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starlessea · 3 years

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Eye For Detail (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Sequel to Sketchbook Confessions

Summary: You try to sketch Daryl in return. Except, you draw his smile a little crooked, and the eyes are wonky... And Daryl completely loves it.

Words: 2490

Warnings: Language.

The courtyard was still and quiet, free from the dinner-time rowdiness going on behind prison walls. Well, it was almost quiet; Daryl's scribbling over paper sounded out faintly beside you, as you watched him work. At first, he'd been opposed to the idea of company, but after a while it has become almost like a weekly tradition - in which you'd both bask in the comfortable silence together. You'd even started to bring your own notepad, in your attempts to learn how to sketch from the man.

At first, your drawings were anything but good. Sometimes, even you couldn't tell whether you'd drawn a landscape or a strange, abstract fruit bowl. Yet, Daryl was a good teacher. Where he lacked patience normally, it seemed like he had ample to spare with you. He'd shown you how to use the different charcoals, and had even come back with more art supplies after his latest run.

It was coming up to dusk, and the sky was a brilliant mix of blue and grey hues. There were clouds gathering overhead, too, and you wondered whether there was a storm brewing behind them. Your notepad remained closed over your lap, since you still hadn't gathered the confidence to open it yet. Daryl hadn't noticed, however - too absorbed in his own work to pick up on the way you tentatively thumbed over the spine of your book.

"I tried to draw a person the other day," you finally admitted, "I don't know how you do it."

Daryl stopped what he was doing, rubbing circular motions over the paper to try and blend out his charcoal lines. He looked over at you, and you laughed gently at the black fingerprints littering his cheeks.

"Who was it?" he mumbled, eyeing you as you gathered your sleeve over your hand.

You shuffled over to the man slightly, and used the material to wipe away the charcoal stains over his skin, feeling him squirm slightly beneath your touch as you did so.

"It was you," you told him, and finally he kept still.

His stare bore into you, and suddenly it felt as though you'd been set on fire. You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, and edged away from Daryl as soon as you'd finished cleaning him up.

You cleared your throat, trying to think of an excuse you knew he wouldn't believe. You sighed, knowing it was no use.

"Well, it was a poor attempt at Daryl," you confessed, glancing down at your sketchbook sheepishly. "Maybe a Darren at best."

You'd expected him to laugh at your joke, but he didn't. Instead, he seemed intrigued. He closed his own notepad, and you worried about whether the charcoal would smudge.

"Show me." Daryl said softly, his eyes flickering over to your lap.

You bit your lip, wiping off the cover of your sketchbook before opening it.

"Don't laugh," you warned him, shaking your head slightly.

You didn't think that he would, but you suddenly felt self-conscious. You'd drawn the portrait in your cell a few nights ago when you couldn't sleep - with the page illuminated by soft lamp-light. You remembered the feeling of the linen sheets beneath you as you sprawled out over your mattress, trying your best to shade the stubborn parts. You had tried - really you had. Except, you'd discovered that art came more naturally to some than others.

"Your eyes are crooked, and I drew your nose too big." you grimaced, settling your gaze over the portrait as you inspected its faults. "I'm sorry."

In natural lighting, it looked a lot worse than you had remembered. You tried to snap the book closed, but Daryl's palm prevented you from doing so. He was silent, and you watched his eyes slowly trail over the paper, taking in all of the details.

"Fine, you can laugh," you exclaimed, overwhelmed by his lack of response. "Okay, just say something-"

"Can I keep this?" Daryl interrupted, glancing up to meet your eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. It took a few seconds to comprehend his words, before you finally shook your head a little too quickly.

"No!" you cried, trying to snatch the book from his grasp. "I can draw you a better one."

Daryl didn't give up his grip, and only shook his head back at you in return.

"Nah, I wan' this one."

Any argument you had bubbling up was quickly quelled when you caught sight of his expression. He seemed deadly serious, and you felt your own fingers loosen over the sketchpad as a result. The man slipped it away from you, and brought the book onto his own lap, continuing to look over it.

"But it's bad," you retorted, weakly.

You knew you had lost at this point. You had learned your stubbornness from Daryl himself, after all. The man never was one to know when to back down.

The courtyard seemed a lot darker than it had only a few minutes ago. The clouds had gathered to be more dense and thick, and blocked out the remaining light left over from the setting sun. It would be hard to keep drawing like this, you thought - yet, Daryl seemed more preoccupied now.

"E'eryone gotta start somewhere" he told you, "an' I don' want ya to throw it out."

You watched as he trailed his charcoal-stained, calloused fingers along the page - careful not to leave any marks over the pristine, white paper. Even your sketchbooks looked worlds apart from one another. Yours was neat, each drawing labelled, and your lines clean; Daryl's was a collection of blackened fingerprints alongside scrawled handwriting, and the occasional crumpled page.

"Shoulda seen my first drawings," Daryl went on, looking out towards the field, and at the forest behind it. "Merle found one when I was a kid an' told me it was a shit donkey."

You cocked your head to the side, listening to him.

"Was meant to be superman," he explained, with an expression far too serious for his words.

You snorted, and the man whipped his head over to scowl at you.

"I'm sorry-" you choked out, not missing the way his lips quivered as they fought back a smile of his own. "I must have swallowed a bug."

Not long after that, the feeling in your gut turned out to be right. The storm clouds had finished gathering, and soon the first droplet of rain landed over your paper - smudging the line you'd just drawn. You glanced over at Daryl, but before he'd even had time to reply, the downpour started. It went from a single raindrop to a raging storm in a matter of seconds, leaving you both scrambling to collect the strewn sheets of paper and charcoal pieces trembling over the ground. With your supplies bundled up in your arms, the two of you ran towards the cellblock - yelling through the sounds of the rain along the way.

Once you had reached Daryl's cell, you were soaked through. The man had dragged you there since it was closer, but it hardly made a difference. Your shirt was stuck to your skin, and you were left clutching soggy handfuls of paper - bleeding ink over Daryl's stone floor. He helped you set down the supplies onto his desk, gathering up whatever was salvageable, and throwing the rest away. Luckily, most of the pastels and charcoals had been kept safe, but a lot of loose sheets had been sacrificed to the greater good in the process.

You laughed, taking in the sight of the man. His hair stuck damply to his forehead, and you watched as stray droplets ran over his cheeks. He quickly glanced around the room and retrieved one of his shirts, before offering it to you. You took it from him and smiled, waiting for Daryl to turn his back on you before starting to change.

"Looks like the weather had other plans," you noted, pulling the dry shirt over your head. "At least it washed away that god awful drawing I did of you."

You untucked your hair from the collar, and smoothed out the material over your body. Behind you, you heard the sound of a zip, and peered over your shoulder to see Daryl taking off his own leather jacket. As he did so, you noticed that he'd been concealing something beneath it, and squinted to try and make out what it was.

"Looks jus' fine to me," the man mumbled, holding up the dry piece of paper for you to see.

You scoffed; he'd stuffed your drawing there to keep it safe. You couldn't prevent the smile spreading over your face as you looked at him in disbelief. He gave you a teasing smirk back, before setting the picture carefully onto his desk with the others.

"Y'know," Daryl said quietly, "s'a lot easier to draw from real life."

You glanced over at your drawing, knowing what he was getting at. You were acutely aware of its flaws, but you just didn't have the experience to know how to fix them yet.

"I know what you look like," you quipped back.

It was the truth. Perhaps you even knew a little too well.

"Mhm," he hummed back, before walking over to where you were standing.

You could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe you. One of the first things he'd taught you was that there could never truly be a good enough replacement for the real thing. Though, you had to disagree. You felt like you knew exactly how Daryl Dixon looked - you just couldn't translate it to paper.

The man stopped directly in front of you, so close that you could see his chest rising and falling. He lifted one hand slowly, tentatively even, so that you didn't get scared by his actions. Then, he hovered his palm gently over your eyelids, flicking them shut so that your world went dark.

"What colour are m'eyes?" he asked.

His hand was cold over your face, from where the rain had soaked his skin. You knew that he was trying to teach you a lesson, but you thought that perhaps you'd use the opportunity to teach him one back.

"Blue," you answered, without hesitation.

You desperately wanted to see the man's expression, but all you could do was imagine it.

"An' what-" Daryl continued, but you cut him off.

"A greyish blue," you went on, not entirely satisfied with your answer. "Like the colour of the sky before a storm."

Daryl removed his hand from over your eyes, but you kept them shut. Your fingertips brushed over the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, and you felt like you could picture the way it looked in your mind just from the texture of the material.

"Your hair is brown. The same shade as that desk near your bed," you told him, pointing in the direction you remembered it to be. "And it falls just above your neck, and is slightly curly at the ends." You laughed, considering your next words. "Especially just after you wash it."

Daryl remained silent, and you tried to picture the type of look he had in his eyes. You thought that perhaps you should stop, that you'd made your point clear - but you were in too deep to turn back now.

"And you have two moles," you said quietly - and wondered whether he had heard your voice tremble, too.

You reached out your hand slowly, trying to find the other man. Your palm made contact with his chest, and you let your fingertips trail up until you reached his neck, and then his face.

"One by your nose," you told him, resting your palm over his cheek, "and the other near your lip."

You tried to find it, but your thumb accidentally brushed over his lip, instead. Your heart jumped in your chest, and your eyes flickered open unintentionally.

"I'm sorry-" you blurted out, but the words tapered off as you noticed Daryl's stare.

The man stood perfectly still in front of you, letting your hand rest over his cold, damp skin. You quickly pulled away, glancing off to the side nervously. Though, the both of you knew that you'd gone too far to make any poor excuses now. You'd passed a boundary, but you couldn't say that you wanted to take a step back, either.

"Tha's one eye for detail ya got," Daryl said, after a few seconds had gone by.

You shook your head. "Only when it comes to you," you admitted.

Daryl looked off to the side, and then back, but you continued before he had the chance to interrupt.

"I know I'm not the best artist, but I wanted to show you how you look through my eyes, too."

Daryl raised his hand again, but this time it wasn't to block out your sight. Instead, he just rested his palm softly over your cheek - and despite how cold it was, you leant into his touch.

"Ya jus' did," he said, and gave you a small smile.

You could still hear the storm outside, as the occasional breeze whistled its way past the cracks of the cell block, or made the tree branches batter up against the windows. Sometimes, the draft even made those loose sheets flutter over the desk, in a kind of muffled, paper applause.

"Maybe I should just swap out pencils for words," you told the man. "They seem to do the job better."

He nodded in agreement, letting his hand drop back down to his side.

"Hey, Daryl?" you asked, but you already had his full attention.

"Mhm."

You decided to put your words into practice straight away, so that you wouldn't forget exactly how you felt in this moment.

"You mean a lot to me," you admitted, "in a way I don't think I'd ever be able to describe."

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, and you wished to have the talent to capture that expression with pencil and charcoal one day.

"But I still wanted to try," you finished, and waited for his response.

Except, Daryl wasn't a man of words - and he reminded you of that as he reached for his sketchbook. His fingers were still damp, and you watched as they left watery prints over the pages as he flicked through them. He finally stopped once he reached the last one, showing you his latest sketch.

It was stained with raindrops that hadn't dried yet, from where the storm had first broken out and Daryl hadn't reacted quick enough. Yet, even though it was a little smudged and wrinkled, you could still make out that it was you - from where you had been sitting right next to him in that courtyard.

The man set the book down so that the page remained open on his desk, and picked up the other loose-sheet drawing that you'd done of him - and placed them together.

"Me too," Daryl said.

And that was all you needed to hear.

Feedback is always welcomed; I love hearing what you all think - so feel free to comment, send in an ask, or just message me if you want to chat!

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A/N AHH. I just loved this 2 part story.

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sleekervae · 3 years

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The Neighbour [1.6]

Masterlist

Trigger Warning: fluff, just lots of fluff, and Emerson being a cranky bitch in the morning 😅

Water spattered across the ground, collecting soap suds and bubbles and taking it down the brief journey to the waterfall down the sewer grate. Remington gripped the nozzle of the hose, grumbling to himself when he saw sparing spots of dirt left in the crevices of his car wheels. He squeezed the spring on the hose, unleashing another blast of cold water that ricocheted off the metal and splattered over Eva while she relathered the mitt in the soap bucket.

"Hey!" she nearly jumped out of her skin from the shock, and despite the heat the cold wasn't a welcomed surprise.

"Sorry, babe," Remington chuckled sheepishly, continued to spray down the tires and aiming the nozzle away from Eva, "I didn't think getting dirt off tires was going to be a chore in itself,"

Eva shrugged, wiping the droplets off her skin and she started lathering the roof of his 69 Mustang with the wash mitt, "Well, you wanted to try hand-washing the car instead of... you know... taking it to a car wash," she pointed out, "The big spinny brushes and rollers make it look easy,"

"But this is a classic car!" he replied, "All the experts say you have to hand-wash classic cars. They're too delicate for the big machinery. Besides, this is a fun summer thing to do; wash a car on our own,"

Eva smirked, "You also just like seeing me in a bathing suit. That's why you asked for my help, right?"

"Obviously," Remington nodded with a smirk of his own, "But you didn't get the memo," he motioned to her grey t-shirt and shorts.

"Well, why aren't you in a bathing suit, then?" she asked, pressing against the driver door to reach the middle of the roof.

Remington glanced at his own muscle tee and shorts, shrugging nonchalantly, "These are my swim shorts. Would it make you feel better if I took my shirt off?"

Eva rolled her eyes, "Wash the dirt out of the tires, Rem," she shook her head, grinning regardless.

He did as he was told for a brief moment, waiting until Eva came back around with the bucket before "accidentally" splashing her with the water. She froze at the impact, the mitt splattering across the ground and her jaw fell open from the shock. Remington feigned innocence, tittering under his breath.

Annoyed, Eva grabbed the soapy mitt and tried to whack him with it in retaliation, sparking an all out water fight between them. More water splashed across the road and the soap bucket was within an inch of its life from being knocked over, and the echo of their laughter carried through the normally quiet and distant neighbourhood.

A woman a few houses over had popped out to hang her laundry on her clothes line, and upon hearing the commotion glanced down the street, in shock and awe to find a young couple goofing off with a hose and a soap mitt. She smiled with endearment, the infectious and overwhelming joy the two of them radiated was something that was definitely missing from this tragic year.

Remington dropped his hose and made a grab for Eva, sweeping her off her feet and placing her on the hood of the car. Her excitement had drained into quiet, nervous giggles, her hair and clothes near fully soaked in water, and surely he looked just as much of a mess as she did. He brushed her wet hair from her face with his cold fingers, her lips still radiating warmth as he kissed her, neither of them caring that they were packing the PDA.

"You bitch, I just washed my hair," she chuckled against his lips, trying to feign annoyance and failing miserably.

He smirked in that devilish manner that he knew drove her wild, "I'll just have to clean you up,"

There was a sudden loud scraping noise, and from the front window upstairs Emerson stuck his head out, clearly having just rolled out of bed as his hair was a messy nest and his eyes were heavy.

"Hey!" he called down to them, "You're supposed to be washing the car! Not each other!"

Remington glared up at him, "Well, that's going to come after!" he called back.

"Rem!" Eva smacked his chest.

"Did you just wake up?" Remington asked his brother, "It's after eleven!"

"Why are you surprised at this point? You should be worried if I don't sleep in," Emerson rolled his eyes, "Just don't have sex on the car! We don't want to be those neighbours,"

Eva's face went bright red, "Go back to bed, Emerson!"

The younger drummer shrugged, going to close his window, "You don't have to tell me twice,"

Remington just shook his head as the bedroom window was shut and the curtains drawn, "That kid sleeps more than a fucking koala,"

Eva chuckled as she jumped back onto the road, "Well, c'mon. Break time's over and the tires won't clean themselves,"

The Mustang was finally cleaned -- and Remington made good on his promise to help Eva "clean" up. It went without saying that Eva was a little more open to shower sex after that afternoon. She finished tying back her wet hair into a short ponytail, blushing in the mirror when she saw the faint discoloration spots on her neck. It wasn't just the hickeys that put her in a good mood, it was the sparkle in her eyes, the flush in her chest, the all around happiness that exuded through her from the folds of her ears to the ends of her toes.

Her phone began to vibrate on the counter where she'd left it, and she rolled her eyes once again when she saw the Blocked Caller ID pop up. She declined the call.

Her bare feet swept across the cold hardwood floor as she ventured back into the bedroom. Remington was sat on his bed, his guitar in his lap and his phone by his leg. The curtains were drawn back, letting in a beautiful hue of natural blue and white light that filled the atmosphere. When he heard her just outside his door, Remington quickly closed the Notes app on his phone and shoved it under his leg.

Eva sauntered in, glowing as she usual in her now dried shorts and top that had tumbled in the dryer earlier. She took a brief glance out the window, smiling at the sparkling visage of the 69 Mustang on the boulevard.

"Sick ride," she commented.

Remington grinned, "You'd think it was cleaned by professionals," he replied, shifting over as she came to sit beside him. He smelled of his rich shower gel and shampoo, the pink now fading in his ever growing hair, unspiked and swooping just over his forehead. She reached up to run her fingers through the back, scratching gently at his scalp and he closed his eyes and leant into her touch.

"It's getting longer," she smiled warmly.

"I think I'm gonna' grow it out," he said, brushing his own finger through the front, "Last time I had long hair, the school made me cut it off or they'd kick me out,"

Eva rolled her eyes, "Let me guess, you went to Catholic school,"

"Christian. But close enough," he nodded, "How do you feel about vampires with long hair?"

"The same way I feel about vampires with pink hair," she said, reaching up to kiss the tip of his nose.

Remington brushed his fingers through her own hair, the ends coming to stop at the edge of her jaw, "Would you ever grow your hair out?" he asked.

Eva shrugged, "Maybe. But I like it shorter, anyway. It's easier," and she glanced over at the guitar, quick to change the subject, "What are you working on?"

"Just practicing," he plucked dully at the tight strings.

"No new songs?"

"Not yet," meanwhile, the phone under his leg seemed to burn a hole through his shorts, "You ever play the guitar?" and she shook her head, "You want to learn?"

"Sure," she smiled. Remington sat up against the headboard, moving the guitar so she could sit comfortably in his lap. Resting the guitar on her crossed legs, Remington placed his hands over Eva's, kissing her shoulder briefly and he started running through basic chords.

By the better part of half an hour, Eva had the novice knowledge to play the chorus to Ma Chérie. She played with admirability, despite the growing pain of blisters on her fingers. And she certainly wasn't as skilled at Remington or Sebastian, drawing out wonky melodies with frequent pauses in between. Remington found her all the more adorable with every whispered curse that flew out from her lips when she messed up or missed a note.

"You make it look too easy," she whined, pouting as she set the guitar down.

Remington chuckled as she moved out of his lap, curling up on the pillow and staring up at him with her big blue eyes, "You giving up?" he asked teasingly.

"I don't give up," she replied, "I just bitch and complain until I'm motivated enough to try again,"

"Just let me know when you want to try again," he smirked as he pulled the guitar back into his lap, strumming a random chord before glancing at her jovially, "Any requests, my darling?"

She shrugged as she thought it through, tucking her knees to her chest with a giddy smile, "I want you to play me the most romantic Palaye song you can think of," she decided.

"And here I was about to tear into Massacre," he chuckled again, not having to think on the request hard as the perfect song came to mind. Eva watched with intrigue as he readjusted the guitar and the soft twanging melodies drifted from the pass of his fingers over the strings, clearing his throat as he sang in time with the gentle, familiar tune of Stay.

And Eva couldn't have picked a better song.

"I see you for what you are

It's something in your eyes That look past my scars So where do you go when you leave in the night?

