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tryst-art-archive · 1 year

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Oct 2009: "One Bad Party"

I hear the chunk of the heavy, metal door to M[...]’s dorm at [college] before I see who has opened it. M[...] says, “Hey. P[...], this is my best friend, R[...],” and only then do I turn, a bundle of imperceptible nerves.

I gather a quick impression of him – tall, bulky in a natural way, long curly hair, a round face with a prominent yet unobtrusive nose, dark eyes, dark “goth” clothes, and, more than the rest, an adorable shy and submissive manner - then I quickly close my eyes and smile, raising my open palm in greeting. He is embarrassed, shy. He shrugs and smiles and says “Hi” in a tiny voice.

It is Halloween 2008. I am a senior in high school, visiting my best friend – a freshman in college – for the first time since she moved into [college]’s luxurious dorm, the Artist Residence. She and I are dressed as two of our favorite characters from the videogame, Persona 3. I’ve dressed as the nameless main character, and she is dressed as a female robot, Aegis. We both wear matching uniforms, my short hair shielding half my face and her short hair framing hers, but the exacting details of our costumes make us individuals.

P[...] has not dressed up for the occasion, but this isn’t of any real relevance; I am simply excited to meet him.

For some time prior to meeting P[...], M[...] had been sending me correspondence detailing the people she met at college. One email contained profiles of three boys she’d met whom she thought might catch my fancy, and P[...] was the unlikely candidate among them. He wasn’t thin and lank and effeminate with bright eyes and dark hair. Nor was he a geek who somehow had the romantic charms of a dashing literary hero with which to sweep me off my feet. Even so, he had been the only one in the group to really catch my interest. M[...]'s exact description was:

Three: P[full name] (sp?). Probs not your type at all, but adorable in his own way. Looks like an uber-sketch. Mile-long black, curly hair, black, black eyes. Quite tall and burly - a bit Hagrid-esque. Wears bondage pants and metal-head t-shirts. This belies the sweetest, sweetest nature I have come across maybe ever, at least so far as I could tell. Hung out with that gang for hours and he only said anything negative when, while playing Katamari, the guy in the select meadow was yelling "YES!" forevs. Super, super nice, super shy, very gentle voice. Holds doors. Has a really cute giggle and thinks his roommates are lame for partying. One wants an excuse to bear-hug him.

From there, I had kept tabs on him, using M[...] as my spy, trying to imagine him in my mind. I saw pictures, heard stories, and there was an occasion on which M[...] and another friend made cupcakes for him, and I, who could not be there, suggested the theme for the cupcakes – emoticons. It was a simply suggestion that made me feel present and involved - something I desired to be even before I could make my appearance in the social sphere M[...] now inhabited.

�� Thus, when I met P[...] in October, I had an unfair advantage over him; I already had a vague idea of who he was and had begun to feel a loose connection to him defined by my desire to reinstate myself in M[...]’s life. Because of that, I had determined not to fall into my usual shy, antisocial patterns of behavior, but rather to make the effort to reach out to P[...].

We spend only enough time in M[...]’s dorm to gain the full membership of our party before we proceed to one of the [college] buildings where the evening’s main event – the Speaker Project – is being held. Half art project, half dance party, it entails a DJ booth enclosed within a structure made of speakers and traffic cones from which deep bass music thumps, filling the gallery space. Within this room are numerous [college] students, decked in costumes of varying degrees of complexity and thoughtfulness. There is Peter Pan and His Shadow, a banana and a gorilla, elegant men and women in the elaborate garb of a masquerade circus, a member of the bourgeois and a proletariat, the Joker, a Duct Tape fairy, and persons of indeterminate gender in indeterminate costumes which are, nonetheless, spectacular.

We mill about the Project which seems to be sadly devoid of dancing, until we come upon the DJ’s booth within its shell of traffic cones. The majority of the dancing appears to be occurring in this dim, industrial yet gothic and surreal space. So, we squeeze in and become part of the harlequin crowd. Wedged between a speaker, a corner, and a skeleton dangling from the ceiling, we try to find the space to dance. The obligatory dance circle forms as everyone tries to find the rhythm to the song thumping into our ears. I find myself bumping into the hung skeleton while having naught to look at but P[...].

The fun of the dance flickers on and off. At moments we are standing awkwardly, bouncing from foot to foot, looking about and waiting for music better suited to dancing, music with a discernible beat and energy. At other moments, we are dancing with the skeleton or each other, and I am losing myself in the feel of the music, eyes closed, so that I can be free of embarassment among these people I don’t yet know, and now I am opening my eyes and catching P[...]’s, so I flash him a smile and continue my dancing with renewed vigor, wishing to pass my energy off to him, and, somehow, it works, and his hair is flying as he head bangs, but now he sees me watching and produces an embarrassed smile, yet I am laughing an grinning and trying to convey how wonderful it is that he’s dancing, for I have the sense that it’s not something he would normally do.

But these bursts of energy are brief, and the slowly our enthusiasm drains until our glassy eyes are wandering around the plywood walls of the DJ’s booth. Someone suggests we go somewhere else – their sister is having a party over on Jamaica Plain – and soon we are catching the 39 bus to JP. We stand outside the ramshackle little house, awkward under the porch light. We ring the bell and become trick-or-treaters too old for the sport.

In truth, I don’t much want to be here. The notion of going to some stranger’s house as if I were invited doesn’t exactly fill me with ecstasy. What remains of my earlier energy and enthusiasm shrivels up, and I am pathetic little me again. I become shy, small, and apologetic. When a woman dressed as Ursula from The Little Mermaid opens the door, I want to spilling apologies at her feet for daring to stand on her porch.

But the smiling people dressed as Disney villains are drunk on their own Halloween celebration – or possibly just drunk – and they whisk us into their home without a second thought. They offer us punch that’s likely been laced with alcohol; they urge us to dance and sing with them; they demand we enjoy ourselves. In another room, guests are smoking pot, while another guest intimates that this is a house full of graduated or graduating WLP majors from [college I attended] who haven’t found a living yet. I smile awkwardly because I don’t need to be reminded that my future is insecure. Even though P[...] is a virtual stranger, I press in a little closer to him, trying to get away from the party; he doesn’t seem to mind.

We stay there for a little while, with my awkwardness growing, my sense of being out of place becoming distracting. P[...] and I are loitering in a wide doorway between the room with the presumably spiked punch and a hallway which has a paper model of the Globe Theatre at one end. I like the Theatre; if it weren’t for my discomfort with being in the presence of drugs and alcohol, that model alone would likely give me cause to like these people. By all rights, I should like them – they’re dressed as Disney villains, belting out their chosen villain’s song – but I can’t overcome my first experience among drugs and alcohol. Instead of enjoying these strangers, I share an occasional awkward smile with P[...], my doorway companion.

At some point, my awkwardness has communicated to M[...] sufficiently for her to initiate a departure. Only part of our group leaves, but P[...] is with us. I find that I only require his and M[...]’s presence right now anyway.

We waited for the bus at the bus stop for what seemed to be ages. I was freezing despite my long slacks and my suit jacket. The party had left me cranky. It wasn’t the evening I had wanted. It wasn’t the memory I wanted to walk away with. There had been substances and strangers, and I could just hear my dad’s voice in my ear, complaining that, after he’d trusted me to be safe in Boston without his supervision, I’d just run off and done something irresponsible.

I felt guilty.

I huddled into M[...] for warmth and comfort, and she initiated a group hug of four, including P[...], M[...], and myself.

Here, time slows down. I am in the midst of this hug, my head pressed against P[...]’s chest, my arms around as many people as I can hold. I can feel M[...] at my back, her head resting on my shoulder. Everything is pure warmth and comfort, and I fly a little within myself for the moment is somehow more bliss and more perfect than any moment involving a near-stranger has any right to be. The nighttime lights of Boston are, as always, a peculiar kind of beautiful. It’s cold with a slight breeze, but the streetlights appear warm. They cast a red or orange hue on the night around them in a way more suited to painting than reality. Obscure figures walk on the streets; a gang of people on bicycles, celebrating Halloween, pass by noisily; a man and his dog continue along the road without comment. Every time I see headlights, I think it is the bus come to take us away from that awkward party of strangers and substances, but it is always a lone car. I close my eyes. The bad party fades away; all is warmth and comfort, and by my ear, I hear the beating of P[...]’s heart. It seems, to me, to be beating hard, fast, fluttering. I imagine that heart within the dark ribcage as if it were a cartoon; picture the speed and squeeze, imagine the foggy, wordless thoughts that could be floating through P[...]’s mind. I focus on the heartbeat, falling into a sort of waking sleep, until I feel the smile on my lips and open my eyes, banishing my own sudden silliness.

And there is the bus down the road a little way.

The hug breaks apart with some reluctance on at least my part. We straighten our shirts, not sure how to proceed from the hug, and stare at the bus, waiting for it to come around to get us.

It speeds by. We’re confused. We check our watches or phones for the time, we shuffle our feet, we wander about, and we wait for another bus.

No bus comes.

Now the cold is biting, more so after the warmth of that embrace, more so after the comfort of the heart, and I am now little more than an irritable child who has been kept up too late.

Another bus finally appears and passes us by, but this time we run down the street after it, chasing it to a corner where, having caught our prey, we are told we cannot board. It simply leaves us standing on a dark corner, leaves us looking puzzled, at one in the goddamn morning.

We eventually made it back via taxi cab – the shortest among us hailed it, and I recklessly handed a twenty dollar bill to the cabbie, telling him to keep the change, whatever it was, only because I was sick of the night and the bad party. We parted ways in the elevator back at the dorm. Naturally, I was to spend the night with M[...], but I found myself reluctant to leave P[...]’s company. And when I closed my eyes, he lingered for my thoughts in a moment, bringing that hug and that heartbeat back into my mind. The party’s sour taste slipped away from me, and all was warmth comfort as I fell asleep.

In no time at all, I begin spending every possible weekend at [M's college].

In December of 2008, after numerous nights on which we asleep on each other in the fourth floor lounge at the Artist Res, after numerous conversations of Facebook, after hours of delicate, almost child-like flirtation, after birthday gifts, and after tentatively beginning to know each other, P[...] leaves a note in my purse.

