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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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celestialholz · 5 years ago

Photo

... I know, right? ‘Where the hell have you been, woman?’ I hear you all shouting from the rafters, and to that I say: the world has fucked me, and not in a good way. I don’t have a job any longer, I probably won’t have an apartment shortly, but what I do have is the ability to write good and ridiculous Qcard again thanks to the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and I’ll be damned if I squander it! For the uninitiated, the contest aims to find ‘the worst opening lines in all fiction that will hopefully never be complete', and naturally I took one look at this and went ‘inspirational, stunning, fantastic, drown me in it’ because I am absolutely wild. So with my grand thanks to the genius that is Mr Archer, welcome thusly to a little thing I like to called Timed Out. :D

Have missed this, honestly... (Selma, I know you’ll want in, and thus @q-card ^_^)

--------------------------------------------------

Q of the Continuum hovered in silence, peering dully through a galaxy-wide nebula of dimness, with the exact same grimace he’d been sporting since he’d accidentally destroyed the phenomena known as time, twelve centimetres ago.

“Well, it could be worse,” he thought aloud, rationale not quite keeping up with his inner mutterings. “Who even needs time? I’ll just... I’ll just pretend it never happened. No one will even notice, it’ll be absolutely fine!”

He sighed deeply, dispelling particles of nebula across light... inches? Furlongs? Something non-timey, he imagined.

His siblings were going to kill him.

“It could be worse, it could be worse,” he murmured as a sort of enigmatic mantra, wincing at the sheer chaos; trillions upon trillions of threads were scattered where they’d once led to individual worlds and lives beneath the blankness, the grandest and most horrific tangle of wool in the knitting box that was the universe. “I can absolutely fix this, completely -”

He tugged at sixteen ribbons simultaneously, all of which crumbled to atoms beneath his touch. Well, what was sixteen mortals having no perception of their own mortality, or their wedding anniversaries, or their children’s birthdays? Who would even notice? Certainly not them...

Were entities supposed to covet large quantities of stiff alcohol? Perhaps Jean-Luc would have something relevant, a nice dose of mental clar -

Oh stars, he realised silently. Merde!

He snapped instantly, summoning his beloved captain; Jean-Luc Picard stood stock-still, frozen in a moment, brow ironically risen as he stared unknowingly into the dust of shattered time.

“Well, mildly awkward,” Q began at a man who definitely couldn’t hear him, feeling a practice run may be in order. “You see, dear, this was the linear progression of the universe, but you know of course that I like to tinker whilst you’re at work...” He cleared his throat pointedly, started again - that would hardly pass.

“’What’s this, darling?’ I hear you enquire affectionately, not at all furiously... well, my precious captain, I’m glad you asked! This was time, and now it’s slightly... exploded, but -”

His head spontaneously fell into his hands, a moan of sheer despair rising in an anguished muffle. Maybe he should summon an impenetrable wall, hide behind it for the rest of... space, he assumed. Perhaps several billion metres’ worth.

Never mind his siblings, his husband was going to murder him fathoms before they even realised his cataclysmic idiocy.

What is it humans say, Q - ‘rip the band-aid off’?

He stood a little straighter, grimaced painfully, concentrated, and clicked; Picard’s physical form miraculously began to ignore the fact it was outside the time that no longer existed, though he seemed rather surprised at his position in open space, and even more astonished at what was before him.

“Q? What in the name of - where are we?” He snapped. “I’m rather in the middle of something -”

“Oh, I’m sure you were absolutely swept off your feet,” Q breezed, “but you’ve no need to worry about that any longer, I assure you... or possibly ever again.”

There was an awkward pause, charged by the most caustic of glares.

“What the hell have you done?”

He should vanish, Q knew in the protracted few millimetres, or send him home, find a way to fix it alone, because how in the cosmos’ name was a mere human meant to help with this, however extraordinary he was?

‘Communication is key to this relationship’s success, Q - if we are to flourish, you must explain your actions when necessary, and I mine.’ It had been whispered against his human shell in the dead of evening, a soft understanding, and he’d shivered against the silent vow of the promise his eyes offered.

“You’re going to grievously overreact, Jean-Luc.”

“That is a distinct possibility, yes.”

How very reassuring. He swallowed, spun the man to the madness before him.

“So, once upon a -” wonderful phrasing there, Q... “That whole ‘time’ thing, mon capitaine, the one you really enjoy following the regular mortal pathway of?”

Picard paled four distinct shades, and Q absently checked he’d oxygenated him sufficiently.

“That’s... time?!”

“It was,” the god corrected, wishing the thankfully intact fabric of reality would swallow him, essence and all, where he hovered. “It’s a comprehensive mess, now. We are thoroughly timed out. Out of time, my dear. Do hope your uniform’s a timeless fashion -”

“Fix it,” Picard commanded simply, eyes ablaze with the fires of supernovas. Q rolled his own in exasperation.

“If I could just fix it, do you think we’d be having this conversation?”

Fury and despair in flawless equilibrium met him, and he subtly shifted in discomfort.

“Are you trying to suggest that time itself is irreparably fractured?”

Good galaxies, they’d gotten to raised voices... “Well no, not quite. I’m trying to suggest that it doesn’t exist at all. No connections, threadbare, mostly gaseous... a comprehensive disaster, if you will.” He cleared his throat, chancing a glance at his livid husband. “You’re not appreciating the flippancy.”

“Indeed not,” snapped Picard. “You will fix this, dammit!”

Q was glad one of them had some level of confidence, at least. “I’m going to try very hard, Jean-Luc. What would be helpful is a good mortal perspect -”

Ah, he realised. I’m in love with one of those.

He levelled the still-enraged captain with his most curious gaze, glimmer of a smile tugging at lips. “How good are you at sitting still, dear?”

Picard pursed lips primed to throw the most toxic of statements at his usually beloved before Q tilted his head in deferrence.

“... Might be for several hundred light-kilometres... fear not, I faithfully promise to keep you alive!”

“Consider me reassured,” Picard spat, before letting loose a frustrated sigh that sounded rather more like a snarl. “Will you at least grant me a seat, then?”

-------------------------

“Right!” Q muttered three weeks on, having finally reestablished the concept of a week in the past several light millimetres. Seconds had almost reappeared - he estimated it would take an extra quarter-parsec or so. “Almost done, dear - did you perhaps need a break? I could chill some wine -”

No, Picard thought at him coldly, unable to do much else whilst he was viewing the whole of space-time through a wide-angled lens - ‘I need someone who understands linearity, dearest! An electron microscope of simplicity. I avow you shall forget everything you ever learned!’ He took a brief second to twitch just slightly, to pointedly sharpen a dulled glare of utter rage. Finish the damned job!

“Duly noted, just thought I’d ask...”

... He was definitely going to be sleeping on the couch for a good while to come, he knew in defeat.

---------------------------

“Well, that was educational,” Q had murmured eventually, withdrawing from his husband’s mental space completely at last. It had been two million, four hundred and nineteen thousand, two hundred and six seconds, a concept that finally made complete sense again. He could divide it down to the yoctosecond, round it up to the closest eon, meet himself in the middle and long-multiply the distance in working days from Saturn to the lower atmosphere of Betazed at warp three and a half.

It might well take at least that long for Jean-Luc to forgive him, he thought dully.

Well, at least they had the luxury of allowing him the time now - and if he snuck in silently next to him once he was asleep, altered his mass to nothingness to remain undetected, he wasn’t about to mention it.

“Goodnight, Jean-Luc,” he announced mildly, readjusting a blanket slung haphazardly across the couch.

“I hate you,” his husband replied frostily. “Lights.”

He knew better than to click them out. “Oh, you don’t.”

“I really wish I did, sometimes.”

Q grinned merrily, hiding it behind the covers of Shakespeare’s complete works.

#qcard #q #picard #tng #star trek #drabble #bulwer-lytton fiction contest #not finishing your killer openings is for sensible people tbh #when your husband's such a top that you're on the couch despite your omnipotence #celestial's back on her bullshit chaps \o/

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comic-is-trying-to-write · 5 years ago

Text

The Origin Of The Order [C2]

A dirt, dust, make-do kind of trail within what was suggested to be a near close-roofed forest, only to be guessed by the lighting, though. But in defence, that only made this scene all the most elegant yet calming. This home-like track was gently splattered and softy fluttered with a few, crisp, delicate leaves cross. The actual colours of this frame to be unknown at the first glance for a consequence of the gloaming and ghostly shading, signified it to be the nighttime of the current day, although only the pathway and lower portion of the stocks assuming to be rising, climbable trees appeared as visible. The elegant, content, natural scene with a soft yet very eerie chirp of birds throughout these seconds alongside a slight, home-like breeze was sufficient to cause one to feel nearly equivalent to a peace-filled standing. Of course, nothing can last forever. This calming and tranquillizing twinkling merely took place for nothing more than a few, valuable, fragile trices though. The reason that this pretty hum had been destroyed is that an unforeseen individual, weathering rust-coloured footwear casually scrolled through the soil trail in an imperceptible swifter velocity, producing clicks of a clean, stepping tick. The sound nor the kid beginning to enter into this frame, first into chapter, wasn’t really any kind of intimidation worthy but enough to be accustomed to transfer your attention to the youth’s feet as a result of the minor moving about, a contrast from the still scene. Besides, the child came practically forthwith into this scene, the amicable atmosphere only taking place for about a moment, nothing more than a few seconds…but the enigma is…who is the kid? Ivor? You’re still byside me, correct? A confirmed child with now exposed, closefitting and beige leggings hurriedly yet carefully, shifted his feet about in a revolution, alike to turning around, gazing behind themself, exposing the outline of their brightly toned hair, orange around the brim and a blazing-bright torch in grasped in hand. The kid assumed to be Soren underwent a near motionless position, turned around as if he was either calmly anticipating or looking for something. Soren’s statue-like stance occurred for a something of a second before a more pale-skinned boy who was assigned the appellation of “Ivor,” emerged into outlook, his eyes especially standing out from the close to complete tenebrosity, though Ivor’s more clutz-like entrance didn’t cooperate with his pride. The purple-eyed boy cautiously advanced to his rather ambitious associate in a more expeditious and guarded behaviour before the both of them walked onwards within the star-filled night, shadowing darker shades through the numerous trees, far overhead of any and all passersby in the beautiful purple-wooded and red-petaled forest that stretched out all the way to…well, no one actually knew. Not the children anyways. The twilight lighting maintained a delicate and elegant shading. What you think would be a premade path within the woods was actually a normal, grassy area, pushed aside commonly enough by children, adventurous enough to wander into the danger-filled forest to accumulate a sort of dirt passageway that was polished upon by the moon which was reaching its zenith in the sky, it being rather close to that day’s midnight…and within that midnight, Ivor and Soren came to yet another fork in the pathway of the forest, one on the left to seem to be leading upwards and presumably out of this woodlands, the opposing appearing to be directing even farther into that labyrinth that was the wilderness. Ivor for one, simply yearned to get at a gap from the forest, meaning that when Soren guided him to the route farther into the hinterland, that set off some solicitudes as Ivor looked a slight to the sky;

