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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Sugar, Sugar 15

[FIFTEEN/END]

MASTERLIST

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, violence, mean sugary Steve

This is a dark! sugar daddy! Steve fic. Obvious AU so please keep that in mind. :) That being said, it will be an explicit fic (18+) with noncon. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

(This chapter: violence, threats, fear :O)

Series Summary: The reader is struggling in the big city but find opportunity before her. Will she take it?

This Chapter: The wedding day approaches but not everything goes to plan.

Author Notes: So this is another series wrapped up after a grueling two years, haha. Sorry y’all.

Please let me know what you think, like and reblog <3 love ya

🍭 🍭 🍭

The floor length mirror was trimmed with twisted gold. You stared at your reflection as your shaky hands pressed against the front of the ivory dress. The cut hid the small bump but you could not forget it. Ever since you confessed, it all happened so fast; the wedding was pushed up, the dress tailored and expedited, and invitations sent out in a rush.

It all felt surreal. The day had come but you just couldn’t accept it. How could you go through those doors and smile through it all?

You closed your eyes and let your breath out. They would knock when it was your time. Your father would be waiting to walk you down the aisle. The guests waited eagerly for the most talked about ceremony in the city. And you still felt like just a footnote in your own wedding.

You moved away from the mirror and sat unsteadily, gripping the arms of the cushioned chair, careful not to catch your veil under you. That night you told him, that was the final straw. But you didn’t forget what Sasha said. You took a picture of the broken door and wrote down the entire scene. You sent it to yourself in an email as proof.

That wasn’t the last time. You recorded Steve one day when he came in as you were texting your sister about the new date. You hadn’t answered his last message about your first appointment with the doctor. He was livid and you sat and listened to him rant as the red dots pulsed. You wrote down every instance, every time he made you appease him, every terrifying word.

Then there were the police reports. Nothing more than words in a filing cabinet but the night he choked you was just the beginning. He threatened to break your finger when you took your ring off because your hands were swelling. Then he broke your laptop when you didn’t pay him enough attention.

As the wedding loomed closer, he only seemed to get worse. He was clingy, always touching you, marveling over your stomach. He checked in almost every hour on the hour when he was working, and you weren’t stupid enough not to notice that the building was being watched.

It was like you were living two lives and yet you were entirely trapped with him. What good could the emails do? Or the reports when the police wouldn’t act on them? You were going to marry this man and that would be the end of it; of you, of your life.

Knuckles tapped on the door and you stood. You crossed the room and inched it open the door. You flinched as you were met by an unexpected and uninvited guest.

“Sasha?” you gasped.

“You’re marrying him then?” he held the handle but you didn’t try to close the door, “the account gone, I heard nothing from you.”

“I… I’m scared,” you admitted, “when he found out, I thought he was going to--” you shook your head. He wouldn’t actually kill you.

“You know it’s not too late,” Sasha urged.

“You can’t be here, it he finds out, he’ll--”

“I’ll defend myself,” Sasha snarled uncharacteristically, “I’ll give him what he deserves.’

“No, I don’t want you to get hurt. You need to go,” you begged as you glanced past him furtively.

“I will. Come with me,” he said, “just go. Everyone’s distracted, they won’t know--”

“I can’t just leave. You don’t understand--”

“No, you don’t understand,” he argued, “if you marry him, it all gets so much more complicated. I told you that day at the café. It will be harder to fight after the vows, but right now, you can still get out.”

“And go where?”

He swallowed and looked down the hall. You could hear the distant murmur of the crowd.

“Did you do any of it? Keep a journal? Something?” he asked.

“I tried. I went to the police but nothing,” you sniffed and gripped the door tight.

“Nothing yet but that’s a start,” he chewed the inside of his lip.

“Why are you here? Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I can do something,” he hissed, “because I can’t live with it if I don’t. So come on. Come with me, I got a bigger place. It’ll have to do for now and then we’ll work on getting you standing, getting the baby somewhere to grow--”

“Am I trading him for you?”

“I’m your friend,” he said evenly, “that will never change. All I want is you safe. If it makes you feel better, I’ll sleep in the hall. You can lock me out and I’ll sleep against the door. But I came down here knowing I wouldn’t leave without you.”

“It’s a sweet fantasy but--”

“Come on,” he grabbed your hand and pushed the door open, “please, don’t go with him. It doesn’t end well. You don’t get out. It doesn’t get better.”

“I have nothing,” you quavered.

“You have me,” he said, “please don’t make me walk out of here alone.”

“I….” you uttered as your heart squeezed. “He’ll come after you.”

“Good, I want him to,” he clung to you, “please?”

You inhaled and heard the voices. Your father and your sister. You had no time to think but you knew it was your only chance.

“Let’s go,” you lifted your skirt and pulled the door shut behind you as you stepped out, “now.”

He held onto your hand as you rushed away from the voices and skirted around the corner. Sasha urged you on down the back stairs and through the maze like halls of the extravagant church. You nearly tumbled down the stairs and he caught you as you came along the narrow passage beside the main room, the guests and groom just on the other side of the wall.

You came out into the sunlight and Sasha lifted the train of your skirts as he directed you over the grass. our heels sank into the dirt as you rushed over and the organ began to play Here Comes the Bride. As he helped stuff the swathes of fabric in behind you in his modest car, the music stopped suddenly.

He closed the door as you were squished in the back seat amid your layered skirts and he got in the front. The engine turned and he nearly side swept another car as he pulled out without looking. You peeked back behind you but saw no one coming down the large steps of the church.

He turned the corner and sidled in behind a yellow cab. He looked at you in the mirror and nodded. You bit your lips nervously as reality sank in. Your chest hammered and your entire body buzzed with adrenaline. You knew it was only the beginning.

🍭

The day passed in a daze. You sat in your wedding dress waiting for all hell to break loose. Sasha sat with a beer, silently, and tapped his foot endlessly. When the silence was too much, he turned on the television but neither of you paid any attention to the old sitcom.

When the trance of disbelief dissipated, he showed you around his spacious loft. He was being paid well by Stark but you worried how long he would stay on the payroll after what he’d done. Steve wasn’t stupid and there were more photographers at the church then you’d seen collectively over the last year and a half.

“This is the second bedroom,” he showed you into a room with gleaming windows. There was a bed, a dresser, curtains, a cozy rug, all carefully selected, “I thought you’d be here sooner.”

Your eyes lingered on the box leaned against the far wall. A crib.

“Didn’t know how long…” his voice trailed off as he followed your eye line, “I’m not trying to be him. You can go anytime but I… you have a place here.”

Your eyes welled and you blotted them with your knuckles, the rough lace of your gloves scratching your cheeks, “you did all this for me?”

“I told you, I’d do anything,” he said.

“But… Sasha, I don’t--”

“I don’t expect anything from you. High school was a long time ago but you made it bearable for the biggest dweeb in the class.” He sighed and paced a circle around the room, “you know, I had the biggest crush on you. That doesn’t mean anything now, it doesn’t mean I want you to fall into my arms, but it means I want to help you. It’s the right thing to do, somehow I made a career of doing the right thing so what’s one more?”

You felt your chest sink and you covered your cheeks with your hands, “Sasha?”

“Please,” he cringed, “I was a teen boy, I think I had a thing for Oprah once. Really, it’s just… we’re friends. We’ll always be friends.”

“I can’t…” you sniffled and dropped your hands, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Sasha intoned, “and you don’t deserve to live like that. I know this isn’t much but I know you. You’ll find your way, you just got a little lost.”

“I…” you shook your head speechless.

“We’ll figure everything else out tomorrow. You can borrow some of my clothes for tonight and then we can see about retrieving your things from Steve,” he neared the door and stopped beside you, “or we can say fuck it and you can start all over.”

You turned and slung your arms around him. You buried your face against his shoulder as tears spilled out onto his jacket.

“How did you know?” you sobbed.

“That day at the shower,” he rubbed your back gently, “you know, lawyers learn how to read people and you never were very good at subtlety.”

“No,” you chuckled through your tears, “No, it’s why I was great as a bard.”

“Mmm,” he grumbled, “if that’s how you remember it.”

🍭

It felt like Sasha was gone forever but when you checked the clock, it had only been twenty minutes.

You sat on the couch with your feet under you as you watched the news and rocked nervously. All anyone was talking about was Steve Rogers’ runaway bride. Your face was everywhere and the statement issued by Steve made it all the worse.

He painted you as a gold-digger, as an adulterer, as a swindler. He was the heartbroken fiancé and you were the wrongdoer. You knew it would go this way but expectation never softened reality.

You flinched as the lock turned and Sasha entered with a bag in hand. He came to the couch and set it down beside you.

“I don’t know about my taste in women's clothes but those should do,” he said as he checked his watch, “we should go soon.”

“Yeah,” you stood and opened the bag to reveal the lavender blouse and dark jeans, “you really didn’t have to--”

“You kidding, he’s gonna be surrounded by cameras. You can’t win his game if you don’t play it. I’ve dealt with his type before, they’re the ones who need lawyers on standby,” he sneered, “did you eat?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you swiped up the bag and headed for the hallway, “it was good.”

“No problem,” he shrugged as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv, “and ignore all that nonsense.”

You got dressed and emerged as your anxiety grew to impatience. You left the apartment in brittle silence and the car ride fed the uneasy bubbling of your stomach. .

As you came up to Steve’s building, you sat for a moment before you got out. Sasha followed and shoulder away the cameras as you neared the front door

The elevator moved slowly and fidgeted uncontrollably as it dinged on Steve’s floor. You swallowed and braced yourself to face Steve. Sasha kept a few feet back as you walked down the hall and stopped at the door. You knocked as you found it locked.

It was a while before it opened but when it did, you were startled as Steve grabbed the front of your blouse and wrenched you inside. He spun you but quickly released you as he was knocked off balance and sent sprawling over the floor. Sasha stood above him with his hands in fists.

“Hey,” he pointed at Steve then looked at you, “you okay?”

You nodded as Steve glared between the two of you and cautiously got to his feet, “so you brought your little boyfriend?”

“She’s here to get her stuff. We thought we’d avoid a police escort, as her lawyer I thought it prudent, but we can always make that phone call,” Sasha said sternly, “she is entitled to her possessions.”

“Her stuff? I paid for every single thing she has to her name. Hers? Mine.” Steve spat and reared on you again, only to be caught by Sasha as he inserted himself between you.

“You will not touch her again. Those things you bought for her were gifts. You have no legal rights to them once they are given. She will take her clothes, her phone, and any other necessities.”