It is on a star-shaped, yellow sticky note that I previously drew a puppy on and stuck to his sketchbook. The puppy is shaded now, with hearts stemming from it. It is labeled “P[...]” and also, “SHY.” On the puppy side of the note is written, “R[...]pants, I like you. …Like, a lot.” An arrow, “look,” points to the sticky side of the note on which is scribed “i can has date?”

The next day, P[...] receives a Facebook message which reads, “Yes. You can has date.”

When P[...] kissed me in January, I thought, smiling, “One bad party is a small price to pay.”

#assignments #it was a memoir assignment #old writing #writing archive #autobiographical #this brought some stuff back #i remember the party at the college more than the house party after #at the time i was straight-edge and painfully rule-following so that's what the fear was about #college life #00s #2009 #Age 18 #prose #memoir #relationship #Halloween #TrysKits work

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jenchase · 3 years

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You're the one that I want

Can I interest anyone in a 2k Shoni High School AU in which Shelby plays Sandy in a performance of Grease? Also available on AO3 right here:

Toni is not a musical theatre kid, she is not even a fan. But, well, Shelby is. So when auditions for the spring play production of Grease come around and her best friend unsurprisingly gets the part of Sandy, the pure joy on Shelby’s face is enough for her to know she will be watching every single one of her performances. And when they find out, not a minute later, that Andrew, Shelby’s asshole of an ex-boyfriend, got the part of Danny, Toni without hesitation signs up to help out behind the scenes, so Shelby will not be forced to spend time with him on her own.

The weeks leading up to opening night are both Toni’s best and worst weeks of her life. Shelby only broke up with Andrew shortly before the production started, so Toni takes full advantage of the fact that she finally gets to spend time with her best friend again. However, Andrew is dead set on getting Shelby back and uses every opportunity to rehearse with her one on one. “You know, just so we have the appropriate chemistry on stage.” He claims and it makes Toni want to puke. As lame as Andrew’s attempts are, Shelby always seems to find a way to include Toni in the “scene rehearing processes”, which makes him behave as best as he can. Toni has broken his nose before and at this point, the whole school knows that she is not hesitant to do it again. In fact, there are a couple of times Shelby actively has to keep Toni from punching Andrew, when he makes a particularly stupid comment or claims that Danny should definitely be touching Sandy for some ridiculous reason. Their drama teacher, Ms Klein, reminds him that Danny and Sandy must not touch until the grand finale of the show to build up and keep the romantic tension and Toni cannot remember a time she has been more grateful for their teacher’s artistic “visions”.

The night before opening night Toni lays in her bed, wide awake and anxious. Which is absolutely ridiculous, she thinks, because she is not even going to be on stage herself and all she will really have to do during the performance is check that all the probs are where they should be backstage. But Toni also knows she is not nervous about what she will have to do tomorrow, but rather, what Shelby will have to do. It is her first leading role and Toni really wants her to nail it. Which she definitely will. Toni has seen her act at rehearsals and while she might not know shit about musical theatre, she knows that Shelby is the best actress and singer their school has seen since probably ever.

But fuck, why does the whole thing have to involve kissing Andrew? Toni really thought that her days of being jealous of that asshole were over, but here we go again.

Right before her thoughts can go spiraling down a path of trying to figure out ways to take Andrew’s place instead, Toni hears her phone vibrate on the nightstand.

Shelby: You awake?

Toni: Yeah, but why are you?

Shelby: Can’t sleep, can I call?

Instead of texting her back, Toni calls her best friend who picks up after the first ring.

“Hey,” Shelby says and sounds a little breathless.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Toni asks as she sits up in her bed.

“Nothing, nothing, just… nervous, I guess?” She hears the other girl take a deep breath. “I’m just a little scared that I’ll screw up.”

“No reason for that.” Toni answers quickly and adds with all the certainty in her voice. “Cause you won’t.”

She can practically envision how Shelby is starting to protest on the other end of the phone, so she does not even let her say anything. “And I do know that. You wanna know why?”

It takes a moment before Toni hears Shelby’s hesitant “yeah” over the line.

“Because you’ve rehearsed so much for this that you do not only know all of your lines by heart, but the whole fucking play. You could do all the dances if being dragged out the bed at 3am, which I know because you made me fucking do that to you.”

She hears Shelby giggling quietly and cannot help the smile that spreads over her face.

“So yeah, there is no way that you’ll screw things up tomorrow. You’re so well prepared, there could be an earthquake during the performance and you’d still nail it.”

“Thank you, Toni.” Shelby says and to Toni’s relief sounds a bit calmer.

“And you know what. Even in the one to a billion chance that you do mess up, it’s not going to be a big deal, okay? You’re just human and we fuck up all the time. It’s not going to make you any less of a great performer and it sure as hell doesn’t make you any less of a great person. Puke on stage, for all I care, I’m still going to be your number one fan.”

Both of them stay quiet for what feels like an eternity to Toni. So long she starts to fear she has overstepped the line of platonic love and accidentally let Shelby know that she feels way more for her than a best friend should. Her heart feels like it is beating out of her chest when Shelby speaks up.

“I love you, Toni.”

“I love you, too.” She answers without hesitation but knowing full well that they do not mean the sentiment in the same way. “You think, you can sleep now?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Shelby says after a pause.

“Okay, good.”

Neither of them hang up the phone and Toni is just content listening to Shelby’s steady breathing on the other end of the line, letting the familiar sound calm her.

“Thank you, Toni.” She mumbles and Toni can tell she is about to fall asleep.

“Anytime.” She nearly whispers into the phone and waits until Shelby’s breath sounds deeper and there is a little thud indicating that her phone probably dropped onto her pillow before she hangs up and goes to sleep herself.

***

Shelby nails it and Toni even has to discreetly wipe away some tears after watching her perform “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from the side of the stage.

She is so enamored by Shelby’s on-stage presence, she does not even realize when the girl is walking directly towards her after her last solo performance in the play.

“Come on.” The blonde grabs her by the writs and drags her along to her changing room. “I need your help to get into all that leather.”

She trips over her own feet and nearly falls on her face even though this should have not even been a surprise to her since she knew Shelby made her personally responsible to help out with costume changes. Toni tries her very best to not look and keep her thoughts at a best friend appropriate level while she helps Shelby into her leather pants.

Fucking leather pants. Jesus Christ.

“How do I look?” Shelby asks nervously, looking at herself in a mirror and ruffling through her own hair to make it look messier.

“Hot.” Toni answers quickly without thinking.

It is not like she has not seen Shelby in this outfit before. She helped picking it out for crying out loud, but Shelby is oozing with confidence right now and she has been amazing throughout the whole play and Toni is just so fucking proud of and very much in love with her. Who could blame her for losing it a little bit.

“Way too good for Andrew.” She says still impulsive but significantly quieter and definitely not with the intention to have Shelby pick it up.

She knows Shelby heard her anyways when she meets the blonde’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

“I’m not trying to look good for Andrew.” She starts and Toni immediately shakes her head.

“No, I know, of course not.” And Toni, still without a filter as it seems, adds, “I just hate that he gets to kiss you soon.”

Shelby raises her eyebrow at her and this end-of-play-Sandy confidence is truly doing nothing to help Toni think straight.

“You jealous?” Her best friend asks her and Toni cannot tell if she is joking or not.

Not that it would matter because Toni’s “yeah” slips out before she can fully process the gravity of the situation.

It is not until Shelby turns around and towers over Toni, with the added height from the heels she is now wearing, that Toni understands what she just admitted.

Her heart rate quickens and she knows her face is as red as Shelby’s lipstick.

“I-“ she starts, ready to take it back and apologize but Shelby interrupts her.

“You have nothing to be worried about.”

Toni stares at her with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth, uncertain what exactly she means with that statement.

“Shelby, you ready? You’re up in a minute!” They hear Leah, the stage manager, yell into the changing room.

Toni swears she sees Shelby’s gaze drop to her lips before she steps away and follows Leah back to the main stage. Still in a haze, Toni trails behind them.

She is even more focused on Shelby for the rest of the play, only looking away when she knows it is time for the kiss between Danny and Sandy.

They get standing ovations and Toni’s hands start hurting from how hard she claps them together when Shelby’s name is called and the audience goes just as crazy as she does. And because she is absolutely whipped for the other girl, she even lets her drag out when they call her name for the behind the scenes credit. She flees the stage after a quick awkward wave at the audience and an attemptto bow and rushes to pick up her opening night gift for Shelby which she carefully hid in an unknown corner behind the stage.

Toni does not move back to her regular place at the side entrance to the stage where she knows all the actors are going to leave soon to head to the dressing rooms. Instead, she stays at the back, carefully watching the crowd of performers for Shelby.

She is one of the last people to leave the stage, together with Andrew, who tries to get her attention but the Shelby seems more interested in looking around in search of Toni. She smiles brightly when she spots her and makes her way over, not giving Andrew a second glance, who thankfully and finally acknowledges his defeat and walks to the dressing rooms.

Toni’s heart leaps in her chest, as her best friend comes closer and for a second she thinks the bouquet of Shelby’s favorite flowers was a really bad idea, especially with the potentially friendship ending behavior she has displayed earlier.

“What are you doing back here?” Shelby asks with a puzzled look but an unwavering smile.

Toni’s words get stuck in her throat and before she can chicken out, she brings out the flowers from behind her back and holds them out to Shelby.

“You were great.” She miraculously manages to get out and takes a little pride in the way Shelby’s cheeks turn red.

She takes them from Toni with all the tenderness in the world but holds them to the side to pull Toni in for a hug.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” Toni says with her head buried in Shelby’s neck.

“Come on.” Shelby says and for the second time tonight drags her to her dressing room.

With the brighter light and lack of time pressure, because Shelby does not have to be on stage again in a couple of minutes, Toni cannot help but take in Shelby’s entire appearance with more detail. All that leather clearly distracts her enough to miss how Shelby locked the door and by the time Toni’s eyes reach her face, she knows she has been caught.

“Are you going to help me out of these? Or would you rather keep staring?”

Toni is sure that the amount of blood rushing to her face right now is enough to make her head explode. She panics before she can see the smug smile on Shelby’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Shelby.” She looks everywhere but at her best friend. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m gonna go.” She says quickly and heads to the door with a lowered head.

Unfortunately, Shelby is blocking her escape route and contrary to what Toni expected, the blonde does not seem to want her to leave at all if pressing her up against the door is any indication for that.

