#its time for a bonus chapter edit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hussyknee · 1 year

Text

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

��Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

Download as EPUB

Download as PDF

(Let me know if you have any problems with the links or files.)

502 notes · View notes

offtorivendell · 3 months

Text

The Asteri, the Daglan, and Prythian's Court System

Disclaimer: this is a stupidly massive crack theory that could end up being disastrously wrong. Oh well.

Spoilers: the ACOTAR and CC series to date (I'm halfway through HOFAS right now, slowly plodding along, so nothing beyond that).

Image from ACOSF, Kindle edition.

Buckle up for some more of my nonsense! I think I could have discovered why Prythian's land has the Court and High Lord Systems. This theory still has a couple of wrinkles to iron out, but it's plausible, so I figured I'd share what I've got.

A massive thank you goes to @ladynightcourt3 and @psychologynerd for our chat yesterday morning, which led to this post. I love you guys! 💜

Full warning that this will A) be absolutely cracked, and B) contains Maasverse spoilers, including from HOFAS (up to around 40% I think), but I was mulling over what I'd read so far and this popped into my mind.

Part 1 - The Court System

Bryce made, I think, one hell of an assumption when she said the following in HOFAS:

Vesperus, the only Asteri left on this world, lay dead. - CC HOFAS, chapter 26

@wingedblooms and I have previously theorised that some of the barren regions in Prythian may be so because the death gods were trapped there, drinking the magic of the land, rendering it spent - lifeless - and possibly unable to power up a gateway to an interstellar rift. We both also think it's very interesting that one Elain Archeron was referred to as “a rose bloom in a mud field,” but I digress.

However, in HOFAS, we learnt that there was a Daglan/Asteri, called Vesperus (who considered herself the Evening Star and their god), trapped in a crystal coffin far below the Prison, which was once a land of Dusk.

The female’s long nails scraped along the lid of the coffin. She didn’t look at them as she tested the lid for weaknesses. “I am your god. I am your master. Do you not know me?” - CC HOFAS, chapter 24

It's interesting, no, that the region was named after the Daglan who ruled it? Was this common practice? Because we just so happened to learn, in Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter, that there was once an ancient Night Court goddess named Nyx.

You know, their son's namesake? Yikes. 🫣

“You may call me Vesperus.” The creature’s eyes glowed with irritation. “Are you related to Hesperus?” Bryce arched a brow at the name, so similar to one of Midgard’s Asteri. “The Evening Star?” “I am the Evening Star,” Vesperus seethed. - CC HOFAS, chapter 25

Silene, Theia's second daughter, who “escaped into the night,” gave us further information that appeared - to me, at least - to be incomplete. Or perhaps inaccurate? She had been taught by her mother, so she could have been fed certain things as facts. For example, was the land of Prythian really divvied up into seasons and times of day before the Daglan came to town?

The land strengthened. It returned to what it had been before the Daglan’s arrival millennia before. We returned to what we’d been before that time, too, creatures whose very magic was tied to this land. Thus the land’s powers became my mother’s. Dusk, twilight—that’s what the island was in its long-buried heart, what her power bloomed into, the lands rising with it. It was, as she said, as if the island had a soul that now blossomed under her care, nurtured by the court she built here. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

My sister and I grew older. My mother educated us herself, always reminding us that though the Daglan had been vanquished, evil lived on. Evil lurked beneath our very feet, always waiting to devour us. - CC HOFAS, chapter 19

Reading between the lines, I think it's just possible to link the powers of each land with the Daglan who once ruled over them. Perhaps each region - each “precursor” to a modern day Court - had a Daglan/Asteri buried underneath a barren peak, or in a body of water? Is this why the lands have frozen seasons, pools of starlight*, or powers based upon the light of the time of day? Because of a monster buried far, far below the surface?!

*Is there a Daglan entombed in a crystal coffin far below the surface, or is it a cache of firstlight, one that may be refuelled each Calanmai? Or, as @psychologynerd has suggested, is there a Made object of power that will draw Elain to the Spring Court?

Our home had been left empty since we’d vanished. As if the other Fae thought it cursed. So I made it truly cursed. Damned it all. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

Despite my efforts to hide what this place had once been, a terrible, ancient power hung in the air. It was as my mother had warned us when we were children: evil always lingered, just below us, waiting to snatch us into its jaws. So I went to find another monster to conceal it. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

I left, wandering the lands for a time, seeing how they had moved on without Theia’s rule. They’d splintered into several territories, and though they were not at war, they were no longer the unified kingdom I had known. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

As a quick aside, I still suspect that Fionn may have been a Daglan - or similar, perhaps an Under King - who tricked Theia into thinking him a normal faerie and used her to overthrow his peers in order to gain more land for himself. It seems exactly like something a rogue Asteri would do.

Like I suggested earlier, could each region be named for its ruler? Because the names of at least one of the Midgard Asteri was, shall we say, coincidentally similar to the Daglan of Prythian, and others appear to match at least the solar courts.

Solar:

Dawn - Eosphoros

Day - Rigelus

Dusk - Hesperus

Night - Sirius

Seasonal (incomplete/unsure/probably incorrect):

Spring - Austrus?

Summer - Octartis?

Autumn - ?