“Pfft, she’s not taking anything. She’s not going anywhere,” Steve growled, “she not yours--”

“I am certain the photogs would appreciate a show,” Sasha pulled out his phone, “police? That can only be a domestic dispute.”

Steve squinted and his nose flared as he looked at you over Sasha’s shoulder, “fucking slut.” He crossed his arms and stepped aside, “get your shit, get out…” he hissed, “but I have my rights too. You will not keep me from my baby.”

“That will be settled in court,” Sasha replied coolly, “go on, get your things.”

He waved you past him as he kept you shield from Steve. He was of a height with Steve but not as broad. Even so, you felt safe behind him. You rushed down to the bedroom and quickly gathered up your toiletries and those clothes you didn’t absolutely hate. Your phone screen was shattered but you took it anyway.

As you emerged again, a bag slung on your shoulder, you slid the ring from your finger.

“You can keep the rest,” you said as you placed the band on the small round table just inside the front room, “goodbye Steve.”

“Goodbye? Goodbye?” he spat, “this isn’t the end and you fucking know it.”

“Calm down,” Sasha warned.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Steve shoved him, “I should fucking smash your head in--”

“I’d like you to try,” Sasha stood his ground, “really. You think the court would let a violent man be around an infant?”

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes. He backed down and shouldered by Sasha. “Get the fuck out.”

You left quickly. You had no desire to hang around. As you stepped onto the elevator, Sasha softly touched your elbow and you winced. The bag fell to your elbow and he quickly scooped it up and heaved it over his own shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said, “he was so angry. I--”

“I was stupid, we should’ve brought the police. Fuck the cameras,” he said, “from this point on, no contact with him whatsoever. Only through me and the court. No talking to reporters, no nothing.”

“Yeah, that won’t be hard,” you uttered as he led you out of the elevator.

As you came outside, cameras flashed and voices called out. You collided with Sasha as he was blocked by a photographer shouting questions, “is it true you’re pregnant? Is it Steve’s?”

“My client will not be answering questions,” Sasha kept on and made a path for you, “go, she’s not answering any of your questions.”

He elbowed past more cameras and opened the car door for you. You fell inside and quickly huddled down in your seat. As he sat behind the wheel, he mumbled and pulled out into traffic. He gripped the wheel tightly and pushed himself back into the vinyl.

“That asshole,” he said, “he’s gonna want the paternity test. This isn’t gonna be pretty.”

“I can’t… he fucking told them. I mean, I’m not surprised but… god,” you grimaced.

“We’ll get the test done before he makes a formal request,” Sasha said, “it shows transparency and when we hand over those results, we’ll include those police reports too.”

“Police reports?” you blinked.

“Sorry, I… It’s a suggestion,” he said tersely, “but he’s going to make this a trial by media.”

“No, no, I want to,” you said firmly, “I want everyone to know the real Steve Rogers.”

🍭

‘I was just like many struggling in the city. I worked a low-paying job in data entry and lived in an apartment which was little more than a box. The dreams of the big city were passing me by as there was little opportunity to be found.

Then I met Steve Rogers. Like a dream or a Lifetime movie. I was in debt, I was desperate, and he offered me a safety net. I can own my part in the relationship; I was interested and I accepted his generosity. I was all too happy with the arrangement.

That was until I found out that it was all based on a lie. I didn’t know that he had access to my accounts even before I knew him, that he had used his connections to force me into that dire situation. And I could not know the real man behind the billionaire façade.

It was little things at first. Any woman loves to feel wanted but his possessiveness soon turned to control. He kept me isolated from my own family and did not permit me to do anything without his permission. His affection turned to obsession and when it was not reciprocated he forced it from me.

He took me on vacation and did not allow me to wear clothes. He chose what I wore, how I looked, and what I did. He coerced me into acts I was reluctant about, and when he was too rough, he did not listen to my pleas for him to stop.

When I tried to leave him, he followed me and dragged me back. He had me watched by PIs and surveilled all my communications. He used his financial power to control me and when that did not work, he used his physical power.

Steve Rogers abused me. He yelled in my face, he threatened my family, and he choked me.

Steve Rogers raped me. He expected me to bend to his will whenever he desired and when I refused, he held me down and did what he wanted.

Steve Rogers took my whole life and when I chose to leave, he set his eyes on the life inside of me.

The only thing I want from him is freedom. I want to live safely with my child and I want that child to never experience the abuse of their father. I never want anyone to know that horror again which is why I have written this and released the police records. I am not asking for anything but peace for me and my unborn child.’

The statement was carefully edited by Sasha. You reread the font across the glossy pages of Vanity Fair, the article spliced with excerpts not only from the police reports, but your own emailed accounts of your relationship, and the whole thing began with an image of that broken bathroom door.

It was two months since you ran away from the altar but life was not a romcom. It was a disaster. Even with the article, you knew not all would believe you. You knew it would open you to doubt and vitriol. And you knew Steve would have a response.

You closed the magazine and groaned as you rubbed your hips. Freedom didn’t feel so… freeing. There was a long way to go; court dates, doctor’s appointment, and depositions. But it was a start.

You rested your hand on your stomach and pushed on the arm of the couch as you stood stiffly. When you were halfway up, you felt a hand on your elbow and Sasha helped you stand straight. You smiled guiltily. You’d grown a lot in the last few weeks and still had nearly four months to go.

“The reviews are good,” he said, “I know that is kinda grim but… people seem to believe you.”

“Seem to?” you echoed as you went to the kitchen and pulled out the container of sliced strawberries, “or they don’t?”

“Well,” he leaned on the counter as he watched you add too much cream to the berries and smiled, “Stark Industries has cut ties with Shield, Inc. and Tony has made a sizeable donation to several shelters across the city,” he cupped his chin coyly as he leaned on his elbow, “and will be covering legal costs for the support hearings seeing as I can’t legally represent you anymore.”

“Oh,” your mouth fell open before you could spray some cream onto your tongue, “when were you going to tell me this?”

“I’m telling you now,” he crossed his arms as he shifted them further over the island, “I thought I’d give the good news first.”

“And the bad?” you put down the can of cream as you neared the marble across from him.

“I have several requests for interviews and I think you should do at least one,” he said, “I know you hate reporters and all that but… with a little Rogers baby on board, it’s just another part of the process.”

“Oh, and what should I tell them,” you edged around the counter towards him, “that I moved? That I found someone better?” He turned to you, his lips curved as he leaned in and you turned your face up to peck his lips, “or maybe I should tell them I’m single? Keep the intrigue?”

“As long as you tell them I’m handsome, I don’t mind,” he purred as he placed his hand on your side.

“Oh, how could I leave that out?” you cooed and kissed him again, “patient, loving, kind… but what a geek?”

“A geek?” he smirked and framed your chin with his hands, “says the dungeon master.”

You giggled and ran your hands up his chest, “someone’s gotta raise this little bard well.”

“Oh, no, no, she’s not gonna be a bard. Maybe a cleric?”

“No way! That’s lame,” you chirped, “how about… a sorcerer? Ours is a bit lacking.”

“Excuse you,” he quipped, “what was your AC again? Maybe next session I’ll run out of healing spells.”

“See?” you taunted, “geek.”

You drew him to you until he was pressed to your belly and he swept you up in a kiss. You rocked with him as he turned you against the counter and slowly parted.

You squeezed his wrist as you went back around to your strawberries and cream. You took a spoon and scooped up a mouthful as you slid your phone towards you. Sasha stayed as he was, watching you scroll through the emails and piled up texts.

You stopped as one blared in all caps. There was no name, only ‘Private’. You opened the conversation and found a dozen bubbles; ‘THIS ISN’T OVER’, ‘HE CAN’T KEEP YOUR FROM ME’, ‘CUTE, YOU THINK PEOPLE BELIEVE YOUR SHIT.’ Another message blipped up, an image and you dropped your spoon as it opened.

You saw the picture of your sister and her son. You shook as you put your hand down on the counter and choked on the cream.

“What?” Sasha reached over and turned your phone to him, “Shit,” he sighed and blocked the number, “he’s just stacking the evidence against himself.”

“I--” you blinked as tears boiled behind your eyes.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he screencapped the conversation, “this just makes the case even easier.”

“No, I will always be afraid of him,” you said as you touched your stomach, “it’s not just about me anymore.”

“And it’s not just you anymore,” he took your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb, “we’ve been through worse. If we can get through a cave full of orcs, we can defeat Steve Rogers.”

END (or is it?)

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #sugar daddy au #au #sugar daddy!steve Rogers #sugar sugar #marvel #mcu #captain america

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unchartedthelostlegacy · 3 years

Text

Chlodineweek Day 3: Reunion

It was good that Windows XP somehow didn’t notice that she had already failed at entering the correct password five times.

Chloe gritted her teeth and glared back down at the keys, and began to peck at them one at a time like they were the platforms she’d jumped across in the axe fortress.

Tommyiscute2003.

Wrong.

TommyIhateyou03.

Wrong.

“How important is this?” Nadine called from Chloe’s childhood bed. She was flipping through an ancient Shonen Jump.

“Oh, don’t even start.”

“Why can’t you access it on your phone?”

Chloe touched her lips. “I think I wrote it...in my diary.”

“Frazer, let’s look at the Neopets on your phone and be done with it. You know they’re all dead anyway.”

Her casual tone made Chloe bristle all over again. She didn’t even remember what had started the argument. It had to have been something about Nathan Drake. Their entire trip back home to Chloe’s mum’s house in Australia’s capital had been peppered with back-and-forth character assassination focused on which of them had neglected and starved her Neopets more.

“You’re going to be dead before my Neopets are,” Chloe retorted, pushing back her hair, and noticing Nadine had slid off the twin bed and was rooting around in the drawers. “Excuse me, I didn’t give you permission to--”

“Find this?” Nadine tossed a book at her.

Chloe recognized it the moment it hit her hands. A pink-and-blue diary with a cute lock on the cover.

“I’m assuming you still have the key, Frazer?”

“Oh give me all of three seconds,” Chloe said with a chuckle, sitting and pulling the lockpick from her hair. “These are never--” click. “Here we go. Ah, it’ll be on the last page...I think.”

Nadine had rested her arm across the chair and around Chloe’s shoulders. “What’s that drawing?”

“That is me.”

Nadine’s laughter was scoffing. “And--and the hair?”

“That’s what I looked like,” Chloe paged away from the emo self portrait. “Makeup and all.”