“Soren, I think that we’re astray…”

“Not to worry, Ivor!” Soren encouraged, enthusiastically turning around and walking backwards, eyes still on Ivor, “Trust me when I say that I’m aware of where we’re going!”

“We don’t even have anything to fend ourselves with…”

“I told you not to worry, Ivor!” Soren reminded, now walking byside of his purple-eyed friend, “Ellegaard and Magnus said that they’d bring wooden weaponry for us and that this other, given the name of ‘Gabriel’ is astonishing when it comes to wielding a sword…!”

“See, I’m all for safety in numbers, however…” Ivor desisted in an angry sigh, not sure of what he wanted to say, “Listen Soren, I’m just…not all that keen on going on a venture with two kids we’re just met and one that we haven’t…!” Ivor’s tone took more power with the last few words.

“No need to be paranoid, Ivor,” Soren reassured in a more subtly calming tone, “These children are experienced.”

“Experienced?” Ivor questioned in a sharp, almost angry tone, “They’re not even as much as a year older than us!” Ivor hissed aloud, hastily shifting his head a bit more towards his ginger companion.

“They said that they’ve gone exploring many times before, Ivor,” Soren mentioned, the tone of his voice rising with more enthusiasm, bringing his free arm up in a shrug swiftly, palm open, “Of course, they’re experienced!

“You cannot believe everything alleged, Soren…”

The moon and stars shimmed and glistened above with a shimmer throughout that night. The phosphorescence befell upon each and every citizen with a polished, gleaming sparkle and a more chilled breeze, releasing a blanket of mysteriosity in an eerie, creep yet swift as could be–the covers would drop upon both one’s who’re awaken and one’s who’re resting in a soft, soothing glitter and gleam of reassurance; still in help of the gaze far, far aloft. All of the luna glittered within its beautiful, twilight atmosphere as its pure white hue illuminates the range surrounding the exquisite spheroid, unreachable even from the inexperienced. The bells from the moon scream and scream the names of victims that left their families and dearest friends that day, deliberately or other. A subtle memorial each and every night howled and hummed a tone of admiration and reassurance as you look upwards and towards the sphere up above. You notice a scintillate in the luna as you gaze to the sky’s twilight. What’s that? Did you spot a sparkle? Well, what that signifies is an alteration of perspective. Although you’re concentrated upon the moon, you can hear Ivor calling out a question quietly that’s nothing more than one, single additional line from his viewpoint;

“Soren…? Do you also have this strange feeling that something bad will happen?”

- - -

“Magnus, quit it…!”

“Aw c’mon, Ellie!” A bird donning the shades of orangish-red and grey-like white hurriedly flies elsewhere in startlement and survival-instinct, as an outcome of something unclear being briskly tossed at the lifeform, “I’m just having fun…!”

Magnus’s tone was that of one that said to be an intentional pitch, trying to get under Ellegaard’s skin. The green jacket-wearing boy flipped a leftover wooden stick which turned out to be the object to cause the bird to panic, flying into the air, grabbing the branches before they proceeded to befall to the darkened, forest terrain in his left hand, a wooden sword in the other, turning to Ellegaard with a deliberately more ironic voice and an expression that was plainly intended to irritate the lass. It worked. Ellegaard couldn’t help but pointlessly retaliate with him, futilely attempting to make him cease to be such a nuisance. Then again, Magnus wouldn’t be Magnus without his astonishingly vexatious tendency. She brushed that thought off, grasping the wooden sword in her hand imperceptibly tighter, another two boarded blades secured through the belt around her waist, jacket beneath as she and Magnus sauntered through the forest, a nighttime atmosphere glowing, fainting onto the children and environment throughout.

“Your ‘fun’ is harmful to wildlife!”

“And your fun is looking at fancy lights as they burn up.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, bastard…! It’s actually very interesting, thank you!”

“Oh, I get it,” Magnus laughs that in a witty idea, “You’re just scared of the dark,” Magnus teased, slightly elongating the last word.

“What?” Ellegaard sibilated, confused.

“Doesn’t redstone give off a natural light?” Magnus jeers, somewhat lengthening the final term yet again, “I guess you just like it ‘cause you hate the dark…!” He hissing “dark” with an extra taunting and edge-like tone.

“Hey! A phobia of the dark is actually a sign of high survival-instinct…!”

“So…” Magnus replied, still in a gibing pitch but now in a wise-guy tone, “You are?”

“M-” A sharp snap of a twig cuts Ellegaard off, having her to reflexively, violently shove an arm to Magnus’s chest, a halting gesture. Her head snapped back to watch in front of herself, opposed to glaring at Magnus, “Did you hear that?” She asked in a firm and guarded pitch.

“Oh, yeah,” Magnus barbed, “It’s just the sound of a nerd changing the topic…!”

“No, you idiot,” Ellegaard stared fiercely at her ally, “It sounded like-!” A creeper carefully emerged from the brambles ahead of the duo, making a racket blatant enough for a warning to be said. The monster wasn’t looking at them but it was looking and the right-bottom as if the abnormality was attempting to watch its step, afraid of tripping to the ground. Ellegaard and Magnus both noticed the menace at near the same time, however, the damsel was the one to take action, abruptly tackling Magnus to the bushes, the right of the kids in a hiding and panicked movement, a hand loosely over his mouth so he couldn’t yelp out in startlement. As the pair duck into the hedges, glimpsing their heads out, anticipating to look at a single creeper, nothing else, they notice that somehow, a cluster of monsters surrounded the proximity. From skeletons, spiders, zombies, creepers, even an enderman or two…the monstrosities completely encircled the area. Completely. Not a foot was covered without a monster occupancy in the crepuscular shadows, a mysterious dim befell. Look at the monsters, eye-contact unnecessary, and the monstrosities would shoot in a gaze their frigid glare that perpetually intensified throughout nightfalls although it might’ve been a natural survival instinct, even if both of the human presence were children. Speaking of which…the kids…the poor, poor kids…they didn’t even have to tell one another to comprehend the fact that if a monster saw them, meaning every one of them…although they both had weaponry and understood how to use them…they’d unquestionably be dead where they stand. Unnecessary and obvious to be said, the kids instantaneously ducked out of sight in a reflex and survival-instinct. In fear, they pressed their backs up against the shrubs, desperately striving to remain out of view, paralyzed in apprehension for a few, heavy seconds, hallucinating a spine-chilling tune banging hard in their ears alike to how I’m positive that you would if your life was on the line, all so suddenly. The kids were scrambling through their minds for an plan to get out of the monster-infested area. Ellegaard tried the best she could to remain calm and keep her pride up but really the most logical plan she could think of underneath the panic that she was experiencing was to endure a sneaking escape as cunningly as they could be, tapping Magnus’s shoulder and motioning for him to follow her as they began to crawl to safety, Ellegaard with the lead. That was Ellegaard’s plan. Magnus’s? As the pair slithered past a slightly more vulnerable state, cause of the less poofy hedge, Magnus took out a small bundle of TNT, a mildly maniacal smile wore, him being presumably ready to inflame and toss it towards the monster-infested territory and he would’ve had if Ellegaard didn’t interfere and forcefully pull him by his sleeve, firmly directing him to follow her. Wordlessly, that is. Magnus though bitter, the kids proceed to creep their way past the monsters discreet as possible. As you move your eyes to the moon, far out of the forest, a close silhouette of another quickly fills the frame with a grey as they strive off.

- - -

“There it is!”

Magnus and Ellegaard proclaimed that phrase in sync of each other upon locating the cave’s entrance, Ellegaard pointing an arm and finger, Magnus louder than the lass. Despite what has the possibility of sounding like, given their tones, even after maybe half-an-hour, the duo still wasn’t at the opening of the hollow. The only reason the pair saw the cavern was because of the result of climbing higher, onto a more steeper kind of hill, the rise being more narrow and almost perpendicular than any kind of thick. Trees were to the left and right of the kids, so close that they had to clasp the plants to keep their balance; to look out at their destination. This moderate mountain was slightly off-trail and harder to escalate upon, however, both of the children were appreciative of a signal made of reassurance, confirming that they weren’t astray from the correct direction. Nonetheless, despite the fact that eerie fog encompassed the cavern and the night’s atmosphere generally, they had the ability to see two, clouded figures with blur. All that was visible was one form donning a light orange colour, more still than the other, the other with purple tints, nearly gleaming its violet hue, moving in circles. It has to be Soren and Ivor, yeah?

