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katelynn-a-fan · 4 years

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Fake title: Paint the sky

(I’m starting these up again cause I still have handful and it’s been... many months)

Okay so this is a wings au, where everyone is born with wings.

Except, Virgil’s came out... wrong, one of his wings grew wrong so he was grounded from day 1

So as he grew up, he was bullied for his defective wing, but one day in freshman year someone fought back for him when they kicked Virgil down.

Virgil was wincing from the pain a bit before he was able to see who rescued him and when he did see who, he nearly had a heart attack as he saw strong jet black wings surrounding him protectively.

It was one of the relatively popular kids, who all had strong wings and could fly faster than most of the other students.

“Hey, are you satisfactory?” “Why do you care?” “Because I’m not an asshole like them, just because I hold a popular position does not preclude me from knowing it’s wrong to bully others.” “...Touché.”

Virgil was Gay, the boy was smart and had a nice smile and was against the other popular kids and had big strong wings...

Big.... strong... wings...

Virgil didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t even know how it happened, but he somehow was eating lunch with the popular kids, but mostly Logan, the boy who rescued him.

He felt awkward sitting with the people he knew looked down on him because of his wings, but he grinned and bared it for Logan’s sake.

Virgil noticed that slowly everyone around Virgil even in normal class began to look at him weirdly. He of course suspected one or all of the popular kids, but he didn’t have proof.

It wasn’t until junior year, almost 3 years of grinning and baring it that the popular kids asked Logan why he hung out with a ‘defective.’

Logan surprised Virgil by snapping, he whipped around, pulling the kid up by his collar and growling at him to ‘say that again, Brad?’ The kid, full of bravado, repeated the question, but Logan brought Brad’s face up, millimeters from his face, making his intentions clear, expression dark and terrifying even to Virgil, who had never seen him more than frown, and slowly repeated himself one last time.

“Say that again?” “....nothing! I said nothing!” Brad’s voice was uncharacteristically high.

Virgil finally was able to relax, no having to worry about Logan going to detention for a fight, when Brad suddenly swung at Logan as he turned away.

Logan retaliated in kind, fighting back ruthlessly. Virgil froze as he watched them both fight each other, unable to move to stop Logan.

It wasn’t until the school resource officer pulled them apart that the fighting stopped and Virgil still stayed frozen as his best friend was taken away. He did nothing, and it was because of him that Logan was in trouble.

That night he got a call from Logan, and he was so concerned for Logan, but he felt as if his body wasn’t his own as he spoke stiltedly, knowing Logan could tell something was wrong.

Virgil told him he couldn’t be his friend anymore, steadying his voice as much as he could to say he hate Logan, even as tears streamed down his face as he did.

He avoids Logan as much as he can, managing to avoid him enough that the only time they are in the same room together is at graduation.

Virgil pretends not to notice Logan’s gaze fixed on him when he is in sight.

And as Virgil goes to college, part of him is happy that Logan can live his life without Virgil’s weak and defective wings.

And yet...

His parents did everything to try to coax Virgil’s wings into flight condition, trying surgery to correct the wing just before 18, though Virgil had resigned himself that he would never fly a long time ago.

The surgery succeeds... mostly.

Virgil can fly now, but it’s on a time limit, anything past an hour or two takes his wings out of commission for a week or more, but his exercises of hovering every so often have proved his wings are getting stronger.

But just like before, Virgil didn’t let that stop him.

He was interested in chemical engineering through college, but once he got out, it didn’t satisfy him, he barely managed a year before he quit.

It was in that lull, not knowing his future that he found one of his first drawings he ever made, tucked away.

It was of him flying high in the sky with perfect and big wings.

Virgil smiled at the grand imagination of his youth, that if his wings were whole, he would know his purpose.

His wings still weren’t whole, but as he looked at the drawing, he remembered.

Every time he drew himself in a doodle, he always drew himself in the sky, something he hadn’t been able to do for the longest time.

But he realized... it wasn’t because he wanted to fly, at least not completely, as he had done the same on his last paycheck receipt the week before.

It was the sky. He was fascinated with the sky itself.

And so it began.

Virgil had never really taken an art class before, but he went at it with all he had.

He desperately bought a set of paint, an easel and a canvas with the dwindling number in his bank account.

Virgil chose that afternoon to start painting. starting with the blue sky before the sun began to set and Virgil’s painting began to fade into more orange, yellows, and reds. By the time evening came and the sun had gone below the horizon, the painting had been finished, the reds fading into purples and blacks.

It was only then that Virgil stepped back, not turning on the light to see his work before he crashed on his bed.

He woke up to the sounds of his boisterous friend Roman calling him.

Roman talked a mile a minute, Virgil barely able to tell what Roman was talking about until he finally heard the word ‘painting.’

Virgil turned red, he had forgotten about his painting in the living room.

“You like it?” “Do I like it? Well, it would be hard to disagree with the almost a million people who have already seen it.”

Virgil’s brain malfunctioned.

“What?”

Roman showed him his phone, where a picture of his painting had been posted on Virgil’s Instagram among his few previous pictures, most were of his halloween costumes that got a few hundred to over thousand on his vampire halloween costume.

“YOU POSTED MY PAINTING ON MY INSTAGRAM! WHY DO YOU HAVE MY PASSWORD!” “Whoa chill, you haven’t changed your password in 3 years, dipshit. Did- you even hear me? You have almost a million likes on the painting. I like the eyes.”

Virgil’s fist stopped where he had been about to punch Roman’s arm.

“A million? How?! Wait... eyes?”

Roman looked at Virgil weird.

“Yeah, the obvious eyes in the painting.”

Virgil snatched Roman’s phone, getting a closer look at his own painting, just now seeing the very obvious green eyes in the painting, as well as the more subtle outline of a very distinct set of wings that Virgil knew well.

A number of miles away, Logan checked his very rarely populated Instagram feed while he drank his morning coffee.

However, today he decided his home needed some as well as it was projected out as Logan spat out the mouthful of coffee he had been drinking, mouth open as he saw his own green eyes and his specific set of wings in a painting on Virgil’s profile.

The number didn’t even matter, it barely registered, but a smile spread on Logan’s face as he realized Virgil didn’t hate him as much as Logan thought he did.

After all, you don’t pain someone you hate into something so beautiful.

So Logan finally scrolled down to Virgil’s contact for the first time in years after so many times to reach him.

He pressed call.

#fake title #fake title ask #fake title asks #paint the sky #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #analogical #virgil angst #supnerds

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter nine: yellow tulip

“I can’t believe that,” Zelda groaned.

It was ten minutes before Legacy was about to take to the stage, and Zelda had to take a seat behind their set to better take in the news. Sam, Marla, and Aurora had been there all day in anticipation of her and also Metallica's arrival in the audience. There was already a small crowd that congregated out there, but they needed a moment alone, away from the noise. She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers and closed her eyes. Her black hair blanketed the side of her face so Sam and Aurora couldn’t see into her eyes.

“I can’t—fucking—believe that,” she muttered in a broken voice.

“It’s okay—he’s gonna be in good hands with Exodus,” Aurora promised her; after Marla had said about them, Sam knew her words only came to soothe the feeling.

“Yeah, I mean—” Sam hesitated in search of the right words. “—it's like he's dead, too, Zelda. He's just gonna be in another room. Maybe he'll be right next door to them.”

“It's not gonna be the same, though,” Zelda insisted as she raised her head. “It's just—not gonna be the same without him.” She shook her head and rested her sinewy elbows upon her slender knees. Sam rested a hand on her shoulder: even though her black hair spread across part of her face, she could see the disappointment in Zelda's eyes.