“Oh, that hasn’t changed.”

“Very funny.”

Nadine leaned forward. “Who’s this Tommy you mention on every page?”

“You can actually read that? I’m impressed. I definitely have better handwriting now--”

“Chloe?’

Somehow, they hadn’t noticed footsteps on the stairs and down the hallway, but the click of the door made them both jump.

Chloe’s mother walked in, holding some mail, and blinked. Why would they have a guilty conscience now? Why did it feel like they’d been interrupted in something important and bad?

They were only two grown adults trying to break into an ancient computer because Neopets wasn’t mobile-optimized, after all. Chloe wanted to hiss to Nadine that her job was the lookout, but Nadine looked more terrified than Chloe had ever seen her; she had just about hopped back from the chair.

“Something came for you,” Leah Frazer said.

“I...see that,” Chloe said, hand going to her hair. “You can leave it, mummy.”

“Think it’s from your school.”

“From...which school?”

Leah shrugged her shoulders. “The uni you never went to? It’s from Tim M. Pierce High.”

And she wonders why I never visit. Chloe stood, pushing her hand through her loose, damp hair one last time, reaching out for the envelope with the familiar emblem in the corner.

She’d worn it on her silly skirt-and-polo uniform all those years ago, fighting its conformity with home-dyed streaks in her sharply cut hair and her eyeliner even more intense than she wore now. She might have switched it up with novelty contact lenses sometimes too--she wasn’t proud of that--but she could stop a black-pentagon-bedecked ball with one black-nailed hand and aced all her history tests.

Yes, Chloe remembered Tim M. Pierce, and she also remembered opting out of another few years of being treated like she was weird and dumb.

“Are they...asking for donations? Or something?”

“I think it’s an invitation,” Chloe’s mother said. “Might be having the reunion soon.”

“The reunion,” Chloe said, as if the word was foreign to her.

“Nice timing, isn’t it? You being back for the first time in forever. You could go.”

Chloe breathed out sharply through her nose as her mother closed the door and her footsteps paced back down the hall.

Nadine leapt in front of her. “Let’s go to a hotel, ja?”

“Are you scared of her, love? She’s not going to kill us.”

Nadine shook her head so emphatically Chloe actually had to look up from turning the envelope around in her hand. “She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like me here.”

It took a long, embarrassing moment for Chloe to even pick up on what she meant.

“Oh. No, no,” Chloe laughed, waving her hand and turning back. “No, she’s mad at me, honey. Because I haven’t been in awhile and--”

“Frazer--”

“Nadine this is my mother. She doesn’t even know--no. She had--you’ve misjudged her.”

Nadine said, flatly, “I’ll find one myself.”

“Nadine, she’s not like that. She’s just snappy. I--I get it from her,” Chloe said, sitting back down. “Where were we? Oh yes, let’s find the password.”

“You didn’t even call ahead to tell her we were coming?”

Chloe felt the nerves in Nadine’s voice, but she also felt sick that her mother had inadvertently upset her. “I’ll talk to her, Nadine. I’ll tell her to--”

“No, no, no!” Nadine was really losing it, wasn’t she, wandering around the emo-band-poster-walled fortress with her face in her hands. “Don’t say it. Don’t say I told you to--that she--”

“Was making my partner uncomfortable?”

“Ja, that’s what you don’t tell her. Do not tell her that.”

“Oh relax,” Chloe said. “Between you and Nate, she’d throw him out of the house first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That she judges character. Well. About that. You wanted to know about Tommy?” Chloe held out the open journal, showing a double-page spread of a crude drawing of a boy and her very impractically dressed self, holding hands. “He was my widdle baby crush. Mum didn’t like him.”

“Was he the psychopath type you always go for?”

Chloe laughed. “He was a good student. Squeaky-clean. She still hated the sight of him.”

“Ja, your drawing doesn’t really sell him either.”

Chloe returned fire by throwing the entire journal back at Nadine, who snatched it out of the air and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, glancing back at the door. Chloe turned back to the keyboard and typed the password that had been scrawled beneath the drawing:

ChloeAndTom4ever.

“Open sesame,” she said, as the startup noise pinged and the cursor did its loading animation.

“You think he’ll be at the reunion?” Nadine said.

“Oh, who goes to those? Did you go to yours?”

“My schools didn’t have them.”

“Well,” Chloe chuckled, but it was flat, nervous, “I didn’t enjoy my time at school, and I don’t see why I would want to be reminded.”

“Maybe he’s still single.”

“I doubt it. He’s balding and divorced, Nadine, one hundred percent. Crushes in your teen years do not hold up. Ah, here. Just...click on internet explorer...”

“God this is ancient,” Nadine muttered, having come over to hover at Chloe’s shoulder again. “Does it even have an antivirus?”

Chloe hovered the mouse over the taskbar. “McAfee.”

“Oh,” Nadine said. “Then, no.”

“I used the same password for Neopets! Let’s see. Oh. Well, the map is different. Didn’t it use to have Mcdonalds?”

Nadine bumped her arm. “I thought you called it Maccas or something here?”

Chloe squinted at her and said, “‘Didn’t it use to have Maccas?’”

Nadine’s laugh was worth it, even as Chloe reached up and gave her a poke in her stomach. Nadine held her stomach and flopped back on the bed. Chloe loved Nadine’s laugh to pieces, loved how it completely overcame her.

“See? My Neopets are all here. Nadine, pull yourself together!”

Nadine did, eventually, and came over to peer at the screen, at Chloe’s five Kaus and two Kougras of varying shades. “Starving. Starving. Starving,” Nadine recited, hovering the mouse over all of them. “Great parenting, Frazer.”

“All right, but they’re not dead, are they? I’ll just go get a free omelet and feed them now,” Chloe said.

“They’re not even wearing any clothes.”

“They’re animals, silly. They don’t wear clothes.”

Nadine snapped, “Let me log in.”

And Chloe had to stare at four perfectly dressed Mynci. Skirts, hats, entire outfits. And they were all fed.

“Someone,” Chloe said darkly, standing and grabbing Nadine’s shoulders, “Waited for me to fall asleep on the plane and logged into her account on the sly--”

“Or maybe I’m just proper at Neopets, Frazer?”

Nadine grappled her back, and they fell onto the twin mattress, giggling and slapping at each other.

“You didn’t even know they could wear clothes. All of them can wear any clothes--” Nadine was saying, as Chloe shook her by the shoulders, “not like those MMO’s that gender-lock everything--oh shit it’s your mum again--”

Nadine said the last few words lightning-fast, trying to separate from Chloe, who only grabbed her tighter, and they both tumbled to the carpet as Leah Frazer walked in.

“What are you doing. Chloe, I swear to God,” the woman said, setting a pitcher of lemonade down by the computer with two glasses. “Stop hitting Ms. Ross. You never grew up.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Oh come off it,” she said. “And get these posters off the walls. It feels like these freaks are about to stab me every time I walk in here.”

“You could have taken them off,” Chloe said, struggling to keep Nadine pinned to the fluffy floor. “Could have made it a nice guest room, chucked all my stuff in the bin--”

“So dramatic,” Leah said, taking her elbow and forcefully pulling her off Nadine. “And immature. Where did you get these cuts?”

She looked at Nadine too, taking her wrist, searching for the scabs that hadn’t quite healed off in the week or two since the end of their adventure in India. Nadine had treated hers, but Chloe’s definitely had worsened. “What were you doing there?”

“Mum, you remember how it was, the mosquitos--” Chloe said.

“Tree branches,” Nadine said tightly.

“--hiking is a--a contact sport--”

“You’re both lying,” Chloe’s mum said. “And to think you brushed it off when I told you about that insurrection. I was watching the news getting worse and worse and you didn’t even call to let me know you were all right, Chloe Frazer.”

The woman headed back to the door, but remembered something, as parents will after having already scolded you, and turned back. “Maybe you can show those photos at the reunion. They’re gorgeous.”

“Mum, I told you, nobody there was on my wavelength.”

Nadine burst out laughing.

A very rare smile came to Leah Frazer’s face. “Well, they usually allow a plus-one...”

#chlodine #chlodineweek #chlodineweek2021 #chloe x nadine #nadine x chloe #uncharted: the lost legacy #neopets saga

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empressofrizalia · 5 years

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Mahou Sensei MSPA-tan! Chapter 2: The Kids of Class 413

[Cross posted on AO3. Also, an important note: Alterra Academy standard uniforms are in the popular preppy style most private schools on Earth have. Tops consist of a long sleeve white button-down shirt and a black blazer with the school logo on the left chest side. Troll students have their signs parallel to the logo on the other side. Ties come in candy red for human students while troll students have theirs in whatever blood color they have. Bottoms are either deep grey skirts for girls, or trousers for boys. Socks must be either white or black with tasteful leather shoes. Dress code rules may not be as strict as they are in other academies, but there will be consequences if the uniform gets so modified that it stops being recognizable.]

You twist the knob and push the door open. The sounds of babbling and activity die out in an instant at the sounds of squeaking door hinges take over. You make a careful step past the threshold, unaware of the forty pairs of eyes staring at you or the mischievous giggles directed at you.

As you open the door a little wider to allow the rest of your body to go further, you hear a faint clatter from above that jolts you on alert. The giggles stop and the kids’ amused expressions turn into surprise. You look up to see a chalkboard eraser hovering just a couple of inches away from your head. Ah, the classic chalk duster trap—the ever popular age-old school prank that no one seems to tire of. You fondly regard it as you remember your SUIT days until you realize that the eraser was still suspended in the air above you. You tilt your head slightly just enough to see the bewildered faces of your students staring. Crapbaskets! You must have used majyyk to keep it from landing on you without realizing it. This doesn’t look good. The most fundamental rule of majyyk was that it was forbidden to reveal it in the presence of anyone who isn’t another mage.

You pull the majyyk back and let the eraser fall. However, you were so concentrated on it that you made a momentary oversight of keeping your gaze up on it. As a result, the dusty board writing correction implement lands square on your face and bouncing off to the floor, chalk dust landing delicately on the surface of your wide open eyeballs.

Holy shit! It stings!!

Your hear a loud chorus of laughter as your hands went to your face on reflex to try and get rid of the dust. “My goodness!” You hear Ms. Maryam’s voice through the din.