“Magnus, come on,” Ellegaard started, slipping down the hill, swiftly moving back to the trail before the moon sparks and shimmers, “Don’t you think that it’s best that we hurry? They’ve been waiting there for how long now?” Wonder what they’re thinking. After all, we are late.

- - -

“Soren, I feel that we should just go home.”

“It’s barely midnight, Ivor. They’ll come along.”

“You’re getting tired, so am I. I really am starting to doubt that they’re going to show up.”

“Ivor, please. Have faith in them.”

“We’ve been here for a while, Soren.”

“Have some patience, Ivor.”

“Think about it, Soren: they have no reason to come.”

“Ivor…”

“Way to have confidence in us!”

An enigmatic, loud, male-associated voice echoed and cut throughout this one, particular, already eerie, nighttime’s atmosphere, the sunless environment not encouraging to relieve or lessen the very brief, few flashes of panic, tension and dismay, cause of the abrupt sound. The duo was already guarded because of the fact that the nightfall caused monsters to generate, posing danger to; an obvious fact. The few footsteps, both before and after, disregarded, Ivor flitched in startlement of the sudden voice and took a step retrograde, a reasonable instinct, small portion of meadow beneath his near-black boots crushed to crippled. Soren instantaneously jumped up, onto his feet, his heart violently shifted alike to Ivor’s, startled of the call which pounded in and out of their ears, unforeseen and unexpected as could be. Though at a second thought, slightly familiar. Not that the pair had the ability to properly think about though because of the fact that at once, out of the twilight darkness, Ellegaard and Magnus emerged, both donning a confident still stance once they knew for a fact that they were visible to Ivor and Soren, judging by their expressions.

Ellegaard remarked, “The levels of distrust you must’ve had in us to think that we weren’t going to show up…!”

Ivor shifted the topic, “Yes well, what did take so long?”

“Oh, you should’ve seen it, Ivor!” Magnus over-exaggerated, “The biggest cluster of mobs you’ve ever seen jumped out at us, so we blew them up with a giant pile of TNT!”

Soren asked in a concerned tone while Ivor went silent, “W-what?”

“He’s exaggerating in a plain lie,” Ellegaard reassured, “He wanted to explode the monsters but I didn’t let him.”

“Well,” Soren laughed in concern, closed-eyes, “I’m glad.”

Ivor slowly added, “Blow them up…?”

“Yeah, check this out!” Magnus revealed a small bundle of TNT, he was carrying around with him, a smile wore, “I stole it from my old man.”

“I keep telling him not to play around with that stuff anymore…!” Ellegaard continued, childishly trying to get the explosive in hand and away from Magnus with both arms, the boy insisting her away with only one elbow, ultimately giving her arms a gentle yet firm push, Ellegaard finally ceasing her snatches;

“Yeah, but you never know when we might need it!” Magnus replied, tucking the item away and into his inventory yet again. That, of course, took place before Soren added a phrase ecstatically, a contrast to Ivor casting his opinion in, pessimistically.

“I feel that’s going to be useful!”

“I feel that we’re going to die.”

- - -

Whist the meagre kind of crowd commenced setting foot into the cavern which they had formulated and planned to explore throughout, completely prepared, equipped and enthusiastic…well, most of the children anyway. Ivor never failed to love the adventure aspect of things but never the whole: “we-could-so-easily-die” part. Despite that, he wasn’t really a coward. At least not visibly. He was just more cautious. Regardless, as I said, most of the children were excited to undergo and experience this thrilling adventure. They were prepared because of the fact that they planned in a more prolonged discussion several hours, beforehand. Beforehand in the sense that it was that day’s evening and only two of the children ever went into a cave beyond dusk. Or well, at all. Ivor and Soren would sometimes wander into a hollow now and then, but would never go far enough into a dugout that monsters had a risk of jeopardizing them, performing as a menace or hazard to the pair. In fact, nor Ivor, nor Soren could remember exterminating a single monster. Directly, at least. Regardless of the eerie hums of breeze, the cavern echoing throughout the seconds and soft clicks of decaying spiderwebs, Soren glanced behind the group and out of the cave, noticing something wrong;

“I thought you said that your friend of ‘Gabriel’ was coming? Did…he cancel?”

“Here we go again with the again with the enthusiasm…” Ellegaard sighed, “He’ll be a bit late. He needs to wait until his parents fall asleep and then he’d come running.”

“Oh, alright,” Soren apologized his pride still up, “Sorry…”

“Eh,” Magnus added, “I like your enthusiasm.”

“Oh…” Soren asked, genuinely a bit surprised, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Magnus teased, “Makes me seem better by comparison.”

“Magnus…!” Ellegaard objected whilst Ivor had a small and subtle case of laughter.

“Regardless…” Soren rolled his eyes, “Should…we not wait for him?”

“No,” Ellegaard answered, “He knows his way around this cave. He’ll find us.”

“Wait, you’ve come here before?” Ivor asked, bitterly, “It’s not really an adventure if it’s explored, after all…!”

Although Ivor was comforted and relieved that his unfamiliar, new friends recognized and knew their way throughout this cavern which, even though they’d merely presently penetrated, both Soren and Ivor already understood the fact that this particular dugout remained of rather great measurements and very open-ended as well. Regardless, the mental-map Magnus and Ellegaard possessed on the eerie location made Ivor consider him and Soren merely a little more protected. However, it also demolished and drained the enchanting adventure aspect of this unquestionably. After all, if it was thoroughly investigated and explored, they’d be accomplishing nothing but watching cobwebs snap, at that point. What would be the purpose of sneaking out, endangering the fact of getting in trouble with their parents, only to take a few-hour walk? That’s…not even anything that would be fun. Sure, playing around with friends is, but…this? They had a discussion about going into this cavern, why wasn’t the fact this place was already travelled throughout brought up? Ivor agreed to go on an adventure, not take a tour through a cave whilst it was nightfall. Ellegaard, Soren and Magnus all understood how Ivor only craved to come along to go on an adventure…! Surely this could be considered a trick, no?

“Nope!” Ellegaard explained with a bit of sass, “That’s where you’re wrong…! There are numerous spiralling paths farther through. We discovered a trail last time and didn’t take it,” The lass spoke before turning her back and directing the few in a walking action, “We can go down that way.”

The other three children followed their female friend towards a pathway in the particular cave, them naturally sauntering in something of a near cluster, obviously not the only sounds being of the to-be-expected clicks and cracks of the cave, though. That would clearly keep all of the kids both on-edge and creeped-out. Alternatively, the kids continuously conversated amongst one another regarding unimportant, frivolous topics in discussion. And while some of them wouldn’t admit it…it was nice. Soren and Ivor barely knew the other two, same for Magnus and Ellegaard, so getting to know the opposite duo had all of the four kids feel pleasant. They got to know things regarding each other’s interests, aspirations, general behaviour and personality, even learning some things about this unseen “Gabriel” kid--all such to-be-expected small-talk. Even if they weren’t technically on the enterprise just yet, they remained to have a lot of fun regardless. After all, these children are what? In between the age ranges of ten and twelve? Were you anticipating a different activity throughout the span of twenty minutes? Although at that point, the children were all very much content doing nothing but prattling with each other, even if they were in a cave…well, I say cave and, yes–there was some ore, here and there, but it was closer to bland than exceptional, for sure. The hollow was repeating and reappearing the likewise minerals, over and over again: Iron, coal, the very sporadic redstone or lapis, but as I said, far from anything truly outstanding…Not that the kids took notice on that over something else unquestionably questionable: they hadn’t been attacked or encountered anything aggressive since the children went down into the cavern. However, that didn’t mean that the children couldn’t overhear the noises of monsters crying out, occasionally interrupting the children’s conversations. It kept them all on-edge but the fact that the monsters were never visible, nearly made the children feel alike to the belief that they were going insane. In fact, the single actual indication of any kind of life that they saw was a bat purposelessly fluttering about. Other than each other, that is. I mean, not that they were complaining that they weren’t being attacked, of course. They liked it, obviously. Well…nothing can last forever.

- - -

“Just think, Ivor…! Soren addressed, “Someday, perhaps we’ll find diamonds or something else terribly exciting! You could finally make that enchanting table that you’ve always dreamed of…!”

“Yes, that’s true….” Ivor said as he glanced away, slightly hushing his voice, “But what I actually want is a brewing stand…It’s just that I never got a blaze rod, therefore…”

Magnus perked up, offering his assistance, “Dude, if a blaze rod is all that you need, I’ll just take one from my old man…!”

“Well, don’t steal from your father, Magnus…” Ivor responded, “If it’s stolen then I don’t want it…”

“Don’t mind him,” Ellegaard shook her head, “He’s a griefer at heart.”

“And I’m proud of it!”

Magnus’s response prompted assorted reactions to the ragtag, three other children, amongst the byside of him. Despite their distinguished personalities, feedback towards his phrase matching, what they had in alike with one another concerning their responses was the laughs. Verbal-filler or unhidden audible, Magnus was simply…Magnus and everybody knew that nobody in existence maintained the capability to prevent him. Him or his self-confidence, that is. In hindsight, it’s most beneficial that you perpetually acknowledge and appreciate any and all content and peaceful moments, displaying gratitude and being kind to your allies, even if it requires your pride to drain. You never know if that occurrence is going to be the final one you’ll have for a while. That, or ever. I guess that the only way for some people to learn is the hard way, hm? Once the four got sauntering throughout again, torch in Soren’s hand, a few flares provided to Magnus and Ellegaard, it didn’t require a prolonged measure of time for the more diminutive type of party to arrive at a more open-ending portion of the cavern, two pathways, one on the left opposing to the right, developing as a fork in the hollow, all members of the assortment gazing curiously down both passageways. Most of the members, anyways. Magnus-being-Magnus, he swiftly steered himself into the center of the range, looking at his companions, hands on his hips;

“Alright, guys! Time to split-up!”