“We'll have to enjoy every last minute, then,” she remarked.

“It's the only way, you know,” Sam pointed out.

“It really is,” Aurora chimed in.

“Every last minute of Zetro's singing,” Zelda said in a soft voice, “every last note—every last part of it. Just right there. Just right within my ears.”

Without another word, she climbed to her feet so she could look at both Sam and Aurora in the eye. She tucked a lock of jet black hair behind her ear: those eyes were dry and yet Sam could see it within her. She also noticed a little orange ear plug tucked snugly right in her ear.

“Let's go see them,” Zelda declared, “you ladies have protection?”

Aurora reached into her shorts pocket and took out a handful of those same orange ear plugs, and Sam took two for herself. Once they were closed off from the loud noises of the world, Zelda led the way to that one part of the floor, right front of the stage. Louie had already taken his seat behind the drum kit, and his jet black hair shone under the soft golden light of the overhead lights. He held his drum sticks down behind his snare drum, out of sight. He flashed Zelda a thumbs up and she nodded at him in return. Sam huddled closer to her so she could see his youthful little face in between his yellow hi-hat and the raggedy toms.

Greg emerged from the left side of the stage with his bass already slung over his shoulder: he almost somersaulted into his spot in front of the three girls, and it made Aurora burst out laughing at him.

“Do that again and we'll vote on it,” Zelda called out to him, and Louie burst out laughing. Eric surfaced from the left side, followed by Zetro and then Alex. Zetro made his way to the microphone in the middle of the floor: he glanced about the floor before him with a twinkle in his eye. Sam then felt a tap on her shoulder: she turned her head only to be met with Marla waving at her.

“Oh, hey!” Sam greeted her.

“Nice little crowd we got here,” he remarked: his voice echoed throughout the tiny club. “Better than it has been lately, too.” Sam brought her gaze over to Alex, who had picked up a little black guitar and adjusted the strap so it was closer to his chest.

“Anyways, we are Legacy,” Zetro continued, “buncha California dudes who walked right out of a Bela Lugosi movie opening for our pals Anthrax here in their home turf. This song is called 'Over the Wall'.” Sam could hear it in his voice: he was ready to make his exodus.

Eric took one step forward and let his fingers do the talking. Alex joined in like clockwork; Greg's bass thundered through the floor and all through Sam's bones. His bass tone was big and heavy that it made her bones rattle, as if he tickled her. Louie put his head down such that his black hair sailed behind his head like the tentacles of an octopus. Zetro held onto the microphone stand and pinched his eyes shut.

The three of them were met with a wall of sound, such that Aurora huddled closer to Sam and Zelda. It wasn't as big as it could be but Sam knew they could play in a much larger venue from that point on out. Marla stepped her way through the little bit of crowd towards her left side. Within time, she leaned in closer to her, and Sam realized she was looking at something.

“His guitar is too big for this room.” Even with the ear plugs in, Sam could still hear Marla say that, and she brought her face closer to follow her gaze. She lowered her eyes onto Alex and then she took a glimpse over at Marla, who watched him with stars in her eyes and her expression in awe of him. Sam kept her gaze fixated on his long slender fingers on the frets. He moved about the strings so slowly and yet the sound he made with them was indeed so big and vast. It was as if he painted on canvas with the very sound of the guitar.

From there, she knew this young boy was an artist.

He raised his head and flipped his little fine black curls back away from his face, and the tiny gray sliver shone bright under the lights: a little pearl the size of a nickel up against the helmet of black about his head. He bowed his head again in time for his solo.

“He's just too big for the room,” Sam followed up, which in turn brought a laugh out of Marla. She watched him in awe as his fingers switched about the nylon strings like little baby eels. He played as though he was about to make a king cobra rise up through the floor boards next to him. He never moved from his stance there on the floor but he did kick his hair back with a flick of his head. He let his tongue slither out from between his lips, much like a snake.

Zetro stepped forward and belted into the microphone yet again.

Marla turned her head to Sam to show her the twinkle in her eyes.

“He's going to go far playing like that,” Marla remarked, and she sounded a mile away. “Sixteen year old baby and it looks and sounds like he's been playing for twice that long!”

“Kinda makes you want to see more from him, doesn't it?” Sam asked her over Zetro's shrieking, to which Marla nodded at her. Zelda reached her hands out to him as if about to touch him. Louie hit the big cymbals and Zetro leaned forward to give her a high five.

The next one was “Alone in the Dark”, and a song whereby Alex bowed his head and led the way. He moved forward just like Eric in the previous one and he stood right next to Zetro.

Aurora turned her head to Sam and Marla.

“I like this one,” she declared over the wall of sound.

“I do, too,” Sam replied right in her ear. “Even though it's still real hard and fast, there's something weirdly innocent about this song.”

“It's like a fantasy novel,” Marla added. Zelda nodded her head along with Louie's steady drumming: every so often, he glanced over at her and nodded along with her. Greg stood at the edge of the stage with his head bowed so he gazed down at the four girls. A pocket of Alex's dark hair cast a shadow over his head and shoulders so they could hardly see his face or the little sliver at his forehead. He had turned away from the crowd by the time he let out his solo. He stood there, with his legs spread apart and his head bowed, like a little wizard who created something for the audience to drink up, to help open their minds.

Legacy played one more song before Zetro blew a kiss to the crowd and Zelda reached out to him yet again, that time to take his hand. He mouthed something to her but Sam couldn't hear him over the orange pieces nestled in her ears.

Alex disappeared into the shadows before anyone could grab his attention, and Louie and Greg hustled after him. Eric was the only one who lingered behind with his guitar leaned against the speaker for a ribbon of distorted feedback.

“So dark and violent!” Aurora joked, and the feedback abruptly stopped, which allowed the noise of the crowd to flow over them.

Within a few minutes, Charlie emerged from the shadows and took a seat behind the drum kit. Frank followed with his big black bass over his shoulder, and then Dan with his shirt on his head and a white flying V over his little bare body. Scott and Joey rounded them out, the latter of whom waved at the four girls down below with both hands and a big goofy smile plastered on his face. Sam noticed a wide silvery metal bracelet on his right wrist.

“We're home, New York!” Scott proclaimed through the microphone, and he hustled over to the right side of the stage for his guitar.

“The boys are back in town!” Joey shouted into the microphone head. “The boys are back in the fucking town!” Sam gazed on at Joey's slender body as he held onto the stand with his left hand and the microphone itself with his right. It was then she had an idea. She turned to Aurora and gestured at her purse.

“Do you have your camera?” she asked her, to which Aurora shook her head.

“Not on me, no,” she replied in a muffled voice.

“Ah, damn it—” Sam was cut off by Scott's grinding guitar in front of them. She recognized that riff. It was the song they played for her the first time! She clapped her hands and almost jumped for joy right then. Charlie's drums pounded so hard that it knocked the wind out of her. Frank's bass rumbled like an earthquake. Dan's guitar screeched into the room, the same vastness and power as Alex's guitar.

And then there was Joey. His high operatic voice filled up the place, such that Sam found herself breathless by that addictive chorus: “it's a madhouse!” She tried to sing along but her voice vanished into the wall of sound before them. She could feel the crowd behind them moving and pulsating about.

“We're at the very edge of the mosh pit!” Zelda shouted. “Holy shit—ow!” Someone's sandaled foot beaned her right in the back of the head.