You manage to wipe most of the chalk dust from your face and make a tentative step forward and trip over an invisible wire. The next thing you know, something falls onto your head with a loud clang and you’re sent tumbling across the floor. Stopping only after hitting the teacher’s desk at the center of the class front. The laughter grows louder. This must be what Ms. Maryam meant when she told you to be careful. You haven’t even done anything, yet here you are on the floor with some metallic object obscuring your head and face filthy with chalk dust. You must be quite a sight right now. How utterly humiliating. You try your best to blink away your tears; you can’t afford to show any kind of weakness, not in front of your students.

A moment later, the metallic object gets lifted off your head. You look up expecting to see Ms. Maryam, but it was someone else instead.

“Are you alright?” A troll girl with a jade colored streak in her long silky black hair asks you with a genuine concern on her face. She kind of reminds you of a mom. “Oh, you’re just a wriggler.”

You hear more laughing, though this time the rest of the class didn’t join. Strange enough, one of the jokers’ laughter sounded a lot like a series of LOLs—like the internet slang.

Your savior turns to the source of the laughter with righteous anger burning in her eyes on your behalf. “Seriously, Kuprum? Folykl? Of all the pranks you two could come up with—a bucket? In class? Really?!”

“Lololol!” A troll boy with four jagged horns and a pair of fuschia goggles strapped over his strange yellow and purple eyes laughs. “Like how were we supposed to know it ain’t some other shitty adult coming in?” His wide smile shows off a set of saw-like teeth.

“Yeah…” says a troll girl with long greasy terribly unkempt hair and two pairs of horns like Kuprum, only hers jag outward instead of inward like his. She’s sitting awfully close to him. “What’s done. . . is done. . .” Her voice sounds ragged. Not the tired kind of ragged, but rather the weak and sick kind of ragged. “Don’t… get your. . . undies. . . in a twist, Bronya. . . That was. . . funny… as hell. . .”

Your savior, now known as Bronya, started to full on berate the prankster duo. While she got busy, another troll kid, a boy wearing a pair of sunglasses and horns like deer antlers, goes to help you get back on your feet.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a cool rather aloof manner. “A lot of these asshats don’t really have anything better to do with their time.”

“Shut up, Dammek! You were in on it a lot of the time!” says a heavyset troll girl sitting next to a long-haired boy with three pointy horns and a mustard yellow coat in lieu of the school blazer. Her figure is impressively muscular, so much that the sleeves that were supposed to conceal her big buff arms were nonexistent; most likely torn off. “This whole schoolfeeder pranking was your idea to begin with!”

“Anyway…” Dammek ignores her. “Think of it as a rite of passage. Of course, none of the schoolfeeders last very long once we’re done with them. Not even the troll adults could handle us.” He says it like it’s some kind of proud accomplishment.

“The trolls here are a bunch of weaklings, including the highbloods,” a girl with curvy notched horns and three eyes agrees while inspecting her nails. “It’s shameful, really. They wouldn’t last one second if this was Alternia.”

“They’d be taken to the culling fields for a little R and R, lol,” says Kuprum. Rest and relaxation? That doesn’t sound so bad.

“Rampage and rending,” he clarifies. You stand corrected.

“Especially that weirdo with the nubby horns and his lame ass talk about equality and shit.” A few other trolls in the class turn to give him the stink eye. “Lololol! So fucking longwinded about it, too. Like, he never shuts up once he got going. He’s as bad as Galekh, but preachier.” A boy with short curly hair, glasses, and Christmas tree-shaped horns scowled and opened his mouth to object, only to be held back by a tired-looking girl with a mug. “Lol! He’s so full of bullshit, I can’t even—Hrk!”

Kuprum gets cut off abruptly and you see Dammek had taken a tight hold of his uniform necktie and began to choke him with it. You stand around in shock. Dammek had gone from your side to choking his classmate in a blink of an eye.

“Take that back, you asshole,” he says, voice dangerously low. But Kuprum was too busy trying not to die to make a proper reply. Next to him, Folykl is trying to separate the two boys as she cussed out at Dammek, but failing due to her measly strength. Another troll with a pair of simple curved horns grabs hold of Dammek from behind to pull him away. No one else tries to get between them. Some seem content, amused even, at watching them try to go for each other’s throat. Others just preferred not to get involved. Bronya has long since retreated to the side. The look on her face tells you that she wants to stop them, but unsure at how to approach.

This is definitely not how you imagined your first class was going to go. You have to stop them. As the teacher, it’s one of your duties to stop your students from killing each other. You take a step and reach out to try and mediate between the two aggressive young trolls.

“Wrigglers, please! This is not the time for fighting!” Ms. Maryam’s cry beats you to the punch. The class grows silent and still at the sight of the adult jadeblood standing in front of the class. She sighed and rubs her temples, trying to soothe away a growing headache. “Please return to your seats at once. Honestly, this is not the way to greet your new schoolfeeder.”

The class lets out a collective “Huh?” then started looking back and forth between her and you.

“So, um…” A girl with wide horns reaching horns that looked like a cow’s and a twig in her mouth raises a hand. “Ms. Maryam, does this mean ya’ll be schoolfeedin’ us from now on?”

“Oh, no,” Ms. Maryam replies. “I’m only here as an escort. Your real schoolfeeder is right here.”

All eyes follow as the only adult in the room gestures to the only human. When you realize all the attention has shifted towards you, you bat away the remaining chalk dust that clung to your hair and clothes before flashing them a friendly smile and wave. Some of the kids grimace at the sight of your filthy face.

Ms. Maryam smiles at you. “Please introduce yourself to the class.” You nod and take your place at the front and center. You tell them your full name and that from today onwards, you’ll be teaching at this school. You’ll be only here for three terms, but it’s nice to meet everyone.

There was a pregnant pause as they all just stared at you after you finished your introductions. All the while you notice that the classroom had a tier-style seating similar to that of an auditorium or a lecture hall where the seats start off from the ground and go higher like a set of stairs. You silently counted five tier rows, split at the middle by a narrow set of actual stairs with two more additional sets at either side for ease of access. Each row comfortably accommodates four troll kids each.

Oh, man. Just look at all those obvious dress code violations. They’re not even trying to be subtle about it. Or maybe they just don’t care.

You consider maybe handing out demerits or detention slips for violating the school standard dress code, but scrap that plan quickly. Doing so wouldn’t endear you much to your students especially since your botched first impression. Ms. Maryam stands a little bit behind you, ready to intervene in case things start going south.

“Hmm hmm…” You hear a faint titter. “Hmhmhmhmhmhmmhmmhwahahahahaah!!” The tittering grew louder until it turned into a full blown laugh.

“Oh how funny this is. How very droll,” said a three-eyed girl in mirthful mockery. “That human is going to be schoolfeeding us?”

“The other human schoolfeeders barely lasted longer than the adult troll schoolfeeders did,” says the boy with the flashlight horns, one arm on the desk, the other supporting his chin in a daydreaming pose. “It’s kinda sad, really. I would have loved to get to know them a little better. Humans are so fascinating and exotic.” He gives you another flirty wink while he gets weird looks from all adjacent classmates. You nearly blanch.

“Hey! How old are you? You don’t look as old as the other schoolfeeders,” asks a shorter troll boy whose fluffy hair obscured his eyes and seems to be holding a hotdog sandwich. Doesn’t this little guy know that eating in class is a no-no?

You answer his question anyway, being mindful to give your age both in years and sweeps. And to make up for your lousy entrance, you also mentioned your university level knowledge in your subject. Nothing like a little bragging ought to nurse your bruised ego, and maybe to make you look a little less lame than usual.

“So you’re in a similar age as us and are officially qualified to professionally teach a class,” a boy with product-infused hair swooping over one side of his face says as he examined you with a scrutinizing gaze from his seat. “I must say, that’s rather impressive, even on Alternia. Though it’s also pretty obvious that the higher-ups of this schoolfeeding facility are getting desperate and running out of ideas.”

“Kinda makes you wonder if this is all for real,” says a girl with hooked horns and dyed blue hair with an undercut, leaning back on her seat with her boot-clad feet on the desk.

“I assure you that Mx. Reader’s credentials are all valid,” says Ms. Maryam. “Remember, they may be the same age as you, but you must treat them with proper respect as an authority figure, understand?” The class answered her with a chorus of varying but unenthusiastic agreement.

“Alright, now that you’re acquainted, I believe it’s time for class.” The adult jade troll turned to you. “You can take it from here, Mx. Reader.” Oh, okay… She turns and exits the room. Great, now you’re all alone and at the mercy of forty unpredictable alien kids.

You nervously make your way behind the teacher’s desk and set and open textbook upon it. You put on your best professional face. You will not be laughed at again; you’ve got to take this seriously. You tell the class to turn to a specific page of their textbooks and go up to the chalkboard to write something. However, it seems that there has been a bit of an oversight on your part.

You’re too short to reach the top of the board.

Your blush as you hear giggles from behind. You don’t blame them—standing on your tiptoes and stretching your arm up in a useless effort must look really funny. But then, out of nowhere, you feel your stomach clench and your feet leave the ground. You go up and up until you make it to the appropriate height you had been aiming for. This isn’t your doing at all. You’d know if you used majyyk to float, but in the few seconds of that moment, it felt like you just stepped into a strong breeze.

You turn your head slightly and take a glance back at the class. You notice flashes of cyan and blue coming from the troll boy with the coat, which turned out to be coming from his eyes. He’s holding up one hand and you could see his fingertips emit similar colored sparks. You realize that this must be the work of psionics. You’ve learned that some trolls, particularly the ones in the burgundy and gold caste, have powerful psychic powers. Now that you think about it, maybe you’re not the only peculiar one in this school after all.

He notices you looking at him and he gives you a thumbs up with his other hand while smiling. You thank him silently and move on with the lesson. Your heart feels lighter at how easy things are going. The troll kids are nice to you so far. Maybe it has something to do with your age like Ms. Maryam said.

However, as with all good things, your revelry comes to an end when pain strikes the back of your head and you start to fall. You cry out, but quickly catch yourself with a quick floatation spell and make a soft landing back on the floor. You look around and back to the class and at the goldblood kid who catches your gaze and shakes his head in adamant denial. By the looks of it, he is just as surprised as you are and it broke his concentration on you which caused your fall. You turn back around to the board, deciding it was for the best to just keep going like nothing happened. . . until it happens again… twice.

You’re hit with such force that your forehead slams on the chalkboard. The giggles resumed. You step away, rubbing your aching forehead.

“Is there something wrong, teacher?” You hear Bronya ask. You tell her that there are things that keep flying at you. She immediately casts an admonishing look at Kuprum and Folykl, who quickly catch on.

“Don’t… look at us…” says Folykl.