Everyone, even Soren, of all people, simultaneously chanted back with a; “What!?”

“You can’t seriously think that we’re going to scatter, can you?” Ellegaard asserted with a threating edge, Ivor joining the argument as he took a step forwards;

“Are you aware of the increased chances of disaster striking if we are separated?”

“It’s not like we’re completely scattering, Ivor…!” Magnus notified, “You’ll have Soren with you and Ellie’ll be with me…!”

“Magnus,” Ellegaard quarrelled, “Of all of your dumb ideas…death is on the horizon, you know!”

Magnus informed, “Hey, if you guys wanna experience the *real* thrill of adventure then this is the only way!”

Ellegaard gibed, “Yeah, the real thrill of death!”

“You told me to stop exaggerating?”

“That was genuine,” Ivor defended, “This is just going to get us all killed.”

“Oh, come on!” Magnus retaliated, “All, you, Ellie and Soren, are completely incapable of defending yourselves! You’re lucky that there are not four paths!”

“Not helping, Magnus.”

“Don’t worry!” Soren said very quickly, nearly interrupting Ellegaard’s and Ivor’s simultaneous phrase, the three hauled the argument and looked at the ginger, “We can do this!”

“Can we though?” Ellegaard mocked, turned back and glaring at Magnus.

“Ellegaard,” Soren assured, “We will all be fine. Really…!”

Both Ellegaard and Ivor sighed a heavy exhalation of contemplation. Soren was respectable. Everyone respected him. Even if they were scarcely associated with him. Including Magnus and Ellegaard. Couldn’t act against him. Nobody actually knew why. Perhaps it was how enthusiastic yet slightly native he could behave…perhaps it was a simplicity that it was his general personality that was something that you could acknowledge and appreciate…perhaps it was the fact that it was evident that he was eternally trying the best that he could, even though, at several times, his best was never enough…you truthfully couldn’t place your finger upon it. Couldn’t. Genuinely, nobody recognized and understood why precisely Soren could easily be a favorite of someone. All that people understood was that Soren’s personality was having himself to appear as a rather respectable character. Towards ones around Soren’s age and within his friendship-group, that is. Actually…you know something? Many years, hindsight thought, having an image of Soren that was donning the characteristic of ”respectable” is actually rather funny. Very funny.

“If your path forks off, head back here,” Ellegaard explained, “We’ll meet hither in approximately an hour and then head back up, alright?”

Soren smiled, clapping his hands together whilst Ivor wordlessly nods, “Understood!”

“Good luck, guys!” Magnus encouraged, newly inflamed torch in grip as he vanished down the right-sided path, Ellegaard pausing for a few trices, giving her new friend’s bothered and worried expressions before she disappeared down the course with Magnus.

Ivor’s sighed yet again, “This is a terrible idea…”

“Not to worry, Ivor,” Soren reassured, shortly before he commenced his way to the shaft on the left-hand side of the area, Ivor following. “I’m positive that we’ll be fine!”

Ivor merely grumbled as he and his befriended companion progressed and ventured into the tunnel, the extremely plausible threats, menaces and dangers that of monstrosities that were more than certain to be prowling and lurking all throughout the unarguable darkness up ahead and onwards, oh-so-patiently anticipating to unforgivingly attack the incapable, anxious. Sneak. Scare. Slay. Straight ahead. Straight ahead to where he and Soren were directing themselves towards. The vibrations and faint but noticeable sounds, cracks and snaps of the unknown echoed all throughout, bouncing off the wall of both the tunnel and Ivor’s mind. Soren overlooked it. Soren overlooked a lot, didn’t he? The abnormalities creeping in within the eerie cavern kept Ivor to safeguard himself but still as incompetent as he always was. Well, guess you’ve changed in some ways, huh Ivor? Drastically. That’s apparent. That strange, tingling feeling and atmosphere compressed up against Ivor’s fingertips, polished off with his abhorrence of the fact that he knew that he was more than vulnerable and that he couldn’t fight even if he needed to battle to shield his life. Foreshadowing. Chapter hindsight. The fear-filling authenticity of the situation was negatively sparking and overfilling Ivor’s mind. Overfilling his mind. Overfilling his mind.

“And I’m positive that we’re going to die.”

- - -

Magnus alongside his companion “Ellegaard” proceeded to progress throughout the ominous, unexplored passage, their chosen footwear clicking and clacking in contact upon the decrepit stone damaging aloud underneath their adventure-driven heels, the atmosphere donning the sensation of eerie-ness and creep, most advisable is to endure as safeguarded and on-edge as possibly achievable, the mysterious environment to act of the cause of the children to advance onwards whilst they function themselves as the personality traits of both skepticism and prudence of the darkened section, though a smaller vicinity was illuminated, result of an inflamed torch that Magnus had a grasp upon. The inflamed a blazing, bright shade; almost appearing as a perfect golden chroma. The controlled flame radiated a warm, home-like heat under the circumstance that a particular vicinity was entered, though proceeding to an exceedingly nearby proximity would perform alike to a lingering, consistent, unmerciful injury and pain, however, I’m sure that you already knew that. Not all about the beacon had acted of dangerous, however, for the flame would let the children take glances throughout the scratched walls as they sauntered into the darkness ahead.

“Hey, Magnus…?” Ellegaard suddenly asked, ”Are you thinking about Ivor and Soren?”

“Ellie,” Magnus replied, Magnus-being-Magnus, “I wasn’t thinking about them four-and-a-half minutes ago and I was standing right next to them.”

“Oh haha,” Ellegaard sarcastically remarked, taking a brief pause, “…Do you reckon that they’re safe?”

“Why are you so conce-” Magnus got cut off by Ellegaard who sprang to speak a bit fastly;

“Did you see how anxious Ivor seemed?” She resumed her regular dialogue pace, “And how desperate Soren acted?”

“Uh…” Magnus didn’t really notice anything off about the two, meaning that he wasn’t really sure what to say, so he decided the good-old-phrasing of ‘honesty is the best policy,’ “No. Nope. Not one bit.”

“Hm, “Ellegaarrd took a very brief moment to think with her verbal-filler, “Okay. Well, regardless of what-”

“Was that a pun?” Magnus joked, a laughing tone.

“What?”

“Re-Elle-gaard-less?”

“…No,” Ellegaard directly and quickly dismissed, her eyes sending off a slight sparkle, “Anyways, regardless of what you think, don’t you wonder if they’re okay…?”

- - -

Soren and Ivor seized a leap upwards, onto a ledge naturally constructed of smooth, clean stone, estimated by the sound that it made once the duo, exclusively consisting of males–in the future–pounced and onto the edge meaning of which they now possessed an exceptional perspective of what they had discovered, Soren and Ivor a few feet, opposing sides of one another, although the likewise balcony that they had jumped onto, Ivor for one, very imperceptibly, unnoticeably struggling to recapture his equilibrium, instantaneously positioning himself with a single palm clasped against the left-hand-side of the hollow. Assumed, I mean. Their near-to-complete-sable silhouettes performing of visible from this, aforementioned viewpoint, it being so darkened to the point of where both of their afar characters thoroughly blended and merged within this specific, crazy-inducing, one-of-a-kind, open-ended location, the darkness portraying itself alike to the two children, waring the physical status of being unquestionably surrounded in blackness from each and every perspective. Encompassed in blackness from each and every perspective. Choked in darkness from each and every perspective. Both of the boys felt a cold breeze of wind pass by them. They overlooked it. After all, discovering a colossal ravine could distract you like that.

Ivor’s laughed with excitement, subsequent of them sliding their way down the ledge, “This is amazing!”

“And I bet Magnus and Ellegaard are merely on some winding path getting nowhere!” Soren called out cheerfully as they walked towards the edge of the ravine, Ivor kneeling down and looking down the valley, numerous minerals radiating against the dim, stone background, Soren still standing, ”This is wonderful!”

Ivor smiled, “Evidently!”

“Should we go back and tell the other two?”

“Ssssssssss…”

It wasn’t even necessary for the children to grasp as much as a glimpse behind them in order to know specifically what had soundlessly slithered and undesirably crept up behind them, sending shivers down both of their spines once they had been notified in the cause of the quiet yet very noticeable hissing, breaking the mere clicks of the cave, not cutting through the air though, the sound remaining so quiet. Although both of the children shared the characteristic of not possessing many occurrences with creepers, a cluster of several or other, adults had informed and would perpetually warn the children of monsters lurking throughout the world of terror, school educating kids concerning the distinctive varieties of abnormalities, signifying that both Ivor and Soren were both all-too-familiar with the hiss. Even if they weren’t taught on the subject of monsters–a monstrosity that would explode, close to instantaneously upon entering its proximity, a painful detonation, especially towards characters with lower health points and protection, the after-effects of the eruption causing people to end up flying, would plausibly register the unique and formidable creature as notorious, would it not? Soren called Ivor’s name out shortly after he instantaneously shifted aside, out of view, though he didn’t fully revolve his feet about to look aback at the creeper, respectively crept behind them. He didn’t look behind himself. He merely turned and swifted himself to a distance wordlessly;

“Ivor!”