“Oh, damn, you alright?” Aurora yelled back to her; Sam couldn't hear her, and thus she returned to Joey. His black curls streamed behind his head even though there was no breeze in there. He was like a dark prince, a man of shadow straight out of the cavernous woods of upstate New York. If Alex was the sorceror, Joey was the man in the castle.

The curls atop his head even resembled to that of a crown.

Scott stomped about in his big black Doc Marten boots, and his thick black hair covered his face so Sam couldn't see his thick eyebrows. Meanwhile, Dan stood off to the left with his face serene and the little light tufts of hair standing on end like a crown itself. Every so often, Frank flicked his head back so his hair sailed up and then landed back down on his shoulders. He pointed at Marla, who cheered back at him and he showed her a big grin.

Legacy were fierce, dark, and poetic, but Anthrax were bright and colorful despite their own darkness as well. And much like the set before them, they only played three songs, the last of which Joey leaned back and brought the microphone to his lips and let out the longest, highest note Sam had ever heard from him. He did it a few times, the last of which was so high that she could see his stomach muscles tightening up under his shirt and a wave of chills swept over her. Aurora and Marla gaped at each other and Zelda shouted “oh my fucking god!” at the top of her lungs.

He was like an opera singer: this little dark skinned Indian boy with a voice straight out of the Italian opera. He held the microphone stand away from his body so he stood there with his arms spread out in a crucifix shape. The wall of sound around them was utterly deafening, and Sam was a part of it all.

The noise. The feeling. The standing right there at the edge of the mosh pit with her girl friends. There was nothing like it.

The four girls bustled past the railing and made their way after the five of them into the backstage area, away from the crowd and away from the energy behind them. Frank clapped his hands and Dan gave his hair a toss back.

Sam took the plug out of her right ear and brought a hand to it given the sharp sound around her.

“Oh, jesus,” she muttered.

“You alright?” Dan asked her.

“More than alright,” she replied, and she looked into his sparkling eyes. She realized she never really spoke much to Dan.

“Good show, and I'm glad you girls could make it, too!” Frank declared.

“There was no way we could miss this,” said Marla as she took out her ear plugs.

It was right then Sam realized something was missing.

“Wait a minute, Cliff never showed,” she said in a broken voice.

“Yeah, he did,” Frank told her. “Louie said he and James were both near the back. I saw him, too. By the looks of it, it looked like he was lookin' for you, too. He was dressed real nice.”

“Aw!” Sam's heart skipped several beats right then.

“Better go catch him, Sam,” Frank continued as he ran his fingers through his lush hair, “he looked a little disappointed.” He broke a little bit of a smile at her when he said that. And without another word, Sam doubled back to side of the stage.

“We'll be back here!” Marla called after her. She rounded the corner to find most of the crowd had dissipated back outside, and Cliff's wide brimmed hat was nowhere to be found. Sam stepped outside in search for him. Night had fallen over Brooklyn, but the street lights cast that orange light that she knew what to look for through the darkness.

Nowhere to be seen. She fetched up a sigh and she walked past a man with a blunt full of marijuana and a girl across from him, right there on the sidewalk. She peered around the corner to the dark alleyway. No one there.

She doubled back through the cloud of pot smoke and peered around the corner that time. Still no one there. Sam stood there on the sidewlk with her hands pressed to her hips.

Maybe he was all the way around the other side. Indeed, she returned back inside of the club, across the empty floor in search of him. She pushed open those doors, only to be met with more orange light and nobody on the sidewalk.

“God damn it,” she groaned. “Shit...” She doubled back into the club and returned to the little nook of a backstage area. Zelda, Aurora, and Marla all had taken their seats on a lumpy couch pressed against the wall and Dan and Frank were helping themselves to cups of water.

“D'you find him?” Marla asked her, to which she shook her head.

“Oh, man!” Frank declared. “I'm sorry, Sam.”

“Nah, it's alright,” Sam told him, “I was just so caught up in the moment that I forgot he told me he was gonna be here.” She peered about the nook. “Where's Joey, Scott, and Charlie?”

“In the next room,” Dan replied as he handed her a little cup of water. “Joe's dunkin' his head in ice water, and Scott and Charlie are getting things to eat.”

“The dudes from Legacy just bounced, too,” Frank added. “Just got in their van and boogied—so you just missed them, Zelda. Something about getting to Jon and Marsha's house before they turn it in for the night, and Louie getting back to the building before the doors lock, or some shit, I forget.”

“Zetro told me to meet up with him tomorrow,” Zelda replied as she ran her hand over the back of her head, “at least that's what I think he said to me.” She groaned and grimaced at the feeling. “I got kicked in the head.”

“Yeah, I saw that!” Dan told her; Sam took her seat on the arm of the couch next to Marla.

“I'm a drummer, though,” Zelda insisted. “I can take a lot before it really gets to me.”

“A drummer paying Louie Clemente's rent,” Frank joked, and the bunch of them laughed. Right then, Joey stumbled into the room, with his black curls soaked wet and his dark lips twisted into a tight grin.

“Hey, there are my girls!” he said in a loud voice.

“Joey, I had no idea you sang like that,” Sam declared.

“You should hear him in a bigger place,” Frank told her. “He just sings to the heavens.”

Joey made his way over to the couch and took a seat right next the arm: he sat right in front of Sam with his slender legs crossed. His black curls glistened from the ice cold water in the next room, and a single droplet trickled down the side of his face. She could already smell the hops from the beer on his breath.

“I'm so glad we could get here,” he said to her with a few little breaks in his voice.

“Get here in a new car no less,” she pointed out.

“I'm gonna need you to drive, too,” he stated with a flat look on his face.

“Not a problem,” she answered with a shake of her head and a shrug of the shoulders. “I can totally do that.”

“As long as you don't barf,” Zelda pointed out.

“I'd be more worried about Scott and Billy barfin' while in the car,” Dan told her before he took a sip of water. “Joe just has kind of—sort of—a little bit of a hard time holding down his liquor.”

Sam thought about the few times she had seen Joey drink and let it overcome him. She wondered how much he had took in just then, and she frowned at the very thought, especially after her feeling down his body and his hair. He was soft to the touch, and the booze seemed to take that away from him. She didn't want to fix him, but she wanted to find a way to get him away from that lest something happen to his little body.

Charlie called Joey, Frank, and Dan into the next room: he had pushed back his curls from his face, and thus showed off the fine beads of sweat under his eyes and along his forehead.

“Marla's man was workin' extra hard tonight,” Aurora remarked.

“Yeah, I was!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “It was—being here, being back home in New York and at L'Amour.” He shrugged his fine shoulders. “I just had to go hard and fast tonight.”

Joey tried to stand to his feet by himself but he almost lost his balance and fell right on the seat of his skinny jeans. He giggled and extended a hand to Dan and Sam, both of whom helped him up. He raised a finger at her.

“I'll be—” he hiccuped, “—I'll be right back.”

Sam returned to her spot on the arm of the couch and she watched him stagger after Dan and Frank into the next room.

“Can't hold his liquor,” Marla recalled.

“I know,” Sam said, thoughtful, “I once told him I don't really like the idea of him drinking so much because it can do a number on him.”

“Oh, yeah.” Marla nodded her head at her.

“I'm also gonna have to call Cliff tonight, too. That just kills me.”

“In your defense, Sam, we were all in the heat of the moment,” Zelda pointed out as she ran her fingers through her black hair. “I missed Zetro by about twenty minutes.”