“Shelby?” Toni creaks out and does not even recognize her own voice with her best friend staring her down intensely.

“You know, for someone who used to talk a whole lot about their flirting game, you sure are oblivious to it.” She says, pinning Toni to the wall with her hands on her hips and their faces mere inches apart.

With Shelby’s warm breath hitting her face, Toni is too paralyzed to do anything but stare at the lips she has wanted to kiss for so long now.

Shelby starts leaning in and Toni is pretty sure her heart has stopped beating at this point. She closes her eyes as their lips meet in the faintest brush and nearly whimpers as Shelby moves them from her mouth over her right cheek to her ear.

“Don’t you get it.” She whispers and shivers run across Toni’s entire body. “You’re the one that I want.”

#the wilds #shoni #shelby x toni #shelby goodkind #toni shalifoe #fanfic #grease

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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December Contest Submission #17: Karen's yard

words: ca. 2100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: alcohol use, buzzed driving, Karen

Anna was staring at her reflection in the round, ball-like sphere ornament colored in Halloween orange. She looked like a fish, she thought. Like one of those orange fish with creepy eyes and their brains sticking out. She was wondering when Elsa was going to come out of the damn room. She was growing impatient, and she was not the impatient kind. Not at all.

The sound of a rubber chicken caught her attention. She turned around, found Elsa standing there, cringing at said chicken that lay under her foot like a limpy, screaming creature. And what the hell was Elsa wearing?

“You look like a fucking Christmas present.” The chicken protested.

“That’s the point,” she said.

“But a cringy one. Like the one your distant aunt gives you and you hate it but have to smile anyway and say thank you and then leave it in your closet for the rest of eternity.” She scanned her again. “Your face looks very cute, though.”

“You just insulted my entire outfit, am I supposed to thank you for calling my face cute?”

“Yes.”

She stepped closer. “You look like an oompa loompa.”

“I was aiming for citizen of Whoville.”

“No. Oompa loompa. The original version.”

“I don’t even know the original version so your insult falls flat.”

Elsa shrugged.

There was a party they were supposed to attend. Elsa knew somebody who knew somebody else, and their cousin, and whatever. It spread like gossip. Or was it wildfire? No. The gossip did the spreading and the wildfire was the analogy. Anyway, Anna was very excited to go to this Christmas thing because it’s been a while since she’s attempted to get drunk off eggnog. And so what if she looked like Willy Wonka’s fucking spawn?

It was cold outside. Hella. My-ass-is-frozen-and-my-teeth-will-fall-off-from-so-much-chattering cold. Anna could not think. She could not even respond when Elsa asked her if she wanted to stop by Starbucks and get a hot chocolate. But she shook her head. I don’t want hot chocolate I want alcohol your honor. So the party it was. Elsa drove like a grandma. Ice was her excuse but Anna was not having it. She drove like a grandma on summer too. And on spring. And on the fall when you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to cozy it up in your bed or dig yourself a nice dead-leaf grave.

“We’ll get there tomorrow and nobody will get to appreciate my oompa loompa costume.”

“You’ve disgraced enough eyes as it is.”

“Only yours.”

“Mine are the only ones that matter.”

“Who taught you to be so vain?”

“You.”

Anna nodded. The wig nodded with her. Both were proud nods. “I’ve taught you well.”

They almost veered off the road at some point; almost drove into a snowman, Santa and the horse-looking reindeer that were set up on the obnoxiously decorated yard of some Karen’s house. It’s the ice, Elsa said again. But nah. She was a slow driver and a shitty driver too. Anna would have offered to get behind the wheel but she was even shittier. So she prayed instead, and played Mariah Carey’s Christmas album until she was sure she hated it with her whole being.

The house was warm at least. Its smell, however, was a concoction of spilt American beer—the cheap kind that tasted like piss when lukewarm—and the cinnamon scent of those generic candles everyone hated but went on buying anyway because they were so cheap.

Anna made a beeline for the kitchen. She forgot who it was they were here for. The cousin of the friend of the coworker or something. Anyway, bless them for keeping the place stocked up with alcohol for those souls who come to this abode feeling thirsty as shit. Elsa trailed after her, and bless her too, just because.

“What are you getting?” Anna asked her.

“Whatever you’re getting.”

“That’s insanely unoriginal.”

“I’m not the alcoholic one here.”

Anna laughed. She placed her hands on her warm, lovely, rosy, pinchable cheeks and said, “Elsa. Do you think the people who came here tonight did it because they like to sit on a stranger’s couch? No. They came here because they like the taste of free alcohol.”

“I’ll take a cranberry vodka.”

“That’s my baby.” She made two cranberry vodkas because Elsa wasn’t the unoriginal one here. It was Anna. Plot twist.

The cranberry vodka tasted hideous though, but free plus alcohol equals you drink it anyway. Then Anna remembered the eggnog. But there was no eggnog. And what Christmas party didn’t have at least some crappy eggnog? So she stuck to cranberry vodka and to Elsa’s side for good measure. They spent a good amount of time looking for the friend of the cousin, etc. so that Anna could meet them and they found him in the most obvious of places: the couch. He was bulky, had a goofy grin and whatnot. His name was Kristoff. Another plot twist.

Anna could have sworn he’d seen him before, and when Elsa told her it was from that one time they ran into him at a gay bar everything made sense. Then she smiled to herself because that had been a hell of a good time. Elsa elbowed her in the ribs, gently, with love. ‘Not here,’ her eyes said. Well, you can’t blame her for fantasizing. Or you can. But also blame it on the alcohol. And on Elsa’s stamina.

“So, Anna.” Who’s talking? “Elsa’s told me a lot about you.” It’s Kristoff.

“All good things, yeah?”

“All great things.”

Anna nodded proudly and so did her wig.

“What’s your costume?” he asked.

“I’m an oompa loompa.”

“I didn’t know that movie was Christmas-themed.”

“Everything with snow in it is Christmas-themed, Kristoff.”

“Oh.”

So she’s enlightened Kristoff with her knowledge and now it was time to move on. What a himbo. She wondered if it was him who kept playing Mariah Carey. That would make sense.

They stopped by the kitchen for a refill and eventually moved to the side, right by the corner where you stand if you kinda know the host but not really but you don’t wanna seem awkward and look like you’re not having a good time. Anna kept looking at the green bow that Elsa had glued to her sweater. It was distracting. But Elsa kept thinking she was staring at her breasts and she wasn’t. Well, she was. But that wasn’t the point of this paragraph.

Mariah Carey gave way to Michael Bublé and then Anna was 110% sure it was gay himbo Kristoff who was controlling the music. But she couldn’t be mad. This was his house and if he wanted to blast overplayed Christmas music until everyone’s ears—even the neighbors'—bled, then that was entirely up to him. It’ll stay in his conscience. Or maybe not. He was a white boy. Nothing ever stuck. Anna was still having fun, however, and so was Elsa. She kept giving her the look. The one that said, ‘Let’s get out of here or else I’ll find us a place in this house where I can get my hands on you without having to keep it PG13.’ But they’d just gotten here, Anna thought. So she wasn’t having it just yet. She liked to tease.

But not too much, because by the third cranberry vodka she was all up and ready to go. Or maybe it was the fourth. Who cared? Anna didn’t. Willy Wonka sure didn’t. Elsa was already grabbing her coat, so she didn’t care either. The perks of dating an introvert.

It was shit cold outside, but that wasn’t news.

“I’ll drive,” Anna joked and giggled. She was so funny.

“Are you drunk?” Elsa threw the keys at her anyway. Anna caught them, so she was probs just tipsy. “Why are you entrusting me with the car?”

“It’s the suburbs. We can go at fifteen and be fine.”

PREPARE TO DIE!!!! Anna calmly thought. They went inside the car. What’s that oompa loompa doing in a car? she thought as well, and laughed again.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Elsa asked. Her cheeks were rosy pink and her eyes were kinda glassy. And why was she so goddamn pretty?

“I’m more sober than you are.”

“That’s a first.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Aren’t you glad I keep being your first in everything?”

Elsa pulled at her wig. She took that as a yes.

Anna took the fifteen to heart even though it felt so. damn. slow. She felt worse than somebody’s grandma. Hell, she felt worse than Elsa.

“I’m getting dizzy.”

“But I’m only going at fifteen. I’m practically crawling.”

“Can you stop the car?”

Oompa loompa stopped the car and ugly Christmas gift exited. Anna didn’t realize they had stopped outside of the same house that Elsa almost drove into hours earlier until they were standing in front of it, Elsa taking big gulps of cold air and Anna just standing there, being her Anna self. The wig kept itching so she took it off.

“Are you okay, babe?”

Elsa nodded slowly. “I think you put too much vodka in that last drink.”

“You made that one.”

“Oh.”

Anna reached for her hand and walked her into the white suburban mom’s front yard. The deer really did look like horses and Santa Claus looked like the creepy uncle you try to stay away from. The snowman looked like everybody else’s nightmares. They stood in the yard, both of them staring at the fireplace that burned in the living room—with everything hella open, by the way. Who kept the curtains drawn during these hard times? And where was the All-American family? Was this meant to be a horror story?

“We look like total creeps right now,” Anna muttered.

She saw Elsa nod from her peripheral vision. Then she felt a hand wrap around her arm. “Sit with me for a while.”

“Uh, here? I’m not sure we’re allow—okay, yes. Okay.” She sat down with Elsa on the snow knowing she’d regret it soon. Like, a moment long. However long that was.

Elsa hugged her, nuzzling her neck. It tickled, but in a nice way. “I’ll keep you warm,” she mumbled.

“I doubt that.”

“I can try.”

“You really are drunk,” Anna laughed.

“And you smell like feet.”

“Okay. Ew. That was the wig.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Who’s Jan.”

“My lover.”

“Ah.” Her ass was beginning to go numb. “Do I really smell like feet?”

“No, you smell like Anna.”

She smiled like an idiot. “I bet your lover could never,” she said.

“No,” Elsa mumbled, still close to her neck. “That’s why I love you the most.”

Anna decided it was enough sitting so she kinda just flipped over and pushed Elsa to the ground—cause she didn’t mind the snow and the cold and whatnot—so that she could place herself on top of her. Elsa was laughing but that was probably because she was drunk. Under different circumstances she’d be the one questioning whether it was a good idea to make out on some stranger’s yard.