An explosion sound echoed throughout the cave. A smokey output implied that the creeper had shattered. Presumably being the cause of Ivor being sent flying. Ivor had been aware of the abnormality at the back of him but flight-fight-or-freeze overwhelmed Ivor to cease himself and halt in a frightened status. Soren did endeavour himself to give a warning to Ivor but he informed him just as the monstrosity fragmented into oblivion, Ivor forcefully plunging over the ledge as result; The cold stone that he only barely and much more than fortunately grasped his fingers upon made his heart sense the sensation of chilled in a consequence of him being overpowered to hang overhead of the void that was the gapping ravine, Ivor respectively being incompetent to aid himself. The bottomless abyss separating the unvisible ground from Ivor’s being, stretched as faraway downhill as the eye had the ability to be seen. The aforementioned reality made Ivor feel as scared to death as could be, which is nothing short of entirely fair. After all, if he lost his clutch upon the chilled cliff, which was already into an unbound, unfixed status, he would unquestionably perish and there’d be no alternative possibility to survive. That’s something that’s set in stone;

“S-Soren…!” Ivor cried out, “H-Help…!”

The situation even panicked Soren and he was as much several feet away from Ivor who was at the edge of the ravine. The fact that Soren was the only one who was nearby and witnesses to Ivor’s downfall–Ivor directly addressing him, made Soren feel like he had an obligation to rescue him. Which he did. However..he was so, so scared, indicating that he slowly made his way to Ivor but he was only able to start to creep over to Ivor for maybe a second or two because suddenly, something slim and fast darted in front of him, forcing Soren to let out a gasp and jump away, hurting himself somehow. He couldn’t even process where he was before something else hastily shot the stone beside him, sounding a distinctive noise. The unexpected movement had Soren to look to the right of him, now being able to realize that he tripped onto the floor, near to a wall of the cavern after losing his balance…and that what had blasted to the side of him was an arrow. An arrow from a skeleton. He got a sick feeling. He looked up. And almost screamed. Several skeletons were standing feet away from him, one of which was preparing to discharge another missile at him, another being rather close to the ginger boy, other few shooting their weaponry at Ivor’s fingertips, luckily missing–Ivor letting out light yelps of panic every shot. Soren quickly slid away from the monsters while he was stooped down onto his feet, swiftly skimming his hands along the ground with him, making sure he didn’t stumble, an arrow nearly hit him shortly before hastily getting into a standing position once he was apart from the corner and closer to the ledge they had initially come down from to the ravine from, though Soren still shook and slowly retreated aside in fear.

“S-Soren!”

Soren’s heart collapsed into his stomach in a guilty sentiment of Ivor addressing his scarf-wearing friend to assist him. If Soren would help Ivor, that would be the single, possible way Ivor could chance-ly survive. Soren was shaking in a debate with himself about what to do. After all, a several-hundred-feet, lethal fall isn’t exactly too much of a laughing matter. Soren couldn’t really concentrate on his emotions though because before an oh-so-familiar hissing sound emanated from behind him, Soren’s appearance visibly showing a panicked response upon noticing both the sibilance and sense of presence at the back of him. His nervous trembling solely intensified, though his expression changed quickly as another loud explosion thundered throughout the dust. All that Soren was capable to see in between the black and the reality swapping in and out was a loose figure of his hands. That was the good news. Bad one? Soren could see in his peripheral vision the feet of monsters immediately and quickly approaching him. It sent shivered down Soren’s spine instantly, having him to second-naturally slide and dart to the north-right, far enough for the ginger to be at a position where he was at some sort of dirt tunnel that seemed to be explored, judging by dim torches among the walls via around the corner. Literally. Soren glanced into the hollow in…self-preservation. That’s what he'd like to say, anyway. Monsters were approaching both him and Ivor; Ivor being to left swinging overhead a fatal fall…Ellegaard, Magnus and “Gabriel” were nowhere to be seen…Ivor’s death was on the horizon…Soren did want to help Ivor but everything was going so, so terribly and his own life was in danger to such, such an extent… Probably the first time that the group learned about Soren’s coward tendencies. Yet another case of “really-haven’t-changed-one-bit-have-you?” I suppose that some people never learn, huh?

“S-SOREN!” Ivor yelled out, “Y-You…!”

Ivor’s scrambling, motivation to reacquire his foothold did nothing more than solely intensifying. Now he was his single, only, exclusive hope. Not Soren. The ginger wasn’t courageous enough to assist him. To help him. To prevent him from dying. Soren didn’t reckon that he was competent to fleetingly and cautiously dash through-past the hollow and to the cliff-like ravine, purpose to aid Ivor without unwantedly getting himself lacerated, one way or another. He unquestionably understood the fact that Ivor was going to die if he was overpowered to take the deep plunge to the ground but…he couldn’t help him. Anymore, that is. Ivor was violently clambering his hands about, desperately attempting to hook himself back onto the platform, however, it was hopeless and he was eventually interrupted with chipping sound and vibration, somewhat complicating the more pale-skinned boy. Why on earth was there a chipping noise? He discovered the reason sooner than he’d prefer. Ivor collapsed into a soundless atmosphere, a slow-motioned climate crumbled into, in the terror of the much more than the horrific reality that he already knew would happen:

He was falling to his death.

Over. Gone. Dead.

A hard, dusty surface is all that Ivor could feel.

“Quick, go back through that tunnel!”

Ivor flitched in as a result of a loud, unexpected voice. Even in his death-frightened status, the specific person’s vocals impressed him. It verbalized as so confident and assurable, but assertive and commanding. An individual that already merited Ivor’s admiration obligated him into springing up onto his feet and thoughtlessly hastening over to a familiar dirt-and-stone-made tunnel, not even thinking about taking as much as a fleeting glimpse behind himself. It felt like a never-ending goose-chase to the cavern even though it took as much as a few seconds to dart over to the shaft, but he made it eventually. That’s when then and only then Ivor settled together what had happened. How he survived. He did feel a very brief pressure on his wrists before he must’ve been swiftly projected onto the stone platform; Last mystery being...who exactly saved him? The voice sounded nothing alike to Soren’s. For that matter, not Ellegaard’s or Magnus’s; although the lass could already be ruled out as a result of the voice being of male-associated. Ivor was completely out-of-breathe. He kneeled down on one knee, attempting to take a halt on his hyperventilation. Before he even knew it, the boy who had presumably rescued him, came rushing into the dusty drift, barricading the route back up with dirt, him taking a breath of relief.

“Thank you…” Ivor quietly responded, “You saved my life…”

“It’s no problem...” The other replied, “...Though…I do have to ask why you weren’t with Magnus and Ellegaard in the first place. You’re either Ivor or Soren, and I take it that the other kid that went running is the latter…” His voice lost interest as he said the final few words, him starting like he was talking to himself, thinking.

“How…do you know us?”

“I was supposed to come here and meet you all here but my folks took a long time to get to sleep, making it harder for me to sneak out of my house...”

“So…” Ivor had a small smile break across his face, “You’re Gabriel then…!”

He nodded, “That’s me. But the question still remains, how come you scattered with Magnus and Ellegaard?”

“It was Magnus’s idea.” Ivor paused, talking even lower, “…None of us really wanted to…”

“Magnus…” Gabriel glances away, sighing angrily, talking under his breath and to himself, barely being audible, “Where does that boy get these ideas…”

“You…said that you saw Soren?”

“He went running past me and when I tried to stop and talk to him, he kept running…Not sure if he even noticed me,” Gabriel sighed, “Some friend that he is…Didn’t even try to help you.”

“Yes, well…that doesn’t matter now.”

The darker-skinned boy disapprovingly sighed and shook his head left and right before beckoning his hand a gesture and walking off, indicating for Ivor to accompany–to follow behind him. Notably, they didn’t actually have anything of a conversation with one another. They did nothing more than simply advancing alongside each other in silence. Gabriel seemed to be thinking, so Ivor didn’t want to try and start a conversation. It may or may not’ve taken a while but eventually, Gabriel and Ivor perambulated into the original location of were Soren, Ivor, Ellegaard and Magnus, scattered cross two different routes. As soon as they got to the aforementioned area, Magnus and Ellegaard had already been anticipating and waiting for them, Ivor and Gabriel catching them to be sitting on the chilly, grey-stone ground. Unrelatedly, an interesting fact is that Gabriel and Ivor appeared to have entered from the pathway that Ellegaard and Magnus had been searching thoroughly, an adventurous atmosphere in tow. That detail was a bit more of a nitpick, though. After all, it could easily be resolved by simply saying that there was an alternation entrance to that path. Regardless, upon the boy and girl duo noticing their previously not-to-be-seen friend’s arrival, they both perked up, around the same time and smiled, providing themselves with their customary, friendly welcomings;

“Gabe!” Ellegaard greeted, jokingly and playfully smiling, “Took long enough.”

“Pff,” Magnus scoffed at his female comrade, “Least they’re here.”

Ellegaard laughed before her snicker fizzled out and turned a more earnest tone, “Uh...speaking of people being here….where is Soren?”

Gabriel’s expression turned from an unnoticed stern one to a genuinely surprised and confused one, “He didn’t come through here?”

Magnus went silent, looking somewhat troubled. Ellegaard took it upon herself to ask, “He’s not with you?”

Ivor suggested, “I guess that means that he went back up to the surface…?”

