled on a simple blue dress that hung just above the knees.

He shook his head, jostling his brain out of the fog clouding up his train of thought. “No, ‘course not.” He cleared his throat. “You look very nice.”

She smiled. “Thank you.” It was a fairly nice comment coming from someone who had seen her naked twice.

Tommy went to open the pub doors but paused. “My brothers are here.” He warned. Of course, it was rare the Shelby boys weren’t occupying the pub on the weekends. “The won’t bother you if you’d rather not meet them now.”

“No, that’s alright. I’d like to meet them.” She nodded earnestly. John and Arthur had been mentioned in Jonah’s letters as well so she was keen to meet them.

“Right,” The Blinder wasn’t sure what sort of grief his brothers would give him when they learned he was on a date. But he wouldn’t tell Leah that. So, he walked into the Garrison with her. The pub was crowded as usual. Mostly regulars lined the bar. Others in the area were too afraid to venture into one of the gang’s dens.

“Alright, lads.” He approached where John, Arthur, and a few more Blinders sat at the bar.

“Tommy boy, though you were avoiding us tonight.” Arthur clapped his brother on the back.

“This is Leah Ward.” Tommy touched the woman’s shoulder ever so slightly. “Her husband served in the 179th with us.” He gave the men a look meant to keep them in line in her presence.

“Jonah was a good man.” John nodded to her. “Shame what happened.”

“Very good man.” Arthur echoed. “N’fact, let’s toast to him.” He waved for another round of drinks. John handed Leah and his brother a glass of whiskey as Arthur began. “A toast to Jonah, he gave his life for this country. We won’t forget him.”

“And a toast to his wife,” John added. “God bless her for being seen out with Tommy Fucking Shelby.” It was clear the man was already drunk.

Tommy glared at his younger brother but Leah smiled. She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers!” The Blinders echoed and threw back the whiskey.

“Right, I’ll find us a quieter spot.” Tommy wanted to leave before John or Arthur said anything else. He led Leah to a free table a good distance away from the rowdy bar.

“They seem nice.” She said politely as he pulled out a chair for her.

“I’ve yet to hear anyone call my brothers nice.” He sat close to her so they could hear one another amidst the din of the pub. “I won’t tell them that, it’ll only inflate their egos.”

Leah chuckled and shook her head. “So, Beth said you own this place. It’s beautiful.” She stole a look of the gold embellishments. It was certainly not reminiscent of the city it was in.

“My brothers look after it more nowadays.” He replied. “Used to come about more but I’ve been traveling.” He flipped open his cigarette box and offered one to her.

She accepted and leaned closer so he could light it for her. “She also said she knew Grace when she worked here. I guess before you two married. Is that how you met?”

He nodded slowly and took a long drag. “She sang here.” His eyes moved instinctually to the spot where his late wife used to stand. “Only person in the world who could make this place silent on a Saturday night.”

“Beth said everyone loved to hear her sing.”

His eyes moved from the spot before he began to picture Grace standing there. He downed the rest of his whiskey. “Do you sing?” He asked.

Leah held her cigarette over the silver ashtray. “I think all the cats in Birmingham would show up if I tried singing. I’ll spare your ears.”

Tommy smiled and felt relaxed by her presence and the burn of whiskey running down his throat. For the first time in a while, he felt comfortable where he sat. There was only so much he could worry about at once, and Leah dramatically reduced that number when he looked at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night wore on and both Leah and Tommy were throwing back drinks like it was their last night alive. They were both looking to loosen up and to feel more self-assured. It did the trick though because a few hours in and they were talking openly without any of the mental blocks they usually had. Leah was thrilled to actually see Tommy genuinely smile and to hear his lovely laugh.

Arthur jabbed John and pointed across the room. “Fuck. What?” John groaned. He was about ready to call it a night after being goaded into multiple shots and a line of cocaine.

“Have you seen him smile like that since his wedding day?” Arthur asked.

John spotted Tommy and Leah sitting close together. The two were laughing like they were old friends. Indeed, it had been a long while since Tommy had such a happy look on his face. “Hell, I ain’t seen him smile like that since Greta were alive.” He told his older brother.

“Think it could be something?”

“Nah, s’just the whiskey and a pretty face.” John shook his head. “He’ll be back to good ‘ol Tommy by the morning time.” He predicted and filled Arthur's glass again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You can’t always be working.” Leah accused and jabbed Tommy playfully. “There has to be something you enjoy doing for fun.” She held up a hand before he answered. “And drinking doesn’t count.”

He chuckled and let his head fall back for a moment as he thought to himself. His liquor-addled brain was delaying all of his responses. “Well, we’ll go hunting sometimes in the country.”

“Ooh, that’s posh.” She giggled and leaned towards him, nearly slipping off her chair in the process.

He rolled his eyes but grinned. His head lolled to the side to look at her with an amused glance. “I tried golfing, fucking hated it. So m’not that posh.”

“So, hunting’s your thing then?” Leah mimicked holding up a rifle made a bang sound effect.

Tommy’s hand pressed to his chest, pretending to be wounded and slumped back into his chair. “Got me.”

It drew a laugh from her. “A man who likes the thrill of a hunt.” She mused. “I could see that about you.”

He shrugged and finished another glass of whiskey. “Just prefer riding out in the country, really. Grew up with horses so I’ve always liked them.” He told her the personal detail without much hesitation.

“So, you’re a horseman then? A British cowboy?” Her voice lilted with affectionate teasing.

“Only when I’m in Warwickshire.” They had run through his cigarettes so they’d been passing the last one back and forth. He offered it to her while he spoke. “When I’m here, I’m focusing on horses that’ll make me money on the track.”

Leah let the smoke pass by her red painted lips. “Back to business then, eh? You’ll work yourself to death if you're not careful.”

“I have some time. Gonna teach Charlie to ride when he’s a bit older. He can’t wait, always asks when he’ll be able to. Want to buy him a horse soon, maybe for Christmas."

The affection in the father’s eyes was clear. There was nothing more important in the world than Charlie. “You must miss him when you’re away.” Her voice sobered up a little despite the nicotine and booze.

“Well, I’d be a monster if I didn’t.” He took the cigarette back from her and finished what was left. “Better he’s raised there than here.” It was the justification he used for leaving Charlie behind in Warwickshire. The boy would not grow up the same way he had. He promised Grace he’d keep their son safe.

There was undeniable sadness in his eyes so Leah decided to ease off his heart. “I’ve never ridden a horse.” She admitted. “My mum was afraid of them.”

“You’re fucking kidding.” Tommy huffed out a laugh. Growing up as Romani, he just assumed everyone was familiar with horses. Being in the city meant that wasn’t always the case. “Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve ridden at least once.”

“A horse, you mean,” Leah smirked and bit her lip.

It took Tommy a quick moment to catch onto what she meant. “Cheeky.” He tutted and shook his head. “C’mon.” He suddenly stood up. The room swayed a bit but he righted himself.

“Where are we going?” Leah snatched up her coat and purse. She was less stable on her feet and nearly tripped over her own feet.

“Gotcha, gotcha.” He steadied her before she could fall over. He secured an arm around her waist as they walked out of the Garrison. The air mixed with a bitter chill and the overwhelming smoke. It was sobering after a few minutes of traveling down the streets of Small Heath.

“Where are we going?” Leah asked again.