But they didn’t make out then—PLOT TWIST NUMERO TREE!

Anna got too distracted watching Elsa laugh, in a non-creepy way. Because real talk: Anna was stupidly in love. She was in love in the cheesiest of ways. In an ‘I want to spend the rest of my chaotic life with you’ kinda way. She was in love with Elsa in a way that made her know she looked like an idiot when she stared at her but didn’t care anyway. She was in love with Elsa in a way Jan could never. And she knew Elsa was in love with her, too. Because honestly, who looks at you as though you’re the most precious thing in the world even though you look like one of Willy Wonka’s factory workers on a bad day? No one, your honor, that’s who. So somewhere deep down she knew what was coming before she even got the chance to register her own words.

“Marry me.”

Elsa fixed her eyes on her. The laugh became a giggle. “What?”

“Marry me, Elsa.”

All the metaphors in the fanfic world about Elsa’s blue eyes go here. It’s as though they lit up at those words, or maybe it was the yard’s obnoxious, bright lights. They will never know. The only thing Anna will remember with perfect clarity about that night will be Elsa’s response.

“Yes.”

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #cw: alcohol use #cw: drunk driving #cw: Karen

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crowbarstodd · 5 years

Text

Course Of Nature (2)

Chapter Summary: LadyNoir are real best friends, and Marinette and Robin are back at each others throats Rating: G Word Count: 2160 Pairing: Daminette

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four

You can do it!”

“I really don’t think I can,” Marinette whined, sprawling over Chat’s lap lackadaisically, digging her elbow into his thigh and knocking his arm with hers by accident.

He didn’t seem bothered, simply grabbing the handful of hair she had thrust in his hand and began braiding, making sure to stroke through her blue locks gently.

She pressed her cheek against his leg, enjoying the way his whole body seemed to thrum as he chuckled at her expense. “Yes you can,” he insisted, ever faithful. “You’re Ladybug!”

“Not without this mask I’m not.”

She winced at the resulting flick of his fingers against her exposed ear, pinching at his knee in retaliation.

She smiled a little when he laughed, closing her eyes and basking in the moonlight.

He’d seemed lighter as of late; happier, and she was sure his new patrol partner had something to do with it.

Under all his jokes and smart remarks, Chat was a bundle of affection and insecurities, eager to be unfolded. She hadn’t spent much with Nightwing at all, but she was grateful to him because her Chaton was flourishing under his tutelage. Now if only she could say the same about her partner.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“Don’t eavesdrop then.”

Another ear flick, this time returned with a lazy backhanded swipe toward Chat’s general head area, missing completely.

“I’m serious m’lady, you look... Not happy.”

Marinette shifted so that she was staring straight into Chat’s vibrant, green eyes. “Robin’s such a hard-ass.”

Chat snickered, assumedly at her choice of wording and not at her distress. Hopefully. “I guess he hasn’t been tweeting you right, huh.”

Definitely laughing at her distress then. “He’s so annoying! I’m too loud, too slow, too small, and my costume is too obnoxious apparently!”

Chat’s eyes softened, hands tugging lightly at the end of her new braid in his own brand of comfort. A little reminder of his presence. I’m here. I’m on your side. She heard his unsaid words loud and clear. “You’re not taking him to heart are you?”

The lack of respect hurt her feelings, sure, but she had long since been exposed to bullies of all kinds, and it was frighteningly easy for her to simply let his words enter one ear and exit the other a moment after. “No, Chat.”

“You’d tell me if he upset you seriously though, right?”

“Of course I would,” Marinette admitted. There wasn’t much she could hold back from her partner.

“I know he’s not ideal—“

“For real.”

“But,” Chat continued as if he hadn’t heart Marinette’s remark. “I think he can be better. I mean the way Nightwing talks about him... I think he’s just not the trusting type.”

“I’m not sure how much I can handle, Chat,” Marinette admitted. It was hard for her to say out loud that she needed help as Ladybug. Marinette was a mess, but Ladybug had the world on her shoulders, and still kept them straight. Or at least, she was supposed to.

“Don’t lose yourself to him,” Chat warned, “I know you, Bug, and I know that no matter how much you struggle you won’t quit. But this isn’t something you can keep pushing through. If Robin keeps pushing you, we’ll just have to switch patrol buddies.”

Marinette almost sat up in shock. Chat admired Nightwing above anything, she would rather eat her shoe than make Chat lose such a valuable supporter. “No way!” She protested, heated.

Chat pushed her back down with a finger on her temple. “Relax, Bugaboo, it’s just a precaution. Besides, we’re a team, okay? There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do to help my partner.”

Marinette could’ve cried right then, heart truly warmed by her partner’s words... But Chat always had something to say.

Shoving her off his lap, he climbed onto hers, yanking her hand and dropping it on his blonde crown. “It’s my turn now,” he said with a cat-like grin. “Last night Nightwing taught me how to do an elbow-strike!”

Marinette snorted, petting Chat’s hair softly as he spoke, letting each word wash over her like a fuzzy blanket, providing comfort.

--—--—--—--—--—--—--

“You’re late.”

“Actually, I’m Robin.”

Marinette huffed out a frustrated grunt, blowing stray strands of blue hair away from her face. “Last week you lectured me about the importance of time management.”

“Yes, and I’m pleased to know you remembered.”

“Robin.”

“You need to work on your interrogation voice. It’s hardly convincing.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed, patience growing incredibly thin. “Robin.”

Mrrow

A silence settled between the two of them. Robin had his typical spicy poker face, though Marinette could easily spot lines of tension on his face.

She heard a meow, she was sure of it, but there was no way...

Mew.

Oh my god.

“Robin are you hiding a cat?” Marinette couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. It was just so difficult to believe that the stone-hearted demon would actually do something like that.

Reluctantly, Robin lifted the side of his closed, black cowl. There was a flash of yellow, indicating a different material used for the inside of the cloak, and Marinette forced herself the push away the urge to ask. Instead, she watched as the inky black made way to display a slightly damp, light brown cat.

Marinette melted at the sight. “A kitten!” She squealed.

“Don’t be foolish,” Robin snapped, “he’s fully grown.”

“All cats are kittens, Rob,” Marinette informed him flippantly, holding the lovely thing gently in her arms. “You’re a baby aren’t you?” She cooed, absolutely delighted when it blinked up at her with large, brown eyes and yawned.

Robin frowned, but let her, sinking back into the shadows where he was more comfortable.

“I used to have a pet cat,” she told him, unsure why she was suddenly sharing a piece of herself with someone she hardly knew and hardly liked. “When I was six it got run over. I wanted to bury him, but my family didn’t have a backyard, so we had to let him go. I didn’t stop crying for weeks.”

Robin’s admission came after an extended silence, and was completely unexpected. “My grandfather ordered me to kill a kitten once. It was a white angora, barely three weeks old.”

Marinette felt bile climb her throat at the confession, suddenly lightheaded. What kind of monster would force a child to do something like that? What kind of childhood had Robin endured?

Any further contemplation escaped her mind when Marinette felt his arms wrap around her. His moves were stiff and rushed as if he hadn’t wanted to do them in the first place, and she’d been so stunned she hadn’t even

“Huh?”

Robin cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his mask. “Nightwing told me it was customary to exchange physical affirmations in the form of hugs when people exchanged secrets. Is that not the same in Paris?”

Bubbles of laughter floated from her tummy and spilled out between her lips like a waterfall. “Yes,” she decides to say, still giggling between words. “It’s the same in Paris, Nightwing was right.”

Robin tutted and crossed his arms, but under the faint glow of early morning sun, assisted by throbbing night-life lights, Marinette could see him glow just a smidge.

Their small respite (dare she say, bonding moment), was interrupted by a muffled shriek, only a few meters away.

They jumped into action instantly. Robin grabbed the cat from Marinette’s grip, tucking it somewhere inside his coat, leaping off the building, and into the street shortly after her.

“Stop!” Marinette ordered, standing before a masked robber, holding a kitchen knife before his young victims. The kids looked to be barely in their pre-teens, scrawny and small; naturally easy targets. The robber was built like someone who had once been extraordinarily athletic, but in recent years, had only worked out sparingly. Still, he was much larger than her, and from his growls, she could tell he was also much angrier.

The robber didn’t have much choice other than to stop when a black blur landed on his shoulders, yanking his entire body backward and onto the ground. The children shrieked, and Ladybug acted instinctively, leaving Robin with the perpetrator, grabbing a child in each arm, and swinging away from the sight.

They were young boys, and upon closer examination, she recognised one to be her classmate, Alix Kubdel’s younger cousin, Oliver. At least she knew where to drop them off, seeing as they were shaking too much to respond to her properly, and the other young boy was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, keeping her voice soft and soothing. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you while I’m patrolling okay? I’m gonna drop you both off at Oliver’s house, is that alright?”

Oliver squeaked, hiding his face behind his hands. “You know me?”

“Sure do, Ollie-boy, I saved you from some loose zoo-animals once didn’t I?”

His friend looked up at her with awed eyes, no longer trembling. “Woah,” he whispered.

Marinette wasn’t heartless enough to drop them off at the doorstep, instead waiting by them until Oliver’s mom’s answered the door, and wrapped both boys up in large hugs, promising to call Matthew’s parents for her. She made a mental note to try and remember Matthew’s name, just as she did with each citizen she met as Ladybug.

When she returned to the crime scene, Robin was standing above the robber’s unmasked body, tying his arms behind his back.

Robin didn’t look at her, though she knew he heard her land beside him. “I’ve called the cops,” she informed him.

“Tt.” Great, he was pissy again.

“What is it?”

Robin made a sound from the back of his throat that sounded like a mix between a grunt and growl. “You put yourself in unnecessary danger. You should never jump right in front of the attacker, and to jump into danger and just stop? You hadn’t even disarmed him. What if he had other weapons? Or he threw his knife?”

“He wasn’t going to,” Marinette replied, brows raising at the bitter edge to Robin’s voice. “He was holding a kitchen knife, this was probably his first gig. I was safe.”

Robin turned to face her fully, mouth set in a deep frown, shoulders raised in clear anger. “Safe? How could you know that? There’s no guarantee of safety in our line of work, you must be naive to even think so.”

Marinette took a step closer, blood beginning to boil. “Thank you for your concern, Robin, but I think I’m qualified enough to assess a situation. I wasn’t in any danger.”