Winter - Polaris?

As I said, the Midgardian Asteri don't perfectly match up to the seasonal Prythian courts, but it's too close to not consider as a possibility, imo.

Perhaps the lands of Midgard were broken up into solar regions and something else that wasn't seasonal? But given the Vesperus/Hesperus competition... maybe whatever species Asteri and/or Daglan are are strongest when travelling with a full complement of powers? And each "clan" (for lack of a better word) that travelled together had dawn, day, dusk, and night “lights,” as well as spring, summer, autumn and winter lights? Could it weaken them to be without a full cohort of powers? As @ladynightcourt3 said, it would explain why they were so upset about Sirius. Could Rigelus be hoping for a replacement to find them and return them to full strength, and that's why he keeps an empty throne?

Part 2 - The High Lords

No one knew that the infant who sometimes glowed with starlight had inherited it from me. That it was the light of the evening star. The dusk star. - CC HOFAS, chapter 21

An Asteri being buried under each Court could explain the high lord magic as well.The HLs are “a different breed,” per Lucien. Did the Asteri/Daglan need a Starborn Fae who is predisposed to holding, or withstanding, their magic? If this is the case, it would explain why the next in line to inherit the power - or who the magic chooses - isn't always a direct descendant of the previous high lord. Does it pass to the Fae with the strongest Starborn blood? And why the mountain shook when Mor got her first period. There has to be a Daglan/Asteri buried under the Hewn City.

That being said, why is it only men who can inherit the magic, and not women, especially when we now know that high ladies used to exist? Did Theia's betrayal made them distrust females in general, or was it something Seline did? Or is it because the women have the most/purest/strongest, starborn power, so did the men keep them down to use them as “breeding stock” in order to legitimise their rule, similar to what Pelias did with Helena?

Part 3 - Further Thoughts

I still wonder how Hybern and Hel could come into play here, because I think those lands are linked. A Valg/Hel Prince population on a different island?

@psychologynerd noted that we’ve previously connected the solar and seasonal courts, such Dawn = Spring, Day = Summer etc., and that it would track for Autumn and Dusk - an appropriately matched pair - to migrate together to Midgard. As an aside, this could tie in with the parallels shared by Azriel and Lucien, who may be/are linked to Dusk and Autumn. What if their power was connected via their “stars”?

@ladynightcourt3 wondered if Hesperus may have changed her name, hence Vesperus’ anger.

I can understand how a Daglan's presence may impart their magic into the land, especially if they're left buried - steeping? - in the soil for millennia, but how would that magic shape the faeries living there? Is it like I suggested in this post, that prolonged exposure to a powerful object allows a tie to be forged?

A bonus crack theory for fun - what if Merrill is a trapped Asteri? Either Nyx or Sirius, whom Apollion ate, and perhaps she escaped the pit of Hel through the base of the House of Wind library; nobody knows where she came from, she's descended from Rabbath of the Western Wind… her room is described as a cell and she called Nesta “girl” like Amren - an ancient - did. I dunno, but there's something about Merrill.

As always, thank you for reading! 💜

#hosab spoilers #hofas spoilers #acotar cc tog crossover theory #acotar theory #the dusk court #dusk court #the night court #night court #prythian #acotar #sjm books #maasverse #feysand #feyre archeron #rhys acotar #crack theory

108 notes · View notes

eventuallyaugust · 1 year

Text

bound by the rules masterlist smau

pairing/s: lesserafim huh yunjin x txt's sixth member! gp! oc x aespa yoo jimin

summary: txt's oldest member, oh hyunseol just want a peaceful life after pandemic with her members, but it seems like fate wants to shake things up.

tags... crack, fluff; angst; hurt(?); suggestive/smut (not all time); kinda slow burn (not the do i like her slow burn, but those longer than a min touches and longing gazes kind of slow burn); no beta we die like men; love at first sight; friends to lovers

warning/s... love triangle; angst; too many things going on; an ungodly amount of time skips; suggestive/smut themes; dark jokes; toxic staffs and management; scandals; dark themes & graphic content: strong language, bullying (affectionately); multiple mentions of alcohol and its consumption; many more to be added

setting... story will start in 2022

featuring... txt, lesserafim, aespa, itzy (mostly ryujin), ive (mostly annyeongz), choi yena, skz bangchan, nct jaehyun, g-idle yuqi, enhypen heeseung, some bts members, and many more that often pops up in just one of the chapters.

status... CONTINUING (surprisingly)

————

profiles. bighit's baby giants, too pretty to be ais, not-so-fearless with bugs, the seven avengers

chapters (number of chapters & some titles still unidentified)

⭐ - fav chap

01 | happy birthday to you⭐

02 | new bestie unlocked

03 | birth month twinnie (half written)

04 | pretty elevator girl (kinda half written)

05 | tagged along

06 | birthday money

07 | meeting for what?! (mostly written)

08 | MEETING?? HER?? WHAT??