'Cause I see those teary eyes"

She stayed still as a stone, just listening, feeling, get lost in his baritone that struck her ears and whittled into her bones, shuddering against the cage of her heart. Her eyes climbed the expanse of his chest exposed by his unzipped hoodie, tracing the ink of his tattoos as sure as she would with her fingers, memorizing him from the drawl in his voice to the small dips in his muscle.

"I am the only hope for you

You are the only hope for me too I just wanted you I just wanted you

So stay this time

So stay This time

This time"

Remington couldn't bring himself to look at her while he sang. He had done it before, at the album party, in the car, he had sung to her plenty of times. This felt different somehow, the promise of a song he wrote well over a year ago striking an important chord with him. Just being with Eva felt like hope, like he had certainty that he would never have to stray back into the dark places his mind would burrow so long as he was drawn to her light. As long as she would stay with him.

Eva lifted her head from the pillow, watching him with those stormy blue eyes and that stunning smile that made his heart rattle within his chest. The music went quiet as they locked eyes, the guitar forgotten entirely as he pulled her into his lap and caught her in a searing kiss, her fingers twisting in his hair and her lips tasting of her sweet lip balm. He could never let her go, for surely he would never be the same if he lost her. And when he pulled back to stare into those beautiful big eyes of her, the adoration, the sheer love reflecting back was enough for Remington to know that she wasn't going anywhere.

They belonged to each other...

#palaye royale #Palaye Royale fic #Palaye Royale imagine #palaye positivity #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #stay #the bastards #fluff #fluffy #boy bands #emo boys #band imagines #band imagine blog #band blog #original story #original female character

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oliviaischillin1204 · 4 years

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extra credit

Thanks for agreeing to be my canvas today, hun. I know it’s super last minute, but I’m pretty much certain I failed the written final, so this extra credit is all I can do to pass the class.

Yeah, I was worried about your little sensitivity problem, too. Obviously you could never handle the feeling of soft, silky brushes tracing shapes and delicate outlines on most parts of your body— your tummy, sides, neck, legs, feet, and basically any body part that would make a good canvas is way, way too ticklish for that. Aw, look at your blushy face. Well, it’s true, isn’t it?

But this is a great solution I came up with! Lying on your tummy gives me full access to your entire back; it’s not just great as a canvas, but it’s also great because you can’t be ticklish there. It’s perfect!

I’m gonna tie your arms and legs to the bed frame, if that’s okay? I just don’t want you accidentally shifting too much. Wow, your face got even redder now that you’re spread eagle. Is it because of the memories you relate to being in this position? All those times you’ve been tied up like that, tummy-up of course, while I made sure to stroke and scratch at every inch of your beautifully ticklish skin? Haha, look at how squirmy you are now. I’m not even touching you!

Oh, gosh, we’ve only got a few hours until the deadline. Calm down now; we have to get started. I’m gonna take this wide brush to do a base layer of white paint first, from the top of your shoulder blades to the small of your back. It might be cold.

Alright, this is gonna look great! I’ve got to go slowly to make sure it doesn’t streak. I’ve got such a great idea for what I’m gonna— oh! Did you twitch? Oh, that’s okay. I only got about halfway down your back. I told you the paint would be cold! I’ve got some wet washcloths here, I’ll just scrub that off real quick. We can just start over— wait… why are you laughing? Yes, you are laughing! All I’m doing is scrubbing this thick washcloth along the back of your ribs— there it is again!

Oh… oh, no, are you serious? You’re actually ticklish here? How is that even possible? I’ve never met someone whose back is ticklish before, and now look at you— a soft brush and a washcloth have you giggling already. And this is just the base layer!

Okay. Well, I really don’t have any other options here. I can make it work as long as you at least try to keep still. Are you still okay with being my canvas?

You are? Oh, thank you so much! Okay. Let’s get back into it.

Now that I know this tickles you, I’ll have to keep an eye out for movement. So I’m gonna take this brush extra slow down your back. What’s that? It makes it tickle more? Just hold on, we’re almost done! With the first area, that is. Luckily this brush is pretty wide, it can cover your entire back in about 3 long strokes, but they each need to be perfect. No pressure.

Woah! Okay, I was not expecting the giggles to get worse as I paint down your spine. Seriously, have you ever heard of someone being so ticklish on their back of all places? And I can’t imagine this position is helping, either— you can’t move, you can’t curl in to protect yourself from the tickles, you can’t even see where my hands are moving next! Wow, and I can see your blush traveling all the way to the back of your neck and the tips of your ears. It’s so red against the white paint on your back!

Oh, what’s that? I’m making it worse by teasing? I’m not trying to tease you!

…Well, okay, maybe I am. What? Call it payback for not telling me how ticklish your back was before we started. Plus, I just can’t help it— my cute little lee, all tied up and giggly. You know I can’t resist you.

Last side. You’ve been doing really well so far, actually— your giggles are shaking your body a little bit, but it’s barely visible. I just gotta move so gently past the back of your ribs— wow, that’s really a hotspot for you, huh? I feel kinda bad now; my design kinda depends on paying a lot of attention to some pretty sensitive parts of your back. It’s gonna be like torture for you, especially with the knowledge that if you move too much, I’m gonna have to start all over again. Oh, I’m teasing again? Ha. Sorry, hun.

Okay, done with the base paint! Once it dries, I’m gonna add some color— let’s start with this bright yellow. The next brush is smaller than the other, but the bristles are pretty stiff— maybe this won’t tickle as much? I have to draw a spiral around the very middle of your back, halfway down your spine. Okay, the white paint looks dry now. Are you ready? Three, two, one…

Ah ha! There we go, this is looking good. I can hear your giggles already, but this seems manageable. Because it’s a spiral, it might feel like I’m zeroing in on one random spot for no reason, but I promise you it’s gonna look amazing! Just gotta get this one, long circular stroke to be even on all sides… nice and even… nice and slow… and… okay, done! Phew, that was close. I could tell you were really tensing yourself to not wiggle from all these tickly feelings, and I really appreciate that! Now I just have to fill in the spaces between the spirals with this orange paint— ha, what’s wrong? You did so well the first time, surely you can handle this again!

Here we go… slowly… slowly… slow— okay, you kind of smudged the paint. Let’s just keep going— hey, you moved again! Alright, I’m almost done, just gotta stroke right over the center of your back…. just right here… and done! Yeah, that got a little messy. It’s okay though, really! I can just repaint each of these smudged parts— what, you don’t want me to tickle you there again? Well, you shouldn’t have moved! I have to fix these wonky lines, especially right here. And here. And here. And here. And here. And… here. Woah, calm down, giggly! I’m done with that part. Just catch your breath. Man, maybe we should’ve done this a long time ago!

Okay, next step. We’re gonna switch brushes again: I found these really cool round ones, they kinda look like makeup brushes, with super soft bristles. We’re gonna use this nice robin’s egg blue paint, and… oh! Did that surprise you? I know I didn’t tell you I was going to paint right up against your neck— I already knew that was a tickle spot. But with this method, I don’t mind if you move, because I’m just gonna be dabbing the brush over and over again to get a nice, textured look. So feel free to squirm! Especially if I get too close to those helpless little underarms. I don’t need to paint them, but they’re just so open and vulnerable, they’re practically begging for some tickly touches! In fact, let me just put this brush down really quick…

Alright, alright! I’ll stop with the pit tickles. I just couldn’t help myself, especially when you make such delightful little squeals when I scratch my fingers just so. Ah, but I’m getting off topic; this extra credit isn’t gonna paint itself!

Let’s get back to the blue paint: I know it must be nerve wracking to have no idea where I’m gonna paint next. I mean, I don’t even know where I’m gonna paint next! I just do what feels right. Like, this section is looking a little bare, so let’s just do some dabs right here— aw, are your shoulder blades ticklish too? Which one tickles more, the left or the right? And does it tickle more when I do light dabs with the brush, or when I press down a little harder to really get the texture of the bristles on there? Aw, look at how bright red your blush is now! It’s— uh oh, it’s gone all the way down your neck to your shoulders! How about that? Well, I gotta make sure that gets all covered up. I’m sure you won’t mind if I do just a few more layers until the red is all gone! Hey, if you want it to stop, all you gotta do is stop blushing. No? You can’t? Well, I don’t have any other choice. Hold still, now.

Ah, there we go. Picture perfect! Let’s switch brushes again: this one is skinny, with stiff bristles. I’m dipping it in the green, and we’re just gonna do some small quick strokes all over your lower back, as fast as I can. There’s one! There’s two! Three, four, five, six… I know, it’s too many to count. Listen, maybe it’ll help if you just try to ignore the tickly feeling? I know that might be hard, but just try for a second. Don’t think about the fluttering feeling all around the bottom of the back of your ribs. Don’t think about how I’m occasionally darting up to trace little squiggles along the back of your hips. And especially don’t think about how I’m covering the small of your back, that sensitive little dash of skin right above your underwear line, with tiny little strokes, over and over and over again, no matter how much you throw yourself back in forth in your spread eagle position. Are you thinking about it? Does it tickle too much to ignore? Wait, I did too much paint on this side, let me just… ah, shoot! Now there’s too much on this side. Okay, hang on, this might take me a minute to work out.

Ah, there we go. It’s finally even! I guess that took longer than it had to, judging by how out of breath you are, but I had to get each side equally coated. I blame you for distracting me from my work; how am I supposed to focus when your cute little butt is waving in my face, trying to get away from the wittle tickles? Aw, what’s that? You don’t like my teases? I think someone is lying… I can see your smile! Oh, you’re not smiling? Maybe this will change your mind…

What? You don’t like it when I squeeze your inner thighs? Or when I ever-so-lightly trace the backs of your knees? Then why are you laughing? Does it tickle so bad? So bad you just can’t take it? So bad you just wanna scream and laugh and thrash around in your bonds, just to get these little fingers away from your giggle spots? Aw, honey, you know I know you too well for that. You like this. In fact, you love this, don’t you? Say it or I’ll stop. Say it… ah, there it is! You do love it, I knew you did! Cootchie cootchie coo, sweetie pie! A tickie tickie tickie here, and here, and here…

Oh. Oh, gosh, I only have half an hour left to submit this extra credit! No, no, of course it’s not your fault. I would never blame you, especially when you volunteered to do this for me as a huge favor. I think I can finish in time, we just have to do these last parts. And lovebug, I’m sorry, but it’s gonna tickle a lot.

What am I gonna do? Well, I have these tiny detail brushes, and this really fancy black paint, so what I want to do is draw the outlines of some flowers on the backs of each of your ribs. The only problem is that, with black paint, every mistake is super noticeable, so this pretty much has to be perfect. Please, try to hold still as much as you can.

I’m starting the outline on your left side… here we go…. I’m drawing the petals; each curve has to be symmetrical. Around, and around, and around, and a— no! You twitched! No, it’s okay, but… I have to wash it off so I can redo it. Yes, I’m serious. I know this washcloth was what started tickling you so badly in the first place, but I have to get this right. I’m about to scrub the black paint off without taking off the white paint— oh my gosh. Does this really tickle so badly? Just my fingers scratching lightly through this fuzzy washcloth? Well, let’s try again. Starting with the petals. Ready, set…

Okay, we’re doing good, just hold still. I hate to tell you to hold in your gorgeous giggles, but it might keep you from moving. Just don’t laugh. I’m about to draw the stem now; it’s long, narrow, and it has to curve down to your sensitive side. Don’t. Laugh.

Okay. One outline down, one to go. Starting with the petals on your right side, let’s— woah. A little twitch already. That’s okay, I’ll just scrub it away real quick, and start again. Petal number one, petal number two— oh! Sorry, you moved again. Let me just— I know washing it off tickles so badly, but try to keep cool. Starting again. One… two— okay. This is getting harder. Time to wash it off again. Wait, what? It feels like the washcloth is making your skin feel even more ticklish? Wow, I didn’t even think that was possible for you— sorry, not helpful. Hm, let’s see, what do I need to do to keep you still… oh! Duh! I know what to do.

Don’t worry, that’s just my hand. I’m placing it palm down on the back of your ribs, using my fingers to stretch the skin out. This is what I do when I want to keep your belly still for tickles, remember? Uh oh, I can feel your giggles building up already. Well, get them out now while I get more paint on this brush. Yes, I know that this makes your belly tickle so much worse! But at least I know it can keep you still, and that’s all I need right now. Are you good for me to start? The sooner we do this, the sooner it’ll be over. You’re good? Okay, here I go.

… Wow. I’ve almost never heard you scream like this before. I cannot believe I didn’t know how ticklish you were back here! Literally, this is some of the lightest, most delicate painting I’ve ever done, but you’re almost in tears from how much it tickles. I wish I could take more time to relish in it… make sure that the lines are all thoroughly painted, tracing over them once, twice, three times. Adding little polka dots and wavy lines and wild zigzags over your most favorite spots. I’ve never felt this creatively inspired before.

Did you know it would come to this? You must have; you must have known that I would realize your little secret. Or did you think you could keep it together? Did you think you could hide this from me, even when you agreed to be tied face down, forced to feel every single bristle as they trace over and over your most special little tickle spots. Oh, you love this, don’t you. You’ve just been waiting for me to notice this. My darling little lee, you were practically begging for me to take you down, all with the help of these little. Tickly. Paintbrushes. Well, you’ve gotten your wish, haven’t you, baby? Tickle. Tickle. Tickle.

And… we’re done.

Yes, really! I had to add a lot of details to the flowers, but I’m done now. All I have to do is take a quick picture to send to my professor, and— Oh my gosh! I got an A on my final! Wow, I got an email about my grade this morning, and I didn’t even know. Isn’t that great?

Oh. I guess I didn’t need to do this extra credit, after all. Well, thank you so much for helping me anyway, darling. I know it was hard for you— what’s that? You had fun? Aw, I’m so happy you did! I did too. In fact… how would you feel if I just kept going? Oh, not for a grade, sure. But I still have a lot of paint left. And you have a lot of tickly skin left untouched. Maybe I can show off some of the other techniques I’ve learned in this class. Practice makes perfect, you know! And of course, I’ll help you wash it all off when we’re done. I can pay extra special attention to some of those hard-to-reach places… like your back, for instance.

Does that sound fun? Yes? Alright then. Let’s begin.

#tickling #tickle community #tickle tease #back tickling #my posts #my writing #extra credit

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ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

A Splash of Hope

Summary: Sophie works to strengthen her injured arms and thumbs but it seems impossible. Sophie feels defeated until a crewmember surprises her with something.

Word Count: 1000+

Read on AO3:

Sophie concentrated, her eyes laser focused on the task at hand. Slowly the redheaded pirate began to follow Aasim’s instruction as she tried to gently move her thumb in different directions.

“Alright, now can you move your thumbs to the side?”

Sophie listened and moved both of her thumbs to the side.

“Okay now back to the usual position,”

Sophie nodded in understanding of her friend’s words and did so.

“Okay now tilt it back,”

The redhead tried her best but this time her thumb was more wonky. Sophie’s eyes squinted in concentration, completely focused on her thumbs that moved somewhat stiffly as she did the different motions.

“That was good! You’re making progress.” Aasim praised as he watched her go through the motions once more.

Sophie smiled somewhat brightly and let out a shaky breath. “Thanks. I still have a long way to go but it’s way better than in the beginning.” Sophie placed her hands down, giving her thumbs a break before the next section. She was really thankful for Aasim’s help. She never would’ve thought about doing these exercises. They seemed like such simple tasks, things that anyone could do with ease, but once Aasim had started the exercises she had realized how damaged her thumbs truly were. It was a miracle they were functioning as well as they were.

“Alright, let’s move on to the next part.” Aasim handed her a marble. The cool smooth texture made Sophie take pause for a moment and get lost in interest.

“Sophie?”

Aasim’s voice snapped her out of her fascination of the simple item. “Shit, sorry. Just... forgot how pretty marbles are,” The redheaded pirate had a gentle smile on her face.

Aasim hadn’t seen her have many of those types of smiles lately so he let her continue to examine the light blue and green speckled marble. After a minute or two the cartographer cleared his throat. “It’s time for the next exercise. I need you to take the marble and move it from finger to finger.”

“Okay, sounds doable,” Sophie tried to psyche herself up then placed the marble between her index finger and thumb. It wobbled slightly but she had been successful. One finger down, many more to go. Sophie moved it from one finger to the next. So far so good . After a few moments had passed she switched to the next finger.

She continued this pattern with each finger becoming more and more difficult until she reached her pinky. Her fingers shook as she struggled to hold onto the marble. Her hands trembled while her tongue stuck out in concentration. She could feel sweat starting to form on her brow. The marble suddenly slipped out from her grasp, falling onto the floor with a pathetic thud.

“Damn it!” Sophie angrily snapped, her head fell in defeat. It was such a simple task. She should be able to do it. So why was it so hard? Was she really that useless?

“It’s okay. That was your first attempt of the day. Besides, this process takes time.” Aasim reached out and placed a hand on Sophie’s shoulder.

The redhead glanced over towards her friend who had a reassuring smile on his face.Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, her head resting on the cool wood of the wall. Everything took time. Every single step of this progress seemed to take forever. It felt like once she had taken one step forward she was hit with the realization that she had a hundred more to go. The thought frustrated her.

She had nothing but time to waste though. She couldn’t help out around the ship; sometimes she wondered if she ever could again. All Sophie wanted was for things to return back to normal or at least as normal as they could. The pirate’s mind began to steep in negative thoughts. It seemed so pointless sometimes. She wanted to be useful again, she wanted to leave this room. But the thing she wanted to do most right now was to draw again.

Sophie’s head tilted to the side. Her eyes glanced over at the pieces of papers and pencil that were haphazardly hidden under her hammock. Would she ever get that ability back? There really was only one way to find out. With the small flame of determination burning in her heart, Sophie decided to give it another shot. The redheaded pirate took a deep breath and returned her attention to her hands.

Aasim gently put the marble in her other hand. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Sophie’s eyes narrowed and she went through the same motions once more. The first few fingers went well but soon the result urned out the same. The marble fell once more with a pathetic clink. It rolled along the floor and thunked against the door.

Sophie tried to not let it faze her but it wasn’t easy. She felt pathetic.

“Let’s just move to the next exercise,” she muttered and Aasim nodded in agreement.

They soon started the final section of exercises for today: grip strength. Sophie held her hand out, gripping a ball with all her might. The ball wiggled and slipped, struggling to stay in her grasp. No matter how hard she tried each time her hand would give out, causing the ball to fall. Again and again and again. But Sophie wouldn’t give up. She kept trying, first with her right hand then her left.

“I think we should call it good for the day.” Aasim’s voice caused Sophie to pause the exercise, the ball slipping loose from her grip once again as Aasim stood up. “I know it seems really tough, like these are impossible tasks. But if you keep working at it day by day, you will get your thumbs back. Not only back, but bring them to their former glory.” Aasim looked back at Sophie who was glaring at the ball that was rolling along the floor with each wave that crashed against Ol’ Kickass.

Sophie let out a frustrated sigh and let her head hit the wall once more. “I know.” she looked up at Aasim, forcing a brighter smile than what she truly felt. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time?”

“Of course.” Aasim turned and began to stroll towards the door. His hand slowly turned the doorknob when his friend spoke up once more.

“Oh, Aasim?”

He looked back at Sophie whose eyes were hidden from him.

“Thanks.”

Aasim gave a small smile. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad I can help.” With that he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sophie stared at the door for a minute before looking around the room. What was she going to do now? She still couldn’t spar or draw and all the other crew members were busy. That just left her to her thoughts; she doubted they would be kind ones. Sophie continued to think about what she could do to distract herself and melt away the hours of the day with when suddenly Tenn entered the room.