“We already did our share of pranks,” Kuprum follows.

Bronya turns away, begrudgingly deeming them honest. She then leans forward on her seat to look at someone at the far end of her row. “Cirava, did you use your psionics against the schoolfeeder?”

Yet another goldblood troll looks her way with a half-lidded neon green eye at the mention of her name. They had short messy hair that stuck out at different directions. Like the other goldbloods, they had four horns—two of which go straight up and curve a little outward near the top and ended in two pointy prongs. A triangular eyepatch hides and injury in their other eye if the prominent gold veins on that side of their face are to be referenced.

They speak in a relaxed almost sleepy tone. “Nah, my dude. My psionics haven’t worked right since I took out my eye.” You look at them, utterly mortified. How and why would anyone mutilate themselves like that was beyond you.

“I see,” Bronya says in understanding. She then turns around to ask the last remaining psionic kid. The short stocky one sitting next to her wasn’t one despite being also goldblooded, guess not all of them can have super cool powers. “Well, Azdaja?”

Azdaja began shaking his head once more. “I didn’t do it. I was helping, remember?”

Bronya furrowed her brow. “Then who did?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Hey! Leave him alone,” the buff-bodied girl next to him shouted. “Daja didn’t do shit wrong! Calm your rumble spheres, fussyfangs!” Bronya turned away with a huff.

“It’s probably Dammek,” said the girl with the dyed hair. “He’s sorta paranoid so he tends to go around testing people.” Dammek glared her way, upset at being downright outed. “He’s was mostly the reason we had gone through several schoolfeeders befo—Ack!” An unknown projectile hits the side of her head and makes her flinch. She glares back at him, baring her sharp teeth.

“You wanna go, Elwurd?” he asks.

You start to get nervous. You’re really not keen on having another fight in your class. And Ms. Maryam isn’t around this time to help you out.

Ding… dong… dong… ding…

Whew! Saved by the bell. Thank gog. You’re not sure how you would have done should things got out of hand.

You check your watch for the time. It’s high noon, which means it’s lunchtime! The kids get up from their seats and start heading for the door as you gather your things from the teacher’s desk.

You notice something on the floor next to your foot. You bend down and pick it up out of curiosity and look at it closely. It was white with brushes of gray and felt rubbery to the touch. It’s an eraser, or a chunk of an eraser broken off from a larger whole. You think back to several minutes ago, put two and two together and grimace. This tiny thing almost gave you a concussion.

“Hello there~” You hear a suave voice coming from nearby. You turn and see one the flashlight-horned troll boy standing in front of you. You wonder if he needs something.

“I can’t help but realize that you might be all alone during this midday meal hour,” he said, sidling up to you and getting a little too close for comfort. “Have you been given a tour of our fine schoolfeeding facility yet? If not, then I’m more than happy to volunteer. I’ve been around for a while and I know every hidden cranny. I can show them to you if you want, and perhaps get to know each other while we’re at it?” Oh gog, this is just like your Japanese animes—except it’s real and not as romantically exciting as you thought it would be!

“Move aside, Troll Romeo!” Flirtyboy let out a grunt when he was shoved away from you. Thank goodness for that.

“Hey teach, you wanna have lunch with us?” Elwurd presence replaces Romeo’s (is that even his real name?) albeit at a more acceptable distance. “I bet you still got no clue where the nutrition block is in this place. Why don’t you come with me and Cirava and we’ll show you?” Cirava waves at you from their spot a foot away.

You take a moment to ponder on her offer. There wasn’t much time for a grand tour when you and Mr. Vantas stepped out of the airport and quickly got marched to your class. You nod. It would be nice to have company. Fortunately, you needn’t worry about any kind of stigma associated with anything beyond the acceptable student-teacher relationship. You may be the teacher, but it doesn’t take away the fact that you and your students are all about the same age.

Elwurd beams. “Cool! Let’s go.” The two troll girls walk with you on both your sides like a pair of bodyguards. Boy, this day just keeps getting better. The day wasn't over yet and you're already making friends with your students. Was it because your'e a teacher? Ah, who cares? You're happy!

You go ahead and take the first to step out of the classroom.

“Ah, Reader! There you are.” You hear Mr. Vantas’ voice call out to you, and sure enough, there he is coming at you down the hall. And he isn’t alone—there’s another adult troll behind him. She was a lady like Ms. Maryam, though younger and a has a little wild look on her. Her hair was long and a little messy, though you could clearly make out her horns that look like cat ears. Her casual business attire has mostly olive colors.

“Welp, it looks like there some important schoolfeeder biz about to go down,” says Elwurd. “Looks like we’re gonna have to cancel our lunch date. Maybe next time.” She gives you finger-guns and a wink before leaving.

“Later!” Cirava bids, following behind Elwurd. You wave them goodbye.

“Reader, would you care to join us for lunch?” Mr. Vantas asks as he and his friend stop to talk to you. “I know you’re young, but we’re still colleagues. Also, Dolorosa insisted that we invite you along in case you have any questions.”

Dolo—who?”

“Oh, sorry. I meant Ms. Maryam.” Isn’t her name ‘Porrim’?

“It’s more of a title. Like mine is ‘Signless’. It’s… a weird troll thing…” Right.

“Wow, is this the wriggler teacher mew told me about?” asks the lady troll, gaping at you with wide eyes.

“Yes, they are,” Mr. Vantas replies. “Also, maybe if you—”

“Eeeeeeeeeeeee! Mew’re so cute!” The lady troll cried while hugging the life out you with your face pressing on to her chest. Did she just use cat puns?

Mr. Vantas gives her a dry look that goes unnoticed. “I can’t believe a tiny kitten like you is a teacher in our school! Oh-em-gee!” Several students lingering the hall watch with amusement as she goes on to pinching and squishing your cheeks in her alien hands like a lump of toy slime.

Uhh…

“Meulin, please stop. You’re embarrassing them,” Mr. Vantas admonishes her. She pouts a little, but does as he says. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes to you on her behalf. You tell him you’re fine. Hopefully the slight swelling of your abused cheeks would go down in time for your next class. And yes, joining them for lunch sounds like a swell idea. You could ask for pointers in teaching.

“That great! Shall we go then?” You nod and take your place between the two adults like you had with Elwurd and Cirava.

Being the big school Alterra Academy is, there’s no doubt that their facilities like the cafeteria would also be big. Though to you, it isn’t such a big deal. The dining hall at SUIT was just as big. The difference between that and the academy cafteria is the contemporary design versus the old ancient castle look. There are kitchen installations lined along two ends of the facility and some stalls that serve all kinds of food, including Alternian fare. You and your colleagues go and order some food and head to the Staff Lounge where all the other teachers and some other members of the school staff congregate on their breaks to escape from the kids and relax for at least an hour everyday.

“It looks like you’re getting along with Class 413,” Mr. Vantas says after sitting down on a cushy chair. Meulin, or Ms. Leijon the Literary Arts teacher as she introduced herself, sat on another next to him. “How was your first class? Was there any trouble?” You have half a mind to tell him all that happened, but you also didn’t want to come off as whining. So you tell him that it was a success and everyone was so well behaved and nice.

“Whoa, really?” he asks. “That’s new. All the other teachers who tried to handle that class usually ran out crying or furious around the first quarter of class time. I even tried, but…”

Ms. Leijon beside him giggles. “He ended up unleashing a vast expletive at the class after half an hour. It was so loud, some teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms to see what was going on--myself included. After that, he walked out and lamented to Dolorosa what he did.”

“Don’t tell him that, Meulin. The last thing I want is to have Reader get a bad impression of me.” S he stuck her tongue out at him in a playful manner. “I still can’t believe I lost my patience so easily. Perhaps my time at the flogging jut has changed me.” His expression turns somber. Ms. Leijon takes one of his hands in hers and give it a gentle reassuring squeeze. Flogging? Was he involved with shady characters who he got on the bad side of?

“No, nothing like that,” Mr. Vantas says. “Though to the Alternian ruling class, I might as well have. Not that it mattered much since I shouldn’t have lived in the first place.”

How come?

Mr. Vantas looks at you square in the eye. “As you may or may not know, the planet Alternia is ruled by the hemospectrum. Those in the warm end scrounge whatever they can to live by while being under the cruel thumb of the blueblood nobility. Though in every generation of trolls laid by the Mother Grub, there’d be outliers—mutants—who don’t belong anywhere in the hemospectrum. I was one such mutant.”

You raise an eyebrow and your eyes dart back and forth between him and Ms. Leijon. Other than the obvious differences between them due to their genders, you don’t really see anything different about Mr. Vantas… unless, he’s got some weird appendage hiding under his clothes.

“I can tell you’re skeptical, and I don’t blame you,” he continues. “Most mutations are often visible like an extra pair of eyes, or limbs, or whatever else that’s atypical of a certain caste. Any troll grub who hatch with such mutations are often culled to keep the gene pool pure. Though there are cases, such as in goldbloods, where mutations are given a free pass as they are deemed useful by the regime. In my case, however, the mutation is in my blood.”

Why? What’s wrong with his blood? Does he have a disease?

Mr. Vantas gave a low chuckle at your assumptions. “No, it has more to do with the color. You see, rather than a deep rust as dictated by the hemospectrum, my blood is a bright crimson like you humans have. Since it was outside the hemospectrum, it marked me as a mutant and therefore have to be culled. It was only through the kindness of the Dolorosa, my jadeblood mother, that my life was spared. However, in doing so, she had to leave the brooding caverns in order to properly care for me. From then on, we lived as nomads—never staying in any place for too long to avoid the risk getting my blood discovered and culled for it by the highbloods. But as I grew older, I became more aware of the cruel and unjust way of life for lowbloods. I thought to myself, there has to be a better way to live—where all would care for one another regardless of blood. Soon, I began having vision of such a life, and started to spread the word. Before long, I gained followers.”

You nodd in understanding as you listen to him relay his life story to you. So it turns out that the Dolorosa, who is Ms. Maryam, adopted and raised Mr. Vantas who grew up to become some kind of activist.

Though his story was compelling, you have a feeling that it wouldn’t have a happy ending.

“And of course, as with all good things in Alternia, it never meant to last or make a difference. To make an already long story short, word got to the highbloods about my ‘radical’ ideals and deemed it a threat to the system, thus I got captured. I was sentenced to death both as a mutant and a rebel, then tied me up on the flogging jut with burning shackles. I was continuously beaten until my so-called heretical blood was let for all to see. As I faded into unconsciousness, my final thought was that it was finally the end for me; I’d die without having realized my dream. However, after what felt like eons, I found myself waking surrounded by friends and family. I thought I had truly died, but the stinging pain of my wounds told me otherwise. Later, I found out that one of my distant followers started a riot that allowed for our escape from the empire in a stolen battleship.”