“Me uncle’s yard.” Tommy’s accent was slipping off; dropping the ends of words and finding himself back as the rough and tumble boy. The lanky kid who got into at least one fight every day, rode horses with reckless abandon, and snuck out late at night to visit Greta. Such a simpler existence. “We keep the horses there, ‘til they’re sent off to be trained for the track.” He explained. “Got a filly in recently.”

~~~~~~~~~

Leah followed Tommy to Charlie’s yard. It was dimly lit in the late hours, but they managed to make their way through to the stalls. The chestnut filly raised her head when she heard them approaching. Her nostrils flared and the warm-blooded horse spooked to the side.

“S’alright.” Tommy stepped inside and held out a hand to the horse’s muzzle. “Just me. There ya are, that’s a good girl, eh?” He soothed in a steady voice. Leah lagged behind, watching him interact with the large animal. The same tenderness was there when he interacted with Karl or spoke of his son. The man wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. “Good girl.” He stroked the horse’s neck, praising her slowly. His blue eyes moved to Leah and gestured her over. “She’s harmless, just a little skittish with loud noises. Usually, are when they’re young.”

She carefully stepped forward, minding her feet. The last thing she wanted was the long-legged filly to step on her toes. “It’s like she’s listening to you.” She murmured quietly as she observed the horse’s ears flicking back and forth in response to Tommy’s voice.

“They’re smarter than people think.” He took Leah’s hand and placed it on the filly’s cheek. “Can sense the weather, danger, emotions.”

Leah’s hand slowly ran over the filly’s silky coat. “That’s amazing.” She looked into the horse’s eye, the strangely shaped pupil gazing back at her. “What’s her name?” She wondered.

“Haven’t named her yet.” Tommy shrugged and rubbed the horse’s soft muzzle affectionately. “We’ll give her a name for the track once she’s trained. Curly usually nicknames them but she just arrived.” She nodded and continued patting the horse, adjusting her forelock and running her fingers through her wiry mane. Tommy watched her for a moment. Her touches were tentative, almost how she touched him. She was afraid of being hurt by things beyond her control. A wild horse. A man with a devilish reputation. “Leah.”

“Hm?” The dim lanterns cast shadows over her face but he could still see the faint sparkle in her eyes.

The liquid courage was starting to wear off. “I uh…” He shook his head, pretending as if the thought had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, forgot what I was going to say.” He lied. Of course, he knew what he was going to say.

She smiled teasingly. “Maybe we had too much whiskey.”

“I’m walking, aren't I?” He shrugged but decided to take a seat on a nearby bale of hay. He rested his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.

Leah stepped away from the filly and cautiously walked over to him. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately because it was too early to tell, she was still free from most inhibitions. “Tommy.”

“Eh?” He didn’t open his eyes.

“Are you interested in me?” She chewed on her lower lip and rocked back and forth on her heels like an impatient child.

“Yeah, think you’re interesting.” He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Why?”

“No not…I mean-”

“Oh. You mean do I want to fuck you again?”

Her cheeks burned because of his brash response but she gave an amused smile. “Yes, you could put it that way.” She stepped closer so her dress brushed up against his knees.

Tommy straightened up and reached out to rest his hands on her hips. “Unfortunately, love, I can be a bit of an addict for certain things.” He murmured. “And you’ve been on me mind for weeks.”

Leah’s heart sped up and she lightly grazed her fingers through his hair. "You've been on my mind too." She looked down shyly.

But that wasn't acceptable. He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face back up so he could see her. “But this time, we’ll do it our way.” His eyes locked on hers, not letting her look away. “We’re not in that fucking hotel anymore, eh?

She nodded in agreement. “Okay.” It sounded hopeful to her. There was less fear about Tommy merely using her for sex. Of course, if her friend were there, Bea would scold her. Tell her she was being foolish and naïve despite all her experience as a sex worker. She was just won over by a handsome face, devastating blue eyes, and a longing for attachment.

But Bea wasn’t there to turn her away from the Shelby man. And Leah had craved his touch for what was far too long in her opinion. It simply wasn’t enough being in his company for the night. They were both itching for that high and they could push aside the impending questions of commitment. And they would delay it another night. Leah followed him back to Watery Lane and would be sewn into Tommy Shelby’s history for good.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #arthur shelby #john shelby

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iamnotbrianmay · 4 years

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"where are you taking me" with whoever you want! just make it sad!

This is a sort of sad one folks.... tw: mentions of natural death (past)

Brian jumped into the car without hesitation once John told him that he was going to visit his father and that he wanted Brian to meet him. They had been dating for nearly six months, and it felt like a big step to meet this allusive father of his. He had just met John's mother a few nights before, and judging by the fact that there were no pictures of John's father anywhere around the house, Brian had guessed they were divorced.

Sex and band practice had gotten in the middle of him asking John what had happened between his parents, and now that he was in a car in the middle of a country road he couldn't help but think that maybe he should have done that first.

He watched as the trees past by and took in the beautiful scenery as he tried to formulate the correct way to ask the question in his head. He had never really heard anything about John's father before, and he couldn't deny that going in blank was a terrible idea.

"How should I call your dad?"

For a second John turns to look at him with a quizzical look, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, should I call him sir, or by his name, or is he one of those people that has strict rules about how people should call him?"

There is a second in which John looks like a deer caught in headlights, then he sighs, "Just by his name will be alright, he hates it when people call him sir. He says it makes him sound old."

"Do you think he will like me?" Brian starts to fidget with the cuffs of his shirt, nervous about meeting John's parents for the second time this week.

John, gives him a sad little smile, "Yeah, I think he will love you."

There is a tenseness in the air that he hadn't felt before, and Brian decides that maybe John is just as nervous, so he leaves the topic alone for now. He tries and fails miserably to try to calm his nerves, but John's cryptic answers have him on edge. Maybe John's dad is terribly ill? Or perhaps he is homophobic, and John will introduce him as just a friend, and he is nervous about being caught in the act by his father.

He doesn't really know what to expect apart from the fact that he wants to be called Arthur and not sir. At least he has that, and he won't make a fool out of himself in that aspect.

He misses the rest of the ride as his brain makes up a thousand different scenarios of how things will transpire with John's dad, and nearly misses when they pull up into a cemetery.

The turn of events shock him enough to make his usually sharp brain ask possibly the stupidest question ever, "Where are you taking me?"

John doesn't dignify that question with an answer, and instead parks the car in one of the many lots, before turning to look at Brian, "To meet my dad."

They buy white roses before entering the cemetery grounds, and Brian trails after John lost as to what to do or say now that it's obvious what is happening. He feels immensely shitty now for not asking him about his dad beforehand, even more so now that he is in a cemetery dressed in a colourful t-shirt and white bell-bottomed pants. Brian wants the earth to swallow him whole.

They come to a stop in front of a well-kept stone, adorned with flowers of all kinds, chocolates, small gifts and even a book. Said book looks to be in bad shape, probably from the rain and exposure to sunlight, so John reaches over and grabs it before taking another book from his coat pocket.

Brian should have known something was up when John showed up to his house, dressed entirely in black, but he had never expected this.

Once the flowers and the book has all been set, and the small cobwebs which had started to build upon the grave were pushed aside, John kneeled in front of it and lowered his head. His long brown hair was falling down the sides of his face, covering it completely, and Brian didn't know if it would be prudent to tuck it behind his ears.

"Hello, dad," he whispered, loud enough for Brian to her if he strained his ears enough, "I'm sorry I haven't been around as much recently, but I've started a band, and it has sort of taken all of my spare time."

Brian waited for a few seconds, terrified of making a wrong move of somehow offending John. He would not like to do any of those things, so he just waited for his boyfriend to resume talking.

"Mom and Julie have been great this past few months. But you already knew that, didn't you? Julie came down here a few weeks ago. I hope you liked the read."

He could start to see John's strong facade crumbling. His voice was beginning to crack, and his words were becoming mumbled, even more so than they had been before. Still, he continued talking with his dad.

Brian was not exactly a religious person, but at that moment, he hoped that Arthur Deacon was listening to the man talking to him. Then the part in which John introduced him came, and Brian felt dizzy with nervousness. It was weird, knowing that his father's boyfriend was not alive but still being deadly afraid of what the man might think about him, it was driving Brian mad.

"I came here to say that—" John cleared his throat, "I told mom and Clare about our little secret. They were surprised, but nothing bad happened, just like you said it wouldn't all of those years ago. I'm sorry I didn't believe you, but I definitely am not sorry that I told you back then. Especially because now I get to introduce you to my boyfriend and I know that you would love him. I don't know what I would do if that were uncertain, I'd probably wouldn't even have a boyfriend in the first place. So thank you."

John turned back to Brian and extended his hand towards him. Brian gladly took it and crouched right beside John. He certainly wasn't going to talk to John's father, mainly because he didn't know what to say, but he would be there for him is John wanted him to be there.

"This is Brian May. He is that respectable kind of man that you talked about me having as a boyfriend when I came out to you. He is an astrophysicist and currently working on his PhD, he is the guitarist of my band, and quite probably the love of my life."

Brian turned to look at John at that moment, eyes wide in surprise. It's not that they hadn't declared their undying love for each other before, but listening to John saying it like it was the most natural, and obvious, thing in the world made something inside Brian curl up in happiness. It might have also had something to do with the fact that he was saying it in front of one of the most important people in his life.

"Now dad, I know you will never be able to threaten my boyfriend or walk me down the aisle as we had talked, but I hope that wherever you are, you can see me be the happiest man on the planet."

Brian didn't notice when he had started crying, only that when he reached over to scratch his cheek, his hand came away wet. He looked at John, who in turn looked at him like he had hung the moon and the stars. It made his heart beat a thousand miles an hour, and something inside him unfurl to make room for the tremendous about of love that he felt for John at that moment. He turned back towards the grave, "Don't worry, Arthur. I will make sure to take care of your boy."

He couldn't say much of anything else. It felt out of place to talk with his boyfriend's dead father, even if John had brought him here to meet the man. However, John didn't seem insulted by it in the slightest. Probably very aware of the fact that talking to the dead wasn't everyone's cup of tea.

***

The morning after John had taken Brian to meet his dad, he felt a sort of weight lift of his shoulders. He had woken up the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had ever since he had started playing music with the boys, and it showed in the way that for the first time in what seemed like forever he hadn't felt like death by waking up before twelve.

He wiggled out of Brian's embrace and walked out into the kitchen to find it alone. It wasn't uncommon, even less because it was Saturday at eight in the morning, but John still felt like the house was abnormally quiet. He made quick work of preparing his coffee and making breakfast for himself before taking it all to their, barely there, balcony to have breakfast in peace. He watched cars pass, people walk their dogs or jog down the street, and parents taking their children to school, as he slowly ate his scrambled eggs and enjoyed the morning breeze.

For a second, he just wished that Brian was here to share this moment with him, just like he had been there with John yesterday when they had visited his father's grave. It wasn't often he let himself speak with the man more than a few words, he hated crying alone in the middle of a cemetery, but with Brian it had been different, it had felt different. Almost as if his dad was there to share the moment with them rather than John talking to a piece of stone and being painfully aware that he would never be there for him again.

The door to the balcony opened, and Brian came out rubbing his eyes and looking for John like bugs to a lamp. The younger man instantly slid his chair back and let Brian curl on his lap like a cat, arms around his neck, head tucked into the crook of his neck and legs curled around his waist. John melted into the embrace, playing with Brian's hair as the older man willed his body and mind to wake up fully.

"I missed you in bed," the statement was punctuated with a small kiss on the crook of his neck.

John hugged Brian closer to him, "Sorry, I got restless."

"'s okay," he said, "as long as you are okay."

John chuckled at his boyfriend's sleeping response and made sure to hug him closer. Yesterday he had realised that he never had, in his 23 years of being alive and numerous relationships, been so sure about something like he was sure about Brian. Not even when he thought he was going to marry Veronica.

"Mmm, John?"

He pressed a kiss to Brian's shoulder, "Yes?"

"Thank you for taking me to meet your dad yesterday. It meant a lot."

He felt something in his heart settle in place; like a hole finally being filled or a crooked piece being put back where it belonged. It was both a wonderful feeling and somewhat painful but confirmed with crystal clear clarity about what he felt for Brian.

"No, thank you for going with me. It meant the world."

They stayed like that for a few hours more, clinging to each other like koalas. John was even sure that Brian had fallen asleep at one point or another, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Not when he was so sure this was the love of his life.

#brian may #john deacon #queen #my writing #slash #breaky

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typinggently · 4 years

Note

4) an angel with a dark secret, a river, a clock for a/e :3

Thank you so much for this prompt!! I had so much fun writing it and I hope you’ll have fun reading it! I think it’s my longest drabble to date, ahhh!

Vampire Hunter Arthur & Vampire Eames

Arthur pulls out his pocket watch. Its gold-plated case is glowing in the rosy twilight and its smooth, warm weight is comfortingly familiar in his hand. It’s half past six, the air still fragrant with the scent of the sun-drenched blackberry bushes that cling to the walls of the mansion. The sun will set in two hours, which gives him more than enough time to find what he’s looking for. With that in mind, he snaps the watch shut again and slips it back into his pocket before taking a last drag of his cigarette. Exhaling smoke, he drops it on the gravel, grinds it under his boot, picks up his briefcase.

In this business, a professional exterior is important, especially in this day and age. Thus, his suits are fitted to emphasise his slim built, his cufflinks and hair gleam, his utensils are stored in an expensive briefcase. He looks, all in all, like a businessman. Well, he thinks to himself as he takes out the keys for the padlock chain wrapped around the gates. That won’t last.

The garden is overgrown with blackberries, but Arthur manages to get to the front steps without snagging his suit, which is an achievement. At the front doors he makes quick ork of another padlock, then slips into the dim interior. All windows have been nailed shut on this floor and by the looks of it, no one found their way in yet. Not on the ground floor, at least.

Arthur finds the dining room, the carpet saturated with dust, the air stale. The dining table, he notices, is not terribly dusty, especially not considering the state of the other furniture. There are some odd, flaky stains on the wood here and there, but Arthur doesn’t pay them much mind. He rests his case on the scratched wood, then opens the lid to get ready. First, he puts on his night vision goggles, then a pair of white cotton gloves. He’s already wearing a neck brace made of starched cotton, sprinkled with holy water and a silver cross. After sliding a lighter into his pocket, he selects a stake and hammer (unfortunately, the device that’ll allow him to shoot these things is still in the works. Another half-year, perhaps) and turns towards the door.

Now, he makes his way through the house, methodically checking the furniture of each room in the green-grey glow of his night vision goggles. It’s, as usual, the library where he finds what he was looking for. The carpet by the bookshelf is a little matted and ripped up in one place, worn down more than in other spots. Arthur hums and checks his watch again. Eight. Half an hour left. With that in mind, he starts to examine the bookshelf, trying to find the mechanism that’ll open the secret door he suspects to be the cause of the worn-down carpet.

What catches his eye in the end is a porcelain angel, the chubby one from the Raphael painting, who’s resting his chin on his hand and looks up. That much is obvious even with the way the head’s been smashed in. Were Arthur less of a professional, he’d make a pleased little sound now. As it is, he only reaches for the angel and tries to move it, as the person who smashed its head probably tried to do. It doesn’t budge. He tries to twist it.

A faint click.

Arthur grips one of the shelves and gives a hearty tug and voilà, the door slides open, over the frayed ends of the carpet. Beyond, three steps lead up into a quaint little study, very romantic. Arthur takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs.

As expected, the casket rests on the writing desk the first owner on the house put in there. Surprising is, however, that the room has rather big windows, stained glass and all. Well, maybe the last traces of light will be enough.

Arthur steps towards the casket and opens the lid with a practised move. A middle-aged woman stares back at him with wide, blood-shot eyes, her mouth open in a silent scream, exposing nightmarish fangs and her red gullet. Still as a wax-figure. Asleep. The stench of old blood and rot seeps into Arthur’s nose and he frowns a little, then he carefully extends his hand with the stake, repositions it a little to be sure, lifts his hammer with the other hand.

A sickening crunch, an ear-shattering howl. The body swells and bursts like a rotten fruit, blood turning to ash before it can stain Arthur’s gloves. He drops the stake into the casket and pulls out his matches. A hiss, then the ash catches fire. Green, sulphuric flames flicker in the dim room.

Arthur is about to step back when he feels a presence behind him. An icy claw wraps around his heart.

“Love, how terribly impolite.”

He turns on his heels to find Eames leaning against the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s wearing another one of his awful silk shirts and his smile is bright. Teeth glittering in the dim light, pearly and nightmarish.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur frowns, his heart still hammering in his chest. He hopes Eames won’t be able to hear, knowing it’s in vain.

