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robininthelabyrinth · 1 year

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The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 5

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

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Lan Qiren woke up at the usual time for his sect, which was well before most people in the Nightless City were up and about.

Most, though not all, of course. It was said that in the aptly named Nightless City, there were always people awake and about their business no matter what time it might be, its corridors always illuminated until it seemed as though the sun truly never set. Lan Qiren had found that to be true, bright lights and constant activity both, and today the Nightless City was living up to its magnificent reputation. Even now, early in the morning, he could hear the distant sound of footsteps in the corridors outside his courtyard, the distant clatter of things being moved around in preparation for breakfast, the murmur of voices pitched low to avoid disturbing those who were still sleeping.

The ceaseless noise had driven Lan Qiren up the wall the previous times he had visited the Nightless City, but now…now he found himself grateful for it.

At least I know I am not alone.

The feeling of relief probably wouldn’t last more than a month. Indeed, half a month was more likely, since Lan Qiren generally disliked noisiness as a rule…but for the moment it was fine.

He was fine.

Mostly.

Lan Qiren got out of bed and began going through his usual morning routine, or as close as he could get to it in this strange new place. Luckily, he had been a guest in the Nightless City several times before, albeit always previously in the guest quarters, and this meant that he had some notion of where things were placed, rendering the location not as strange as it could have been. In fact, previous visits meant that he had already come up with a modified version of his morning routine that he could feel comfortable with, ensuring that he still had rules to follow and was not completely unmoored. The familiarity was good.

It would be enough to postpone the inevitable meltdown he was going to have once he realized he was trapped here permanently for at least another day or two.

(He would need to make a plan to deal with that. Somehow. Without thinking too much about it, lest he trigger it early – he didn’t want anyone to see him having an undignified emotional fit like that, not if he could prevent it.)

At least everything seemed to have gone well with Wen Ruohan.

Well, as well as he could possibly expect, anyway. It was Wen Ruohan, after all.

Wen Ruohan, who was now his wife.

Lan Qiren had no idea what to do about that.

He was married.

He still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

If Lan Qiren started thinking about it for too long, his brain felt as though it was starting to overheat, so full of thoughts that he couldn’t keep a single one straight in his head – and yet he couldn’t not think of it, either. Multiple attempts to puzzle it through had not helped: he could accept the initial step, could acknowledge his brother’s decision to send him off to marry out as a husband to some other family, but anything beyond that simply refused to process. And yet the facts were what they were, and the truth had to be confronted.

He was married.

He had a wife.

That wife was Wen Ruohan.

How utterly bizarre!

Lan Qiren had not been lying the evening before, when he had told Wen Ruohan that it being him that Lan Qiren was marrying made the whole thing easier. That his brother had somehow managed to convince Wen Ruohan to agree to be his bride – though in retrospect, now that he thought about it, it seemed to him to be more likely that it was Wen Ruohan that had done the convincing, given his penchant for schemes designed to increase his power though obscure means known only to himself – solved any number of Lan Qiren’s most pressing concerns about losing face for his sect, which had been his primary worry. Lan Qiren had never asked for much for himself, but he would not let his sect be shamed by him, and Wen Ruohan had the status, power, and rank to make such a match into something less than hideously embarrassing. After all, a sect leader couldn’t possibly marry out to another sect; that was even more beyond the realm of the possible than the idea of Lan Qiren, a Great Sect’s second son and heir, doing so.

Even Wen Ruohan’s personal reputation for engaging in all types of wicked plots was useful.

Simply because Wen Ruohan was involved, once the news of their marriage spread, people would react to the revelation with suspicion, rather than mockery. Such a marriage proposal was so incredibly unlikely, so incredibly unorthodox, that everyone looking at it would immediately get the wrong idea about it. After all, if Wen Ruohan were involved, it couldn’t be something stupid. No, it had to be something clever, diabolically clever, the way so many of Wen Ruohan’s schemes were – he was always coming up with subtle ploys, the sort of things that could easily be missed, the sort of things that made sect leaders around the world react to everything he did by worrying themselves to death looking for hidden angles. No matter how ridiculous it was, they would always react that way. And that meant that the rest of the world wouldn’t see this marriage as the deliberate humiliation Lan Qiren knew his brother meant it to be, but rather as some sort of insidious political move.

Which, in fairness, it probably was in some way Lan Qiren wasn’t seeing right now.

But that was fine. If he had to pick, Lan Qiren preferred to be thought of as a partner in crime in some terrible conspiracy, rather than embarrass both himself and his sect by admitting that it was all because his brother hated him.

In truth, Lan Qiren still didn’t understand why his brother hated him so much. They had never spoken of his increasing dislike of Lan Qiren in the past, before he had decided to retreat into seclusion. Lan Qiren had been bound by filial duty to respect his older brother like a father and was in no position to raise any questions, while his brother had never chosen to explain. Certainly they’d never spoken after his seclusion, his brother refusing to even speak to him through the door when Lan Qiren made his regular reports on the state of the sect. And once he’d emerged from seclusion…

Lan Qiren had asked, of course.

He’d demanded an explanation during those two terrible times that they had spoken, or tried to, but his brother had never answered. Lan Qiren had asked, even begged, for some small glimmer of understanding, but all of his appeals and questions had been rejected, every one of them met uniformly with deaf ears and utmost disdain.

Disdain, and hatred.

Hatred enough to send Lan Qiren into the power of a man notoriously known for his instability, for his potential insanity, a man known as much as anything for being a would-be conqueror, a merciless tyrant, a sadist and a torturer…

Ironically, none of that took away from Lan Qiren’s profound sense of relief at finding out that the person he would be marrying was Wen Ruohan.

That was something he would not be telling his brother, not now, not ever, Lan Qiren thought, shaking his head a little at his own ridiculousness. His brother wanted him to suffer, he knew that much, but his brother had also never understood how Lan Qiren worked, had never really bothered to try to understand. Above all else, Lan Qiren hated change, unexpected deviations from his routine and from what he understood to be normal. For him, Wen Ruohan was a known quantity, or at least a familiar one, and that made him far, far better from Lan Qiren’s perspective than the alternative of a complete stranger.

Wen Ruohan…Lan Qiren knew him. He knew how to manage him, how to deal with him, or at least at minimum he had already developed a set of strategies for coping with his presence.

He hadn’t really had much choice.

After all, Lan Qiren had been a sect leader, or acting sect leader, of a Great Sect for ten years, and Wen Ruohan, as the sect leader of another Great Sect, had been his peer, one of the few who could stand on equal footing with him. Their status alone meant that they had regularly been required to interact during the discussion conferences. Sure, Wen Ruohan’s personal behavior was regularly reprehensible, rendering the man barely worthy of the begrudging respect to which his position entitled him, but he had been there, consistent, inevitable.

Familiar.

Lan Qiren had invariably been placed side by side with Wen Ruohan during the yearly discussion conferences, given that the standard seating order was Wen, Lan, Jiang, Jin, Nie, reflecting the order in which their clans had achieved prominence as sects in their own right. Lan Qiren couldn’t even escape him later in the evenings, when the seating was traditionally rearranged to reflect commonly understood personal preferences – the Great Sects were still grouped together, because everyone assumed the most powerful would always want to mingle first and foremost with each other.

These days the order for the more informal gatherings was almost always Jiang, Jin, Wen, Nie, Lan, putting Wen Ruohan between the two sects he was least likely to start a war with and pairing up the two sets of allies, Jiang and Jin on one hand and Nie and Lan on the other. It was an arrangement that made logical sense, but which also unfortunately left Lan Qiren no choice but to routinely endure conversations involving Wen Ruohan if he wanted to have the chance to talk with Lao Nie.

Lan Qiren had always liked Lao Nie, and thought that he was liked in return; he had even flattered himself to think that they were friendly beyond the mere politeness required by their sects’ alliance, though he was never entirely sure how much of that was true and how much of it was mere wistful thinking. But Lao Nie also liked Wen Ruohan, and Wen Ruohan had always been possessive of him in return, likely a result of their not-so-secret off-and-on affair that had always seemed highly likely to end in disaster for them both. Every discussion (and every discussion conference, for that matter) had therefore by necessity involved all sorts of interactions with Wen Ruohan, each one carefully judged and thought out in advance to avoid instigating a disaster of Lan Qiren’s own making.

Lan Qiren had never thought there would be a day he would miss such petty political considerations.

Perhaps it was simply that he had not been naturally talented at politics, with his single-mindedness and tendency to take things literally, his inability to read people (at least people above the age of adolescence, after the point where they’d learned, as he never really had, to properly dissemble), and so he had had to work very hard to develop the skills he’d needed just to survive. As much as he’d deplored the circumstances that had forced him to have to learn them, he’d still been proud of those skills. They represented how far he’d gotten through effort and hard work, how thoroughly he’d developed himself, how much he’d grown – it had shown him something of the man he’d made himself to be, that there was something in himself that he could be proud of, no matter how much he’d disliked the actual business of politicking itself. And now, all of a sudden, the reason for having those skills had been taken away from him...

It had been a shock, provoking a feeling of loss, even though it wasn’t something Lan Qiren had wanted in the first place. It was as if a peaceful man who had been forced to take up arms as a soldier was later one day informed that his sword would now be melted down as useless scrap, with all his hard-won achievements tossed aside as if they were little more than worthless rubbish – even if that man had once dreamt of putting down his sword voluntarily, it didn’t make his hands feel any less naked after that sword had been snatched away.

Well, luckily Lan Qiren was not in quite as much of a bind as he might have otherwise have been. Those hard-won political skills of his would still be useful to him here, in the Nightless City. He was married to Wen Ruohan, after all – the man schemed as he breathed, as constant as any rule Lan Qiren had ever known. There was simply no way that Lan Qiren was going to escape from politics here in his new married home…

…he was married.

Married! Him!

Lan Qiren rubbed his temples, shaking his head. He simply could not get over the strangeness of it. He, Lan Qiren, was married, with a wife of his own (albeit a very fearsome one), a household of his own…!

No doubt the very notion of it would make Xichen laugh and Wangji scowl –

Oh.

Oh, no, that hurt.

The mere thought of his nephews hurt, the pain visceral and very real, causing Lan Qiren to curl into himself as if he had just been stabbed through the heart with a dagger.

His boys, his boys – maybe they were not truly his, not his sons in any way respected by the world, but he had raised them himself, not trusting anyone else to help him. He had laughed over them, he had wept over them, he had raged over them; he had been there with them through every twist and turn of their lives to date, experienced with them every joy and every frustration. They had always been in his thoughts, no matter what else he was doing. He had seen Lan Xichen’s first steps and heard Lan Wangji’s first word (which to no one’s surprise had been “no”). He had guided their first steps into the world of cultivation, he had led them in playing their first musical notes, he had walked them through their first sword moves, his hand on theirs as they wielded a slender branch in enthusiasm – they were his boys.

And they were gone.

No, that was an inauspicious thought. They were not gone, they were not dead. They were merely half a world away from him, being kept away from him by his brother’s vicious hatred and society’s rules that gave him, as their father, the power to do as he liked with them.

Lan Qiren missed them like dying.

He’d missed them every single day of his forced seclusion, and he missed them still now. He missed them in every moment, with every breath and every heartbeat, and that he had been able to maintain his composure until now was only through having forced himself to forget, even for a little, that they had been taken from him.

He didn’t even know how they were doing. Xichen, Wangji – were they well? Were they suffering? Did they miss him as well, or had they already started to forget him?

Lan Qiren swallowed hard and opened his eyes, which had at some point closed. He found that he was sitting, without remembering deciding to do so or to make any move to get himself there. At some point he had fallen down onto a bench and curled in on himself, softly making a sort of keening noise, as if he were some wounded animal.

This was not acceptable.

Do not grieve in excess. Do not covet what is others’. Do not be unreasonable.

Lan Qiren felt very much like being unreasonable.

His brother hadn’t even let him bid his nephews farewell before he’d been sent away. He hadn’t even been permitted to see them, not even from a distance..! Before, when he’d been in seclusion, he at least had had the comfort of knowing that they were not far away from him. He could imagine them going about their daily chores along familiar paths, visiting the classroom and the training yard, and knowing his schedule as well as he did, he could even associate the different types of day with when they were doing each activity, and in so doing feel close to them.

He could even, in a moment of weakness, recall the image of Lan Wangji kneeling in the snow outside the very same house that Lan Qiren had later been trapped in, and wonder if Lan Wangji would do the same for his uncle as he had for his mother. The thought had been painfully sweet at the time, though of course once Lan Qiren had realized that he’d almost wished for his nephew’s suffering, however inadvertently, he had felt tremendous guilt and sentenced himself to punishment at once, writing copies of the rules on familial harmony until even his hands had been sore.

Even that cold comfort was gone, now.

Now that Lan Qiren was no longer in the Cloud Recesses, he had no hope of seeing his nephews, not unless he could somehow convince Wen Ruohan to bring him along to the discussion conferences – and even then, who knew when the Lan sect would next be hosting one? Such a thing was at his brother’s discretion, now. There was no longer any opportunity for Lan Qiren to spin futile fantasies of his nephews finding some sort of excuse to make their way to the gentian house, where there would then be some flaw requiring him to end his seclusion early – a fire, perhaps, and in light of the risk to human life he could leave and rush to them, take them into his arms for one last embrace –

Wishful thinking.

Pointless.

Qishan was so very far from Gusu. There was no possibility that Lan Qiren would see his nephews by chance here. He would not see them for a long time – maybe years – maybe never again –

Stop it!

Lan Qiren savagely rapped his hand against the edge of the table, using the pain to distract himself from his terrible thoughts. He could not allow himself to fall into a state of despondence and depression as he had in seclusion, even if that meant he could not permit himself to think about his nephews. He was in the Nightless City, firmly in the grasp of Wen Ruohan, the most dangerous man alive, and Lan Qiren wasn’t stupid enough to think that a mere marriage ceremony made the man any less of a threat.

At least Sect Leader Wen does not appear to have noticed any discrepancies in my behavior that cannot be explained by the fact of our marriage. He must have realized from my behavior that it came to me as a surprise, but at least he seems to be blaming my brother for that...as he should. I should have been told, I should have been given time to prepare..!

There was no point in thinking about it now.

Lan Qiren rubbed once more at his temples. He didn’t actually have a headache, not yet, not the way he usually did after weeping his eyes red as so often happened when he thought about his nephews these days, but it felt almost as though he should.

Do something productive instead of moping, Lan Qiren instructed himself sternly. When you have nothing else, you have your rules and self-regulation. Maintain your own discipline. Remember, diligence is the foundation.

Right. He’d already wasted half the morning doing little more than thinking. He should do – something.

Lan Qiren tried to move on with the next step in getting ready for the day, only to realize he had already finished them all without thinking, even his morning exercise. He was now wholly prepared to get started with his day…only he didn’t actually have anything to do.

When Lan Qiren had last been at the Nightless City, his role as acting sect leader meant that he had had an endless amount of work to stay on top of, between the intricate politics of the discussion conference and the usual day-to-day issues of running a sect. He’d woken up knowing exactly what he needed to do and how little time he had to do it all, and the rest of the day had typically been an extensive exercise in sensitive negotiations, frantic multitasking, and (worst of all) obligatory social events.

But now…

Now Lan Qiren was not a sect leader, acting or otherwise. He wasn’t even a guest.

He was married.

With uncharacteristic hesitancy, Lan Qiren went out of his courtyard, looking for a servant of sufficient rank to speak with. The Nightless City was a little excessive with its hierarchy in that way, he had found, with a convoluted set of internal rules that weren’t written down and weren’t shared with outsiders, leaving the rest of them to merely guess at what might be proper or improper. The Lan sect had servants, of course, and hierarchies within them, but in the Nightless City there was an entire underclass of servant that was under strict orders to be neither seen nor heard by outsiders. Lan Qiren had made the mistake once of trying to ask one of them a question during his earlier years as sect leader, and it had been disastrous. Not only had Lan Qiren not gotten the answers he wanted, the servant having been too terrified to respond, the servant had very nearly ended up getting beaten to death as punishment; it was only Lan Qiren’s intervention and explanation that he had been the one to initiate conversation that had spared him.

Better to avoid such a thing in the future, and instead find someone appropriate.

Ah, there was one, robes marked with the red suns that indicated higher-rank servants.

“Has Sect Leader Wen risen for the day?” he inquired, flagging down the man with a wave. “Will he be requiring my presence for breakfast?”

“Sect Leader Wen always breaks his fast in his rooms,” the servant said, bowing deeply and not quite answering the first question, which meant that Wen Ruohan was probably still asleep and quite likely to be annoyed if anyone else found out that he was still subject to such human requirements. Well, it was still early by the standard of most other sects. “After that, he usually starts his day with sect business, so it is unlikely that he will seek to speak with you before midday. Do you also wish to have breakfast brought to your rooms…?”

“Yes, that would do very well. Bring it to the main room in my courtyard,” Lan Qiren instructed, and retreated back to his courtyard, shaking his head at his own folly. What had he been thinking…? He should have guessed the answer already. Even at the discussion conferences, Wen Ruohan had rarely condescended to do business before mid-morning at the earliest, even when he was the guest. Naturally he wouldn’t bother deviating from his usual schedule here at his home simply because of their marriage.

Though, thinking of the still-unbelievable fact that he was married…

Maybe he should study up on that.

Yes, that would be something to do, something productive. That would be good.

Once he had finished eating his breakfast, Lan Qiren settled down at the writing desk, pulling out some paper and grinding himself some ink. The marriage had been mostly if not wholly settled by the time he had been informed of it and he’d been sent away not long after; he’d barely had time to pack, much less review material on the subject of marriage. His brother had sent him some books on marital duties, eventually, but irritatingly enough the ones that had been delivered with his meal had been exclusively about the role of the woman; someone must have misunderstood. And while he knew the Nightless City had an excellent library, since Wen Ruohan would never allow himself to be embarrassed by not having something that other sects had if he could help it, Lan Qiren also knew that any requests for books that he made would be reported to Wen Ruohan, and he was simply not ready for that level of embarrassment.

No, clearly if Lan Qiren were to be a good husband, he would need to figure out the rules himself.

Pay your wife the respect your wife is due, he wrote first, thinking of the myriad of examples to the contrary he had seen in the cultivation world. Perhaps it was merely the fact that he was a Lan, and therefore raised in a sect considered to be unduly romantic by others, but he could not understand why anyone would marry someone they did not, in some way, respect, and even if they didn’t, why they wouldn’t make an effort to overcome that for the sake of family harmony. The rules said Harmony is the value, and that was doubly true in the context of a marriage as it was in the context of sect or family.

Do not embarrass your wife in public. That one was as much inspired by Jiang Fengmian as it was by the formal rule of Do not argue with family. Jiang Fengmian’s marriage troubles were notorious throughout the cultivation world, and also almost entirely the man’s own fault. He had been so public in his mooning over Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, even after he had married Yu Ziyuan – surely he must have realized how shameful she would find such a thing, how humiliating. Had he really thought that she would forgive him for that? Had he really thought that a proud woman like Yu Ziyuan would ever tolerate her husband disgracing her in front of outsiders like that?

Actually, that might be the basis for another rule.

After all, Jiang Fengmian wasn’t the only one who routinely embarrassed his wife in public. There was always Jin Guangshan as well, which…hmm. What sort of rule would Madam Jin appreciate?

Do not be alone with other women, perhaps.

Lan Qiren thought about that rule for a while, considering, then crossed it out and replaced it with the somewhat vaguer Do not give your wife reason to doubt your fidelity.

After all, he was in a cutsleeve marriage, and his wife was also a man. Lan Qiren couldn’t reasonably be expected to refrain from all contact with both men and women, and he could imagine perfectly reasonable and even unquestionable circumstances in which he might be alone with a woman, such as a female sect leader or a rogue cultivator like Cangse Sanren. Creating a rule that made generalizations about half the population would create more problems than it would solve. No, Lan Qiren would simply have to behave in a manner that was above reproach, and go from there. It shouldn’t be too difficult: the rules already said Be loyal, as well as Promiscuity is prohibited.

Lan Qiren didn’t have the habit of being lustful anyway. And neither was he inclined to drink, and there was already Alcohol is prohibited, so he didn’t need to add a rule about that.

Hmm. What else?

Appreciate your wife’s efforts and be supportive of your wife’s interests. That seemed like a good one – the rules said Do not flatter, but they also said Have affection and gratitude, as well as Do not criticize. It seemed reasonable that a marriage would call for something a little stronger than that, an affirmative exhortation rather than merely a prohibition. Of course, Wen Ruohan’s interests tended to be things like torture and trying to take over the world, which was problematic when considered alongside Stay away from evil and Honor good people, but, well, Lan Qiren was married now; it was too late to “stay away.”

He would simply have to get over their differences, somehow. Harmony is the value, after all…

(How had he once heard Lao Nie say it – “a happy wife means a happy life”? Of course, as far as Lan Qiren knew, Lao Nie had only married for relatively short periods of time, so maybe he wasn’t exactly the best authority on such things.)

Support your wife’s family, for they are now your own. That one was straightforward, although not easy. Like it or not, Lan Qiren had now married into the Wen sect. Its interests were now his interests, both of them aligned – it didn’t quite sit right with him after ten years of maneuvering against Wen Ruohan and his schemes, but it was what it was. Naturally Wen Ruohan would not be able to depend on Lan Qiren if he had any plans directed against the Lan sect or its interests, but he wouldn’t trust him in such circumstances anyway. Lan Qiren would simply have to do his best to demonstrate his willingness to offer his support in other situations, assuming he could find any in which he would be a help rather than a hinderance.