Robin strode forward, poking Marinette hard on the chest as he spoke. “You are blind to the privilege your miraculous grants. Wake up and realise that there are cities, countries, continents that are outside the reach of your little fix-it spell. You don’t understand danger because with your magic, you’ve never truly felt it.”

His words felt like a slap in the face. How could he say she didn’t understand danger when at least four times a week she had to combat a psychological terrorist and his creations? Because he had no powers he understood more than her? No, that wasn’t right and she knew it.

“I don’t think you get to decide what I know about danger for me!” She shoved him back and hissed under her breath when he barely moved. Her heart was beginning to beat erratically, pumping righteous fury in the place of blood with every second that passed.

“If you understood then you wouldn’t have left in the middle of an arrest!”

“It’s not an arrest if you’re not an officer, idiot! Besides, civilians are the priority and you were scaring them!” Their foreheads grazed with how close they were standing, practically screaming at each other’s faces. She had half a mind to lose control and deck him where he stood, but her ever-present concern of being akumatised reminded her of potential consequences if she completely submitted to her feelings.

“Excuse me?”

Marinette leaped away from Robin, suddenly realising the lack of distance between them. Officer Roger Raincomprix stood at the end of the alley, a silver pair of handcuffs clutched in his grip, as he scanned the two of them with quizzical eyes. “I’m here to make an arrest,” he explained.

Robin nodded, pointing at the man on the ground with his chin. “Take him.” And with those final words, he edged back into the shadows and disappeared from Marinette’s view, probably to sulk.

It was two steps forward one step back with him. Not even an hour ago she was beginning to enjoy his presence, but now she was back to ripping hair from her head out of frustration.

She aimed a scowl at the direction he ran off in, feeling confused and angry all at once.

End Notes: :DDD lol so this ending is less than ideal but dont kill me pls. They have to learn how to understand each other first and it’s gonna be slow process, especially when both Damian and Marinette are so hard headed, and they have such different views on Heroship. Writing best friend Chat was so fun though so I really hope y’all like him and how I portrayed LadyNoir’s friendship.

I’m so excited for the next update when we’ll finally be Marinette outside of her costume ahhhhhh.

Tag List: @just-rant-and-write-fic-idea @kceedraws @mystery-5-5 @2sunchild2 @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @treebrosha @mooshoon @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @aarushi-03 @ladylb @crazylittlemunchkin

Feel free to leave me a message or ask if you want to be tagged/untagged <3

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the-a-word-2214 · 4 years

Text

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

The Singer

Anthony Ramos x OC

Warnings: Some swearing, drinking

A/N: Thank you so much to @charming-charlie for collborating with me on this! All credit goes to her on this chapter.

Summary: Anthony and Scarlett get to know each other, in what one would consider a first date. Who knew it would end in embarrassment?

2,147 words

Chapter 2: The First Date

New York City was bustling with people, especially at night. The tourists were gone, sleeping in their hotel rooms, leaving the regular city dwellers to finally come out and enjoy their hometown. Scarlett saw instantly how Anthony was able to blend in. Despite being on one of the biggest productions on Broadway, no on was flocking to him, grabbing at him, desperate for some attention. He seemed to know how to avoid detection, which allowed Scarlett to think that he snuck away like this before.

The walk was quiet, with a few pleasantries between the singers. She wanted to ask him some questions, get to know him, but she didn’t want to dominate the conversation, or say something that could be taken in a different way. She just met the man and she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. However, she kept telling herself that if she didn’t say something, he might take it as she wasn’t interested.

The restaurant was nestled in between a music store and a bagel shop. Scarlett almost missed it and she probably would have if Anthony didn’t steer her in the right direction. Their shoulders crashed against one another as he nodded toward the Italian bistro and Scarlett followed his line of sight. The restaurant had tall dark windows, a café area outside that was surrounded by white lights, and a revolving door that led to the inside. One thing Scarlett saw about this place that stood out: it was small. Like, impractically small. There’s no way the two of them would find a table, let alone be seated comfortably.

Yet Anthony’s smile was as bright as ever.

The pair walked in and the hostess smiled in greeting. “Hey Anthony. Usual table?” she asked politely as she turned to start fishing out menus from the box behind her. Anthony shook his head. “Nah, I don’t have my whole crew with me tonight. Table for two instead.” The hostess nodded approvingly, removing two black menus from the box, and motioning Anthony to follow her.

Scarlett was right. The place was jam packed, lively and jovial. It reminded her of her club on a Saturday night. Loud and boisterous, but still classy and respectful. She was so in trance with all the people, mostly because it only seemed to add to her anxiety, that she was completely caught off guard when she reached a staircase. “You coming?” she heard Anthony above her.

Looking up, she saw the Broadway star was halfway up the stairs, his body turned to look at her with confusion. “Don’t tell me you have a fear of stairs,” Anthony said, although his tone was meant to be taken in jest. Scarlett shook her head as she followed him up the flight of steps.

The second floor of the restaurant was much quieter and had less people. The blonde caught on quickly. They were in the VIP area of the restaurant, and Anthony frequented this place enough to have a table to himself. It was surprising, and Scarlett had to admit, she may even felt a little bit jealous at the connection that Anthony had. He didn’t seem to flaunt the fact that he was this ginormous Broadway star.

The couple took a seat at a small table in the back and Scarlett could feel her exhaling a sigh of relief that they were not in center view. She was shy, especially in big crowds. This was a good setting for her. The menus were placed in front of them, along with a complimentary basket of breadsticks. Scarlett did not feel hungry. Her nerves were getting to her.

“Can I start you off with any drinks?” a waiter appeared suddenly, as if on cue. Then again, Scarlett shouldn’t be surprised. It was the VIP area after all. “A bottle of Chardonnay sound good?” Anthony asked Scarlett, who merely nodded at the suggestion. “A’ight, we will start with that.” The waiter left after being dismissed to fetch the wine, leaving Anthony and Scarlett alone for a few minutes.

Say something, Scarlett told herself. She practically had a celebrity, a Broadway idol, in front of her and she couldn’t get her mouth to work. He sang, acted, and danced every night. Maybe he has a few pointers for a singer like herself. That’s what they have in common so far. Talk about that, she told herself. It was at this point she was started to mentally curse her nervous and shy personality.

“How long have you been singing?” Anthony asked. He took a breadstick from the basket and began munching on it. Scarlett looked at him with a sort of crinkled face. It was like she was studying him, like she had a test about him the next day. Anthony didn’t waver; he must be used to people gawking at him like that. “A while. I was a waitress at the bar until my boss caught me singing a tune in the back while washing out the glasses. Since then, I was promoted to the spotlight,” Scarlett answered as calmly as she could. Her hands were pressed tightly in her lap and she knew they would start trembling if she let them go.

The waiter came back, popped the cork on the bottle, and filled two wine glasses with the white liquid before leaving the bottle in an ice bucket on the table. Once he left, Scarlett found her hand wrapped tightly around the glass and bringing it to her lips, where she took a small sip, followed by a larger sip before setting the glass down. From that point on, she started to loosen up. She could feel it. Good, this was good. Maybe now she could relax and enjoy Anthony’s company without worrying about her shy demeanor.

The pair talked about anything and everything after that. Anthony told her about the jokes and hijinks that went on backstage at Hamilton, including the time he hid the king’s crown from Jonathan Groff. Poor Jonathan was forced to go onstage in a cheap and flimsy king’s hat from a costume store. Scarlett told Anthony about the time she took up horseback riding, only to end up with a broken arm in the process. When she revealed that the horse’s name was Bad Luck, Anthony broke out into a fit of giggles at how poetically karmic the name was.

At that point, the bottle of Chardonnay was totally empty, including half of the breadstick basket. Anthony had already paid for their next-to-nothing meal and pocketing his credit card when Scarlett was coming back to reality. Something didn’t feel right. Anthony noticed immediately and looked at her with concern. “You okay?” he asked and the blonde nodded. The Broadway star seemed unconvinced. “Where do you live?” he questioned with a cocked eyebrow. “Down the road. Like two blocks that way,” Scarlett ended up answering. She tried to point in one direction, but her arm was twirling in the air, pointing everywhere. She lowered her arm, confused as to why her appendages were not obeying the commands from her brain. “Near the bakery,” Scarlett mentioned. She loved waking up to the smell of freshly baked bread and cookies. Her apartment complex was right next door.

Anthony nodded. He knew the place well enough. Once or twice, the cast and crew received treats from the bakery. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” He stood up easily, like he didn’t have a drink at all. Scarlett, however, seemed to stumble just to get on her feet. Anthony approached her, grabbing her by the arm and carefully guiding her. It practically hit Scarlett as the two were making their way across the room to the stairs, that maybe Anthony only drank his own glass of wine. That meant… shit, Scarlett! You drank the whole damn bottle!

There were no words to describe what she felt. Anger at herself for being so stupid and careless was at the top of the list. Now Anthony was seeing her in a drunken stupor, and the pair only just met tonight. This was not looking good.

Scarlett had to grip the railing, with Anthony holding tightly around her waist, as she practically hobbled down the stairs. She could walk but not in a straight line. More than once, Anthony had to pick her up and help her down the flight of stairs, like she was a child. The embarrassment that seeped inside her was also not helping. Once outside, she was hoping the fresh air would do her some good, yet all she really wanted to do was run up and down the street with her arms spread wide. Thank god Anthony continued to keep a tight grip on her.

Normally, he would call for a cab, but since Scarlett lived so close, and he wanted to see that she got home safely, he stayed by her side. “How much did I drink?” Scarlett asked, her words were slurring a bit. Anthony almost thought she asked something else, something with a bit of gibberish in it, but he was able to pick out the phrase. “A lot,” he said with a laugh. Scarlett felt herself turn red from embarrassment. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, it did nothing to help with her mental state.

The apartment complex was a bit rundown. It was a newer building but from the looks of things, it gave the impression that the construction company rushed to get it ready. The roof was in need of cleaning, the paint was chipping off, and it gave off this feeling that rent was cheaper than normal, especially in a city like New York. “What floor?” Anthony asked. Scarlett was clinging to him now. Her arm was wrapped around his shoulders and she just raised one finger in the air.