“And that was just because they had to go,” Aurora chimed in.

“They had to go and I'm gonna have to talk to Louie, too...”

Joey returned with a red cup in hand and a smile on his face.

“You wanna go home, don't ya?” Sam asked him.

“Go home and take a shower,” he replied as he guzzled down whatever was in the cup. He gave his black curls a toss back and kept the smile firmly plastered across his face.

“You just got your hair wet,” Aurora pointed out.

“That ain't a shower, though!” he chuckled as he took one last swig of it. Sam stood to her feet and adjusted the bottom of her shirt.

“I'll see you ladies later,” she said.

“I just might have a new hair color when you see me again,” Marla told her with a wink.

Sam and Joey returned outside, where they were greeted by not only another cloud of pot smoke but the aroma of sage burning.

“Yow-za,” he blurted out as they walked past that little circle on the sidewalk. Sam led him through the darkness back to his car, where he almost collapsed right into the front seat. She took her spot in the driver's seat and held still. The silence in the car made her ears ache a bit.

“You got the key?” she asked him.

“I do,” he replied.

“Where is it?”

“It's—it's—hang on a second...” Joey patted down his slender legs and then he reached into his back pocket. He showed her the key ring and she took it for herself.

They rolled out of the parking lot and returned to the streets: lucky for them, the crowd in the club had cleared out quickly, and thus, they only had a bit of the late night traffic to deal with.

“I'm gonna have to call Cliff when we get home, too,” she declared. “I can't believe I missed him.”

“I mean, he did kiss you,” Joey pointed out as he sank down in his seat.

“He did! And he asked me out to that show, too. I have to tell him.”

“Well, remember—we are playin' a second night tomorrow. You can catch up with 'em tomorrow night when we all meet up again for a second time.”

“That's true...” Her voice trailed off and they fell into silence as they made their way towards the freeway.

“By the way, Marla and I really like that Alex kid,” she said. “The lead guitarist in Legacy.”

“Oh, he's from another planet,” he replied with a bit of a slurring to his speech. “He and Danny both.” He hiccuped and lowered his chin to his chest. She peered over at him and his drooping eyelids.

“Just the way he stood there was so—serene. Real dark music but it was like he was beckoning something from the floor.” She peered over at him. “By the way, are you feeling alright? You don't look good.”

“Charlie called me back to the room there for sump'n and I can't remember what—I went back there to get another cup of beer 'cause there wasn't really much to eat there. And I remember us talkin' about the whole thing with the booze but...”

“It's the spur of the moment,” she finished.

“Sweat—fun—that's what it's all about for me, even if it means cuttin' loose for a bit. I gotta say that it's nights like this where I can't really help myself.”

“Joey, I don't know if it's the rush of adrenaline wearing off, but—” She stopped, and he turned his head for a look over her.

“But what?” he asked her.

“After tonight, I strangely feel—a lot closer to you,” she confessed. “I feel like I've seen another side to you. A side beyond what I've done in my art journal and what I've done for you in that alleyway.” She drummed her fingers on the edge of the steering wheel.

“And I dunno if it's the booze talkin' but—I feel closer to you, too.”

“And if I must confess...” She glanced over at him again, that time to look over his black curls, made even darker and fuller in appearance by them being wet. He took another glimpse at her.

“What's that?”

“I need to feel your hair again,” she declared.

“Why, you wanna get yourself lost in it?” he teased her.

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “I just need to feel the texture of it at the roots especially.”

She looked over at him again, at those jet black curls: every so often the lights from the city shone through the window onto them and they glistened like little embers from a fire.

“These curls are so thick and lush,” she muttered, “and coarse. And soft, all at the same time. They're everything and nothing. They're so—they're so—”

“Curly?” Joey asked her with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Curly is an understatement,” she quipped, and he chuckled at that.

Within the hour, they had returned to her building in the Bronx. Despite his word, Joey collapsed on the couch and fell asleep within mere seconds. It was late after all, and Sam knew there was no way she could call Cliff right then. Thus, she took a shower and turned in for the night herself.

Despite the rush of adrenaline and it being such a late hour, she could scarcely fall asleep. Cliff remained firm in her mind, the image of a tall man seated in a spindly chair with his bell bottoms spread wide over his pointed black leather boots and his black wide brimmed hat rested upon the crown of his head. He rested the side of his head against the backs of his knuckles and he gazed on at her. He waited for her. He was ready for her.

She couldn't stop thinking about him, even when the sun arose over the Bronx and she headed into the next room for a pot of coffee and a bite of breakfast. Joey had rolled over onto his stomach and let his right hand dangle down to the floor. She squatted down to examine that silver bracelet: just a flat, smooth rectangle of metal that hugged his wrist, but she wondered where he had gotten it from.

He awoke at ten thirty and he was eager to head back to the club for a second round.

“You sure you're up for it, Joey?” Sam asked him as they bustled back outside and towards his car parked at the curb. “You barely ate anything just now and you look really hungover.”

“I gotta,” he insisted as he slid into the passenger seat. “I woke up late—it'd be like wakin' up late for a class.” She fetched up a sigh as she put on her sunglasses and rounded the front end to the driver's door.

That time around, Alex had taken a seat outside of the side door with his guitar cradled in his lap. His sunglasses obscured his eyes from them, but his stoic expression never changed as Joey climbed out of the car.

“Hey, kiddo—” He was cut off by his own vomiting right on the sidewalk, right in front of him.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, man!” Alex scrambled to his feet and scurried away from there before Sam could get a word in. Joey spat and groaned at the feeling: he rested his hands on his knees and breathed hard. Zetro and Cliff emerged from the side door just then: the former gasped.

“Fuckin'-A, Joey, did the room clear out?” he declared.

“Get him something to eat!” Sam ordered him. “He woke up like an hour ago and he was insistent on it.”

“Yes, ma'am!” Zetro put his arm around Joey's back and guided him into the club. Meanwhile, Cliff turned to her: he wore that wide brimmed hat once again and he held a little yellow tulip in hand. Sam swallowed and she gingerly stepped onto the curb, and she stood right in front of him.

“I can't believe I missed you last night,” she confessed, to which he handed her the tulip. “And—I'm really sorry I did.” To which he shook his head.

“Don't be,” he told her in a low voice. “If anything, it was actually my fault. I called your place yesterday to say I was gonna be here late but—when I never got an answer, I just thought, 'oh, she's probably there already. I'll look for her.'”

“I tried looking for you, but—I didn't see you anywhere,” she confessed. “Frankie saw you, but by the time he told me, you were already gone.”

“Yeah, Lars was hungry,” he explained. “Again, don't be sorry. Be happy that we're here right now for a second shot.”

“And here I am,” she told him as she held the tulip close to her chest.

“And here we are,” he echoed as he leaned in for a kiss on her lips.

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happybeeps-nat · 4 years

Note

Prompt idea: Post-war, Finn and Poe attend some sort of art therapy session together.

A/N: oooh thank you so much for this random, weirdly specific prompt, I was so delighted when I got it and writing something for it was fun! BUT I have not a single idea as to how art therapy works? And so I focused more on the art than on the therapy, I hope this is to your liking! Thank you so much for the prompt! 💕

Light angst, obviously, but the hopeful kind

Words: 1478

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Scars On Our Future Hearts

“Where exactly are we going again?” Poe asked as he was being dragged along by Finn who seemed to know where he was going at least.