“Hi, Sophie. How was your physical therapy?” Tenn had a soft smile on face that soon changed to concern when the ball hit his foot. He slowly leaned over and picked it up, his eyes catching sight of the small tears in Sophie’s eyes.

The sadness in them soon faded, however as Sophie gave her brother a small smile. “It went okay. Still have a long way to go but I’m making progress!”

“I’m sure you’re doing great!” Tenn’s gentle smile made Sophie’s heart calm down. His reassuring presence and words always made her feel better. She really was lucky to still have him. Tenn casually walked over and took a seat beside her. Slowly he reached out his hand and held one of Sophie’s. Sophie tried her best to hold it firmly but her thumbs were still weak. The hand holding looked rather awkward which made the older sibling frown.

Tenn gave a soft smile. “It's okay, Sophie.”

She was silent for another moment. “I guess.”

The siblings remained quiet for a minute, letting the slowly rocking motion of the waves sway their bodies back and forth.

Suddenly a knock came from the door. “Hey, it’s Willy! Can I come in?” Willy's voice was filled to the brim with excitement. Sophie could just imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting impatiently for their response.

“Sure.” Sophie answered, curious to see why he sounded so excited.

The lanky pirate struggled for a minute, making small grunting sounds before he successfully pushed open the door. It revealed a smile beaming on his face and his overloaded arms. His arms squirmed as they struggled to hold the contents within them, spilling some of the art supplies onto the floor. “I know that it’s been really hard not to draw,” Willy's face fell for a moment, “And I know it’s not exactly the same but...” A giant sheet slipped from his arms and tumbled to the floor. “I thought even if you can’t do art with your hands, you still can with your feet!” The pirate gave his signature toothy grin.

Sophie blinked and looked rather confused.

The street rat picked up on her expression and motioned with his head towards the hallway. “Follow me to the upper deck and I’ll show you!” Willy’s voice rang out in the hall as his feet whacked against the floor while he sprinted barefoot up the stairs.

Tenn stood up, looking lost but also curious as to what surprise his friend had in store. Reaching out his hand, he helped his sister.

“Thanks,” Sophie gave a small smile then led the way as the two of them journeyed to the upper deck. The redheaded pirate could feel her nerves rising; it had been a while since Sophie had gone up there. In fact, she hadn’t been up there since the day of the attack. Her heart pounded in her ears and she could feel her palms sweating. Old memories flooded to the forefront of her mind. But she quickly brushed them off as best she could.

The other crew members paused in their tasks and looked over, shocked to see Sophie as she emerged from below deck. Their faces were soon covered with happy smiles though, glad to see her finally back on deck again. The Ericson pirates quickly went back to work so they wouldn’t overwhelm her with their stares, a new, happier energy appearing as they did so.

“Don’t worry about running into Marlon,” Willy reassured as he spread out the sheet, dropping beside it what looked to be some sort of homemade paint. “I asked him to leave the ship for a bit so you wouldn’t get upset while we had fun.” The lanky pirate kneeled down, placing papers together on the sheet before proceeding to uncover the paint.

“Thanks, but what exactly are we doing for fun?” Sophie looked around at the set up.

“You’ll figure it out any second now!” Willy beamed. With dramatic flair he jumped and threw his feet into the depths of the paint, coating them thoroughly. After he was sure they were nice and covered he hopped out, laughing as he danced around the sheet and began to color the pages in different colors.

Sophie’s eyes widened in amazement. The pale blue of them shining with excitement when she realized what this meant. “Tenn, can you help me with my boots?” Sophie immediately plopped down on the deck. Tenn gave a small smile and nod before helping her. It took some maneuvering and some guidance but soon Sophie’s boots were off. Tenn tossed his boots off too and the pair of siblings began to coat their feet in the homemade paint. It took no time at all for Tenn and Sophie to join Willy in the fun of foot painting, all three of them running across the sheet laughing as they painted their own unique art.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” AJ stopped in his tracks when he saw the three of them dancing around together. He stared at the colored sheets of paper with childlike wonderment.

“We’re making art!” Sophie exclaimed with a bright smile as she spun around. She giggled, splashing around some paint with her toes. “You wanna join?”

AJ nodded excitedly before throwing his boots aside. Hopping around for a few seconds in the paint, the youngest Ericson pirate soon joined in on the fun. AJ let out a happy laugh as he skidded across the sheets, a bright blue spreading across the papers thanks to his feet.

The four giggled and laughed as they each added their own personal flair to the art. Willy and AJ focused on making sure their footprints were prominent on every page while Tenn attempted to create a more coherent picture. Sophie was so overjoyed that she was able to create art again that she threw every color and splash of paint that she could on each piece of paper.

These feelings, the joy she felt. Sophie hadn’t felt this in what seemed like forever. For the first time that she could remember, all the heavy thoughts that plagued her mind were nowhere to be found. Replaced with a small droplet of hope that maybe just maybe her future would be good.

After an hour they all stopped, sitting around the sheet, their chests rising and falling as they caught their breaths. All four of them looked on proudly at the colorful mess that they had made.

“Thanks, Willy!” Sophie’s voice cracked when she spoke.

Willy glanced over towards the oldest of the street rats and saw that Sophie had tears in her eyes, her face radiating a warm smile. His eyes grew wide in surprise for a moment, staring at his childhood friend. “Of course, Sophie! We all wanna see you smile!” Without warning he lunged forward, his arms quickly wrapping around her, a smile painted across his face. He hadn’t seen her smile like this in a long time. He really had missed it.

#twdg #twdg sophie #twdg aasim #twdg tenn #twdg willy #twdg aj #sophie aasim brotp #sophie tenn brotp #fanfic #a pirate's life for me au

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rorynne · 5 years

Text

Touch

Pairing: Bucky/Reader

Summary: Request: a fic where the reader really hates being touched by someone they’re not close with and all the Avengers learn about it. Except they only accept being touched by people they’re close with or someone they like and that’s how one of the Avengers realises the reader likes them. You can do it with whoever, i know it’ll be great anyway! -Anon

Warnings: None as far as I know, its just Rory Brand Fluff.

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: It should not have taken me 8 hours to type up 1.8k words from a notebook. ADHD handed my ass to me tonight

Masterlist

It was no secret that you didn't like to be touched, hated it even. You did everything in your power to avoid it. The only time you would even tolerate it was from friends, and even then it was just that, tolerating. Most people didn't understand it, they usually just wrote you off as being snobby, or maybe just a germaphobe. What they didn't get was just how much unwanted contact hurt. It was easier to manage with friends, but just one small touch from a stranger was enough to make you completely unable to speak for the rest of the day, or worse, have a complete breakdown from the sensation.

The Avengers understood though, or at the very least, they accepted without judgment. They each had their fair share of quirks and needs, and to them, your touch avoidance was no different. It was honestly a blessing to be working for them. You provided them with ground support and helped repair their gear. They provided you with moral support and freedom from unwanted contact. Of course, they weren't perfect, every so often someone might accidentally bump into you, or excitedly clap a hand on your shoulder without asking first. But that was okay, you could tolerate it from them. Especially when they did their best to make you feel included in the team in any way that they could, more than anyone else had done for you in the past.

No doubt that desire to include you was exactly what brought Steve to your workbench in the lab, a long-haired man following close behind, not unlike a confused puppy. You had glanced up from your current project as they approached, Steve radiating his typical golden retriever-like aura, while the man behind him looked none too happy to actually be there. "Y/N! I'm glad I found you. I wanted to introduce Bucky yo everyone he hasn't had the chance to meet yet."

Bucky shifted slightly uncomfortably on his feet as he gave you an awkward smile and held his hand out to you. “Glad to meet you.” You glanced at his hand and grimaced mentally. Steve had spent months talking about Bucky and the progress he was making, Steve was beyond excited to have his best friend back and on the team, but Bucky was still a stranger to you. Your grip tightened around your wrench and you glanced over at Steve.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Bucky.” You said, leaving his hand unshaken, instead, giving him a polite smile. Steve immediately jumped into action, whispering something, likely an explanation, into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his face went red as he dropped his hand. “Sorry.” He mumbled out quickly and something in your heart squeezed.

“No, it’s fine.” You reassured, “You couldn’t have known.”

He nodded and cleared his throat, “For what it's worth, I'm not a big fan of touching people either.” Your heart gave another squeeze and you weren’t quite sure why. His aversion to touch made sense, you recalled Steve explaining the things that had happened to him.

"We have something in common then." You said setting your wrench down on the table in front of you. "Luckily everyone here is very understanding about it."

He smiled, and for a moment your brain completely blanked as you saw the was his smile made the skin crinkle adorably around his eyes. He was attractive, there was no denying that, but honestly, something about his smile was special. "I'm glad to hear that," he said softly before pointing at the device on your work table. "What are you working on anyway?"

You blinked before looking down at what he was pointing at. "Oh! This is the Maximum Operational Radius Support Aerobot or MORSA. Tony came up with the name, I like to call him Moe for short. He's like redwing, Sam's drone? But more support focused than combat focused. He's my eyes in the sky, he's great. I wouldn't be able to be nearly as much help without him. Time to wake up Moe." You said, tapping the drone twice. It burst to life, hovering a few inches above the table, albeit as a noticeable angle. You winced at Moe's lopsided hovering, but Bucky seemed enthralled. "He isn't usually so…. Wonky. He got damaged by an explosion a few missions ago and I only just got him flying again. I'm sure Wakanda has things way more advanced but…" you trailed off as Bucky shook his head.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked, circling around for a better look. You almost didn’t notice his hand accidentally brushing against your arm as he moved past you, but to your surprise, it didn’t feel unpleasant. “It’s like that car Stark showed off in ‘43. You remember that Stevie?”

Steve seemed almost surprised as he watched Bucky gush over the drone, you would have never been able to guess that he had been begging Steve to not bother introducing him to anyone not even half an hour before. “The one that crashed to the ground?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Listen Punk, don’t even pretend to act like you stuck around long enough to see that.”

You bit your lip to fight the urge to laugh. You would have never expected the Winter Soldier to be a science nerd. “I did base Moe’s propulsion system off Howard Stark’s flying car propulsion designs, though I reworked them to be more efficient and a bit faster. When they’re properly adjusted at least.” You finished by tapping the drone again and it gently lowered onto the table before turning off.

“That’s absolutely amazing,” Bucky said rubbing his jaw. “What else does it do?” You grinned as you began to explain Moe’s functions in detail, Bucky clinging to your every word. Neither of you noticed as Steve quietly slipped away, grinning like a Cheshire cat. It was rare for either of you to take so quickly to someone, and he wasn’t about to do anything to draw your attention to it. He could finish introducing Bucky to everyone tomorrow.

From that day, your friendship with Bucky was easy and fun. You both just seemed to click in a way you had never experienced with someone before. He would spend hours in the lab while you worked, talking to you about anything and everything that he could think of. You wouldn’t shy away from him on the extremely rare times he would accidentally touch or brush against you. Strangely, you actually found yourself liking his touch and, for that matter, him.

Actually, saying you liked Bucky was probably the understatement of the century. You were absolutely head-over-heels for him. You didn’t have a damn clue how you managed to fall so hard for him, especially when it didn’t even feel like falling at all. You could barely even focus if he wasn’t there. You had grown so used to his presence that when he was on missions the entire tower seemed to feel empty.

Which was where you found yourself right now. You tinkered aimlessly on your gadget, there were countless repairs you should be doing, but you just couldn’t motivate yourself to do any of them. Bucky had been on a mission for the last two weeks, the longest he had been away since he joined. You had no idea what to do with yourself as you pulled yourself through the paces of adjusting Moe's propulsion system. You were waiting for FRIDAY to inform you of Bucky's return, just like she always did the moment he came back. You couldn't wait to greet him as he got off the quinjet. At least then you could stop worrying so much and get some work done.

"Y/N, FRIDAY's voice echoed through the lab. Your heart soared as you looked up toward the ceiling at the disembodied voice. "Sergeant Barnes has just landed, he's been rushed to the med bay." And just like that, your heart crashed to the ground. Something fell to the ground with a loud bang as you jumped up, but you didn't care to see what it was as you rushed out of the lab.

You ran as fast as your feet would carry you as you hurried to the med bay. Horror stories played through your head as you pushed through the doors. You paid no mind to the nurses yelling for you to slow down as you searched for Bucky.

Your lungs bere burning when you found him being stitched up by Bruce, talking to Steve. Relief hit you like a tidal wave. He was okay. Bruce had just finished Bucky’s stitches when you threw your arms around Bucky. You hadn’t even thought about the contact, you were just so happy that he was okay. You only realized it when you felt a cool arm wrap around your waist.

“Don’t cry Doll.” He said softly, tightening his arms around you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until he pointed it out. “I’m okay. The bullet only grazed me. I promise I’m okay.” He reassured you, his hand stroking your hair. Being held by him was probably the nicest thing you’ve ever felt.

You took a deep, shaky breath as your tears slowed. You nodded as you pulled away from him, smiling weakly. Bruce and Steve stared in disbelief as they watched you. You had never so much as willingly shook someone's had, let alone hug them, and yet there you were with your arms wrapped around Bucky’s neck. Bucky ignored them, pulling you back into him, touching his forehead to yours. You sniffled, “FRIDAY said-”

“I know Doll. It’s okay. Are you?”

You swallowed and nodded again. You had never been so close to him before, but honestly, it felt right, it put your mind at ease in ways you severely needed right now. He was so important to you, and you were so scared you might have lost him. Especially before you could tell him just how important he was. You took a deep breath, filled with a sudden resolve, “I love you.” You finally said, bracing him for his response.

Tears threatened in your eyes again when he laughed. “Doll, I figured that out when you hugged me.” He brushed away a tear welling in your eye with his thumb. “And I love you too.” The breath caught in your throat and you choked out a sobbing laugh. “Want to talk about this over milkshakes?”

“I’d love to.” You smiled with a big sniffle.

“As sweet as this is.” Bruce cut in. “I need to finish bandaging Bucky up before you two try to take off.” You both pulled apart to see Bruce holding up gauze and bandages.

Bucky smiled that smile you had come to love so dearly before kissing your forehead. “Go get ready, Doll. I’ll pick you up in 10.” You nodded, giving him one last hug before leaving. You really could get used that feeling.

Taglist:

@part-time-prefect @anxiousamandapanda

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers #avengers request #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel fic #marvel

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Zo or Hugremlin!

Commissions: Nope! Maybe in the future when I'm a bit more confident in my art style, but for now I'm happy to create for free.

Social Media: Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hugremlin_doodles/

What's your artistic process like?

Sketch EVERYTHING. Anatomy, clothes, hair, background, if it's in the drawing I probably sketched it first. Then, line in black on a spartan layer, usually all of one thing at a time, like lining the whole body before moving to another layer to line the hair. Once lining is done, I color the inject on it's on layer below the lineart. If I shade I go above all the other layers and turn the layer opacity down, and cell shade. I'm usually listening to music throughout!

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Art is my hobby! I like to draw fanart mostly, and whenever I find the time. I also write a little bit, but I dont post it much. My favorite color is purple, and I have two cats! Their names are Pippin and Gandalf, and they're big fluffy sweeties. I don't really have a favorite animal cause I love a lot of them, but cats is good to say in a pinch.

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I draw with pencil and paper sometimes, and I also like to paint a little! My main method right now is digital, but it's nice to create something physical.

What got you into art? what inspires you to keep creating art?

I just have always been kind of doodley, and when I started getting into fandoms I would have cool ideas that I wanted to draw or I would just like the characters, so I would draw them! I started drawing semi-seriously on 7th grade, and I kept it close as a hobby ever since. (The improvement has been massive, it's really worth it to keep drawing)

What's your favorite/least favorite subjects to use in your art?

Faces are incredibly difficult. How do I draw eyes?? Mouths?? What's a nose look like from the front?? I try, but by golly I can't wait until I figure it out. Hands are also rough, but it feels like they're getting better with every drawing! It may be hard but I also love to draw all of these!!

What's the worst thing you had to draw?

A flip book in 8th grade cartooning, it took me a really long time and it came out a little wonky. The dang thing doesn't even flip well.

Is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as an artist?

God, anatomy. Three years ago all my characters were in the same pose, hands were nubs if I drew arms at all, legs went right up to the waist. Heads were circles. I think it was earlier this year or late 2019 when I finally started to add different face shapes and trying to sketch limbs properly. Definitely a big stepping stone.

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

I once stayed up until 3 am working on some art for a school project, woke up at 5 and went to school, found out from my partner that he had gotten us a two day extension. We didn't end up using the drawings anyways. I wasnt very happy, but it makes a funny story now.

#Meet the Creator #lutrain2020 #linked universe #lu

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

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Appetite

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Heir Book 1, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~2200

Rating: R (30 diamond scene, language)

Summary: Second trimester means that Riley isn’t sure what she wants more - food or her husband

Author’s Note: Even though we’re all excited that the baby’s finally here, I think I still want to explore that massive time jump we got in TRH1 with it’s very wonky pacing. Meant to have this ready to post yesterday, but I just ran out of time. So how about some smut for y’all after getting through another Monday?

Also, as an aside, how insane is it that I didn’t settle on a name for their kid until today? 🤦‍♀️

Riley Walker loved a good party. But most of the “parties” she had to attend these days were not really parties at all. They were all diplomacy and ballroom dancing and stuck up assholes she just didn’t have the patience for at all. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t even have a drink or two to take the edge off anymore.

She knew Drake hated these balls and galas even more than she did, but he at least could enjoy his whiskey. When she’d first told him she was pregnant, he’d told her he could cut out drinking in solidarity, but she’d told him not to be ridiculous. Making him miserable by taking away his one joy at these formal functions was not going to make her any happier.

Truth be told, until tonight’s gala, Riley hadn’t even missed the drinking. She’d been so nauseous that she hadn’t even had the stomach for the thought of booze. But about 10 days ago, it was like a switch, and all her morning sickness just disappeared. Now, nearly everything sounded good. Drake found it hilarious, watching her cravings change on a dime anytime basically anyone mentioned any type of food.

And it wasn’t just food she had an appetite for now. Without the ever-present nausea that had been mad obnoxious for the first 16 weeks of her pregnancy, she now found she was horny all the time. It was almost embarrassing how single-minded she was these days. Well, food could distract her, but that was about it. Basically, the last week and a half she had alternated between heading to the kitchen or heading to the bedroom anytime she and Drake were alone.

But tonight, the portion sizes were too small, and this gala was going to take too long. It was highly unlikely that the dancing would start within the next hour as several people were due to give speeches, and she doubted she and Drake would be able to sneak out before then. So that just left the food to keep her attention, and while it was delicious, there was just not enough of it. She had already plowed through her salad, her soup, and her entree, and dessert wouldn’t be served until after the speeches. She had taken to sneaking bites off Drake’s plate, until he caught her red handed.

“No way, Walker.”

“Drake, I’m so hungry.”

“Yeah well, me too. I told you it would be a good idea to fill your purse with snacks. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen to me.”

“I already ate my granola bar,” Riley grumbled, “and that was all this purse could hold.”

Drake chuckled lightly, but returned to his conversation with Rashad’s date who was sitting next to him. It all just served to irritate her more. She wasn’t even sure if it was because she was hungry or because Drake wasn’t taking her cravings seriously or because she was hormonal and Drake was in a suit and his laugh was turning her on. Well, if he wasn’t going to let her have more food, she was just going to have to focus on her other craving.