“Well, Dear, you left the door open for me. A glorious invitation, truly. And on top of that, I found the mail on your laptop.”

At that, Arthur rolls his eyes. “You certainly weren’t invited into my apartment.”

“You have a cat flap.”

“Yes.”

“You invite cats into your apartment.”

“Well, my cat.”

“Am I not your cat? Love, you wound me.” Eames lets a low purr seep into his voice and Arthur sniffs, turning his back to him.

“I’m packing up now.”

The moonlight glitters on the river behind the house, gleaming white on ink. Arthur brushes the last bit of ash off of his dustpan and squats down to put it back into his briefcase.

“You know, that’s how they spread germs back in the day.”

“Yes, when they burned sick people and then let their cows drink the water. Vampire ash is not going to harm anyone.” With that, he stands, turns and finds Eames standing eerily close, their noses almost brushing. Startling, but not exactly frightening. Arthur sighs.

Immediately, Eames makes a face and turns his head away. “Oh, love, don’t tell me you ate garlic!”

“Of course I ate garlic,” Arthur says, unimpressed. “Step aside.”

Eames frowns softly, but lets him pass to climb up the riverside. “I really wish you wouldn’t. You know how much I hate it.”

Arthur gives him a cool look. “You poor thing,” he deadpans, then slams his briefcase closed. “I’m going to leave now.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have to worry so terribly about you if you’d just, you know, let me have a tiny little taste. Just for your own safety.”

“A vampire hunting vampire, you mean. Brilliant idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could do it. Just do the stake through the heart, leave the rest.” Eames makes a little hammering gesture. “Or you could retire, Love. Hell knows you’re one of the last ones left.”

Arthur sighs as he unlocks his car. “We talked about this. Another two years. Here, come in.”

Eames sighs softly, but climbs into the van. “You know, after 184 years, one would think another two wouldn’t feel all that long...” In the dim light, his big eyes have a shimmer to them, his long lashes throwing delicate shadows on his pale cheeks. His mouth looks very soft, very alluring, teeth glittering like pearls.

Arthur feels a little warmer, all of a sudden, his blood turning into sweet wine, making him feel languid and soft. He huffs, turns to look at the road. “I can feel what you’re doing. I said what I said. Buckle up.”

Eames sighs, but he does as he’s told.

Arthur starts the car, and when a cold hand slips on his knee, he reaches down to squeeze it briefly.

Well, a clock is no watch but still…you know… Also this was such a random idea?? I hope you enjoyed it, I certainly had a TON of fun writing it!!! Again, thank you so much!!

Also yes. Arthur risks the Vampires waking up just so he can be sure Eames will be awake as well. He’s a sap, deep down.

The prompts

#drabble #arthureames #dream husbands #usersoph

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literallyusuk · 6 years

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Eagle (USUK) Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] Also on AO3!

“Is it done?” The voice over the earpiece sounded calmer now.

“Yeah. It’s done.”

“Good. Return to the pick-up point. Someone will come for you in fifteen minutes. We’ll send the disposal crew-”

“I’ll get rid of the body myself.” Though his head was still pulsing and spinning, Alfred’s thoughts felt like they were going at over a hundred miles per hour. “And I’ll get back myself.”

“…Why?”

“The less trucks turn up here, the better.”

Silence for a moment. Then, finally, “Very well. We’ll have a debriefing once you get back, Eagle. Stay cautious.”

The connection severed again, and Alfred let out a sigh. After a moment, he plucked the earpiece from his ear and dropped it, crushing it beneath his heel. He tucked the gun away and knelt next to Arthur’s body. Just unconscious, and when he felt around the back of Arthur’s head, there didn’t seem to be any open injury from where he’d hit the ground.

“Who are you?” he whispered, tracing a thumb across the other man’s cheek.

Pulse.

Flinching, Alfred pulled his hand back and covered his eyes. All he had for now was the name and that one image, but just from that he could infer that Arthur had been important to him. So why couldn’t he remember anything? Why had he been sent to kill him?

Beyond the alleyway, someone laid on their car horn as they sped past. The sound jolted Alfred from his thoughts and he glanced around. There was no time to waste. Solving the puzzle could wait until they were both somewhere safer.

A search of Arthur’s pockets produced a cell phone, and lucky for him, the lock on it was a biometric one. He pressed first Arthur’s right thumb to the reader, then his left, and after three tries he was in. Opening up the dial pad, he typed out a number he’d long ago memorized, but had never had to call before.

The phone was picked up after two rings. “Who is this?” a voice asked suspiciously.

“Gil. It’s me. I need to call in that favour now.”

“…Alfred? Dude, you’ve been radio silent for like two years now.”

“I know. I didn’t wanna put you at risk. But I need your help right now. This is…big.”

Gilbert whistled. “How much deep shit did you land yourself into, man?”

“A whole bunch.” Pulse. “Ah- fuck. There’s not much time before they get suspicious of me. I need three things from you.”

“Three?” Gilbert snorted. “What happened to one favour?”

“It’s all part of the same thing, but Jesus, if it’s that much then I’ll owe you two afterwards.”

“…This is serious, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Right, well give me the low-down first, and then I’ll see if I can help you.”

Alfred couldn’t help glancing down to Arthur again. “I was sent after this guy. Pretty normal, doesn’t seem to be tied to any agencies or anything. But when I saw him it was like someone took a jackhammer to my skull and he recognized me and…I think we were together. Before. Everything’s fuzzy and he’s out cold and I need to get him out.”

“…Okay. Are you sure? That you know him from before?”

“Yeah, I-” Pulse. “Fuck, every time I look at him for too long it’s like another blow to my head.”

“That’s not a good thing, dude.”

“I think it might be. It’s like something’s trying to break out.”

“Right. Weird. What do you want from me, exactly?”

“Okay, so first I need a safe house in NYC. For at least two nights, maybe more. Then, I need you to find out everything you can on Arthur Kirkland and send it to me. The third thing…that’s gonna have to wait until I find out more. But if you can start laying the groundwork for an Out with a capital ‘o’, I’d appreciate it.”

Gilbert took in a breath. “You want out? You? Mr. Patriotic? Yeah, I think something’s trying to break out, and that’s your sanity.”

“Gil.” Alfred gritted his teeth. “This is important. He’s important, I can feel it.”

“They finally yanked your chain too hard, huh?” Gilbert teased, but there was an undercurrent of sympathy in his tone.

“…Yeah, I guess so. Can you help or not?” Alfred closed his eyes and rubbed at his left shoulder to try and ease the pounding in his head. He listened to the faint typing over the phone as he waited for Gilbert to get back to him.

“You’re in luck, but you’ll be on real thin ice. Ludwig’s doing his PhD over there now so he and Feli got an apartment. If you tell me where you are I’ll text him to pick you up. But I’m telling you straight up- if anything happens to either of them because of you, I’ll kill you myself. So cover your tracks if you’re going AWOL.”

Alfred swallowed and gripped the phone more tightly. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. But are you sure? It doesn’t feel good involving them in this mess.”

“Of course it doesn’t, but that’s the only safe house I’ve got for you there. Take it or leave it.”

“I’m gonna owe you big time for this, Gil.”

Gilbert just laughed. “You bet you will. That’ll be nice for me, I’m sick as shit of owing you for the past two and a half years. Plus I’m saving yours and Arthur’s lives if it goes well, so when he gets up to speed he’d better be fucking grateful too.”

“I’m sure he will be.” Alfred cracked open his eyes and glanced down at Arthur’s face. Pulse. He winced and looked away, then quietly relayed their coordinates.

“Cool,” Gilbert said a few moments later. “Luddy’s on his way. Feli’s with him. You’re looking for a tall blond guy and a scrawny brunet.”

“Thanks. Gil, I-” Alfred paused and gritted his teeth. He had no idea what the hell he was doing. He’d never defected before, but the thought of killing Arthur was just too much for him to bear. “I really mean it.”

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. “…Yeah. Call me when you get your brain unscrambled, or in like a day. I’ll let you know what I’ve found then.” He hung up.

Alfred slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He let out a deep breath and stared down at the home screen. Behind the apps was a picture of a cat, the small cat from his vision. Or rather, memory, probably.

Pulse.

Eyeing the text app, he opened it and glanced for anything relating to ‘work’ or ‘boss’. The most recent thread was to someone named Liz and they talked about stock and opening and locking up. After scrolling up through the conversation to get a feel for how Arthur texted, he fired off a single message.

A sudden personal emergency came up. I won’t be able to return to work for the next few days. I’ll keep you updated.

The response came through not a minute later. Okay! I’ll cover for you, but you’d better tell me everything soon!

Once he’d slipped the phone back into Arthur’s pocket, he looked around and tried to figure out the best way to transport Arthur so it wouldn’t raise suspicion. His eyes landed on a few cardboard boxes, slightly soggy from being exposed to the elements for a while, and he tugged one over. After some fiddling, he managed to get it upright and lowered Arthur’s bent body into it. It wasn’t comfortable or the best solution, but it was all he had.

A few minutes later, a car slowed on the street and backed into the alleyway. Alfred flipped the top of the cardboard box closed and stood up, one hand moving to rest on the butt of one of his guns. The car stopped about ten feet away from him and the front doors opened. Two men got out, one tall and blond, the other skinny and brunet. Alfred didn’t relax.

The blond man stopped when he was about seven feet away from Alfred, and sidestepped so he was between the assassin and the brunet. “You’re Alfred Jones?” he asked shortly.

“Alfred F. Jones, actually. You’re Luddy and Feli?”

At that, the blond man relaxed. He nodded. “Yes. I’m Ludwig Beilschmidt. This is my partner, Feliciano.” Ludwig looked around, his brows furrowing. “Gil said there was someone else…?”

Alfred moved his hands away from his body and gestured to the box. “In there. He’s out cold, and no matter how you look at it, three guys dragging someone’s body to their car would look suspicious. Help me get him in your trunk? The box is close to falling apart.”

Though Feliciano’s face had paled, he was the first to move forward, darting around Ludwig’s body and kneeling by the box. “He’s just out cold? You’re sure he’s okay otherwise?” Though his fingers slipped under the top flap of the box, he didn’t open it.

“Yeah. There’s no blood that I can see, and his breathing is steady.”

“Good. I’ll examine him more properly when we get home,” Feliciano said, giving Alfred a bright smile. “Luddy, help him out! I can barely get the groceries from the car to our door.” He laughed and stepped away to open the trunk of the car.

Ludwig came forward as well, crouching by the box and taking in all of the weak spots. “Alfred,” he said lowly.

Alfred’s shoulders tensed. “Yeah?”

“I’m sure Gilbert has already told you, but if anything happens to Feliciano because of this…”

“You’ll gut me, yeah. Though Gil’s threat included you, too.” Alfred ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a concrete plan, I’ll admit to that, but if anything happens to you because of me, I’ll gladly let you do whatever you want. If there was another option I’d take it.”

Ludwig watched him with a steady gaze. “As long as you know.”

“I do. And hey, I bet you could break me without even trying too hard, I mean look at those biceps.” Alfred whistled and tried a laugh. “You’ll have to show me your workout routine.”

“Luddy is very strong,” Feliciano chirped, skipping over to them. “Once, he held me up against the wall for twenty-”

“Feliciano!” Ludwig’s voice sounded half-strangled, and heat had shot up to his face.

Alfred burst out laughing and actually had to sit down so he wouldn’t lose his balance. “Oh man, oh my God, you should see your face! I’ll take your word for it.”

Ludwig just huffed and picked up the box as if it weighed nothing. “Enough. Are you coming in the car too?”

At that, Alfred took in a few deep breaths and grew serious. “No. Tell me your address and I’ll get there sometime tonight. If I’m defecting, might as well do it properly and throw them off the trail.”

Ludwig nodded to Feliciano as he placed the box in the trunk. The brunet scurried off to the front seat while Ludwig turned back to Alfred. “And if Arthur wakes before you’re back?”

“Do whatever you can to keep him there. If he says anything about me, tell him it’s true, that it was me. But…” Alfred frowned and glanced down at the floor. “Tell him my head’s real scrambled so I might not be the way he remembers me.”

“This is very serious, isn’t it?” Ludwig asked quietly.

Alfred gave him a half-hearted smile. “Yeah. Like, world-shatteringly serious. That’s why I have to be careful. I really am sorry that I have to drag you into this.”

Ludwig let out a breath as he closed the back of the car. “You saved my brother’s life. I guess I feel I owe you just a little bit too.” Feliciano tossed something to him with a flash of silver, and when he held out his hand to Alfred, a single key sat in the centre of it. “Here. Less suspicious if you have the key. The code to the downstairs door is engraved on the side because Feli keeps forgetting it.”

“Thanks.” Alfred pocketed the key with a nod. “I’ll see you guys tonight.”

“See you tonight,” Ludwig said before turning and walking to the driver’s seat, while Feliciano leaned out the window and waved.

Pulse.

Alfred winced and rubbed at his temples as he watched the car drive slowly away. He raised a hand in return, then sighed and slumped against a nearby wall, right where he’d fired the bullet into not half an hour earlier. He tilted his head back, allowing it to hit the brick gently, and stared up at the sky.

Just what had he done?

#hetalia #usuk #aph england #aph america #hetalia fanfiction #plus some new characters #chapters

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specswritesstuff · 6 years

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The Necklace

The tale of how Francis’ beloved cross necklace became his, became damaged, became stolen and became repaired. This is a warm up but I hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Stunning blue eyes, soft hair, a pretty smile and a musical laugh. Those were Francis’ favorite things about Jeanne besides the fire of passion within her soul. Back in the day, when he met her, he had become enamored with her, Antonio said it was a phase, Gilbert only laughed but it was true...Francis had fallen for a human, one of the biggest mistakes a nation could make. He would walk her to church and put flowers in her hair, he’d listen intently to her stories- sometimes pretending he forgot a story so she would tell him again! Her voice and her way of storytelling both dragged you in and made you listen. The two became very good friends- but never lovers. Francis would kiss her cheeks in a friendly manner or hold her hands while listening to tales from her childhood but he never pushed what they had. He was bitter, it always hurt to know that he would outlive her by infinite lifetimes...He knew that she would never understand him, most humans didn’t...He knew that he should never have fallen in love but the heart does what it wants.

Jeanne gave Francis a beautiful cross necklace as a gift of friendship. It was a bit dull, a bit too long and a bit chunky but he loved it. He swapped out his old cross necklace for the new one Jeanne gave him and never took it off, even when it didn’t go with his outfits- that didn’t matter.

All good things eventually had to come to an end...Like Jeanne’s life. Francis was not there to see her go, to see her struggle against the flames. He wishes to this day that he could have been there to offer support or to fight for her but he could not have. He cursed the English, he clawed and scratched at Arthur when he dared to show his face around him again

“Demon! Scum! You killed her!” He had screamed “You killed her and you feel no remorse!”

“I do feel it, Francis! Did you think it was my decision? If it was up to me, it would not have been done! That woman would never have been killed!”

“She has a name! She had a life and you filthy English took it from her!” Francis had spat on Arthur’s shoes, shouting for his housestaff to get Arthur out while he retreated to his wine cellar to drown his sorrows in weak alcohol and tears. All he had left of her was that necklace.

He rarely took the necklace off from then on. When he did, he always put it somewhere safe for fear of someone messing with it. Slowly, his relationship with Arthur was repaired, he somewhat forgave him and his people for what they did...He was still grieving internally- through the stages of grief, even years later he never hit acceptance. Francis cannot see ghosts but he can sense them. When he’s feeling hopeless or lost, occasionally he’ll feel a hand on his shoulder or hear a soft whisper...It is her. He can never accept that she is gone since she continues to visit him in the afterlife.

Wearing that necklace got him through many rough years. Through his people hating him, through his royalty being beheaded, through debt and poverty, through the First World War even. He would keep that necklace close to his heart and just pray that his dear Jeanne would be there to protect him, to give him some sort of hope when all seemed lost.

When the Second World War came around, he was so tired. He was tired of the fighting, tired of his ears ringing, tired of the constant pain in his chest- the pain that signaled the mass murder of his people. He could feel each death, one could never get used to that feeling.

Francis himself was captured by the Germans, his country too but of course they stole him away from France, taking him to a place he didn’t recognize in Germany. He was chained up to a chair, unable to move since he was weak already, and interrogated

“I’m telling you, I do not know anything” he repeated over and over but the soldiers had none of it. They shouted and slapped him, shouted some more and when they didn’t get what they wanted, they left the room...It was eerily silent...It was dark too and the air itself smelled like dust...It felt like forever until Ludwig himself came into the room. That changed nothing. Francis refused to give that man a bit of information other than the fact that his shoe was untied- which it wasn’t.

Francis never had realized that his necklace was not on his person until Ludwig held it up for him to see...and his world came to a stop

“How did you get that?”

“That isn’t important. What are the British-“

“Ludwig, honestly! Give that back!”

“I will give it back if you tell me where-“

“I cannot tell you anything!”

“Then I cannot give this back” Ludwig stood angrily, leaving the room once again.

Francis’ heart was racing...He had never felt anxiety so strong in his hundreds of years of living. It sounded absolutely ridiculous! It was just a necklace! But it was so much more than just a necklace...

Ludwig returned with a metal pot...It was bright red with heat “This is your last chance, tell me what the British are plotting. I know you know their plan, you sleep with Arthur”

“Ludwig please...I am telling you the truth...I don’t know- Ludwig that is all I have left of her- I’ll do anything else! I-I’ll make food for your soldiers! I- I can...I can make uniforms!”

“That is not needed” Ludwig sighed and dropped the necklace into the pot, holding it out for Francis to watch “It did not have to come to this...”

“It did...I cannot betray my family over a necklace..” Francis’ hands shook, he could barely think as he watched his precious necklace melt. He was overcome with guilt, the fact that he had not protected that necklace the way he should have...And that he had contemplated giving information to get that necklace back.

The melted gold was turned into a Nazi coin and Francis was left in the dark once more.