It took a while to figure out exactly which apartment was hers. She would giggle when he asked and even tried to keep the key away from him in some weird game of keep-away. Once inside, Anthony was surprised to find it sort of normal. Despite Scarlett having too much to drink, which he felt was fine considering everything, he enjoyed talking to her and getting to know her tonight. In his experience, that often came with hidden secrets from girls he would be interested in. A messy home, a kid he didn’t know the girl had, money problems, so on and so forth. Scarlett continued to surprise him.

He set her down on the couch and went into the kitchen. When he came back, he had a glass of water in his hand and was offering it to the blonde. “Here, this’ll help,” he said gently. He sat next to her and Scarlett took the water, along with a few sips of the helpful drink. It did do wonders. She knew the reason she was hit so hard from the bottle of wine was because she drank on an empty stomach. That was on her and she wouldn’t blame Anthony if he didn’t want to see her again. With that thought, she felt like maybe she should tell him how she was feeling, especially when she had liquid courage working its way through her system.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” she said while setting the glass of water down on the coffee table in front of her. She turned to look at the Broadway star with a smile. Anthony was about to say something but Scarlett kept talking. “You’re really cute,” she said while leaning into him, “Like, really, really cute.” That was not how she wanted to start the conversation but oh well, it’s out in the open now.

“I kinda like you,” Scarlett continued. She caught Anthony off guard, she could tell by the look on his face, yet her drunken stupor apparently didn’t care. “I think you are funny, good-looking, and that smile, dude,” she replied. Anthony was beaming at the compliments, but he remained composed. He was determined to keep his hands to himself. One bad news story and the tickets for his show would flop, plus he might be out of a job. That was partly why he didn’t drink it up at parties and such. He had to retain this public image.

He was about to say something, but Scarlett never got to find out what that was. In a moment, an instant, she ended up kissing him. His lips were right there, and she couldn’t help it. She was leaning toward him, unaware of what exactly she was doing. It just felt right, in that moment. However, Scarlett wished she could remember what happened next because, once her eyes closed and she gave herself over to her drunk side completely, she passed out. As if the night couldn’t get any worse or embarrassing, she was laying right on Anthony’s lap.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

#anthony ramos x oc #anthony ramos x reader #anthony ramos #john laurens x oc #john laurens #philip hamilton #new writer

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matildastuartsold · 4 years

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hshq task twelve: a timeline

it reads as a semi lil self para’s and part news report...bc i didn’t wanna self para as a 3 year old. tw: abortion, implied drug used, mentions of underage, mentions of age differences, image issues, pregnancy, mentions of possible grooming, body image issues, possible signs of bulimia,

december 19th, 1997

for the third time in the last four, almost five years, the town crier of edinburgh stood just inside the gates of holyrood announcing the birth of a third princess, named matilda.

june 18th, 2001

at three years old, princess matilda made her first public appearance with her family at the royal highland show. the littlest princess made her appearance well known running off excitedly with yells of “maude-y!” following her, showing off her cartwheeling skills, and waving at everyone who looked especially those with a camera.

november 30th, 2005

she doesn’t know a life without the media and having to parade around them. like today, skipping through st. andrew’s day activities some of her earliest memories surrounded people with cameras desperately clicking and yelling the names of her mum and dad, her sisters and her. matilda liked it though, she could simply become the only name they yelled with a simple smile or a wave. she liked it, but she was tired of being called matilda. she didn’t want to be called matilda, she wanted to be called tilly, like her friends all called her. it’s why she turned around with a frown at the reporter who yelled matilda. “i’m not matilda! my name is tilly!” crossing her arms across her chest, she stuck her tongue out annoyed at the her full name. even with her mother and father’s scold of “matilda!” and her tilly let her father scoop her up in his arms making a face at the paparazzi as she was carried away.

january 4th, 2010

“but i don’t want to go to gordonstoun!” not that even mattered, ever since her mother became a queen last year it was never even worth putting in her own thoughts, not that it ever had been. now though it was going against the queen, not just her mum. tilly just didn’t want to go to gordonstoun with her sisters. it seemed so boring. still the press release was already out, trunks already in her room ready to be back. “if i have to go someone will regret it!”

september 19th, 2011

crushes were nice, all the boys in her year, the year above her, some even in margot’s year paying her attention, she’d be dumb if she didn’t enjoy it. so what if she kept sneaking out with them to smoke cigarettes and drink beers on the roof. she likes the attention from it. what was the school going to do? make her do laps? please, she wouldn’t do it and they couldn’t make her. so she found herself giggling at whatever connaugh mcdaniels was saying and took the sip of beer he was offering, because all eyes were on her in a way that they hadn’t been before.

april 31st, 2013

“i’m the fucking may queen!” throwing her head back in laughter, tilly twirled around the flower crown a top her head never moving. sneaking out to go to beltane, was the smartest decision she’d made in a while. falling back against her favorite duke to be she’d been going almost all the way with frequently, she took the flask from her best friend, georgia, taking a far too long sip of the vodka. she was happily drunk, feeling the brisk spring air on the hill hit her. she didn’t care about the obvious presence from people taking pictures of them. it didn’t matter she was drunk and determined for her goal of the night, losing the v card. “richard,” she smirked up at him. “we should head back to the tent, your may queen demands it.” letting out a giggle she moved back going for another twirl as she reached for his hand.

july 27th, 2014

she still doesn’t understand what the big deal is, her mother pacing back and forth going on and on about propriety. catherine looking like a mirror of her mother’s upset. her father’s disappointment. “i’m sixteen, just because i’m under this bloody crown doesn’t mean i’m not gonna go out and have fun!” her eyes glanced at the various magazine and newspaper headlines in front of her. she doesn’t see the issue with it, minus the invasion of privacy, in the picture she’s just pressed against the wall making out with one of her guy friends. she’s hearing the words come from everyone’s mouths but she’s not listening. just blankly sitting there.

february 3rd, 2015

“you’re what?! tilly you can’t sleep with your math tutor!” tilly turned at the exclamation from her friend, a look of confusion on her face. “why not? i need to pass and he apparently wants to fuck a princess it’s a win win! besides he’s not that old i doubt he’s even thirty.” besides it was better than any of the guys in their class asking to lose it with her. at least it would be good and she’d pass. she didn’t see an issue. plus it felt good to be wanted, to have someone want her and not want her to be like her sisters. who cared if he was a married man approaching his 30s? he wanted her.

september 10th, 2015

she woke up on her bathroom floor in just the lingerie she wore under her dress before going out. not that she cared after all, she’d probs look skinnier from throwing up all the drinks from the night before. she brushed her teeth, throwing her hair into a ponytail. Wiping off the remnants of her make up from the night before she looked on at the stranger in her bed. “get out before a walk of shame is too embarrassing, for your own well being.” Watching the man leave she shook her head curling into bed ignoring her phone continue to blow up again and again, no doubt people seeing pictures of the night before.

may 4th, 2016

“fuck! jesus fucking christ i look awful!” seeing the press release photo on the cover of the magazine sitting in front of her on the table, she picked it up and tossed it straight towards the trash can. looking back at her partner for her textile project, she gave her a look. another example of her being the worst of the family. “tell me why you thought bringing a tabloid where i look awful in would really make a good study environment?” shaking her head, she picked up her phone seeing who could come over tonight, she might be able to convince richard to get on a flight. she’d slept with arthur a few times maybe him? there were more than a few posh boys at oxford she’d met on her visits. shaking her head she motioned at the fabric she brought. “they’re all recycled, should work for what we need.”

january 3rd, 2017

"matilda herietta annabelle stuart how could you be so wildly irresponsible?!” her mother is screaming, her father looks disappointed. she knows she fucked up because it’s just the two of them. having her parents attention on just her, she could probably count the times that’s happened on just one hand alone. she doesn’t regret flashing the paparazzi though, the magazines printed with trainwreck tilly subtle covering where she’d lifted her top, but it was still obvious she had. “i was drunk, it was hogamany, i must have been black out by that point.” she knew it didn’t matter, watching her mother go into another rant. still, it felt nice for once to be the only person that mattered to her parents.

october 31st, 2017

she was didn’t know where she was really not that it mattered. she went up to oxford to party with the posh guys and all her. you could barely call the white lingerie she wore an angel costume, something she thought would an irony. she probably mixed too many liquors and too many drugs together. still she reaches for the hand of the guy she’s leaning on pulls him to a door, hoping one will be a bathroom or a bedroom. with her luck she’ll see what happened tonight on twitter in the morning.

august 7th, 2018

they told her to be on her best behavior, that she’s technically working edinburgh fringe festival. still she thinks she’s doing a charitable deed. she’s buying these poor struggling actors alcohol and then getting into drinking contests with them. it’s all rather sensible if you ask her. she’s doing a charity besides it feels good being the center of attention. she’s sitting on the actual bar, a rather attractive actor from some play or some shit she watched today has his hand on her thigh. why would she do anything else?

september 7th, 2019

she knew that the braemar gathering was a big deal, she’d been to it almost every year of her life. still it didn’t mean she wasn’t bored as hell after a day of it, it’s why she’d pulled richard aside at the noble dinner at balmoral later that evening. her own personal playground as a kid, she knew exactly which cupboard to push him in. it would have been so much nicer if her mother’s fucking cheif of staff hadn’t opened the door when she was on her knees. the yelling wasn’t even bad, it was the punishment. her life being packed into suitcases around her as she sat on her bed back in edinburgh 24 hours later. no what hurt the most was her mother’s last words to her before she got on the plane to dubai, “i wonder if you’ll ever stop disappointing me.”

december 23rd, 2019

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?! happy birthday, happy christmas, we’re marrying you off to the crown prince of venezuela! how could you do this to me mum? catherine just said-” she doesn’t think she’s ever been more furious in her life. opening the bottle of vodka and lining up the cocaine she said on her. “you know what i don’t care if i was drunkenly with him once, mother it doesn’t mean i want to fucking marry him! you’re ruining my life! forgive me, your majesty. i won’t forget from now on i’m your subject, not your daughter. have a happy christmas, goodbye.” she threw the phone, then threw a shot back looking at the lines she set up. “lola!” she screamed walking towards her suitcase. “i want to look sluttier than a prostitute whose rent is due tomorrow, a christmas present to my mother given my engagement. i don’t want to remember tonight.”