09 | minjeong's research

10 | lee fcking soo-man (written) ⭐

11 | give me your bets

12 | field day (pt.1)⭐

13 | the claw machine⭐

14 | party party yeah

15 | alexa, play drama by txt (written)⭐

16 | she is like dramama ramama

17 | #prayforheeseung

18 | gay panic-ese⭐

19 | txt's first 2022 vlive (written)⭐

20 | lord me when⭐

21 | be careful what you wish for (written) ⭐

22 | something bad just happened ⭐

23 | perfect friends ⭐

24 | matchz? it's a matchz! ⭐

bonus... matchmaker episodes

25 | 0 7 . 3 0

26 | seol & umji?? seolji?

27 | haters gonna hate

28 | wee-woo 🚨🚨

29 | a house of cards (written)

30 | us against the world

31 | through the cracks

32 | without the foundation

extra/s:

bbtr plot timeline

2022

2023

2024

----

taglist: @curly-fr13s , @neuftaeng , @myothegreat , @yoontoonwhs , @nasyu-kookies , @awkwardtoafault , @osakis-gf , @dream-chasers-things , @woonie57 , @juhyunsthirdwife , @sewiouslyz , @yerevies , @kimsgayness , @jeindall777 , @notodayeli , @mah4u

°°°°

a/n: seol can be interpreted as the reader or whole other person. it was supposed to be y/n, not seol but i find it hard to imagine if i pair yunjin and karina to someone i can't imagine, so that's where seol is born.

disclaimer all images and pictures used in this story are not all mine. they belong to their rightful owners and i therefore give credits to their edits. since this is a smau, all of the happenings and events within are made up and the product of my imagination. any similarity to real-life occurrences or individuals, whether alive or deceased, is entirely coincidental. SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY.

@ eventuallyaugust 2024 | navi

544 notes · View notes

sarahsartistportfolio · 4 months

Text

For my followers who are specifically following me for Genshin content here are my plans/ideas going forward

First of all I will never ever write an imposter! AU

It doesn't interest me in the slightest. I have no desire to write my favorite characters trying to hunt me down and kill me. I'll never write it.

also I write for all my girly girls. Any genshin piece I write will always be AFAB/female reader. I write for the girly girls, the sub girls, the girls who love pink and dresses, the dainty girls. I write for you. So if you're also a high femm girly you will love my goddess reader.

and and I don't want to write a full on yandere cult au. I like the idea of all the characters being transfixed, fascinated by you. Like everybody loves you but they're not all just willing to throw their own morals away to follow your command. A nice balance is what I want. Like everyone wants your attention, wants your love but not everybody is willing to die/kill for you(expect Childe in every universe he's down bad for you)

Some scenarios I have in my head already

Um I have already in the works a really long Wanderer smut piece. You probable still wont see it for the next few weeks because I want it to be very cleaned up and polished. I want to put a lot of effort in it. Its Wanderer having some dubious intentions and trying to manipulate you into sleeping with him hehe

What I also want to do, I think it will be more organized on AO3. Is I want to just make a fic that's just titled like SAGAU: Cyno ficlets/ um something lol And it will just be out of order chapters that just focus on CynoXGoddess reader or you know insert character here XGoddess reader.

Like I want to write

Cyno's first time meeting Goddess you

Petting Tighnari's ears and him shamelessly pinning for your attention because he knows you love to pet him

Childe's worship towards you

Falling asleep on Xiao's lap(Cyno too!)

Jealous Lyney !!!

You giving favoritism to some characters and gifting them a second vision!

You've heard of calling the characters a good boy/girl but what about THEM calling you a good girl🥰🥰🥰

Yae Miko putting me/you into sub space if anyone can do it it would be her🥺

Similar to A Rumor Spreads but this time the rumor is that you want to have a baby lol BONUS the rumor gets a little twisted and now people believe that you are already pregnant

Lyney discovers that speaking french/Fontainian to you makes you weak and he weaponizes this against you

Venti....eating us out...that's it

Putting a little bell collar and bow on Tighnari's tail 🥰

KAZUHA...TEACHING US HOW TO KISS?? YES PLEASE OMG

also platonic Nahida and Furina scenarios because they're my bffs

EDIT I thought of some more

You confess to Albedo you've never experienced an orgasm before and he offers to run a few experiments on you to help you out

👏👏👏 You and Venti fucking in his church oh yes yes yes 😵

Poor Tighnari looks so miserable and frustrated during his rut. Why dont we...offer to help him out you know. As his beloved and ever so kind god. Why dont we offer to be his cute little fleshlight to help relieve him during this time hm?❤

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfics #right now my priority is writing more chapters for A Rumor Spreads #and finishing that Wanderer smut its like 80% completed

102 notes · View notes

zoe-oneesama · 1 year

Note

Hi Zoe, I saw a few asks before about a physical edition of Scarlet Lady, I'm curious how you are planning to go about it? For now I saw you talk about volume one, are you planning to make one season = one volume? Will there be any changes to the current comics? (Like color, bonuses etc.) thank you in advance!

Yes, the plan is 1 Volume = 1 Season, with Volume 5 having the finale episodes, so, extra thiccccc.

I have edited the pages to fix spelling errors and made a few changes so subtle that I can't even remember them, as well as trying to make old pages more legible. And there are bonus images and commentary to fill in the blank spots left by page bonuses.

^Here's an example bonus pictures I made for "The Pharaoh". It's the picture Alix joked about sharing with the class of Marinette dressed as Scarlet Lady, and Plagg dressed as the Black Cat statues that the group walks past at the end of the episode.