None came to mind at the moment – useless, hopeless, worthless, his brother’s voice hissed in his head, very unhelpfully – but Lan Qiren hoped that he could eventually demonstrate to Wen Ruohan that he could be of some value for something other than his bloodline.

Eventually. Somehow.

What else?

Under normal circumstances Lan Qiren might have added something to do with money, since he was aware that a good husband allowed his wife to control the household finances, but that didn’t really seem to apply here. The Wen sect was richer than the Lan sect, and wholly under Wen Ruohan’s control in a way that the Lan sect’s finances had never been under Lan Qiren’s; while he would never be a poor man, even if Lan Qiren gave Wen Ruohan everything he had, the sum was unlikely to be large enough for Wen Ruohan to even notice. There was no need to include anything like that.

Maybe he could add a reminder to himself not to cite Being frugal is a virtue and Do not lead a luxurious and dissipated life every time he saw further evidence of Wen sect excess…but that wasn’t a rule, and he was focusing now on rules.

What else?

Lan Qiren stroked his beard, thinking deeply. What did wives typically expect from their husbands?

Children, he supposed, and specifically sons. Wen Ruohan already had two sons, though, and it wasn’t as if Lan Qiren could provide any of Wen Ruohan’s own blood, which of course Wen Ruohan preferred above all else. Eventually he would likely be obligated to produce a child with one of the illegitimate girls of Wen descent, providing Wen Ruohan with a child of the Lan bloodline if he so wanted one, but Lan Qiren didn’t expect the request for that to come any time soon. Wen Ruohan thought himself a god, after all, or near to one; he wasn’t too concerned with succession planning as of yet.

He could certainly help teach Wen Ruohan’s boys, if that was something Wen Ruohan might like for him to do, but that wasn’t a rule, either. That wasn’t a duty of marriage.

Though…while they were on the subject, he supposed that there were marital duties as well, the sort that were usually involved in the creation of a son when the marriage wasn’t between men. And although Lan Qiren personally lacked amorous inclinations, he was well aware that most people considered sex an absolutely critical part of a happy marriage. Why else would there be so many torrid novels about women fighting for their husband’s favor?

Of course, he would need to strike a balance between not being the sort of husband that abandoned his wife, leaving her bed desolate and empty, and also not being the sort that made excessive demands on the marriage bed, which he was given to understand was also bad. While of course Lan Qiren had no personal experience in either direction, as acting sect leader he had been obligated to deal with marital disputes within the Lan sect. He was familiar with female complaints from both sides.

No, sex was important, important enough to be a rule – and Lan Qiren always followed the rules.

Of course, knowing it was one thing, but writing it down was another.

Lan Qiren fought with himself for a while on the subject. On one hand, he was fairly sure it would be inappropriate to put such words on paper, skirting near to a violation of No vulgar language, but on the other, he had always believed it was important for rules to be stated clearly. How else were you supposed to follow them if they weren’t laid out? He’d always disliked unwritten rules…

In the end he gave in and wrote down one more rule: Be attentive to your wife’s needs and diligently perform your duties as husband.

That seemed fair enough, did it not? Neither too explicit nor too subtle – it was clear enough what he meant, but also avoided being unduly crass, or setting out unreasonable expectations.

Now. What else?

What else, what else…had he really already exhausted the examples set for him by the other Great Sect leaders, whether positive or negative? Lan Qiren had already reviewed both Jiang Fengmian’s faults and Jin Guangshan’s. He had never met Lao Nie’s first wife, who was said to be either an unknown genius of the martial arts world or possibly a goddess, depending on how effusive Lao Nie was feeling at any given moment, and while he had briefly met his second wife, it had been only once, and while she was pregnant, so he had not really gotten very much of a distinct sense about her. Anyway, he hadn’t had the chance to observe Lao Nie as a husband, and so could not use him as a standard from which to derive rules. Who else did he know?

Other than his brother.

It wasn’t as though Lan Qiren could write Do not marry your wife to cover up her crimes and then imprison her against her will, forcing her to bear your children and languish in isolation until she kills herself as a rule, no matter how tempted he might be.

As for his brother’s conduct before his marriage…no, that wasn’t useful either. The rules already said Do not harbor doubt and jealousy and Do not take advantage of your position to oppress others. It had been his brother who had violated those rules, not any fault in the rules themselves.

Finally, at the end, Lan Qiren dipped his brush in ink and wrote one more sentence.

Be a partner to your wife, if your wife will be yours.

It wasn’t a rule, not really, though he intended to treat it as one. It was more of an aspiration. A highly unlikely one given who his wife was, Lan Qiren admitted, but what else was a marriage for, if not a lifetime’s aspiration?

Lan Qiren put the page aside to dry. Perhaps he would add more rules later, once he had time to think further on the subject, but seven was a good start. He felt better about the whole situation already, comforted by the mere existence of rules that he could simply apply and abide by. Truly, his ancestors had been wise. Having rules just made life so much easier…

There was a sound at the door.

Lan Qiren rose to see what they wanted.

“Sect Leader Wen has invited you to join him for the midday meal,” a servant announced. Fortified by his morning’s work, Lan Qiren nodded his asset and followed the servant down to a ridiculously lavish dining room that he had not seen before.

Wen Ruohan was already seated at the head of the table. He waved his hand idly at Lan Qiren, clearly excusing him from having to pay any respect.

Lan Qiren nodded to him in greeting. “How many of these do you have?” he asked. “Dining rooms, I mean. I thought I’d already seen them all, but this one is new.”

“This one is for family only,” Wen Ruohan said with teeth in his smile. His posture accorded with those Lan Qiren had previously observed as consistent with a combative mood, though it was not yet clear if he was spoiling for an actual fight or if he was simply out to irritate people. “Though I’m afraid it’s just us today.”

Lan Qiren sat down.

“I heard that you woke up at your usual time,” Wen Ruohan remarked, managing to make it sound vaguely insulting somehow. “The Lan rules, I assume. I trust you weren’t too bored…”

He trailed off in a way that suggested that Lan Qiren should answer him.

“Speaking is prohibited at mealtimes,” Lan Qiren said instead, and was amused when he saw Wen Ruohan’s smirk change into a scowl.

Provoking Wen Ruohan probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but Lan Qiren had as little intention of allowing a precedent that involved Wen Ruohan walking all over him now as he had had when he had been sect leader. That would be a truly intolerable way to live.

Also, when listing Wen Ruohan’s (very few) merits as a spouse earlier, it occurred to him that he had briefly forgotten how annoying the other man could be. The rule Lan Qiren had made said Pay your wife the respect your wife is due, but Wen Ruohan in this sort of trifling mood wasn’t due any.

“That rule doesn’t apply when you’re a guest,” Wen Ruohan said. “I distinctly recall that we had reached an agreement on the subject, some years back – at least seven by now. Are you reneging now?”

“Not at all. The rules remain the same, only I am no longer a guest,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “This is now my home.”

Wen Ruohan stared at him.

Lan Qiren very pointedly served himself some food out of one of the main bowls, signaling the start of the mealtime and, therefore, of silence.

“You know,” Wen Ruohan said thoughtfully. “I think I forgot how annoying you can be.”

Lan Qiren didn’t laugh, though his lips twitched. It was a little funny how their thinking had run in parallel like that.

At least Wen Ruohan knew Lan Qiren well enough to begrudgingly accept that he wasn’t going to be able to convince him to break his sect rules when he found a situation where he believed they applied – they’d settled that discussion seven years ago as well – and they were able to finish the meal with relatively little fanfare.

Afterwards, Wen Ruohan said, “I have several meetings this afternoon which cannot be shifted, but I will be done before early evening. If you are amenable, I can then show you around some of the portions of the Nightless City with which you may be less familiar.”

His tone suggested that Lan Qiren had better be amenable.

“Certainly,” Lan Qiren said. “Indeed, I expect to need several such tours, given the impressive size and grandeur of your Nightless City.”

That got him a beady-eyed look, as if Wen Ruohan suspected him of trying to fit some complaint or criticism into the statement. Lan Qiren met his eyes calmly, having been wholly sincere in his compliment, and eventually Wen Ruohan gave in with a dry chuckle.

“My Nightless City is indeed very impressive,” he said, as usual always willing to compliment himself. “Your belongings will have been delivered to your courtyard by now. As for the servants…”

He trailed off meaningfully once more, looking pointedly at him, but unfortunately for Wen Ruohan, Lan Qiren wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to get at. Something to do with the distinctions between levels of servant, perhaps?

Abruptly reminded of that disastrous interaction once again, Lan Qiren grimaced and asked, “I assume I’m permitted to speak with all of them, now?”

“Of course.” Wen Ruohan seemed satisfied by that, oddly enough. “In your own time, of course. Under the circumstances, I assume you’d rather start with unpacking.”

Lan Qiren still had no idea what Wen Ruohan thought he was implying, or how their unusual present circumstances – namely, their marriage – would have any impact on his willingness or lack thereof to speak with the servants, but he really did want to go back to his room, so he just nodded and took his leave. Unpacking took the rest of the afternoon, between ordering the servants to rearrange the courtyard to suit Lan Qiren’s preferences and arranging those few items which he did not permit the servants to touch, such as his sword stand or his still-wrapped guqin, now settled on a low table.

He did his best the entire time not to think of the permanency of his new arrangement.

It was difficult, though. When he had visited the Nightless City as a guest in a discussion conference, there had been no need to bring along a copy of the Lan sect rules, much less several copies; this time, he had brought three. There was a formal one, of course, as well as his own much longer version, containing his personal notes and thoughts on the various rules, and lastly there was the one in a childish scrawl that Lan Xichen had presented him with for his last birthday, extraordinarily proud of having completed an entire copy of the whole set of rules. That one had very nearly not made the journey: Lan Qiren’s baggage had been carefully inspected before he left, removing anything to which his brother believed him not to be entitled, and this particular copy had survived only through having been shoved into the middle of a set of extremely dry treatises he’d brought along as camouflage.

(He had been obliged to meditate for a little while after he’d seen it on his bookshelf, just to maintain his self-discipline. He hated his brother, he missed his nephews; he missed his nephews, he hated his brother…but now was not the time to think of either of those. Maintain your own discipline.)

Lan Qiren was back in possession of himself by the time Wen Ruohan appeared at the door to his courtyard to take him on the tour. It was a good thing, too, as Wen Ruohan was now in a mischievous mood – which was annoying as well, though far preferable to the spiteful one from earlier. This mood at least meant that he was more inclined to be simply obnoxious, rather than actively malicious.

Still quite irritating, though.

Lan Qiren managed to maintain his dignity through the first few turns of the conversation, which started with commentary on his clothing and demeanor (according to Wen Ruohan, when they stood together he looked like an old cow eating fresh grass, which was patently ridiculous given that Wen Ruohan was over a hundred years old), touched upon the weather (supposedly better in Qishan than in Gusu, which Lan Qiren personally doubted), briefly became a back-and-forth debate on the merits of particular architectural styles that they had touched upon several times before (neither of them actually cared, but since the Nightless City preferred one style and the Cloud Recesses another, neither was inclined to yield the point), and ultimately concluded with a series of probing questions about Lan Qiren’s classes.

“– yes, they are held every year, and no, I don’t repeat myself,” Lan Qiren said testily. He couldn’t say he was starting to get tired of Wen Ruohan’s company since he’d more or less started off already sick of it. The other man had been so bubbling over with insinuated insults and overly clever little quips that Lan Qiren hadn’t had a chance to actually observe any of the things he was supposedly being shown. He was completely lost, too, and disliked the experience. “The beginning is often similar, given the importance of having a firm foundation, but different students call for a different curriculum, both in terms of cultivation focus and scholarly merits. There are enough rules to be flexible.”

“You can say that again.”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to repeat it, then bit his tongue: years of politics had taught him the painful lesson that this particular social pattern meant Wen Ruohan was almost certainly not genuinely asking for a repetition.

Wen Ruohan still laughed at him, though, and Lan Qiren scowled at him.

“I nearly forgot how literal you can be.” Wen Ruohan was smirking. “I see that I shall have to be quite clear in my statements and expectations in the future.”

“You will, or else risk being misunderstood,” Lan Qiren agreed, glaring. “I prefer it.”

“Mm, yes, I look forward to taking into account your…preferences. To the extent you have them.”

Lan Qiren frowned at Wen Ruohan, who was doing his insinuation voice again, and decided that he had had enough of this nonsense. It was time to be straightforward himself. “What are you trying to imply this time? Say it flat out.”

Wen Ruohan chuckled and ostentatiously glanced around them, as if confirming where they were, even though it wasn’t anywhere new, having by now returned to Lan Qiren’s courtyard where they’d started.

“Well?” Lan Qiren demanded. “You’ve been dropping hints all day – unsuccessful hints, let it be said, as I haven’t been understanding you. Will you finally just explain yourself?”

Wen Ruohan turned back to him, his smirk widening into an outright leer.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be blunt, then. A marriage is not considered fully complete until it has been consummated, and I will not allow a technicality to interfere with my plans. We are back at your courtyard, so we might as well get it over with, don’t you think?”

Lan Qiren stared at him, aghast. “In the middle of the afternoon?”

“It’s already early evening.” Wen Ruohan’s smirk was especially smug. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect we’ll miss dinner, and you’ll certainly be in bed by your sect’s little bedtime.”

Lan Qiren’s jaw worked. This was a ploy to get under his skin, he was abruptly certain of that, and possibly a little revenge for Lan Qiren having outmaneuvered Wen Ruohan at lunch. There was no other reason that Wen Ruohan wouldn’t be willing to wait until a normal hour for such a thing, especially given that he was fairly sure the man wasn’t actually all that interested in him.

Well, maybe. How would he know? Wen Ruohan wasn’t like him – he was of an amorous inclination, though thankfully nowhere near as lecherous as Jin Guangshan.

Maybe Wen Ruohan really did think sex was that important.

“Are you nervous?” Wen Ruohan asked with a tone of consideration so fake that it was clearly being put on as a means of being even more obnoxious, making Lan Qiren’s eye twitch in irritation in response. “It being your first time with a man, that is. Or is it your first time at all? It’d be a bit late, given your age, but I know how you Lan are with your rules against promiscuity…you can tell me, you know. I won’t judge.”

He was already judging.

“Remember, do not tell lies is a rule…”

“So is speak meagerly,” Lan Qiren retorted, only to blush when Wen Ruohan laughed in triumph: he’d given himself away there. He ground his teeth for a moment, his temper – never his best trait, even if it had been somewhat deadened recently – fighting to escape, but he reined it in with an effort.

Be attentive to your wife’s needs and diligently perform your duties as husband, he reminded himself. He’d written it himself just this morning. His pride was not worth breaking a rule.

He took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then released it, letting his aggravation go with it.

“Very well, then,” he said, and had at least the pleasure of seeing Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows go up in surprise, having presumably expected Lan Qiren to put up more of a fight than that. “You are not wrong. It will be better to get it over with before anyone raises any questions. Would you like to come inside?”

Now it was Wen Ruohan’s turn to have to take a moment to master himself, though in his case his recovery from his surprise was both quick and extremely smug.

“I think I would, yes,” he said, smiling indolently. “In fact, since you’re being such a good sport about all this, I’ll let you get in as much initial fumbling as you like before we get properly started, how’s that? I won’t lift a finger until you tell me you’re ready to proceed.”

Lan Qiren felt the urge to roll his eyes. He really had married the most obnoxious man in the cultivation world, hadn’t he…? Well, no, that would probably be Lao Nie, who was above all else extraordinarily loud and persistently irritating in a way that belied his seeming affability, but Wen Ruohan was making a solid case for himself being in second place.

(He still wasn’t the worst man in the cultivation world to marry, though. Compared to Lan Qiren’s brother, surely anyone would be better.)

“Very well,” he said again, and stepped forward to scoop Wen Ruohan into his arms, enjoying the squawk of shock and outraged protest – they were both tall men, about the same height, but Lan Qiren had the advantage of surprise. He hadn’t originally had any intention of carrying Wen Ruohan across the threshold, given that they were both adult men, but if Wen Ruohan was determined to be annoying, then Lan Qiren wouldn’t yield, either. “Mark your words.”

“Oh, I’ll mark them all right,” Wen Ruohan said as Lan Qiren carried him in. He looked offended but also disbelievingly amused, as if he couldn’t believe that Lan Qiren was capable of lifting him – or perhaps that he’d dared to. Lan Qiren had the feeling that Wen Ruohan was already planning revenge for this slight as well. “Do your worst.”

Did everything have to be a fight with this man?

“I’ll do my best,” Lan Qiren corrected, putting Wen Ruohan down on the bed and looking down at him thoughtfully.

Wen Ruohan certainly wasn’t what Lan Qiren had expected from marriage, to the extent he’d ever expected anything. But at least he was familiar, even if the act they were about to engage in wasn’t, and Lan Qiren was fairly sure he could count on Wen Ruohan to continue to be annoyingly, irritatingly himself the entire time. That would be immensely helpful in reducing his anxiety about trying something new.

Anyway, Lan Qiren might lack the inclination to be attracted to others, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been at least mildly curious to find out what everyone was always raving on about. He’d read any number of spring books in his time, trying without success to learn attraction the way he’d learned everything else, but maybe it would be more interesting to actually try it with someone else.

Who knew, perhaps it would actually even be enjoyable.

This was, Lan Qiren supposed, his opportunity to find out. Maybe even his only opportunity, given that Wen Ruohan was unlikely to be as cooperative when he wasn’t getting something he wanted out of it – in this case, the legitimacy of their marriage and the opportunity to make fun of Lan Qiren.

He’d have to make the most of it.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #Megafic

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ahmedmootaz · 7 months

Note

[SPOILERS FOR THE ENDINGS OF LIBRARY OF RUINA]

Read your answer to the question of "What if Angela and X raised the Bookhunter?", and I raise you some more questions on what if the consequences wasn't as fluffy or cracky as an AIP version.

If Ayin and X ended up showing up in Angela's Bad Ending instead of the Good Ending of Library of Ruina, what would have happened?

How would the three of them react to each other if the Angela bad ending came to pass?

Angela never moved past her grudge Ayin and also booked the Librarians plus took over the Southern portion of the City and kept the light for herself to turn human. Ayin probably has to deal with losing everyone again and has to deal with Angela being angry enough to kill him and powerful enough to kill him over and over again if she wanted. X's attempt to make Ayin and Angela fix their relationships like in AIP probably won't work here, and he probably feels conflicted over what to do.

All in all, it's kind of a mess.

So again I ask, what do you think would happen? Or at least what do you think is the most interesting that could happen in this scenario?

Dear Anonymous,

Whoo, you certainly put forward an interesting proposition, don't you? Such a scenario is very, very interesting precisely due to how unfluffy and uncracky it is...

Honestly, it all really depends on when the meeting takes place, since Angela immediately after achieving her goals would be at her weakest, emotionally speaking, and so she would immediately lash out at Ayin and X and book them like she did with the Librarians if not outright kill them in order to justify her misdeeds and journey; a physical victory over Ayin would convince her that all of the horrors, all of the injustice, all of the deaths were worth it. In such a scenario, Ayin and X would simply be subjected to a slow and painful death for Angela to feel vindicated.

Although, as you mention Angela's Bad Ending, I do believe you're implying what would happen if Ayin showed up before Angela hired to book hunters and eventually feels disillusioned with life as a whole, and the answer, I think, is much more tragic: Nothing.

Now, allow me to explain, but if we're basing this scenario on AiP, then Ayin would've been in the Library to see Angela fall down the path of self-destruction she undertakes in the Bad Ending from the start until she finally stumbles upon him and X. Now, keep in mind that Ayin is already a shattered man who hasn't even smelled the faintest hint of hope in around ten years by the time LoR begins. Now, thirteen years after the Bad End, he's been forced to watch the daughter he abandoned go down a road that was somehow even worse than the one he took, his beloved Carmen become a monster no different to the ones she hated in the past, and his friends and pseudo-family (in Tiphy) all get killed and booked for thirteen long years. That's twenty-six years without respite, around a quarter of a century of misery and depression. Perhaps without X's presence he would've been more than tempted to end it all, and although X would likely wish to believe that he's giving Ayin hope, I think a more realistic answer knowing what type of man Ayin is would be that he wouldn't kill himself purely out of a desire to punish himself for being a leading cause for Angela's devolution into a Star of the City.

So what happens when Angela stumbles upon him all of a sudden? She doesn't know. Neither does he. Ironically, during those 13 years, I would assume she repressed the human emotions she strived so desperately to obtain in the first place, if her attitude during her ending is anything to go by, so I assume that she won't be as hot-headed as she would be directly after killing Roland, but instead I think part of what she will feel, besides the anger and hatred, is hope, funnily enough.

Hope that she will finally feel something after so long. That there's something she can feel, someone she can harm or main or hate or feel anything towards. I doubt she would've had much of that after killing the Patron Librarians and Roland.

And, tragically, I don't think Ayin has that in him anymore. He's been tormented for twenty-six long years, I think he'd have long gone through the stages of grief and pain, only able to feel a muted, dull stinging in his heart. No longer could he passionately cry out in rage or despair, he'd just be...muffled. A true husk of a the husk he had already been.

X would still be fighting; he hasn't had too many hopes and dreams for them to crush him under their weight. He just wants of be out of his imprisonment and free. I think, seeing the state Ayin was in, he might've used the Light (or made Ayin use the Light) to repair his cloning degradation to make sure Ayin wasn't alone at least, since if that happened...well, it was almost certain he wasn't going to survive for too long... So X, when Angela stumbled upon him as well, would definitely be more lively, but I don't think he'd evoke emotions in her that are as strong as the ones Ayin does, if any; love is a complex and fickle subject. If you are unable to feel sadness, anger, and rage which are much more primal, how will you recognise love?