She reached her hand over toward his knee, trying not to draw attention to herself. Neville was seated right next to her, no doubt payback from Madeleine for the fact that she’d sniped at her to fuck off last month. He and his date were barely talking, and the last thing Riley needed was to draw any attention to herself at the moment. As she kept her eyes focused across the table, pretending like she was listening to the story the Croatian ambassador’s husband was telling, the back of her fingers brushed against Drake’s hand. He ran his thumb against hers in response. It was a sweet gesture, but sweet was not what she needed at the moment.

Persisting, she dragged her hand over, sliding underneath his napkin and onto his thigh. She squeezed gently before she started tracing random circles with her fingers, sliding her hand gradually up and over. She felt Drake turn to glance at her, his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head for a few seconds, but she kept staring straight ahead, her hand moving closer and closer to his lap. After a few more moments, she felt his hand clamp down hard against hers, pinning it in place. Undeterred, she started massaging his thigh, delighting as she noticed his whole body tense up out of the corner of her eye.

As soon as Rashad’s date finished her story, Drake turned toward Riley, placing her hand over in her own lap and leaning to whisper in her ear, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing. You really should have expected this when you didn’t let me finish your dinner,” she whispered back, leaning in so close her lips were practically touching his ear.

“Jesus, Riley,” he growled under his breath, “don’t start what you can’t finish. You know full well we’re gonna be stuck at this table for a while.”

Riley leaned back and just gave him a coy smile and a wink. Drake’s gaze intensified, looking somehow scared and turned on all at the same time. After a moment, Riley leaned forward slightly, placing one hand across her stomach and her other across her chest. She twisted her face into a slight grimace. It only took a couple of seconds for the Croatian diplomat to notice.

“Your Grace, are you alright?” she asked, concern flitting across her face.

Riley gave her a small nod, but then moved her hand over he mouth and closed her eyes briefly, “Yes, I just… if you’ll all excuse me,” she replied, standing up briskly and making her way towards the exit. Behind her, she heard Drake muttering some apologies and starting to say something about going to check if she was okay. She knew he would be right behind her.

“God, you know I love you so much,” he said as he caught up to her in the hallway. “How did I get so lucky that I have a wife who-”

Riley cut him off with a kiss as she tugged him into the bathroom and shoved the door shut behind him, “No time for sweet talk,” she said as she hopped up onto the counter, hiking her dress up as she did so, “I’m guessing we have all of five minutes before someone just has to come by and check on me.”

And with that she reached out and grabbed him his belt buckle, dragging him in between her legs and kissing him passionately as she worked to undo his belt and pants. Drake let out a groan, sliding his hands into her hair as he deepened the kiss. He took half a step back and moved to kneel down in front of her, but Riley grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him flush against her body again.

“No time for that right now. I need you inside me,” she said as she shoved down his pants and his boxers with one hand and wrapped her other hand around him, stroking him as she wound her legs around his thighs. After her teasing at the table, it didn’t take long to get him fully aroused. Drake moaned quietly, moving his lips across her jaw as he slid his hands up her thighs.

“You sure?” he asked when he reached her ear, biting down lightly on her earlobe as he worked his hands under the waistband of her panties and started tugging them down her legs. They untangled themselves just long enough for the panties to fall to the floor, and then they were back on each other, Drake sliding his hands up the inside of her thighs, Riley clutching at his shoulder with one hand, the other sliding into his hair along the back of his neck.

“Drake, I’ve been thinking you fucking me for the past four hours, so yes I’m su-” she started, but her words died in her mouth as she felt him line himself up with her folds and push into, steady and sure, sinking against her body as he filled her inch by inch. She tugged on his hair as her breath caught in her throat as he lifted her thighs higher. Neither one of them could fully suppress their groans.

“Fuck,” Drake ground out, his body tense as he quickly worked up to a driving pace, leaning forward slightly to brace himself on the counter behind her with one hand, the other gripping her ass and drawing her even closer somehow. Riley locked her legs around his hips and dug her hands into the back of his jacket, burying her face in the crook of his neck to keep herself quiet.

“Not gonna last long,” Drake told her, dropping his head and planting kisses against her shoulder, “you feel too good.”

“Good,” said Riley, trying to find her voice as he continued to thrust into her. “We won’t have - Ahh!” she cried out as he slid his hand from her ass to under her thigh, changing the angle just enough to hit her right where she needed him every time. She bit down on his neck, trying to stifle her moans as she ground herself against him hard, matching his thrusts. She did not want to think about who might come running to check on her and the heir’s well-being if they were too loud.

Riley felt a warmth spreading from between her legs, down to her toes and up her back. Before she could tell Drake she was close, his hand slipped from under her thigh to right above where they were joined as he increased his pace even more. All it took was a few strokes of his thumb and she was gone, clenching around him and arching her back, letting out a breathy “Fuck.”

She knew Drake felt her climax as he let out some combination of a groan and “Shit” into the side of her neck before he drove into her harder, gripping her thigh tightly. Within a few seconds, he joined her in release, spilling himself inside her with his last erratic thrusts.

After a few moments, Riley felt like she could catch her breath. She dropped a kiss along Drake’s throat and ran her hands up and down his back. He leaned back slightly, his own breathing still ragged, and kissed her, grabbing her face and caressing both her cheeks with his thumbs.

“As much as I’d like to just stay here with you, we should probably get back,” whispered Riley after they pulled apart.

“I know,” said Drake, “I just wish…”

Several sharp knock interrupted his thought. “Riley, are you alright in there?” a voice called through the door. “I saw you dart from the table a few minutes ago. The guests at your table told me you weren’t feeling well. Do you need your doctor?”

Riley sighed heavily before she spoke, “No, Madeleine. I’m fine.”

Drake stepped out from between her legs, handing her some tissues to clean herself up a bit. She gave him a regretful smile as he pulled up his boxers and pants, fastening his belt. Riley slid off the counter, letting her long dress fall back into place. Hopefully they didn’t look too disheveled.

“Are you sure everything is alright? What’s going on in there?” demanded Madeleine, “I’m coming in to check on you.”

Drake frantically snatched something off the floor as Madeleine threw open the door.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Madeleine!” cried out Riley, “I told you I was fine. You can’t just barge in on people in the bathroom!”

Madeleine just rolled her eyes, glancing between the two of them and shaking her head, “Well, since you two are obviously done copulating, I recommend you return to your table. The speeches are about to start. And Drake, if you could remember to zip up your pants before you do so, that would be much appreciated.” With that she spun on her heel and strode back toward the ballroom.

As soon as she was out of sight, turned around to face Drake. His face was bright red, probably from both embarrassment and frustration.

“I told you someone would come and check on me,” Riley said, reaching down and tugging up his zipper before she dropped a quick peck on his lips.

“The only reason I wasn’t zipped up is because I was grabbing these,” he said, handing her a pair of turquoise panties she’d completely forgotten they’d left on the floor.

“Thanks, but you should keep them. It’s still early. Never know if I might need you again later. If I’m not wearing those, it’s just one less thing to worry about,” she said with a wink, leaving Drake chuckling and shaking his head as she made her way back to the gala.

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty @mfackenthal @lilyofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @jamesashtonisbae

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie @octobereighth

Drake x MC only: @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley--walker @notoriouscs @butindeed @addictedtodrakefanfic

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #trh #choices trh #the royal romance #the royal heir #n*fw #30 diamonds #choices fanfiction #choices #playchoices #choices stories you play

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mithrava · 4 years

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Enya & Ainé short story - I

I’ll post it in 3 parts, maybe four. They are not very long, as well. I also want to mention english is not my first language and I never wrote any narrative that wasn’t in portuguese. I’m not sure I was able to express my style of writting in another language, but I hope it’s not terrible! ♥

THE STORY BEGINS - I

In the midst of a dark forest, the heavy stomps of a giant creature followed her into the night. Enya's magic was wearying down as for she was too weak from being held for so many day. There was nothing she could do but run, yet, she didn't know for how long she'd be able to keep doing that.

Whenever she saw the glowing green orbs aiming her, she knew it was too close and the thin ivies she managed to summon couldn't hold the beast too long.

It was too dark even with her enhanced night vision she would often trip over a bush or almost hit a tree. But it was her only chance to escape, even if she had to venture outside the safe borders of the Glare. Whatever the forest had to offer it would be better than death.

The creature stopped, searching for her while Enya hid behind a large log. Her heavy breathing making it impossible for her to focus on her magic and she soon begin to hear the stomping again. Moving in her direction.

With all her focus, she lashed more ivies towards the monstrous face of the creature. The veins wrapping around the golem’s stone head and trying to poke into it’s glowing eyes. It tried to strip them away, giving Enya time to run for ler life until she saw someone else crouching over a pile of dirt. The person looked over their shoulder, their eyes shone. The sclera was black, but the irises, bright red. The gray skin contrasted with the dark, messy dreads falling all over their face, which she couldn't quite see.

They stood up, revealing themselves to be a woman dressed in a filthy dress made out of rags stitched together. When her eyes locked with Enya’s, a glowing purple aura appeared around her hand as she transformed into something completely different. A black mist enveloped her as her skin turned red and her eyes, completely black. Two curved horns sprouted from her head and a pointed tail swung quickly, whipping the air.

— Who are you? — asked the demon, all her teeth deadly sharp.

Enya swallowed, looking over her shoulder, fearing that the golem that was chasing her would appear. It didn't take long, the creature's violent footsteps came closer as it knocked trees out of its path. Before she could think or act, an ungodly roar escaped from what should have been the mouth of the stone scowl. One of it’s huge rocky arms knocked her out, throwing her against a tree. With a blurred vision and no strength to try to stand, Enya saw purple flashes being launched against the golem.

Like arms of magical energy, the creature was wrapped in purple chains that came out of the demon's hands. Squeezing the creature that squirmed violently. On the other side of the chain, the demon didn't seem to be trying very hard, casually moving her hands as if she were choking something. Then, with a strong close of wrist, the golem shattered into thousands of pieces of stone.

Enya released the breath she didn't know she was holding, finally free from her tormentor. Giving up trying, she slid down the trunk even more, ending up lying on the floor. Her whole body hurts, the scratches all over her skin stings like fire and excruciating pain on her left shoulder leaves her worried.

The subtle noise of the demon's footsteps was all she could hear. Her tired eyes looking up just to see that the woman had returned to her less bizarre form. The demon looked at her indifferently, taking her hand behind her back and untying her dress until she was only on her dirty petticoats. With a somewhat violent gesture, she threw her dress on top of Enya.

— I suppose you being naked like an animal has something to do with that thing — she glanced at the pieces of stone all over.

Bewildered, Enya slipped her thin body into the dress, thanking mentally for not being naked anymore. All she had to cover was the ivy around her body. As she stood, she leaned against the tree and watched the demon.

The woman came closer, holding her face by the chin with one hand while the other sent an orb of light into the air next to her. Enya flinched in fear, but the touch was gentle as she was being examined by the demon.

— Did you break a bone?

Enya denied with her head. Her eyes glued to the woman's red irises.

— Come, you can’t stay here — she said, her voice was deep, but calm — Can you walk, elf?

— How do you know I’m an elf? — asked Enya, wrapping herself with her arms — You are really a demon?

One of the demon’s dark eyebrows rose and she snorted, not so amused.

— I heard forest elves were secluded, but not that they were so... Blunt — the last word came with a curious look — I am a demon, yes.

Enya shouldn’t trust a demon, that’s what all the elders from her tribe told her. Whatever lived outside the Glare was dangerous and filled with magic. Just like herself. That’s why she was supposed to be sacrificed, no one bearing magic could be part of the community. They were dangerous, even if Enya’s magic was so very weak.

She was very suspicious and now she realized that she was no longer with her tribe. She was in the black forest, in the company of a demon who destroyed a golem as if it were nothing. While she was barely able to stand after summoning ivies.

It was the first time seeing the outside.

— Can you walk? — the demon asked, again.

Enya stayed where she was, very firm on the ground. The woman didn’t seem to bother, as she just shrugged and started to walk away.

— Well, I’m sure some vampires will love to feast on a pretty little elf like you. I heard elf blood is a delicacy, specially forest elve’s. So very rare...

The elf rapidly followed the demon, but keeping a safe distance. The two of them walked in silence and the forest kept looking the same for Enya, yet, from time to time she saw curious charms made out of sticks and dried flowers. The light orb following them and illuminating their way.

— Where are we going? — she asked, trying to sound brave — Listen, I am no fool and I know your kind. But I have nothing to lose, if you want to kill me for some ritual, do it already.

— How depressing... — the woman murmured.

— I-

The demon didn’t answer. Instead, she stopped and moved her fingers in front of her face, drawing a purple rune in the air. Soon the many trees Enya saw in front of her gave place to a small hut. It was nothing more than slabs of wood and a roof made out of mossy logs. A small door opened for the demon, revealing a warm inside and the smell of a stew of some sort.

Enya didn’t follow the woman once she went inside, she stayed amused looking at the hut that simply wasn’t there! If magic was so dangerous how could that demon do something so interesting and trivial to stay safe? And why would a demon help her?

The hut was cramped, there were only two small windows covered with old cloth. Dozens of charms hung from the low ceiling, above a small bed and close to the cauldron. It was as if everything was being protected from who knows what. There was a rickety table with two old chairs, and on top of it, a lot of grimoires. Enya took the liberty of sitting on one of the chairs, almost falling when she realized how wonky they were. With a quick movement of her hand, the demon made the chair move to a safe position.

Once inside, she had a better look at the woman. The eyes weren’t so bright red anymore and her dreads were pulled up in a messy knot while she peered into a cauldron by the fireplace. Didn’t seem much older than her, probably on her mid twenties.

Enya had no time to find beauty in demons, she was too nervous to focus on anything. At any time that woman could murder her, drain her blood and sell it to vampires in some backwater village - or so that’s what she was told that could happen.

Instead, she approached again, pulling the remaining chair to sit close to Enya. Without a word, the demon pulled one of her arms, which cause Enya's shoulder to send a horrible pain all over her body.

She cried out, pulling her arm away from the woman.

— I can heal it for you — said the other woman, impatient.

— You should have asked...!

The red eyes blinked at her, blasé. The next time she pulled her arm with more care and pulled the dress around the shoulder down. Enya's green skin was bruised and scratched, but soon the woman's hand hovered over her skin and the light wounds soon healed, leaving nothing but her dirty skin.

She did it to all areas she could see. Face, arms, shoulders. Enya could still feel a bit of pain on her left shoulder, but, as long as she didn’t move that arm, it wouldn’t hurt that much.

It was uncomfortable to have someone else so close to her. The pale hands of the woman going around her face, pulling the sleeves of the dress up to, then, touch her arms in search of wounds.

— Why are you helping me? — asked Enya, confused — You are a demon...

The red eyes looked at her for a fews seconds as she fixed the sleeve and kept her hands on the table.

— What would I gain leaving you to die?

— My soul?

She let out a laugh.

— I’d only have your soul if you gave it to me willingly. And you can't just hand it to me, we need to make a deal.

Enya frowned. Everything about demons was a lie, then? Creatures who would pray on the weak and take their souls away from them. Purely evil.

— You also gain nothing letting me inside your hut.

She agreed with nod.

— I was once left on my own, but no one helped me. And I like to help pretty girls.

The elf blushed, more in offense than in fluster.

When the woman laughed again, Enya asked:

— What is your name?

The demon looked at her in silent, as if she was thinking. Then, spoke:

— Ainé.

— Enya.

With a nod, Ainé went back to the cauldron and focused on the stew. The smell was delicious, last time Enya ate something was before they locked her on a cage and took her clothes away. Ready to be burned.

The very thought of what her future was supposed to be made her eyes watery, to think her family allowed such thing to happen to her. She tried to keep her tears away, but her throat burned as she tried to hold them back and soon it all came out like a waterfall of feelings.

She had nothing but herself. She had no clothes, no dignity, no tribe. She was a no one, chased by a golem whose task was to slay her as soon as she tried to flee. Not even animals lived like that.

Her was soon noticed by Ainé, who returned to the table with an uncomfortable expression on her face. Awkwardly, she served Enya a bowl of stew and a piece of hard rock bread.

With her red teary eyes, Enya looked from the food to the woman. With an impatient eye roll, Ainé ate a full spoon from the stew and slid it to the elf again.

— No poison.

Quietly, Enya ate a few spoons before she almost dove into the bowl. She was so hungry and so sad, her tears mixing with the stew and her runny nose ruining everything. The bread was hard like stone, but she ate it as if it was the most delicious piece of food she has ever seen.

— Why are you crying?

— Why do you think? — Enya replied with anger, but not enough to raise her voice.

— Don’t cry, girl — said Ainé, sounding much more serious than before — Whatever happened is in the past and crying won’t help you survive. You are alive to tell the story, let those tears wash away everything that happened and then, move stronger.

With a last spoon, Enya sniffed.

— Thank you.

— I- — the demon seemed confused, clearing her throat — Whatever.

Once left on her own again, Enya focused on her hand. Small ivies dances around her palm, dying as soon as they were born. She was too weak, and useless.

— You can leave when you feel better — Ainé announced, opening the front door and stepping outside — Wash yourself, you smell like shite.

— Wait!

But it was too late, the woman was gone and she was left alone with a bucket that wasn’t there moments ago.

#Enya&Ainé #shortstory

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awkwardplantwrites · 5 years

Text

Finding Magic Chapter Five

Chapter 5: 2470 words / Reading time: 11 minutes

Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Action

Find the chapter on wattpad (Bippick is my wattpad username)

New to the story? Missed some updates? Find all the chapters here on tumblr

(Artwork by @pe-ersona ~ Feel free to let me know if you enjoy the story!)

The forest grew more dense the further they walked in. Moss grew on rocks, branches swayed above them, and leaves and flowers littered the ground. A dirt path worn into the ground by previous travellers was nowhere to be seen, as if they were the first people to enter this forest. Pepi looked at Renato. The rope still bound them at the wrist, unable be cut it apart without magic.

Renato looked like he'd seen better days. His middle parted, dark brown hair had grass stuck in it, mud covered his favourite navy blue cloak, and he had a bruised eye that seemed to throb with every step they took. Renato tightened his lips, rubbing his wrist where the rope hung.

Pepi overheard some of the conversation between Renato and Helaine that morning. From what he understood: Renato felt like Pepi wasn't telling the whole truth. Which - if you remember a certain cousin Rupert from Chapter 3 - was true. Though Renato wasn't honest either. He hadn't said a word about his injuries, as usual.

Pepi patted him on the back. "How're you feeling? It's not even afternoon and we've already had quite a day, huh?"

Renato perked his head up, a glisten of interest within his tired eyes. "I'm alright, how are you?" Pepi rolled his eyes at the automatic response.

"We've lost our wagon. You won't be able to rest if you become weak. Might I remind you you're ill? Do you want me to carry your bag?"

"Oh, uh," Renato stammered, fumbling with the bag straps on his shoulders. "No need, I can carry it." His eyes wandered to Pepi's with a question in them, but he blinked it away. "I'm tired," Renato admitted.

"We went to bed late last night."

Renato furrowed his brow. "It's not… It's a different type of tired. I don't think you'd understand."

Glancing down at his own black boots as they trode on wildflowers and grass, Pepi combed his fingers through his hair. "The kind of tired where you feel as though you're dragging the entire world on your shoulders, and it's heavier with every step you take. Something like that?"

"… Something like that, yes." Renato fiddled with the clasp of his cloak.

The trees had become so dense that they had to walk in a single file line. Birds sang no songs. No deer or rabbits or foxes strolled around. Even the breeze had silenced and the trees now showed no movement. Their footsteps seemed to make no sound either. Pepi bit his bottom lip, heart beginning to race, and his breathing hitched. He scrambled into his backpack with shaking fingers, pulling out two small loaves of bread.

"Let's eat! We- we skipped breakfast and boooy am I hungry after all that running!" He stuffed some into his mouth and passed the other to Renato.