At that point, a familiar motherly voice decided to chime in to add her bit. “Finding your planet was something that happened by chance,” she says. “We didn’t know where we were going. All that mattered was to get away from the reaches of the Empire as quickly as possible. There were a few hundred of us cramped in a battleship flying through space. By the time we found Earth, we have exhausted most of our rations.” You look up to see Ms. Maryam standing behind your chair. “Once we realized that the blue and green planet ahead of us was capable of sustaining life, we immediately went full speed ahead and soon crashed. Many of us perished, but thanks to the helpful efforts of a certain human, many were also saved. And the rest, as you humans say, is history.”

Okay, the story did have a happy ending after all. Though you were so preoccupied by the story that you didn’t realize when Ms. Maryam arrived. How long has she been there?

“Just enough to hear Kankri tell you about the aftermath of his failed execution,” she replies, moving to take a seat next to you.

“What took mew so long, Dolorosa? Lunch period is halfway over,” asks Ms. Leijon.

Ms. Maryam gave a little sigh. “Well, I went to invite a certain someone to join us while we get properly acquainted with our new teacher,” she looks at you, “but he seemed to be too absorbed in his work to move. He didn’t seem to be interested on meeting them either, so I let him be. It’s quite a shame.”

Welp, that can’t be helped. You know better than to assume that everyone would be excited or curious enough to see a kid teacher. All that’s left to do is enjoy your now cold lunch with your new colleagues.

“Oh, right. I almost forgot,” Mr. Vantas says while he and Ms. Leijon open up theirs. “Say, while we’re at it, how about you tell us more about how your first class went.”

And so you spent the rest of the hour relishing the company of your fellow educators.

EXTRA

ALTERRA ACADEMY CLASS 413 ROSTER

(SPEAKING ROLES ONLY/NO PARTICULAR ORDER)

Student numbers are in accordance to Troll Call order of introduction + Dammek and Xefros

Name: Bronya Ursama

Student #: 32

Blood Color: Jade

Sign: Virus

Extra-curricular/s: Grubsitters Club, Class President (?)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

~oOo~

Name: Folykl Darane

Student #: 13

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemittarius

Extra-curricular/s: Pranksters’ Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, nonexistent tie, pants rather than skirt, lacking presence of appropriate footwear

Note: Never separate from Kuprum

~oOo~

Name: Kuprum Maxlol

Student #: 14

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemnius

Extra-curricular/s: Prankster’s Gambit Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Unbuttoned blazer, Loose tie, messy untucked shirt

Note: Never separate from Folykl

~oOo~

Name: Dammek ??????

Student #: 1

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurcer

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Middle School Rock Band (Grubbles)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Inappropriate eyewear

~oOo~

Name: Konyyle Okimaw

Student #: 36

Blood Color: Olive

Sign: Lepia

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra MMA Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Torn off sleeves on both blazer and shirt

~oOo~

Name: Ardata Carmia

Student #: 27

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: [Blocked by smudge on page]

Extra-curricular/s: Audio Visual Club, Social Media Streamers Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cape over uniform

~oOo~

Name: Skylla Koriga

Student #: 12

Blood Color: Bronze

Sign: Taurist

Extra-curricular/s: Agriculture Research Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Cowboy boots

~oOo~

Name: Zebruh Codakk

Student #: 34

Blood Color: Indigo

Sign: Sagimino

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Bow tie in place of standard tie, blazer tied around waist, shirt sleeves rolled to elbows

Note: In case of emergency, call the Academy Security Hotline.

~oOo~

Name: Tagora Gorjek

Student #: 26

Blood Color: Teal

Sign: Liga

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Future Business Leaders, Class Treasurer

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Pinstripe pants

Note: If he tries to offer something, politely decline even if in dire need.

~oOo~

Name: ?????? Elwurd

Student #: 21

Blood Color: Cerulean

Sign: Scornius

Extra-curricular/s: Strolling Club

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Skinny jeans and combat boots under skirt

~oOo~

Name: Cirava Hermod

Student #: 25

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemrius

Extra-curricular/s: Vaporwave Appreciation Society

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Disheveled ‘not even trying’ look, gray leggings, inappropriate footwear

~oOo~

Name: Azdaja Knelax

Student #: 35

Blood Color: Gold

Sign: Gemra

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Anime Afficionados Association (A4)

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: Mustard yellow overcoat in lieu of school blazer

~oOo~

Name: Diemen Xicali

Student #: 11

Blood Color: Burgundy

Sign: Arrius

Extra-curricular/s: Alterra Gastronauts

Uniform Discrepancy/ies: None

ALTERRA ACADEMY FACULTY & STAFF DOSSIER

Name: Meulin “The Disciple” Leijon

Age: 15 solar sweeps/33 years

Blood Color: Olive

Occupation: Signless’ most devoted follower/girlfriend, Academy Literature Teacher

Notes:

-Gratuitous cat puns

-Likes to ship even as an adult

-Furiously studies and compares human and troll literature

#fanfic #hiveswap #friendsim #mspa reader #negima au #troll call #ancestors #beta guardians

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paranaturalsecretsanta-blog · 6 years

Text

To Find a Star to Build an Isaac

Hey, @lilypupart! I was your secret santa this year! I hear you and I share a common love of Isaac O'Connor, so I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed working on it! Merry Christmas, and a happy new year! <3

by @iamwhelmed

The day after Thanksgiving was one of the worst days of the year, not only because his parents had demanding (too demanding) jobs and he would almost always be left alone in a large, spacious home– but because it was up to him to put up every Christmas decoration the O’Connor family owned. Now, after seventh grade, Isaac’s powers had given him a bit of leeway with the lights he’d drape over the rims of his roof and the tall tree that stood towering over his driveway, but the actual Christmas tree, the most important spectacle, was still just as difficult as it always had been years previous. Should he try to launch his way up to the top to place the golden star at the tip of the tree with his handy-dandy wind powers, he’d likely launch himself through the ceiling, into the master bedroom above. So, every year, he had to lug the ladder in from the garage, which in and of itself was a feat considering his preteen height and its home atop the large blue cabinets that greeted the family Ferrari when they pulled in. He had to stack empty moving boxes to reach the first step of the ladder, because a hole in the roof of the garage was just as bad as a hole in the living room ceiling.

After that, he’d get to lugging the boxes upon boxes of ornaments down from the attic, where his mother was very stubborn about putting them (“because they might get crushed in the garage”). So, he’d jump up and pull the attic ladder down, climb up, then he’d have to find the right boxes among cobwebs and boxes of old toys he’d outgrown (he’d more than once placed his foot over one of his old roller-skates, and more than once he’d promptly slipped back down the ladder and down the staircase adjacent– the attic was dark). Once he’d located all 5…teen… boxes of ornaments, he’d have to measure out just the right amount of wind to set them delicately upon the lower ground, which still, he guessed, was easier than awkwardly climbing down the ladder with an arm full of fragile orbs.

And then, after all of that was done, and he had the ladder from the garage, and he’d somehow managed to carry all fifteen boxes of ornaments down his staircase without tumbling to his death, he’d be ready to decorate. He’d take every sentimental, hand-me-down ornament and place them along the tree, then he’d be sure to put up the reds and keep them separated from the golds and the blues, and he’d have to be sure to disperse them evenly around all sides of the tree, top-to-bottom. Then, he’d find the time to piece together popcorn on silver lines of string, then drape them over every branch strategically so the lines fell in a swirl from the lowest branch to the highest. And then, he’d fish the star out of whatever box he’d stuck it in the year before, climb the ladder for the final time that late November, and place it on the top of the tree, like a box gifted to the perfectly boxed gift. Afterwards, he could step back and admire his work, enjoy the beauty granted by the twinkling lights adorning the O’Connor Christmas tree; this usually meant grabbing a manga volume, a mug of green tea (with honey and lemon), and plopping down on the couch to watch the sunset, the room growing dark and the tree growing bright.

And then, this year, for whatever reason, he couldn’t find the flipping star.

“But I don’t understand!” Isaac tossed tinsel over his shoulder from one box, then scooched to his left and dug through another. “Where could it have possibly gone? We never put it anywhere else! It has to be in one of these boxes– what the flip!”

He sat there for a good, eh, twelve, maybe thirty minutes scrounging through box after box after box, only to come up empty-handed each and every time. Isaac sat back on his knees, hands reaching up to grab at either side of his head, jaw unlatched.

“No. No no no. This can’t be happening. How did I–? What did I–?” He twisted around to face the staircase. “I must have left a box up there! That’s it! There’s no way I–!”

He raced up the stairs, faster than he was sure he’d ever willed his legs to move before, then climbed up the ladder to the attic fast enough he could have been climbing the wall of a trench. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he was off and grabbing at whatever, tossing Mom’s wedding dress aside, Dad’s old bowling shirt down below, and even the smaller, older glass tank of his pet fish Sasuke; everything that could have been in his way had been moved out of his way thrice times over, and by the time he’d given up, the attic was an unorganized, disastrous mess, and he was pretty sure that tank had shattered at the bottom of the ladder– he’d have to be careful getting down.

Isaac fell to his knees in the dead center of the room, hands folded in his lap, eyes wide as he stared down at… nothing.

“I don’t understand. It should be here. That star is– it’s– it’s the most important part! How could I have lost it? Mom and Dad are gonna kill me!”

He could see it then, their distasteful faces as they walked through the front door to see their Christmas tree woefully incomplete. He could hear himself begging for mercy, feel the leather of his mother’s skirt in his hands as he tugged and pleaded for forgiveness. He could hear Dad huff, and see Mom stick her nose in the air.

“You had one job, Isaac, one!”

“What a disgraceful child we’ve had, dear.”

“Indubitably.”

He screamed, tossing his head back and clenching his fists.

Max cocked an eyebrow when he half-carried himself into the corner store, and even seemed to think for a moment before saying anything– but of course, he still had to say something. It was Max.

“Out black friday shopping?”

Isaac slumped over to the small decorations aisle towards the beginning of the end of the small store, mirroring Max’s raised eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“You look…” Max eyed him up and down, the snorted into his hand. “You just look… different is all.”