To that extent, I think Angela would at first mock and gloat over Ayin before realising the extent to which she broke him, and then she would snap. All of her hard work, all of her suffering, all of the suffering she inflicted, and in the end, he doesn't even care. He doesn't have any more tears to shed. He doesn't have any passion left to yell at her or feel upset with her decisions. The only remaining energy he has is spent on quietly hating himself for everything he caused and praying for an end to the torment.

Maybe she'd resort of physically assaulting him to provoke a response, or mock his and Carmen's dream, or remind him of the failures his hopes and dreams amounted to, or the fate of his friends, hoping to extract even a sliver of anger from him, and in the end...I think she'd cry. She'd be so overwhelmed with emotions and sentiments that she suppressed to maintain her Librarian of Death image that she wouldn't know what to do with herself after realising that the single man she dedicated her life to destroying couldn't feel anything about anything she did anymore.

Maybe she'd even cling to him as she cries, hoping he'd muster the energy to push her off or yell at her, only crying more when he doesn't even sigh in dismay. In the end, Angela's actions were simply trying to get Ayin's attention in a way, and now that she has his attention, she doesn't know what to do anymore now that she's not just blindly seeking his torment. Maybe she wants his love, or his rage, or his despair, just anything, anything other than the husk in front of her. She just wants someone who makes her feel anything again.

Beyond that, well...It's difficult to say. Either she kills him in a fit of despair and takes her own life as well, realising how futile her actions were, or...perhaps we can see a tale of redemption of epic proportions; after all, X is still there, and while he definitely can't ask for reconciliation like in the AiP-verse, he can distinctly see that both of them need the other as motivation to stay alive, and although that's a very low bar to set, keeping the two around each other to prevent them from taking their own lives will definitely lead to some form of understanding. A true redemption from the darkest cavern...if you'd like to explore the idea, that is.

But this was a super, super fun idea! Thank you for the great thought exercise, Anon, and until next time, be well, take care, and see ya'!

#lobotomy corporation #library of ruina #my writing #ayin #ask #manager x #angela #library of ruina spoilers

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deepdisireslonging · 1 month

Text

Choices Chapter 10: Never His

Esther prepares herself for Wardlow's ultimatum. She reminisces about the steps that brought her here, and about another Esther in history stuck between a rock and a hard place. She worries that what she's about to do may still not save Ricky.

Warnings/Promises: threat of smut, cw blood mention, guns, (Esther is not harmed)

Word Count: 3580

Chapter 9: The Ultimatum

Sunday, February 24, 1929

Bridgeport Township

When Esther was a girl, and her father still whole, her mother had told her the story of Hadassah. In it, a young woman, through circumstances out of her control, found herself in the king’s palace. He was searching for a queen. Each night of the search he would spend with one of the beautiful women brought in from all corners of the kingdom. He chose her. Then, when the king’s advisor made moves against her family and her people, Hadassah was able to plead with the king for mercy. Or he would lose his queen too. It worked, and the Jewish Diaspora in Persia was able to continue living in that foreign land. Through her, peace was obtained.

The girl’s story was celebrated every year. It was a favorite time of her friends’ childhood. Because the story is also full of humor and situational irony, children dress up in costumes and masks and go around door to door in their Jewish neighborhoods asking for sweets. Purim, the holiday, always made Esther feel kind of hollow. She lived with the Persian name of this heroine. How could she ever measure up?

What could she, one woman, do against the onslaught of blood? If one drop was too much, as it was in her mind, the cost of territories and power was too much.

Yet, there she stood in the quarters of the most powerful man she knew. One of the most powerful men in the city, capable of pulling the city’s strings easy as puppets. All to save a man, only one man, whom she’d only known for a few weeks. Would she be able to deliver them from this nightmare?

Her earlier observation had been accurate: Wardlow’s living quarters took up the majority of the floor on this side of the house. A parlor existed in the rounded corner of the building. Where Esther stood was exactly above her room. Did he sit here, reading or relaxing, in the wee hours of the morning while she slept just a floor below? The room towards the center wall connecting the two houses looked to be a smaller sitting room with a personal library. Through the door in the other direction, which would have street-side windows, she could just make out the edge of his bed, and the bathroom door beyond that.

Any other day, the parlor she stood in would have been warm and inviting. There was even a small liquor tray to one side, stocked with sparkling crystal bottles and glasses. Above it hung a shadowbox displaying his medals and dog tags. Stamped into the metal was his nick name: Wardog.

Today was not a day to feel welcome. Closing her eyes didn’t help. All she could see was the blood that brought her here: Bill’s at the mechanic shop, Dante’s on the back porch, and Ricky’s trickling down his face as he begged her to run away.

Spears had mentioned a fire escape on the other side. It would come down over the kitchen entrance. He had left her alone, closing the double doors to the hall behind him. They were unlocked. Esther had checked. Since then, she couldn’t seem to move her feet.

Everywhere she looked, there was a surface Wardlow could take her against. The small couch by the curved walls and windows looked to have steady arm rests. There was another in the small library. Or would he lead her to his bedroom? Then, when all was said and done… would he actually let Ricky live?

Esther’s limbs continued to shake as she waited for him to come through the door. The deal, the demand had shocked her. It seemed completely out of center with the man she knew Wardlow to be. Then again, he was a gangster who could shoot another man at point blank, after arguing to keep him alive. Esther realized that Wardlow was capable of anything. And that she didn’t really know him at all.

It was amazing how her world had shrunk to the goings-on between these four brownstone walls. Four walls, with a labyrinth of smaller walls forming the rooms of the house. It struck her, the resemblance of the townhome to this life. The newspapers, and stories from neighbors, and personal experience built four walls of an assumption of how Chicago ran. Then she stepped inside. Whether it’s a place like Howls or a ‘soup kitchen,’ anyone could realize how many smaller, secret walls were holding things up. And how many of them were threatening to come crumbling down.

Voices bubbled up from the end of the hall. She strained to pick up on whose. First, Spears voice, taxed and pleading. He’d probably waited for Wardlow at the top of the stairs. Then Wardlow’s voice. Solid. Resolute. They stopped outside the door. Spears made one more attempted plea that she couldn’t make out, but he was cut off. A pair of footsteps exited the floor.

He knocked.

Voice trembling, she answered, “I’m here.”

“Miss Garnier?” His head peaked into the room. When he saw her standing there, he opened the door just wide enough for him to get through.

Was Spears still out in the hall? Or was he afraid she’d try to bolt past him?

Completely at ease in his own space, Wardlow glanced at her as he removed his guns from his holster and placed them on the half table by the door. Daring her.

She had no intention of ever firing a gun again. Even at Wardlow.

He slid his tie from around his neck, draping it from the series of pegs on the wall. The door remained unlocked as he stepped deeper into the room. Why would he lock them? All of Chicago probably knew better than to disturb him when those doors were closed.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Miss Garnier-”

“If we’re going to do this…” Esther stepped back, one had raised defensively against his advance. “If – if you’re going to… you should call me Esther.” Her eyes flicked between his and looking at his shoes that had frozen mid-step.

He nodded. “Yes. That’s – yes. Of course. And… you should call me Michael.”

After a breath, Esther tested out the flavor of his name on her tongue. “Michael.” It made her heady. The floor spun under her feet.

Wardlow- Michael rushed to support her. He held her close while she caught her breath. While she kept her gaze silently focused on one of the buttons on his shirt, one of his large, warm hands smoothed comfortingly up and down her back. The path never drifted lower than the lower curve of her spine, but she tensed each time anyway. She waited for him to cop a feel. But his movements stopped.

“Look at me.”

She stilled, shuddering a breath.

Softer, he tried again. “Esther. Look at me. Please.”

In the fading light, Michael’s blue eyes had taken on the color of sea foam. Esther let them wash over her, holding her in place. Like they were a storm she could get lost in. She barely recognized his movements when he guided her hands to rest on his chest. Or when his hands smoothed down her arms to rest, nestled together, on her lower back. His gaze never lingered far from her face. Her lips. But he was most interested in her eyes. Esther let wave after wave of his attention search her to her core.

Then he sighed, his grip loosening.

“Why did you say yes?”

“What?”

His Adam apple bobbed. “Why did you agree… to this?”

“Because-” Her chest heaved, making her lips tremble with the effort of forcing her words out steadily. “Because Ricky is telling the truth.”

Michael’s head dropped forward, his eyes closing with a strong exhale.

“He can’t- he can’t be a traitor-”

“Are you sure about that?” After he cleared his throat, Michael’s glare had the same hardness as before. The same tense flickering in his temples. “How do you know he wasn’t lying to you too?”

Esther shook her head. “He wouldn’t – he couldn’t. Not to me.” She rested her forehead on his chest before he could see the confusion wrinkling it. “He didn’t know any of it was coming. Jericho. Baker or Cole. When Friedman had him… they would have killed him. Surely- surely, if he is part of the Poker Game, another crewmate couldn’t take him out without the Dealer’s okay, right? He knew he wasn’t walking out of that room. Even with me there, he refused to spill anything. And those cards.” She drifted off, turning her head to stare unseeing into the room. “He doesn’t have a safe in his room. Spears said you guys found them in his safe, but earlier you said his room. He and Spears switched rooms. Joe said so.” She heaved a breath. “He isn’t your leak. But – if this is what it takes to convince you-” Her voice cracked, “can we just get it over with?”

Hurried steps thundered on the stairs as Michael gently angled her face up. She tried not to shy away from Ricky’s blood still on his knuckles. “You were never mine were you?”

“That first day… if things had gone differently… if we had made different choices…” she let his thumb trace her bottom lip. “Ricky kind of steamrolled his way into my life. But now I couldn’t imagine a day without him. I’m sorry.”

As the doors flew open, Michael gripped her tight.

“Boss, I-” Spears froze where he stood. At his side, Ricky sagged against the door frame, his shirt bunched up in Spear’s hand.

Their presence startled Esther. She blinked with remembering their conversation in the hallway. Surely not. Wardlow wouldn’t have told Spears to bring Ricky up here. Not to- not in front of him. She couldn’t take her eye off Ricky. Not even when Wardlow’s thumb smoothed up and down her jaw.

“Never mine,” he whispered to himself. Gently, Wardlow took her hand, turning it so her wrist could feel his breath. He placed a short, chaste kiss over her veins. “Go to him.”

Her eyes bored into his. “What?”

“I believe you. Both of you. I just hope… one day that you can forgive me.” With a tilt of his head, he released Esther. As she fled to Ricky, his arms hung empty by his side. He watched them hold each other tight, jealousy and guilt plain on his face. With a breath, he pushed most of it away. He plucked his cufflinks from his pocket one at a time. Rolling down his sleeves, he deftly put on the identity of the Boss again, letting the man fade away. But one thing was still missing. He leaned, looking past Spears. “Where’s Joe?”

“That’s what I came to tell you.” Spears shook his head. “Gone.”

Wardlow didn’t take the answer well. He double and triple-checked his cufflinks, flicking them open and shut. When that didn’t work, he cracked his knuckles one by one. Still, his voice rasped, asking, “where?”

Under Esther’s tutting over his injuries, Ricky leaned up with an answer. “Howls. ‘Took a bunch of papers out of the safe and your desk and stuck them in Friedman’s briefcase. Then walked out. You didn’t send him out?”

“No. What briefcase?”

“Friedman’s. Bakers?” Esther helped Ricky stand a little straighter. “She handed it to him his afternoon. Friedman was… happy to receive it. Like he couldn’t wait to take a peek. But he didn’t open it while we were there. Joe got into it, saying it was some of Friedman’s affects, but unimportant at the moment.”

Wardlow ran a hand through his hair. “Did you see them?”

“No. Joe kept it towards himself. The only thing held up was a thick sheet with some kind of crest on the front.”

He glanced at his third-in-command. “Is he still fixing up the joint? How much of his budget has been used up?”

Spears shuffled from one foot to the other. “About three quarters. That’s still a few hundred.”

Esther frowned. “So? A few hundred dollars doesn’t sound-”

“Thousand.”

“Hmm?”

Spears cleared his throat. “A few hundred thousand. It takes a lotta kale to rebuild a favorite haunt like Howls. And it has to be better than when it got raided in the first place or-”

“Haunt?”

“Yeah.” He looked at Wardlow. “It’s been storing our more… hot assets too.”

“You’re storing our Thompsons at Howls?” Ricky made a face. “So, what? It got hit once, now let’s keep all our firepower in one place like it won’t get hit again?”

Spears shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He glanced at Wardlow. “Joe’s suggestion.”

Still, something kept ringing in Esther’s head. Something about the way they talked about Howls. Who else called it a haunt? “Baker. How did she put it, Ricky? When she was talking to Darby. ‘Without him to defend his boss’s old haunt…’ talking about Howls.” She let her gaze refocus, realizing she’d been staring at the carpet. “The meeting tonight, the Poker Game. It’s at Howls. The Dealer is coming to Howls.”

Ricky groaned. “And he’s bringing his army to our armory. He’s gonna get all our guns.”

“Not all of them.” Wardlow winked at Esther. “Come on. We’ll snag Taz on the way down. He’ll appreciate this.”

\\*//

By the time they thundered down the stairs together, Taz was huddled behind a high-back chair from the office and had his own piece drawn. He lowered it when Wardlow came down first, then aimed again when Ricky appeared behind him.

“You can put that away,” Wardlow said. “There’s been a development. Starks isn’t part of the Poker Game, but Joe is.”

“Joe?” He holstered his gun with a sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Instead of commenting, Wardlow motioned for him to follow them. “Luckily for us, he installed a special cabinet before switching sides.”

Esther was confused when he led them to the back breezeway between the kitchen and the dining room. Which, if she remembered, had been a request of Mrs. Anne when Wardlow laid out the plan to merge the two houses into one. Due to its placement under the stairs, it had a low ceiling and was dark enough to instigate a quick trip through the passage. Wardlow stopped in front of the bare wall that covered up the ascending slats to the floor above. Her confusion grew when he started pressing on the wall and bits of framing. “What are you looking for?”

“You know how the breezeway panels click a certain way to open the breezeway?”

“Yes.”

“There should be something like that here. But I haven’t had to open it since Joe put it in.” He winced at his crewmen. “We were going to tell everyone in case the Bull Session got out of hand. But we found out we had a leak before then, and decided against it.” With a delighted hum, Wardlow finally pushed the right corner, and a panel bounced. He swung it open, and unlatched the section next to it from the inside, revealing the cavity. It was stocked with a wall of Thompson machine guns, shotguns, smaller handguns, boxes and rounds of bullets, and a few knives. At least three each of shoulder and hip holsters hung from hooks on the backs of the doors.

Taz whistled. “If I had known this was here, I would have visited you all the sooner.”

“Exactly why we kept it to ourselves. No offense.”

“None taken.” He ran his fingertips over the sheath of a small gutting knife. “So you guys going to grab the rest of your crew before you go to Howls? I can lend you my car if you need the space.”

Spears nodded. “Yes, we’ll-”

“No.” Wardlow loaded a round barrel into a Thompson. “We don’t know who of our crew defected with Joe. We need to handle the Dealer before they arrive. Talking him into joining the alliance peacefully, or taking him out if he resists.” He flicked the safety on and off, testing it’s potential to jam. When Spears lightly tapped his elbow, he followed to one side. Their whispers took on a heated air as they debated more manpower.

Clearing his throat, Taz adjusted his tie. “I need a word with you, Starks.”

“And I owe you an apology.” Ricky returned the revolver he’d been eyeing to the rack. “I should have told you I flipped Cole. At the time, I considered my silence as part of the deal with his inaction.”

“No. I owe you one.” He ran a hand over his bald head; Esther could imagine a younger version of him smoothing his locks while calming his nerves. “I never should have sent you to the house. That in-of-itself was a low blow to Cole. You did everything right in the circumstances. None of us could have managed to think better. Baker was a surprise. Anyway, none of it mattered. ‘Still lost the Louisiana racket.” He managed to grin. “This might not be the strongest of offers, but if you ever need anything: a way out, a job, or a bank installment for your next step,” he held out his hand, “you just let me know.”

Ricky stared at the hand. Then warmly filled it with his own, completing the handshake. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“Whatever you need outside of this life, either of you,” Taz dipped his head at Esther, “I’ll do what I can.”

“I take it you won’t be joining us?” Wardlow rejoined them with a chastised Spears by his side.

Taz shook his head. “No. I’m retired. And I’m going to stay retired. I’ve got my family to think about.” He accepted Wardlow’s handshake. “I’ll send word when my son has his first bout booked. I’ll see about getting the best seats for you.”

“We’ll look forward to it.” Sliding a knuckle across his brow, he risked a glance at Ricky. “I know I can’t ask you to come along-”

“You don’t have to. I’m already halfway there.” Ricky finished slipping on a shoulder holster and slid the revolver into one of the pouches. Esther’s fingers laced into the leather with a silent plea. He placed his hand over hers. “I have to help finish this. Besides, it’s not like I can get any more beat up than I already am, right?”

She pursed her lips. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Chuckling, Wardlow tightened his own holster. “He won’t be alone this time. We’re both going with him. He and Spears will go through the back, and I’ll come through the front a little after. Can I still borrow your car, Taz?”

“Of course. You know where to send it afterwards.”

“Alright. You two move out.” He tossed each of them an extra box of bullets as they went past. After avoiding watching Ricky kiss Esther on her forehead. “Since you’re stranded, Taz, would you mind keeping the homestead and Esther safe?”

“I’m coming too.”

Wardlow startled. He shifted his weight to block her way to the door. “Like hell you are.”

“I think we’ve both witnessed what I am fully capable of making my own life decisions.” She trailed her fingertips over the muzzle of a gun. It seemed to thrum under her touch. Either in readiness, or in warning. “Seems like wherever I am, that’s where the action is. Besides,” she chose a small pistol and slid it into her dress pocket, “I have a favor to return to the Dealer for choking me.”

He paused. “Choked you. You mentioned that earlier. How? That is, how did he do it? With a hand around your throat?”

“No. From behind. With an arm. A big one.” She shook her head. “I didn’t last long. Only took a few seconds. Next thing I knew I was being carried by Ethan Page. Why?”

“Just- no reason.” His gaze drifted as he thought. “Another question: how soon did Joe pick up you and Ricky?”

Esther thought back. “He… well. He was right there. Was coming down the alley when we were coming out. Said he would have been sooner, but he had to hail a cab since I – since I ran off with the car.” She tilted her head. “It must’ve been gone already when we ran out. I don’t remember seeing one.”

“Hmm.”

Armed and stocked, Wardlow headed towards the kitchen. He helped Esther into her coat before donning his own. All the while, he scrunched his brow and muttered under his breath, barely noticing when Ares bumped into the back of his knees. “Easy, old friend. We’ll be back soon.” He seemed to have forgotten entirely about blocking Esther’s assistance. After tapping his fingers between each other to secure his gloves, he grunted, dejected.

Taz spoke up. “What’cha thinkin’?”

Wardlow eased a breath before answering. “Not sure yet.” He shook himself. “Here. Take this too.” From his pocket, he handed Esther her earlier gun. Baker’s gun. Ricky’s gun. It weighed like a brick; definitely loaded. “Maybe the damn thing will shoot someone. Though I hope it doesn’t have to.” He nodded to his guest. “Do you need a lift? We can drop you on the way-”

“I’ll take a cab. Go handle business.”

“Alright.” Wardlow offered his elbow to Esther. “To Howls?”

“To Howls.”

\\***//

Chapter 11: Ace of Hearts

#original series #aew fanfiction #1920s au #wardlow #ricky starks #shawn spears #aew taz

3 notes · View notes

randomoranges · 1 year

Text

me, like, last week: man ive been in such a writing rut.

me, today, wrote 9 pages on calvins thoughts.

me: ok then.

please enjoy 9 pages of calvins thoughts. i realise ive written a similar series of things on this topic, but not necessarily from calvins pov and if anything, complicated thoughts happen more than once :)

Best Boyfriend Award

?, 2023+

In his humble opinion, Calvin was a great hecking boyfriend and he deserved an award for being so open-minded and chill about the current state of affairs. As far as he was concerned, he’d come a long way in the past few years, really. After all, he went from having a very homophobic reaction to Edward’s coming out, losing his best friend because of said reaction, making amends and reconnecting with said best friend, somehow or other hooking up with Edward for funsies – or whatever they’d both called it at the time, doing some introspection only to realise that he might have a thing for Edward, admitting to Edward that he had a thing for him and finally starting an actual god-honest-adult relationship with Edward where they talked about their feelings and admitted to liking one another.

As far as business plans went, he was doing quite well, thank you very much.

Okay, sure, most of the second part of it had come as a surprise and had been unplanned, but anyone who made business plans knew that there always had to be some room for unexpected curve balls. The whole ‘I-might-have-actual-romantic-feelings-for-Deadward’ had been his curve ball and, honestly, it had all worked in his favour in the end. So again, he was totally winning at this. He’d entered the twenty-first century, had nearly lost one of his dearest and oldest friends, but somehow, he’d come in clutch in the last quarter and had changed things around for the best.

Totally winning.

Of course, anyone who made business plans also knew that sometimes, there were other unexpected curveballs that even experts couldn’t predict. Calvin had not been an exception to that particular clause.

Because obviously, the universe still liked to come for him every now and again and this was really the crutch as to why he was the actual best hecking boyfriend out there and deserved an actual award.