Once the War was over and Francis had been released back to his own country, Arthur had bought his lover a replacement necklace. Of course, it was a wonderful gesture. It warmed his heart, really it did, but it could not replace the once Jeanne had given to him. He felt attached to that necklace as children do to stuffed animals or how the elderly feel attatched to objects from their past. Sure, nowadays there were artifacts from Jeanne’s house...Her picture was on display and so was her old house...But that necklace was his. Not a museum’s. It was something that was his and only his, nothing for a tourist or a journalist to write about. It was his little piece of her that he got to keep...It was a coin now, a coin that could be anywhere.

Francis eventually came to terms with the fact that it was gone and did his best to move on. He wore the necklace Arthur gave him instead, moving on in life. He painted quite a bit, re-did his kitchen, got a cat as well as a dove, worked in a hospital for a month or so...And eventually, he was proposed to by his beloved Englishman. It was quite the surprise, one he honestly had not expected!

Their wedding was months later. Their suits matched, they were married by Feliciano and Lovino, they had their first kiss as well as their first dance as husbands! They both cried a lot that day, out of pure joy, out of the fact that they were truly together to live out their long lives together as one...But tears were shed for another reason too

Towards the end of the night, Ludwig approached the hall couple, carrying a small box. Francis, of course, was apprehensive but he accepted the little gift to be polite. Arthur watched as the little box was popped open to reveal a Nazi coin

“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Arthur spat while Francis stared at the coin in shock

“Wait- Wait is this..? Is this my coin?” Francis asked and Ludwig nodded

“It was not mine to keep...I forgot that I even had it until I felt it in my coat pocket...”

“...Merci...”

That coin was melted down within four days. It was melted back into a lovely, new, cross necklace. Francis had it engraved with Jeanne’s name and the year of her death, honoring her in the best way he could.

Francis didn’t wear this new necklace every day. He swapped it out for Arthur’s occasionally so his British husband would see him wearing his gift too, but it felt so good to have that back. It didn’t look exactly the same- not at all really, it was smaller now- but it felt fantastic to have that piece of history back with him again in its rightful place...

#jeanne d'arc #aph jeanne d'arc #aph france #warm up #oneshot #hetalia #im working on the two requests in the inbox dont worry!!#this just came to mind! :)#theres probably spelling errors oh well #nazi mention #ww2 mention

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vintagegeekculture · 7 years

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Dead Fandoms, Part 3

Read Part One of Dead Fandoms here.

Read Part Two of Dead Fandoms here.

Before we continue, I want to add the usual caveat that I actually don’t want to be right about these fandoms being dead. I like enthusiasm and energy and it’s a shame to see it vanish.

Mists of Avalon

Remember that period of time of about 15 years, where absolutely everybody read this book and was obsessed with it? It could not have been bigger, and the fandom was Anne Rice huge, overlapping for several years with USENET and the early World Wide Web…but it’s since petered out.

Mists of Avalon’s popularity may be due to the most excellent case of hitting a demographic sweet spot ever. The book was a feminist retelling of the Arthurian Mythos where Morgan Le Fay is the main character, a pagan from matriarchal goddess religions who is fighting against encroaching Christianity and patriarchal forms of society coming in with it. Also, it made Lancelot bisexual and his conflict is how torn he is about his attraction to both Arthur and Guinevere.

Remember, this novel came out in 1983 – talk about being ahead of your time! If it came out today, the reaction from a certain corner would be something like “it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that tumblr is at it again.”

Man, demographically speaking, that’s called “nailing it.” It used to be one of the favorite books of the kind of person who’s bookshelf is dominated by fantasy novels about outspoken, fiery-tongued redheaded women, who dream of someday moving to Scotland, who love Enya music and Kate Bush, who sell homemade needlepoint stuff on etsy, who consider their religious beliefs neo-pagan or wicca, and who have like 15 cats, three of which are named Isis, Hypatia, and Morrigan.

This type of person is still with us, so why did this novel fade in popularity? There’s actually a single hideous reason: after her death around 2001, facts came out that Marion Zimmer Bradley abused her daughters sexually. Even when she was alive, she was known for defending and enabling a known child abuser, her husband, Walter Breen. To say people see your work differently after something like this is an understatement – especially if your identity is built around being a progressive and feminist author.

Robotech

I try to break up my sections on dead fandoms into three parts: first, I explain the property, then explain why it found a devoted audience, and finally, I explain why that fan devotion and community went away. Well, in the case of Robotech, I can do all three with a single sentence: it was the first boy pilot/giant robot Japanimation series that shot for an older, teenage audience to be widely released in the West. Robotech found an audience when it was the only true anime to be widely available, and lost it when became just another import anime show. In the days of Crunchyroll, it’s really hard to explain what made Robotech so special, because it means describing a different world.

Try to imagine what it was like in 1986 for Japanime fans: there were barely any video imports, and if you wanted a series, you usually had to trade tapes at your local basement club (they were so precious they couldn’t even be sold, only traded). If you were lucky, you were given a script to translate what you were watching. Robotech though, was on every day, usually after school. You want an action figure? Well, you could buy a Robotech Valkyrie or a Minmei figure at your local corner FAO Schwartz.

However, the very strategy that led to it getting syndicated is the very reason it was later vilified by the purists who emerged when anime became a widespread cultural force: strictly speaking, there actually is no show called “Robotech.” Since Japanese shows tend to be short run, say, 50-60 episodes, it fell well under the 80-100 episode mark needed for syndication in the US. The producer of Harmony Gold, Carl Macek, had a solution: he’d cut three unrelated but similar looking series together into one, called “Robotech.” The shows looked very similar, had similar love triangles, used similar tropes, and even had little references to each other, so the fit was natural. It led to Robotech becoming a weekday afternoon staple with a strong fandom who called themselves “Protoculture Addicts.” There were conventions entirely devoted to Robotech. The supposed shower scene where Minmei was bare-breasted was the barely whispered stuff of pervert legend in pre-internet days. And the tie in novels, written with the entirely western/Harmony Gold conception of the series and which continued the story, were actually surprisingly readable.

The final nail in the coffin of Robotech fandom was the rise of Sailor Moon, Toonami, Dragonball, and yes, Pokemon (like MC Hammer’s role in popularizing hip hop, Pokemon is often written out of its role in creating an audience for the next wave of cartoon imports out of insecurity). Anime popularity in the West can be defined as not a continuing unbroken chain like scifi book fandom is, but as an unrelated series of waves, like multiple ancient ruins buried on top of each other (Robotech was the vanguard of the third wave, as Anime historians reckon); Robotech’s wave was subsumed by the next, which had different priorities and different “core texts.” Pikachu did what the Zentraedi and Invid couldn’t do: they destroyed the SDF-1.

Legion of Super-Heroes

Legion of Superheroes was comic set in the distant future that combined superheroes with space opera, with a visual aesthetic that can best be described as “Star Trek: the Motion Picture, if it was set in a disco.”

I’ve heard wrestling described as “a soap opera for men.” If that’s the case, then Legion of Super-Heroes was a soap opera for nerds. The book is about attractive 20-somethings who seem to hook up all the time. As a result, it had a large female fanbase, which, I cannot stress enough, is incredibly unusual for this era in comics history. And if you have female fans, you get a lot of shipping and slashfic, and lots of speculation over which of the boy characters in the series is gay. The fanon answer is Element Lad, because he wore magenta-pink and never had a girlfriend. (Can’t argue with bulletproof logic like that.) In other words, it was a 1970s-80s fandom that felt much more “modern” than the more right-brained, bloodless, often anal scifi fandoms that existed around the same time, where letters pages were just nitpicking science errors by model train and elevator enthusiasts.

Legion Headquarters seemed to be a rabbit fuck den built around a supercomputer and Danger Room. Cosmic Boy dressed like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. There’s one member, Duo Damsel, who can turn into two people, a power that, in the words of Legion writer Jim Shooter, was “useful for weird sex...and not much else.”

LSH was popular because the fans were insanely horny. This is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the thirstiest fandom of all time. You might think I’m overselling this, but I really think that’s an under-analyzed part of how some kinds of fiction build a devoted fanbase.

For example, a big reason for the success of Mass Effect is that everyone has a favorite girl or boy, and you have the option to romance them. Likewise, everyone who was a fan of Legion remembers having a crush. Sardonic Ultra Boy for some reason was a favorite among gay male nerds (aka the Robert Conrad Effect). Tall, blonde, amazonian telepath Saturn Girl, maybe the first female team leader in comics history, is for the guys with backbone who prefer Veronica over Betty. Shrinking Violet was a cute Audrey Hepburn type. And don’t forget Shadow Lass, who was a blue skinned alien babe with pointed ears and is heavily implied to have an accent (she was Aayla Secura before Aayla Secura was Aayla Secura). Light Lass was commonly believed to be “coded lesbian” because of a short haircut and her relationships with men didn’t work out. The point is, it’s one thing to read about the adventures of a superteam, and it implies a totally different level of mental and emotional involvement to read the adventures of your imaginary girlfriend/boyfriend.

Now, I should point out that of all the fandoms I’ve examined here, LSH was maybe the smallest. Legion was never a top seller, but it was a favorite of the most devoted of fans who kept it alive all through the seventies and eighties with an energy and intensity disproportionate to their actual numbers. My gosh, were LSH fans devoted! Interlac and Legion Outpost were two Legion fanzines that are some of the most famous fanzines in comics history.

If nerd culture fandoms were drugs, Star Wars would be alcohol, Doctor Who would be weed, but Legion of Super-Heroes would be injecting heroin directly into your eyeballs. Maybe it is because the Legionnaires were nerdy, too: they played Dungeons and Dragons in their off time (an escape, no doubt, from their humdrum, mundane lives as galaxy-rescuing superheroes). There were sometimes call outs to Monty Python. Basically, the whole thing had a feel like the dorkily earnest skits or filk-singing at a con. Legion felt like it’s own fan series, guest starring Patton Oswalt and Felicia Day.

It helped that the boundary between fandom and professional was incredibly porous. For instance, pro-artist Dave Cockrum did covers for Legion fanzines. Former Legion APA members Todd and Mary Biernbaum got a chance to actually write Legion, where, with the gusto of former slashfic writers given the keys to canon, their major contribution was a subplot that explicitly made Element Lad gay. Mike Grell, a professional artist who got paid to work on the series, did vaguely porno-ish fan art. Again, it’s hard to tell where the pros started and the fandom ended; the inmates were running the asylum.

Mostly, Legion earned this devotion because it could reward it in a way no other comic could. Because Legion was not a wide market comic but was bought by a core audience, after a point, there were no self-contained one-and-done Legion stories. In fact, there weren’t even really arcs as we know it, which is why Legion always has problems getting reprinted in trade form. Legion was plotted like a daytime soap opera: there were always five different stories going on in every issue, and a comic involved cutting between them. Sure, like daytime soap operas, there’s never a beginning, just endless middles, so it was totally impossible for a newbie to jump on board...but soap operas know what they are doing: long term storytelling rewards a long term reader.

This brings me to today, where Legion is no longer being published by DC. There is no discussion about a movie or TV revival. This is amazing. Comics are a world where the tiniest nerd groups get pandered to: Micronauts, Weirdworld, Seeker 3000, and Rom have had revival series, for pete’s sake. It’s incredible there’s no discussion of a film or TV treatment, either; friggin Cyborg from New Teen Titans is getting a solo movie.

Why did Legion stop being such a big deal? Where did the fandom that supported it dissolve to? One word: X-Men. Legion was incredibly ahead of its time. In the 60s and 70s, there were barely any “fan” comics, since superhero comics were like animation is today: mostly aimed at kids, with a minority of discerning adult/teen fans, and it was success among kids, not fans, that led to something being a top seller (hence, “fan favorites” in the 1970s, as surprising as it is to us today, often did not get a lot of work, like Don MacGregor or Barry Smith). But as newsstands started to push comics out, the fan audience started to get bigger and more important…everyone else started to catch up to the things that made Legion unique: most comics started to have attractive people who paired up into couples and/or love triangles, and featured extremely byzantine long term storytelling. If Legion of Super-Heroes is going to be remembered for anything, it’s for being the smaller scale “John the Baptist” to the phenomenon of X-Men, the ultimate “fan” comic.

The other thing that killed Legion, apart from Marvel’s Merry Mutants, that is, was the r-word: reboots. A reboot only works for some properties, but not others. You reboot something when you want to find something for a mass audience to respond to, like with Zorro, Batman, or Godzilla.

Legion, though, was not a comic for everybody, it was a fanboy/girl comic beloved by a niche who read it for continuing stories and minutiae (and to jack off, and in some cases, jill off). Rebooting a comic like that is a bad idea. You do not reboot something where the main way you engage with the property, the greatest strength, is the accumulated lore and history. Rebooting a property like that means losing the reason people like it, and unless it’s something with a wide audience, you only lose fans and won’t get anything in return for it. So for something like Legion (small fandom obsessed with long form plots and details, but unlike Trek, no name recognition) a reboot is the ultimate Achilles heel that shatters everything, a self-destruct button they kept hitting over and over and over until there was nothing at all left.

E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels

The Lensman series is like Gil Evans’s jazz: it’s your grandparents’ favorite thing that you’ve never heard of.

I mean, have you ever wondered exactly what scifi fandom talked about before the rise of the major core texts and cultural objects (Star Trek, Asimov, etc)? Well, it was this. Lensmen was the subject of fanfiction mailed in manilla envelopes during the 30s, 40s, and 50s (some of which are still around). If you’re from Boston, you might recognize that the two biggest and oldest scifi cons there going back to the 1940s, Boskone (Boscon, get it?) and Arisia, are references to the Lensman series. This series not only created space opera as we know it, but contributed two of the biggest visuals in scifi, the interstellar police drawn from different alien species, and space marines in power armor.

My favorite sign of how big this series was and how fans responded to it, was a great wedding held at Worldcon that duplicated Kimball Kinnison and Clarissa’s wedding on Klovia. This is adorable:

The basic story is pure good vs. evil: galactic civilization faces a crime and piracy wave of unprecedented proportions from technologically advanced pirates (the memory of Prohibition, where criminals had superior firearms and faster cars than the cops, was strong by the mid-1930s). A young officer, Kimball Kinnison (who speaks in a Stan Lee esque style of dialogue known as “mid-century American wiseass”), graduates the academy and is granted a Lens, an object from an ancient mystery civilization, who’s true purpose is unknown.

Lensman Kinnison discovers that the “crime wave” is actually a hostile invasion and assault by a totally alien culture that is based on hierarchy, intolerant of failure, and at the highest level, is ruled by horrifying nightmare things that breathe freezing poison gases. Along the way, he picks up allies, like van Buskirk, a variant human space marine from a heavy gravity planet who can do a standing jump of 20 feet in full space armor, Worsel, a telepathic dragon warrior scientist with the technical improvisation skills of MacGyver (who reads like the most sadistically minmaxed munchkinized RPG character of all time), and Nandreck, a psychologist from a Pluto-like planet of selfish cowards.

The scale of the conflict starts small, just skirmishes with pirates, but explodes to near apocalyptic dimensions. This series has space battles with millions of starships emerging from hyperspacial tubes to attack the ultragood Arisians, homeworld of the first intelligent race in the cosmos. By the end of the fourth book, there are mind battles where the reflected and parried mental beams leave hundreds of innocent bystanders dead. In the meantime we get evil Black Lensmen, the Hell Hole in Space, and superweapons like the Negasphere and the Sunbeam, where an entire solar system was turned into a vacuum tube.

It’s not hard to understand why Lensmen faded in importance. While the alien Lensmen had lively psychologies, Lensman Kimball Kinnison was not an interesting person, and that’s a problem when scifi starts to become more about characterization. The Lensman books, with their love of police and their sexism (it is an explicit plot point that the Lens is incompatible with female minds – in canon there are no female Lensmen) led to it being judged harshly by the New Wave writers of the 1960s, who viewed it all as borderline fascist military-scifi establishment hokum, and the reputation of the series never recovered from the spirit of that decade.

Prisoner of Zenda

Prisoner of Zenda is a novel about a roguish con-man who visits a postage-stamp, charmingly picturesque Central European kingdom with storybook castles, where he finds he looks just like the local king and is forced to pose as him in palace intrigues. It’s a swashbuckling story about mistaken identity, swordfighting, and intrigue, one part swashbuckler and one part dark political thriller.

The popularity of this book predates organized fandom as we know it, so I wonder if “fandom” is even the right word to use. All the same, it inspired fanatical dedication from readers. There was such a popular hunger for it that an entire library could be filled with nothing but rip-offs of Prisoner of Zenda. If you have a favorite writer who was active between 1900-1950, I guarantee he probably wrote at least one Prisoner of Zenda rip-off (which is nearly always the least-read book in his oeuvre). The only novel in the 20th Century that inspired more imitators was Sherlock Holmes. Robert Heinlein and Edmond “Planet Smasher” Hamilton wrote scifi updates of Prisoner of Zenda. Doctor Who lifted the plot wholesale for the Tom Baker era episode, “Androids of Tara,” Futurama did this exact plot too, and even Marvel Comics has its own copy of Ruritania, Doctor Doom’s Kingdom of Latveria. Even as late as the 1980s, every kids’ cartoon did a “Prisoner of Zenda” episode, one of the stock plots alongside “everyone gets hit by a shrink ray” and the Christmas Carol episode.