“Art therapy,” Finn replied, way too chipper considering the circumstances. Therapy. Art therapy! Poe had as much to do with art as he had with wielding a lightsaber or lifting rocks. But sure. Let’s go do some art therapy, what a wonderful idea, Finn. He sighed and said nothing. That was how it went most days. He talked a lot but didn’t feel like he said anything.

Okay, so maybe this art therapy was actually a good idea…

“Doctor Kalonia recommended it,” Finn explained. “It’s unconventional but says it’s actually a good approach after a war. And it can’t really hurt.”

“Yeah, except in all the ways therapy usually hurts,” Poe muttered.

“Exactly!” Finn smiled, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript building. It looked like all the others, but Finn with his photographic memory would know exactly how to differentiate it from their surroundings even though he’s never been here. Finn was awesome like that.

“I promised her we’d try and if it’s not for us, we can just, you know. Not come back again.”

The casual we that Finn threw around casually still made Poe feel warm all over.

“Okay, okay, let’s try this thing. It it in there?” Poe inclined his head toward the building.

Beside him, Finn nodded and squeezed the hand he was still holding. “You ready?”

“Nope,” Poe sighed and let the p pop, but shrugged. “Let’s do this. Can’t be worse than crashing a TIE-fighter, right?”

Well, turned out it was actually pretty much like crashing a TIE-fighter. Or, like the moment right after the crash. The second of numbness where you didn’t know anything, not even if you were still alive. You didn’t know if anything hurt but you also didn’t know if everything was okay. You had a minute where your judgment was clouded and the only thought was “I need to get up and leave” until you realise that’s not possible because slowly, everything comes back to you. Why you’re there, what happened to get you there in the first place.

And now Poe was staring at a blank canvas and he had no idea what to do, what to feel, what to think, what to say. He had no idea what to draw.

Future, they had said. Future was the prompt for this session, and it was a stupid shitty prompt, like, who even asked veterans about their life plans? They had none! For years, Poe’s future had consistent of the present need to not fucking die, and now here he was, in a non-threatening room full of blank canvases and he was asked about his life and he had nothing to fucking draw. He had nothing to think, he had nothing to say. He barely even had a life.

So the canvas stayed blank while Poe stared at it, feeling as just as empty. Directionless. Not a single splash of colour on his mind, not a single line to give him the vaguest idea od a direction. He was just Poe Dameron, former pilot to the New Republic Navy, former commander of the Resistance who got promoted to the rank of General because he had just enough hope and idiocy left in him to actually go through with winning. That hope was now gone, because why hope to win when you’ve already won? Why create colours when that would just be a waste of resources an actual artist could need?

He had nothing but Finn. Finn who was painting his canvas in the brightest of colours, splashes and lines and everything all over the place, and the board looked ecstatic. It was colourful, it looked random but Poe could see an order there. A system. And of course it was there, Finn would never get rid of that part of him that needed order in everything. But now he had the chance to create the order by himself.

Poe smiled a little as he watched Finn paint, and picked up his pencil again. Yellow, blue, green, red, in all their shades. And in the middle, right in the centre, there was a splash of orange, looking out of place but also just right. It completed the painting, gave it a meaning, an order, a direction. A centre. And it was the same shade of orange as Poe’s old flight suits from the Resistance.

It warmed him to see that, to see the colours, to see that maybe this meant Finn saw a bright future, a colourful life, and Poe right there with him. Poe in his centre. Poe in his heart.

What a wonderful thought. He smiled to himself and stared at his own blank canvas. Then back at Finn’s concentrated form, and without really thinking about it, he mixed a few colours himself. It was the same deep, dark shade of brown as Finn’s skin, yet bright in a way it looked when the sun was dancing on it. Brown with a touch of gold.

Poe grabbed the biggest brush he could find and spread that colour on the whole canvas until there was no untouched space left. The whole thing was covered in golden brown, some places darker than others, and all of them reminding him of Finn.

On a whim, he used more of that golden colour and painted a few traditional Yavinic ornaments. Small, fragile little things, drawn with more care than he’d thought he could use, but the result was absolutely worth it.

It wasn’t perfect and real artists would probably roll their eyes at him for feeling pride as he looked at it, but to him it was perfect. It was his future. It was Finn. Because maybe it was okay that he had no direction, that he felt lost without a cause, even if that cause he used to have was tainted with death and killing and losing and pain. It had been a cause. And now he had none. But he had Finn, so maybe that could be his future.

Everything else, he thought, was a bonus. Direction, meaning, structure, he could find all of that, build all of that with Finn by his side. But without Finn, there was no future. Not for him.

He sighed. This absolute dependence was dangerous and he knew that, he’d have to do something about it, there was nothing romantic about it and it spoke more of his trauma than his lack of words ever could say, but he also knew that wasn’t the whole story. He was in love with Finn, absolutely enamored every day anew. Finn completed him in every aspect, he loved him back with his whole heart, Finn had a huge orange splash in his painting that maybe stood for Poe’s love in the centre of his world. This wasn’t just co-dependence. This was love, a love as deep and as old as time, and one he couldn’t deny.

Finn was his future. And not just because of his past. He would be in every kind of universe. No matter the story.

They got to keep the paintings, brought them home, talked about them. Not with the therapists but with each other. Finn explained every line, every splash, every dot and every brush, the order in it that still felt like chaos. Told him how he was feeling. About himself, about them, about the present and about the future.

And so did Poe. “I, uh, I think I did it wrong? But it doesn’t feel wrong, so… Yeah, anyway, I don’t know what to do. What the future holds or even what I will do tomorrow. I may not even know who I am when I’m not a hotshot pilot or Resistance General. I never had to be just Poe Dameron, and I don’t really know who that is. But I would like to find out? With you by my side? And build a life and all that stuff, but not without you. And I have no plans. I only have you, and that’s pathetic, I guess, but-”

Finn silenced him with a kiss. Then apologised, because Poe was finally talking and he had to ruin that, but Poe just laughed, relieved. He’d finally said it. He was Poe Dameron and he didn’t know what that meant but with Finn by his side, he was ready to find out.

Later, Finn grabbed his hand and took him to bed, giving him a detailed insight to who he thought Poe Dameron was. There were still traces of paint on their skin, but for some reason that made everything feel more real. Like they were okay, and like they had a future. Together.

#finnpoe #stormpilot #star wars fanfic #poe dameron #finn #prompt fill #light angst #canon verse #post-ROS #i loved writing this but idk if thats what you wanted #i hope you like it thank you so much for the prompt I love you! 💕#nat writes #also had two separate language breakdowns while writing so i hope its not too bad

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librannie · 4 years

Text

dark, darker yet darker

note: this is the first installment of the dark, darker yet darker series.

tldr: ralsei finds a hidden door in the forest, it doesn’t go well.

word count: 2098

Ralsei was lonely, to say the least. He'd grown up in a kingdom of admiration; it had been full of followers for the first few years of his rather young life. He distantly remembered running through the steeple with other children, laughing and playing with people he didn't just refer to as his subjects, but his friends as well. Sometimes, he'd even bake cakes for the lot of them.

But, one day, it all came crashing down; and before he knew it, he was the sole member of his kingdom; the loneliest prince in the world.

However, he did have one hope; one last thing to cling to. The prophecy, that a Hero, a Monster, and a Dark Prince (himself, he believed), who'd destroy the dark fountain and bring light to the world; and oh, how he couldn't wait to be a part of it.

So, he waited, and waited, and waited. Sometimes he'd take strolls along the barren kingdom, tending to the plants and cleaning windows, cooking in empty bakeries; he just needed to occupy his time by doing something.