Renato took the bread from Pepi with his free hand and tutted. "Pepi, I know you love the sound of your own voice. However, it's possible to have a period of silent tranquillity." He nibbled into the crust.

Looking around for any sound, movement, any life at all in the forest, Pepi's heart beat a little harder. "D-dont you find it s-strange that it's this quiet?" He wiped the sweat off his brow. "To be honest, I… I can't stand being in a place with no noise. It really scares me."

"Oh. I like the quiet. I don't understand what's frightening you. We can talk though. I might space out but I'll do me best to distract you."

"Finally, Renato the Entertainer. That's all I've ever wanted."

"If you want entertainment, I can tell you stories. Me mam says I get me storytelling skills from me dad. I like reading about folklore and history," Renato spoke softly. "You know, I enjoyed getting to know Kater and Helaine. Hearing about their lives was like listening to tales from history books. Less extravagant, but still interesting."

"I guess so, yeah. Save your stories for when we're at a campfire and there're others who can listen. Most people never learn to read and I bet they'd love to hear them."

"True. Helaine was also telling me about Spirit's Eve. It sounded fascinating. People hung up decorations, they were playing games, dressing up… She also told me about holidays. Where you celebrate. Have a feast Take a day off. I'd like to bring that to Llantry."

"Ah I noticed, though I thought it wasn't the right time of year. Don't you get time off to be with your friends?"

"No. We work then go home. It's difficult to have friends in Llantry. You know what everyone in town's doing, because it's the same thing they've always done. There's never any need to make small talk. We're all like an old married couple, where they sit side by side all day without saying a word."

Pepi still knew of their eerie surroundings, however, Renato's voice calmed him. "This journey's quite the break of routine, then isn't it?"

"I've never left Llantry before, so yes."

The more Renato spoke, the more guilty Pepi felt. Renato was tired yet he saw to Pepi's needs without question. As expected of a healer and leader. The guilt doubled. Why should Renato comfort him when he got nothing in return? Renato earned Pepi's respect and gratitude but even then it wasn't a fair exchange. There were certain things Pepi felt too afraid to share about himself. But if Renato wanted the truth from him, for him to open up: it was the least he could do. If only a little.

"Did I ever tell you I come from a massive family?" Pepi asked.

Renato looked upwards in thought. "Don't think you have."

"I have way too many cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. We're close to our extended family. Plus there's my nieces, nephews, brother, and sisters…"

"I'm surprised you have enough air in your lungs to list all those relatives!" Renato gave a small smile. "What's their names? How old are they? Are your siblings candy merchants too?"

Pepi chuckled, feeling a small weight lift off his chest at Renato's brightening expression. Then it fell right back where it left as it dawned on Pepi how much he'd been shutting Renato out. He answered Renato's questions, gushing over his youngest niece's first words, his brother's banter, and his uncle's farm.

"If it isn't obvious already, Uncle Wylas is my favourite uncle. I liked to run over to his place when I wanted to skip out on cleaning duty and get away from the house. He made a chicken coop that looked like a ship and we gave the chickens pirate names. One time we got an artist to draw Blackbeard, a chicken who just had to get the most corn in the mornings, wearing an eye-patch." He showed it to Renato.

They came across a clearing, with a river in the middle that had small waterfalls streaming into it. Pepi revelled in the sound. The area seemed to sparkle, with glowing yellow bugs sitting on long strands of grass, and luminescent butterflies flitting from flower to flower. Pepi and Renato sat on the riverbank, finishing the last of their bread. Pepi noticed Renato gazing at a flower beside him that looked like a wild daisy with red petals. Renato picked it with his free hand, bringing it to his nose to smell. The petals closed, reopening with a burst as smoky gas covered Renato's face. Pepi laughed as Renato coughed.

"That's what you get for picking a flower!" Pepi commented, taking the flower to put into his pocket.

Pepi took his boots off to dip his feet into the river, watching as colourful reeds drifted around his ankles. Renato lay down with a sigh.

"Do trees know where their next arm's going to come from?" Renato asked. "A tree starts growing a branch. It doesn't mind this new arm. It says, 'Hell yeah man, I got another arm so I can get more sunlight and live life!'"

"I don't know," Pepi replied. "You've got me thinking now. Do you have any other thoughts about trees?"

Renato dragged Pepi over to a low hanging tree branch, giggling as the leaves brushed over his head and fell to the ground. "It's petting me," he laughed. "Pet sounds like Pep. Pep-pep-pepepepep."

"By Lidion," Renato gasped. "What if people's hair was like tree roots? And people absorbed food and water through their hair? A moment ago y-you could've been sipping water from that river with your hairy legs!"

"You're being more amusing than usual." Pepi picked the leaves out of Renato's hair. "It worries me."

"Believe it or not I've a wealth of humour, I'm just very cheap." Renato pulled Pepi down as he lay face down and groaned. "Me head feels like it's buzzing." Renato clutched his head and smiled as though he couldn't force his muscles to frown. "Am I flying? Why is the grass so sharp?"

A rustling nearby made Pepi sit up in full alert. He peered around them. Finlay flew out his pocket pulsing yellow, but he was still concerned. Pepi put his boots back on.

"Who's there?"

Renato yawned. "Probably just an animal."

Standing in front of Renato, Pepi shook his head. "I haven't seen a single animal."

From a bush appeared small humanoid creatures.

"Fairies!" Renato gasped.

The fairies ran as fast as their little legs could carry them, shouting in high-pitched voices. "It's the human, he came back! Quick, get his instrument!" A few fairies darted back to the bush and returned with a string instrument that Pepi recognised.

"My lyre! I thought I lost it… But how did you- why do you-"

"Do you just know everyone everywhere, Pep?" Renato pulled at Pepi's trouser leg.

"Uh, no, it's more like they all know me and I haven't the foggiest idea why they do." Pepi picked up the lyre and inspected it. It really was the one he'd lost, with the exact same wonky engraving of his name, the same scratches. He put it into his bag.

"Cast us a spell, human!" The fairies climbed onto Renato, poking Pepi in the leg. "We want to see you do the pretty lights again!"

"What are you talking about? I can't do magic," Pepi told them.

"The human doesn't know! Doesn't remember! Niklam erased his memory!" The fairies tittered. "What a trickster!"

Pepi brushed the fairies off his leg, who fell onto Renato's chest. "Wait, who's Niklam?"

The fairies ignored him, choosing to fly over to the flowers instead. The flowers were about the same size as them, and the fairies pulled at the petals, shoving their faces into the flower head, laughing when the petals closed over their heads and gas covered their faces.

Pepi rummaged in his bag with one hand then took out the job hiring poster from two months ago, showing it to the fairies. "Is Niklam the one who gave me this? Who are they?"

However, like Renato, the fairies were too busy being silly to notice him. Some attempted to fly but stumbled in their takeoff and fell down, laughing hysterically. Pepi put the poster away and groaned.

"They're so cuuute!" Renato laughed with them as some fairies made tiny braids in his hair.

Other fairies noticed the rope tying the two humans together and snapped it apart using a flame spell that singed Pepi's wrist.

"Ow! A simple magic knife would've cut it just fine."

A fairy wearing shorts and a garland of Autumn leaves flew clumsily up to Pepi's face. "Shay tanks to us! We helped yuh. Yuh should looshen up a liddle." The fairy raised their palms, shooting a spell in Pepi's face.

Pepi jumped up and began playing the lyre, then danced to his own music against his will.

"Oh no," Renato sat up, leaning on his elbows. "They used a charm spell on you!" His head fell back down and he laughed, causing the fairies dancing on his stomach to stumble.

Normally, Pepi loved playing music; in fact, he wanted to be a travelling minstrel one day. But something was wrong with Renato and Pepi had a spell cast on him that neither of them could reverse without magic. He'd been correct to be on edge the moment they stepped into this forest! Pepi tore the lyre from his own hands and stuffed it into his bag. A fairy shot another spell at him, forcing Pepi to sing as he continued dancing.

"Shoo little flies and get off my knight or you'll be in for a nasty surprise!" Pepi swatted the fairies off of Renato, who fired spells at Pepi that missed by a long shot. "Renato, we need to be on our way since we've got places to go and shouldn't stay!" Pepi sang and pulled a dizzy Renato up to his feet, jerking Renato because of his jig.

The fairies suddenly screamed and flew away into the forest upon seeing something. There was a crack of thunder. Pepi looked at the fairies’ line of sight and cried out in joy upon seeing a large black horse jumping down the waterfall and into the river. Finlay flew out of Pepi's pocket and hit him in the face, but Pepi ignored it and shoved Finlay back into his pocket.

"We're saved, we are! By a horse of the night, which can take us far until these fairies are out of sight!"

The horse stopped in the river, staring at Pepi with glowing white eyes, as water dripped down its massive mane that looked like a bundle of riverweed. For a second, Pepi thought back to his encounter with the dragon in Llantry, how it locked eyes with Pepi like this horse did. Rearing its head back, the horse let out a harsh neigh of chilling laughter. Then, galloping out of the river, it stood high above Pepi and Renato.

"That's a bad horsey…" Renato mumbled, holding onto Pepi's shoulder for support in standing while his mind spun.

"We need to break the spell or I'll dance forever and you'll never be well!" Pepi found a big rock to climb on, to make jumping onto the horse's back easier, and guided Renato up. Renato swung his legs over its back, slumping forward onto the mane as he complained about the smell.

"Let's go to the nearest town, hold on tight or you'll fall down!" Pepi warbled, grabbing their bags, and sat behind Renato on the horse while his legs bounced up and down like they had a mind of their own.

They rode out of the forest and time started again. Birds tweeted in bushes, the rain hammered down, and thunder rolled in the distance. The horse wailed. That's such a Mood, Pepi thought.

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softspideys · 5 years

Text

Alone (Peter Parker x Stark!Reader)

summary: on the day of the funeral, you’re feeling more alone than ever. good thing your worst enemy peter parker is there to remind you that you’re not.

warnings: angst, ***MAJOR endgame spoilers!!!***

words: 2.9k

pairings: peter parker x stark!reader

a/n: yes more angst I’m SORRY. also another reminder that if you haven’t seen endgame still you should definitely not read this :^)

When Pepper came into your bedroom on the morning of your father’s funeral you were gone, but your window was open. She stuck her head out and found you sitting on the roof, your knees hugged to your chest.

“How long have you been up?” she asked quietly, her voice shattering the silence you’d grown accustomed to.

You shrugged. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember the last time you slept. Every time you tried, you were faced with nightmares of that final battle, of your father’s wide, unseeing eyes boring into your own.

So what if humanity was saved? So what if everyone was back? So what if Thanos was gone? You didn’t care about any of it, not anymore. Not if it also meant your father was dead in exchange.

“Come eat some breakfast,” Pepper said.

“Not hungry.”

“At least come inside,” she said. “It’s cold.” It was almost summertime, but the nights and early mornings were still chilly. Not that you really felt it. Not that you really felt anything anymore.

But she sounded so tired, and you knew today was going to be just as hard for her as it was for you. So you relented, climbing back through your window. Pepper stepped back, watching as you landed less-than-gracefully before straightening up and facing her. She said nothing, reaching out and smoothing your hair. You thought maybe she was going to start crying or worse, hug you, but all she said was, “Try not to kill Peter Parker when you see him today, please.”

“No promises,” you said. She sighed.

“Everyone will be here soon. Finish getting ready, will you?”

You nodded. She squeezed your shoulder once before leaving you alone at last.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love your stepmother. You did, of course you did. She’d raised you like one of her own long before she and Tony ever got together. You were just having a hard time accepting the fact that she and Morgan were the only family you had left now, and they weren’t even 100% yours.

For as long as you could remember, it had been you and Tony against the world. After he took you in when your mother dropped you at his doorstep as a baby (only after a paternity test proved you were his, of course), it was rare to see him without you. You were at the press conference when he announced he was Iron Man. You went to every hearing, every charity gala, every party. You watched as he went from a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. to the leader of the Avengers. You kept him company in his workshop during the long, lonely nights when Pepper was gone and the group had splintered and no one else was there for him.

And now he was gone. And you were alone.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by muffled voices, broke you out of your trance. You looked over at your bed, where your plain, short-sleeved black dress was waiting for you.

When you went downstairs a few minutes later you were greeted by a crowd: Steve, Happy, Rhodey, Bucky, Banner, Clint, Thor, Sam, Nick Fury, Carol Danvers. According to Pepper, more people were coming: there was still Scott Lang, T’Challa, Dr. Strange, and Nebula, plus all of their families. Even Harley Keener had texted you to say he was making the trip up.

You knew it should’ve made you happy that your dad was loved and respected by so many people, but instead it just made you angry. Look at everyone you left behind.

No one really knew what to say to you, and you didn’t particularly feel like talking anyway, so you retreated back into the living room and sat on the couch with Morgan, watching her color. She wasn’t as sad as you and Pepper were; mostly just confused. In some ways that made it even worse.

There was another knock on the front door. Since you were closest and Pepper had her hands full in the kitchen, you got up and opened it. You immediately wished you hadn’t.

Peter and May Parker were standing on your porch, dressed in all black. She smiled when she saw you, but his jaw tightened, and even though his hands were in his pockets you could tell they were clenched into fists.

To say you and Peter despised each other was an understatement. You’d been competing for Tony’s attention since the day you met: you may have been his daughter, but Peter was the son he’d always wanted. He had an advantage and never failed to remind you of it.

You hated the bond they shared. You hated coming home and finding them tinkering away in Tony’s workshop. You hated when he stayed for dinner, or when your dad consulted him on a project over you. You hated his stupid smile and his know-it-all brain and how quickly and easily Tony grew to love him. You were so used to being the center of Tony’s world and now you had to share him with someone else, someone who barely even knew him. Peter, you assumed, hated you simply because you hated him. There was no reason for him to be jealous of you.

The worst part by far was how attractive he was. When you’d first met, he was nothing but a scrawny kid. But months of training with the Avengers, plus the natural wonders of puberty, had turned him into someone taller and muscular. It wasn’t fair that someone so annoying could also be so good-looking. You were never sure if you wanted to punch him or kiss him.

“Hello,” you said stiffly.

“Hi, honey,” May said, leaning in to give you a hug. For some reason you let her; May Parker just had that motherly effect on you. Peter, however, brushed by you without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as you stood aside to let her in. “He’s been like this with me, too.”

You doubted it, but nodded anyway. “It’s fine.” You shut the door and sat back on the couch next to your half-sister, listening vaguely to everyone talking in the kitchen.

“Wanna color?” Morgan offered. You looked at her paper. She was drawing a forest of some kind, all flowers and trees and wonky animals.

“No thanks.”

“Is it ’cause you’re sad?” she asked, rather bluntly. You blinked.

“What?”

“Mommy says you’re sad about Daddy,” she said without looking up from her drawing. “And that’s why you won’t do stuff with me anymore.”

For such a little kid, you forgot how perceptive she could be. Yup, definitely Tony Stark’s daughter. But was sad really the right word for it? Was there even a word to describe the empty, crushing feeling that sat on your chest day and night?

“Yeah,” you said finally. “I am sad.”

Morgan nodded thoughtfully. “Sorry you’re sad,” she said, pushing her drawing over to you. “You can have this, if you want. It’s one of my best ones.”

Despite everything, you smiled a little. “Thanks,” you said. “I love it.” And just for a second, things were better.

Then Pepper came into the room. “There you both are.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “It’s time to go say good-bye.”

* * *

You found yourself on the roof again, watching the sun set behind the trees. You knew you should be downstairs with everyone else, talking and reminiscing about your dad, but you just didn’t have the energy for that yet.

The ceremony was nice. You knew your dad probably would’ve joked about why no one was throwing a parade and lighting off fireworks in his honor, but he secretly would’ve liked it.

“You gonna jump?” a voice said. You turned.

Peter Parker was sticking his head out the window, looking up at you. You gritted your teeth, fixing your eyes back on the horizon. “No.”

“Hmm.” With annoying ease, he climbed out of your room and onto the roof, hoisting himself up to sit next to you. “Why aren’t you inside with everyone else?”

“I wanted to be alone,” you said coldly. You knew he got the hint but was ignoring it anyway, and that made you even angrier. “Why are you here? What do you even want?”

“You shouldn’t be by yourself,” he said simply.

“Yeah, well a lot of things that shouldn’t be happening currently are,” you snapped. “What’s one more thing?”

He rolled his eyes and you had to fight the urge to push him off the roof. He’d survive somehow, anyway. “Maybe I don’t want to be alone, did you ever think of that? Maybe I’m doing this for me, not you.”

You blinked, a little startled. “Where’s your aunt?”

“You kidding? It’s like Smother City with her.”

You had to admit he had a point there, thinking of Pepper and all she’d tried to do to get to you to talk about your feelings and “start the healing process.”

“Whatever,” you said finally. You ignored the smirk that flickered across his face, knowing he’d won.

To his credit, he did manage to sit in awkward silence with you for a few minutes. Then a breeze blew past and you rubbed your arms. “You cold?” he asked.

“No.” But of course, he was already taking off his suit jacket and thrusting it at you. “I told you I’m not cold.”

“Why were you rubbing your arms then?”

“I don’t know, it’s a free country?”

“Just take the jacket.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Take it!”

“I said I don’t want it!”

“Just take the fucking jacket!” Peter said loudly.

“For fuck’s sake.” You snatched it from him and pulled it on. “There, are you happy now?”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Then go away!” you shouted. “No one’s making you be up here! I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t even know why you came up in the first place; you hate me!”

“Hate you?” he repeated. “I don’t hate you; I’m trying to be fucking nice to you. You’re the one who hates me. I don’t even know what I did.”

He sounded so tired, so defeated, and for some reason it made all the anger drain out of you. What was the point in fighting with him anymore? There was no one to impress anymore, no reason to beat him.

“You didn’t really do anything,” you said finally. “I’ve always just been . . . jealous, I guess.”

“Jealous? Of what, me?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, of you,” you said, annoyed. “You were like the son my dad always wanted. He loved you. You’re so smart and he always valued your opinion, sometimes over mine. And you’ve got these cool superpowers and I’m just . . . me. I never had to compete with anyone else for his attention before that, so I guess I just felt . . . threatened by you.”

Peter was facing you head-on now, wide-eyed. “That’s . . . that’s insane,” he said. “I mean, I know Mr. Stark and I got along really well and he became like a mentor to me, but . . . you’re his daughter. If anything, I was jealous of you.”

“Me,” you said incredulously.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said. “He talked about you all the time. You meant the world to him. And you were there for everything, like when he became Iron Man and when the Avengers first formed. I was just that annoying new kid he found on YouTube who followed them everywhere.”

“You still are,” you muttered. To your surprise, he huffed out a laugh.

“Thanks. I guess it’s true, though. Bucky and Sam still barely give me the time of day. But you . . . you’re smart, and beautiful, and just like him. They all love and respect you. I’ve always been jealous of that.”

But you were still caught on one word. “Beautiful? You think I’m beautiful?”

It was dark, but you could see Peter’s cheeks flush. He looked up at the sky, drumming his fingers on his knees. “I—well—yeah, of course. Of course I do. Because you are.”

“Thank you,” you said, too stunned to even make a snarky comment. Since he was no longer looking at you, this gave you time to study him. He’d loosened his tie since the funeral, and you could see the fine muscles of his arms through his white dress shirt. His eyes were still red from crying earlier, but it didn’t look bad. His hair, which had been carefully gelled back earlier, was starting curl again. You liked it better that way.

When Peter spoke again, his voice was soft. “I never got to tell you how sorry I am.”