Prisoner of Zenda imitators were so numerous, that they even have their own Library of Congress sub-heading, of “Ruritanian Romance.”

One major reason that Prisoner of Zenda fandom died off is that, between World War I and World War II, there was a brutal lack of sympathy for anything that seemed slightly German, and it seems the incredibly Central European Prisoner of Zenda was a casualty of this. Far and away, the largest immigrant group in the United States through the entire 19th Century were Germans, who were more numerous than Irish or Italians. There were entire cities in the Midwest that were two-thirds German-born or German-descent, who met in Biergartens and German community centers that now no longer exist.

Kurt Vonnegut wrote a lot about how the German-American world he grew up in vanished because of the prejudice of the World Wars, and that disappearance was so extensive that it was retroactive, like someone did a DC comic-style continuity reboot where it all never happened: Germans, despite being the largest immigrant group in US history, are left out of the immigrant story. The “Little Bohemias” and “Little Berlins” that were once everywhere no longer exist. There is no holiday dedicated to people of German ancestry in the US, the way the Irish have St. Patrick’s Day or Italians have Columbus Day (there is Von Steuben’s Day, dedicated to a general who fought with George Washington, but it’s a strictly Midwest thing most people outside the region have never heard of, like Sweetest Day). If you’re reading this and you’re an academic, and you’re not sure what to do your dissertation on, try writing about the German-American immigrant world of the 19th and 20th Centuries, because it’s a criminally under-researched topic.

A. Merritt

Pop quiz: who was the most popular and influential fantasy author during the 1930s and 40s?

If you answered Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, you’re wrong - it was actually Abraham Merritt. He was the most popular writer of his age of the kind of fiction he did, and he’s since been mostly forgotten. Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has said that A. Merritt was his favorite fantasy and horror novelist.

Why did A. Merritt and his fandom go away, when at one point, he was THE fantasy author? Well, obviously one big answer was the 1960s counterculture, which brought different writers like Tolkien and Lovecraft to the forefront (by modern standards Lovecraft isn’t a fantasy author, but he was produced by the same early century genre-fluid effluvium that produced Merritt and the rest). The other answer is that A. Merritt was so totally a product of the weird occult speculation of his age that it’s hard to even imagine him clicking with audiences in other eras. His work is based on fringe weirdness that appealed to early 20th Century spiritualism and made sense at the time: reincarnation, racial memory, an obsession with lost race stories and the stone age, and weirdness like the 1920s belief that the Polar Arctic is the ancestral home of the Caucasian race. In other words, it’s impossible to explain Merritt without a ton of sentences that start with “well, people in the 1920s thought that...” That’s not a good sign when it comes to his universality.

That’s it for now. Do you have any suggestions on a dead fandom, or do you keep one of these “dead” fandoms alive in your heart?

#fandom history #lensman #robotech #prisoner of zenda #mists of avalon

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d-joana-a-shippadora · 7 years

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Enchanted Love

I’M SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY, @ineslopesgomes (ok, this isn’t tagging her, damn).

Anyway, this fanfic was better on my head. I swear to God. The end is meh, but still good. Not as good I wished... BUT I INCLUDED THE PROMPT, @aph--portugay , I’M SO PROUD OF MYSELF!

Oh well, this is an AU “there are magical beings in our society, but we don’t know” (ok, this could be our reality, we never know--- I’m quite a believer, actually.) Witch!England x Enchanted Moor!Portugal (EXCUSE YOU, BUT I LOVE THE IDEA PORTUGAL BEING AN ENCHANTED MOOR!)

Have a good reading! <3

The scents of the plants were notorious in that little florist, at the corner of that street that, coincidentally, had "flower" in its name.

Afonso thought this was funny; the owner of this florist, founded by his deceased grandmother, had a quiet life, with nothing abnormal. It had a definite and simple routine, without anything intriguing. He woke up early, thanks to his roster, Eusébio, who did the honours of waking him personally; that is, he would enter the house and sing (screaming) in Afonso's ear. Then, in a state of drowsiness, he went to bathe and then his breakfast (often accompanied by Eusébio, who watched him from the window; actually, once the neighbour's cat also kept him company and Afonso only noticed him when the cat scratched his leg. He called him Tareco, but his real name was Tavares, what a weird name to give to a cat...). He treated the plants and animals at home while he listened to the radio and humming the music that was playing. Then he go down the stairs of the building and was in the florist; he prepared everything to open on time (but the boy wasn't punctual at all).

Anyway, it was a normal routine.

Or so he thought.

From time to time, a group of three people came in late Friday to buy rare and hard-to-find herbs; fortunately, Afonso had them in his grandmother's old garden, though they weren't for sale at first. However, the supposed leader of the trio, a blond boy with funny eyebrows, made such a lovely face when the Portuguese commented about the garden that the brunet didn't resist.

He didn't have to be too smart to suspect the trio was plotting, but he wouldn't meddle.

At least that's what he wanted.

Since then, the supposed leader has been coming every Friday to buy such plants. This made Afonso start to interest him and wanted to know more about him.

His name was Arthur, born in London, and his best friends were Lukas and Andrei, the other members of the trio. He believed in mystical beings, and every time he talked about it, his green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. The same wasn't true about his family; he problaby have family problems, but Afonso wouldn't ask about it.

It wasn't Friday, but the blond was in the florist, dressed in a term. Very professional and formal, since he usually wore casual clothes. Afonso had to admit; he liked to see Arthur dressed in this way.

"G-Good afternoon!"

"Good afternoon," said Afonso, with his smile. The blond blushed.

"Ah..." the blond began rummaging in his briefcase, taking out a small sack of pale pink cloth with a green bow. "T-Take it!"

The florist looked curiously at the sack and picked it up.

"Can I ask..."

"I-It's nothing!" Said the blond, moving his hand frantically. "It's to thank the plants ... I-I know they aren't easy to find, nor are they for sale..."

"Oh... You didn't have to."

The Englishman didn't know what to say; he said goodbye as fast as he could and left. Afonso smiled, finding it incredibly lovely.

After closing the florist, the brunet went up the stairs to home and, in the kitchen, peered at the contents of the bag, excited to see what was there.

It was biscuits that were burned, which shocked him - he thought the other was "perfect," so he would never have imagined it. But there was clearly a sweet smell impregnated in them.

He smiled again and looked at Eusébio, sitting on the window sill.

"Funny that he doesn't think it strange that I have magical herbs in the garden, don't you think, Eusébio?"

"King Eusébio for you, Fonz," complained the bird in his thick voice. "And it's not like you're a wizard like your paternal grandmother. You're like your maternal grandfather."

"I know, King," he laughed and fiddled with the green lace. "But I also know that he has put something to make me fall in love with him."

Eusébio said nothing; simply nested. It wasn't necessary, he began to think, you are already in love with him. But I promised your grandmother I would protect you...

From the beginning, Arthur knew that it would be difficult to make Afonso fall in love with him. When he met him, he felt the famous butterflies in his stomach and his cheeks turning red; how could there be such a man?

Arthur knew he was in love, so he wanted to conquer Afonso. He talked to him, tried to get to know him more and more, tried to show himself a little, not in a convinced way, but to make Afonso interested in him.

But it was difficult. Especially when there was someone else in Afonso's life.

He didn't know what kind of relationship he had with Afonso, only that he lived with him. He was a young man with light brown hair and green eyes; he was shorter than the Portuguese, and if he heard correctly, his name was Li. Although the name was Eastern, he was Caucasian.

Not knowing the nature of their relationship, Arthur saw him as his rival.

But nothing seemed to indicate that he had made progress. Desperate, he had made spellbound cookies and gave it to him.

But that shattered him; heavens, what a coward, how stupid; to bewitch someone to love him? This was terrible, it was the worst of the worst. Afonso would never really love him that way. Just the thought of seeing him made his stomach turn; the sense of guilt strangled him, tightened his mind until his soul was destroyed and heavy.

He stopped going to the florist; instead, it was Lukas who was buying the herbs.

He knew very well that Lukas wouldn't say anything about him to Afonso, which left him placid.

Arthur couldn't stop thinking about Afonso; he needed to get something to distract him. He soon realized that he hadn't drawn in a long time.

Decided, he picked up his drawing material and headed for the nearest park. As he drew, he felt freer and more relaxed. It was his father who had taught him to draw; despite their controversial relationship. He didn't like to think of his father very much, but he had to admit that sometimes he had been a good father... Only sometimes, unfortunately.

"That's the one, isn't it?!"

"King, don't do this!"

Someone approached Arthur abruptly, and he looked up; he had never seen the tallest man with brown hair and brown eyes and tanned skin, but he recognized. the one who accompanied him as Li.

The tall one had a furious expression; Arthur was afraid.

"You!" He exclaimed, clearly irritated. "How dare you give something bewitched to Fonz and disappear shortly afterwards like a coward?!"

Arthur was shocked, of course; how did he know that? Heavens, would Afonso have noticed and told to Li...?

"D-Don't be like that, King Eusébio!" Li asked, half frightened.

"Shut up, you idiot lynx!"

"Fonz will be annoyed if he finds out you're being mean to Arthur!"

Eusébio sulked at that and crossed his arms.

"Who..." Arthur began hesitantly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Li and he's Eusébio," Li replied, pointing his thumb at the other. "And we are Fonz's familiars."

"Familiars...?"

"Yes... He will know better, but we were instructed by his grandmother to protect him. That's why Eusébio is furious with you."

"You look like you aren't mad like me!"

"Anyway," Li ignored Eusébio. "Afonso misses you."

"That feeling is false..."

"No, it isn't, idiot!" Eusébio exclaimed, uncrossing his arms in fury. "He really likes you and not because of those cookies you gave him! He didn't even eat them because he knew they were bewitched!"

That made Arthur feel so bad about himself. Afonso had even noticed. The Brit wanted to slip into a hole so shamed he was. But... Afonso liked him... He really liked him...

Arthur had to redeem himself and tell about his own inner feelings.

Afonso was restless. Eusébio rarely leaves home; preferred the comfort of home. Unlike Li, this one was very adventurous.

Among his brothers, Afonso was the only one born with a magic, since he was the son of a different mother. It was insignificant, almost nonexistent, but there it was. His grandmother Dolores had noticed; it was a magic different from hers, and with some research she discovered that the maternal grandfather was an enchanted Moor. And so, while alive, she tried to teach and stimulate the magic of Afonso, to develop it. She saw in him potential, an heir to her magic.

So she made sure he had familiars to help him. Magical contracts were important, in her opinion.

Though his magic was still weak... Her efforts weren't very fruitful there.

"Fonz," heard Li call, as he opened the door. "We arrived!"

"My God, where... Oh," Afonso interrupted when he saw Arthur with them. "Artie... Hello..."

Eusébio and Li returned to their animal forms, rooster and lynx respectively, and left close to them to give them privacy.

Afonso's face paled; why were they going back to their normal shape with Arthur there?!

"I-I.. I can explain..."

"I already know," Arthur said in a comforting tone of voice. He knew that Afonso was frightened that his secret had been revealed; just as he was. "Afonso, I wanted to apologize for what I did..."

"You don't have to apologize," said Afonso, revealing a small smile. "Hug me and swear you won't disappear like this again!"

The blond felt his cheeks burn; he laid the drawing material on the nearest dresser and, timid and hesitant, raised his arms to receive Afonso. His smile widened and Afonso jumped into Arthur's arms. They held each other for a few minutes; Arthur's heart seemed to want to explode. Oh, Afonso smelled like flowers...

"I-Isn't enough?" Arthur asked, embarrassed; the Portuguese found it amusing.

“You’re soft and warm and I don’t want you to move.~”

#porteng #engport #aph portugal #aph england #hetalia #fanfic #joanashippadora #i did it #also in canon verse eusébio and li are normal animals #just to make it clear :'v #but i won't denied that in one rp they were turned into human by england #very funny story #i hope you liked!

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short-fuse-long-jacket · 7 years

Text

Pretty Fly for a British Guy ll Jubes and Jono

She was trying to study, honestly she was. Or she had been. There was evidence even, flash cards and her text book and highlighters and all of it lay completely forgotten in favor of Jono’s fingers in her hair. Stubborn as she was, with some things she knew when to admit defeat. She let the flash cards spill out of her hands and shoved everything off the bed and onto the floor, not caring how it scattered.

“If I fail attachment theory I’m blamin’ you,” she mumbled, rearranging herself from being sprawled across his lap to leaning back against his chest, melting into the heat. “Unless it’s a practical exam, cause then I’ve got this attachment thing down.”

Jono had been spending most of the evening thus far half-paying attention to some BBC documentary playing quietly on the TV, though his attention wandered in and out of the room as his fingertips threaded idly through and played with Jubilee’s hair. He blinked back to attention when her study materials hit the floor, the amusement pretty clear in his eyes as he shifted to stretch his legs to either side of hers, gathering her that much closer to him. Jono’s bandages were loose enough to be comfortable and show the occasional crack of light, but under control enough that they could be as close as they liked (read: very close) without much concern.

\If y’need me to swing by for a demonstration, you just let me know, luv.\ Jono’s tone was as amused as the look in his eyes, and he inclined his head to nuzzle into the curve of Jubilee’s neck. \Make it weird for everyone involved.\

She giggled, arching her neck in encouragement. “Yeah? You’re gonna come into my class and replicate Arthur Aron’s research with me in front of dozens of people?” The fact that Aron’s work consisted of an activity where you and your partner asked each other 36 questions and then rated how close you felt afterwards, that was for her to know. “Weird is good. ‘Novel activities’ increase intimacy.” Right now most things were still pretty novel for them, either because they were actually new or because the relationship aspect made them feel new.

\’Novel activities,’ huh.\ Jono managed to make it sound just a little bit dirty, nuzzling his nose behind and against the shell of Jubilee’s ear. \What kinda research we talkin’ about replicatin’?\

He was pretty sure he should be encouraging her to return to her studies, but it was difficult enough with how comfortable Jubilee felt curled up in his arms and resting against his chest. Jono was similarly grateful he didn’t have any work he should’ve been doing, or he would’ve been just as unproductive. Chin resting on her shoulder, he glanced down and intertwined one of his hands with one of hers, along with an absently affectionate squeeze.

“Mmmhm.” She said, equal parts hum and confirmation. She settled in a little more and pulled his arms a tighter around her. “A study on closeness and intimacy. You do the activity and almost everyone reports feeling closer to the person they’re paired with afterwards. The guy also did an experiment where people played a game he made up and up to six months later they still reported higher levels of closeness. It led to this theory of self-expansion relating to intimacy.” She huffed a laugh at herself. “Guess I’m not going to fail the class after all.”

She watched him tangle their fingers and returned the squeeze. She ran her thumb over the backs of his knuckles, before pulling her hand free to line up their fingertips and press their palms together. Her hand ended about three quarters of the way down his. She spent the next few minutes exploring the different textures of his hand, running the pads of her fingers over the calluses, scars and lines, then tracing the same paths with her nails, bubble gum pink with blue sparkles standing out against his skin.

Jono’s eyes smiled with an absent softness, not only interested in what Jubilee had to say but able to appreciate her enthusiasm for the subject vicariously, happy that she was happy to discuss it. He nodded slowly as he watched their hands, holding his own still so her fingertips could absently explore. \Yeah, I think you’re gonna do just fine. Y’always do. Yer a smart girl.\

After a moment of watching the way their hands moved and fit together, Jono gently caught her thumb and pulled it closer to narrow his eyes and get a better look. \Yer chippin’, luv.\ His tone was a mixture of amusement for the colors and sparkles of it (considering how so very “Jubilee” they were) and a quiet fondness, though he somewhat unhelpfully moved his thumb to scrape his nail against hers and pick away at a chip of polish.

She turned his hand over in her’s as she spoke, gently exploring. She gave the most minute shake of her head, hoping he wouldn’t pay any attention to it. “’M better than I used to be anyway. Feels more like I have a reason now.” She quieted for a moment, not really having ever talked about this before.

“Back in Massachusetts… I didn’t really get why I was there. All I ever wanted to be was an X-man so… It all seemed kind of useless, science, math, dancing, whatever…” She looked back at him for a second, a little uncertain about sharing this. “I was gonna be a superhero, what did all that matter? Stuff’s changed though. Bein’ an X-man is still important to me, but it’s not everything.” She bit her lip, feeling a little vulnerable and was glad when a distraction finally came in the form of him examining her nails.

“Yeah, turns out nail polish doesn’t hold up long around plasma.” He picked a larger chip off with his nail, “Or men named Jono Starsmore, apparently.” She grumbled with more affection than was probably normal. Before it had been a small enough chip that she could have ignored it, but now it was about a quarter of her nail and that was going to bug her. “Mind if I get stuff to fix this?” She indicated the nail.

Jono had nodded faintly as she spoke, relating a little more than he was comfortable with – if only because Jubilee was talking about such things in the past tense but he was feeling it pretty keenly now. He really didn’t know what options he had outside of being an X-Man, or working inside of the school. There weren’t a lot of options for someone as visible as he was, at least not until more of the world managed to get its head out of its ass. Even then, Jono doubted he could find the world trustworthy.

He didn’t really feel like wrecking their mood with any of that talk, so Jono was equally grateful when the attention shifted, giving an amused chuckle before he nodded and almost reluctantly disentangled his hands and arms from Jubilee. \Sure, luv. Do what you gotta do. M’not goin’ anywhere.\ He ran his hands down her back, patting lightly when she moved to get up.