See, after he’d ironed things out with Edward, he’d remarked that Edward, his darling dearest, seemed to have been in a rift with none other than Étienne M. Maisonneuve. And Calvin had decided that he would make it his mission – his personal mission – to fix it. Because, Calvin was not a stupid man, and in this day and age, it was always important to make good connections. A big city player like Étienne was an important asset to have. Étienne had been around the block and even though Montreal no longer held the same economic and financial power it once had, the city remained significantly important. Therefore, it was good to build bridges and maintain friendly relationships. It would pay out in the long run; of that he was absolutely convinced.

(The fact that Calvin had always looked up to Étienne was neither here nor there. The guy was cool, okay? There was something about Étienne’s French carelessness that gave him a certain dje-neh-say-kwa. Calvin could only hope to achieve that easy way Étienne carried himself. Hence, he’d devised his clever little scheme (business plan#2) of the Brunch Gang, where he’d assembled all the high city slickers to get to know them better.)

(And the fact that he thought Edward, of all people, was also really cool was neither here nor there, okay? Deadward was Deadward, and for as much as he was actually lame most of the times, in his own lameness, Edward was cool. Edward was always willing to help those he cared for (in his own way, but still.) And, Edward was always patient with him, even if it meant having to punch some sense in him in the literal way. Edward was a good person.)

Anyways.

After he had gotten over just how actually cool it was to hang out with the others, Calvin had realised, after mentioning to Edward something Étienne had said or done, that his boyfriend (!!!) had – reacted rather strangely to hearing the other’s name.

How utterly naïve he had been.

At first, he’d thought Edward was being his regular obtuse self, when he’d suggested time and again that he could introduce Edward to Étienne. He wasn’t completely stupid though. He knew that Étienne and Edward were friends. Had been friends. Something, whatever. It didn’t matter. Once upon a time, the two used to hang out. He knew, because Edward had mentioned Étienne in passing a few couple of times, and Calvin had run into Étienne in Edmonton a few times as well.

But, he’d thought they’d been friends. That’s it. That’s all. Friends who’d had some big ol’ spat and didn’t know how to patch things up.

However, after prodding Edward half a million times, eventually, Edward had told him the truth of the matter. The whole danged complicated hot mess of a truth and how Edward had gone and fallen for none other than Étienne M Maisonneuve and how he had no actual idea how it was that it had spectacularly backfired so epically.

Calvin had been very cool and calm and collected about the Whole Thing, really. So, Edward had a complicated past with Étienne. Big deal. That was fine.

He still thought the two of them should talk it over and mend broken bridges and such. If only to move on and get closure. And he was ready to be a good boyfriend and help the process. Because he was that great of a human being, thanks.

(Of course, he hadn’t taken into account that Edward would do things his own way and somehow manage to reconnect with Étienne all on his own, in the least spectacular way ever. But whatever, at least Edward no longer got that stupid haunted look whenever Étienne’s name came up in a conversation. So, there was that. Progress. Amazing.)

And this was when the stupid curveball came. When Calvin’s super-great-business-plan-that-wasn’t-a-business-plan nearly crumbled before his very eyes.

It happened when, a few years later, after Edward’s rekindled friendship with Étienne was actually starting to go somewhere, Edward admitted that he still had Feelings for Étienne of the Romantic Kind. (Ok, the context of how Edward had told him was not the best (there may have been booze. Edward may have been a bit out of it.) But – well, those had been words that had been said out loud.)

And then, Calvin’s world had stopped for one hot minute. Fears he thought he didn’t have coiled around his heart, slithering up his spine. Was Edward going to leave him? Had he been some odd little rebound experiment? Was this how his little white picket fence dream came to an end? How was he going to deal with all of this?

Before he could properly freak out, Edward had told him not to worry, since he wasn’t even sure Étienne had ever even felt that way about him then and that there was little chances he felt that way about him now, especially since, y’know, he was with Calvin and all that.

It had – reassured Calvin. For like, a minute. He’d been very appreciative that Edward had been honest with him. In his own way. At least he knew. And, well, Étienne was a cool guy, so like, Calvin could understand. Especially given the fact that once upon a time Edward and Étienne had been – their own version of a Thing. So, he got it. Really. And Edward had told him not to worry.

So, he did his utmost best Not to Worry.

If he’d believed that that was the end of it, the proverbial joke really was on him. Because, obviously, it got better.

He was not sure if it had been his idea to invite Étienne over, but Étienne had come over during the summer to visit. It had been nice, really, to spend time with Étienne and the others. It had been quite fine, if he’d said so himself. It had been great until Edward had returned from a walk with Étienne and there was something about them. Something so completely different that the strange little coil of fear had returned tenfold.

And then Edward had told him. About what had happened during the walk. (Well, okay, not everything, but the big lines.) How they had somehow both realised they still had feelings for one another. And how those feelings had existed back then as well. And how they had managed to talk about it and admit to it. And how they were going to give it a shot.

Calvin had not freaked out. No siree Bob he had not. He’d been cool as a cucumber. Edward had told him in the same breath that he also planned on continuing his relationship with him. Because that was a thing that was possible in the twenty-first century. Yup. He’d been fine with it. Best boyfriend ever award right then and there.

(Okay, he’d freaked out about it in private afterwards. Like, at least fourteen times. But that was between him and the comfort of his four walls. Plus, it was a good way to process these feelings instead of bottling everything inside.)

But he’d been very cool about it with Edward. Edward had reassured him he still cared about him. Calvin believed him and it had been fine. Peachy. Really great.

(That ugly thing inside reminded him that Étienne lived miles and miles away, and so, he had the greater advantage here. He could see Edward whenever he damned pleased. The Eastern bastard could pine from afar, while he got to wine and dine Edward. He and Edward had a long history together. They were close. They were friends and they always had each other’s backs. They had history. Insides. Private little jokes.)

(But then the sensible part of him also reminded him that Étienne was a good guy. He was cool even. And Edward and Étienne also had their own long history. They’d been friends before he’d even taken a first breath. They had different insides and different private jokes. A whole goddamned past together. Oh God, Edward was going to replace him with Étienne and it would be over for him, who was he even trying to kid?)

But, he had the upper hand. He lived closer. So there. Calvin: 1, Eastern Bastard: 0.

He wasn’t being petty.

He was being very grown up and mature about the whole my-boyfriend-has-another-boyfriend-thing. Many other people would have not been this cool about it.

Hence, the award.

Because, on top of being cool about the situation, Calvin also liked to believe that even though he had complicated feelings about their arrangement, he also imagined that it must suck living so far away from one’s boyfriend. If the roles were reversed, he would hate it. So, when he wasn’t having his complicated feelings, he took the noble and gallant approach (so that he could be the best boyfriend ever, but that was neither here nor there.)

Therefore, when Étienne came to visit Edward, Calvin often made it a point to show up a few days later to give them space to reconnect.

By the time he would show up, Étienne and Edward were already re-settled around each other and it would only trigger that ugly thing inside of him all over again. (Sometimes, Calvin just couldn’t win.)

It was in all the little ways Étienne and Edward were around each other that served as hundreds of little knives that stabbed at all his insecurities.

Étienne was a handsy fellow. Calvin knew that. But there was something different when he saw Étienne curled up around Edward on the sofa. How at ease they both looked. Or when Étienne would drape himself over Edward’s shoulders in the early mornings and Edward would lean back ever so, a soft smile on his face while Étienne furrowed his face in the crook of Edward’s neck. Or how it seemed that Étienne was always seeking a point of contact with Edward – and Edward let him. The morning hugs. The lingering kisses. (He’d walked in on so many of those instances. So many lingering hugs and deep kisses had been interrupted because of him and he’d always felt bad. Now he made it a point to whistle as he approached the kitchen, or the living room and it made things a little less awkward. There were still times when his heart would clench when he’d walk into the living room and find Étienne sprawled over Edward, while Edward played with his hair, or if Edward was happily nestled by Étienne’s side, a reminder that he was a spare boyfriend and currently unnecessary.)

Then, there was the way Étienne always seemed to be able to make Edward laugh. Either with his comments, his anecdotes or something he’d do intentionally for Edward’s amusement. It felt at times as though Calvin could never be on the same level. (Deep down, he knew he was wrong, but there were always those moments when it didn’t feel like that.)

He also spotted the looks Edward would give Étienne; from fond exasperation to very much in love. He knew Edward too well not to know what his looks meant, and he wondered if his own boyfriend ever looked at him like that. (And then there was the way Étienne looked at Edward. It was all soft and besotted, as if Edward had hung the moon for him. Calvin tried not to think of those looks too much. He knew those looks. He knew he gave Edward those same damned looks. But he was supposed to be beyond this, so he fought through the ugly thing inside of him and did his best to smile and move on.)

It didn’t always work, for there were times, even, when it felt as though Étienne could get away with murder under Edward’s watch. Edward let Étienne do things that Calvin couldn’t even think about without Edward being on his case about it. And – that was just being mean and cruel and very unfair, for it seemed as though Étienne’s relationship with Edward was more special than his own. (It had taken him decades before Edward had let him use one of his fancy teacups, whilst Étienne had been given access to them from nearly day one.)

How was he supposed to compete with decades of intense friendship? How was he meant to cope with the fact that Étienne had been Edward’s escapism? Where did he rank when Étienne had offered him the world when Edward’s own family had treated him like garbage?

What the heck was Edward doing with him, when Étienne was mature and more experienced in so many different ways?

He wished it was only about the looks and the touches and the special permissions and the long history, but there was even more than that.

It was how for the first day or so, Calvin couldn’t bring himself to go back to Edward’s room. It wasn’t that Étienne was also sharing it, (see, he was such a good boyfriend that they always got back to the point where they could all share Edward’s bedroom without him having complicated feelings about it), but it always felt too intimate to simply waltz in it right away.

(And, sure, every time Étienne would immediately tell him he could return to the guestroom when Calvin showed up, but Calvin would politely decline even if that ugly part of him screamed to jump on the occasion and reclaim what was his. They’d awkwardly squabble over it for a moment, because deep down, both of them wanted to stay with Edward and both of them were trying to be polite about the ordeal.)

It was a toss up on who abdicated first.

When Étienne got to stay longer, Calvin was left alone with his thoughts in the guest room, trying very hard not to imagine what could or could not be happening in Edward’s room. He did his best not to let his imagination run with potential ideas, but there had been times when reality did it for him.

Like, that time when he’d heard breathless laughter coming from Edward’s room.

That other time when he’d heard a raspy little moan that had to come from Étienne.

Or, even, that one late night when he’d gone to use the bathroom and had very nearly walked into Étienne who’d been coming back from the kitchen, dishevelled as all else with what had clearly been Edward’s boxer briefs hastily thrown on.

And that other morning when Edward had looked so utterly pleased and satisfied – a look he knew quite well – with a smattering of hickeys on his neck that he’d failed to attempt to hide.

In those moments, Calvin wondered why Edward kept him around.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but why did Edward need him, when he had Étienne? Was he just a close commodity to have at hand when he got lonely? Was Edward stringing him along? They’d talked about this, sure, but what if Edward had changed his mind?

Étienne was someone. Étienne was funny. Étienne made things looks easy and he carried himself as though he did not have a care in the world. Heck, Étienne did what he wanted and did not care for the repercussions. He lived life according to what pleased him. Étienne was suave and sophisticated. God, even now Étienne was an aspiration.

And –

And, okay. Calvin also knew that there was more to Étienne M Maisonneuve. Countless brunch dates with the others had given him further insight into the man. Étienne was a complicated person just like they all were, but despite all that, there were still times when Calvin felt utterly inadequate around him, as if he was still some petulant, spoiled child.

Which was why, despite being the best boyfriend ever for having such an open mind about the fact that Edward loved them both (and not in a you’re better than the other way) in equal ways, Calvin sometimes found it difficult.

Damn it, he was allowed to find it difficult at times.

And mope about it.

Just – not in Edward’s face.

He didn’t want to worry Edward. Or have Edward think that he wasn’t on board. Because he was! He really, really was. He wanted Edward to be happy. If he made Edward happy then he was winning. If it meant that Étienne also made Edward happy then that was fine! More than fine, even. Because, Étienne wasn’t a monster. So, it was fine.

So, Calvin sighed and stared up at the ceiling in the guestroom where he’d currently been taking up residence in.

He’d arrived two days ago. Étienne had already been here for four.

He’d been having more complicated feelings than usual. He’d been ruminating, really. He didn’t want to be ruminating. But he was. Because, maybe, he wasn’t as great of a boyfriend as he thought he was.

He was brought out of his thoughts from a knock on the guestroom door. For a brief moment, he thought maybe it was Edward, come to tell him that he was the love of his life (not that Edward would ever say that, but dreaming was still free), but instead it turned out to be Étienne.

“Mind if I come in? Ed said he left a sweater of mine in the dresser.”

Calvin made a noncommittal gesture that Étienne interpreted as a yes and Calvin watched him as he made his way in the room and to the dresser.

Étienne retrieved the aforementioned sweater and was about to head back, when he paused by the door. Calvin should have made the effort to look busy instead of feeling sorry for himself, but it was too late, there was now a frown on Étienne’s face and he was looking at him.

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but are you okay? You seem – out of it.”

Calvin didn’t want to burden Étienne with his complicated thoughts and wanted even less for him to think that he wasn’t cool with him dating Edward so he kept his mouth shut about all of that. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Even though it was a big fat lie and from the looks of it, Étienne knew he was telling him a big fat lie.

Étienne put the sweater on top of the dresser and walked back towards the bed. “Mind if I sit?” Again, Calvin shrugged, but he didn’t make an effort to move over. Étienne didn’t seem to mind and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Is this another one of your killer migraines? Should I get Ed? Do you need anything? Gogurt, maybe?” There was a genuine tone of worry in Étienne’s voice and the very last thing Calvin wanted was for Étienne to get their communal boyfriend.

“No – it’s fine. Just – overthinking. Don’t get Ed.” He blurted, sitting up, his arms suddenly animating on their own and reaching out for Étienne to stop him from doing any of those things.

“Ah, I know a thing or two about those,” He said with a small chuckle. “Care to share? We can commiserate together.”

There was no way he was going to tell Étienne. It would just give him an advantage, really. Plus, then Étienne could goad it over his head and remind him that he was the superior boyfriend, or some such. Therefore, he stayed quiet hoping Étienne would leave him alone.

“You should come back to the living room with us. Edward misses you.”

It came out before he could stop himself, “Why would he? He has you.” Calvin groaned and looked away from Étienne. Way to be cool and beyond this and all that.

Étienne had the decency of laughing and Calvin wanted to punch him in the face. He very nearly did, until he realised that doing so would not win him any favours with Edward.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh – or, I wasn’t laughing at you,” Étienne was quick to reassure him even if Calvin wasn’t entirely convinced. “It’s just – I feel like I’ve had very similar thoughts to what you just said and Edward had the gall to tell me that we were both similar in our thoughts. I didn’t believe him at first, but now I think he was right.”

There were a myriad of things Calvin wanted to say, but the words died at the back of his throat. Anyways, he found it very hard to believe that Étienne felt remotely the same about their current situation. Étienne was an open-minded person who had sex for fun. Surely, he wouldn’t have hang ups about his boyfriend having another boyfriend. That was a problem for idiots like him.

“Are you also contemplating the intricate patterns of the ceiling then?” Calvin meant to sound annoyed and sarcastic, but Étienne just nodded and laughed.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve contemplated those patterns.” Étienne had the decency to manhandle his body so that he could properly sit besides him and Calvin wanted to squawk about it, but found that he didn’t really care. For the first time, he was starting to believe that maybe – just maybe, Étienne was really on the same page as him and that maybe, just maybe, this would be okay.

“Listen, I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s okay if sometimes you get a little insecure about all of this. It just means you’re normal. God knows I do… it’s like – one thing having Ed tell you it’s going to be okay, but another when you see the guy you love making out with his other boyfriend or something. It messes with your head on some level.” Étienne told him softly, placing what he supposed was meant to be a comforting hand to his calf.

Calvin pondered that for a moment, fiddling with his fingers, completely fascinated by them all of a sudden. The thing was, he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He was supposed to be the Good Boyfriend who was Fine with This. And – more often than not, he was! He truly was! Just… sometimes… sometimes, like Étienne had just said, it messed with his head on some level, and to hear Étienne admit to it calmed him somewhat.

“I wish it wasn’t so complicated though; how do you do it?” He spared Étienne a glance, afraid the other would be judging him, but instead, a tranquil expression of calm was on his face.

“You mean, other than have a couple of existential crises and second guess when the other shoe is going to drop?”

Calvin nodded, waiting for him to go on.

“Well, for starters, Edward usually finds me and knocks some sense into me. But, if he doesn’t happen to be around, I tell myself that I’m going to trust that Ed isn’t out to shatter our fragile little hearts and that if he says he genuinely wants to be with both of us, then that’s okay with me.”

Calvin let the words sink in and ruminated them over. Edward had told him a similar thing before as well. He opened his mouth to ask something, but then closed it, embarrassed, before opening it again and tried to find the right words to the burning question that the ugly thing inside of him kept feeding on. Étienne patiently waited, rubbing soothing circles on his shin and the point of contact was nice. He wasn’t sure why Étienne was being so nice to him, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Do you ever wonder…” He finally started to ask, letting him trust that Étienne wasn’t going to mock him for his little insecurity. “If things would have worked out… between you and Edward if…”He tried to piece his words together but found himself grasping at straws, trying to put his complicated thought into actual words.

“If one of us had said something back then? Or reached out over the many years?” Calvin nodded and Étienne sighed. “Yeah. More often than I’d like to admit, but… it’s in the past. There’s no way we can know how it would have played out. It’s time to move on and embrace this crazy chance we got now. If Ed’s happy, then I’m happy and I’ll do my best not to look too much into it. I think we’re better off if we just roll with it and see where it brings us.”

Calvin nodded. He also wondered if it would sting less if it had been anyone else than Étienne. Someone with less history, but then, it wouldn’t be the same. And even though there were still these moments of doubt, he was still, deep down, glad that it was Étienne, for he was, after all, a good guy.

And so, in his attempt to be a good boyfriend, Calvin would keep trying. He supposed that was all he could really do and that it was already much better than nothing. At least, knowing that he wasn’t completely alone in this helped. He looked over at Étienne and gave him a thankful smile.

FIN

#pc: calgary #pc: montreal #calvin brisebois LOL #pc: gary #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

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felques · 2 years

Text

Written almost a full month ago; just now getting around to editing it into something semi-presentable.

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

Though Gaius would be hard-pressed to call Wingul's general mood pleasant, he still spent more time with the younger man than any other in the country. Today was no exception, a break from meetings leading to a respite in Gaius' quarters.

"The chimera is an apt metaphor for us." Wingul had been smiling thinly, golden eyes focused on Gaius over the cup of green tea he had been sipping.

"Yes. The creature is steeped in the mythology of Auj Oule. It makes sense to carry those feelings forward into the next era of the country, does it not?"

Wingul's lips disappeared behind his cup as he took another sip, though his eyes remained on the older man sitting across from him. Without any sign of that smile, Gaius could focus on the fact that there was no humor in those eyes.

"What are you thinking, Wingul?"

"Nothing of import. I find it amusing how shallow your use of the metaphor ultimately is. But you never struck me as particularly poetic."

Gaius frowned, unsure what to think of what was potentially an insult. "Care to share, then?"

Setting down his cup, Wingul slipped a bun from the box to his side and plated it, sliding it across the table to his king.

"You know, of course, that we took our names after elements of the chimera. Its wings, its horn, its stinger, its fangs."

Gaius nodded, carefully taking the dumpling and considering whether or not to eat it while Wingul continued speaking.

"The chimera is a creature of war. While some myths claim it to be a natural creature, most describe it as manmade. How, we do not know. Special artes? It hardly matters. The fact of the matter is that it serves a purpose as its individual parts and as a whole. Upon the chimera's back, a new country arose -- that which we call Auj Oule."

Wingul drank more of his tea, watching Gaius not eating his food.

"Don't be fussy with your food, Gaius. We've been over this."

Gaius wrinkled his nose at the sudden switch in topics. "I am not being fussy. There's no spice in this, right?"

"Of course not. Now eat."

When he realized that Wingul was not going to continue with whatever expansion on the metaphor he had planned, Gaius shook his head and began eating.

Wingul reached for the teapot, his voice wry as he refilled his cup.

"It's for the best that you are not so poetic. Someone needs to be grounded and keep looking forward."

"That was what I vowed to you and the others, yes."

Wingul hummed his agreement but said no more.

* * *

The chimera can lose its horn, its stinger, its claws, its wings. It can and will fight regardless, with all of its strength. Yes, it is powerful with all of its tools, but each aspect of it can be broken, can be taken away.

Gaius grimly looked across the room, watching Wingul as he ordered away a number of soldiers and spies. They had much to deal with, now essentially in charge of both Auj Oule and Rashugal. First had been Jiao, and now Presa and Agria. The Chimeriad was reduced to one member -- the first to have taken on a name in honor of the creature of war.

"I want you to return to Auj Oule and continue running operations out of the capital. Or whichever city you find will allow for easier communication with our forces stationed here in Fennmont."

Wingul did not look over as Gaius spoke, his eyes scanning over written reports. "And what will you be doing, Your Highness?"

Gaius frowned at the lack of confirmation. "You know what I will be doing. Maxwell and her group will undeniably be making their move soon."

Wingul set down his papers and scoffed. "And you intend to meet them with that spirit that has taken a liking to you? That is folly and you know it, Gaius."

"I don't know what you are talking about, Wingul. She is an acceptable partner in battle. Her power is undeniable."

The mention of power brought about a cross look on Wingul's face that Gaius was surprised to not see fade from sight a few seconds later.

"The truth of the matter is that she is unpredictable. Her loyalty is questionable. What if she were to turn against you?"

"It's not like you to sow dissent, Wingul."