So often, when he had nothing to do; he’d go on walks in the distant wilderness, beyond the lone cobblestone wall that bordered the last reaches of civilization, a lone depiction that it once had been something more. Something great. Whether it be daytime, afternoon, or night; it felt good to fill his lungs with fresh air. The feeling of feet against grass that lightly pecked against the bottom of his feet when he stepped; and the tree branches that would softly wisp against his dark cloak.To see the rose-tinted skies shine overhead, bleating out blotches of orange and yellow; sometimes even purple. It was as if a child was handed a blank canvas, assigned to doodle their dreams with just a finger and some watercolors.

And after the sun had set , it might’ve been even better. Once the sun would set, thousands and thousands of stars would emerge from the onslaught void in the sky, glittering and reflecting across the landscape.

It was his happy place, his own little pinprick on the map of their shaded world. When he felt lonely, he’d go there and befriend the shattered balls of light above. They’d reciprocate and crash into the beautiful sparks of day. It had been incorporated into his nightly routine.

So, it wouldn’t be that long until he found himself back in the woods again, gazing through the gaps in the leafy ceiling. He began to pace in the dreary shadows of the trees, looking up at the sky, zoning his vision in towards the stars. For endless moments, everything was the same as usual: beautiful, slow, sleepy. He wanted to blanket himself into the moonlight.

He began to hum quietly to himself, the buzz of the vibrato in his throat tickling the inside of his mouth and down to the back of his ears. He upcame and began to pass the large, thick cobblestone wall, lifting a hand to gently drag his fingers over the stones that made up the wall which had been smoothed down from the weathering of rain and wind. He could feel the little bumps and ridges in the cobblestone began to wear down against his claws, but didn’t mind too much.

He eventually turned his head to look away from the wall, facing the ceiling of leaves and twig to catch little glimpses of the stars amongst the gaps in the treetops. The sun had seemingly already set, though Ralsei could still catch small glimpses of fading purple to the east of eyeshot. He continued to mindlessly drag his fingers against the wall, until something changed. The texture of the wall had completely changed from rough stone to a smooth, polished surface. He flinched slightly and stopped all movement at the sudden change, turning his body to stand in full view of the door that had formed in the middle of the wall. He narrowed his gaze, his pupils examining the dark swirls of age in the material of the wooden door. He pressed a hand to the door, dipping his fingers and pushing against the ridges of the stiff object, curious about when it had appeared.

He thought he knew every inch of the woods, to see something new was completely perplexing. Maybe he didn’t know the environment here as well as he believed. His gaze lowered to meet the sight of a golden, polished doorknob. It looked unused, too fancy and valued for somewhere as rugged as the wilderness outside his kingdom. He rested his hands against it, getting a feel for it in his shadowed, fuzzy palm. It was so smooth, almost weighty. He squeezed it tightly, and without even thinking, turned it and pushed it open.

The entire view in front of him, through the door frame, was completely dark. There was something about this absence of light that felt wrong. It wasn’t just light that had been lost, it felt as if everything else that might have existed inside was completely empty too. It was hollow, barren, dead.

He was probably just getting ahead of himself. It was just a dark room, there was probably some sort of light switch on the inside. He tentatively stepped one foot into the room, and a chill ran up that leg, through his soft fur, into his skin. He shuddered, goosebumps beginning to rise over his body. The room wasn’t just dark, but it was cold. Bone chillingly cold.

He pushed himself a little further into the room, enough to where his body was out of the wilderness and completely inside. The ground beneath his feet was solid and loud, enough to where he could hear the soft slapping of his feet against the slick, glossy floor. He turned around slightly to see the light of the moon and stars from outside reflect in the tiny mirrored floor below. He let out a shudder of a sigh, before stepping away to try and locate the switch.

He stepped away cautiously from the door, trying to branch out and locate the nearest wall, worried as he was unable to locate one no matter how far left or right he walked. He slowly began to feel more and more unsettled as he rocked his body back and forth between where he believed walls should have been. His heart rate began to steadily increase in his chest and he turned back towards where he had come from, catching sight of the door slowly beginning to close.

His eyes widened, and he bolted back towards the closing door, his heart starting to pound in his chest. He heard the sound of the door creaking on its hinges, which only assisted in the acceleration of his heart rate. However, as soon as it looked like he might reach the door in time, it shut a few inches away from his face, leaving him inside, buried deep in the dark.

“Help!” He yelled out, his voice hitching slightly as he rammed his hands into the wooden door, the sound echoing inside of the thick darkness. “Please, someone! I’m trapped!” He continued to push and scream against the door, before giving up and into a fit of harsh, terrified breaths. He slid down against the cool wood of the door, which felt weirdly good on the hot, red flush of his cheeks. He closed his eyes, trying to cool himself out of the anxiety that had entered his heart; he took a few moments to swallow big, thick gulps of air into his lungs.

After a few moments, he let his eyes flicker open and gaze outwards, narrowing his eyes as something other than darkness filled his vision. Far, far away in the distance was the faint view of a very dim light source. Ralsei quickly became more alert, rising on his feet and pacing towards the source. Soon, as he came the slightest bit closer, he noticed a tall shadow outlined in the middle of the dim light, a long figure stretched out in a vertical sense. The dark prince exhaled in relief. There was someone else there, he wasn’t alone.

“Excuse me, Mister?” He called out, picking up his pace into a jog, his long cloak flailing behind him, the top of his robe falling off his hat as he came even closer to his destination, the long man coming more into view. “Sir, sir! Are you okay? Do you need help?” He questioned, very much relieved that he wasn’t alone in this. “Gosh, I’m so relieved. I thought I was completely alone,” he began to ramble to the figure as he came closer. “I was so scared! Do you know how to get out of here? Sorry, that was dumb, why would you want to stay in a place like this? I mean, unless you want to, in that case, I’m really sorry-” Ralsei was quickly cut off in a swallowed gasp when the man turned to face him.

The man was elongated in unrealistic proportions, his body drooping down and sloping to the side as if he was melted. His chest showed a mass of white, hollow and trembling from the sheer weight of breathing in the absence of nothing. His hands were wide and thin, a large hole gaged in the middle of each hand. This isn’t even to mention his face. A large oval with two hollow dark circles as eyes, his left one split halfway by the center, two large strikes of carve-markings splitting his eyes in halves down the center. His mouth was formed in a wicked grimace, like a distorted quarter moon tilted to the side.

Ralsei stepped back, his eyes wide with horror. He cupped his hands over his mouth in a shaky, terrible kind of surprise.

The man’s face glistened and glitched in some kind of horror as it began to speak.

“💣︎⍓︎ ♍︎♒︎♓︎●︎♎︎📪︎ ⬥︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♎︎□︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎✍︎” It gurgled, an indecipherable language spilling from the gaping hole in its face. It melted slightly, looking sullen and terrified.

Ralsei just stared up at it, confusion and terror in his eyes. The thing seemed so sad. Was it in pain? “Sir?” He started, his cloaked body beginning to tremble from the sheer fear he felt. “Are you okay?”

“☠︎□︎📬︎” The man sputtered, lifting his arms to wrap them around his own torso. “☠︎□︎📪︎ ■︎□︎📪︎ ■︎□︎✏︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ♋︎●︎●︎ ⬥︎❒︎□︎■︎♑︎📬“ It exclaimed in a bone-chilling sort of way, growing closer to the terrified prince. “☠︎□︎📪︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ■︎♏︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ●︎♏︎♋︎❖︎♏︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎ ■︎□︎⬥︎📬︎”

Ralsei gaped at the growing sight of the man, confused and filled to the brim with fear. “W-What?”