That was a reasonable conclusion. After all, that was the single alternative direction he could’ve proceeded through without travelling into an unfamiliar territory. Back at the entrance of the cave was their only indication and trance of where Soren could’ve advanced–disappearing into. Although every one of the four children aspired to get back to the opening of the cavern and back to their individual addresses as quickly as they possibly could’ve–possessing a half of a motivation to avoid getting in trouble with their guardians once they arrived at their home. It took them approximately twenty minutes or so of ascertaining their trail back to the sunlight. Or lack of it. The fact was because of the reality that by the time that the kids had reached a proximity of the surface, nearby enough to glimpse at the sky–it portraying a beautiful amalgam of colours with the varieties from a flushed, pink hue to pretty violet shade–a chroma of a sunrise, the moon of inscrutability beginning to set among and past the distant horizon. As the children approached the threshold of the open-ended hollow, they took a notice upon a kid who looked rather sad; him being huddled near the entrance. A trice or two after attending a glace at the boy and looking at him, about to speak something to him, the ginger perked up upon quickly shifting to an aware state of their audience. Yup, it’s Soren.

The boy with a scarf stood up, swiftly rushing over to his pale-skinned friend and the rest of the group by default, “Ivor!” Soren sort of cut Ivor off–his purple-eyed comrade was about to speak before Soren confusedly asked a valid question, “Ivor, how did you…”

“I saved him,” Gabriel spoke up, “I saw you running away and tried to ask you what happened but you didn’t stop.”

Soren underwent a heavy wave of guilt collapsing onto him. Drowning him. If Gabriel didn’t happen to be in proximity, Ivor would’ve…he would’ve...he would’ve been gone. Be dead. Can’t see him. Can’t have interactions with him. Out of his life. Permanently. Because of him, “Ivor, I am so sorry…”

“S-Soren…?!” Ivor noticed Soren’s tremble in his voice, “That…” Ivor didn’t know what he wanted to say, “Soren, that doesn’t matter anymore,” He quickly reassured.

Soren let out a weak laugh, acting as a coping mechanism, “I just froze up…I was so scared,” Soren’s voice hushed, “I wanted to help you, Ivor…I really did…”

“It’s alright, Soren. I’m fine. That’s all that matters now,” Ivor returned, trying to shift the topic to something a bit more light-hearted, “Besides…It’s thanks to Gabriel that I’m even still here,” Soren recognized that Ivor was desperately trying to exchange the subject–he appreciated how his purple-eyed friend allowed him to move on from his more notorious moment. Soren briefly sighed, and turned to Gabriel, happily greeting;

“So…I take it that you’re Gabriel then! Thank you for rescuing my friend!”

“It’s no problem,” Gabriel replied with a shaking his head with a satisfied smile. It was comforting. Although that didn’t last for too long because he suddenly turned to his other two friends with a more serious glare;

“And Magnus, tell me, why in the world did you think it’d be a good idea to send these two off alone!?”

“I tried to tell him, Gabe!” Ellegaard informed, a tone, “I really did!”

“Hmph…” Magnus turned away, a bit angry though he tried to sound genuine, “Sorry that I almost got you killed, Ivor.”

“Um…” Ivor replied, also trying to sound sincere in his response, “That’s alright.”

Ellegaard looked up to the sky’s shade because she unnoticedly wandered to the surface, a hand pressed against a wall of the cave entrance, “It’s almost morning. We should head back or else we’re going be in trouble.”

“We all should hang out sometime again,” Soren suggested, “We don’t have to explore or do anything all that exciting. Summer is merely for being inactive, so let’s just have a lethargic day…!”

Magnus agreed, “I’m down with that.”

“Yeah,” Ellegaard accepted,” No reason not to.”

Gabriel positively replied, “Mm-hm!”

Ivor added, “I, for one, am a bit adventured out for one day, so relaxing would be nice…I guess.”

“So it’s settled!” Soren loudly exclaimed, “We’ll all get together sometime and simply play!”

- - -

The four other children vocalized various remarks, not necessarily walking away immediately after; they were still having too much fun. As the sun proceeds to an apparent position, it lets out a flame-bright incandesce, a more dramatic sign-off. The gleaming star equalled the–quite literally–breathtaking day with an attention-grabbing spark. After all, lives had been endangered that day. Soren and Ivor were essentially peer-pressured into coming along with their new friends into the open-end hollow. In fact, the actual adventure itself was terrifying. Horrifying. Petrifying. Though Soren and Ivor both had a disastrous time, it was a matter of “then again.” After all, at least Soren and Ivor wouldn’t easily forget their first, genuine cave-adventure experience…or “caving” as some termed them as. Well. I mean…It would be remembered via a notorious memory. That doesn’t matter now. In a reasonable desire, they plainly yearned to relax and take a bit of a break from any sort of life-risking adventure. Besides, death-frightening occurrence or not, Ivor and Soren’s new friend of “Gabriel” did seem to be rather likeable. I mean, anybody who saves someone’s life can seem to be rather likeable. Furthermore, the elements of the current day were actually rather peaceful at that particular, specific moment and whether some of the children would admit the fact which was shared between each and every member of their small group of misfits or not:

They were friends

For now, at least.

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pokemonruby · 6 years ago

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When you see this, post a snippet of your W.I.P

i saw @hillbillynoir do this so i thought, why not? i’m a bit nervous since i don’t share my writing often and i’m not sure if it’s even good, but we’ll see i guess.

i haven’t actually started working on my main project yet so this is a snippet from a side-story i’m doing for it instead. hope you guys enjoy it regardless!

A masquerade. The Duke’s proposition didn’t necessarily excite Jeanne, despite her blue-blooded heritage. She’s always viewed such festivities as a mere latitude for aristocracy to flaunt their eminence, coupled with derisive murmurings toward the “plebeians” whom received an invitation. Each envelope was stamped with the gold authenticity of the Bellerose household, in the shape of that aforementioned flower. Regardless of her stature as the Duke’s daughter, no less—Jeanne distanced herself from the waltz, choosing to reside against a column instead. A symphony guided their movements upon the stainless dancefloor, likely coordinated by her father’s personal orchestra. Truly, his lust for extravagance alarmed the noblewoman at times, whom lacked her father’s grandiose perspective; however, appreciation underlaid the ostentatious display of wealth. After all, the ball was initially hosted to commemorate the achievements undertaken by her ragtag group of “champions”—and Jeanne cannot selfishly disregard that fact, nor the appreciation in her father’s eyes.

It filled her with pride, needless to say.

As pairs of nobility gyrated alongside the capricious tempo, Jeanne sipped from a glass and attempted to discern the identities of her own group; that is, behind the ornate masks—gifted alongside the invitations. However, such was indistinguishable amidst the garish crowd��though, Seiryu and Aubrey had likely claimed the buffet for themselves. Regarding the whereabouts of her beloved Eden, and their courageous leader, Leo—it was unpredictable where the duo’s mischief had shepherded them, but she needn’t worry. Seiryu had commented upon her “uptightness” prior, and thus—Jeanne will temporarily forsake her reputation as the household’s heiress (and their self-proclaimed “mother”) to indulge the festivities.

Hopefully they’re not getting into too much trouble, though.

“—Oh, milady!” Unfortunately, Jeanne hadn’t eluded the gaze of her conscientious bodyguard—taken off-guard by his sudden exclamation, nigh resulting with the spillage of Jeanne’s wine. A man dressed in her garrison’s uniform approaches Jeanne with a sturdy expression—a black tunic with golden embellishments, specifically alongside the garb’s trim and the frilly epaulettes. It’s tucked neatly into a pair of identical trousers, coupled with knee-high boots and a wide beltline—occupying that of a decorative scabbard. Gold buttons crosshatch the breast area of his uniform, whilst a pair of fabric necklaces overhang the top. Clyde’s personal magnetism has attracted the ogles of distant noblewomen, whom are blissfully unaware of the pristine ring lying beneath his glove. Regardless, Clyde ignored their enthusiastic giggling and continued with a gentle smile; that is, directed at his mistress. “.... I daresay you’ve taken my breath away, milady—you look positively gorgeous! However, I’ve always known how well green suits you.”

Jeanne’s own gown resembled the luster of an emerald; voluminous, with ruffled layers draping over the garment’s skirt, the front adorned with lacy, black arrangements. Underneath lies a corset that enabled the gown’s bodice to accentuate Jeanne’s proportions; whilst it hugged her ribcage to a near—suffocating point, Jeanne understood it was essential for her attire. Lastly, her features were obscured by a decorative mask—quintessential for the ball’s theme of illusiveness; ornamented with greenish feathers at the top and coupled with golden embellishments around the eyes and mouth. Although Jeanne wasn’t fond of the overelaborate design, Clyde’s blandishments brought a smile to her face—distinguishable even beyond the wall of fabric. “I’m flattered, Clyde.... However, I must say I’m surprised that Finley isn’t by your side tonight. Is he not one for such occasions?” She inquired, glancing briefly at the ring hidden underneath Clyde’s glove—which he rubbed thereafter with a giddy smile.

“Oh, that man is stubborn. I attempted to pry him from his worktable for one night, but he was practically glued to the chair! And I picked out the loveliest tuxedo for him as well....” Clyde cupped his cheek in a deep rumination; likely imagining the aforementioned garment on his handsome fiancé, due to the rosiness that emerged. An undignified string of giggles eluded the dutiful knight; however, Clyde eventually jolted from the daydream with a deepening red. He hastily cleared his throat. “I—ahem, pardon me. Anyways... it’s surprising that you haven’t asked Miss Edith for a dance yet, milady. Why have you resigned yourself to this corner, exactly?”

“Ha, well... she scurried off somewhere with Leo, so I needn’t interrupt their activities for the sake of a dance. It would be, uh... discourteous of me to do that?” Clyde was seemingly dissatisfied with his mistress’s response, his eyebrow quirking in suspicion at the abnormally flustered Jeanne. His intense gaze placed an indecorous shade of pink unto Jeanne’s face, and she toyed anxiously with a lock of loose hair. It served as a distraction from the butterflies gnawing at her stomach, at least. The heiress rebutted Clyde’s skepticism in a meek tone, whilst avoiding his sharp eyes. “.... What is it, Clyde? You—you don’t suspect I’d lie about something so... trivial, right? B-because it’s for the exact reason I’ve stated, I-I swear on the Bellerose name!”