The younger man scoffed, golden eyes flashing as he allowed his annoyance to properly surface.

"You don't know what I have done for you and this country, Gaius. It's already foolish how much you have been doing alone -- including going to that other world by yourself."

"What would you have me do? We cannot lose this momentum."

Wingul's silence was sour and utterly poisonous. With an abrupt shake of his head, he coldly responded. "I want you to think on what you are saying, Gaius. For as long as you live -- hopefully a long time, given your decisions at the moment."

"I disagree that this is a bad course of action, Wingul."

It wouldn't be the first time they reached an impasse.

"As you say, Your Highness."

But it would be their last.

* * *

Robbed of its horn and stinger and claws, the chimera stands with only two options before it: fight or flight.

The option to fight is the obvious choice to the steadfast creature, taking to the skies for every advantage it can still use against its enemy.

But wings are fragile. They break more easily than any other part of the chimera.

Wings broken, the chimera plummets to the earth. A stalwart protector of the land. A beast of many battles, always sensing war on the horizon.

A remnant of an era best left in the past.

Upon the dead chimera's back, a new country would rise and flourish.

The people would call the unified land Rieze Maxia.

#tales of xillia #wingul #king gaius #fanfics

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nsfwhiphop · 16 days

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Comedy screenplay - Title: Mean Girls: Clash of the Quarters.

INT. ROYAL PALACE - DAY

(The Plastics—Regina George, Gretchen Wieners, and Karen Smith—are standing in the grand hall of a glamorous palace. A massive map of the multi-ethnic cosmopolitan city is laid out before them. Each quarter is highlighted: French, Indian, Somali-Moroccan, Scandinavian, and Hispanic. They’ve been tasked with dividing the rule of the city among themselves. It doesn’t take long before chaos erupts.)

REGINA GEORGE (Glancing at the map, already annoyed.) Okay, obviously I should rule the French Quarter. I mean, French is basically the language of class and power, and I am class and power.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Excited, yet nervous.) But, like, my family invented toaster strudel! French people love pastries. I should rule the French Quarter. I’m practically royalty in Paris already.

REGINA GEORGE (Giving her a death stare.) Gretchen. You can’t even pronounce croissant. You’re not ruling anything French. That’s my domain.

KAREN SMITH (Confused, yet strangely confident.) Guys, I’ll take the Somali-Moroccan Quarter. I’ve, like, totally been to Morocco. It’s in Spain, right? I know what I’m doing.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Looking at Karen like she just suggested Pluto is a planet again.) Um, Karen, no. Morocco is not in Spain. And you don't even speak Somali or Arabic.

KAREN SMITH (Proudly.) Well, I speak some. You know... Lamborghini.

REGINA GEORGE (Rolling her eyes, fed up.) Karen, that's Italian. And, oh my god, you're not ruling the Somali-Moroccan Quarter. You can barely navigate the school cafeteria.

KAREN SMITH (Suddenly defensive.) I can navigate the cafeteria! I always know where the Jell-O is. It’s, like, a sixth sense or something.

REGINA GEORGE (Completely ignoring her.) Okay, whatever. I'll also take the Scandinavian Quarter because, obviously, I can pull off blond, and Vikings were basically the OG mean girls. Strong, ruthless, and always got what they wanted.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Starting to crack, clutching at her hair.) That’s, like, so unfair! I’m part Scandinavian! My great-great-grandmother was half-Norwegian. That’s my quarter!

REGINA GEORGE (Sharply.) Gretchen, stop trying to make "half-Norwegian" happen. It's not going to happen.

KAREN SMITH (Looking very pleased with herself.) I’ll take the Indian Quarter. I love curry! It’s spicy like me.

REGINA GEORGE (Turns to Karen, looking exasperated.) Karen, you can’t just pick a quarter because you like food. Do you even know anything about Indian culture?

KAREN SMITH (Thinking hard.) Umm… Bollywood is like, Indian Hollywood, right? So if I’m ruling the Indian Quarter, does that make me, like, Indian Beyoncé?

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Throws up her hands.) No, Karen! That’s not how this works!

REGINA GEORGE (Finally snapping.) Look, I obviously rule everything, okay? I’ll take the French Quarter because it’s chic, Scandinavian because blond, and I guess I’ll throw in Hispanic because I look amazing in red.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (On the verge of losing it.) You can’t just take everything, Regina! What do I get? What am I even supposed to rule?!

REGINA GEORGE (Shrugs, dismissive.) I don't know, Gretchen. You can have... the Somali-Moroccan Quarter.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Sarcastically.) Oh, great. Thanks, Regina. I’m sure I’ll be so great at ruling a place I know nothing about!

KAREN SMITH (Excited again.) Wait, wait, I’ll trade you! You can have India, and I’ll take Somali-Moroccan. I already know one word—Lamborghini!

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Sighing deeply.) For the last time, Karen, that's not even the same language!

REGINA GEORGE (Interrupting.) Look, this is getting stupid. I’m clearly the best ruler, and everyone knows that whoever rules the French Quarter rules the whole city.

KAREN SMITH (Wide-eyed, as if she’s discovered a huge secret.) Wait… so if I ruled the French Quarter, that would make me the Queen Bee?

REGINA GEORGE (Glaring.) Don’t even think about it, Karen.

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Whispers to herself.) I just want something to rule... I’m so fetch!

REGINA GEORGE (Shutting it all down.) Alright, everyone shut up. Here’s the deal: I get the French and Scandinavian Quarters. Karen can take the Somali-Moroccan one since she’s so obsessed with it, and Gretchen, you can have... I don’t know, the Indian Quarter. Because you like mangoes or whatever.

KAREN SMITH (Cluelessly happy.) I’m gonna be Queen of the Jell-O... I mean, the Somali-Moroccan Quarter!

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Resigned, muttering.) I’m ruling India because of mangoes... great.

REGINA GEORGE (Smirking, triumphant.) Perfect. Now that that’s settled, bow down.

KAREN SMITH (Seriously.) Wait… do we, like, actually have to bow?

GRETCHEN WIENERS (Whispers.) No, Karen. Just... no.

FADE OUT.

END SCENE.

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jcmarchi · 6 months

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Dragon's Dogma 2 Review - On The Shoulders Of Giants - Game Informer

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/dragons-dogma-2-review-on-the-shoulders-of-giants-game-informer/

Dragon's Dogma 2 Review - On The Shoulders Of Giants - Game Informer

Creating a sequel to a 12-year-old game is never an easy task. Recapturing the magic of the original while implementing modern technology and design strategies can mangle the core values that made the original special. Dragon’s Dogma 2 never loses sight of its roots, and constantly finds big and small ways to surprise me even 50 hours in. At its core, Dragon’s Dogma 2 captures a sense of adventure. While you’re the center point of the conflict and strife in the world, Dragon’s Dogma 2 isn’t afraid to make you feel small. Around every bend, it reminds you that you’re just one part of a larger whole.

The game doesn’t waste any time setting the stage for the political power struggles and the role you play in them. The main plot serves as your reason for adventuring, but it isn’t until the last roughly 15 hours that it takes some big swings and absolutely nails them.

[embedded content]

The capital city of Vernworth, where you will spend large chunks of the game, is a bustling town with merchant stalls lining the streets, the affluent noble quarters and their gaudy homes, and the castle grounds guarded to the teeth. NPCs roam around, shop, and stumble into you with quests and smaller tasks for you to handle. It pushes the notion that people live their lives whether you’re around or not.

However, the majority of this game is traveling outside the safety of the city walls and testing your mettle in the wild. Every adventure I set forth required me to think in novel ways about how I needed to prepare. I constantly juggled the weight of my pack versus the healing items and camping materials I would need to survive. Dragon’s Dogma 2 makes every step outside of the city walls a critical decision and one I loved making.

Vocations offer different classes for you to use in combat. While I spent most of my time as a Thief, which excels at scaling large monsters like Cyclops or Griffons, there’s plenty to choose from. The Sorcerer’s slow, powerful magic casting is vastly different from the quick and deadly blade of the Mystic Spearhand. Dragon’s Dogma 2 invites experimentation, and you can choose from these Vocations at will, granted you’ve completed some of the questlines to unlock them.

Combat is brutal, long, and can leave you and your party on your last leg. The further you stray from the village and the longer you stay out imposes incredible risk. However, it’s a risk I happily took and one that always felt like the reward was high enough, even if my party died trying.

The Pawn system from the original game returns, allowing you to create your central party member, customize their looks, vocations, and even their attitude toward players. The new improvements to the system are smart and incentivize you to experiment with other players’ Pawns. I constantly switched out Pawns at every Rift Stone I could to see the best party composition possible, and it made all of the difference in battle. Having a team of fighters allowed me to swiftly trounce monsters, even if it meant not having a healer and relying on potions on scavenged fruit. These constant small decisions feed into the game’s larger idea of player freedom.

Your Pawns are instrumental in taking down the gruesome foes of Dragon’s Dogma 2. Whether it’s the hulking nature of the Minotaur or the sharp and jagged claws of a Griffon, Dragon’s Dogma 2 revels in its spectacle, making every battle a nailbiter. However, large-scale battles are where you will see the performance on consoles take a big hit. When I had multiple enemies on screen, and a pawn would cast a big spell, the frame rate would dip tremendously.

Map markers and icons are few and far between in Dragon’s Dogma 2. It often feels like you’re playing detective and leaning into the role-playing elements; having a eureka moment when uncovering clues about a person’s whereabouts never gets old. On a few occasions, I wasn’t given enough information to deduce the location of an NPC or monster correctly. This dilemma led me on a wild goose chase that felt unearned and a little tedious, especially because there are few fast travel options, so every time you leave the city, you’re going to be gone for hours at a time.

Dragon’s Dogma 2 captures the spirit of the original without sanding down the edges of what made it excellent. Its insistence on player exploration and discovery, coupled with an ending I will think about for the rest of the year, makes Dragon’s Dogma 2 a standout game and a worthy successor.

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noetic-noesis-noein · 2 years

Text

Anonymous sent: 19. What are their biggest secrets?

“Other than the whole, ‘secret identity of a super hero’ thing? Um, well,” she looked off to the side, fingers hiding her lips. “There’s been several times where I’ve up and left relationships and straight ghosted people because they’ve gotten too close. Either too close to me where I just can’t deal with them anymore, or that they’ve been close to figuring out my secret identity or the fact that well. I genuinely think about hanging up the Super Suit because of it.

“Helen thinks that I have a god complex. Sometimes I feel myself at the brink of disaster, all the time. Like no matter what I do, something is going to straight, push me over the edge and I’m just going to become some raging black hole, swallowing the sun. She says she’s seen it in me, and that I could. I don’t,” her breath hitches, “I don’t like that I’m capable of something like that. So I keep people away. I stay with someone that could shut me down and throw me into a coma at any given point if I start going ‘supernova’. Or, as we’ve both dubbed it, ‘grimdark’. I’ve lost control and been at that point before.

“I don’t remember anything that happens. Helen says it’s something about using too much power of the mind and makes it near impossible to form memories because of all the circuits I fry overdoing it. I lose my memory, I do damage, and my hair turns black. It’s why the under sides of my hair is so short, I constantly cut it off when it happens. It’s, the biggest guilt and burden I carry.”

“I’ve killed before.”

#questions #me #anonymous #tw: death mention #[dun dun DUNN #arden's big secret is that when she was first developing her powers she ran away from home #purposely she got into a huge fight with her parents and ran out #she had been losing control of her powers and was starting to not be able to hide it around the house #she runs off to a quiet side of town to let all the built up stress and energy out #hits a generator #and it explodes killing a few people #starts a fire #and a whole quarter of the city loses power #after that she swore she would get control and serve the people of the city #paying back her debt for the lives she took]

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women-are-hot · 2 years

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Request List♡

Fics

Treat You Better (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia and Y/n has been best friends since childhood, but at some point Alexia realizes she’s in love with Y/n.

One Too Many (Alexia Putellas)

Y/n watching how sad Alexia looked after the UWCL final loss, so she tries to cheer her up.

Don’t Worry (Alexia Putellas)

Y/n coming home after a horrible day at work and then Alexia takes care of her.

Told You So (Alexia Putellas)

From the outside it looks like the perfect loving marriage between Alexia and Y/n, but behind closed doors it’s a nightmare.

Unstoppable (Alexia Putellas)

Y/n was injured in the Champions League and when she saw the result after the game, she knew she had to take care of Alexia when she got home and she’ll take that job very seriously.

Stay With Me (Alexia Putellas)

After Alexia won many awards and got more followers on social media, she started to be more busy and Y/n can definitely feel that.

Always Remember Us This Way (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia and Y/n are in a secretly relationship, but someday when they’re having some fun together, their teammates suddenly are standing behind them.

Power Over Me (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia and Y/n had recently broken up and one month after going head to head in the Champions League quarter finals.

Together (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia and Y/n recently had a baby together and after winning the league, Y/n brings their little girl onto the field while celebrating with the fans.

Midnight Memories (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia is so used to being in charge as a captain, so everyone thinks she’s the boss of the house but in reality Y/n are and she loves it.

Troublemaker (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia is being the lovely girlfriend as she protects Y/n from everyone and everything.

Crazy For You (Crazy In Love Part 2) (Alexia Putellas)

Looking at how the relationship between Alexia and Y/n grows.

Only you (Nobody But You Part 2) (Alexia Putellas)

Alexia and Y/n finally tell Jenni and the team about their relationship.

Gotta Be You (Ona Batlle)

Ona and Y/n having a lovely day in the snow and Ona releasing how hard she is falling for Y/n.

Steal My Girl (Ona Batlle)

Ona being Y/n’s best friend and suddenly starts to ignore Y/n after she said in an interview that she got a girlfriend.

One More Night (Mapi Leon)

One night when Mapi and Y/n were a bit drunk, the two of them ended up sleeping together. After that happened, the two of them promised not to do it again. They both broke that promise.

She Looks So Perfect (Mapi Leon)

People think Mapi is a top, but secretly Y/n are and she enjoys it.

Speechless (Leah Williamson)

One night Y/n sees Leah at a club and literally gets speechless. Another day Y/n sees Leah running around the field as Y/n starts only to get interest in football because of the blonde.

When We Were Young (Jill Roord)

A few cute moments between Jill and Y/n after returning together after years apart.

They Don’t Know About Us (Jessie Fleming)

Everyone thinks Jessie and Y/n are just best friends, but as time flies by people start to notice the romance between them.

Love Someone (Danielle van de Donk)

Danielle and Y/n literally being idiots in love, but one night when a guy gets too close to Y/n, Danielle snaps.

You Are The Reason (Jenni Hermoso)

Y/n being afraid to lose Jenni, seeing how close she and Alexia are.

Thinking Out Loud (Aitana Bonmati)

Y/n trying to impress Aitana, but her sister, Alexia ruins the moment. Y/n do get Aitana’s number.

Fireworks (Magdalena Eriksson)

Y/n getting a serious injury in the middle of the FA Cup final against Man City and Magdalena taking care of her and showing her love for her to the whole world.

Sunshine (Hardersson)

Pernille & Magda decide to have a kid together and quickly find out that it what’s their best decision they ever have made.

Sweet Melody (Patri Guijarro)

Y/n found out she may have started catching feelings for her Spanish teammate after a night out.

Heart Attack (Laia Codina)

Y/n being the wonderful supporter of her sister Aitana and at each game gets closer and closer to the team. Especially Laia Codina caughts her eyes.

Happier (Ingrid Engen)

Y/n always had a big crush on Ingrid, but when Ingrid comes to Barca, Y/n gets super shy, but the team helps her get closer to Ingrid.

Come Get Lost (Jule Brand)

It’s only Y/n and Jule’s teammates that sees how deep the two best friends are in love.

All I Ask (Aurora Galli)

Y/n and Aurora finally get some alone time on a vacation without any stress about football and stuff.

Hold Me Closer (Sam Kerr)

Small cute moments in Sam and Y/n relationship + Y/n being Emma Hayes daughter.

Ficlets

(Alexia Putellas)

5. “No. I’m not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.” (Prompt List 1)

7. “I’m not your boss? Well then who is?” (Prompt List 1)

11. “Who gave you that black eye?” (Prompt List 1)

1. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” + 18. “Get away from her right now!” (Prompt List 2)

6. “and where do you think you’re going?” + 10. “You can’t just act like nothings wrong when it is!” (Prompt List 2)

19. “Don’t fucking talk like that to my girlfriend!” (Prompt List 2)

20 .“Go away or I’m gonna make you” (Prompt List 2)

2.” I’m right here, okay? You’re all right” + 7. “Baby, just breathe” (Prompt List 3)

40. “Did you just stick your fingers in my mouth?” (Prompt List 3)

41. "Your family is in the other room!" + 58. "that's my only clean shirt" (Prompt List 3)

56. “You made that more sexual than it should have been” (Prompt List 3)

65. "I thought I lost you” (Prompt List 3)

67. “Call an ambulance” (Prompt List 3)

73. "Don’t ever say that again" + 98. "Read my fucking lips" + 99."You make me happy" (Prompt List 3)

(Jana Fernandez)

4. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.” (Prompt List 1)

96. "I went easy on you" (Prompt List 3)

(Ingrid Engen)

11. “Who gave you that black eye?” (Prompt List 1)

(Mapi Leon)

1. “Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” (Prompt List 1)

4. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.” (Prompt List 1)

9. “Don’t you dare walk away from this!” (Prompt List 1)

10. “Don’t you trust me?” (Prompt List 1)

18. “Get away from her right now!” (Prompt List 2)

49. "I think I drank too much" (Prompt List 3)

3. “I’m a fool for not seeing this earlier.” + 7. “I trusted you.” + 21. “How long has this been going on? (Prompt List 4)

(Kristie Mewis)

1. “Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” (Prompt List 1)

(Jenni Hermoso)

11. “Who gave you that black eye?” (Prompt List 1)

12. “I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.” (Prompt List 1)

(Sam Kerr)

2. “C'mere, you can sit in my lap until I’m done working.” (Prompt List 1)

(Ona Batlle)

4. “Sorry… your hair was in your face… thought I should move it so I could see you better.” (Prompt List 1)

8. “Could you stop flirting with them for one minute?” (Prompt List 2)

16. “Who did this to you? Where are they? “ (Prompt List 2)

27. "Is there someone else? Don't lie" (Prompt List 3)

13. "What did you break?" (Prompt List 3)

(Laia Codina)

5. “No. I’m not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.” (Prompt List 1)

3. “Lock the door” (Prompt List 3)

(Laura Freigang)

8. “You can’t just hug me and think everything’s okay.” + 9. “Don’t you dare walk away from this!” (Prompt List 1)

(Ana Crnogorčević)

19. “Don’t fucking talk like that to my girlfriend!” (Prompt List 2)

(Aitana Bonmati)

2. “How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?” + 18. “Get away from her right now!” (Prompt List 2)

6. "That lipstick’s not gonna stay put for long" (Prompt List 3)

(Claudia Pina)

94. "I'm gonna take good care of you" (Promp List 3)

(Gio Queiroz)

20 .“Go away or I’m gonna make you” (Prompt List 2)

93. "Do this for me and I'll do anything you want" (Prompt List 3)

(Lieke Martens)

95. "Let's see what you got" (Prompt List 3)

(Bruna Vilamala)

1. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” (Prompt List 2)

(Sarah Zadrazil)

1. “Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” (Prompt List 1)

♡

Let me know which one you’re most excited about and want first!

#woso #prompt list #woso prompt list #woso imagine

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writingintheshadowsforever · 3 years

Text

Natasha x Reader Magic part 2

A/N: Wow this just kind of went in its own direction. Its a long one

Summary: Natasha hasn't had the best luck in tracking you down since you disappeared on her. She's almost ready to give up and just call it quits. Until unexpected run in happens, and she ends up helping you out off a sticky situation.

"Natasha how could you lose her you knew how important it was to get her on the team." Steve ranted walking back and forth in distress.

Natasha sat on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap her mood much more relaxed compared to her fellow teammate, and co-leader. It goes without saying that Steve wasn't too happy when she returned to Avengers compound without the witch in tow. Both of them knew how urgent it was to find someone that could help Wanda get her new powers under control. After everything that happened with her taking over an entire city. The only reason the government even agreed to back down, and let them handle things was. Because they promised to keep Wanda under lock and key until she was no longer a threat.

But the truth was neither of them even knew where Wanda was, but lucky for them no one else did either. Including this new organization S.W.O.R.D, or Monica Rambeau while she was a bit friendlier and wasn't as eager to lock Wanda up. She still worked for the people that did want to take their teammate away. So they kept her at arms length but as long as no one started asking questions, and Wanda stayed off the grid. Then the lie they told would be safe but it's only a matter of time before something else happened. Steve and Natasha wanted to get ahead of whatever it was, so they reached out to Dr.Strange to see if he could help. Stephen just insisted that he had other matters to attend to, but could try and find them help. In the end the despite all his extensive knowledge, and knowing other sorcerers. All he could offer them was a last name out some ancient book about the most powerful witch families in the magic world.

"A name Stephen is that really all you have to offer?" Steve demanded holding up the piece of paper in his hand.

Stephen was levitating in the air with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He paid Steve's angry outburst no attention not even opening an eye when he replied. "Yes a name to one of the most powerful witch families in the world. I would let you borrow a book but it holds way too much knowledge for me to trust in your hands."

"I don't care about the stupid book and you can keep the name too. Wanda needs a teacher Strange" Steve argued throwing the now balled up paper on the floor.

After that action Stephen did open his eyes and his feet dropped to the floor. "I know what she needs Captain that's why I spent literally hours searching for someone that can help her."

"You didn't give us a person to go with that name" Natasha reminded him with a small shrug.