Your stomach dropped and you went back to staring at your knees. “You lost him too.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But he wasn’t my dad. He was yours.”

For some reason his words made tears well up in your eyes, ones that you hastily brushed away. “It’s just hard,” you said finally. “Tony was the only thing in this world that was 100% mine. He was my dad. Even when there was nothing, there was me and him. And now it’s just me.” You bowed your head, struggling to keep your voice even. “And I’m so mad. I’m so mad he died and left me alone because now I’m gonna have to spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how to be without him.”

“You’re not alone, though,” Peter said. “Tell me you know that. Even aside from Pepper and Morgan, you have Happy, Rhodey, May . . . me . . . all of us. We might not be blood, but we’re your family.”

You nodded wordlessly. You were still crying, but the hot tears felt good pouring down your face and neck. You’d been holding them in for far too long.

“And I know you miss him,” Peter said. “I miss him too. We all do. And I’ll help you make sure no one forgets him.”

“Promise?”

“Swear on my life.” He held out his pinky. You choked out a laugh, locking it with your own.

“Thank you,” you said. For some reason, crying in front of Peter Parker didn’t make you feel as shitty as you thought. Instead you felt . . . understood.

You went to wipe your eyes, but Peter reached out and caught your hand before you could. You turned to look at him, opening your mouth to speak, but stopped when he reached out with his other hand and cupped your face.

Gently, he brushed the tears away with his thumb. Even after they were gone, he still left his hand there. You hadn’t realized how close he’d been sitting to you this whole time, but you didn’t pull away.

For a second neither of you spoke, just sizing each other up. You knew where this was heading and found that you didn’t mind, not at all. “Peter Parker,” you said quietly, “are you starting to like me?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught a glimpse of affection in them. “I always liked you,” he mumbled before he leaned in and kissed you.

Part of you wondered if it was fucked up to be kissing a boy at your father’s funeral. The other part of you wondered why you hadn’t bothered to do this sooner. Peter let go of your hand and moved it to your waist, pulling you even closer to him, while you slid yours to the back of his neck, your fingers absently playing with the curls there. You felt him smile into it and realized you were smiling too.

“Hey!”

The two of you sprang apart, looking towards the window. Happy was glaring up at you. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “Everyone’s been looking for the both of you.”

“Tell them we’re up here,” you said, annoyed at being interrupted, while Peter squeaked out an apology.

Happy rolled his eyes, but even he didn’t have the heart to really be mad. “You should come down and be with everyone else.”

“We’ll be right there,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Your dad called this whole thing ages ago, you know,” he said. “He’d be glad to know he was right.” With that, he left you and Peter alone again.

As soon as he was gone, you burst into giggles as Peter buried his head in your shoulder. “He scares the shit out of me already,” he complained. “And now he just caught me kissing Tony Stark’s daughter.”

“Those are the risks that come with being involved with me,” you said, shrugging.

“I guess I’m willing to take those risks,” Peter said with a grin that you found yourself returning. “Should we go inside?”

You stopped him before he could get up. “Can we stay for just a few more minutes?”

He nodded. “Sure. We can stay as long as you want.” He put his arm around you and you snuggled into his side, staring up at the stars. Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It promised that you would have more time to talk later.

As you sat there, feeling Peter’s warmth from both his body and his jacket, you realized there was a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there in weeks.

You would always miss Tony, and the pain of losing him was never going to go away. But you weren’t alone anymore. Not by a long shot.

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itsbuckysworld · 5 years

Text

HELLO SPRING DAY 5

Pairing: Astronomy Student!Bucky X Psych Major!Reader Category: College AU! Warnings: fluff bomb! Word Count: 2.6K Guest Appearance: very very very briefly Steef Rawgers

i know i said no writing two prompts in one day but im doing so to catch up because as the “host” of this event I feel like I should be up to date.

I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE!

Day 5: Starry Night, for my Spring Short Story Writing Event

“Sorry!” Someone says, startling you out of your calm state. It’s 9pm and you’re lying on a blanket at the top of a tall hill in the park. The spot you had claimed as yours since the past week, where you come to relax and just breathe after long days. You always had a thing for laying down in the great outdoors to sort of unwind and let your body and mind breathe, and suddenly, there was a slight interruption, a bump of something hard and metallic against your outstretched leg. Opening one eye, clearly annoyed, you look to the intruder.

It’s a guy you’ve never seen before, his sweatpants hanging a little low on his hips and his short hair is messily pulled back as he circles clumsily around you looking up to the sky, bothering only slightly not to run you over with his… whatever he’s carrying. You sit up and notice his equipment, the heavy looking backpack, the small briefcase and the telescope he’s trying his hardest to set up. You deduce that’s what bumped into your leg as the guy continues to ignore your laying frame. He’s wearing glasses and he fixes them rashly, his face clean shaven and young.

You’re about to ask him to leave you alone and tell him this was your spot, as if you could claim a section of the public park, but he doesn’t let you begin when he’s crouching and looking through the lense excitedly, quickly reaching into his bag to take notes.

“Uhh, excuse me?” You start but he’s too busy looking at whatever he’s looking at, squinting through the tiny hole, to even chance a glance at you. In fact he shushes you as he takes his eye off the lease to scribble something hastily.

You give him a glare behind his back and scoot over closer to him “Hello! I was here first!” The guy all but whines.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m trying to work on my thesis”

Thesis? This guy couldn’t be much older than you. What? 23 tops? And he was working on his thesis? You notice all the scattered books that have flown out of his backpack in his frenzy to study the sky. Astronomy, Physics, The universe and us, A brief history of time.

After sitting there confused for a few seconds he finally addresses you, once more apologizing as his fingers maniacally tremble and play with the frames on his face. He’s shy, excitable, and giddy, almost reminds you of a puppy or a toddler, seeing the world for the first time, as he explains he’s an astronomy major, a freshman like you, and since day one he’s decided to study and try to catch patterns in the night sky and stars in a yearly basis, but first he had to find a spot that would allow him so, to sit and examine almost on the daily to grab the correct data. This, the tallest hill of the park – your spot to relax – was it.

“Well –“ you begin, sassily and brushing imaginary dust off your legs – “this was my relaxing spot first” you state matter-of-factly, returning to lay down as if claiming your territory and expecting him to pack up and leave but all he does is stare at you bitting his lip, and then he shrugs with a smile slowly creeping in. “I won’t interrupt you…” he says and you can tell he’s already made up his mind, he’s not leaving your spot. “Would you mind sharing your spot with me every now and then?” And you eye him with one eye open, head resting on the palms of your hands, you sigh closing your eyes and extending one hand towards him. “Y/N” “James”

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“Turn your music down” James, or well, Bucky as you’ve grown to call him over the months, now almost a year, tells you as he squints and spies on the specs of stardust in the dark sky through his telescope. You’re listening to some albums your creative writing teacher recommended for the upcoming months – your favorite elective so far, guaranteed – With a quick roll of your eyes you oblige, ticking the down button on his computer and returning to taking notes on your notebook as you lay on your tummy, using your free hand to push some of your now shorter hair away from your eyes as the breeze fluttered it around.

“Find any new constellations worth naming after your sister?” “Nope” Bucky chuckles, and reaches to grab a sandwich from the picnic basket you’ve brought for the day without glancing away from the telescope “Not yet… Pass me my B chart?”

You don’t take your eyes away from your book as you reach over to his backpack and pull out a thick roll of paper he’s tried to explain to you over and over but it always goes over your head, every single dot is a star that you can’t place whenever you look up, and you think it’s a superpower of his, how he finds exactly the constellation he’s looking for – In his eyes, your superpower is how you easily know every single song and band from the 70’s.

You continue like this for a little longer, and later when you start to yawn, Bucky is right there with you and you both pack up in complete sync as he finishes his sandwich and sends a text to his roommate, the two of you walking together down a few blocks. His slight stubble and thicker frames adorning his face, different than when you’d first met. “See you tomorrow?” “Can’t, have this event to attend to, extra credit” “Wow, look at you needing extra credit” “Shut up. Friday?” “Sure, your turn to make sandwiches”

And then you go your separate ways.

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“Wait, the box with like... the- the triangle on top?” “Yes! yes! Ok, now now, do you see Cassiopeia?” he leans over you from behind, clapping excitedly. “Now you’re asking for too much” you lean back and sit away from the telescope in a fit of laughter that Bucky joins in. His now long hair is pushed back into a bun, away from his eyes, but a few strands adorn his face, and he’s changed his frames a second time this year, these ones you like way better, not so thick as the ones he used to have last year and not wonky like the ones he just switched out of.

He’s looking at you through them, appreciating how the new glasses are so clean and pristine he can see you perfectly through them and he enjoys the view.

His phone chirps on the blanket you’re both sat on, right next to the familiar picnic basket you’d bought all those years ago. It’s Steve, FaceTiming him. You greet him as well, he’s now your friend too, and you’re trying your best to see if you come up on the video despite it being so dark out. “Oh, you’re in your spot” he says it, almost mockingly, given he’s always found it kinda funny how you’ve both grown to call this your spot. This patch of grass at the park was yours and Bucky’s to keep. “Whatcha need punk?” Bucky doesn’t want him to keep mentioning their spot like that, specially because Steve always does it in this tone that sounds like he’s saying I told you so, you’re blind if you can’t see you’re head over heels for her.

Bucky doesn’t want to talk about that or bring anything that could indicate to that, certainly not in front of you. “Think you took my car keys, idiot, I’m stranded at the apartment.” Bucky curses under his breath. “They’re at your place” he says looking to you and you shrug, it’s no big deal, you can swing by and get them on your way back, after all, Bucky was done stargazing for the night and you were done Bucky-gazing as well.

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“You nervous?” It’s a chilly spring night when you lay on your back on the red and white checkered blanket, looking at the stars, with Bucky next to you laying in the opposite direction. This time around there’s no telescopes, no mess of notebooks strewn around you, and Bucky just tosses a ball up into the air and back into his hands, over and over as you just take in the night. You can’t remember the last time your spot was used for just relaxing. Surely, it’s happened many times over the course of the years, but these past months were filled with nothing but stress, which is exactly where your question comes from.

“For my thesis presentation?” He asks, turning slightly to face you. You’re upside down in his eyes but still way too pretty through his contacts – a fact you’re not so happy about him no longer having the dark frames adorning his face, you’d grown quite used to it, but you’re glad he at least chose clear contacts, means his eyes are the same vibrant blue, and he’s kept the beard despite going back to a shorter haircut, which is altogether a nice new look – You nod. “Almost crapping my pants” a nervous chuckle leaving his plump lips, and you laugh wholeheartedly. “You’ve got this in the bag. Been at it since you were a freshmen, if someone knows how the stars dance over new york city on a yearly basis, it’s you” “And you too” “Well I’m flattered you think this silly ol’ psych major has been understanding a single word you’ve said about time and space” this causes him to laugh out loud now, a little more at ease.

The breeze hits your face and you close your eyes, letting it consume you and relax your bones. Bucky can only stare from the corner of his eye. He’s thankful for whatever combination of events lead the both of you here and now, and there’s a smile he can’t contain, suddenly drawing itself on his features.

“That lab internship write back?” You continue with your eyes closed. You hear it in his sigh the answer is no, and your hand blindly but gently reaches over to scratch at his scalp in a soothing way, however you can. He likes it when you do that, really calms him down. “They’re missing out.” There’s a tenderness in your voice as you turn to look at him. You mean it, whoever is not giving him their time of day must be insane. He’s worth his weight in gold and more. “The idiots that refused your proposal last week are missing out too, big time” his hand reaches over to push a strand of hair back from your face and your smile is warm and so is your face and every place his fingers graze, getting a dorky smile out of you. You catch a small glimpse of the star pendant on his bracelet, you’d gifted it to him long ago and he’s had it close ever since.

There’s a silence that envelops the two of you, a kind you’ve experienced before during all those years. Whenever he was deep in thought analyzing bright specs in the sky behind the clouds, or whenever you were reading too intensely into some case study, there was always silence. The kind that screamed how well you two could coexist and be perfectly content with each other.

“Look” you say, and point away from him, up and to the left. “Ursa minor”

Bucky looks and immediately bursts into surprised laughter. “Oh my god! It took me four years but you finally can find Ursa Minor on your own without a telescope!” He’s short of clapping amusedly. You push at him almost making him roll away down the hill some and calling him a jerk as his laughter calms down and he repositions his body to a sitting position. It doesn’t take you long to join him, the both of you facing the rest of the park over your hill

Looking at the time you know it’s late, usually the two of you are packed up by the time midnight rolls around, but just for tonight you’d rather stay and enjoy the company under the bright light of the stars. Bucky points somewhere in the distance, probably another constellation you can’t name, except, because he’s a great teacher – you’ll remind him later that he should look into that teaching position Professor Ruffalo had suggested – you can now recognize some shapes and this is definitely not a constellation he’s told you about before.

He traces the outs of it, just five stars that almost make the shape of a heart if you squint hard enough. “Discovered a new constellation” “Did you now?” You glance at him, taking in his features and how he slowly looks back at you, time seeming like it’s stopped, even though Bucky knows that’s impossible. The pull you have on him is comparable to that of a black hole, except you’re so bright it burns, and it’s continued to burn through the years ever since that day his old telescope almost broke because he was too busy trying to stop you from tripping down the hill, not that it was insanely dangerous, it’s just you were – are – insanely important, and he realized you were it for him. With all the star and space puns you’d googled just for him, and with your crazy theories about people’s minds and your unwavering dedication to everything you did. “… yeah…” came out of him barely above a whisper. He’s been jokingly discovering constellations with you since his sophomore year, and you found it even more charming every time. Lost in his eyes, you’re only slightly aware that you’ve cupped his face in your hand and now the tip of his nose has met the tip of your nose and it’s a nano second before his lips have met yours and you’re melting into him, allowing him to take your breath away, and being hypnotized by his always minty breath.

It takes a lot in him to stop kissing you, but he has to pull back to breathe and make sure it’s all real and not just another dream. He can barely separate from you though, just enough that he can breathe and mutter some words to you, but you’re there, so so close, just how he wants to keep you. He’s tired of looking at stars that are damn far away, so it’s nice to see one so up close. “Would it be too corny if I said I named that new constellation after you” he murmurs, just above a whisper, and you giggle, pressing your forehead to his. “yeah.” And you shrug as if saying you don’t care. “kinda cute tho” “you like cute” it’s more of an affirmation, he knows you too well by now. The two of you basically eskimo kiss through the short hushed conversation. “i love cute” “noted” He’s smiling, breathlessly as he closes the distance and kisses you again and again and again. It makes the spot – your spot – unforgettable, and even more so when a year and a half down the road he’s on one knee right there, promising you the stars as you assure him he’s already given you the whole sky.

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feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged!! I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE HOPE YOU DO TOO. I feel like this could have been a fic, like all the days i skipped? wow. Or their life after they marry? cuteeeee

#IBW: Hello Spring 2019 #ibwhellospringday5 #starry night #bucky barnes x reader #fluff #AU #college AU #college!Bucky #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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soyforramen · 6 years

Text

Fall AU - In a world where Jason never died and Riverdale never fell into chaos, Jughead and Betty come across a palm-reading who will change their perspectives on life and bring them closer than they ever were before, or ever wanted to be.

Cross posted on AO3.

xxxxx

Jughead was irritated and out of place once more. Only this time it wasn’t at school. No, today he was irritable at Riverdale’s traditional Fall Faire, a place full of screaming school children, carts filled with aromatic foods he couldn’t afford, and rides guaranteed to make a PI lawyer salivate. With his dark clothes and scowl he was the rain on the otherwise brightly colored parade around him.

Archie elbowed him, dropping kettle corn on the ground. “Cheer up, Jug. At least we’re not in math.”

Reggie ran through them, almost knocking Jughead down, as he and Moose threw around a stuffed Tweety bird the football players had collectively won for Midge. (They’d been trying for a stuffed animal for their own girlfriends, but Moose being Moose had gotten his way in the end.)

“I’d rather be in math than here,” Jughead muttered. He grabbed a handful of kettle corn from Archie, saving it from it’s miserable fate on the leaf littered ground. “At least there I can get a nap in.”

“Hey boys,” Veronica called to them from the booth they were passing. Archie’s head whipped around, a goofy grin on his face at the sound of her voice.

“Down boy, the succubus isn’t going anywhere,” Jughead said.

Archie ignored him and went to Veronica, a moth to the proverbial flame. Having nothing better to do, Jughead followed Archie over to the construction paper covered booth. The sign on top proclaimed ‘Kissing Booth: Help send the Vixens to Finals!’. Crude cut outs were strewn across the booth. Jughead figured they were supposed to be lips, but to him they looked like slugs locked in a battle to the death. Then again, that’s also what he imagined kissing to be like.

Veronica perched on a stool behind the booth, dressed in orange and brown plaids for the season. She grinned at him, a new little grin she’d perfected in the Hampton’s over the summer. It screamed ‘I don’t care enough to tell anyone all your secrets, but we both know that I know them.’ “Care to buy a kiss, Juggie? Or would you rather wait until Betty comes along for the second shift?”

Archie’s brows furrowed as he glanced between Veronica and Jughead. “You and Betty are -

“There is no Betty and I,” Jughead said flatly. In lieu of blushing (a Jones was never soft enough to blush) he glared at the dark-haired vixen.

Veronica’s grin slipped into a sly smile. “C’mon Juggie, I’ve seen the way you look at her. Isn’t there something nice you can say about her?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him to make sure the blonde in question wasn’t walking up behind him. One didn’t hover around Veronica Lodge’s inner circle without becoming wise to her machinations. “There’s lots of nice things I could say about Betty. And Archie and Ethel and Toni. And there’s lots of things I could say about you.”

Veronica’s smile settled back into her usual Cheshire smile. “You flatter me,” she shot back with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Now, Archie, about that kiss?” Archie smoothed his hair and tugged at his jacket. “One ticket, one kiss,” she reminded him.

Archie held out a ticket and Veronica slipped it somewhere under the counter. She presented her cheek, and Archie gave it a quick peck.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss him?” Jughead asked.

“If that’s the way it worked we’d all get mono, Creature from the Bowels of Hot Topic,” Cheryl said as she came to take her turn at the kissing booth. “Now shoo, you’re in the way of paying customers.”

Jughead looked around and found no one else near the booth. He was tempted to stand around to irritate Cheryl further, but it was soon apparent that the Kissing Booth would quickly become the Cat Fight booth if Cheryl kept asking Archie if he’d like a kiss on the house. He saw the dark look in Veronica’s eye and knew from experience it was best to let his old pal Archie figure out his own female troubles.

As Jughead walked away, his eyes landed on a bright orange ticket laying on the dirt in front of him. He picked it up and looked around. The closest Faire attendee was over at the duck fishing pond, and no one appeared to be looking for a spare ticket. His civic duty attempted, Jughead curled his fingers around the ticket. The last time he’d had a ticket at the Fall Faire was in elementary school, when life was happier and simpler.

Jughead shook that thought off. After all, it was a faire to celebrate the bounty of the harvest, a time to eat, drink, and be merry. With this ticket he’d be able to accomplish one of those things. He spent the next ten minutes wandering through the booths as he tried to decide what he wanted to spend his one ticket on. The smell of kettle corn was tempting, but he’d already eaten most of Archie’s and he had a taste for something different. Something sweeter.

He wandered through the fairgrounds, watching people mill about in groups and making mental notes about how they moved and spoke on the off chance he might remember the next time he was struck by the writing bug. If he was ever struck by the writing bug again.