Because mixam (the ones who'll be making these books) needs pages divisible by 4, I do have some full color pages for the Volumes that happened to not fit that number nicely (so far it's just Volume 2), so look forward to that. I think I'll share those pages later this week.

Additionally, the chapters got new "headers" since they're in a new format:

^Ivan finally got his moment!

So, it's not as easy as just throwing it into a PDF and giving it out like that. I want this to be a special gift for anyone who's willing to put down money for my content - they deserve something extra for their interest, which is also why I'm not trying to spoil everything.

As for the status of everything: - Volume 1: Final Walk-through. I've gone through one draft and added a few things to match changes I made to other volumes, so after I complete a few commissions I'll be ordering in another (hopefully final!) draft. One book costs me about $60 to order, but that's because I'm not ordering in bulk. But it does mean I take plenty of time between ordering draft. - Volume 2: 2nd Draft. Volume 1 had very few errors in its first draft but Volume 2 had quite a lot, starting with the cover being so dark it was basically a black blob with green eyes (the covers are the different heroes). So I've been editing saturation on the cover and need to print just the cover locally to find the right balance. Additionally, there were a handful that accidentally got cut off, so I needed to fix those. The cover is really the biggest thing holding things up. - Volume 3: Ready for it's 1st Draft. Again, these are expensive, and after the debacle with Volume 2 I want to test print Volume 3's cover to make sure it doesn't have the same problem since it also has a lot of black. - Volume 4: Only the pages have been edited. That means I need to do chapter covers, extras, chibis, and page fillers, as well as the cover. - Volume 5: Same as Volume 4, as well as not being done with the season.

Additionally, I'm not out here trying to get sued, so I need an original product to sell with the book being a "freebie". I don't do a lot of original content, so any suggestions would be appreciated. A print? Charm? Bookmark? Stickers?...pencil?

Then there's obviously the store to use, launching a page, creating marketing materials~ All super fun -_-

767 notes · View notes

fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Palomino Masterlist

COMPLETE | Explicit 🔞 NO minors allowed

Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Note: You guys voted for Palomino to be the next WIP after Consent, and who am I to refuse? But honestly, thank you for voting for Jack, because I've been dying to write this story. If you'd like to be tagged, please comment, reblog or sign up at my taglist.

Part 1: Palomino

Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you'd booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need.

Part 2: Buckskin

It's an eventful first day on the trail, to say the least.

Part 3: Dapple Grey

Tinder is a dangerous game. So is Never Have I Ever.

Part 4: Strawberry Roan

Jack pulls out all the stops for your birthday. All of them.

Part 5: Appaloosa

You and Jack play house for a day.

Part 6: Mustang

On the fifth day, you leave the Halfway House behind, and the conversation turns homeward.

Part 7: Fleabitten

You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Part 8: Silver Pony

And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Part 9: Warmblood

The hardest goodbye you’ll ever say.

Oneshots & drabbles

Deleted scenes from the series that I didn't have the word count for.

Bernaise: You watch Jack cook. Deleted scene from Part 4 - Strawberry Roan.

If Only: Jack smiles and brushes a thumb across your cheek. If only you knew.

Peeks into Jack and Darlin's life after the end of the series.

Pressing: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Real: You call Jack after running into your ex at a wedding.

Cowgirl Aesthetics: 'This dress won't last ten minutes in a real horse yard and you know it, darlin''.'

Headcanons

Miscellaneous headcanons - some requested, some no one asked for.

Visuals

Mostly made/commissioned for A Palomino Farewell.

Special edition chapter banners

Horses of Palomino

Palominogram: About last night

Palominogram: The cellar

Commissioned art

Belt buckle inspiration

Moodboard: Buckskin

Moodboard: Palomino

Horse girl representation

Recipes

Mama Daniels' express chili: featured in Fleabitten

Poppy's chocolate & rum cupcakes: featured in Strawberry Roan

Bonus content

Art and misc. generously gifted by my sweetest friends ❤️

A Palomino Farewell

Palomino playlist

A birthday message from cowboy Jack and Cowboy yearning by the most talented @guiltypleasure-art

Palomino edit by the loveliest Heidi @wildemaven

Moodboard by the sweetest Keira @k-ra

Playlist by sweetest Sil @psychedelic-ink for A Palomino Farewell

Palomino-inspired cocktail recipe by darlin' Skye @iamskyereads

I can't believe that Palomino now has its own cocktail!!! I'm so honoured that Skye created and shared this recipe with us. All the elements are perfect, from the Campfire whiskey (Darlin's favourite time of the day - snuggling with Jack by the fire), apple (If Only reference) and Ginger (who convinced Darlin' not to cancel the trip). I cannot wait to try this cocktail myself, thank you so so much my love ❤️

More notes: This is a very personal story to me as I grew up loving and riding horses. I've been lucky enough to go on several horseriding holidays, and I'm writing directly from experience - except the hot cowboy part, sadly. Even if you don't ride, I hope you enjoy this story, and I will be the happiest writer if I impart to you even a fraction of the joy of exploring the great outdoors from the back of a steady (or speedy) steed.