She could feel Jono going someplace morose and she didn’t know if it was the link or familiarity or being pressed so close to him that she could pick up on him going tense, whichever it was, she didn’t get the vibe that he wanted to talk about it just now.

Getting up was a reluctant affair, especially since he kept his hands on her, making it tempting to just fall back, nails be damned. Even when she made it to her feet she couldn’t help but lean back down to kiss him, a soft press that made her want to sigh. She had one hand planted on the headboard beside him and the other on the back of his neck and when she pulled away she was biting her lower lip shyly. A quick peck to his forehead and she was off, coming back a minute later with a plastic case full of nail polish and an proud looking X riding on her shoulder.

“He yelled at me when I tried to leave him over there.” She leaned down to let him jump onto the bed and crawled back between Jono’s legs herself, this time turning sideways so her legs were draped over one of his. She opened the case with a satisfying click to reveal dozens of colors of polish in no semblance of order. It took her a second to find the exact shade of pink she’d used (there were…many) but after that it was an easy enough fix. She waited for the pink to dry so she could add the blue sparkles. “Your turn next?” She teased, looking up at him watching her.

The lingering kiss and the briefer one to his forehead were met with a warm look and a squeeze of Jubilee’s arm, keeping her gaze until she turned on her heel and left the room. It was almost surreal, Jono thought, this whole situation and the level of comfort they had with each other, building on the years of friendship already solidified. But surreal only in the best way, in light of ‘wow, this isn’t something I thought I’d ever actually have for myself.’

He couldn’t help but chuckle when she reappeared with the parrot-cat, not in the least surprised as he reached over to help remove him from Jubilee’s shoulder and his little claws from some of her hair. \’Ello, mate.\ The Purrfessor easily found distraction in some of Jono’s loose bandages, and he looked briefly skeptical but let the cat do what it would.

\Yeah, this is obviously my shade,\ Jono countered dryly as he picked out a bottle with the Union Jack on the label, then raised his eyebrows as he read the name. \’Royal Matterimoaning’? Bloody ‘ell.\

“Thanks.” She said as he gently extricated Ex from her hair, which was an ongoing theme. If that cat could get into something, he would. As soon as Jono let him go he was crawling all over him, paws batting at his bandages and tapping at the little cracks of night that shone through. “You are literally his favorite thing.” Ex

She giggled when he went for the Union Jack bottle. “It’s terrible, right? Betsy gave it to me.” She still had no idea why but wasn’t going to turn down free nail polish. “It’s totally your color. Lemme paint your nails? Pleeease? Promise I’ll make 'em super pretty.”

\It’s called ‘Manglaze,’\ Jono felt the need to point out, automatically quirking an eyebrow at her request as he glanced up at Jubilee and then down to the bottle again. In spite of that, he seemed to go through a relatively quick thought process of not particularly giving a fuck, and soon enough he was shrugging as he unscrewed the cap to take a look at the brush and its color.

\Dunno. I guess so. What color s’this?\ He held up the bottle and then briefly recoiled, his overly keen sense of smell rebelling at the scent. \Whoof, smells bleedin’ awful.\

She shrugged. “I really don’t get it 'cause I figure the kind of men who wear nail polish aren’t gonna give a shit how it’s marketed.” Another shrug. “But apparently they want to sound like they’re turning dudes into donuts.”

“It’s Royal Matterimoaning, clearly.” She smirked at him. “It turns out a royal blue, it’s really pretty actually.” She watched him jerk back from the smell. “That is gonna be a bit strong for you, I mean, all polish smells like that, but yeah, I didn’t think about how it would smell to you.” She gave a shrug. “We don’t have to then, though it would have looked good on you.”

\S’alright.\ Jono shrugged, twisting the cap halfway back onto the bottle. \Stinks now, but should be fine once it dries, yeah? Besides… \ He moved one hand to run affectionately over Jubilee’s back, tilting his head with a smile in his eyes, only borderline mischievous.

\Novel activities increase intimacy and whatnot, right? Glaze me,\ he finished, almost making it through the phrase without starting to laugh – but only almost – and offered her the bottle.

She was about to ask him if he was sure when he put the 'glaze me’ comment out there and she lost it, barely managing to take the bottle from him as she laughed.

“Oh my god, that was so bad!” She managed between giggles. “Incredibly terribly bad.” She leaned up to kiss him, more giggles escaping the second she pulled back. “You’re such a dork.” She said it like it was the best possible thing in the world. “Let’s get you glazed then, donut boy.” She maneuvered herself so she was facing him a little more directly before taking one of his hands and placing it on her thigh. “Don’t move, ok?”

She painted the first couple nails before looking up at him. “You know I’m gonna think I can get away with anything now, right?”

\Y’probably could.\ Jono wasn’t above admitting his bias, glancing up from what Jubilee was doing to smile at her with his eyes, shrugging almost imperceptibly. \Jus’ don’t tell anybody, alright?\

He relaxed back into the headboard as Jubilee went about her painting business, watching with relaxed and absent curiosity. When she was finished with his first hand he held it up to take a better look with only moderate skepticism, then started waving his hand around in the air awkwardly to try and help the drying process. Jono’s nose curled up at the smell, but he didn’t bother to comment on it. \’Ow long s’it supposed to take to dry, then? This is… inconvenient,\ he added, looking at his hand like it was functionally useless now.

Her smile went a little shy when he agreed, not that they didn’t both know already, at least a little bit anyway. Honestly she wasn’t sure how much of a secret it was, even before this she’d been allowed to get away with more than most people with him, though she always figured that was some Gen X privilege that no one else took advantage of. “Promise, I’ll keep it between us.”

She giggled at his look of absolute consternation. “Welcome to the conspiracy against women. Everything is designed to make us less mobile, otherwise we’d take over the world.” She grabbed his hand and blew on his nails for a second. “You should be set in a minute. Just don’t touch anything, you’re not at that level yet.” She grabbed his other hand and after giving it an affectionate squeeze, started painting.

“It looks good on you.” She said, no trace of mischief or teasing.

Jono’s list of ‘people who can get away with almost anything’ was indeed exceptionally short, and well enough guarded that the general assumption was that it didn’t even exist. He realized this was likely to go out the window as their relationship became more known, but as with a lot of things, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

\Don’t know ‘ow they ‘aven’t invented stuff like this that dries right away,\ he pointed out, returning the squeeze Jubilee gave his hand before he stilled again, holding the other unnecessarily and somewhat comically far from the both of them, at full arm’s length. \I guess it looks… okay, not really sure what the metric is ‘ere,\ Jono added, which was about as gracefully as he ever accepted any compliment.

She snickered at his dramatic pose, shaking her head. “They say they have. There’s lots of them that claim to be fast drying but,” she gave a shrug, “If they actually were the nail polish-wearers would have conquered by now.” She turned to look out at his hands.

“I probably woulda chosen black for you.” She said. “But the blue looks good. I’m biased though,” she glanced away, “I might have a bit of a thing for your hands in general. B'sides, if I’d done black I would have talked you into eyeliner and then we’d have both been in trouble.”

\My ‘ands? Wait– eyeliner?\ The questions came in rapid succession and with the kind of confusion and skepticism that was borne of years of not understanding how his conventional attractiveness was attractive, nevermind the more unconventional aspects. Jono wasn’t necessarily trying to put her on the spot, the incredulity came naturally as he quirked an eyebrow at her, letting her keep one hand to inspect as he kept waving the other stiffly in the air in a continued attempt to speed the drying.

“Mmmhm.” She confirmed, embarrassed, but trying to not let it show too much. Sometimes she let her mouth move faster than her brain and sometimes the stream of consciousness that resulted usually left her in an awkward place.

She gave a shrug, “You have nice hands.” She twined her fingers with the dry one and shook her head at his attempts to hurry the other along. She briefly considered getting her phone to take some video of this, but knew him well enough to know that would stop him in his tracks and she wanted to enjoy this.

She leaned back a little to take it all in, separating their hands and absently tracing the lines on his palm with her fingertips.

She offered up another shrug, her cheeks a little more pink than they were a moment ago. “Guys look good in eyeliner, you’re a guy. And you’ve already got really pretty eyes.” Not to mention how intense he looked sometimes. Come to think of it, he really didn’t need the help.

She glanced away for a second, not really worried he’d make fun of her, but nervous all the same. When she looked back he was still shaking his hand and she reached out to stop it and check his nails. “You’re all set.”

... hm.\ Jono wasn’t quite sure how to process all that, and it was pretty evident in his expression even as he carefully laced and unlaced their fingers, a soft expression in his eyes. Eventually he nodded and leaned in to brush his nose lightly along her cheekbone as a sort of thank-you, still mindful of his hands as he settled back again, holding them up and looking like a surgeon ready to scrub in for surgery.

\S’another novel activity, innit?\ He figured with a shrug, referring to the eyeliner. \I’d let you give it a shot, so long as we can agree on some kinda collateral if you poke me in the eye.\ His tone and the quirk of his eyebrow were kidding, but… also not, at the same time.

She knew he wasn’t used to compliments and…well, body image issues probably didn’t cover how he felt about himself most days, but sometimes it was hard to remember that with how he acted towards her (their night at Orthodox came to mind). Still, one night of comfort didn’t make up for years of stares and comments. She hoped that more nights there and her random outbursts would help counteract some of that, but it would take time.

She watched him examine his nails as though they might explode. They were really nice hands, which accounted for one of a dozen reasons she liked watching him play guitar. “We can take it off whenever you want, just let me know, 'kay?”

“Seriously?” She asked, eyebrows lifting and her inquisitive little frown turning into a smirk. “Didn’t know you were so into psychology.” She leaned over the side of the bed and dug in her backpack for her makeup bag, finding the ice cream print pouch easily. She cocked her head to the side, hair falling over in a wave. “Collateral is something you put down up front, right?” She looked up in thought, “I think we can manage that.” About three seconds of maneuvering him and she was in his lap, her legs comfortably folded under her on either side of his hips and their faces very close. “Hey.” She said, blushing shyly, then feeling dumb, went back to the more comfortable territory of joking, “Is the collateral sufficient to proceed?”

Jono raised his eyebrows only slightly as Jubilee settled into his lap, though it certainly wasn’t out of any sense of protest. He finally saw fit to bring his hands back down to rest comfortably on her thighs, running them slowly up to her hips and down again as he fixed her with an affectionate gaze.

\I’m into anythin’ that gives a pretty girl reason to be in my lap,\ he decided, lightly teasing in response before nodding lightly. \So, fair to say collateral is more than sufficient. You may proceed,\ he added playfully, tilting his head back to rest against the headboard, watching Jubilee a moment longer before he closed his eyes.

She made a questioning sound while looking in the bag for the eyeliner pencil while distracted by his hands on her thighs. “That so?”

Now that she was here it was tempting to forget the whole eyeliner thing in favor of some more familiar activities. Jono still seemed to be on board though, and this wasn’t the kind of opportunity she wanted to miss, so anything else would have to wait.

“You don’t need to be into psychology for that, just, y'know, me.” She quirked a smile and twirled the pencil between her fingers. “Ok, close your eyes and don’t move.” He leaned his head back and did at he was told, it wasn’t the easiest way to go about it, but it was the least likely to get him poked in the eye.

“Here we go.” She started on the right side, carefully smudging the liner in so it wasn’t too dramatic, then moved onto the left. She’d done other people’s makeup before and she’d always found it easy to ignore how close she was to the other person before this, but of course Jono had to be the exception. She leaned back just enough to see if it was even before giving him the go ahead. She was capping the pencil when he opened his eyes and, “Whoa.” Somehow the darkness of the liner offset the color of his eyes, highlighting little flecks of honey-gold that she hadn’t noticed before and, well, if they were expressive before, the liner only served to highlight that intensity.

Jono did his best to keep quiet and not make any faces while Jubilee worked, nevermind how foreign and occasionally ticklish the process felt. His nose had just started to wrinkle impatiently when she declared that she was done, and he opened his eyes to blink a few times before fixing her with an inquisitive look. \Whoa?\ He repeated, figuring it wasn’t a bad sign but not sure if it was an expressly good one, his hands starting to wander absently up and down her thighs again, as if with minds of their own. \Do I look ready to join the next campus punk rock band?\

For a second she could only nod enthusiastically but finally managed a breathy confirmatory, “Yeah. Whoa.” He looked, well, kind of like something out of fifteen year old Jubilee’s fantasies, which apparently had a lot more in common with twenty year old Jubilee’s fantasies than she would have previously believed.

“I…ummmm.” She looked away, then back again, at his hands on her thighs and back to his face, the reality of how incredibly close they were finally sinking in. As compelling as he looked in eyeliner, it was more the proximity to him that had her leaning in for a kiss.

More tentatively than she would have liked she cupped his face in both hands, the tips of her fingers threading through his hair. It started as a brush of her lips over the bandages, barely enough to feel, but the intent left her breathless. Slowly she pressed a little harder, their bodies coming closer until there was barely any space left between them. When she finally drew back it was with a pleased hum and she looked at him through half lidded eyes. “Definitely whoa.”

\Whoa,\ Jono agreed softly, one of his hands having crept up in favor of looping an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer, the fingertips of his other hand pressing lightly into her thigh until he realized what he was doing, and relaxed them again. His nose nuzzled distractedly against Jubilee’s, but not before he inclined his head for another brief kiss.

It was still a difficult thing for Jono – the kissing. Most of the time it was impossible for him to understand why anyone would want to kiss him, much less enjoy it, all barriers considered. But having Jubilee so close like this, seeing her reactions, feeling the way she pressed against him, was really coming close to convincing him.

\Guess I better learn how ta’ wear eyeliner,\ Jono teased, his voice soft and low and more than a little distracted.

As they parted she realized her hands were not where she’d thought she left them. One arm had come around his neck and was holding part of his shirt like a lifeline while the other covered his hand on her thigh, like she’d been trying to stop him from pulling it away. He kissed her again and she wondered vaguely if he enjoyed it as much as she did. She started to think so when the tone of his voice in her mind sent a shiver down her spine.

She giggled, “Yeah? ’M sure that’ll be easy to explain. 'Mr. Starsmore, I…I’m sorry, sir, are you wearing makeup?’” She did an uncanny impression of Eye-boy, who would doubtless be the first one to notice the change.

She stole another brush that turned into her nuzzling up his jaw, gently kissing the spot where she could feel skin meet energy under the cloth. “B'sides, it has less to do with the eyeliner and a lot more to do with the guy wearin’ it.”

Jono couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head at the flawless impression, his forehead coming to rest against Jubilee’s shoulder after a nod. \Yer not wrong there. I guess this is what you gals refer to as a ‘night look.’ Next time at Orthodox, maybe.\ It certainly wasn’t a secret that was more than a little excited to get back there.

When he brought his head up again it was with an almost indescribable look for Jubilee’s other comment, his hand settling at the side of her neck where his thumb could brush her jaw. \’Fraid there’s not much to be done ‘bout lipstick, though.\

She could definitely get on board with that. “Yes. All the yes.” Because yeah, it was way more about Jono than it was about the eyeliner, but if sometimes she could have both? She would take that and run with it.

She tilted her head, leaning into the touch and putting on the most innocent face she could manage. “No?” She worried her lower lip between her teeth briefly in mock consideration. “Here I thought that was one of those things we could get creative about…cause I can think of a couple'a ways to get lipstick on you.” When she bit her lip this time it was to hide a smug little smile, though the mischief was more than given away by the pleased sparkle in her eyes.

If Jono had been physically capable of sputtering, he would’ve.

As much as he enjoyed teasing Jubilee, and as much as he enjoyed her giving as good as she got, it still managed to catch him off guard from time to time – particularly now, as he brought a hand up to cover his face and dissolved into laughter.

\Jubes, wow,\ Jono finally replied when he was able, his own eyes sparkling as he brought his hands up to cup her face and draw her in for a kiss. \I am so proud’a you for that one. And,\ he started to add, nose brushing lightly along her jaw. ... don’t think I won’t take you up on that, so don’t be writin’ checks you can’t cash.\ His tone was low and amused, and nothing but affectionate.

She managed to keep her face serious for another thirty seconds before joining him in a fit of giggles.

“You learn to talk a good talk when you haven’t…” She trailed off with a shrug, a little self conscious but still smiling shyly when he kissed her.

His brushing against her jaw set her skin tingling and startled a small sound out of her, which was finally enough to send her blushing.

“I…” She tried to cobble together a little confidence. “I’m good for it,” she promised, because God she wanted it, all of it. “Just…eventually?” She nuzzled against his nose a little hesitantly. “It’s ok if we go slow?”

\’Course, luv.\ Jono kept her in close, his expression softening as he closed his eyes and inclined his head so he could nuzzle the bandages covering his cheek lightly against Jubilee’s. \Trust that I’m never gonna make you do anythin’ you don’t want to, or before yer ready.\

He pulled away only enough that he could meet her eyes as he finished the thought, wanting to see that Jubilee believed him as he brought his knuckles up to brush her cheekbone. \Jus’ the chance to be with you… means a lot to me. S’more than enough.\

\I know you wouldn’t.\ She said in a rush over the link, Jono was the last guy she would ever expect something like that from, he’s been so careful with her. \Believe me, Jono, I’m not feeling pressured.\ She grinned and pressed their foreheads together. \It just seemed like the kinda thing that should be said at least once.\ Which didn’t discount all the times he’d checked in with her before doing something new, or paused so she could pull away or any number of little ways he’d been sure to keep her safe.