It wasn’t until he spotted the caramel apple stand tucked away on the edge of the festivities that he knew what the ticket was meant for. The gloomy fall clouds above him opened to allow a bit of sunshine to fall on the apple stand. The bright reds and browns of the sign were a neon sign to his hungry stomach. Drawn like a jock to a cheerleader, a nerd to Gryphons & Gargoyles, Jughead made a beeline towards the stand. As he drew closer he could make out a dancing apple, eerily happy despite the large bite that had been taken out of it. The words ‘1 Apple = 1 Ticket were written on the side. A happy coincidence indeed.

The fate of his ticket, though, wasn’t so easily sorted. As he passed by the line of booths, a voice called out to him, crooked with age and rough with experience.

“Palm reading. Know your true self.”

Jughead barely spared a glance at the old woman and her threadbare tent. But that small gesture proved to be his undoing. He’d broken the number one rule of all fairs and carnivals: never make eye contact with people trying to take your hard-earned money.

“You there. Boy with the hat. You look like you need some guidance in this world.”

He stopped and squinted to get a good a good look at the woman standing in the tent’s shadow. She was an old crone, or dressed as one, complete with the crooked back and wonky eye. He’d always held a healthy suspicion of adults, particularly of those who sold the type of things no one really needed, and this woman was the most suspicious on the fairgrounds. The woman squinted back, waiting for his response. There was an unspoken social contract to these types of things. Once you’d acknowledged someone’s existence there was an expectation that you’d respond. It was a social contract Jughead despised, and it was the one he most often broke.

So instead of responding, he continued his trek towards the apple booth, his mouth already salivating at the memory of the sharp crispness of the apple mixing with the sticky sweet caramel. His back teeth were sticking together in anticipation as he stepped in line.

“They say to write what you know, but if you don’t know yourself, what can you write?” The old woman’s voice held a note of amusement.

His stomach told him the old women was only trying to get one more ticket, one more payout. His inner voice, the one Toni called his super-ego, was intrigued by her promises. He’d been stuck on his novel for weeks, chasing down red-herrings into dead-ends of his own creation. The investigation by the noir detective Monica Posh had long since fizzled into nothing more than another tragic accident. At this rate, the murder of the town’s Golden Boy would never be solved.

For what might be the first time in his life, Jughead listened to something other than his stomach. It was an event that Fangs might even label ‘Growth’. Only Fangs would make sure it was accompanied by at least three memes and four gifs.

Against his own nature, Jughead walked to the front of the tent. In the coming days, he’d wonder why he’d ever gone over to the old woman. He didn’t recall leaving the line, didn’t recall walking towards the woman. It was almost as if some supernatural draw had pulled him to this place and to this woman.

“I don’t believe in this kind of thing,” Jughead said.

The woman laughed. “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that. Come, come.” She beckoned him inside with a finger crooked with arthritis.

Jughead followed her inside and found it just as bare as the outside. The only light came from a weak Coleman lantern set on the corner of a table. A faint smell of lavender hung in the air. Jughead took a seat at the card table, the woman already seated on the side. They sat there, looking at one another, until the woman barked, “Hand.”

Too startled to do anything else, Jughead put his hand on the table. The woman took his hand and peered at it. Her face came close enough to his hand he could have reached out and touched her cheek.

“Mmm,” the woman intoned.

Jughead quashed his desire to crane his neck to look at his own hand. He��d had it since birth and it was a pretty good hand, even if the fingers were long enough to get caught in the occasional door. The old woman seemed to disagree.

“You are independent. You follow your brain and ignore all matters of the heart,” she said. The woman clicked her tongue. “Too independent, it seems. You are suspicious of everyone around you, and that makes you miss everything important in life.”

The way she said it reminded Jughead of his father haggling over ‘used’ parts at Mustang’s auto shop. ‘Never buy at a mark-up,’ his father would tell them on the way over. ‘If you hem and haw a little, if you make them feel like their parts are inferior, that’s how you get a deal.’ At this moment, Jughead felt as if he were a mostly-new carburetor with all of it’s dents and dings on display.

“Your love life,” the old woman croaked, “is very sad. Tragic!”

This was what he’d spent a ticket for? Commentary he received every day, entirely unsolicited, from Reggie Mantle? The only ticket he had, the ticket that could have gotten him a candied apple, sure to last at least until they had to board the buses home. And he’s wasted it on this?

“I want a refund,” he said in a flat tone.

The old woman looked up at him, and in the same flat tone, said “No refunds.” She pointed over his shoulder and he turned to find a sign above the tent flap that said in bright red letters, “No Refunds, No Exceptions.” She yanked his hand closer and peered at it in the dim light.

“You live in your head. That’s what this line here means.” She jabbed at the line under his fingers and he winced. “Live in the moment. Learn to listen with your heart, boy.”

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

The woman threw up her hands. “Fine. Be a miserable old man by the time you're twenty-three. But don’t come complaining to me when things drastically change for you.”

Jughead stared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to avoid that? That next week the stars will align and things will look up if I only I wear pink?”

“I’m not a fortune cookie. I read palms. Palms only show me who you are. What you were raised to be.”

He scoffed, disappointed with her response. He knew he was acting the petulant child, refused a toy he didn’t want in the first place only to throw a fit when it was taken away.

“Fine. Thanks, I guess,” he muttered. He stood and walked out of the tent. It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner that he realized the woman had never asked for his ticket. In a surge of happiness, he checked his jacket pocket where he’d put it for safe-keeping. He came up empty. Checking all the other pockets, he came up empty again.

With a scowl, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stalked off to find Archie.

On the other side of the fair, Betty just finished her turn at the kissing both. Today had been a big blow to her ego, especially when she saw how many tickets Veronica and Cheryl had received.

“At least you didn’t have to kiss Creepy Chris,” Toni said in her own attempt at consolation.

Betty stared at the toes of her shoes. “I hid behind the booth every time he came by.

Toni stored and sat on the stool to take her turn. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The only reason Cheryl and Veronica got any tickets is because they’re the biggest flirts in school and bullied every boy into stopping by.”

Betty knew this was true, but it didn’t help the sting of knowing that once again she was in second place. She glanced to where Archie stood, Veronica on one arm, Cheryl on the other. Both vied for his attention between preening and sniping at each other.

Toni put a hand on Betty’s arm. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Her smile was pained and pitiful. Betty was used to that kind of pity. After all, Betty had pined for Archie for years, always desperate to catch a minute of his time. When they were younger, it was a game to see if she could finally pull Archie’s attention away from the other girls in town. But as they grew up, and Betty grew into real feelings for him, she didn’t want to play the game any longer. She wanted to be the only one.

So she left Archie to the girls who weren’t so careless with their hearts, the girls who knew how to be a hear tbreaker. And Betty tried to move on.

“I don’t know if it helps any, but I don’t think either of them want him.” She leaned on her arms and openly watched the pair bicker.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Toni pointed to Cheryl, then to Veronica. “See how all their attention is focused on each other? The only time they focus on Archie is when the other one has lost interest. They’ve been like this all the time I’ve known them.”

It was only a year ago that Southside High had closed and reintegrated with Riverdale, bringing with it Toni and Fangs and Jughead, but Toni was right. She had always been an avid people watcher, able to draw information about a person after two minutes that Betty hadn’t been able to figure out in a lifetime.

Betty watched her best friend and cousin snap at each other through a different lens. Their bodies were facing each other, not Archie, and they didn’t allow the poor boy to get more than a few words in.

“Maybe they should talk about it?” she said thoughtfully.

Toni snorted. “They’re both so in denial I doubt they’d let you get two words out.” Realizing Betty was content to stand around, Toni gave her a gentle push. “Go on, enjoy the rest of the fair. I think I can hold down the fort for the next hour.”

“Thanks, Toni. Hope you have better luck than I did,” Betty said with a genuine smile.

Toni winked. “I do have the advantage. You only wanted to play with half the potential customers.” She slipped a hand into the mason jar Ginger had brought for the tickets and pulled out three. “Go have fun for me.”

“I can’t take those.” Betty shook her head and back up. “They’re for -”

Toni grabbed her wrist and put the tickets in her hand. “For the new uniforms Cheryl’s been salivating over all year. We both know the Vixens will never make it to finals. Think of it as hazard pay for having to kiss so many frogs. And for staying up all night to make this booth happen.”

She hadn’t stayed up all night. But Toni had a point. Betty had been the only one to show up yesterday, and she’d spent hours cutting out the letters and lips. And it wasn’t her fault her mother refused to send her with any money for the fair. (It was a surprise Alice had even left her go after hearing that the Vixens were doing a kissing booth as a fundraiser.)

The kettle corn did look really good. And if she still felt bad about it later she could always pay the cost of the tickets at the next fundraiser.

“Thanks, Toni.” Betty placed the tickets in the front pocket of her purse.

“Bring me back some funnel cake, Cooper,” Toni said as Betty walked away.

Having the tickets was a minor thrill, a small rebellion against the iron-grip of societal expectations her mother had hammered into her head growing up. This was the sort of thing that would keep her up at night, that would wind her stomach into a Gordian knot not even Alka Seltzer could cure. But she was hungry and the idea of funnel cake smelled too good to pass up.

With her step lightened by her reasoning, Betty wandered through the Faire. Most people, if asked, would say Betty Cooper was a spring girl, the kind who loved the budding flowers and baby animals, the promises of a new beginning wrapped in May showers. But those who knew her, knew that she had always been a fall girl. There was something about the cooler air, the cozy sweaters, the hot chocolate. Her day was brightened by carved pumpkins and changing leaves. It made her feel alive to be surrounded by so much color and activity. Fall meant the return of school and her friends, the return of football games and pep rallies, the return of another year in Riverdale.

“Such a beautiful smile,” a woman’s voice said to her right. “I’m sure your palm is just as lovely.”

Confused, Betty turned to find a young woman with chestnut curls and deep grey eyes smiling at her. “Palm reading. Only one ticket,” the woman told her.

Betty paused. It had always been something she’d want to try, along with tarot readings and crystal balls. It was the type of thing her mother always warned her about. Snake-oil salesmen and con-men who made their money by preying on people’s insecurities. Rationally Betty knew it only meant what you wanted it to mean, but the idea of doing something her mother would hate intrigued her, so Betty followed the palm reader into the tent.

Inside, the walls were draped with thick maroon cloth trimmed with gold. The decor matched the palm reader’s outfit. Fairy lights illuminated the tent, and a diffuser in the corner threw the comforting scent of lavender into the air.

The palm reader held out her hand to one of the cushions littering the ground, and Betty choose a deep purple pillow. She held out her hand and the woman took it.

“Do you see this line here?” the palm reader asked after a few minutes. “Do you see how long it is?”

Betty peered at her hand and nodded. It ran the width of her hand. “Does that mean something?”

“You overthink. And this line here, where that breaks? It means you put others’ needs in front of your own. You should learn how to say no every now and then.”

The woman hummed, and Betty sat up a bit straighter. She craned her neck, trying to figure out what it was that had caught the woman’s eye. “What? What is it?”

“Here.” The palm reader pointed to a gap in one of the lines that crossed Betty’s palm. “It is very odd. Do you see how it jumps? How the lines break between your second and first finger? That means that an important love has passed through your life, from childhood until now. That break means that the love has left your life. It is not longer the center of it. But,” the woman peered closer. There was a dramatic pause that that pulled a shiver of tension down Betty’s spine. “Here. Something important will happen to you, much sooner than you think. Something life changing.”

Betty took in a deep breath. The woman probably told every client the same thing, but to Betty it felt real. She’d been waiting for important and life-changing for a while. “Do you have any advice for when it happens?”

The woman smiled. “Think with your heart. Don’t let your anxiety and fear get the better of you. And put yourself first.”

Betty thanked her and handed over the ticket. A grin stretched her face as she walked out into the cool fall air. When she turned around to get her bearings, the tent was dark and the woman was nowhere to be found. \ As odd as that was, Riverdale had long since been a place of oddity, and the encounter didn’t sound out too her.

With the other two tickets, Betty bought two funnel cakes and returned to the booth to keep Toni company.

To both Betty and Jughead, the palm reading was nothing more than a carnival game, another sentence in the novel of their lives. Nothing was amiss that day, nothing had changed. They both went to sleep in their respective beds, the fair already forgotten.

#hey look i finally posted #bughead #riverdale fanfiction #betty cooper #jughead jones #multimedia after the cut #part 1 of 2 #2 to be posted hopefully within the next week so long as life doesn't come at me again

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taz-writes · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Taz? Actually posting a finished first chapter? It’s more likely than you’d think! The Feilan series is still in production hell, but I’ve plugged through enough of the new!book 1 to feel confident sharing. I hope y’all enjoy awkward ADHD hijinks and fantasy politics!

Disclaimer: This may be a triple rewrite, but I’ve made many changes to the plot, and I haven’t edited this selection for anything but content and story coherency. It might have some wonky bits. Please forgive me. :)

My favorite part of the Tsi palace was always the library—it was an endless treasure trove of ancient knowledge and secrets, what’s not to love? When I was little, I’d spend hours in there, roaming through towering stacks of books and skipping between the columns of rainbow light that crept in through the stained-glass windows. No matter how chaotic the rest of the building was, being the center of the capitol of one of the largest tribes in Feilan and all, the library was always beautifully serene.

Unfortunately, the serenity evaporated when I sprinted straight through the grand double doors at full tilt, skidding to a dusty halt just past the attendant’s desk. It was beautiful, incredible, until my foot went flying out from under me. I slammed butt-first into the fancy Cydre rug, slid, and plowed directly into the legs of the library attendant.

“Sayara?!” he exclaimed, catching himself on the corner of the desk as I dragged myself onto my feet and wheezed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I—”

“Good. All according to plan,” I gasped, clutching at a stitch in my side. “Nobody knows I’m here. And say hi to your brother for me!!” He rolled his eyes and straightened his jacket.

“Try not to knock over any students today.”

“Good chat, gotta go!!” I brushed library dust off of my scuffed-up breeches, before making a mad dash into the stacks.

“Sayara! I mean it, young lady, get back here!!” My governess’s strident voice rang through the atrium, and I sped up, holding back peals of lunatic laughter and jumping onto the nearest ladder.

The ceilings in here were high, but not quite high enough for proper flight, probably to discourage people like me from practicing their barrel rolls through the stacks. Once I reached the top of the ladder, I scrambled on top of the nearest shelf, but then I was stuck. I’d have to wait for one of the drifter cases to float by, or just crawl. I could see the governess now—Lady Brennadine loved manners, until it was time to chase me through the palace, at which point she abandoned them completely in favor of clenched fists and grumbling.

I hesitated. I could jump, but I was too much of a klutz to land well. If I ran, I’d hit my head and fall, and then I’d crash into the academy students and I really didn’t want to hurt anybody. I was more agile than Brennadine, probably, since I was younger and smaller and I worked out sometimes instead of sitting around being mean to children, and I didn’t want to get in trouble but I could keep going, but…well, she was up the ladder.

“Down. Now.” Brennadine snapped her fingers, and I tried to crawl away along the top of the shelf, but my shoelace got snagged on a corner. I didn’t feel the resistance until I’d already stumbled and yanked myself over the side of the shelf.

I yelped, scrabbling at the books to catch myself, and knocked an entire row of encyclopedias away with me.

Brennadine’s hand came out of nowhere, and I grabbed on for dear life, and then everything stopped around me in the grip of her skilled telekinesis.

“How many times have we talked about this, again?” she reprimanded, clearly short of breath. I would’ve shrugged, but I was too busy clinging to her unbelievably sweaty arm. “We—do not—climb—on top of the stacks.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, swinging my legs towards the shelf. I missed, kicking over more books, but there was a solid surface to land on when I swung back.

“She saw you enter,” the library attendant said, plucking a floating book out of the air and settling it back into place. “Oh, and Daevin says thanks. I hope you weren’t helping him cheat again.”

“It’s not cheating, it’s entrepreneurial studying.” I climbed down to ground level, firmly avoiding eye contact with Brennadine as she reassembled the library in a mist of teal-green telekinesis. She wouldn’t look at me, either.

If she wasn’t looking at me, then I had an opportunity, and I definitely wanted to get out of whatever stupid thing she wanted to waste my day off on. I took a few slow steps backwards, testing for a reaction. Nobody moved, so I backed away further. When I hit the next shelf, I broke into a run.

A stray book swung into the backs of my knees, tripping me. “Don’t,” Brennadine growled, replacing the book with a flick of her wrist. The library assistant had taken over the task of sorting through everything I’d knocked over. I laughed nervously.

“Sorry, but I think I need to study for that geometry test yesterday, since you told me to, so I’ll just—”

“Sayara.” Brennadine laid a hand on my shoulder, and I grimaced. “You need to behave with more grace.”

“I’ve got grace!”

“Is that so?” Brennadine raised her eyebrows, throwing a glance back towards the wreckage of the bookshelves.

“Well, unlike you, at least I wore pants today.”

“What? I’m wearing—SAYARA!!” Brennadine let go of me for an instant, checking her trousers, and I made a break for the exit. The doors slammed shut in front of me.

“Quiet in the library,” the attendant remarked from the stacks.

“Whatever you think I did, I didn’t!” I leaned up against the doors, swallowing reflexive, manic laughter. Brennadine pinched the bridge of her nose, visibly exhausted.

“This isn’t an accusation,” she said wearily. “This has nothing to do with whatever half-baked scheme you’ve worked out with the kitchen maids’ children.”

“Do you have a problem with the maids’ kids?” I asked. “Because they’re fun. More fun than anyone Hope talks to…”

“Your sister is making social connections for the sake of her future career and kingdom. You should try it.”

I cleared my throat. “What do you want? It’s my day off, I don’t have any tutoring today.”

“Your father wants you to accompany him this afternoon,” Brennadine said, grimacing and preening her fingernails.

“Isn’t he busy?”

“Yes, Sayara, and he’s decided at far too late a moment that he wants you to accompany himself and your sister. Really, something so spur-of-the-moment—”

“What? Accompany him for what?”

“We’re disturbing the library,” Brennadine huffed, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out into the corridor. “Sayara. Today is Kyvesse 14.”

“…Yes?”

“Sayara, have you been neglecting your politics lessons?”

“Why do you only use my name when you’re lecturing me?”

“You should know what’s going on this afternoon.”

“Um….” I was drawing a total blank. “There’s a…thing?” Brennadine stopped in her tracks, and I walked into her by accident, stumbling. “What?”

Brennadine didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned heavily against the wall, her head thumping against the wallpaper.

“There’s a thing. A thing.”

“Well, there is,” I confirmed, wracking my brains for any memory of whatever had Brennadine so worked up. She sucked in a long, nasal breath, and then exploded.

“The Convention of Tribes!! Today is the Convention of Tribes, and your father, the Tsi King, is extending you a spur-of-the-moment invitation! A thing, this is only the most important national political event of the year—no one would normally dream of bringing their children of questionable origins along, but you’re going to be an exception.”

“Wait, you want me to come to the Convention??” I blurted out, a little too loud. “But that’s…”

“Ridiculously last-minute and ill-advised and going to threaten the fabric of the entire situation! Yes!”

“…I was going to say soon. Doesn’t it always start at noon?” I didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it sure wasn’t early, and the site of the Convention was a few hours away.

“I’ve been chasing you through the castle for two hours!” Brennadine exclaimed.

“I’ve only been running for a few minutes, though.”

“I want you dressed in your best suit and ready to leave in twenty minutes. Go.”

“But that’s barely any time at all!”

“You would’ve had more, if you’d listened to me instead of running off on a grand chase through the castle for over an hour,” Brennadine snapped. “Go.”

I dashed away before Brennadine could get meaner.

The Convention of Tribes? For once, Brennadine was right about something. I wasn’t prepared to attend the Convention. It was a choreographed political dance, tangled alliances and tempers and cultural exchange mixing into a treacherous mess of scheming. You couldn’t just prepare for that in twenty minutes!