{ Inspo }

{ Main Masterlist | Taglist }

#kingsman the golden circle #jack daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fanfic #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #jack daniels AU

1K notes · View notes

ninapi · 11 months

Text

┏━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┓

For Haikyuu go here

For Jujutsu go here

For Tokyo Rev here

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

☆ﾟUpper Moon Two: Origin

Premise: A journey trough Douma's life as a human, was he always as bad? The reminiscence of his real past lingers as he dies, not the things he always remembered but the reason itself that made him choose the demonic path.

Word count: 2395

☆ﾟ Upper Moon Four: Relentless Emotions

Premise: The line between being rescued and captured can be very thin, it all depends on who gets to be in charge for the day. Battling against their own feelings, they were only allowed to feel one emotion each, even when they had feelings for the same person, they were really the same demon after all. Could it be possible they fell for a filthy treacherous human? Nah…

Word count: 4337

Bonus Chapter

☆ﾟWind Pillar:

❀。• Liquid sunshine

Premise: A life without the demon corps was just meaningless. Living with a heavy survivor guilt can really eat someone from the inside. That was until a weak light arrived in the most unexpected way possible, breathing life back into his lungs, making him feel needed once more.

Word count: 5081

☆ﾟ Bonus chapter 1, Bonus chapter 2

❀。• Depths of Fate

Premise: Sanemi goes out of his way to take care of a sick young woman who captivated his heart since their first time seeing each other. A love like this wasn't possible for a man like him, or so he thought, fate has many faces and he would end up seeing them all up close.

Word Count: 5708

☆ﾟWater Pillar:

❀。• Blessed rain

Premise: Lacking resolution was his weakest attribute, after losing his established lifestyle and many friends in battle, finding something worth living for can be challenging. But there's always a rainbow after a rainy day and he found that rainbow when his low was at its peak. A lost soul finds another.

Word count: 4563

☆ﾟSound Pillar:

❀。• Shattered

Premise: A broken man, a shattered dream and purpose. Retirement made Tengen feel useless, a rather confident man shatters to the ground, new resolution and sense of one self blooms from it as he meets the right person at the right moment.

Word Count: 4551

☆ﾟMist Pillar:

❀。• Sweet Innocence

Premise: Soulmates come at unexpected times and places. Muichiro goes on his final mission, one that he would get to remember to his very last breath. A short lived love blooms with the worse possible timing.

Word Count: 3286

☆ﾟSnake Pillar:

❀。• One sided

Premise: Love isn't always something beautiful, wanted, expected. Iguro had always been in love with Mitsuri, but that didn't stop his Tsuguko from falling for him.

Word Count: 3686

☆ﾟ Stone Pillar:

❀。• Flavored Tears

Premise: A tale as old as time, a love as big as it can possibly exist. A traveling merchant gets lost and stumbles in Gyomei's mountain, a meeting that only destiny could make possible.

Word Count: 4044

☆ﾟShinazugawa Genya:

❀。• Rommates…?

Premise: Zenitsu trips you and Genya into being roommates in your first year of college, disregarding Genya’s everlasting crush on you.

Word Count: 7638

☆ﾟ Bonus Chapter

☆ﾟ Haganezuka Horaru:

❀。• Fireflies

Premise: Haganezuka gets a marriage proposal from one of the elders of the village, marrying was a must for those in the Swordsmith's village, self preservation of the clan and its techniques was absolutely mandatory. He hated the idea to his very core, to say the least.

Word Count: 3544

☆ﾟKimetsu daycare

Premise: Kiriya calls the former pillars to celebrate his coming of age ceremony. Since the three of them have children, his sisters offer to take care of the lot. Welcome to a hell of a day in the Kimetsu daycare.

Word Count: 4026

☆ﾟKimetsu Academy, Teachers edition:

❀。• Rengoku Kyojuro: Be Mine

Premise: Destiny can be a fickle thing. One little mistake while dialing a random shop opened a new door for his desolated heart; one he was more than eager to go into.

Word Count: 3985

❀。• Tomioka Giyuu: Training Camp

Premise: Giyuu asks for one of the interns at the academy to be assigned to his care as the training camp was approaching and he didn’t have enough energy to deal with all the brats and their antics.

Word Count: 3660

❀。• Shinazugawa Sanemi: Infinity

Premise: Kanae convinces Sanemi to go on a blind date in a combined effort from all the teachers at the academy to battle Sanemi’s imminent desolated future.

Word Count: 3485

❀。• Uzui Tengen: The art of beauty

Premise: Tengen never thought possible to fall in love so bad that he'd want to give away his freedom and finally settle down. Who said a flamboyant life can't have a bit of loving~?

Word Count: 3472

❀。• Himejima Gyomei: Righteousness

Premise: Teaching children was his dream, taking care of his buddhist temple his responsibility. Finding love wasn't in his priority list, but not having to take care of everything on his own was certainly refreshing for Gyomei and made him feel warm inside.

Word Count: 3075

....::::**•°✾°•**::::....