“Of course, milady. It certainly isn’t because you’re too embarrassed to ask Miss Edith for her hand, right?” It was undignified for an individual of Jeanne’s descent to lose composure; however, a rather... degrading squeak was pulled from her throat upon the imputation. Although it was mere playfulness on Clyde’s behalf, he chortled at his mistress’s agape expression and gave Jeanne’s shoulder a pat like he understood. In a sympathetic tone, he stated. “Now, now, Lady Jeanne—you mustn’t succumb to diffidence around the woman you love! After all, if I hadn’t gathered the courage to propose to my dearest Finley... well, I wouldn’t be in possession of such a lovely ring.” As usual, Clyde’s guidance is merely a transition into his endless appreciation for the aforementioned blacksmith— their fondness pure, yet indubitably mawkish. Jeanne continually fought the urge to roll her eyes as Clyde showcased the handmade ring. It was smelted by Finley himself; a pristine onyx at its core, embellished by silver lining. Regardless of his immodesty, Jeanne smiled.

“.... You moon over your fiancé like a schoolboy, Clyde. Nevertheless, I must applaud your credence... I don’t believe I’d be able to approach Ede—Lady Edith so calmly. And request a dance, no less.” Jeanne admitted. Although the endearment harbored between Jeanne and the cheerful princess was hardly secretive, she still hasn’t mustered the confidence to publicly flaunt their relationship. After all, Jeanne’s reputation as the group’s iron-willed tactician was merely a façade to guise her insecurities—rather self-conscious beneath the mask of equanimity. Edith combated her partner’s apprehension with reassuring words; however, was respectful of Jeanne’s discomfort with outward affection and never thrusted the possibility unto her.

It was unchivalrous of Jeanne to persistently decline intimacy before the kingdom’s eyes, however, whilst Edith longed for her touch. Edith, seeking clandestine kisses amidst the deep woodland; Edith, tiptoeing around the campsite to rejoin Jeanne underneath a mountain of blankets, and they’d bask in the starlight within each other’s arms. Alas, her woolgathering was interrupted by a nudge against Jeanne’s shoulder—by Clyde, hilariously, whom became lost in his own ponderings about love a moment before. Instead of a predictable jest from the knight however, he gestured at the mass of partygoers that temporarily substituted their waltz for the sake of conversation—and Jeanne hadn’t realized his intention until she overheard a pair of familiar voices.

#summary: jeanne is a massive lesbian #i wrote more for this but i thought it was getting too long for a 'snippet' so!#and for those unaware this is for my story 'paradise's end'. if you're curious about any of the characters or the plot itself hmu! c:#writing tag #feel free to leave feedback if you'd like. in fact i encourage it!#very nervous though. i am not very confidence in my abilities so i apologize if it's not good whatsoever

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broomballkraken · 6 years ago

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Here it finally is, The Scholar and The Huntress, Chapter 8: Enamored!

Wellspring was a beautiful gem of an oasis in the middle of the harsh desert that sprawled across the Sunlands. H'aanit was relieved to be out of the unforgiving desert for now, and Linde was especially thankful. The group of travelers dispersed for the time being, off to take care of their own business. Linde immediately made for the closest patch of shade, which happened to be under the leaves of a large palm tree, right next to the sparkling water of the oasis.

H'aanit followed her feline companion, and sat down next to her as Linde sprawled out on the cooler, shaded ground. H'aanit sighed and closed her eyes, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Even after taking off her fur scarf, gloves, and boot warmers, the heat was still unbearable. She was quickly realizing that she preferred the chill of the Frostlands over this.

"Ah, you both look comfortable there. Do you mind if I join you?"

H'aanit smiled as she looked up to see Cyrus standing before her with a broad smile on his handsome face. She nodded and he sat down, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he ran a hand through his slightly damp hair. He had adjusted to the heat by packing away his coat and vest, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up passed his elbows. It wasn't often that he was seen this dressed down, and H'aanit thought he looked as attractive as ever.

"My, my, this heat is quite relentless. Are you holding up okay, my dear?" Cyrus said, looking at H'aanit with concern in his eyes as he took her hand in his. She chuckled and laced their fingers together.

"I wilst be fine. I worry moren about Linde." H'aanit said, her brow furrowing as she glanced over at the snow leopard, who was lying on her side, panting heavily. Cyrus grabbed his travel pack and pulled out a bowl. He stood and made his way to the oasis, filling the bowl with the clear water.

"Here you are, Linde! Of all of us, you are probably the least fit for this kind of weather." Cyrus said as he set the bowl in front of her. Linde meowed happily as she sat up and eagerly lapped up the water.

"Thanketh thee, Cyrus." H'aanit said, smiling when he sat back down, and she leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek. He flushed and chuckled, taking her hand once more and lifting it to his face so that he could place a kiss on her knuckles. The simple gesture never failed to make her heart race.

"You are most welcome, dearest. I myself was never a fan of such heat."

"Aye, 'tis the same foren me. The Woodlands never gotteth this hot. I findeth it harder to hunte in the heat. It always feelen like my energy gets depleted faster."

"Indeed. That is probably due to the heat causing you to become dehydrated faster. Be sure to drink lots of water while we are traversing the Sunlands. I do not want you to collapse and hurt yourself, H'aanit." Cyrus gently cupped H'aanit's face with his hand, and she smiled and leaned into his touch.

"I wilst be careful. Thou should also taken care. Thou tends to be clumsy enough normally. I woulde hateth for the heat to maketh that even worse." H'aanit said, and Cyrus laughed.

"Of course, my dear. I will most certainly watch my condition closely." he said, his eyes locking with her own, and the look of adoration he was giving her made H'aanit's heart flutter. She slowly leaned over and brushed her lips against his, feeling his lips curl up into a smile against hers. The tender kiss was far too short, however, as a voice suddenly interrupted them.

"Okay, you lovebirds! It's time to get down to work!"

Cyrus and H'aanit quickly pulled away from each other, faces flushing red with embarrassment. Alfyn stood before them, grinning as he laughed heartily.

"Golly, y'all are just too cute sometimes, ya know?" Alfyn teased, and H'aanit pouted at him as she let Cyrus help her to her feet.

"Er, yes, well, what is the plan for today, then?" Cyrus said, clearing his throat and brushing the sand from his clothes.

"Well, Olberic found out that his friend is right here in Wellspring like he was told." Alfyn said, pulling out two waterskins from his satchel and handing one to H'aanit and one to Cyrus. "The problem is that the town is having a hell of a time dealing with the lizardmen, and Olberic's friend went off alone to confront the hoard. Y'all wanna come and help us thin 'em out?"

"Aye," H'aanit said, nodding eagerly. "Lizardmen aren wary, mistrustful creatures who wilst attacketh all whom wanderen into their domain. 'Tis inevitable, this conflict, whilst thy oasis is the only abundant source of water."

"Indeed. We must protect the townspeople." Cyrus added, and they all headed off to find Olberic, while mentally preparing for the fight ahead.

Cyrus had always thought that H'aanit was an exceptional fighter, both with her favored bow and her deadly hand ax. Now that he had fully come to terms with the fact that he was madly in love with her, it was as if he was watching her fight from an entirely different perspective.

H'aanit shot an arrow at a charging lizardman, hitting him square in the forehead and he dropped dead to the ground like a ton of bricks. She quickly pulled out her axe and parried a spear attack from another. Her green eyes blazed with a fiery passion, and she let out a snarl as she swung her ax hard across the lizardman's neck, cutting his head clean off. She paused for a moment, panting heavily as her narrowed eyes darted around in search of her next victim. She tightened her grip on her ax, her arm muscles bulging, and she charged off to expedite the death of another unfortunate lizardman.

Of all the varied words in his vocabulary, Cyrus could not think of a word strong enough to express how amazing a woman his lover was. He continued to watch her with wide eyes, his jaw hanging open with awe, and he felt like he was in some kind of magical trance-like state.

"Hey, loverboy! Quit oogling at your lady and help us out!"

Cyrus was snapped out of his stupor when Alfyn jumped in front of him, blocking the attacking lizardman's ax with his own. Cyrus jerked his head back and forth to assess his surroundings, only to find that another lizardman was charging right at him from the opposite direction. Cursing, Cyrus readied an ice spell, but he wasn't sure if he could cast it in time. His eyes reflexively shut in anticipation for the attack, but it never came.

"Thou ist hopeless, Cyrus."

Opening his eyes slowly, Cyrus found H'aanit standing before him, bow in hand, and the attacking lizardman was dead at her feet with an arrow through its chest. Gazing around, Cyrus saw that the remaining lizardmen were retreating. He looked back at H'aanit and smiled sheepishly, his face flushing red with embarrassment.

"Er, sorry, my dear. I was, uh, a bit distracted by your, uh, utter domination on the battlefield." he said lamely, and Alfyn barked out a laugh as H'aanit sighed and shook her head.

"You really do have it bad for her, huh Cyrus? You're even smitten with her when she's killin' a bunch of monsters!" Alfyn said, nudging H'aanit with his elbow, "He's a keeper, all right. Hang onto him, H'aanit."

"I wilst be sure to, if Cyrus manages to not getten himself killed like an idiot first." H'aanit said crossing her arms over her chest as she raised an eyebrow at Cyrus.

"Yes, yes, I see your point." Cyrus mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Anyway, I think I did see Olberic run off ahead, we should make haste and catch up to him before he disappears into that cave."