Stephen gave both of them a pointed look. "A name is all I have to offer because the few witches that do still exist theses days, aren't exactly easy to find all of them tend to try and live off the radar of everyone. Including their fellow magic users after all history hasn't been kind to them at all. I figured a name would be enough for the world's greatest spy to go off of."

"Flattery isn't going to get rid of us Strange- Steve started before Nat cut him off. "Speak for yourself solider" her tone was light going right along with the playful smirk on her face. She was trying to keep things civil between them and the sorcerer supreme. Because it was obvious Steve didn't care if things did get out of hand.

Steve turned to Nat with a glare but it did faze her at all. She simply raised her eyebrows at him mouthing "play nice."

He let out a frustrated sigh but heeded her warning his tone was a whole lot nicer when he spoke again.

"Why can't you just teach her I know you don't have the time, but you have a whole magical academy for sorcerers with teachers, living quarters, and everything."

"For the same reasons Bruce couldn't build your time machine when Tony said no. Magic works the same way science does Captain there is a huge difference between a witch's magic and sorcery. While it might fall under the same spectrum the mechanics of it works differently. I can't just pick up a book and starting learning how a witch's abilities work let alone try and figure out the magical capabilities of Wanda's new powers. Whatever her magic has turned into it far out of my grasp to help her not without extensive research. And that is time I'm guessing you can't afford so you're better off finding a witch who knows of the power, and can help her master it. As for the academy Wanda is welcomed to stay there if she wants to, but I highly doubt that she's even considered it."

"Okay that annoyingly makes sense but is there no witch on your radar that you can point us in the direction of?" Nat asked picking up the piece of paper off the floor. "Or is a witch hunt really our only and best option?"

"The only witch I know of is the same witch Wanda put under a spell. One that I cannot and will not break because Agatha Harkness is much too powerful and dangerous to just let her run rampant. She would be no help to anyone. The name I gave you belongs to a bloodline of witches that were powerful but also known to be good. Unlike other covens they didn't retaliate against the humans and try to kill them, nor did they study dark magic. If anyone can help her it will be one of them. If they're still around these days and you can manage to find one."

Both Nat and Steve let out a groan at his last statement, but neither complained again instead they thanked him and left.

"Is a thousand year old last name really going to be enough for you to find a long lost witch coven?" Steve asked her later when they were back in the compound.

She sat at the table with her laptop in front of her typing so fast her fingers were almost invisible. "You heard him I am the world's greatest spy." she joked with a small chuckle

"Nat" his voice held a worried tone and it made her lookup from her laptop screen. Steve was standing across from her gripping one of the chairs so hard. His knuckles were turning white, and he held his down. But she didn't need to see his face to know how worried he was.

"If there is Farrington witch out there I will find him or her, and find a way to convince them to help Wanda" she swore.

It took her a whole month and days of doing nothing but research behind the family name. But finally she was able to dig up a an actual name of an actual person who was alive and well in the current timeline.

Y/N Farrington Richards

Okay so Farrington was your middle name and not last but it was enough. She couldn't find a lot information on your family but that was actually accurate. Stephen told her that if she could find any trace of the name linked to a family. No matter how small the trace was she needed to look into. Finding your name was the easy part considering it took her another two weeks to finally run into the real you.

Natasha was enjoying a break from her witch hunt when she saw a small crowd gathered around a street performer. It was a meeting by chance she saw a flock of doves flying away into the sky, and it intrigued her enough. That she scaled a nearby building and watched the show from a distance. Staring in awe as you pulled off trick after trick so effortlessly. There was no tell-tell or small hints as to how you did the things, and that is what had her so captivated. Not to mention you matched the only picture she could find of on the internet of Y/N Farrington Richards.

Then before she realized it the show was over and you were getting ready to leave. Nat knew she had to act fast or you would be gone for who knows how long. She didn't even mean to flirt with you, but it was the only plan that formulated in her head. Once she caught your hand in her's and pulled you to her.

It'd been a whole week since her first meeting with you, and everyday Nat would return to the same spot waiting for you to show up. It wasn't till today one of the local shipowners told her that you would switch up locations performing somewhere different as part of the allure to your shows. Your diehard fans couldn't even tell her where to find you only that she had to find you again, and she would only be able to do that once the show started.

But she did manage to get a decent start time for your show which is why she returned to the tower to eat, and get properly dressed. Steve wasn't too happy that you weren't in tow.

"She's a witch Steve with real life disappearing powers. She's also paranoid and suspicious of me and my motives. I'm not going to be able to just trick her into coming here. We're going to have play the long game with this one." Nat told him before finishing off her cereal.

"Why not just tell her the truth Nat."

"Because she'll probably think we're the government and trying to trap her. You weren't there to see how her guard went up the instant I mentioned real magic. If she realizes that we've been looking for her this whole time. She will bolt, so I need to earn her trust force."

"And you plan on doing that by seducing her" Steve accused her with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha cursed herself when the red tint appeared on her cheeks. She didn't blush over anybody, but you were different. "No not really I'll stop before things get out of hand."

"Sure you will" he laughed catching the spoon she threw at him with expert aim.

"Have you learned anything new about this strange woman y/n" your mother asked.

You were too busy trying to pick out a cute outfit for the show today. Well if you managed it to make it out of your loft to do the show your mother had spelled the doors and windows locked. While you knew the incantations needed to to lift the spell. She probably wasn't going to let you leave without a fight. The locked spell was only a warning. You knew you should withheld the story about the redhead woman that flirted with you, and was interested in your powers from your mother. But it slipped out before you could stop yourself, and before you knew your mother showed up at your door. The next morning wanting every little detail in the end when she had aggravated you enough. Finally you did a memory spell so she could see the whole thing herself.

"It was like a week ago mom and I haven't seen her again since. So no I didn't feel the need to know every little detail about the hot woman who flirted with me. But you're right I should've gotten her number at least a date would've been nice." You said changing your boots with the snap of your finger for the third time.

"Y/N you are not taking this as serious as you should be" your mom chided. But she could tell that you weren't even listening to her anymore as you modeled your current outfit. Her eyes narrowed before closing and her face features relaxed as she focused muttering words.

You didn't realize what she was doing until it was too late, and your body was pinned to your wall. All of your movements were restricted, and your mom hovered in front of you with a stern look.

"Are you ready to talk about the potential threat now sweetheart."

You let out a frustrated huff. "Mom there is no potential threat I admit it was a little weird, but she was only trying to be clever and flirt with me. I bet she's not even a fan just someone who was taken by my good looks, and couldn't help herself now put me down."

"Sweetheart she told you that she watched you from a distance. She could be working for-" your mother stopped herself realizing that she was about to say too much.

Now she really had your attention and she wasn't about too lose it. Not after what she had just implied all these years you wondered why she was so cautious all the time? Why she trained you in how to use your powers, but didn't want you to put them to good use? You always asked yourself the same question every night when you were alone.

What was your mother so scared of?

"No dear mother don't stop now tell me who could she be working for?" You demanded to know straining against her spell now.

Your mother let out a shaky sigh but with a wave of her hand and a single word. The spell broke and you dropped to the floor landing in a crouch. She walked over to where you kept the liquor to grab a glass and a bottle of vodka.

She poured herself a glass and took a sip before answering you. "Hunters okay witch hunters to be specific there are real and still operate today. That is why unlike all these scientists who getaway with using magic to become giant green beasts, time travel, and form suit of armors out in the open. For the whole world we still have to hide, and disguise our great power as cheap parlor tricks."

"But you told me I had nothing to worry about all this time. You had me convinced that I had this great destiny to fulfill, and some mystery group wanted me dead because of it." You shouted in anger "and this whole time you knew what the real danger was, and didn't say anything."

"I never lied about that y/n you are meant for great things. It's been written in the magic history books darling. And the hunters know about it and indeed want you dead for it. More than anything that's why our ancestors worked so hard to kill our last name. So our coven could survive the harsh years of witch-hunting. Some covens were wiped out because they refused to set aside their pride. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it, but you always had this adventurous spirit. I didn't want you to live your life in fear of hunters coming after you, but I made sure to make sure you could protect yourself if the need arose." She explained holding up a hand there tears in her eyes, but it wasn't enough to subside your anger.

"This whole time I've been performing in New York and you knew I was putting on a show with my powers. Why did you let me do that? You could've warned what if hunters have been watching me this whole time mom."

"That is why we need to know more about this woman" your mom said

"No you've done enough I don't want your help" You told her as your jacket materialized on your body.

"Honey I know you're upset but you don't need to do this alone. I can help you" she pleaded.

"You should've helped by telling me the truth ages ago" were your last words as you held up your hands. Muttering the words you needed to break the lock spell.

Your mother watched as you walked out the door slamming it behind you. She considered placing a tracking spell on you, but another idea popped in her head instead. You were too upset with her and would want her gone by the time you arrived home. She would make sure that you had at least one ally before she left this city.

You materialized a hoodie to go along with your jean jacket using the hood to hide your face. As you wandered through the streets of the city you walked right past the corner. Where your some of your fans were gathered at too see if that would be the spot for your show today. You decided to skip the show today but surveyed the crowd looking for the redhead. If she really was a hunter thinking you were an easy kill she was about to get a rude awakening.

But after five minutes of searching and waiting you realized that she wasn't there. Eventually the crowd dispersed in disappointing of your obvious cancellation and you were the only one left. The redhead was a no show you hadn't caught a glimpse of the woman in a whole week. And you searched every single for her face at every show hoping to find those beautiful sea green eyes gazing back at you. But you never saw them, and here you was thinking you left a lasting impression on her. But apparently she was over you and had probably moved on with her life. You knew your mother was wrong about the woman. Natasha was no hunter just a regular person, and you missed your chance with her.

You decided to go get a drink, and play a couple of suckers at Texas Hold'em. While you knew it would be a bad idea to use your powers to win, you knew that the security or the dealer would be no problem for you at all. Yeah the men would get a bit rowdy about losing all their money, but your frustration was starting to boil over. So you were actually hoping for a little action, and would make sure that no one interfered in your fun.

Every single person surrounding the table let out a cry either of joy or frustration. As you threw down a full house of cards again beating out all threw of the last of your opponents. That was game and you were now walking away with ten million from the pot. One man made a show grabbing you by the arm being as rough as he could. It was a scare tactic and it didn't faze you the slightest bit. You broke out of his hold, grabbed him the arm and wrenched it behind his back. None too gently even bending his wrist forward while twisting his arm as well. He started screaming in pain but let out a grunt as you grabbed him by the hair, and slammed his face into the table. Not one by two times knocking him unconscious the second time. You released him letting his body fall over into the back of a chair.

You were tempted to kick it away, but that would be too far. Plus you started to reel your rage in before it got out of hand. Some of the patrons already looked confused probably wondering why the security didn't interfere. "Now does anyone else want to try and take the money they lost back?" You shouted holding up the suitcase.

No one spoke up there was just complete silence till you finally walked away to head back to your room. You would probably give the money away at the show, because you really didn't need it, and you really did love your fans. The only reason you chose to stay at the hotel was because you were trying to dodge your mom till the next day at least. She would probably stick around to try and repair the damage she did, and convince you to leave New York or something. You weren't really mad at her for not telling you about the hunters. It was just a lot to absorb, and you needed a day to yourself before doing that.

You were walking down an empty hallway your room just a couple of door down. When an overwhelming sense of dread overcame you, and made your feet come to a stop. Behind you someone opened their room door and stepped out. But whoever the stranger was their footsteps stopped which they were still behind you but why. You turned around as slowly as you could praying you don't make eye contact with those sea green ones.

Please don't let it be her you pleaded in your head.

It wasn't instead its was a older man probably in his early forties with brown hair pulled back in a long ponytail. He was tall and lean but was definitely in shape. He wore a brown wool jacket with a simple black shirt, and blue jeans. But what really caught your eye was what was in his hand a small baton and a gun in another.

"Well that was quite a show you put on y/n. I'm not going to lie I'm impressed you might be more of challenge than the last witch. I put down usually the parents don't bother to teach them how to fight. Your kind tends to overestimate just how far your powers will get you." He said his voice was softer than what you imagined it would be but the authority in it was obvious.

"Boss can we keep the money" another voice said out of nowhere

You were so caught up with the leader and his little speech. Two more men managed to sneak up on you blocking off your path to escape. They held the same weapons that the man in front of you did.

"Of course my young proteges whoever deals the knockout blow gets a bigger cut." He told them his whole demeanor was so nonchalant.

You didn't like it one bit it was throwing your whole game off. Knockout blow meant he had no intention of killing you here instead they meant to take you somewhere else. Back to a base maybe but for what to torture for the hell of it, or to get info out of you about the rest of your family. Like hell they weren't going to take you anywhere let alone knock you out.

"Do you guy always talk so much before actually doing any damage?" You asked making sure to keep your voice steady and strong. The leader didn't need to know he had you on edge.

He frowned lifting the hand with the gun in it to point it at you. But it was too late. You muttered a quick energy spell and threw your arms out releasing a circle of blue energy that shot out in. The form of a giant wave slamming into the two men behind you knocking them back a couple of feet.

The leader somehow manage to dodge it by ducking with speed that didn't match his age. He squeezed the trigger on the gun it made no sound, and two darts came out instead of bullets.

Tranquilizers.

You cursed quickly holding your hands in front of you a energy shield appeared in front of you. Just in time as the darts slammed against them and fell to the ground. You knew that it was only a matter of time before the other two men got up. With that in mind you tossed the suitcase up in the air and yelled the command. The suitcase exploded into smoke that covered the entire hallway cutting off everyone's vision.

You heard the older man cussing and coughing as you turned around and broke out into a run. Pausing to deliver a harsh roundhouse kick to one of the men that was on his knees coughing. His head snapped to the side as your foot made contact with it. He fell to the ground now unconscious and you threw out a hand at the other man spelling his body to be pinned up against the wall. Just like your mother did you before continuing on your getaway.

You tore through the hallways of the hotel choosing to take the stairs instead of the hotel. Once there was some pretty good distance between the you and the leaders. You paused long enough to breathe and focus on your teleporting. Just as you disappeared the leader rounded the corner with only one henchmen in tow. He held up his gun and fired off another dart that somehow managed to hit you. His evil smirk was the last thing you saw before you reappeared this time right outside of the hotel.

You pulled the dart out of your shoulder already feeling the effects of whatever drug. They were using your legs were starting to lose feeling. You started to stumble across the street hoping to make it to a taxi cab or something. Before it paralyzed or knocked you out for good. But it was just your luck that you left the hunters on the first floor. They came scrambling out of the hotel eyes scanning the crowd for you, but you saw the first, and acted fast.

You didn't have enough strength left to perform a powerful spell. So using your telekinesis you managed to make a nearby fire hydrant break. The hunters attention were drawn towards the water bursting in air long enough for you to stumble to away to the other side of the street. But that was as far as you could get before your body started to give.

You were leaning up against a wall hoping the hunters wouldn't see you. When a suddenly a black corvette pulled up beside you blocking your view of the hotel. The window rolled down revealing the redhead with those sea green eyes. Fear flooded through your body at first there was no way you could fend her off. But then you noted how worried expression on her face.

"Hey are you okay?" she called out to you.

You shook your head not even having the strength to open your mouth. Knowing this was your best and only chance at escaping you dragged your body towards the car. Natasha was on the same page reaching over to open the door catching you as you fell into the passenger seat. She helped you get all the way in the car watching as your head slumped back on the seat.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Drive" you murmured weakly

If it wasn't for her car blocking out all of the commotion going on outside. She wouldn't have heard your plea realizing that you had been sedated or worse. Natasha put the car in drive and hit the gas speeding off into the night.

Taglist: @wandanatvoid @yelenabelovasgf @romanoffomixam @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @xxromanoffxx @emril-osvigne

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff #dr stephen strange #black widow x reader #black widow imagine

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celestialsaturn · 4 years

Text

🌃The Descendant:🌃

The Astrology of attraction pt.1:

What aspects and placements should we look at in order to find our soulmate?

Our journey begins ironically, at the end.

The descendant:

Your descendant symbolises what you innately desire when it comes to romantic relationships, what provides balance. If you’re curious as to see what you or your crush’s type might be, this is the post for you 😃😋

Note: The descendant symbolises what you need rather than what you might think you want. It’s about bridging the gap. Keep this in mind.

Aries descendant/Libra ascendant:

🐛You watch as the scales tip precariously, hurriedly throwing away the few remaining pieces of yourself that you’ve been saving in your pocket, in efforts to maintain your version of equilibrium, it’s only upon looking down from the oppressive structure of your own design do you realise that they’ve been there all along, catching all of the parts you deemed unworthy like precious snowflakes. The scales are balanced now and somehow they’re in your favour.

🦋You might get caught up in the taxing motions of trying to please everyone around you, constantly putting everyone else’s needs and opinions above your own. Therefore, You might be attracted to those who are loud and outspoken, who easily stand up for those they love and what they are passionate about. They have no problem rocking the boat and setting clear boundaries.

🐛There is something about the fire burning behind their eyes that draws you in. Their rebellious streak, crooked smirk and carefree attitude is awe worthy.

🦋To conclude: you might be attracted to Feisty, bold and active go-getters who inspire you to stop putting your value in the hands of others, and start living for yourself.

Taurus Descendant Scorpio Ascendant:

🕷Being an iconic, independent femme-fatale is a tiring job, it’s hard having everyone fall to your feet,, doesn’t make walking any easier to say the least. But as you push aside the amorphous mass of admirers , you realise that though you’ve built a wall around you, you want someone that’s willing to break it down brick by brick to see the real you.

🕸You are highly receptive and intuitive and this is what causes you to be quite guarded, as you know most don’t have the best intentions. Therefore, you are attracted to the trustworthy, reliable and kind.

🕷Soft teddy bears who are your anchor when you start drowning in a sea of assumptions and jumped-to conclusions. They bring you back to shore carrying you upon their dependable shoulders as dependable people do, and revive you with a fresh breath of reality.

🕸Just overall, you want a genuine person with the kindest eyes who you can call in the middle of the night when it all gets too much, so they can lull you back to sleep with soothing reassurance and solid advice.

Gemini Descendant Sagittarius Ascendant:

🐁As you flit your eyes over the crowd, you begin to realise you’re searching for something, something deeper than hollow small talk and stale jokes on a strangers couch, at a party you have no business being at. You stare intently into the sea of friends and acquaintances but none of the faces register, nothing holds meaning here, you want more.

🐀You need someone to answer the millions of questions that you mull over at night, and even if they can’t they’ll still take the dive with you exploring the depths of the universe, whilst holding your hand 🤢.

🐁You need someone who is open minded, someone who is willing to believe in just about anything because,,, well, why not??? Who are we to pretend that we have all the answers? Someone who gets your weird and some might even say,,,untimely jokes but they get it, that’s how we deal with life around here— with laughter.

🐀In conclusion: you just want an intelligent free spirited soul with your love for travel and learning. Who doesn’t try to tie you down, who would rather embark on all of your journeys with you, and proves that love can truly be expansive and engulfing at the same time.

Cancer Descendant Capricorn Ascendant:

🌑You gaze out the ceiling to floor windows of one of the hundred skyscrapers in the city, so strikingly dull it hurts. You’re working late again, you can hear the monotonous murmur of your coworkers futile attempts to bring you back to speed about the riveting second quarter budget, but your eyes have once again locked upon the moon it always seems to call out to you and who are you to dare look away.

🌕You need someone willing to sand down your edges with their gentle and nurturing spirit. Someone that recognises all that you do to be a reliable and hard working individual, but simultaneously makes you realise you’re so much more than that. You’re so much more than the well polished awards on your mantle, you’re so much more than you let yourself believe.

🌑Someone that forces you to stop and smell the roses, someone that creates an environment in which you feel so safe that vulnerability actually seems possible. And when you do finally open up, surprise surprise,,, they don’t sneer in disgust and tell you to cut the pity party. They allow you to feel, they show you that being in touch with your emotions and even acting upon them doesn’t make you weak, rather it strengthens your heart.

🌕In conclusion: you desire a soft and empathetic individual, that gives you a whole new perspective on life, and teaches you that you don’t have to go out of your way to earn their love, they will forever accept you as you are. Their love flows through you unconditionally, you are at ease now.

Leo Descendant Aquarius Ascendant:

🌱You’re afraid, you’re scared that they won’t understand, that your impassioned speeches will fall upon the ears of the ignorant, you worry that you’ll lose yourself to the herd mentality. You sense that you’re the only one on this planet with some sense of individuality and genuine compassion. Yet for the first time in your life Aquarius, you’ve been proven wrong. You watch as they make slow but sure steps up to the podium, their eyes are warm and set a glow with passion, their arms outstretched to the crowd drawing them in, and as they speak you begin to realise, you’re not alone.

🌻What else can you say? You’re a sucker for the dramatics. You admire their bold and brazen confidence. The way charm just seems to drip off of them, with every hair flick and radiant smile flashed you’re only human after all, even though you hate to admit it you can’t help but to fall for them.

🌱People that recognise the genius in you, people who see the method to your madness, people who take the time to listen to you string together your plans for the future and encourage you to put all of your innovative ideas to action. People who never give up on you. People who have faith.

🌻You are in awe of how they are so unapologetically themselves. You see yourself in their eyes. Two unique individuals both equipped with a strong sense of self, ready to take on the world as the ultimate power couple.

Virgo Descendant Pisces Ascendant:

🚣🏽‍♀️ As night falls the waves get angrier, crashing against the little rowboat, you don’t know how you managed to get here. Your mind procures a crack of lightening and clap of thunder just to add to the ambiance. It’s worse knowing that you can’t even seek solace in daydreams. You’ve been out at sea for quite some time, watching the days go by, but this night it’s different, you see a beam of light cut through the suffocating fog, they’ve come to guide you home.