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer x you #demon slayer hashira #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #hashira x reader #12 kizuki #shinazugawa sanemi #tomioka giyuu #rengoku kyōjurō #shinazugawa genya #tokito muichiro #douma #hantengu clones #iguro obanai #hotaru haganezuka

141 notes · View notes

novelmonger · 4 months

Text

So I'm a pretty big LotR fan. And I'm a pretty big fan of the movies. No, they're not perfect, but they're a really good adaptation and a truly masterful work of cinematic art. I've grown pretty familiar with the movies over the past 23 years (@_@) - and not just the movies themselves, but I also love learning all about how they were made. I've watched all the way through all the bonus material in the Extended Editions at least five times (and some of the more fun bits way more times than that XD). I've even watched all three movies with the cast commentary.

But you know what I've never done, not even at the height of my obsession when I had way more free time than I do now? I've never watched the movies with the other commentaries. It looks like there are three more commentaries, with different groups of various people on the crew, and for some reason I never got around to listening through them. I can't for the life of me think why - maybe I thought I already knew everything they'd talk about? maybe I somehow thought it would be boring??? - but today that changes!

I'm going to just jot down the main things that stick out to me that I didn't know before. I've gleaned a lot of BTS information and stories about these movies from various sources, so I'm not sure how long this will be, but I'm sure there will be some new things that jump out at me.

From the FotR writer/director commentary with Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh:

There was a draft of the script where they didn't have a prologue, and all the information about Sauron and the Ring and Gollum and everything was going to be in that conversation between Frodo and Gandalf @_@ Can you imagine? I mean, yeah, it would be more like the book, but At What Cost? (At the cost of several memes and short attention spans, that's what.)

Peter Jackson says he doesn't like magic or wizards in movies. Um...sir? Why the heck are you making fantasy movies then???

The location where they shot the Ford of Bruinen was a real ford that was used during the gold rush in New Zealand! Because New Zealand had a gold rush around the same time as the one in the U.S.!

Hugo Weaving actually did the voice of Isildur when he claims the Ring and says, "No." I have...questions.

Peter Jackson says the journey through Moria is the best sequence in the book, and Fran and Philippa say it's the best-written chapter. Interesting! I don't know what I would point to as the best-written chapter of FotR; I don't think I've ever thought of that (though I might say some of the best descriptions in this book are in Rivendell).

They said they might redo the Gollum scene in Moria to make him look more like he does in TTT. Uhhh...it's been 23 years, guys, where's my remaster? XD

The Frodo-Gandalf conversation in Moria (the "all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us" conversation) was done with forced perspective??? I never realized that! I thought they just had Elijah sit a little lower than Ian so their eyelines would be right! They totally look like they're looking into each other's eyes, but they're not! :O

"Often in movies, that's a rare thing, to have shots in which nothing is real." - Oh, PJ, if you only knew what the state of things would be in two decades....

The scene of the Fellowship mourning Gandalf outside Moria was filmed before Ian McKellan had even arrived in New Zealand! :O So they were all mourning and reacting to the death of someone they probably weren't even sure what he looked like yet!

Sean Bean was apparently the only one of the primary actors who had any experience with a sword? Or at least he had the most experience. Viggo had to do the Weathertop fight scene on his first day, when he'd never touched a sword before @_@

In Boromir's death scene, the words sung by the chorus in the background is an Elvish translation of Faramir's line "I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend." ;A;

At one point, they were going to have Frodo fighting off an Uruk-Hai before he goes into the boat??? They even shot some of the footage?! Thankfully, they realized that was completely the wrong way to go about his end to this movie; it needed to be an emotional climax, not an action scene, and Frodo's victory is over his own doubts and the Ring's influence on him, when he grasps the Ring and marches forward to continue on his Quest, alone if need be. Thank goodness they realized that before it was too late.

SEAN ASTIN WAS NOT UNDERWATER IN THE SHOT OF HIM DROWNING WHAAAAAT MIND BLOWN

The shot of Boromir's boat going over the edge of the waterfall was actually footage of a barrel going over the Niagara Falls, and they just used CG to replace the barrel with the boat O.O

Fran Walsh: So Viggo's just put on Boromir's gauntlets... Me, a nerd: Vambraces, actually.

#lord of the rings #lotr #peter jackson #philippa boyens #fran walsh #these might be a little slow coming in because i don't want to binge the movies three times in a row #but i WILL be going through all the commentaries besides the cast commentary which i've already heard

43 notes · View notes

son1c · 1 year

Text

conclusion to the falling stars bonus chapter (yeehaw edition)

falling stars fic masterpost

Shadow glared at the cowboy ghost. It was difficult to keep his eyes on him while also keeping track of the possessed horse statues, but somehow, Shadow was managing. He saw them whinny and kick their feet out of the corner of his eye, their metal hooves scraping against the dirt.

“We’re no one’s dinner,” Shadow growled, his grip tightening around Sonic.

“Watch yourself, boy,” the ghost warned, his ferocious grin widening. “You ain’t the first folks to have made it this far. I’ll round you up like I’ve rounded up the rest, and you’ll be mine again before sundown.”

The horses reared their heads back in agreement. Shadow glared at them too.

“I saw through your ruse once,” Shadow said. “It won’t work on me a second time. You’re a fool if you think otherwise!”

That made the ghost laugh. “You’ve got the spirit of a stallion, hedgehog.” Leaning forward, the ghost then said, “But there’s one thing you ought'a know: even the toughest spirit can be broken.”