janurary 21st, 2020

she knew for days, something was wrong. she wasn’t how she always was, then she got sick, consistently, three mornings in a row. sitting staring at the line of positive pregnancy tests that were in her bathroom sink she looked at cora rubbing her back comfortingly. “i need to call or text or- there are only two people i don’t make wear a condom and i haven’t slept with richard since september.” grabbing her phone she sent a quick ‘come over now’ text. and threw her phone towards the bed. “burn the tests tonight, get them out of her, taking them to the fucking mcdonalds to throw them away if you have to. they aren’t gonna be anywhere near me though, it can not ruin everything. my mother already hates my existance, she’d send me to the fucking gallows if i ruined her one chance at getting rid of me. not a word of this to her spy either or catherine.”

janurary 24th, 2020

it was cold and she was crying. laying on the chair in the doctor’s office, she held onto cora’s hand like it was her only way of living and she felt so much relief knowing that if she needed it neil would carry her out of the building. “i know, i’m not the model catholic or really any religion, but i still feel wrong, i feel guilty. i don’t know what else to do though.” so she cried, letting her communications advisor and his wife comfort her like they were her parents. sometimes they feel more like parents than her own. when the doctor comes in, tells her its going to pinch and might be uncomfortable, she lets cora distract her with stories of her and neil when they started dating. while she doen’t need him to carry her out, she leans on them both the whole way to car, letting herself come to terms that she wasn’t pregnant anymore.

march 9th, 2020

“félix, i’m going to get fucking wasted at the beach,” she wasn’t sure when she got fucking domestic. she lives with her fiancé, they share a bed, fucking wedding magazines are sent to her. it feels like she’s in a snow globe. one where she barely recognizes who she is. she still looks in the mirror and remembers that if things had been different her stomach would probably have a bump now, not be the flat as it is. so instead, she’s taken to more day drinking, trying not to think about the thing only 6 people in the world know about and why it makes her feel so empty.

#hshqtask012 #this is 2200 words of why tilly is as fucked up as she is #pls send her to therapy #ok her go my triggers #tw abortion #tw pregnancy #tw body issues #tw mentions of bulimia #tw possibilities of grooming #tw mentions of age differences #tw drugs #ok i think thats it?? scrolling is so MUCH WORK #im on a roll tonight tho #*here go #as always i hope u all realize richard is a filler name and its a dick joke

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shymeg · 6 years

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Thanks for the tag @theserpentsqueen 🐍🐍🐍

rules: tag ten followers you want to get know better.

name: Meghan

gender: female

star sign: Cancer

height: 5 feet 7

age: 80’s baby/child

sexuality: straight

house: I have no clue I never watched Harry Potter. I once took a quiz on fb and I was hufflepuff??

what image do you have as your wallpaper? my computer screen my cats that will prob never change even though I only have 1 now. My phone the lock screen is me because with my depression I was told to look at myself so that way I have too….my reg screen for my phone is my cat Luna the same one as my pic on here. I mean she wore it for 20 secs and she didn’t murder me.

have you ever had a crush on a teacher? no

where do you see yourself in ten years? Hopefully out of this town and enjoying life more.

if you could be anywhere else right now, where? Maybe Maine or Ireland always wanted to go there.

what was your coolest halloween costume? i’ve had some pretty cool Halloween and Zombie pub crawl outfits my fave from Zombie Crawl my friend’s and I dressed up as Disney Characters I was Belle. I had blood everywhere and when ppl asked how I died I said the Beast killed me duh!

As for Halloween I had a nurses costume and I hated it. So I found some holey tights, i took some old tights that had rips in them that had skulls and used them as gloves, put some fangs in my mouth and my blue converse shoes that had rainbow brite laces and Grumpy bear from the carebears laces and ripped the nurses costume like I had been attacked, put blood and bruises and freshly made puncture wounds. I carried fake blood with me and a redish/black lipstick and my nails I made them look dirty like I had literally just lost a fight. Prob best costume.

what was your favourite 90′s show? Fresh Prince of Bel-Aire, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Are you Afraid of the Dark, Beverley hills 90210, Clarissa explains it all, Ahhh real monsters, Doug, Hey Arnold, Sailor moon, Buffy the vampire Slayer, Charmed & power puff girls

last kiss? Dunno its been a long time

have you ever been stood up? nope

have you ever been to las vegas? no

favourite pair of shoes? Any of my converse shoes I keep them for ages

favourite fruit? cherries

favourite book? Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Everytime I read it I find something new.

the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? Umm took something that wasn’t mine but I figured why not. My friend and I were drinking as well. Went to a coffee shop I got super paranoid she had the giggles and I was like, “oh shit there are all these cops around we are going to get caught” she is like, “I’ll try not to laugh” which btw lasted 3 mins. We got into her car and she thought she was driving me home like literally home that was 4 hrs away and not my Nana’s house. I get car sick. Puke all over her car. She laughs about it. We stop at a gas station so I can change clothes and Vaccum the car. We end up going to my Nana’s she has a piece of pie and leaves. I go back upstairs and puke my guts out for it felt like 2 hrs. Get into bed and I felt like the girl from the craft saying, “I’m flying” wake up the next day have a shower puke again. My face is literally pale. My grandparents and my mom look at me, “what happened last night?” I lie and say, “I got car sick” they totally bought it. Probably helped my face was pale.

all-time favourite tv shows: degrassi junior high, degrassi high, sailor moon, Supernatural, Dark Shadows, Penny Dreadful, Ash vs the evil dead, 21 jump street, orphan black, black butler, cowboy bebop, Buffy the vampire Slayer, Charmed & Riverdale

the last movie you saw at the theatre: Get out

Ummm lets see I think ummmm @mogitz @it-happened-one-starry-night @youbuildmeupbeliever @alisondeluca @cheryllclayton @thenerdylatina @caseysmom39 @night-hawk94 @nimmieamee @noorakardemmomesaetre sorry if you already did it.

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prettyoddfiction · 7 years

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Missed You (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Ashley Frangipane (Halsey)

Request: Yes! I actually had one sitting that didn’t come through for some reason, and then another tonight. || YES PART TWO HALSEY!! || I HAVE A REQUEST MORE KINKY HALSEY SMUT CAUSE IM A GAY GIRL WHO LOVES HALSEY

Warnings: NSFW || GxG, smut, “PRINCESS”, face riding (halsey receiving), light bondage, grinding, cursing.

Masterlist: Here

Read Part One: Here

!!!!!THIS JUMPS LITERALLY RIGHT INTO THE SMUT. NO LEAD UP WHAT SO EVER. IT PICKS UP WHERE PART ONE LEFT OFF!!!!! Okay so like I suck at kinks... I’m so vanilla lmao. If this sucks, lemme know (nicely) and I’ll probs re-do it. I’ll most likely carry on this series anyway some where down the line of my blog. Enjoy my babes. xx

“With pleasure.” you agreed, quickly getting to work.

You licked between her folds immediately, lapping up the wetness that you had previously caused for her and smirked at the taste.

Ashley had such a particular taste and it was so much better than anything you had ever had before. That being in the sense of food, drink, candy, and exes. Ashley tasted like a god damn delicacy. As your tongue slid up and down her, the tip of it flicked over her clit and she moaned quietly, smiling down at you.

“Just like that princess.” Ashley praised, her hand coming down to hold your head against her as you ate her out. “Ah shit yeah...” She whimpered, “...little more baby girl. Eat me good.” Her hand gently tugged on your hair and you moaned at the feeling, the vibrations from the sound running through her body and causing the short female to whimper under you. Her legs were up on either side of your head and you couldn't help but admire the view as you pulled back slightly. Her hand on the back of your head let you know that she was still in charge, but there was no reason you couldn't have a little fun. As you wiped your mouth and looked up at Ashley, you almost giggled.

The glare she had on was sharp enough to cut steel. “Did I say to stop?”

“You didn’t say not to.” you shot back, raising an eyebrow playfully as you did so, with a teasing smirk plastered across your lips.

Ashley sat up and grabbed your wrist, trading spots with you. As you laid back against the bed again, she got up and walked over to the closet. Immediately, the wetness between your legs from earlier had returned as you figured out what she was doing without even needing to see.

In your guys’ shared closet was a box. A little pink shoe box from some small shop on the west side of town that you showed Ashley when you first started dating. In this box, were all your little toys for either when Halsey was touring and you were stuck here, or for when she was home and in one of these kinds of moods.

Everything from dildos and vibrators, to vibrating panties in all fabrics and colors, handcuffs, satin ribbons, velvet ropes, blindfolds, gags, paddles, and cute little outfits and costumes for each of you.

“I want my princess to be good tonight. To listen. To do as told. Especially when I just let her cum. Don’t you think she should be good?” You could hear Ashley talking as she moved things around to get the box from behind your other boxes, which were actually filled with shoes, as expected. A small giggle was pulled from your lips as you tried to respond without coming across as too excited, but you completely failed. Ashley knew you loved it when she was like this. She peeked her head around the corner with a raised eyebrow and you knew she wanted you to use your words.

“Yes, Ash.”

“What?”

“Yes. I’ll be good.” you promised. She nodded her head and disappeared around the corner again but only for a few seconds. She came back out with the box in her hands, setting it on the white makeup vanity against the wall. She opened the box slowly, taking out two red velvet ties. Normally, Ashley liked handcuffs, but she was thinking differently today. You guys had an award show to go to tomorrow, and she didn’t want to risk any marks that couldn't be covered up by foundation and concealer.

“Arms up.” She said as you laid back. Immediately, your wrists went up to the headboard and your eyes fixed on her face, watching the way her lips curled into a small smirk. Then your eyes trailed down her body, resting on her tits and didn’t move again, watching every movement she made.

Ashley climbed up on the bed, straddling you as she did so. Her hands reached up and tied your wrists to the bed before she came down and kissed you deeply. “I want you to eat me, baby girl.” She instructed, bringing her hips up to straddle your face. “And then, maybe, I’ll fuck you again. But you’re gonna behave this time. Do I make myself clear, Y/N?”

You nodded, paying close attention. Ashley set her hands against the headboard and slowly began to lower herself onto your awaiting mouth. As soon as she was close enough, you began licking and sucking on her. You also found yourself tugging on the restraints again, trying to hold onto her hips to pull her closer. Though your hands couldn’t pull her onto you, she got the idea. It was what she wanted anyway. Ashley lowered herself closer to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around her clit and gently began sucking as your tongue darted over it again and again, teasing her and trying to bring her to the edge with just your mouth again.