“✡︎□︎◆︎ ■︎♏︎♏︎♎︎ ⧫︎□︎ ♑︎□︎📬︎” Gurgled the man once again, beginning to expand and rise vertically over the boy. “✡︎□︎◆︎ ❍︎◆︎⬧︎⧫︎ ♑︎□︎📬︎ ☝︎□︎📬︎.”

Ralsei gasped, scrambling to his feet and backing away from the elongated shadow of a man.

“☝︎□︎📬︎ ☝︎□︎✏︎” The thing began to scream, rising closer and closer towards Ralsei. “☝︎□︎✏︎”

Ralsei shrieked, turning around and running back towards where he remembered the door to have been. His body was throbbing with adrenaline, his soft black fur soaked with sweat. He heard the echoing of his feet against the flooring below him, which increased in speed as he carried his body away faster. He could hear the stalking of the man behind him as he seemingly gave chase.

In the distance, he saw a crack of starlight as the door began to reopen. He raced faster and faster until he couldn’t even feel himself breathe, let alone his own exhaustion. He was closer, and closer, and closer.

“☝︎□︎📪︎ ♑︎□︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ■︎♏︎❖︎♏︎❒︎ ❒︎♏︎⧫︎◆︎❒︎■︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ◻︎●︎♋︎♍︎♏︎✏︎”

Before he knew it, he could feel something pick him up and fling him through the open door. A scream sourced through Ralsei’s lips as he left the cold air of the hidden room, which faded into the mildew-soaked heat of the outside.

His body hit the soft, damp, grass, which caused scrapes against his calves and thighs, along with his face and hands. He brought himself upwards shakily on his hands and knees, spitting out mouthfuls of dirt and grass.

He flopped backwards onto his back, heaving breathlessly as he faced the night sky. The stars were blurry through Ralsei’s vision and he inhaled sharp, terrified breaths as he began to catch the wind that had been knocked out of him. He brought himself up from a sitting position, almost hoping to catch another glimpse of where he had just been.

But the door was gone, it was just a wall of cobblestone.

#deltarune #undertale #ralsei #wd gaster #gaster #inter dimensional fatigue #idf #kris #susie #help im bad at fanfics #this was written on a whim #please have mercy

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luthienebonyx · 4 years

Note

16 for the prompt meme?

16: A Doomed Kiss

This was supposed to be a ficlet but it is NOT a ficlet, because apparently I’m not capable of those - or at least I’m not capable of them right now, anyway.

This first part is a prologue. Part II, complete with doom and kiss, should be along in a day or so.

A Doom Unescaped - Part I

They probably wouldn't have noticed the tent if Addam hadn't staggered out of the Gravitron and been noisily sick all over Jaime's trainers. Dragging Addam out of the way of the people queueing for their turn on the ride, Jaime had kept going until the two of them were around the corner, where he found a patch of grass that he could wipe his shoes - rather futilely - on. Beside him, Addam sank to the ground and sat with his head between his knees, taking great heaving breaths.

The day was not turning out quite as Jaime had anticipated. He'd turned thirteen the previous week, and somehow - he still didn't quite know exactly how - he'd managed to persuade his father that this meant he was old enough to attend the annual Lannisport agricultural show and fun fair without adult supervision. Tywin Lannister's only conditions had been to 'take your cousin with you, and don't do anything stupid!' Neither of these had seemed like particularly difficult requirements at the time. But that was before he and Addam had used some of Jaime's birthday money from Aunt Genna to eat their way through every food stand they could find, and then gone in search of the rides. That had been a mistake. Or, at least, those last four corn hounds on sticks that Addam had eaten had been a mistake. And the lemon cakes that he followed them up with probably hadn't helped either.

"Urk, I need something to drink," Addam said, when he finally raised his head.

"Just still water," Jaime said firmly. He didn't want to imagine the likely outcome, let alone be within range, if Addam tried drinking anything fizzy right now. He hauled Addam to his feet, and they wandered down to the drinks stand in the midst of the sideshows. Jaime bought two bottles of water; one for Addam to drink, the other for Jaime to use with a paper napkin to try to get the worst of the stink off his shoes. He didn't really have much success, but at least he got rid of the remaining chunks.

He chucked the now bright yellow napkin and the rest of the water into the bin next to the stall with the row of laughing jesters' heads, their open ceramic mouths rotating back and forth as they waited to be fed the balls that might or might not result in a prize. Jaime had a sudden mental picture of the jester heads spewing the balls back up. He shuddered inside, turned away - and spotted the tent, lurking right at the end of the row of sideshows.

It seemed like a strange sort of thing to be grouped with the jesters and Tully's magnetic fish pond and the wildling hi striker. Unlike most tents Jaime had ever seen, it was made out of what looked like silk rather than canvas, and its walls were the same deep crimson as the field on the Lannister coat of arms. The tent was covered in gold stars both large and small. Gold, like the Lannister lion. There was a sign above the door that said, in extravagantly curly writing: "Madame Maggy, Your Fortune For a Price."

Maybe it was the Lannister colours of the tent that drew Jaime's curiosity, or maybe it was simply how out of place it looked. It was tacky, yes, but tacky in a completely different way from the attractions that surrounded it. Whatever the reason, Jaime went to have a closer look, with Addam tagging along behind, complaining that fortune tellers were boring girly shit, and that they should try out the Kraken next.

"You go on the Kraken," he told Addam, digging in the pocket of his jeans for some silver stags and stuffing them into his cousin's hands. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes, and then you can go on it again with me." Apart from anything else, it wouldn't hurt if Addam emptied whatever might be left in his stomach when Jaime was nowhere nearby.

Addam didn't need to be told twice. "See you in a few!" he yelled over his shoulder as he raced off in the direction of the Kraken, whose great metal tentacles could be seen swooping above the people queueing next to the entrance gate.

There was no queue outside Madame Maggy's tent. There wasn't a single other person waiting, so Jaime ducked in through the opening in the silk that served as a doorway and called, "Hello? Is there anybody here?"

"Good day, young man," said a voice so weirdly croaky that Jaime couldn't tell if the speaker was a man or a woman. He was standing in an outer room of some sort, but there was no sign of anyone else. There were a couple of chairs by the wall that must have been set there by some optimistic person who expected that there would be at least two people waiting their turn at some point today.

Long strings of multi-coloured crystal beads and little gold bells hung in the interior doorway on the other side of the room. They clinked and jangled as Jaime pushed them aside and entered the tent's main room.

The inside of Madame Maggy's tent was swathed in long bolts of black and yellow fabric, alternating with others in green and silver. A heavily scuffed carpet in a murky shade of green covered the floor. Overall, it wasn't very Lannister-ish, so it didn't call to him the way the outside of the tent had, but he didn't spend much time thinking about that because right then he noticed the person sitting at the small round table in the corner. Even looking right at them, Jaime couldn't tell whether they were a man or a woman. He was barely certain that they were a living person. They were covered from head to - presumably - toe in voluminous black robes, and their face was yellow, like the faded pages of an old book, or one of the dummies in the waxwork museum he'd visited the last time he'd gone to King's Landing. There was also a huge, horrible wart with a long black hair growing out of it right in the middle of one wrinkly cheek.

"I am Madame Maggy," the person - well, probably woman - said in a raspy sort of voice, and cackled.