The sound of metal on metal suddenly tore through the air. The noise was loud, and horrible, but it wasn’t nearly as horrible as the sight of the horse statues charging at Sonic and Shadow. Their twisted steel bodies shuddered with every pump of their spindly legs, and their heads jerked this way and that as if they were puppets on tangled strings, their creepiness factor working on overdrive.

Shadow dodged the first horse by diving to the right, but the second horse adjusted course quickly, and was on top of him before he had a chance to get out of the way. When the metal monster stomped down on him, Shadow was forced to drop to the ground and block the attack with his foot, since he still had Sonic in his arms. The horse’s bestial strength was apparent from the gust of wind that blew through Sonic’s quills when its hoof connected with Shadow’s shoe.

With wide eyes, Sonic stared at the killer hoof. It was less than an inch from his nose, and still fighting to get closer.

Shadow set his jaw. He wasn’t willing to become roadkill. With a great heave, he pushed the metal horse back, and jumped to his feet. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, but he was far from beat. “I won’t break,” he snarled as he shot a loathsome glare at the cowboy ghost. “If you don’t back down, your pets will be the only ones left in pieces.”

The look in the ghost’s eyes was hungry. “Quit yappin’, and show me your fire!”

Sonic tugged on Shadow’s shoulder. “Stripes,” he said tensely, “you gotta put me down.”

Shadow didn’t break eye contact with the ghost. “No. You’re in no condition to fight.”

Sonic balled his hands into fists. “I can handle myself. ‘Sides, it’s no good if I’m slowin’ you down.”

The two hedgehogs were surrounded. Six metal horses stood in a circle around them, leaving no room to escape. The ghost town offered no spectators, but the fog created the illusion of figures if the sun hit it at the right angle. It felt like they were in the middle of a grand event, a showdown at the town square, except they weren’t fighting for the title of sheriff; they were fighting for their lives.

Shadow briefly turned his attention away from the ghost in favor of looking down at Sonic. When he spoke, he did so with annoyance in his tone. “This isn’t up for debate. You–”

The dark hedgehog was cut off by the sudden appearance of a third horse. Its huge steel head was plowing forward, ready to bash Shadow’s skull to bits. Sonic yanked Shadow backwards, and the two hedgehogs rolled under the horse’s attack, missing it by a hair.

Now on the ground, Sonic pushed himself out of Shadow’s grasp and said, “I got us into this mess, alright? The least I can do is stay outta your way while you clean it up.”

Shadow looked like he wanted to argue, but when the cowboy ghost sent another horse his way, he decided to prioritize the threat. Now that he had both hands free, he was able to grab the horse when it charged at him, and with that same unnatural strength as before, he flipped it over his head and slammed it down into the dirt. The horse shrieked in surprise, but because it was a haunted statue and not a real horse, it couldn’t really feel pain.

Shadow would need to completely destroy it in order to take it out of the fight.

Sonic, meanwhile, was thinking about what he could do to help. He didn’t want to be a dead weight–anymore than he already was. Surely, there must be something he could do to aid Shadow in the fight. His broken leg complicated things, but he’d sooner break another bone than just stand there and do nothing. So, he looked between all of the horses, at their tall metallic bodies that cut into the sky like cursed blades. And he noticed something.

The horse statue that the cowboy ghost was sitting on moved seamlessly, its motions almost indistinguishable from a living, breathing horse. The ones on the other side of the square, however, moved more erratically, their bodies twitching like they were running out of power.

Maybe, if…

“Stripes!” Sonic shouted, his eyes big from the realization. “You gotta throw it, man!”

Shadow, who had been trying and failing to punch the life out of the undead horse statue, shouted back, “What?!” He narrowly avoided the statue’s dagger-like teeth when it snapped at him.

“As far as you can,” Sonic answered. “Just do it!”

Grunting, Shadow figured he might as well give it a shot. He ducked under the horse’s hooves, whipped back around, and grabbed its spindly legs with both of his hands. Then, he spun it around, faster and faster, until finally he let it go, and the statue sailed through the air, crashing into a house two blocks down the street. It did not get back up.

Shadow’s eyes lit up. Five more to go.

Moving fast, Shadow managed to toss all but the last horse out of the fight. When it came to that last one, however, he had to stop, because it was the one the cowboy ghost had chosen as a steed. And the cowboy ghost now had Sonic clutched in his ghastly fist. The blue hedgehog was clawing angrily at the white hand wrapped around his middle, but if the ghost could feel it, he didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll cut you a deal,” the ghost purred, his swirling eyes glowing bright purple as they bored into Shadow. “Surrender, and I’ll let him go. Your Chaos Energy’s all I’m hankerin’ for, anyhow. Ain’t no need to be greedy!”

“No! Stripes, don’t–”

The ghost tightened his grip around Sonic, choking him. His freaky eyes never wavered from Shadow’s face. “Refuse, and I’ll kill him.” Grinning, the ghost said to Shadow, “The choice is yours.”

Shadow watched as Sonic’s face started to turn blue. His chest frothed with rage at the cowboy ghost, the feeling swirling inside of him like a snowstorm, prickling his skin and fur and threatening to burst out in a storm of icicle spears. He looked the ghost dead in the eye, his expression frigid. His voice was equally as cold when he replied, “I refuse.”