She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut in contentment for a moment, only to duck her chin and blush at his comment. \Me too. I really…\ She opened her eyes and looked up to meet his. \I still can’t believe it sometimes.\ She ducked her head again, feeling vulnerable and more than a little silly.

\Just to be clear,\ she started, determined to change the subject from her complete inability to articulate her own happiness about their relationship, \I don’t mean, like, glacial slow. Or social-change slow. The pace we’re at has been perfect.\ to emphasize the point she took his hand on her back and slid it under her shirt to settle in the curve of her spine.

\Yeah? You sure?\ Reassured both by Jubilee’s words and the way she ‘helped’ his hand slip past the hem of her shirt, Jono’s tone drifted back towards teasing as he nuzzled his cheekbone against her temple.

\Don’t think I should pump the breaks? Not savin’ yerself for marriage? I can leave room f’Jesus next time we’re at the club,\ he added with an echo of a mental snicker, though the way he pulled Jubilee closer with his hand flat against her back suggested he didn’t plan on doing any such thing.

She would probably have to remind him that he started this. She huffed a laugh into his neck. “Not unless you plan on proposing in the next couple'a months, and I think it’s a bit early on for that.” She teased back, continuing before the thought could sink in and send him panicking.

“An atheist and lapsed Buddhist making room for Jesus sounds like the setup to a really bad joke.” He pulled her closer and she sighed at the contact. “Yeah,” she breathed, leaning up to brush her lips along the shell of his ear, “I can tell you’re real eager to protect me virtue.”

\Mm, what was your first clue?\ Jono let his eyes slide shut, and yeah, he was pretty grateful for the conversation turnaround – commitment wasn’t exactly his bag, and it was a well known fact. Jubilee was one of the ones who knew more than most, and probably the only person who surpassed her would be Angelo. Who had been sending Jono an average of two to three texts a day asking if they’d made anything “official” yet. (He wasn’t helping.)

\S’it the way I’ve got my hand up your shirt,\ he asked innocently, his hand creeping just a little higher to the middle of her back, still well within acceptable enough territory. \Or the fact that there’s no way I’d rather ‘ave space between us than keep you in my lap?\

She giggled into the crook of his neck, feeling this sort of warm-happy-light sensation that only seemed to happen around Jono. “Both of those are pretty strong indicators.” She nuzzled her temple against what would have been his jawline, wondering briefly at the psionic structure beneath the bandages.

“My first clue was the way you looked at me in those stockings.” She remembered turning around to find him stumbling over his words and staring, though she didn’t put two and two together until he couldn’t keep his hands off her legs. She tried to decide if it was worth teasing him about him completely losing his chill over finding her in her bra the night she’d come home drunk, but that would mean admitting she remembered more of that night than she’d let on. “Everything after that is just nails in the coffin.”

\God’s ‘onest truth,\ Jono agreed with a warm chuckle, since his reaction that night had been essentially impossible to mask and he wasn’t about to try and deny it now. Especially not since just thinking about the tights had his long, now-lacquered fingertips curling lightly against Jubilee’s back.

\I’m just lookin’ forward to everythin’ after this,\ he added with less teasing and more bashful earnestness, keeping his eyes closed to be able to say it without having to make eye contact; he nuzzled against her cheek instead. \And I don’t mean just– as far as yer virtue is concerned. I mean all of it.\ It was an awkward addition, but Jono felt the need to point it out just in case.

She pressed back against his hand, enjoying the firm points of pressure from his fingertips. She was about to respond with a tease about him not just wanting her for her body, but the tone of his voice and the way he seemed to hide against her made her stop pre-quip. It felt like when she admitted to swiping from Remy’s candy stash, something you think you should feel guilty about but really don’t. The admission made her want to go up on the roof and light up the sky with the brightest colors she could, but that would mean moving and that wasn’t happening just then. Instead she hummed happily at the nuzzle and opened and closed her hands a few times to get rid of the tingly feeling.

The Relationship thing was new to her (even if they hadn’t labeled it as such) and their relationship, pre-Relationship, made it that much more complicated. “M-"her voice sounded loud in her own ears and she switched to the link. \Me too. About all of it, the novel activities and the stuff we’ve always done.\ She pulled back enough to look at him and nudged shyly at his nose with hers, trying to keep her smile to a reasonable level. \I’m really glad I came back that night.\

\I’m glad yeh did, too,\ Jono murmured, his tone quiet but obviously appreciative, tilting his head up to rest his forehead against hers. \M’just sayin’, I wouldn’ta blamed you if you hadn’t.\

He tried not to take this opportunity to go on a ‘greatest hits’ of times he’d said unnecessarily shitty things to Jubilee, because he was certain it was way too long and it wasn’t something either of them needed right this second. Jono focused on her warm skin under his hand instead, and he reached up with his other to playfully tweak her chin, absently amused by the visual with the dark blue polish. \Y’put up with a lot from me over the years.\ And it went without saying that his tone was still more than grateful.

She gave a little hum of acknowledgement, but wasn’t going to engage any further with his self loathing today. "Well you can write a thank you note to 'Roro and Remy for teaching me how to pick locks.\ Thankfully he seemed to be avoiding that place too and her hum turned to one of contentment until he tweaked her chin, startling a little squeak out of her. She sent a tiny shower of sparks after his hand, ones that burned out before they could even reach him.

\It’s a mutual arrangement.\ She agreed in the same tone, threading her fingers through his hair. She wasn’t dismissive of his gratitude and there were certainly times where he’d been… challenging to interact with over the years but she didn’t think it was any more than she’d been at times. \But keep telling me how awful you are. It gives me more chances to tell you you’re not.\

The brief presence of Jubilee’s plasmoids in the air caused the hair on the back of Jono’s neck to stand up and sent a quick shiver down his spine – neither of which were wholly unpleasant, so the corners of his eyes crinkled as he pressed a careful kiss to the corner of her lips. \Careful, luv. One’a these days I might start believin’ you.\ It was a joke, but the reality was: if anyone could convince him, even if it could still take a while, it’d be Jubilee.

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danreblogsstuff · 7 years

Text

Tagged by @darklordtomarry

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether). See if there are any patterns. Then, tag your favourite authors.

So I tend to write really long opening paragraphs, so this might be more than a few lines. If it gets too long, I’ll put in a break.

So let’s split this into parts:

Fanfic:

Bird’s Eye View (Batman, Jason/Damian and Tim/Colin, among others)

It wasn't like Tim was unused to walking in on awkward conversations—and even more awkward...encounters thank you Dick—when he was in the manor. It was actually one of the main reasons he'd moved out, along with needing a place where his various vintage collectables could be displayed without the threat of cat attack or Damian sabotage—“You're not supposed to take them out of the box, Damian!” “-Tt- Nonsense, they look much better on display this way. You can even remove their limbs to simulate battle wounds"—and his desire to have the occasional night off—“Bruce, I'm kind of busy tonight, can't someone else look for Croc in the sewers? It's not like he's actually hurting anyone this time.” “You're not busy. You've been refreshing your Tumblr page for the past two hours, suit up.” “Wait you're monitoring my computer? Bruce!”

Box of Memories (Batman, Jason/Tim)

It wasn't often Tim got nostalgic. How could he, when there was so little in his past to reminisce fondly over? It still happened occasionally, though. When he heard a particular song playing as a car passed him by, one Jack Drake used to sing under his breath. During a slow night on patrol when the air was clear and he could see the stars, and he remembered a younger Nightwing pointing out constellations until he realized Tim already knew them all, and then started making up new and increasingly ridiculous ones on the spot. When he saw Damian in full Robin gear bound into the car, impatiently waiting for Batman to join him so they could go out and protect Gotham together, and wished he could have had that for just one more night before it was taken from him.

But the one thing that never failed, that always pulled him in to lose himself in memories, was the box.

I Wanna Kiss You Like They Do In The Movies (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Batman, can I marry Damian?”

Colin looked up at Damian's dad—who was so, so tall—and tried really hard not to start shaking. He needed to be brave. He'd spent the whole last week—all seven days—gathering up his courage for this. It didn't matter that he wasn't supposed to say the Batman word if Damian's dad wasn't wearing the pointy ears, and it didn't matter that Damian's dad was the most scariest thing ever—scarier than closed spaces and spiders and even the Scarecrow. All that mattered was the thing that had happened to Colin last week. The thing that was like being hit in the face, kinda like the way Bobby back at the orphanage used to hit Colin sometimes, before he got taken away by that policeman and sent to the Jew Vee group home for sneaking into the apartment building across the street and taking off his clothes in front of Mr Norton's wife. Colin hadn't even known Bobby was Jewish, or that there was a special group home for Jewish kids, but really that didn't matter because Colin had had an Aunt Tiffany about Damian and he needed to do something about it.

Damian Wayne and the Ridiculously Expensive Wand (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim, Author/Harry Potter references)

There weren't many things that could surprise Tim Drake these days. Damian skulking around the manor? Definitely not one of them.

Damian skulking around the manor while wearing a black robe and pointing a stick at the curtains?

Maybe.

More under the cut

The Utterly Devastating and Not in Any Way Ill Conceived Revenge of Damian Wayne (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Father, the utterly unnecessary school you send me to has insulted me for the last time. I demand you use your wealth and influence to destroy them.”

Damian stared at his father, sitting behind his desk as he always was at this time of day. Just as Damian had planned. Because, though he currently had the appearance of a mere twelve year old boy, he was, as Grayson said, intelligent beyond his years. Grayson had smiled as he said this, as if he actually thought he had been giving Damian a compliment. It had been all Damian could do to refrain from stabbing him. As if there was anything special about being more advanced than the pitiful, uneducated masses that inhabited this country. If anything, Damian was what they should have been, if they cared to put in any kind of actual effort towards improving themselves.

Ask Me No Questions. No, Really. Don’t Ask Me This Shit. (Batman, Damian/Colin, Jason/Tim)

If Jason Todd was the kind of person to bother with mottoes or life philosophy, his would probably be something along the lines of this:

Nothing good ever happens in Wayne fucking Manor.

Which was why he tried to stay the fuck away as often as possible.

Three Date Rule (Batman, Damian/Colin)

“Mr Wayne, can I please marry Damian now?”

Colin stood on the other side of Mr Wayne's desk, trying as hard as he could not to fidget, or blush, or do anything but maintain manly eye contact. It was hard, because, Batman suit or not, it was impossible to forget that Mr Wayne was the actual Batman. At least he was sitting down. Dami was totally right about the whole being at eye level thing. Mr Wayne wasn't... Okay, he was just as intimidating sitting down as he is standing up, but Colin had grown a bit since the last time he'd had one of these talks with Mr Wayne and, if Mr Wayne was sitting down and Colin was standing, Colin was actually just a tiny bit taller than Batman and it did a world of good for his self-confidence. (Dami had called it a “psychological advantage”, and Colin had kissed him for being adorable) Honestly, he had no idea how he ever managed to summon up enough courage to ask for Dami's hand when he was ten and Mr Wayne was standing in front of him. He'd been either the stupidest or the bravest kid in the world, back then.

Original Fiction:

Everything Will Turn Out All Right

"Hi, are you using the machine?", came a sweet voice from behind me.

I jumped, startled out of my deep concentration. I hadn't heard anybody coming up behind me, I was too engrossed (I'm what well meaning but sort of insulting adults like to call "smart for my age" which means I tend to get good grades easily and use words like "engrossed", you'll get used to it.) in the incredibly important decision of whether I was in the mood for lemon-lime or orange Gatorade from the machine in question, which in case you haven't already guessed is a vending machine.

Oh Radio, Tell Me Everything You Know

My story, like all good stories, is about a radio.

Wait, no, that's not right. I mean my story is about a radio, sort of, but all good stories aren't about radios. Let's try this again.

My story, like all good stories, is about love.

Original Published Novels:

Awakening Aidan

"Hello, my name is Aidan, and I'm a wizard." Aidan Collins smiled out over the group of fifteen or so people sitting in a circle around him, trying to project a calm he didn't really feel. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep the agitation he was feeling from showing. Which was sort of embarrassing, because wizards his age should have been made of self-control.

Awakening Arthur

Aidan watched the wheels of the carriage bounce as they drove over the rough desert terrain. It was so strange, seeing them shudder so violently and yet barely feeling it. Suspension, the People called it. It was a way of putting some kind of springs on the wheels to absorb most of the impact of driving on anything that wasn't a road. They'd also added new tires, ridged to grip the ground and thicker to avoid damage. It had been fascinating, watching them work.

He also had to fight the sudden, unreasonable urge to yell at Eallair. It was completely unfair that someone who had never driven before was doing it so well, keeping straight even over the sandy 'road' and deftly avoiding sudden dips and large, half-buried rocks.

The Autobiography of the Dark Prince; As Written by Elias Sutterby

Strangely enough, many of the cultural practices of the Calvian Empire seemed to have survived the Great Collapse, with several being adopted by the fledgling kingdoms that rose to prominence after its fall. Even as far away as the White Kingdom of Ellington, there can be found several examples of Calvian culture that have survived to this day, including the Clockwise Tea Ceremony, the Anti-Clockwise Funeral, The Collision of the Great Beasts, and many fornicary practices as detailed in Kellan Collander's illuminating tome, Furniture Fellatio and Additional Assorted Abnormal Amorous Advances. It is a known fact in Ellington that one can actually see the most bizarre of said Advances being practiced in the dead of night in the Great Library by Scholar Elias Sutterby, whose deviant tastes—

With a small sigh of indeterminate emotion, Elias Sutterby paused in his reading. He blinked slowly, as if such an action would dissolve the offending words from the page in front of him, and when that didn't work he reached up and squeezed the bridge of his slightly pointed nose.

Awakening Camelot (Ohmigawg gaiz this one comes out May 19th this is UnReLeAsEd FoOtAgE, a SneeK PeeK, a preeeeeeveeeeU, it’s also just a really long description of a room which makes it probably the worst out of context cold open ever.)

Unlike every other office in the country, the office of the Prime Minister of the United States of America was very spacious. The decadently thick leather armchair, which rested behind the large, oak desk, was obscenely comfortable, with a matching, equally luxurious leather couch pressed up against the far wall. The small library to the right of the couch was filled floor to ceiling with any book a leader of men might need to occupy himself with, from dry magical treatises to the most bawdy of romances. And, if reading wasn't something a particular prime minister was interested in, across from the library was a fully stocked bar. There was even a small crystal ball which linked directly to the prime minister's personal kitchen, open twenty-four hours so not even a midnight craving need draw him from his office's confines. Since the building of the White House over two hundred years ago, every single new prime minister, without exception, had been stunned into an awed silence when confronted with such elegant and unusual accommodations for the first time.

And that’s that. The first few lines of everything I’ve ever written; including the stuff I’m embarrassed to admit to, lol. This was a lot of fun. Thank you for tagging me! If anyone wants to read any of these things, just message me for a link! Especially if you feel the urge to buy a book ;););) (<---Literally the first time I’ve ever marked myself in public. I feel ill)

#opening lines #fanfic #original fiction

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shadeterminus · 7 years

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Underskulls

I’ve finally gotten chapter 7 out on AO3, so I’ll post the chapters here, too.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter (To Be Added)

Ch. 2

Arthur admitted that running after that dog had been an astoundingly stupid idea. He came to this conclusion when he was jumped by a pair of those dog sized frogs.

Froggits have difficult lives. Try complimenting them, it will make them feel better. Or threaten them, they may get scared and run away.

They didn’t seem to be doing anything, though his soul was hovering in front of him. Okay, no Toriel to help and he wasn’t sure she’d get here in time to save him even if he called.

Maybe he could reason with them? Toriel had said to strike up a conversation. He hadn’t had a chance to really see that first froggit’s reaction before Toriel scared it off.

Urgh, he hoped this’d work. “You have very pretty eyes?”

I can’t tell if you are able to hear me or not. Perhaps only slightly? Where did that other presence go?

The froggit on the left tilted its head. Did it understand?

The froggit on the right gave a loud hiss, like a cat, and leapt at him. Arthur jumped over it.

“Uh, nice jump? You’re very athletic!”

The attacking froggit stayed where it landed. Neither of them seemed interested in fighting anymore, for some reason. There faces were bright red. Were they...blushing?

“Uh, bye?” The two froggits hopped off, glancing back once with quiet croaks. They left behind a few shining coins on the ground.

Were they gold? Arthur picked up the coins and pocketed them. Was this what Alice felt like in Wonderland? This was place was surreal.

Another froggit was standing near a door, but Arthur’s soul didn’t pop out. Guess that one wasn’t going to attack.

“Ribbit ribbit,” it said. “Ribbit ribbit.”

If a monster doesn’t seem like it wants to fight, either because you’ve fought it to the brink or you befriended it, then you should be merciful.

“Ah, thanks?” Wait, how had he understood that? It was just croaks…

Ah, so you can hear me on some level!

Arthur turned and hurried to check out the room behind the froggit. Maybe the dog was in there.

Nope, no dog. Though there was a bowl of hard candy on a pedestal. A small, neatly written note said, “Please take one.”

Arthur went ahead and pocketed one, though who knew if it was safe for human consumption.

He returned to the hallway with the froggit and followed the path. That dog couldn’t have gone in any other direction, right? Though it had major head start now.

Around the corner and through the next roo-

“Aaaagh!” The floor gave way underneath him, dropping him into a pile of leaves. He wasn’t hurt, though he hoped he wouldn’t be falling anymore that day.