"Aye, letten us be off." H'aanit said, and the trio ran off after their warrior friend, hoping that he hadn't ran into trouble along the way.

"...And then while Cyrus was making heart eyes at H'aanit, he almost got his head lobbed off with an ax. He's lucky ol' Alfyn was watching his back!"

"...Can we please just forget that ever happened?" Cyrus asked, sighing as Alfyn just laughed and slapped Cyrus on the back, almost spilling his mug of ale.

"Not a chance!" the apothecary said, laughing along with the rest of the table as they cheered and continued with their drunken conversations. They had managed to vanquish the leaders of the lizardmen, and it looked like the hoard would not be as much of a problem without clear leadership. H'aanit, Alfyn, and Cyrus had returned to the tavern to meet back up with Therion, Ophilia, Tressa, and Primrose, and they all apparently had an exciting day as well helping Therion scope out the black market for that elusive dragonstone.

"Hey, where's Olberic? I thought he'd especially be here celebrating." Tressa asked with a frown. Primrose chuckled and traced her finger around the rim of her mug.

"Oh, dear Tressa, Olberic and Sir Erhardt are probably busy getting...reacquainted with each other." the dancer said, smirking mischievously. Ophilia blushed a bright red and looked away, busying herself with downing the rest of her drink. Therion snorted and shot Primrose a wink of understanding, and Alfyn seemed to realize something mid-drink that caused him to spit his ale over the table. Cyrus and H'aanit shared a look of confusion, and Tressa smiled and nodded.

"Ah, that's right! They haven't seen each other for, what, almost ten years now? They must have a lot to talk about!" the merchant said excitedly as she looked back and forth across the table.

"I have a feeling that they won't be doing much talking, Tressa, dear." Primrose said, and Tressa tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Huh, why?"

Primrose opened her mouth to speak, but she shut it and instead leaned over, whispering softly into Tressa's ear. The younger woman blinked as she listened intently, and she suddenly blushed furiously and jerked away from Primrose, her hands flying up to cover her face.

"Oh, OH! That's, um...I-I need a refill!" Tressa sputtered as she shot out of her seat and practically ran up to the bar. Primrose and Therion burst out laughing, and Ophilia shot them a disapproving look.

"Whatten ist so funny?" H'aanit asked, and Cyrus shrugged and shook his head.

"I really have no idea. We must be missing some key information here."

"Indeed."

The party of seven continued to drink the night away, and eventually H'aanit stepped outside for some fresh air, and to check up on Linde, who was curled up next to the wall just outside of the door to the tavern. H'aanit sighed contently as the brisk night air hit her skin. She did like how much cooler the desert nights were compared to the unbearable heat during the day. Linde purred happily when H'aanit reached down and scratched her head. H'aanit turned back around when she heard the tavern door open, and she smiled when Cyrus stepped out into the night.

"Ah, hello my dear, how is Linde fairing?" he said, crouching down to rub Linde's belly, and the snow leopard purred loudly.

"She ist doing better, nowen that the sun ist set." H'aanit said, taking Cyrus' hand when he stood back up. He smiled at her and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"That is good news. Are you alright? Did you drink too much?"

"Nay, 'twas just getting hot in there. I just needeth some fresh air 'tis all."

"Ah, very good."

A silence fell between them, and H'aanit noted that Cyrus was fidgeting with his bangs, and he was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. She tilted her head at him, confused.

"Cyrus? Ist something bothering thee?" she asked, and he glanced at her and sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.

"It's just...My mind keeps wandering to the battle today. I put you and Alfyn in danger because I couldn't stay focused on the fight at hand. I feel guilty about it. My carelessness could have gotten either of you injured, or worse. Normally my focus is unparalleled, but I cannot help myself sometimes, as I am ever so enamoured with everything that you do." he said, lowering his head in shame. H'aanit smiled and chuckled softly as she reached up to cup his face, turning his head so that he was looking at her again with wide eyes.

"My love," H'aanit started, and she chuckled when Cyrus' cheeks flushed a bright red, "thou should indeed worketh on they ability to focus, but knoweth that I wilst never letten any harm cometh to thee, notten whilst I draweth breath. Cyrus, thou meaneth so much to me. Youren the one person that I loveth the most in the world." He stared at her silently for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he finally found his voice again.

"Oh, H'aanit," Cyrus said, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a loving embrace, "God's know that I am the luckiest man in all of Orsterra, to have earned the love of the most beautiful and the strongest woman in the land. I love you, so, so much." He rested his forehead against hers, and H'aanit's heartbeat quickened with delight.

"I loveth thee too, Cyrus." H'aanit whispered, and she quickly closed the distance between them, pressing her lips eagerly to his. Cyrus chuckled as he moved a hand to the back of her head, deepening the kiss. Gods, he still just could not believe how lucky he was. The guilt that had been plaguing him melted away in the wake of H'aanit's honest words. He made a silent vow to himself to do one-hundred and ten percent better in all aspects of his life, just to make sure that he was a good enough man for her, because she did indeed deserve the best that he could give.

The two stayed in each other's embrace for a bit longer, until Linde suddenly meowed loudly, and Cyrus pulled away, noting that the snow leopard seemed to be staring at something behind him. Turning around, Cyrus smiled when he saw Olberic and Erhardt, looking like they had been trying to sneak past him and H'aanit and head right into the tavern. Curious.

"Ah, good evening Olberic! And Sir Erhardt as well!" Cyrus said. H'aanit took a step away from Cyrus, clearing her throat as she nodded at them, her face flushed a bright red.

"Er, hello Cyrus, H'aanit." Olberic said, and Erhardt waved in greeting. Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it as he narrowed his eyes. Something was odd about the two warriors.

"Is something wrong? You two seem a bit on edge." Cyrus asked, and H'aanit blinked at them curiously.

"N-No, why would you think that?" Olberic quickly protested, and Erhardt shrugged nonchalantly, avoiding meeting Cyrus' gaze.

"Aye, nothing odd going on here."

Cyrus studied the two other men carefully. They looked exhausted, their clothing was a bit disheveled, they both had bruises on their necks, and they seemed quite nervous, like they were hiding something. Ah ha! It was obvious now to Cyrus what was going on, and he chuckled as he clasped one hand on Olberic's shoulder and the other on Erhardt's.

"I see, I think I know what happened." Cyrus said, nodding confidently. Olberic's face flushed a bright red, while Erhardt cleared his throat and continued to look anywhere but at Cyrus. "Really, you two, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Even warriors of your caliber can be bested by meer street ruffians at times."

A few moments of silence followed, and it was broken by Erhardt snorting to stifle a laugh, and Olberic shot him a glare as he nodded stiffly.

"Y-yes, that is indeed what happened. Some...clever thieves managed to get the jump on us is all. We, er, managed to take care of them." Olberic said quickly, avoiding looking Cyrus or H'aanit in the eye.

"I doth not thinketh thy ist correct, Cyrus." H'aanit chimed in, raising an eyebrow at Olberic, and then at Erhardt. The two men flinched as she continued, "These two woulde not haveth this much trouble with common thugs. What obviously happened ist that...they ran into some bolde lizardmen that hath ventured too closeth to the city. Ist that correct?"

Olberic and Erhardt both sighed with obvious relief, and Cyrus tilted his head, confused. He then looked at H'aanit and smiled. Her logic was sound; the lizardmen were indeed stronger than any human thugs, and they would have a reason to target Olberic and Erhardt, as they were the ones who vanquished their leaders.

"Ah, yes, that is what actually happened." Olberic said quickly, "I apologize for lying. I just, er, didn't want to alarm you two. That is all." Erhardt chuckled and Olberic turned around and shot him a glare.

"Oh, no harm done. I'm just relieved that you two are alright." Cyrus said, and H'aanit nodded in agreement.

"Yes, well, we should get some ale to celebrate." Olberic said, grabbing Erhardt by the arm and quickly dragging him into the tavern without another word. Cyrus watched them go before turning back to H'aanit.

"I had thought that the lizardmen would have ceased to be a problem after their leaders were disposed of. It is a good thing that those two intercepted them when they did."

"Aye, they must hath been outliers from the main group."

"Indeed. You are so astute, my dear." Cyrus smiled adoringly at H'aanit as she blushed.

"'Tis nothing. Thou ist much better at analyzing situations than me." she said, and Cyrus shook his head as he took her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"You do not give yourself enough credit, my darling. But come now, let us go back inside and enjoy some more drinks, shall we? We make for Marsalim tomorrow, so we should enjoy ourselves while we can." Cyrus said, and H'aanit nodded, a fiery determination blazing in her eyes that Cyrus deeply admired.

"Aye, youren right." she said, and they both ventured back inside, where they were greeted with the sight of Olberic and Erhardt sitting at their table, with Primrose grinning deviously at them, Therion sporting a shit-eating grin, Tressa and Ophilia both bright red in the face and avoiding looking at the two warriors, and Alfyn was already gathering the necessary amount of ale for a drinking contest.

"Oh dear. This will certainly be an interesting night." Cyrus said, gulping nervously as Alfyn spotted him and beckoned him eagerly to join him.

"Indeed." H'aanit said, smiling as she shook her head. She would focus on her mission tomorrow, when they would finally be setting out to hopefully corner Redeye and save her master from his unfortunate fate. For now, she would enjoy the company of her companions, and the man that had completely stolen her heart.

#octopath traveler #cyrus albright #h'aanit #cyrus/h'aanit #fanfiction #i fucking love these two omg #also hell yes cyrus would get distracted watching his stronk badass girlfriend kill the shit out of monsters #you can't change my mind #Jade writes fanfiction

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