🌊 You admire their neatly filed papers and freshly sharpened pencils. You like how it contrasts your paint stained hands and brushes strewn across the floor. You like that they always have a plan, you like that they’ve put so much thought into the details you forgot even existed. You find their nagging endearing, it anchors you from floating off into reverie as you like to do. They show you that the real world isn’t that bad after all.

🚣🏽‍♀️ When it all seems hopeless, and there’s nothing left to do but simply wallow in despair, they arrive with tissues and solutions. They listen attentively to all that you have to say. They make sense of the jumbled thoughts in your head carefully laying them out in order as they spill out of your mouth. They understand.

🌊Someone that provides structure and stability without trying to dilute your personality. Someone who would much rather dive in and get to know you for you.

Libra Descendant Aries Ascendant:

👹You drag your sword along the smooth marble of the palace floor trying your best to ignore the images of the battlefield you created,- standing tall amongst the defeated as the lone Victor. You look up to see them waiting for you as the always do, bandages in hand. As they nurse your wounds they observe you stifle a pained wince, and they remind you gently that the war is over now, you can let your guard down. The sword drops to the floor with an echoing clang, you are safe.

👼 You May have a one track mind and whilst that is admirable in a way, it can be stifling for others as you may fail to take into consideration the fact that humans are social creatures dependent on one another for survival. You need someone that gives you a new perspective on life, showing you the value in diplomacy and taking the time to understand all angles of a situation before making an absolute conclusion.

👹You’re attracted to kind, social individuals who charm you with their soft smiles and knowing eyes. The embodiment of grace and poise. They shock you with the way they elegantly waltz through confrontation and debates, remaining objective and calm. You learn from them.

👼 You will attract people who focus on the value of partnership, who strive to seek harmony and balance in every aspect of their lives. They adjust your lens on life to focus on more than just the bubble of defense you have created for yourself. You might be attracted to the whole “beauty with brains” type.

Scorpio Descendant Taurus Ascendant:

🌹You stand unwavering, rooted in the foundation you carefully handcrafted like a solid oak tree with gleaming branches and leaves of gold that grows steadfast through the years. A raven perches upon you whispering the secrets of the universe in a foreign tongue that reverberates through your soul, you begin to feel as though time has lost all meaning, and the seasons pass by in a blur, you emerge transformed. Burgeoning into an evolved sense of self.

🥀You are attracted to people with an alluring aura who you can tell have a red hot intensity simmering underneath their cool exterior.

🌹You are enamoured by the concept of a love that completely immerses you. They are a heady concoction of an individual that embodies loyalty and devotion, who takes the time to prod beneath your surface and understand the essence of your being.

🥀Note: You might attract individuals who seem broken, you might even have broken bird syndrome, eager to “fix” your partner. This can be very taxing, so maintain clear boundaries, and understand that you can’t change everyone.

Sagittarius Descendant Gemini Ascendant:

🥚 You are so aware of your surroundings, it sometimes feels as though you’re on the outside looking in staring through the window at the ongoing house party eyes glazed over, your mind is off journeying through the foreign lands you’ve only ever read about. However your body is very much present going through the motions of social niceties for a brief moment you lock eyes with them, you recognise the look on their face, it mirrors yours.

🐓You’re attracted to deep and philosophical individuals with restless spirits. You both share a love for knowledge, however they amaze you with their passionate stances. They are so attached to all that they learn, as though the process of encoding, storage and retrieval of information, takes place in the heart. It’s foreign to you but that’s why you like it.

🥚You have so much love to give even if you don’t know it, you attract partners who let you tap into that Jupiter-Esque energy. What is life, if not to give wholeheartedly.

🐓 They bring out the wanderer in you, they tell you to turn your thoughts into actions, allowing you to transform that mercurial energy you’ve pent up all this while.

Capricorn Descendant Cancer Ascendant:

🍇You feel like the tides, ensnared by the power of the moon, shifting from one partner to the other, dancing was never your thing. Yet that all seemed to change as you are spun into their arms. Their arms hold you firmly, guiding you through the steps, you flow together seamlessly and you can’t help but to gaze in amazement at the quiet confidence that seeps out from between their self assured movements. You are home.

🍷 You are attracted to ambitious individuals. You are drawn to their stoic faces and freshly pressed button up shirts. The way they hold themselves with utmost composure, the allure of the way you can never tell what’s going on inside their head.

🍇 Someone you can look to as your rock, even as your moods shift tumultuously throughout the day, they remain steadfast at your side.

🍷 You want someone to start a family with. Someone who can build a home with you that’s worth never leaving. Laid up together amongst the memories you’ve created, at peace.

Aquarius Descendant Leo Ascendant:

🕺You are the Sun. A life force. People gather in awe to watch the daily occurrence of you set and rise. Adoration comes naturally but, so does fear. People avoid your direct gaze, shading themselves when you seem to come off too strong. Only knowing how to admire from a distance. But Aquarius is different, their stare bores into you, analysing your every move, you’ve never felt more vulnerable. You’ve never felt more connected. You like it.

💃You are attracted to i n t e l l e c t u a l s 🥴. They appear indifferent upon the surface, a stark contrast to your animated disposition. But their passion runs as deep as yours. They have a unique perspective on life, and are fuelled by the genuine desire to give back to their community. You can’t help but be in awe of their creativity and innovative ideas .

🕺Speaking of genuineness, this is something that is so important to you. You are hyper aware of the fact that most people do things to be perceived a certain a way. Is it because you do the same thing, Leo? Because of this, you see right through the facades that people put up, and are in search of something something real. It’s not enough for someone to just seem kind, they have to have the innate desire to help others, regardless of the prospect of acknowledgement.

💃In closing, your type could be someone who is intelligent, passionate and understanding. Someone who is open minded and tolerant. They might appear emotionally indifferent, but you understand that. Y’all are just two lions, leaders of the pride, looking down from your shared fortress at the masses. Aloof, and in love lmaooo.

Pisces Descendant Virgo Ascendant:

🌧You watch enchanted, as their brush embraces the canvas, with every stroke ;) they slowly but surely create an escape for the both of you, your own universe where the shackles of reality have lost their hold. They take your hand and together you step into the watercolor paradise, a stark contrast from the harsh angles and hostile frigidity of this plane of existence. A love only found in daydreams.

🌈You are attracted to dreamy artistic types. People who are in tune with their emotions and who allow themselves to express their inner artist in every day circumstances.

🌧You have gotten so accustomed to living in the present trying to overcome obstacles and achieve your goals, you might not stop to realise you’re tired. Pisces soothes the tension you’ve been holding for so long. They understand how you feel without you even having to say a word. Despite the fact that they might look like they’re off in their own dream world, when they love they form a connection so strong that it’s as if they can read your mind.

🌈You strive for perfection, and they show you the beauty that lies underneath the covers of an unmade bed, or between the hours of a day spent doing absolutely nothing. They wish that you could see yourself through their eyes, reminding you everyday, that you’re nothing short of perfect.

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quinnsqueries · 2 years

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How To Create Unforgettable Characters

So, I'm the type of person to have far too many OC's. If you're in the same boat as me, you might find this post helpful. If you're an artist who has OC's and you want to develop them more, you might find this post helpful. All in all, if you have OC's or want to create some you might find this post helpful, so keep reading!

So, in order to create a good character, we as writers need to understand what can make a character fall flat. Some of the main reasons a character can feel flat is because:

They don't change enough throughout the course of the book/series

They lack purpose

They fill a role too similar to another character in the book

Personality isn't developed enough

They change too much throughout one book (ie they take on multiple personalities very quickly)

They don't have a distinguishable look

Your Character Has No Flaws

Your Character Has No Motivation

No relationships with other characters/Relationships aren't written well

Dialogue isn't realistic

The list can go on forever, really. There are many different ways a character can feel flat, but these are the main reasons I see. Now, I understand this list can feel overwhelming, so we'll break it down from here. Let's start with some of the easier ones on this list.

They don't have a distinguishable look.

If a character doesn't have a distinguishable look, they might be easily forgotten. I find, as a reader and a writer, it can be hard to tell characters apart if you don't know what they look like. That's why we describe our characters. I was rereading Trials of Apollo by Rick Riordan recently, and I think he did an excellent job in giving the characters in this series a unique look. If you've read the series I'm willing to bet a quarter that you remember that Lester/Apollo had acne throughout the series - and was a bit chubby. And that's because he wouldn't let us forget it. And I remember Meg McCaffery always wore crazy outfits. Valentines Day Outfit, Stoplight colors, etc etc. And she had cool classes and a pageboy haircut. Rick did an amazing job at describing these characters.

So, if you're trying to give a character a defining feature, do it! Make it unique. You can say they wear a pink jacket all the time or that they have a big nose. Just give us something to base the image of them in our heads and that will help us remember them. You don't have to write a whole paragraph based off it - honestly, that might be too much, but one or two traits is great! That'll help us know what they look like no doubt!

Your Character Has No Flaws

As a writer I know how tempting it can be to write a character who is perfect. You love them and you don't want them to have any flaws. But, guys, c'mon. Some of the things I remember most about characters is their flaws. Annabeth Chase is afraid of spiders. So, take your characters biggest strength and flip it. Let's take Sophie Foster from Keeper Of The Lost Cities for example. Sophie Foster has a lot of powers and many good friends. Now, that's a great strength, right? But in the series she has so many powers that she doesn't know what to rely on. And when it comes to her friends she always wants to rely on the ones she trusts the most, and in the end that is her greatest fault. Sometimes the ones she trusts the most aren't the ones she needs. I haven't read the series in a while, but I remember this because it's a great flaw!

Percy Jackson is loyal to a fault. Annabeth Chase is too proud. Give your characters flaws and people will remember them.

Here is a short list of flaws you can give your characters

Struggles With Anxiety

Fear of Spiders/something else

Can't admit when they are wrong

Lies a lot

Fear of losing loved ones so they cling to who they feel close with

Your Character Has No Motivation

If you have an unmotivated character they might be a bit unforgettable. And okay, this is something many of us in REAL life might struggle with. Motivation. And I get that - I do! And not all characters have to have a motivation, especially if they have a really small role, but if you're trying to write a character people will remember, they have to have a motivation. And the motivation doesn't have to be big - it just has to be there.

Let's take Billy, a random dude. He wants to go to the dance. But why? Well, he wants to take Jay to the dance. He wants to dance with Jay and maybe kiss him.

That, my friend, is motivation. His motivation may not seem big to US as the readers, but hey. What do you remember about Billy? He wants to take Jay to the dance.

Now, some of the most notable motivations I remember are big ones. Apollo wants to be a god again. Sophie wants to take down the Neverseen. But there are also smaller ones I remember. They may seem small to us, but it's an essential part of their character.

Keefe Sencen wants to find a place he belongs. Because Keefe wants to belong he ran and joined the Neverseen. Twice.

Dialogue isn't realistic

Dialogue is important when developing a character, but it also can be hard to write. Some characters talk more formally than others. But, in the end, it has to be consistant. And it has to make sense. If you write a character who comes from, say, an important family, they might talk more formal. If you write a character that grew up on the streets they may talk more informal or at least probably wont know fancy words. Also. Filler words are important.

Erm.

Like.

Uh.

So.

Yeah.

Filler words. Use them.

Or, more accurately, know when to use them. If it's an important conversation where a character is explaining something, they might feel out of place.

Older characters will use less filler words than younger ones. Little kids use lots of filler words and don't always make sense.

Dialogue is important. It makes or breaks a character, so figure out how your character speaks and keep it consistent.

They change too much throughout one book (ie they take on multiple personalities very quickly)

Ah, this is a very big reason characters can seem to fall flat. If a character changes drastically in each scene there is, you have a problem. Now if there is a purpose behind these changes then your golden, but if they change and you don't know WHY. Well, it's time to do some rewriting.

Now, let's bring Billy and Jay back. Say Billy was talking about the dance to his friend Molly and Molly was very happy for Billy about his plan to take Jay to the dance. She was even helping him brainstorm. But she said no cake will be at the dance because cake is trash and Jay also believes that. But then the next scene she was sabotaging the dance. And then suddenly she is eating cake with Jay even though she said she and Jay both hated cake. Well, why did all this change? Do we know why she changed so much? Now, to save the character of Molly lets give her some depth. We don't have to change everything, we just have to give her a reason as to why she changed so much.

Molly secretly likes Jay. She knows how much Billy likes Jay, but she likes Jay even more. So when helping Billy plan out how he was going to ask Jay to the dance. She lied about Jay hating cake, too. So she ate cake with him after sabotaging the dance because she wanted Jay all to herself.

If you have an inconsistent character you don't have to rewrite everything. Sometimes, you do. But sometimes you just have to add depth to them.

They fill a role too similar to another character in the book

Sometimes it can be easy to get characters confused. So, when creating a character you have to figure out their place in the book and make sure it isn't too similar to a character you already have. It's okay if you have two mechanics. Just make sure one of them is trustworthy and the other isn't. Why would you have two known mechanics that are trustworthy if you can only have one. Unless the book is about mechanics or they play an important part. Or, maybe they come in different places in the book. Like if the car broke down in North Carolina and you met Jake and then it broke down in South Dakota and you met Tim.

Give them a purpose. Give them a reason to be remembered and don't make them remembered for something somebody else is being remembered for. If you do things might get confusing.

Take Greek Mythology for example. Do you know who the god of war is? If you said Ares you're correct. if you said Athena you are ALSO correct. Bit confusing, is it not? But there is a reason there are two gods of war. Athena is battle strategy and Ares is violence. See the distinguishment works? If they were both simply war then things might get confusing and we might not know who is who.

Okay, we've gone through a lot of reasons why a character might fall flat. Which ones do we have left?

They don't change enough throughout the course of the book/series

They lack purpose

No relationships with other characters/Relationships aren't written well

Now, why are we regrouping right now? Because from this point things are going to get a bit tougher. These are some of the most fatal flaws when creating characters. If a character has no purpose then they aren't going to be remembered. If they're static then they probably won't be remembered. And if they have no relationships then they won't be remembered. Let's dig into developing characters.

They don't change enough throughout the course of the book/series

If your character lacks an arc then they're falling flat 100% of the time. The change doesn't have to be big it just has to be there. They need to learn something throughout their journey. If they don't - what was the purpose of going on the journey in the first place?

Percy Jackson learned to embrace his powers.

Annabeth Chase learned to trust her friends and family.

Nico diAngelo helped the camp he ran away from.

Clarisse La Rue went from bully to leader.

Luke accepted his fate as a hero and saved the gods he had once been so angry at.

Need I go on?

Yes, I do. Because I want to talk about two of my favorite Riordanverse arcs, Apollo and Meg.

Meg McCaffery was abused by her stepfather. She was afraid of him. But why the end of the book she broke away from him and helped her siblings do the same thing.

Apollo was once a god. He didn't understand mortals. He thought he was the most important guy out there. But in the end, he learned what it meant to be human. He learned what it meant to care and change. He learned to make up for his mistakes. He was an entirely different character by the end, and that is why I love him so much.

You don't usually remember the characters as who they were at the start. You remember who they are by the end, and the middle, and the start.

You see them change. That's why they have an impact on you. Because you feel like you've been with them through hell and you feel like you changed too.

They lack purpose

Sometimes you have to ask yourself: Why is this character here. What purpose do they serve. Sometimes you just have a random character thrown in to serve one role, like a cashier or something. These characters we won't remember but you do know they are there.

But if you want a character to be REMEMBERED then you have to give them a good purpose. And, as I said earlier, we don't want them to be too similar to another character. So, find your characters purpose. Here are the main character archetypes. Which one best suits your character?

Protagonist - Main Character of a story. Often told from their POV and their character arc is tied directly to the plot

Antagonist - Character preventing the protagonist from achieving their goal. They don't have to be evil/a villain.

Love Interest - Character your protagonist falls in love with. Usually three dimensional, compelling and interesting.

Confidant - Best friend/Sidekick of the protagonist.

Deuteragonists - Main characters who's arcs don't have to be directly tied to the plot. These characters often overlap with The Love Interests and Confidants.

Tertiary Characters - They populate the world, though they do not have to be tied to the story or appear frequently throughout the story.

Foils - They bring characters qualities into a sharper light. They are often direct opposites to characters like the protagonist or confidants.

No relationships with other characters/Relationships aren't written well

Ah, we have reached last thing on our list: relationships. If you have a character that you want people to remember then you have to write their interactions with other characters well. If they don't have memorable interactions with the protagonist AND other characters then you probably won't remember them.

Now, the protagonist is the center of the story, and you want to have memorable interactions with them and other characters, but sometimes interactions between characters that AREN'T the protagonist are some of the most memorable. Because while the story centers around the protagonist, our characters lives do NOT center around the protagonist.

And if they did, well. That's weird. Obsessive, even.

That's honestly a good character to write.

Here's a helpful tip that I didn't know where to put.

Helpful Tip: When writing a characters introduction scene write it from their perspective first and then write it from the protagonists POV. This helps give you, the author, a greater sense of who the character is.

Alright, I've been writing this post for a while now. So I hope it was helpful for you all. That's all from me. Stay safe, drink water, and eat something you love! Take a nap! Just be awesome!

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cuti-romeros · 2 years

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A little carrard friendship fic inspired by this stevie & jamie interview before istanbul

For @zingaplanet ❤️

Jamie jokes and jokes, but he never ever says it straight and serious to Stevie’s face: don’t go.

The papers report that Steven Gerrard will make up his mind at the end of the season. Each of the forty-seven versions of that headline are shoved in his face every time he steps out in the city, so much that he can hardly leave his doorstep without someone asking him is Stevie staying, or worse, make sure he stays, or worst of all, we don’t want him anyways.

Rather than answer, he mostly just stops leaving his doorstep. They have a chance at the Champions League, and if there’s anything that’ll convince Stevie to stay, it’s a trophy. That trophy. So he puts his head down and trains harder than he ever has in his life and yells at anyone who looks like they’re even close to phoning it in and hopes desperately it’ll be enough.

(He would pray too, maybe, but this decision isn’t up to any god, it’s up to Stevie. And Jamie wouldn’t dare take that power away from him)

The thing is, Chelsea would be a good move. Stevie would lift trophies, taste success, win and lose and draw without carrying the weight of an entire city’s expectations into every match. But Jamie is a selfish bastard, and he can’t tell Stevie to go.

He also can’t tell him to stay.

If Stevie stays, it has to be because he wants to be here, because he sees a future here, because he’s happy here. Not because Jamie dragged him into a corner and emotionally blackmailed him into it. Not because Jamie looked into his eyes and said stay for me, the way he’s been tempted to do since the start of last season, and Stevie listened.

Because he would listen. Jamie is sure of very little in his life these days, but he’s sure of this. If he asked, really, truly, all-defenses-bared asked, Stevie would stay.

So he doesn’t ask.

They make it further than they have any right to. No one expects them to beat Juve, the Italian champions, in the Quarters, and when they get to the semis, Jamie only has time to think please anyone but Chelsea before the results come in and they’re playing fucking Chelsea.

Of course they are.

Stevie never brings it up himself, far too much of a professional for that, but the media circus is unbearable. The Steven Gerrard playoff, they brand it, as if he’s some piece of meat they’re haggling over, as if Stevie has so little agency that he’ll just hand himself over to whoever wins the tie at the full-time whistle. It’s the biggest load of bollocks Jamie’s ever read—if all Stevie needed to decide his future was the outcome of a head-to-head game, he’d have left to London or Manchester or even fucking Birmingham by now.

And yet. And yet. Jamie barely sleeps the night before, tossing and turning to increasingly nightmarish scenarios of scoring the own goal that knocks Liverpool out of the Champions League and Stevie out of his life for good. Breaks out in a cold sweat on the team bus when he sits down next to Stevie, as always, and realizes there might be a different face in that seat next season depending on how the next ninety minutes goes.

Perhaps predictably, the first leg ends in a draw. Stalemate. Something about that feels very fitting, given the context of the game—neither club gaining anything, both standing to lose everything, all eyes on what Stevie will do. Still, Jamie is proud of the clean sheet at Stamford Bridge, even more so when Stevie gives him a massive hug after the game and says halfway there low in his ear like a promise.

(He reads a comment in one particularly nasty paper the next morning that Stevie wasn’t trying his hardest because his heart was already blue, and strongly considers driving over to burn the whole establishment to the ground)

The second leg is—it’s fire in his lungs, full-pelt defending for ninety minutes, heart crawling into his throat every time a blue shirt gets within ten yards of the box, a flash of fear after every tackle because one more booking means he misses the final, one eye always on the clock as it crawls forward molasses-slow. It feels like playing for the fate of his whole world.

What’s really on the line is Stevie, which might as well be the same thing.

Finally, finally, finally, the whistle blows. Jamie can barely hear the fans cheering over the ringing in his ears, the rush of blood to his head as he collapses bodily onto the pitch. They’re going to a Champions League final.

And Stevie is—not leaving just yet, at the very least.

They’ve made it further than anyone expected, but almost isn’t good enough. Not for Stevie, who deserves to lift trophies above his head every single season, not when he’s nearly accepted he might need to wear a different color to do it.

“Jamie!” Stevie shouts, grabbing onto his shoulders and shaking him like he’s trying to make sure it’s not all a dream. “J, we did it!” A sound of pure pleasure bubbles out of Stevie’s throat, somewhere between a giggle and a laugh and a cheer all in one, and Jamie grins so wide his face hurts.

Just one more game, and maybe he gets to keep this a little longer.