Thankfully, there were two narrow ramps back up to the previous floor. He took the one that let him continue forward, past the hole he’d fallen in.

The phone Toriel gave him rang. “Hello? This is Toriel. Arthur, for no reason in particular, which do you prefer? Cinnamon or butterscotch?”

Well that was out of nowhere. “Butterscotch?”

“I see. Thank you very much. I do hope you are alright waiting alone?”

Uhhhh. “Yes. Everything’s fine, nothing to worry about.” There was the dog at the end of the room, panting and staring at him. Its way was blocked by another wall of spikes, trapping it. The locket was right in front of it.

“Oh, good. By the way, you do not dislike cinnamon do you?”

“Nope, cinnamon is fine.” Arthur inched forward, trying not to startle the dog. Just a bit closer…

“Good. Thank you for being so patient. Goodbye!” She hung up.

Arthur leapt at the locket, but tripped over a rock in the middle of the room, falling flat on his face. The dog barked and there was the sound something scurrying away. Damn it!

Arthur stood, rubbing his nose. It didn’t seem broken.

He looked to where the dog had been. The spikes were down, now. How did that happen?

He’d landed on a pressure plate he hadn’t noticed before, a path running from it to the rock. When Arthur stood, releasing the plate, the spikes extended again. He shoved the rock onto the plate and the spikes lowered.

Maybe he should call Toriel and let her know he’d left the long room?

He started forward again and took out the phone. As he dialed, something whapped him upside the head.

He felt his soul burst out of chest and looked forward. There was some kind of bug-thing the size of his fist.

Poor whimsun. It’s even more scared than you are.

He opened his mouth to say something, but it burst into tears and flew away before he could say anything.

This place was nuts.

He started forward again, taking care to watch where he was going.

The ground fell out from under him.

Arthur screamed until his lungs gave out before he realized he’d fallen in another pile of leaves. Dammit, not again.

There was another ramp to take him back up; but since this was probably a puzzle it would likely be a good idea to look around first.

Yep, there was a plaque telling him not to step on the leaves. There was also a clear path in the leaves. Somehow. So, how to remember the path?

He walked the path a few times, counting his steps and recording them as a memo on his phone, along with his changes in direction.

Clever boy…

Yep, he could be clever when he wanted to be. When he returned to the upper floor he had no problems getting across.

Another room, another puzzle. This time with guest star Ms. Talking Rock and a bunch of living jello molds. Ugh. At least that one was easy.

Moldsmals are very sexy, but not too bright. Who knew they’d mistake trembling for wiggling?

Why was there a stool with a hunk of old cheese stuck to it? Was it for the mouse? Arthur left of few hamster pellets outside the mouse hole. It would probably like those better. Moving on….

There was a ghost blocking the hallway, lying in a pile red leaves. Like, an actual bedsheet ghost. Arthur had never seen a ghost that <em>actually </em>looked like that. Oh wait, the mansion… Yeah, not thinking about that right now.

Should he try to walk through it? That didn’t seem smart. Maybe Toriel would help if he called her…

“Zzzzzzzzzzzz…,” the ghost said, as if it were pretending to snore. Arthur thought he saw one eye squint open for a second.

He was so done. His ability to be shocked and terrified had been fried, especially as the “monsters”, with one exception, hadn’t been particularly monstrous. They’d mostly left him alone after he talked or otherwise interacted with them. Monsters were weird.

“Excuse me?” Arthur said. He got no response. “Could you move please?” Why was the hall so narrow here?

The ghost stayed where it was.

Arthur huffed and tried nudging it with his foot.

The ghost sprang up and its eyes started welling with tears.

“Hello?” Arthur said. “Sorry, about that.”

The tears gushed forth in veritable geysers. Arthur ducked to the side, a few drops hitting his arm. They burned like acid!

You may want to try cheering him up. Or flirting.

“I’m really sorry, man! C’mon, I bet you’ve got a really nice smile!”

The ocular gushers abated to trickling streams down the ghost’s face. It was watching him more intently now.

“My name’s Arthur. What’s yours?”

“...Napstablook...oh….” Okay, good. It was talking and not projectile-crying acid.

“Cool. I-it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh… I usually come to the ruins to be alone. But today I met someone nice...oh….”

“Yeah, I’m new here. Just thought I’d drop by and see what was going on underground. Sorry for nudging you, I just wanted to get your attention.”

The ghost wobbled a bit, and gave a small smile. “It’s alright. Would...you like to see something?”

“Sure.”

Napstablook began crying again, though the tears flowed up this time, forming into a hat shape.

“I call it ‘dapper blook’ Do you like it…?”

Arthur gave Napstablook a thumbs up. “Yeah, it’s really cool.”

“Oooh...thank you. I worked really hard on that trick. Well, I should get going. My break’s over and I need to head back to the farm.”

“Wait! Have you seen a small white dog anywhere?”

“Ohh... a dog ran through here a few minutes ago…. It had something really shiny. Was it yours?”

“Yeah. I need to get that locket back.”

“I’m sorry…. I should have tried to catch it...ohh….”

“It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”

Napstablook still looked a bit down. They turned to leave. “You should see it if you follow the left path. Bye….” With that, Napstablook disappeared.

Okay then. Forward march.

___

Several puzzles, not-entirely-fights, and many (many) holes later. Arthur found himself in front of a barren tree. It was surrounded by crisp red leaves, and the area had a smell that made him think of autumn.

Anytime this old tree grows leaves, they fall right off…

Better that than the weird mustard smell the froggits left behind.

There was Toriel walking up from beyond the tree. She started to put a phone to her ear before noticing Arthur. He gave a sheepish wave.

“Oh! Arthur, I thought you were still waiting. Are you hurt?” She gave him another once over, noting the scrapes and bumps he’d gotten from some of the monsters on the way. “Nothing serious, but still, I’ll heal you.”

“I’m fine, really. Have you seen a white dog anywhere? It took something important.”

Toriel paused for a moment. “Actually, that was one reason I took so long. A puppy stole my phone, and I had to get it back.”

“Did it have a locket?” Please please please…

“It did, but I wasn’t able to get it. I’m sorry.”

Arthur groaned, there went that idea.

“Although, it was strange, but... it seemed to run toward my house before I lost sight of it.”

“Is there anywhere it could have gone?” Arthur rubbed his prosthetic. He needed to know what that ghost wanted with him.

“I suppose… but it has probably gotten away by now. I am sorry Arthur. But! I have a surprise. Come with me.”

She took his hand and led him up to a neat little house, made of the same purple-lit stone as the rest of ruins, fronted by a carpeting of red leaves on either side of the door. There was a sweet smell wafting from inside that made Arthur’s stomach rumble. When had he last eaten? Breakfast, whenever that was. Several hours at least.

The inside was tidy, and decorated in a soft yellow. A set of downward stairs across from the door. There were pots of cattails, about. Interesting choice…

“Do you smell that?” Toriel said. “Surprise! It is a butterscotch-cinnamon pie. I thought we might celebrate your arrival.”

Arthur had had butterscotch meringue pie, but he’d never even heard of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Still, he wasn’t about to complain about free food.

Toriel continued speaking. “I want you to have a nice time living here. So I will hold off on snail pie for tonight.”

Something about what she was saying set off warning bells in Arthur’s head. Was it just the snails? He liked oysters, but he’d never had snails. He was cautiously curious.

“I have another surprise for you, as well. Come along.” She led him down a hallway and stopped at the first door. “A room of your own. I hope you like it! You are a bit older than my usual guests….”

She patted his shoulder, before pausing. “Is something burning? Um, make yourself at home!”

Arthur watched her go with a bemused look. She almost seemed like she expected him to stay here. That wasn’t happening; he needed to get back and make sure Vivi and Mystery were alright. Needed to find Lewis.

Knowing you’ll get back to your friends, it fills you with determination. But is it enough?

Still, he could at least check out the room.

The room was done in a soft reddish color, lit by a lamp in the corner. There were children’s toys piled in a box at the foot of comfy looking bed. He couldn’t help smiling at the Transformers. He’d loved those as a kid! There seemed to be a music box playing a soft tune somewhere. Arthur began to feel drowsy.

It’d been a long day. Falling down who knew how many holes and trying to survive monster attacks. His feet ached, and with the music box, his eyes began to droop.

You should take a nap. You won’t be any good to anyone if you’re dead on your feet.

Arthur sat on the bed and kicked his shoes off. He could still smell that pie. Maybe he should close his eyes for a few minutes…. Then he’d ask Toriel about a way home.

He was dead to the world before his head even hit the pillow.

____

“Guys? Do you really think going in there is a good idea?” Arthur asked as he stared up at the fang-like stalactites at the entrance to the cave. Greenish fog seemed to ooze out and around it. Seriously, how could there be green fog here?

The cave had been a haunted tour type thing a few decades back, before it had been condemned. A few too many accidents and at least one murder on site, according to Vivi’s research.

There had been reports of strange sounds and lights in the area for the past couple of weeks. As well as a possible link to a recent disappearance.

Vivi, of course, just had to check it out.

Lewis glanced back at him. “It’ll be fine, Arthur, we’ve done stuff like this a million times before.”

Vivi, looked at him with concern, she was holding Lewis’ hand. “Are you okay Arthur? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. If you’re that worried, you can wait in the van; it’s fine.”

Arthur didn’t really like the idea of waiting alone in the van in the dark, either. If he had to be somewhere uncomfortable, he could at least be uncomfortable with his friends nearby.

Arthur followed them as they went into the cave, chills creeping down his spine. He couldn’t help moving closer to Lewis, practically cowering behind him as bats flew and screeched above. It smelled of damp. There was a buzzing in his ears. Their shadows twisted and writhed in the light of Lewis’ torch.

There was a fork in the path.

“Hey, Arthur, let’s take this way. You alright taking Mystery, Vivi?”

Vivi gave a jaunty salute. “Of course! C’mon boy! To adventure!” She marched down the right path, Mystery trailing behind her.

The buzzing was louder, numbing Arthur's mind and making his ears itch. The green fog seemed to glow.

The path wound upwards like a serpent’s spine, Arthur clinging to Lewis more than once as he tripped and stumbled his way over the rock strewn path. This didn’t feel right. They shouldn’t be here. Something was going to go wrong.

There was a ledge overlooking a forest of stalagmites, trails of green fog flowing between them.

Arthur’s hand felt numb and he couldn’t stop himself from surging forward, reaching for Lewis. Arthur’s cheeks hurt from trying to grin and scream at the same time.

Arthur was falling! Had he slipped off the ledge? He was going to die, a spike through his chest just like-

There was a patch of golden flowers. There was a child in a striped shirt.

“Greetings.”

Next Chapter (To Be Added)

#undertale #mystery skulls animated #mystery skulls #arthur kingsmen #undertale chara #imwritin #fanfiction #right on queue

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ampacting15kr · 7 years

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Audio Ensemble Performance

The demands of an audio/vocal actor are very similar to the demands of an actor, however vocal acting opens up a whole realm of opportunities to an actor that is looking to find something new.

The audio play we will be performing is ‘People snogging in public places’ by Jack Thorne. It’s a comedy written in 2009 it’s a ‘coming of age’ story about a young boy named James and his uncle with learning difficulties and James struggle to adjust to his new life with his uncle, who at the start of the play has been living with James for 2 years now.

As audio plays are new to me and is not something I’ve ever tended to listen too. I am going to listen to a wide range of audio performances that have an ensemble of people and analyze their techniques and the skills that they use to create an engaging audio performance (as well as noting the editorial side of radio) to hopefully further my performance and take on some of these skills.

Radio Play

The first play I listened to was a horror called ‘The woman in black’ I chose this play as I was interested to see if I would still be scared without the visual aid and if so what techniques they used to establish what was going on and capture you. And then I wanted to see if I could bring these skills into my own performance.

The vocals in the ‘the woman in black ‘ are very important in setting the scene as they use accents which really help you imagine where you are, also it makes it very clear when Arthur (the main character) is having a flash back and when he is back in reality talking to the people around Eel marsh house. Also when its night time the actors use a groggy voice to display that they have just woken up. So they were even using vocals to imply the time of day so they didn’t have to tell you. This has shown me that putting as much detail into the voice as possible allows your audience to really see, imagine and understand what is happing and helps make a better performance. A lot of microphone techniques were used in this radio play. For example there was a moment when a charter was talking into someone’s neck and it literally sounded just like that, and they would have done this by talking into their hand to create the same sound of their voice bouncing off of skin. The audio was very clean, each actor breathing in though their nose and mouth to ensure there were no popping noises and they would have been standing a good distance from the mic as there was no projection of breath from there ‘p’ sounds. There were moments in the play that the sound would move as though the person speaking was walking around you and I think they achieved this by walking around the mic while performing their lines.

I found that sound effects played a huge part in this performance and were amazing at creating tension and building suspense. For example when the chair is rocking you can hear it so clearly and imagine it so vividly that when he says no one is in it, it sends a shiver down your spine. They also used silence as a way to cause suspense pairing it with a sudden sound effect to make you jump. Both of which are the things you expect to happen when you watch a horror movie but being able to crate the same feeling with just sound is very impressive and I believe to do that is to create an entirely immersive and captivating performance. The sound effects were so vivid that when the dog gets stuck in the mud you don’t need to see what is going on, because each second of audio is so rich with detail that you can hear his clothes brushing as he reached out to get the dog and that alone tells you what is happening.

Animation

For animation I chose to watch ‘Looney tunes’. Animation is very different to a radio play because it has a visual aid so I decided to close my eyes and listen to it as opposed to watching it but half way through I opened my eyes to see if the images in my mind were correct, and decide how effective the sounds and vocals were.

The vocal performances were brilliant utilising all elements to the voice to perform as best they can. It was clear that the actors were considering volume, pace, tone and character to create an engaging performance. For example you could tell which animal each character was without having your eyes open because of the way they used their voice, grunting to sound more piggy, wheezing to sound more duck like etc. There use of volume when they would get hit by something would be what made the moment funny, and the use to pace and change of tone when the characters were nervous and trying to get out of a sticky situation (which is all the time in Looney tunes) they would talk a lot faster and higher to show that the character was nervous.

It’s very difficult to try to pick up on what is a microphone technique and what is sound effects however I think ‘Looney tunes’ used mic technique at moments. As I motioned above the actors use of volume was very effective and something I noticed was despite the fact they were getting louder the sound wasn’t getting harsher or bothering me, I think this is because the actors stood further away from the mic or even turned away from it at the moments when they need to shout, as result of this the audio doesn’t hurt your ears, a technique that could help me in one of my roles in the radio play.

The sound effects in ‘Looney tunes’ are a very large part of what brings the performance to life. The music fits in amazingly and enhances each moment making it funnier and sadder or even sillier. The music works so well because it is written and conducted especially for the script. The music is brilliant, if you were to take it away some moments would completely lack any comedic value for example a cat looking side to side is just that, but add some intense violin and its foreshadowing something bad and makes you sit in anticipation waiting for the cat to be struck or something funnier. The sound effects them self’s add to each moment for example there use of a sidle whistle and then a cymbal crash is a classic way to portray someone getting hit on the head or something falling and makes the show enjoyable without the visual.

After opening my eyes I came to the conclusion that sheer amount of character poured into each role and the constant sound effects made it easy for me to imagine what was going on. With my eyes open I saw how effective all of their methods were and it was clear to me how much they would have appealed to their target audience of children.

Panel show

I chose to listen to the popular comedy panel show ‘So wrong it's right’ and I found this to be a very different listening experience to anything else I had listened to, it wasn’t as immersive or captivating as the other examples I have given it was more of a light entertainment, the kind of thing you could listen to and laugh along with while you’re going about you daily tasks which I suppose is the aim of the show and is there target audience. I found it interesting, the techniques they used (or lack of them) to create the casual feeling to the show.

‘So wrong it’s right’ uses very little next to none of the normal audio performance techniques that most shows use for example the people speaking have microphones clipped on them or in front of them and anything in the way of mic techniques or character was none existent, however this is because they are not actors and they are not telling a story instead they are comedians who are just being themselves so character and vocal performance is irrelevant. The show is so casual that they kept the moments other members of the panel would interrupt the person speaking, which at first I found odd as the interruptions would just get spoken over and nothing would come of it, but it makes you feel comfortable and allows you to imagine the panel all sitting around chatting.

They had an audience watching them and reacting to show and this caused a lot of thoughts to pop into my head one of them being, was the audience real? I came to realise that the audience was real but I found that there laughter was just, as if not louder than the people speaking, which I found interesting I thought perhaps they had done this to make the show seem funnier or to make the listener feel more immersed in the show and allow them to feel as though they are among the audience.

An interesting editing technique used was that each time someone spoke it was faded in, they started quiet and then were raised to the volume of the previous speaker, I think this was done to prevent the audio from sounding to harsh and to allow the ending of other sentences to be heard. The show was all round a very enjoyable experience and would definitely please their target audience.

#au

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