“G-Good job, princess.” She mumbled, gently starting to rub her hips against your mouth. “M-More Y/N.” You nodded and moaned against her quietly, slipping your tongue between her folds again, and this time into her core. She gasped at the feeling and her eyes flew open. You peered up at her and winked, causing the singer to giggle and continue her hip movements. “Fuck baby. How did I get so lucky? You and that damn mouth.”

The longer it went on, the harder she started to grind against your face and honestly, you couldn't get enough of it. You could tell she was getting close though, because her teeth pulled her bottom lip tightly into her mouth slightly and she clenched her eyes shut again. “Close. I’m gonna-” your girlfriend whimpered quietly before you tasted her more prominently than earlier. She released with a cry of your name. As she climbed off you and undid the restraints, you sat up and cupped her face, pulling her into a deep kiss. Halsey laid her arms over your shoulders lazily and kissed back, moaned against your mouth and gently bit your lip as the kiss got more heated.

As you pulled back for about half a second, she trailed sloppy and wet kisses down your neck. “Do me a favor, Ash...?”

“Anything.”

“Fuck me.”

Your girlfriend nodded and pushed you back to lay on the bed again before spreading your legs, not even trying to warn you before she would start to grind her pussy against yours. You gasped slightly at the feeling and grabbed her hips, guiding her movements and biting your lip tightly. “Mmmm” You whimpered out, loving the relief you were finally getting. As Halsey began to rock her hips harder against yours, her hands came down to yours, interlocking your fingers.

“Oh my fucking- Yes princess.” She moaned, squeezing your hands tightly as she released again, the fluttering of her walls against yours sending you flying into your own orgasm. Her name fell from your lips quite loudly. Ashley climbed off you again and laid down next to you, panting hard, her eyes closing as she rested her head against your chest and used you as a pillow. “I fucking love you. So much Y/N. So, so much.”

“I love you too, Ash. I’ve missed you so much.”

#ashley frangipane #halsey #halsey x reader #halsey imagine #halsey smut #ashley x reader #ashley frangipane x reader #GxG smut #GxG imagine #GxG #imagine #imagines #ashley frangipane smut #ashley frangipane imagine #smut

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bananniewrites · 3 years

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Jokes and Juggling Lies

Princess Genevieve 13/?

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Clara walked down the hallway lit by the bright morning sun, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls. She could feel the parchment of the letter tucked under the shoulder of her floral dress as it rubbed against her skin. Her heart pounded for fear of one of the guards noticing the letter, but she held her head high to feign confidence.

The king was waiting for her, just like dinner the night before. He stood and bowed. “Princess Clara.”

Clara curtsied slightly. “Your Majesty.” They both sat at their respective meals.

Neither of them spoke a word as they ate their breakfast, but Clara always glanced up at King Ranthum to see if he was ever watching her. He appeared to be busy with his poached eggs and fried bacon. Clara tried to occupy herself with her fried egg with cheese, potatoes, and bacon; the king was quiet compared to dinner, and the silence was somehow more uncomfortable than defending herself when he asked questions.

He finally swallowed and wiped his hands. “I apologize if my reception this morning was a bit chilly,” he started. “I was famished, and to tell the truth, I was hoping you would start the conversation.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had come to a decision about the marriage.”

Clara nearly choked; she hadn’t, too busy trying to figure out exactly what he was planning and how to stop him. She had a feeling that her father was in danger whether she agreed or not, and no knight was expected at this point, so it was up to her to warn her kingdom that a trap may be planned.

Until then, she had to stall for time. “Er… I thought about it,” she faltered, “and I was wondering if I could… take a tour of the kingdom?”

King Ranthum raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A tour of my kingdom?”

“Yes. You see, if I am going to be queen --your queen-- then I ought to know what’s going on around the kingdom. What kind of problems there are, what concerns and worries your citizens have… everything I can learn about and figure out how I can solve these problems once I have official reign as queen. Y-your queen, I mean.” She bit her lip, afraid that she might have asserted herself too high.

He frowned. “Our main problem is between our kingdoms, My Lady.”

“But perhaps that’s the reason for the tension,” Clara speculated. “Perhaps if I solve some of the prob-- er, any problems in this kingdom, then King Omar would soften because he sees that you care about your people. Tensions would then lessen.”

The king leaned back and thought. Clara attempted to appear excited and hopeful, but her real hope was that Ranthum wouldn’t be suspicious or think that she was being rude by assuming he wasn’t a good king. He shrugged. “Alright, why not? After our jester’s routine; I wanted him to break up the ice between us.”

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could find someone outside the castle who could sneak the letter to Onirea, and the jester could lift her spirits. If all went well, her father would find a way around the trap and bring her home with her mother and Genevieve. Dear, sweet Genevieve, with that feigning innocent look on her face when she swiped a pastry from the kitchen, and muttered to her sister if she wanted a piece. Clara always would, even when pretending to be mad, and after Genevieve broke off a generous helping, she would shove the whole thing down her gullet while scampering off…

“Princess?” Ranthum asked suddenly. “Why are you crying? Is something wrong?”

Clara snapped out of her memories and realized that her face was tear-streaked. “Oh!” She dried her eyes with the napkin. “No, nothing. Just homesick, I suppose.”

Ranthum slapped his hand on the table with a bang and grinned. “We shall soon remedy that, my dear! BRING IN THE CLOWN!” Two attendants left to inform the performer that he should soon be ready. The king stood up and walked towards the door, but not before stopping by Clara and offering his arm. Clara didn’t want to be rude, so she carefully, tentatively, took it.

They walked together through stone hallways and passages until they came to a small room with another entrance further away in a corner. A grand, tall chair stood against one wall, as did several smaller ones. Clara peeked behind her and found a few Orcish people finely dressed, and surmised that the smaller chairs must be for these nobles. The king held her by the first chair next to him, inviting her to sit. They took their seats, and the nobles filed in, leaving one of the lowliest of nobility to stand.

A mere moment later, the room filled with a cacophony of jingling bells as the famed jester of the court cartwheeled from the back entrance, tumbled in front of the audience, and jumped with his arms wide open. Clara clapped as was the custom back home, but the nobles and the king cheered and stomped wildy on the floor.

“I see we have a guest from out of town tonight,” the jester opened. “My Lady, Princess Clara.” He bowed until his chin touched his toes. “I assume this is yer first time seeing me?” Clara nodded. “Ah. It reminds me of m’ first performance. I’m getting dressed offstage an’ I turn to the costume wench, an’ I says, ‘look, I’m pretty nervous ‘bout going onstage for the king,’ an’ she says, ‘oh don’t be, the worst thing that can happen is gettin’ yer head chopped off.’”

His costume jingled as he stepped back, pretending to be in shock. The audience giggled. “‘How is that supposed to help?’ ‘Fear is hilarious,’ she says. ‘Did you see the look on yer face just now?’” The nobles chuckled.

“But she was right you know,” he continued. “I was in town when I heard about the inspiring captain-- maybe you’ve heard this before.”

The king gave a sly smile. “I’m sure Miss Clara hasn’t.” Clara’s worries of the intimate title were drowned out as the nobles joined in furiously, begging the jester to tell the story.

The jester blushed just a bit. “Alright, well, whenever this captain gets in a fight with an enemy ship, he asks one of the crewmen to bring his red shirt. The reason is this: if he gets hurt in battle, then his crewmen can’t see the blood on his shirt and they keep fighting. So the lookout calls to him, ‘a fleet of twenty ships from the north, Captain,’ and the captain demands, ‘BRING ME MY BROWN PANTS!’”

The audience erupted in laughter, doubling over and gasping for breath. Clara clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling snorts that would only be appropriate in this situation. Her cheeks burned from a frozen smile, and her sides were almost split. But at the same time, the king was right: any tension in the moment fractured, cracked and shattered. It was almost as if Clara could breathe for the first time. When was the last time she was in a situation where she was allowed to laugh?

The jester held his hat sheepishly. “I hope I haven’t offended you in any way, Princess.”

Clara attempted to speak in between giggles. “No, that’s-that’s okay. It’s a good joke.” She caught her breath. “Do you know any more jokes?”

“Do I!” he exclaimed. His face fell. “Do I? I’m getting older you know, so m’ memory is starting to go. So are m’ eyes; I’ll look at my wife in the morning, an’ I say, ‘ugh, how’d I marry someone so ugly?’ an’ my wife says, ‘that’s a mirror, hon.’”

And so it went like this for another ten minutes, and all the while it was clear that the jester was often in town when he heard these wisecracks. If he’s in town, Clara mused, could he hand off the letter? Don’t be ridiculous, Clara, she scolded herself. Why would the king’s own jester betray him? Even if he was willing to hand it off, would it even get to Onirea in time? But what if the king catches me? Can I trick the jester into sending it, then?

When the jester took his final bow, the nobles whooped and stamped before reconvening by the hall. The king joined them, but Clara approached the jester instead. “Excuse me, jester?” She began cautiously. “Do you ever make jokes about the king?”

“Sure do,” he replied, “but only when he’s not around. Why, you got more in that envelope?” He pointed to Clara’s shoulder.

“What! No, it’s- this is… for my sister, Genevieve,” she lied.

“Must be pretty important if it’s got a red seal,” the jester noted. Clara glanced at the king, nervous that he would look their way and notice the envelope too. “Yer Majesty, I can deliver that for ye,” he whispered in her ear, “but not now, he’ll think that you’re trying to reach King Omar. I’ll meet ye in town while you’re on yer trip with King Ranthum. We’ll bump into each other and drop our letters. Pick up an envelope with a white seal and make it look like it was yers. I’ll do the same with the red seal. Agreed?” Clara nodded, and they parted ways.

King Ranthum raised an eyebrow. “What were you two whispering about?”

“I… wanted to know the next time he could perform,” Clara fibbed. “He just told me to ask whenever I felt like it. He’s a great performer, you know. He makes me laugh.”

He rubbed his chin. “A bit of a flirt, if you ask me.”

“I have no interest in him romantically, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” she promised.

He gazed down at her, his face and tone grim. “I can assure you, my marriage will be a happy one.” He turned his glare towards the jester. “The jester will learn to appreciate the wife he has.”

Clara gulped. What kind of trouble had she got the jester into?

#princess genevieve #original story #original writing #writing #bananniewrites

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