Jaime had never heard anyone cackle before, but he knew one when he heard one. He watched, fascinated, as she took a set of false teeth from a very ordinary looking glass of water on the table beside her and pushed them into her mouth. He'd only ever heard about toothless crones in the stories that Tyrion's nanny sometimes told, but he knew one of those when he saw one, too.

"Come. Sit," Madame Maggy commanded, indicating the rickety wooden chair opposite her with an imperious wave of her hand - though it was so gnarled and bent that it looked more like a claw. Her words sounded a lot clearer now that she had teeth in her mouth, at least.

A Lannister never does anything just because someone tells him to - unless that someone is me. Jaime heard his father's voice, as clearly as if he'd been standing right next to him, and stayed where he was.

"Well? Are you going to just stand there? Why else did you come in here if not to have your fortune told?"

It was a good point, and anyway, Jaime had never been very good at doing what his father told him. He went, and sat.

The crone held out a claw. "It is customary for one seeking his fortune to cross my palm with silver, but I think the price for a Lannister must be gold."

Jaime didn't ask how she knew who he was. She was a fortune teller after all. Even so, he didn't like the thought of being cheated, and yet he'd given all his silver stags to Addam. All he had left in his pocket were gold dragons and a few copper stars and pennies. Clearly, Madame Maggy somehow knew that, too.

"Okay." Jaime reached into his pocket and pulled out a small handful of dragons. He placed them one by one on her upturned hand. It wasn't a large hand, but still, for seven gold dragons his future had better be filled to the brim with good fortune.

Madame Maggy's talons closed shut as swiftly as the jaws of a steel trap, and only the jingle of the coins as she secreted them in some hidden pocket of her robes proved that they'd ever been there at all. She turned and took a shallow bowl from the shelf behind her. Setting it down in the middle of the table, she filled it with water from the jug sitting beside the glass that had held her false teeth. Jaime hoped that none of the water in the jug had ever been anywhere near those teeth.

"Your hand, young Mr Lannister."

Jaime was feeling more and more that this hadn't been a good idea, but it was too late now. He firmed his lips, determined, and held out his hand. Madame Maggy took it between her own, paper dry ones. She was wearing a number of rings on her left hand, he saw now, silver rings sporting huge, mysterious stones so dark that in the dim light of the tent they appeared black.

Madame Maggy ran a fingernail down the centre of Jaime's palm, and he shivered, as if he'd just felt a knife between his shoulder blades.

The old woman lifted her hand and jabbed her pointed fingernail right into the centre of his palm.

"Ow!" Jaime yelled, and pulled his hand back.

"Hold your hand over the bowl," Madame Maggy instructed, "and let a few drops of your blood flow from your veins into the water. Then we shall see what it has to tell us."

Jaime should have left. He knew it. It was the wise thing to do. But no one had ever accused him of being wise. He held his hand over the bowl, watching as his blood welled from the small wound and dropped into the water once, twice, and then again.

Madame Maggy pulled out a small plastic strip from somewhere.

"Look," she said, waving a hand above the bowl with a flourish while Jaime pressed the plaster to his still-bleeding palm.

Jaime looked. He expected to see a few small red splotches in the water, but instead the drops of blood had turned into swirls that looked almost like bright red snakes.

Madame Maggy tapped her finger - the same finger that she'd attacked him with - against the side of the bowl. The water swirled gently, and the snakes did too, slowly chasing each other around the bowl.

"You will travel," she said.

Well, that was disappointing. Jaime could have told her that himself for free. He'd already been to almost all of the Seven Kingdoms, and to Essos twice.

She tapped the side of the bowl again, twice this time. The snakes started moving a bit faster.

"And you will rise, so very high, and you will shine, golden lion of Lannister, as brightly as your house sigil, before one you trust implicitly betrays you, and you fall."

Jaime felt suddenly cold. "Are you saying someone's going to kill me someday?" he demanded.

The old woman looked at him unblinkingly, and tapped the side of the bowl three times in quick succession. She stared down at the snakes, which were moving rapidly now, seeming to twist and writhe in the water. "In the Riverlands you will meet your doom."

"So someone's going to kill me in the Riverlands?" Jaime felt sick to the stomach. He wondered what would happen if he threw up on the table and all over that bowl. If three drops of blood could do this, what could a stomachful of vomit achieve? Maybe at the very least it could stop the evil old crone's prediction from coming true.

The old woman didn't answer, but instead reached out and tapped the side of the bowl four times. As Jaime watched, the water turned completely red - the colour of his blood - and then black, and finally clear again. It looked just like it had when Madame Maggy had first poured the water from the jug. She picked up the bowl and emptied it into a bucket on the floor next to her chair.

"The waters have revealed no more," she said. "Good day, young Mr Lannister."

"What?" Jaime said. "That's it? You can't leave it there. Here, I'll give you more gold." He was already reaching into his pocket for some more dragons but the old woman shook her head.

"The waters show what they will, and only once. There is no changing it, and no explaining it. You may only learn the future in full by living it."

"Or dying in it," Jaime muttered. He got to his feet, and glowered down at her in what he hoped was a good imitation of Tywin Lannister at his most dangerous. Then, without another word, he turned and left, pushing the stupid crystals and bells out of the way as he went.

He emerged blinking into the sunlight, still feeling like he wanted to be sick. He wished he'd never come here. He wished she'd never come here. He could do something about that, he realised - about Madame Maggy being here in the future, anyway. The fair was on Lannister land and, well, a Lannister always paid his debts, didn't he?

He didn't look back as he moved quickly past the sideshows, and didn't stop, or even look to right or left, until he found Addam waiting for him near the front of the queue for the Kraken.

"You got here just in time!" Addam said.

"How was it?" Jaime asked.

"Brilliant! I can't wait to go again."

"Did you throw up afterwards?"

"What? No! Well, not much," Addam admitted. "I don't think there's anything left now."

"Good," Jaime said.

"How was the fortune teller? Are you going to meet a tall stranger in the future who's going to sweep you off your feet?" Addam asked, fluttering his eyelashes at Jaime.

Jaime punched him in the shoulder. Not really that hard but:

"Oww!" Addam complained.

"No strangers. Someone I know is going to betray me, after I travel and… rise and shine?"

"Sounds like too many early mornings to me."

Jaime ignored that. "And I'm going to be killed in the Riverlands."

Addam stared at him. "Wow," he said. "That's much cooler than I was expecting."

"Cooler?"

"It's better than dying in bed after a long, dull life. And anyway, it's easy to make sure that that last bit never happens."

"Is it?" Jaime frowned at his cousin.

Addam rolled his eyes. "She said it was going to happen in the Riverlands, right? Just make sure you never go to the Riverlands and you'll be fine!"

Jaime blinked. "That… makes sense," he said, surprised. Addam wasn't exactly known for being a deep thinker - or any sort of thinker.

The ride slowed and stopped before them, then. They waited impatiently while it emptied of people and then the ride operator opened the gate to let them in. They clambered into two seats at the end of one huge tentacle and strapped themselves in, and before long they were swooping up and down and around and around. It was exhilarating and terrifying and fun - but a small voice in Jaime's head kept insisting the whole time that Addam's solution to his problem wasn't really a solution. If Jaime was meant to die in the Riverlands then fate would make sure he would get there one day.

The Kraken started slowing down, and after it finally came to a shuddering halt, Jaime and Addam jumped down and staggered back out of the gate.

This time Jaime was the one who threw up all over his cousin's trainers.

#luthien's fanfic #jaime x brienne #eventually #nire-the-mithridatist

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