Twenty minutes! I almost started muttering out loud as I dashed through the palace halls, reviewing my situation over and over in my head. This was a big freaking deal. I had to be on top of my game, I had to make the best impression—this could be the start of a career. Forget the top of my game, I’d have to be on top of the whole world...

Halfway up the stairs to my room, that same loose shoelace from earlier snagged on something, and I went tumbling down hard. I grabbed for something to stop my fall and managed to seize a corner of a tapestry, but it collapsed instead of helping. I flailed for freedom and the whole thing rolled up around me like a cocoon of stupidity.

Great. So much for being on time. I rolled to a stop somehow, probably back where I’d started, and began to detach myself. Stupid tapestries, stupid shoelace, stupid time limits... Something shiny glittered, a single edge peeking out from beneath the fabric. I snatched it, stuffed it into my pocket, and headed back up the stairs.

I was going to the Convention of Tribes. Finally, my dad thought I was important enough to go to the Convention of Tribes. It was a really big deal—the only major political event on a national scale where heirs and protégés of the rulers were invited and expected to attend alongside the tribes’ leaders, the big meetup where the Queen and tribes negotiated federal laws, and one of the only times when the Queen of Feilan directly addressed her nobles.

I could use this. Nobody ever took me seriously—I wasn’t invited to the Convention, I never got to sit in on Council meetings, I never had the chance to do anything important. This could be the change that made the difference.

I ricocheted into my bedroom and flung my casual vest and worn-out shirt into the corner, then ruffled through the closet for something resembling formalwear. I only owned one formal jacket that wasn’t absolutely miserable in the summer heat, so that’d be my best option here, but my only nice shirt was crumpled in a ball under my bed somewhere. I had a green one in the closet that I’d stolen from Hope at some point, that’d have to do. I was in such a hurry to get my fancy breeches onto my body that I put them on backwards three times in a row.

I ran for the door, but then hesitated. Something was missing. I pulled my school breeches out of the growing laundry pile and emptied the pockets onto my bed. A ton of shiny rocks and acorns tumbled out, alongside something else—the sparkly thing I’d spotted on my way upstairs.

It turned out to be a rounded golden brooch, about the length of my thumb. It was inlaid with a collage of deep blue stones forming the shape of a four-pointed star, and it looked really familiar, though I couldn’t figure out why off the top of my head. I could’ve sworn I’d seen it somewhere before...

Time! I was on a time limit! I shoved the brooch into the pocket of my fancy breeches, along with a couple particularly nice rocks and a length of twine. You could never go wrong with a bit of string in your pocket, I loved having string in my pocket, it had so much creative potential.

Jewelry! Jewelry was a thing that people wore at formal occasions. I hesitated, bouncing on my toes, before snatching up a few gold sparkly things and jamming them into my other pocket. I could put jewelry on in the ship, it’d be a couple hours’ ride to the capitol at Eth Zantaara anyways.

By the time I scrambled back downstairs, armed with a notebook for observations and as much information about foreign royalty as I could remember off the top of my head, Brennadine and my sister were both waiting at the stairwell. I could practically see the timer ticking in Brennadine’s eyes.

“You forgot your circlet,” Hope said immediately. “And you’re late.” I fumbled through my pockets, praying that the golden circle of chain had been in the fistful of stuff I found in my jewelry box. It was, and I detangled it as best I could from a few necklaces and jammed it unevenly onto my head. Hope rolled her eyes. I awkwardly pulled my bangs out from under the band, hoping it’d make my head look less like an egg.

“Nobody told me I was coming,” I said. “I’ve been busy, I was building—”

“Your bangs are a mess—is that my shirt?” Hope asked. She walked over and fiddled with my hair as I protested weakly, the smell of her fancy imported perfume crashing into my nose like salt water.

“It looks better on me,” I said.

“Absolutely not!”

“I think you’re jealous, green’s definitely my color, you’re a pathetic imitator in comparison.” I flicked one of my braids dramatically. Hope grabbed it and flicked it back into my face.

“I want that blouse back when we get home.”

“Boo hoo.”

“Boo hoo,” Hope mocked. “You look like you’ve been pulled sideways on the rack.”

“Well, you look like a taxidermied wildcat.”

“Let’s go, girls,” Brennadine said, sweeping down the hall towards the skyship dock. Hope scanned the rest of my outfit, and I braced for impact.

“Please tell me you don’t have rocks in your pockets on your way to the Convention of Tribes,” she said.

“Throw the rocks away, Sayara. We’ve talked about this,” Brennadine added.

“I do not have rocks in my pockets,” I said. “You’re always accusing me of things, you need to stop accusing me of things.”

Hope didn’t reply. Hope raised magic, the stupid cheating cheater, and levitated my entire pocket inside out.

“Hey!” I snatched for my things, but Hope was faster.

“What is this, did you steal this from the tailor?” Hope asked, levitating my coil of twine into her hand. She made a face. “Or did it come from a shipwright?”

“Give it back!”

“You can’t bring string to the Convention of Tribes!”

“Why not? It was going to stay in my pocket, it could be useful,” I said. Hope rolled her eyes, and I made another grab for my things. This time, I managed to catch most of my rocks, plus the brooch. I stuffed the rocks back into my pockets. The brooch remained out. I knew I’d seen it somewhere before, I had to have seen it somewhere before.

I mulled it over as we boarded the royal yacht, and Hope finally returned my twine after Brennadine gave her the eye.

Hope never liked me. We got along all right, most of the time, but there’s always been a weird tension between us—though Dad’s never said it so bluntly, everyone in the palace knows that Hope and I are only half sisters. I don’t know who my mother was, and if Dad does, he hasn’t told me. He legitimized me as a member of the Tsi royal family a couple years ago, so legally I’m royal, but that doesn’t mean anyone likes me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Hope saw me as a threat. That was her business and all, and I wasn’t about to waste time and energy caring, but I wished she could be a little more subtle sometimes.

Brennadine was talking about politics. Hope nodded along, commenting on every single perfect talking point, making all the polite conversation. I left her to it—she liked to act like I was stupid, but I knew what was going on, it wasn’t like I didn’t pay attention. I just... paid attention selectively. Involuntarily selectively. It didn’t matter.

This year’s Convention of Tribes was a stand-out for a few different reasons, mostly involving the Irkatzi, our southern neighbor tribe. Out of Feilan’s twelve formally-recognized principalities, the Irkatzi were the most persistently outspoken. They were notorious for picking big melodramatic fights with Feilan’s ruling del Aphir family, which would eventually be resolved with some tax shifts and truces, and then ten years later they’d be back to the old song. Dad alternated between griping about them and calling them great entertainment.

“Excellent, you’re all here!” The door to the skyship’s cabin swung open, and Hope’s eyes lit up.

“Dad! I was wondering when you’d arrive, I thought that with Sayara’s delay you would have beat us to the ship!” Hope curtsied, and then ran forward to hug our father, who hugged back with his fair share of amusement. I waved awkwardly.

Tsi King Doriel wasn’t the kind of man most people would picture when they thought of a king. He was on the shorter side, with worn-looking hands and a very square chin and light hair that always looked like it needed a trim. He was built stocky, more like me than Hope, and he dressed plainly. The heavy sapphire-studded crown on his head was the only real evidence of his station, along with the obvious fine make of his clothing.

“I’m afraid my preliminary meeting with the Council ran late,” he said, grimacing mildly. “Governor Heiden is still pushing his bank bill. He seemed delighted with the idea of humiliating me at the Convention by holding me late, remind me to say something to his constituents about that. Maybe they’ll solve the problem for me.”

“We’ve been discussing the issues on the table, but Sayara hasn’t paid much attention,” Brennadine said. “She was quite determined to avoid me.”

“Sorry for the late notice about that, by the way,” Dad said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready for an event like this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be ready?”

“We all remember what happened when you sat in on a Council meeting,” Brennadine pointed out. I wilted a little.

“It was just that one time! It got really loud, and everyone was yelling, and I couldn’t track what was happening...”

“Well, you’ve proven yourself competent as far as I’m concerned,” Dad said. The little part of me that was dying inside perked up a little.

“Good!”

“And you’ve made excellent marks in your tutoring. Brennadine tells me you’ve picked up your history lessons very quickly, that’s a good sign.”

“I like history,” I said.

“If only you shared the same passion for things which happened in the last twenty years,” Brennadine muttered.

“You’re familiar with the issues on the table at this Convention, correct?” Dad asked as the yacht took off.

“Yeah!”

“What does the Queen want?”

“The Queen hasn’t requested anything personally, but her advisors are pressuring us to cut grounded roads through the Deeps,” I said. “It’s part of an infrastructure plan. They want safe landed highways through Tsi, Javrier, and Irkatzi territories, and they want them policed and open. They also want free access to the River Safir for Rinali merchants.”

“And our stance on this is?”

“They’re idiots who’ve never been in the woods before, and they should stick to the skyways until they’re willing to actually pay for a road themselves.” Dad grimaced.

“You’re... not wrong, but please don’t phrase it like that.”

“She always phrases things like that,” Hope said.

“Okay, fine,” I adjusted. “Landed highways are expensive and difficult to maintain, we have better priorities for the Tsi budget than wasting money on trade routes our natives won’t use, and it’s more efficient for traders in Tsi territory to use the sky roads because they’re protected from the Deeps’ wildlife and generally kept up well. Policing those roads alone would cost us triple to four times the current price tag of our infrastructure, because the Deeps are treacherous and full of extremely dangerous creatures. We know the Rinali court won’t pay for the highways to be installed themselves, either, they’ll place the burden on the Tsi, and we don’t want to do that. I know how to talk fancy,” I said.

“I wish you’d do so more often,” Brennadine sighed.

“Continuing on,” Dad said. “What are the Irkatzi upset about this time?”

“This time,” I echoed, snickering. Dad cleared his throat. “Right. Um, the Rinali court... did... something? Um, I remember last year they were upset about tariffs on fruit, but we were mad about that too so it was okay. This year it’s something about currency, right? The Rinali court is aggravated because some groups in the south of the territory are printing their own Irkatzi currency and the Crown Princess isn’t stopping them.”

“Among other things,” Dad said. “There’s also the issue of the Rinali court itself.”

“Oh, right, right.”

“I believe the Crown Princess Lilac intends to address the Queen directly about it.”

“Does she really?” Hope asked.

“I can’t say for certain, but she’s been sending very aggressive signals to myself and the other tribal leadership. If nothing else, she’d certainly like to. Historically these have been empty threats, her Highness has loathed the Chief Advisor since we were teenagers, but her comments were very... specific, this time around.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I would gossip about my fellow nobility.”

“Oh dear,” Hope said.

“Is that allowed?”

“What, my peer sending me angry letters about the national government? Not by technicality, but she is a Ravenhart, after all... and she lives up to her family name far more than Wisteria did before her,” Dad said. “No one on Eth Zantaara would have the nerve to stop her. The more established noble families tend to get away with much more than we ever could.”

I drifted away from the subject of conversation as Hope peppered Dad with questions about the latest Irkatzi drama, pressing my face against the nearest porthole window and watching the land fly by beneath us.

We were out of Tsi territory by now, the heavy woods I was familiar with giving way to open farmland, orchards, and low glades of trees. The Rinali heartland was rich and fertile, more so than almost anywhere else on the continent, but things didn’t grow as big here as they did back home. The tops of the trees petered out hundreds of feet beneath our ship, stunted to what everyone else insisted was normal size by the lack of the Deeps’ magical atmosphere. Most of them barely reached twice the height of the grounded farmhouses scattered here and there.

The current capitol of Feilan, Eth Zantaara, was named for the huge and anomalous mountain the Queen’s castle sat upon. It was a recent creation, from only about ten years ago, so the city surrounding it was small and in various states of construction. Big noble mansions peppered the mountainside, sporting colorful flags and banners, and a chaotic cluster of homes and businesses crept out of the plains towards the mountain’s base. You could sort of see where the Queen’s architects had tried to enforce grid structure, but everything had been built so fast and aggressively that it hadn’t stuck in the slightest. Wide cobblestone roads led out of the area in a few different directions, fading off into the farmland that still surrounded the city.

“You should have seen Lanorium back in the day,” Brennadine sighed, peering out her own window. “It puts this place to shame.”

“Is that a tent?” Dad asked, squinting.

“She wouldn’t,” Hope said.

“I think she did,” I confirmed, gut sinking when I saw it. There was a huge sheet of white fabric propped up on the palace lawn for shade, and as we swept closer I saw dozens of people bustling in and out of it. The Queen had, apparently, decided that the Convention of Tribes—the most important political event of the YEAR—was going to be held in a tent outside. In post-Nafiesse peak-of-midsummer weather, no less, and Rinali territory was hot!

“Lilac’s going to have a cow,” Dad muttered. “Four willing we won’t have to restrain her.” There were so many colors here—every hue of the rainbow, painted on skyships, fluttering from flags, on the clothing of the dignitaries flitting to and fro. It was almost more than my eyes could handle.

“You remember the etiquette?” Brennadine asked me.

“Be polite, smile, shake everyone’s hand, don’t fight anyone who calls me bad names in public—”

“At all!” Brennadine interrupted.

“In public,” I emphasized. “And leave the room to go back to the parlor or the powder room if my brain starts screaming like last time. Except there’s not a parlor here, and it’s a tent, so I have no clue where they expect people to poop.”

“Language!” Brennadine said.

“What? What other word am I supposed to use? I don’t know where they expect people to squeeze the digested filth from their—”

“Wellbred young adults don’t talk about excrement,” Brennadine said. Hope pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. I shoved my hands in my pockets.

We entered the tent as a group, after determining that nobody was announcing anyone, and the Rinali were being extremely lax with their etiquette this year. A pair of royal guards in dress uniform nodded us through the entrance without further fanfare.

Inside, the tent was divided into multiple rooms with an assortment of hanging sheets. It wasn’t bad-looking, actually, but it was far from the ballrooms and judge chambers that the Convention was traditionally held in. The atmosphere was more like a solstice party than a political event. There were tables full of food in the back, surrounded by enchanted arrangements of flowers and jewels, and most of the adults were clustered together making small talk.

“Oh, all three Ravenharts are here,” Hope pointed out, nudging me and gesturing towards a group of teenagers in one corner. I recognized the Irkatzi heiress, I’d seen her and her twin sister once before and they stood out from the crowd, but I wasn’t sure what the younger one looked like. I hadn’t actually participated in many political ventures outside of Tsi territory yet.

“Cool...?”

“I haven’t spoken to Violet and Lavender in quite a while, and I want a biscuit. Please don’t have a crisis,” Hope said, before striding off into the crowd without me.

“So you’re Sayara Tyriea?” Someone asked from behind me. I jumped a little, startled, and the stranger giggled. “I heard you might attend this year!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me. Hello.” I turned around, processed a whole lot of purple, and fixed my eyes on the ground automatically.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that, this is an event for socialization! No one’s using pointless magic here,” the stranger said. I grinned awkwardly and looked back at her face, trying to play off the instinct.

“Sorry,” I said. “Superstitions, um, it’s, um, a pleasure to meet you?” Stupid engrained impulses... Purple eyes meant psychic powers, and psychic powers meant someone who could screw with you the instant you made eye contact and there was nothing you could do about it. Not that most of them would, especially at a diplomatic event, but still. They were also a pretty common trait for the Irkatzi, which I was supposed to remember, but instead I was in the midst of embarrassing myself again.

“Don’t freak out, I’m used to it,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you too! I’m Aelia. Lady Aelia Ravenhart of Karatza,” she corrected after a moment’s pause.

“Lady Sayara Tyriea of the Citadel,” I replied in kind, extending a hand to shake. Aelia took it. She had a surprisingly strong handshake. A few moments later, though, her eyebrows lifted and her mouth made a little ‘o’ of realization.

“Oh, you’re her!” I crossed my arms, and Aelia seemed to realize what she’d said. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Don’t freak out,” I said. “I’m used to it.” We held eye contact for most of a minute, before Aelia broke down laughing, holding a hand to her face in an attempt to calm down.

“Four, that was obnoxious. I like you!”

“Glad I made a good first impression,” I said.

“Oh, no, you absolutely didn’t, your first impression was so bad,” Aelia said. “The second one, though, that’s when you redeemed yourself.”

“It’s better than nothing!”

Aelia straightened up, and I finally got a chance to take in her appearance. She was—there’s no polite-sounding way to put this—purple. Most Irkatzi are, their blood is purple instead of red, but Aelia was pale enough that the difference was incredibly obvious. Her lips were blue like a drowning person’s, and her slanting eyes were a vivid shade of violet that was hard not to notice.

Also, she was three or four inches taller than me, which made the whole situation rather overwhelming. I hated being short.

“So you’ve never been to a Convention before, right?” Aelia asked.

“Right,” I confirmed. “Isn’t it traditional that heirs don’t go until their seventh evolution? I might still be early.”

“I just turned fourteen two weeks ago, and I’m here,” Aelia said. “You’re fine, but you’ve been missing out on so much drama. I went two years ago and it was better than the zoo.”

“That’s when they agreed on the Queen’s coronation, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. My mother almost threw a table at a few of the regents,” she snickered. “And then she gave us a lecture on the way home about ladylike dignity. Be not cruel, but suffer no obnoxious entitled men in government.” I laughed.

“Suffer no obnoxious entitled women, either, though,” I added.

“Well yeah, but Regent fa Viandre was an absolute cuss-word,” Aelia said.

“Cuss-word?”

“I’ve been told it’s inappropriate to use the kind of language that most accurately describes him,” she said, putting on false airs for a moment. “In the art of intimidation, it’s best to leave most things implied. It’s our mother’s first rule.” She rested her hands over her heart, closing her eyes and dramatically pretending to pray.

“Everything I hear about Crown Princess Lilac only makes me more afraid,” I said. She laughed.

“It’s okay, you haven’t done anything to make her angry. Have you?”

“I hope not,” I said.

“Come on, I have to introduce you to everyone,” Aelia said. “My sisters are talking to Hope, so I don’t want to bother them, Violet’ll have a rage... I think I see Ciron Vekdal over there, he’s an Ajrijl prince, he’s funny. Fatima, she’s the Liarum chief’s daughter, she’s a couple years older than me and thinks she’s better than everyone...” Aelia dragged me on a tour around the room, pointing out all the heirs—with added commentary, of course. I’d seen portraits of most of them, and I certainly knew of them, but I’d never actually spoken to the majority before.

“It’s almost high noon,” I realized after a while. There wasn’t a clock in the tent, because the Rinali had no sense of anything, but I’d noticed the shadows outside shortening and the clusters of people moving closer to the next room over.

“Shoot, you’re right,” Aelia said. “I should meet up with the twins. It was nice meeting you!”

“Nice meeting you too,” I replied as she turned and walked away. I stood up on my tip-toes, trying to find Hope in the crowd, but thankfully she found me first.

“Dad says it’s time to move to the Convention room,” she said. “Pay attention.”

“I was paying attention, I was looking for you,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.

“Come on, let’s go, the Tsi section’s over this way.” Hope pulled me past the tent’s dividing curtains into a larger shaded room, where the various tribal dignitaries had begun to filter into sections. The Convention of Tribes was about to officially begin.

@montagues-existence @theguildedtypewriter @jade-island-lives @librasunwritings @pixiesandwonder are the only people I think I can remember asking me to tag them in things? If you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list for Feilan excerpts and content, just let me know! :D

#feilan #feilan excerpts #fantasy #i know people tag their excerpts with all kinds of stuff to get them seen but idk how to do that and i'm embarrassed to... oops

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