Isaac glanced down at himself, finding with mild contempt that one of his pant legs, which was meant to be sitting at his ankle, was instead sitting just below his knee in a bunch, and his jacket sleeve had fallen midway down his arm, and he might’ve been covered in red and blue and gold glitter, if Max could see it from a foot away.

“…Shut up.”

The corner store decoration aisle was about as expansive as one might expect, filled from one end to the other with tins for cookies, stocking stuffers, huge (gigantic) squares of peppermint bark, and wrapping paper, accompanied by a handful of stick-on ribbons. Isaac sighed. It was worth a try.

Max came round the corner, for some reason carrying his scooter, because that wasn’t weird to have on-hand or anything. “What are you looking for?”

Isaac slowly twisted to him, then mimed the shaped of a Christmas tree, pointing to the top of the imaginary shape he’d conjured. Max squinted at him, and he hissed through his teeth. “…star topper.”

“A star? Like, to put on a tree?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear, Max.”

“Wow, geez, somebody’s snippy.” He shrugged, then gestured to the front sliding doors with his thumb. “We don’t have any here, but I think there’s a collection of them down the street at–” Isaac had already run by him by then, leaving nothing but a gust of wind (and a small cloud of glitter, which Max stuck his tongue out at and waved off) in his wake. “Would ya let me finish my flipping sentence? Geez!”

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew black friday was a huge deal, and that adults went nutso bonkers over it every frigging year, but he always figured it extended to half-off widescreen televisions and clothes and collectable figurines– never, in a hundred-million years, did he think it would extend to tree toppers of all things.

Isaac stared blankly, pale-faced, up at the rows and rows all along the aisle that were completely devoid of any and all tree toppers. He blinked, then tilted his head, and tried to speak, but the words just weren’t there.

An employee put to stocking passed him by, cart full of things he needed to be stacking on shelves. He was a gangly teen, with widely-rimmed glasses and an elf hat, which he clearly detested wearing, sitting snugly to the corner of his head. He looked from his cart to Isaac, then to the empty shelves, and whistled. Isaac didn’t respond, just stood there, staring. The employee set another box of “Mister and Misses Clause” salt and pepper shakers on the shelf before taking the cart by its handle and moving forward. “Man, dude, people are nuts.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly.

Five store, three small Christmas Decoration stands, and two gas stations later, Isaac was more than dumbfounded– he was completely, utterly, entirely aghast. Why in the world did everyone in Mayview just– just up and decide they all wanted to spend money on tree toppers? Where did such an inane urge come from? Why would they waste their black friday savings on that when there were bath bombs to be purchased? Mattresses to get warranties on? New cell-phones to purchase and be proud of before inevitably growing tired of it and yearning for the newer model?

No matter what way he looked at it, it made no sense. He’d never known Mayview to go so crazy over stars– lights? Yes. Fake deer for the lawn? Yes. The actual trees to put the stars on? Yes– but never, never had he ever seen the entire city of Mayview go haywire over the flipping star that goes on the tree, the final part, the thing most people have without a doubt.

So he got to thinking. Had it been stolen by some Christmas-star-loving poltergeist? A ghost longing for its favorite holiday? Maybe the entire town wanted stars because they’d all somehow simultaneously decided that their older toppers were boring and old?

Isaac exhaled into his freezing, mittenless hands; he’d forgotten to grab some on his frantic rush out the door. It didn’t really matter why all of Mayview suddenly decided they desperately needed new stars, what mattered is that he was walking home empty-handed, and his parents would no doubt attempt to legally disown him. Christmas had always been his thing, the one thing he could do to impress them, to really wow them and knock them off their feet every year without fail. He’d grow more creative with the lights and reef and light-up Santa each November, and they always seemed to love it more and more and… as much as he did.

And this year, he’d disappoint them.

As it was, he’d felt the entire dispersal of lights in the front yard leading up to their home had been less than ideal, and placing the Santa at the front gate had to be the least good place to put him, in hindsight (he imagined the gate opening and the car rolling in, only for them to unintentionally flatten and pop Santa on their way up the driveway, Santa’s limp, balloon-like body bending further and further back until eventually the smallest bit of spwee would signal the tear of a hole where air could escape). But the tree– the tree had always been where he shined. Somehow he’d manage to make the tree increasingly awe-inspiring with every year that passed. And now? Now, even the tree would be a let-down, and he’d be a disgrace to the O’Connor name.

“Oh, Isaac! You’re home! Want to help your darling mother set the star on the tree?”

He skidded to a halt, nearly forgetting to close the front door behind him. His mom smiled from her place by the ladder leading right up to the tree, blonde curls bouncing as she hopped around in one of his dad’s nightshirts and a pair of fuzzy socks. But what was perhaps the craziest thing about the situation, the closest he’d ever gotten to a Christmas miracle in his thirteen years of life, was the brand-new, white-as-snow star in her hand, every bit as shiny (shinier, even) as the one he’d lost. “Wh– bu– where did you get that star?”

She giggle and waved him over, taking one of his frozen hands in hers and scolding him for a moment about the cold of his skin. She placed the star in his hand and grinned. “Darling, you know how I love those home decor magazines, don’t you? Well, they said that gold stars were out season. White stars are in!”

Isaac blinked, then shook his head in complete confusion. “Wait, hold on, you threw out the old star?”

“It was older than you are, champ.” His dad entered the living room from the archway of their kitchen, careful not to bump into the ladder that took up a quarter of the doorway. He seemed equally as relaxed as his mother, dressed in khakis and an ugly Christmas sweater he was sure his grandmother had knitted for him– complete with light-up reindeer nose. He took a sip of what smelled, from where Isaac stood, like hot cocoa and glanced at Isaac over the rim. “It was time for a change, anyway. That thing was starting to rust over.”

Isaac pointed in the direction of their front door. “Bu-but where’d you get that? I’ve been all over town! I– I couldn’t find tree toppers anywhere!”

His mom laughed through her nose, moving out of the way so he could climb the ladder. He took the invitation and raised one hand to climb, careful not to drop the brand new star on the ground on his way up. “They start selling Christmas decorations in early November, Isaac. You think I’d wait until black friday to buy a tree topper? Please! I’m not a heathen!”

When he reached the top of the ladder, he took a deep breath. A quick glance down, and he saw his mother and father staring back at him, his mother with hands folded under her chin, his father still staring up at him over the rim of his gingerbread man mug. With a smile, he placed the snow white star atop the tree, then pulled back down the ladder to admire his handiwork. His mother set a hand on one of his shoulders, and his father came to set a hand on his other.

The entire room seemed to open up more, and Isaac had to squint, dare he risk being blinded by the twinkling lights of the tree, or the mesmerizing glare of the star.

His father squeezed his shoulder, and his mother giggled to herself. “You’ve outdone yourself this year, dear.” She used her other hand to reach down and pinch his cheek, and had he been in a worse mood, he might have battered her away– but he didn’t. His father pulled away, then padded in his socks over to the archway into the kitchen, gesturing for them to follow.

“I made more than enough hot chocolate for all of us. Don’t make me drink it all myself. I will do it.”

Mom carried on ahead of him, positively giddy in her step, and Isaac was relieved to find his heart was skipping right along with her.

#Max #Isaac #submission #pnatss #paranatural

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shanastoryteller · 7 years

Text

cinderella: redo

so i was watching cinderella while doing my nails and waiting for them to dry which was clearly a Mistake because now i can’t help but think -

the evil stepmother was always evil, okay. say her abuse of her own daughters was different than that of cinderella’s - but it was still abuse. giving them impossible expectations, telling them they were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. and then she gets married, and anastasia and drizella are ecstatic because this man seems kind and warm and maybe just maybe he can temper their mother, maybe with him around she won’t be so cruel. so they’re on their very best behavior in the beginning, they do just as their mother taught - they trot out their best upper court manners in an attempt to get their new stepfather to like them. but it just comes off as cold and snooty and they’re trying, they are, they’re just bad at it. and they see how he is with cinderella, the smiling girl their own age, and they are jealous. they don’t mean to be, they try not to be, they know it isn’t becoming of young ladies. but she gets hugs and kisses and affection and they get rulers slapped on their hands when they reach for desert and sharp jabs to their sides when they slouch and - soon they hate cinderella, not for anything she’s done, but for what she has and they dont

but then her father dies. and it’s all a tumble of things and cinderella is crying and they’ve lost their only chance at escaping their mother’s clutches and it’s terrible. and everything settles and there’s no reason to be jealous anymore but resentment is hard to let go of and they don’t know what to do. they’re only kids too after all. and they’re so terribly bad at comforting people, they can do flowery words and know all the right bows but cinderella is so sad and they just don’t know what to do with that, because they’re supposed to be sisters but they’re not even friends

and slowly but surely their mother starts abusing cinderella, starts making her a maid in her own home, and she’s their mother, what are anastasia and drizella supposed to do? she rules them with an iron fist, and cinderella doesn’t even like them anyway, it’s none of their business.

except one night anastasia crawls into her sister’s bed in the middle of the night and wakes her up. “i was thirsty,” she explains, eyes wide and shiny, and they’re bad at this with other people but drizella has no problems with pulling anastasia into her arms. the younger girl clutches her sister and continues, “i was thirsty and i went down to the kitchen to get some water and - and cinderella is still up! she’s doing the dishes, and she should be asleep, mom is going to make her make breakfast in the morning and -” she cuts herself off with a hiccup and whispers, “it’s not fair.”

“life isn’t fair,” drizella says, echoing one of their mother’s favorite phrases. but her sister is staring at her with wet eyes, and it’s not like their mother is likely to get up before sunrise anyway, she hates waking up, so she pulls herself and anastasia out of bed and off they go.

cinderella hands are cramping and she’s so tired her vision’s gone fuzzy when a hesitant hand touches her shoulder. she whirls around and drizella presses a finger to her lips. she pulls cinderella away from from the sink, and anastasia steps forward, a determined set to her mouth even though washing dishes isn’t something she’s ever done before.

drizella leads her to her bed in the attic, and her mouth turns down at the corners at the state of it all. “stay here,” she whispers to cinderella before darting away and cinderella is too confused and too tired to do anything but collapse face first into her bed. she falls asleep almost instantly, and is awoken briefly by the feeling of something soft and heavy being put over her, and for the first time the chilly draft of the attic can’t reach her and she falls into the first peaceful sleep she’d had since her father died.

she wakes up the next morning, thinking it had to be a dream, but she’s covered by drizella’s comforter instead of her threadbare blanket. she rushes downstairs, certain it’s all been a mistake. but the dishes are done, sparklingly clean if haphazardly stacked. the ashes from the fireplace have been swept, although the bag containing them has been put by the door instead of taken out, and the counters and floors are scrubbed clean, although the bucket of rags is stuck by the sink, because cinderella doubts they know where the trash or laundry goes. there’s even a basket of eggs waiting for her to start breakfast, which means anastasia and drizella hadn’t finished until nearly dawn.

she stands in the middle of the kitchen and cries. it’s the first bit or kindness she’s been shown in so long - and what a show of kindness, from girls she thought hated her, from girls she knows have never cleaned anything in their lives.

she makes breakfast and wipes at her eyes. her stepmother comes down to eat, but drizella and anastasia brush past them, dressed to go out, and cinderella immediately focuses on the gloves they’re wearing, a fashion statement they don’t normally make. it’s likely to hide the red, blistered hands they must have from cleaning. “we’re going to town,” drizella says imperiously, nose turned up, “we’ll be back for lunch.”

they’re too young to go to town on their own, cinderella thinks, drizella is her age, not even fourteen yet, and anastasia is only twelve.