The ghost blinked in surprise. However, he quickly recovered, and his expression darkened. “Stubborn hog,” he sneered. “As if I’d let a good meal go to waste!”

Then, the ghost loosened his grip around Sonic, and Sonic gasped. But before the blue hedgehog could recover, the ghost pressed his big thumb against Sonic’s little forehead, and said evilly, “Do me a favor, won’t you, darlin’? Wrangle that friend a'yours for me.”

Sonic’s efforts to break free from the ghost’s grasp died down when his green eyes started to fill with purple. And when he looked down at Shadow from his place atop the horse statue’s head, it was with the same swirling gaze as the cowboy ghost.

Great. Now Shadow would have to–

Blinking, Shadow stared at the top of the horse statue’s head, but Sonic wasn’t there anymore. His ear twitched, and he snapped his head to the side just in time to see Sonic’s fist coming towards him way faster than he ever would have thought was possible. Shadow caught it, but only just barely, and his palm stung from the impact.

The two hedgehogs skidded across the dirt, the speed of Sonic’s attack carrying them forward even after it had been stopped.

It was the sweat lining Sonic’s brow that caused Shadow to look down. Under the leg brace, Shadow could see the bandages begin to turn red as fresh blood seeped through. He gritted his teeth. While Sonic’s speed certainly came as a surprise, it was being forced out of him, and if Shadow didn’t stop it soon, the consequences could be dire.

Sonic threw another punch, although this one seemed slower than the first. His fist still streaked through the air like a speeding bullet, however, and Shadow had to be quick to catch it. Then, the dark hedgehog’s chest squeezed with rage at the cowboy ghost when he heard Sonic’s breath hitch from the next step he took.

No more playing around.

Shadow dropped Sonic’s fists and ran towards the cowboy ghost and his steed at top speed, his icy anger igniting and turning into a burning flame inside his heart. He refused to let this spirit keep them trapped here any longer, and when he curled into a ball, all of his rage joined him, his body set alight with red hot Chaos Energy.

The ghost did not dodge. His hunger consumed him–when he saw Shadow’s overflow of Chaos Energy, he simply waited in anticipation.

Less than a second later, Shadow’s hit connected with the horse statue’s skull, and the haunted art piece burst into flames, overwhelmed by the power of Shadow’s attack. The cowboy ghost was next, as Shadow bounced off the statue’s head and slammed directly into the ghost’s face, still on fire with that crackling red energy.

It proved to be too much for the voracious ghost. He, too, burst into flames. His spirit burned away quickly, destroyed by the unrestrained power of Shadow’s Chaos Energy.

Shadow landed on his feet. He watched as the last of the cowboy ghost’s wispy form disappeared into the sky with a dark expression. Good riddance, he thought. Then, he rushed over to the other side of the square, where Sonic was standing, wobbling on his feet.

“Sh… Sheesh! What hit me?” Sonic laughed, though it was strained. “F-Feels like I just went through the spin cycle! Haha!”

Shadow inspected Sonic’s eyes, but could find no trace of the ghostly purple that had previously been infecting them. Did he not remember going fast?

“Let’s get out of here,” Shadow said tersely, casting a glance over his shoulder. The hospital building had disappeared, but that creepy fog remained hanging over everything. “Before anything else shows up.”

“Huh?” Sonic blinked, still a little dazed. “Oh, yeah. And let’s hunt down a cafeteria while we’re at it–one without an ectoplasm problem!”

Shadow suddenly felt a searing pain in his head. It burned him, like the Chaos Energy he had just unleashed onto the cowboy ghost. He squeezed his eyes shut to curb his spinning vision, but it did little to help the sudden nausea that was now gripping at his throat.

Sonic noticed the sudden change and immediately shook off the last of the funk clouding his brain. He reached out to Shadow, holding him steady by gripping the dark hedgehog’s upper arm. “You doin’ okay, bud?”

Grimacing, Shadow pried his eyes open. “It’s nothing. Just–”

Whatever he was about to say died in his throat, as his body completely shut down on him. Sonic, alarmed, caught him before he could become a pile in the dirt.

Thankfully, he could feel Shadow’s breath against his shoulder, so he knew he wasn’t dead, just asleep. Still, Sonic was concerned.

“Take it easy,” Sonic said, even though Shadow couldn’t hear him.

Sonic’s leg–which he had been pointedly ignoring up until this point–screamed at him to sit down, but there was no way he could stop and rest in this messed up ghost town. The buildings loomed at him through the fog, the specters of the horse statues lurking just out of sight.

Sonic slung Shadow’s arm over his shoulders. He didn’t have the leg strength necessary to carry him like a Disney princess, so hopefully the dark hedgehog wouldn’t mind being half-dragged through the mud while Sonic limped up the hill and out of town. He didn’t stop until the haunted town vanished behind the hills at his back, and when it did, he carefully laid Shadow down in a bed of flowers before flopping down next to him, exhausted.

Staring up at the stars, Sonic listened to the soft sound of the wind blowing through the grass. To no one in particular, he asked, “Has my life always been this exciting?”

#falling stars au #linked all the parts this time cuz it's been a few days :P #read this with no context at your own risk i guesssssssss <3

210 notes · View notes