“very well,” her stepmother says, clutching her tea and not fully awake. “do try not to get lost this time.”

cinderella doesn’t think that’s very fair, because the roads here are very windy and narrow and it’s not like a city, where everything is all neatly planned. many people get lost here. but the sisters don’t flinch, only say, “yes, mother,” and are out the door.

cinderella spends the day gardening, the sun hot and eventually painful. she’s desperate to ask the sisters about what they did, but she doesn’t want to risk it. it was probably just a fluke, a moment of pity that isn’t likely to be repeated. still. it’s not a moment she’s likely to forget.

she drags herself to her room, dishes undone but garden finished by the light of the moon, and decides she’ll wake up early to do them instead of staying up even later.

but when she enters her room, the breath leaves her lungs and she’s suddenly wide awake. drizella’s comforter is gone, but in it’s place is a thick quilt and new pillows and she takes trembling steps closer and lifts back the quilt to reveal soft, clean sheets that don’t have any holes or stains. she was just going to collapse into bed but it’s all too new and clean to ruin with her dirt covered body, so she cleans herself as quickly as she can, cold water and a rough cloth, but she’s so desperate to get into the bed that suddenly looks so inviting.

she wakes up early, more refreshed and energized than she’s felt in a long time, and goes downstairs. but she freezes at the bottom of the stairs, because she can see drizella and anastasia standing side by side at the sink, talking softly as they clean yesterday’s dishes.

she wants to go to them, thank them, ask them why they’re doing this. but she’s afraid that it’s like a spell, that if she acknowledges it that they’ll deny it and take it all back, she’ll be right where she started. so she carefully steps back up the stairs and goes back to bed, grabs another precious hour of sleep and then comes back down at the normal time. the dishes are done and the eggs have been gathered.

anastasia likes this, it feels like a secret, and she’s never had a fun secret before. the chores aren’t as fun, but she does them with drizella, laughing and talking together, so that makes it okay. when cinderella does them, she does them alone, and that makes her sad.

“she’s smaller than me right?” anastasia asks, “do you think my old dresses would fit her? we can’t get her new ones, we spent all our pocket money getting the bed stuff last week.”

“and mom would be suspicious if we asked for more,” drizella agrees, frowning, “but she’ll also recognize anything of ours we give to her.”

“oh,” anastasia says, “that’s true.” they’re silent for a moment, then she says, “what if - what if we use my dresses to make - different dresses? plainer ones, ones mom won’t recognize.”

drizella pauses in scrubbing the countertop, considering it. “we can’t sew.”

“but the seamstress can!” she enthuses, and regrets it the second it comes out of her mouth because their mother would snap at her for stating the obvious and call it a waste of air, but drizella only nods for her to continue. “she can do it. and - and we don’t have any money. but you’re really good at embroidery, maybe we can trade?”

“i’m not good at embroidery,” drizella tilts her head to the side, confused, “i’ll mess it up and then we’ll end up owing the seamstress even more.”

“you are,” anastasia insists stubbornly, “i know mom says - but i’ve seen other girls’ okay, and you’re good. really good.”

drizella shrugs, non committal, and anastasia doesn’t push. but she digs out a half dozen of her old dresses that she doesn’t wear anymore, just in case, and tucks away a grin when they disappear and a skirt with delicate, intricate flowers at the border takes it place.

this is another thing they have to hide from their mother, so for a week straight anastasia does the chores alone while drizella sits at the kitchen table and embroiders by candlelight. they’re both exhausted and drizella’s fingers are sore and bloody, but the seamstress is delighted with the work and happily hands over the two dresses made to plain and boring, and four skirts and shirts that she salvaged from the rest of them. “this was a bargain,” the seamstress says when they thank her, marveling over the perfect flowers her sister had done, “you ever want to make a trade again, you let me know. or if you want some side work. i could use hands like yours.”

and this is something their mother would consider to be “below their station” but anastasia sees the way her sister lights up at the praise, and it becomes a thing, whenever the seamstress needs some complicated embroidery done she calls on drizella, who does it not in the bright light of day, but by candlight in the dead of night.

they leave the new clothes for her that night as soon as their mother goes to bed. they’re just leaving when cinderella steps inside, face smudged with ash from cleaning out the fireplace. the girls stare at each other for a moment, each of them terrified to make the first move, but the sisters’ manners kick in first and they give a shallow curtsy and murmur “cinderella.”

she doesn’t say anything, still staring with wide eyes. anastasia blurts, “we’re sorry for going into your room without not asking. but we got you some new clothes.” she points to the parcels on the bed and then wilts a little, “well, not new new. they’re my old dresses, but the seamstress in town spruced them up. or down, really, because we didn’t want mom to know. but they don’t have any rips or stains or anything! so. yeah,” she finishes lamely, and drizella is so tense next to her that she fears her sister is going to snap in two and her face is so hot she has to be bright red, and she regrets everything, they never should have gotten out of bed that night, cinderella is going to laugh at them and call them stupid and -

cinderella throws herself on them, a skinny arm around each of their necks and sobs into their shoulders. “thank you,” she says, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

and they fold their arms around her, cautious, but when she only cries harder it’s easy for them to pull her close and not let go.

so that’s how they play the game for the next five years, until they’re nineteen. anastasia and drizella get up in the middle of the night to do the dishes and mop the floors and clean the kitchen and clear out the fireplace and gather the eggs for breakfast. they go to bed right before cinderella gets up and sleep for a few more hours until she wakes them up for breakfast.

they keep giving her things, stuff they get at the market and their own things that they think their mother won’t notice, and slowly and surely cinderella’s room becomes a place that’s comfortable and pretty instead of depressing, and her wardrobe goes from rags to simply plain, and the sisters fret that it’s not enough, that it’s not fair, but their mother is a hawk and a tyrant and they don’t know what more they can do.

cinderella says it’s enough. sure her stepmother orders her around, but she also ignores her. she aches to defend drizella and anastasia against her harsh words and constant criticisms, but she knows it’s no use. they’re all stuck under her step mother’s thumb. but she does her best, compliments drizella’s needlework and tells her she’s clever, smuggles anastasia her favorite sweet buns after their mother forbids them because she thinks anastasia is getting fat.

she may be only a servant in her own home, but she’s also invisible. when it comes to her stepmother, invisible is the best thing to be.

then the ball is announced. no one is under any illusions about what stepmother will allow, and drizella and anastasia are upset but cinderella shrugs it off and tells them to have fun for her instead. but that’s not good enough for them, so they go to the seamstress and strike a deal, and drizella spends the time until the ball up to her eyeballs in embroidery. anastasia slips out to the baker’s, her favorite place, and to the baker’s apprentice, a kind boy with a wide smile an stub nose, and asks him a favor. he agrees, eye twinkling, and asks for nothing in return. anastasia leaves before she can get any more flustered.

so on the day of the ball the sisters and their mother ride off in the carriage. not ten minutes later there’s a knock on the door. she opens it to the baker’s apprentice, grinning and holding out a box. “special delivery to one miss cinderella.”

she takes it, confused, and opens it. she gasps and takes the gown out. it’s gorgeous and sparkles like thousands of diamonds, and it looks more expensive than either of the gowns her sisters were wearing. “how?” she demands, wide eyed.

“drizella did a lot of embroidery for the ball, apparently,” he says, “so the seemstress made you a dress equal to that work.” he holds out his hand, a pair of glass slippers on his fingers, “here, these were my mother’s. i don’t know if they’ll fit, but when i saw the dress i knew they had to go together.”

“your mother’s?” she gasps, “oh no, i couldn’t -”

“i’m never going to wear them,” he says practically, “besides, i know it will make anastasia happy. so. please, take them.”

“thank you,” she whispers, accepting the slippers.

he beams and says, “now hurry up and get dressed. i have deliveries to make after dropping you off,” and she looks out the door and the baker’s cart is outside and she beams and gets dressed and made up as quickly as she can, using her sisters’ make up because she knows they won’t mind, and is delivered to the ball.

and it goes just like it does, she meets the prince and they fall in love, and she has to run away to avoid getting caught by her stepmother. her sisters sneak up to her attic when they get home and demand she tell them everything, and they stay up gossiping and talking and she thanks them over and over again for the dress and for this one night they all feel like normal girls

her stepmother discovers part of what happened and locks her up, but anastasia finds a guard who finds another guard who finds one of the royal servants who knows a duke who gets her an audience with the prince, and she tells him everything. so the prince goes marching to their home and frees cinderella and asks her to marry him.

she agrees and she’s about to leave with him when she - stops. and looks at drizella and anastasia and then she turns to the prince and says, “that woman is not my mother, but those girls are my sisters. please can - please?”

and he smiles and looks at them and winks at anastasia and says, “but of course.”

and so the sisters move into the palace with cinderella and their stepmother gets nothing. they teach cinderella how to act in court, how to bow and curtsy and the right thing to say, how to know when someone hates you by the way they smile. drizella becomes a master seamstress in her own right with a particular talent for embroidery, and is eventually persuaded to marry a duke who is head over heels in love with her and whom she likes very much and thinks she could grow to love. anastasia marries the baker’s apprentice who becomes the baker and she’s pregnant almost immediately and is delighted by it. they plan to have at least three more.

and they all live happily ever after.

#my fic #disney #cinderella #jesus christ this was long #i didn't plan that #i never do honestly #on the bright side my nails are dry now #fandom ficcery #retold fairytales

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