Before the final, as ever with these things, there’s an interview. Sky somehow get him and Stevie and two cameras into a room with four European Cups gleaming proudly behind their chairs, and the sight of the trophies makes his heart skip a beat.

“Don’t touch the cups,” Jamie says to Stevie as soon as they walk in. It’s superstition, but they need every advantage. “Not unless you wanna lose.” Not unless you wanna leave, he doesn’t say, but maybe Stevie hears him anyway.

The interview touches on a lot of different topics, but eventually, the question comes. Does winning the Champions League have any bearing on your decision to stay or go?

And Jamie knows the answer, has always known the answer even though they’ve never actually talked about it in as many words, yet something in him still cracks when Stevie says, immediately, flatly, “Yeah.”

The Chelsea game may not have been a Steven Gerrard playoff, but this one feels a lot like it is. They win, he stays. They lose, and Jamie’ll lose everything too.

He dreams, the night before.

“Madrid want me,” Mickey says, unable to hide his excitement. The words echo over and over. Madrid want me Madrid want me Madrid want me Madrid want me Madrid want me—

“You’re not going though? You wouldn’t—” You wouldn’t leave me, would you?

“Carra, it’s Madrid.” There’s something sad and very, very soft about his voice that hits Jamie harder than any insult he’s ever heard, any beating he’s ever taken. “I’m sorry.”

He wakes with his cheeks wet, and it’s only Stevie’s regular breaths from the other bed that lull him back to sleep.

The first half goes by mostly in flashes, snapshots and fragmented emotions.

Kickoff. He feels good, ready. The crowd are so up for it, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear that half the population of Merseyside is somehow packed into the stadium.

His first touch, first pass. Calms some of the jitters, ignites a few new ones. He’s just kicked a ball in a Champions League final—no one will ever take that away.

The first time the net bulges, the way it sends his heart sinking into his stomach.

The second time, how it silences the crowd, a sea of red that bellowed You’ll Never Walk Alone to spine-tingling effect just forty minutes prior. Shell-shock in the stands, shell-shock on the pitch.

The third goal. Time seems to stand still. There’s a tightness in his chest, suffocating, and he can barely draw breath. All he can think is that Stevie’s going to be wearing blue as early as tomorrow morning, and then he’ll be gone, lost to London, another in the long list of people who started out in Liverpool and never managed to stay.

He thinks of Michael and nearly falls to his knees right there on the grass. This is how it ends.

The whistle blows for halftime, and he’s never been happier to get off a football pitch in his life.

The dressing room is quiet. Not silent, the ever-present clatter of players adjusting shin pads and tightening bootlaces and guzzling down water humming away in the background (Jamie wants to tell them all to shut up and sit still, knows they aren’t 3-0 down because a shoelace was a little too loose), but quiet. Nobody speaks. Nobody know what to say.

The gaffer comes in and starts his tactical adjustments, but Jamie has eyes only for Stevie, sat four seats down from him with his hands covering his face and the captain’s armband tossed on the bench beside him. Jamie’s fully aware this disaster might be the last game they ever play together, and it makes his stomach roil.

He takes once glance at the updated lineup written on the board, just to be sure he isn’t coming off, and looks away as soon as he sees that Carragher is still there in fading red marker. That’s all the instruction he needs, really, because his role is quite simple—just make sure three doesn’t turn into four or five or six.

He doesn’t remember which match currently stands as the worst Champions League final defeat in history, all he knows is that it can’t become this one.

Faintly, the sound of the fans singing filters into the dressing room. There’s a somber, haunting quality to it, nothing like the jubilant, roaring You’ll Never Walk Alone from before the match, and somehow, that’s what makes the tears burn in the back of his throat. He hasn’t cried since leg was broken and every heartbeat was accompanied by a stab of white-hot pain, but this feels even worse than that.

Bones can heal, after all. Broken hearts, he has learned, never quite grow back whole.

All too soon, it’s time to head out again. Around the dressing room every face is grim, and on instinct he looks back at Stevie, a last grasp at comforting familiarity.

His heart lurches. Stevie looks—lost isn’t the right word, but it’s close to that, eyes hooded, mouth pressed into a frown, running the captain’s armband between his fingers like it’s some unknown object he’s trying to puzzle out.

The thought that he will never see this again, Stevie beside him in the dressing room wearing the Liverpool red, hits like a punch straight to the gut, and Jamie finds his feet moving toward Stevie, drawn like a magnet to its opposite pole. Before he’s really even conscious of what he’s doing, he takes the armband from Stevie’s fingers and twists it around in his own, heart pounding.

If it’s to be the last time, he wants to be the one to do it.

“Come on then, Stevie, lad.” He can’t look at Stevie. Won’t, because otherwise something very close to the s-word will slip out, and this would be the absolute worst time to give in to that particular temptation. “One more half.”

One more half left in the game. One more half as a Liverpool player. One more half together. One more half to turn this around.

Jamie cuts himself off there, letting Stevie decide which of the million and seven interpretations he chooses to take away from that, and slides the armband onto Stevie’s left bicep where it belongs. Where it’ll stay, for at least one more half.

“Yeah,” Stevie says quietly. His voice doesn’t shake, but it’s thin in a way that Jamie knows he’d never allow it to be when speaking to one of the other lads, someone he has to motivate. Captains can never be weak. He watches the bob of Stevie’s Adam’s apple as he swallows, like he holding back just as much as Jamie is. “Yeah, J.”

The nickname knocks the air straight from his lungs, and it takes Jamie several seconds to remember how to breathe.

Stay, he wants to scream, but he just gives Stevie a pat on the shoulder—lets his hand linger for the briefest moment, hopes it says everything he can’t put into words—and turns toward the tunnel.

One more half.

Turns out they don’t need a half. Just six minutes.

The first goal is pure relief, the truest form of a consolation goal he’s ever experienced. Knowing the supporters who travelled all this way have at least one thing to cheer about means more than he imagined it would.

The second goal is shock woven through with the faintest thread of hope. Maybe they could—maybe—

Even in his own head, the idea is almost too ludicrous to voice. But he feels it in the noise of the crowd and the frantic beat of his heart, the way even the air is charged like something electric is brewing in the stadium. Maybe they could.

The third goal is fear. There’s joy, too, a blinding, bursting euphoria for a few seconds, but it’s gone as quick as it came. He knows, somewhere deep down, that three goals is all they’re getting, each one a veritable miracle in itself, and they’re playing for penalties. Which means the best case scenario is that the next thirty minutes, plus another thirty of extra time, are going to be nonstop defending, the second leg of the Chelsea game but dialed up to a hundred.

It’s going to hurt.

But he sees Gerrard up on the scoreboard in gleaming white letters, and it’s fuel when his legs burn with cramp every time he moves, when every breath feels like a knife cutting him open from the inside, when the medics look him in the eye and ask if he wants to be stretchered off.

They win, and Stevie stays. One more tackle, one more block, and Stevie stays. How could Stevie not, if they win it like this, the greatest Champions League story ever told? They win, and Stevie stays. The truth of it is a better painkiller than any pill they might give him.

“No, no, I can carry on,” he says to them, and it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made.

He plays, and it hurts, but less than it would’ve to sit on the sidelines and watch the fate of the European Cup decided without him.

He plays, and they make it to penalties.

And then they win.

In the post-match euphoria, after the medals and the trophy lift and the confetti, he finds Stevie.

He can’t contain the smile on his face, hasn’t been able to wipe it off for the better part of an hour, and Stevie seems much the same.

“J, can you believe it!” Stevie says, and in this moment the nickname just curls in Jamie’s chest, soft and warm like a blanket. “European Cup winners!”

“Can’t believe it.” He shakes his head, catching sight of somebody posing with the trophy behind Stevie. The cup looks pretty real, at least. “No. Can’t believe it. Just keep looking around thinking, fuck, am I dreaming?”

“Best dream ever,” Stevie replies almost absently, starting to pull away in the direction of the trophy. Probably to give it another kiss or seven or twenty, the thrill nowhere close to wearing off.

Jamie almost lets him go. If this, doing the unthinkable, isn’t enough to keep Stevie here, nothing will ever be. He just has to hope it’s enough.

But Stevie must see something in his face, because he stops, takes a step toward him. “Jamie?”

“You must be staying now,” he says, still unable to make it anything other than a joke. It’s the closest he can come to asking, knowing that the ensuing answer will make or break absolutely everything about his enjoyment of tonight.

He didn’t know it was possible, but Stevie’s smile gets even wider.

And Jamie laughs before he’s even had a chance to say anything, the relief crashing over him in waves, a joy so heady it leaves him weak and dizzy.

Oh, thank the fucking gods.

#carrard #jamie carragher #steven gerrard #*writing

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nightingaelic · 3 years

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I was reading your "Fallout 4 companions meet Arcade Gannon" reacts when I had an idea. FO4 companions reaction to visiting the Mojave Wasteland with the Sole Survivor.

"She was Boston, I was Vegas

She was Crêpes Suzette, I was pie

She was lectures, I was movies, but I loved her."

- Frank Sinatra, 1981, "I Loved Her"

Cait: "I've never been much of a gambler, but where there's gambling, there's usually a good time to be had."

While Cait finds the casinos of the Strip a little too ritzy for her liking, she rather enjoys the smaller, satellite venues: The Atomic Wrangler in Freeside, the Vikki and Vance casino in Primm, even the saloons in Goodsprings and the Mojave Outpost (the latter of which being where she foolishly engages in a drinking contest with Cass and happily gets her ass kicked). Her greatest enjoyment, however, comes upon discovery of the Thorn in Westside, with its arranged bouts between wasteland critters and the opportunity to go a round yourself if you're feeling lucky. Instead of the trapped horror she felt when the Combat Zone was taken over by raiders and she was forced to fight, Cait revels in the glory she reaps when choosing to face off against a fire gecko, a night stalker or a cazador with her trusty baseball bat. By the time the visit is over, she and Red Lucy have grown close, and the Thorn's mistress is going around openly calling Cait "my hunter."

Codsworth: "Ah, Las Vegas! Why, I can recall when you considered a quick getaway to this paradise just before young master Shaun's arrival. It appears we aren't too late, after all."

Codsworth is somewhat comforted by the lack of overt nuclear devastation in New Vegas, but that feeling wears off as soon as the first set of thugs in Freeside tries to corner him and the sole survivor and take their caps. Once the would-be muggers are laid out on the ground, Codsworth abandons his rose-colored glasses and puts his quippy, dismayed personality back on. Still, he loves the Strip, particularly the Ultra-Luxe with its refined guests, decor and hygienic practices, but he quickly sours on their hoity-toity attitudes. Instead, Codsworth turns to the presence of the NCR as a sign that civilization is creeping back into the wasteland. He's also tickled pink by the Kings and the Chairmen, but not the mobster-esque Omertas: They remind him too much of the pre-war mob activity in good old Boston.

Curie: "Excusez-moi, but what is that structure there? The tallest one, with the blinking lights."

Curie is thrilled to be out in the desert, observing the local populace and documenting their survival techniques, social structures and power struggles. She's fascinated with the area's history, and drags the sole survivor along to seek out the Mojave's most (in)famous individuals to record their stories for her research into post-war civilization. This lands her in quite a few questionable situations, but her general attitude of perseverance and wide-eyed wonder about the world open a lot of doors for her. She makes a lot of friends at the Old Mormon Fort among the Followers of the Apocalypse, though most of them assume her frustration about her own "biological reactions to extreme living conditions" is just her complaining about the heat like everyone else. Arcade's pretty sure she's a robot, though he's too polite to ask about it outright.

Danse: "We're close now, to the birthplace of the Brotherhood of Steel. This is an honor I never thought I'd experience."

Though it's boiling hot inside his power armor under the desert sun, Paladin Danse is overjoyed that he's accompanying the sole survivor on this journey into the cradle of the ideology that he's devoted to. He's heard about the Mojave from Brotherhood of Steel veterans, those who traveled with Elder Lyons when they initially came to the Capital Wasteland and those who accompanied Elder Maxson when he was just a Squire, and he keeps spouting off random trivia about the area. Any run-ins with disillusioned Scribe Veronica might leave him a bit put out, but it's overall a fun trip for him through a part of the continent that's a little less smashed to rubble than the rest of the world. He especially enjoys visiting the NCR and Brotherhood military outposts, if only to offer critiques and suggestions to any soldiers that give him the time of day.

Deacon: "Sheesh, visiting the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter, am I right?"

Deacon has been here before. Well, he doesn't actually say he's been here before, but he keeps dropping hints to the sole survivor that he's somehow on a return trip. He knows the legends of the Sierra Madre and the Blue Star treasures offhand, he has a whole conversation with the Securitrons guarding the Strip about what happened to Robert House, he even knows how to competently play Caravan. Every time the sole survivor asks him about how he knows so much, though, Deacon just grins and keeps chugging his Sunset Sarsaparilla. Obviously no one recognizes him by face, but he does have a setting-appropriate wardrobe along that includes NCR bandoleer armor, a coat-tailed tuxedo, top hat and White Glove Society mask, and a black leather jacket to go with his pompadour wig.

Dogmeat: [curiously sniffs everything]

Dogmeat can't figure out why this place is so dang dry, but he's on his best behavior for the sole survivor as they make their way over the dusty roads of the Mojave. He politely greets each other traveler on the roads, who keep asking his companion where they got "a non-cyber cyberdog." For the most part though, the trip is pretty in line with everywhere Dogmeat goes: Big rodents, big bugs, tired people and plenty of ruins to explore. Dogmeat's one outstanding adventure comes in the form of an attempted kidnapping by some of the Kings, who think their leader needs a new dog after Rex hit the road with some fool. The King doesn't take kindly to this, and graciously has the dog returned to his friend.

Hancock: "Oh, man, how does anyone live out here? I'm drying out, I feel like a radroach husk."

Hancock is having the time of his life in the Mojave, apart from constantly complaining about how he prefers the Commonwealth's weather. He's chummy with everyone, but especially with the ghouls he encounters. He buys Raul a bunch of drinks and asks him about his past, he suggests future career paths and hobbies for Calamity, and he is absolutely enchanted with Beatrix the dominatrix. He's also rowdy enough to attract the ire of nearly every casino in New Vegas: The White Glove Society seethes when the sole survivor points out that his Revolutionary War outfit technically meets the dress code, the Omertas howl when he starts encouraging the strippers and sex workers to band together and take over the casino, and the Vault 21 dwellers keep asking if he's liable to turn feral. The Chairmen, however, treat him as something of a novelty and gift him with a seersucker suit to go with his jaunty personality.

MacCready: "You know, I played cards with a guy from out here once. He tried to teach me a game called... what was it, Candyman? Kilogram?"

MacCready has the barest smattering of knowledge about the Mojave Wasteland, and he keeps injecting it into conversations no matter how inaccurate it is. He's fascinated with the sole survivor's recollections of what Vegas was like before the Great War, and his expectations are sky-high by the time they arrive on the city's outskirts. Those expectations are absolutely met once inside the Strip, even if the sole survivor's are let down. MacCready is just tickled by the existence of a city that is solely dedicated to parting you from your caps, and he settles into each new business for the express purpose of people-watching. He only tries gambling once, and immediately quits after he loses all of his pocket change.

Valentine: "Good old Las Vegas. Somehow, I'm not surprised it's still got a reputation as 'Sin City,' even this long after the bombs."

The Nick Valentine of old never visited Las Vegas, but he certainly knew about it well enough for the Nick Valentine of today to draw on those impressions. He's extra-wary about the city as a result, an attitude not helped by the many people staring at him because of his detective getup, jagged edges and golden eyes. Some people are polite enough to walk up and ask what he is: Others offer to buy him off the sole survivor directly, much to Nick's chagrin. When James Garret offers him a thousand caps for "one night of his services," Nick puts his foot down and starts glaring at everyone who so much as walks up to him and the sole survivor during their trip. The exceptions to this rule are Veronica, who is extremely polite and non-invasive with her questioning; Arcade, who is too polite to even mention Nick's synthetic state; and Raul, who finds the whole thing hilarious but admits that his ghoul status has landed him in some similar situations.

Piper: "I've heard plenty of stories about this place, and if even a quarter of them are true, I ought to get a good travel piece out of just about anyone we pass on the street."

Piper's on a mission to track down the history of New Vegas, which, like Curie, sends her on a path toward its biggest political figures. Aside from them, she's particularly interested in the services of the Mojave, like the Gun Runners, the Crimson Caravan Company, and especially the Mojave Express. Piper gets along swell with just about everyone, and she basks in the widespread acceptance that she lacks back home due to her chosen profession. She desperately tries to get Johnson Nash to ship a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla cross-continent for her, but he gently turns her down and tells her that the only courier he knows crazy enough to undertake a trip to the Commonwealth is too busy nowadays.

Preston: "They're not too friendly to outsiders here, or so I'm told, but there are always good folks to be found if you know where to look."

Preston, true to form, offers help to every little settlement he and the sole survivor come through on their journey, which delays their path to Vegas quite a bit. He makes a beeline for the Old Mormon Fort as soon as he hears the Followers of the Apocalypse have a base there, though, and spends most of his visit picking the brain of its leaders about the best ways to aid those in need in the wasteland. He and Arcade get into some spirited debates about the pros and cons of having a civil service force focused on military matters versus civilian matters, and the Minutemen leader leaves the Mojave with a lot of new ideas to carry home to the Commonwealth.

Strong: "Strong not looking for 'good time,' puny human. Strong looking for thing that make super mutants stronger."

Strong hates New Vegas, but that's nothing unexpected. The sole survivor tries to limit their time in the city and take him around the desert to locales where super mutants are more likely to be found, which brings them to Jacobstown. Surprise surprise, Strong hates Jacobstown - at first. Little by little, through talking with Lily, the other nightkin, and Marcus, Strong starts to realize that the super mutants of the town are doing exactly what he values and sharing their resources among each other for the good of the community, just minus the usual violence associated with super mutants. He struggles with this alternative way of life for a bit, but eventually comes to accept that to be a super mutant, you don't have to constantly attack those around you to show off your strength.

X6-88: "Be careful. The Institute's records about this area indicate high levels of theft, murder, and unsavory characters. It would be best to keep our guard up."

Like Nick, X6-88 greets everyone in the Mojave with open suspicion, and can hardly be convinced to leave the sole survivor's side for their entire journey. His dedication to this task leads those around him to joke about him being "a human Securitron," which the sole survivor finds amusing: X6-88 does not. Still, the ability to hire and maintain a professional-looking bodyguard while visiting New Vegas doesn't go unnoticed, and most people assume that means the sole survivor has a lot of money to spend or be separated from by force. Criminals are more likely to be ruthless, hell-bent on stealing the loads of caps the sole survivor surely has tucked away. Business owners, on the other hand, are more polite to the pair on their travels, giving them better service and goods that ingratiate X6-88 a bit more to the common people aboveground.

BONUS!

Ada: "Jackson brought us out here once, when Zoe decided she wanted to try acquiring a Securitron. The leader of the Strip turned us down."

While Deacon is playing coy about his experience in the Mojave, Ada is completely open about hers. She hasn't been to the Strip, the dam, or any of the Mojave's "fun" destinations, but she remembers the Crimson Caravan Company headquarters, the 188 trading post, and many of the small towns along the way. Her fondest memories are of scavenging around the ruins of the REPCONN test site, the Aerotech Office Park and HELIOS One. She also recalls that her caravan friends came to visit primarily to find a Securitron to take apart and repurpose, but won't say exactly what happened when they tried to do so, other than warn the sole survivor "not to invite the wrath of the House."

Gage: "Now this is a town that knows how to run a successful racket. We need to find out who's in charge, see if they can give us some tips."

Porter Gage walks right up the steps of the Lucky 38 as soon as he finds out that someone inside is running the Strip, and demands that the Securitrons let him in to "talk to the boss." The robots aren't impressed, of course, and toss him out straightaway. Gage, not one to be discouraged easily, tries to find information among the nearby raider gangs instead: Fiends, Vipers, Jackals or Great Khans, he's not too picky. The current state of the raiders in the Mojave quickly informs him that they're failing one by one against the power of New Vegas, and he renews his efforts to find the recipient of the endless streams of caps. Thwarted at every turn, he and the sole survivor retire to Gomorrah, where they bemoan their bad luck while the courier sits a few seats down from them, listening in and smirking.

Longfellow: "Just point me to the nearest saloon. If I can't cool down, I'll try to forget I'm hot."

Longfellow parks himself at the nearest watering hole and does his best to avoid the scorching Mojave heat. The Maine-born grandpa is pretty miserable during the daytime hours unless he's sitting in front of a fan with a cold beer, swapping stories about Far Harbor critters with the bar regulars. At night he's a bit more open to adventuring with the sole survivor, when the desert cools down and he can see the sights by moonlight. Although he's not a fan of the hustle and bustle of the Strip, most of the large casinos there have air conditioning thanks to the Lucky 38, so he claims a table in the back and glares at anyone who disturbs him and his drink. He gets along with most of the New Vegas crowd though, if they agree to pick up the tab.

Maxson: "We came this way, when the Elders sent me to the East Coast. I wonder if the chapter here is still persevering."

Elder Maxson is surprisingly reluctant to visit the two things that the sole survivor would've thought he'd be interested to see in the Mojave: The Strip, or the Hidden Valley bunker. If pressed, he'll admit that he's not the type to cut loose and gamble, drink or participate in general debauchery as a result of his upbringing and position of authority, but neither is he keen to drop in on the dying Western chapters of his order and become stifled by protocol and ass-kissing. He prefers to wander the desert itself, seeking solitude among the cacti and under the stars. Given the chance, he'd probably nip off to Quarry Junction and anonymously solve the NCR's deathclaw problem, if it hasn't already been taken care of. He refuses to wear his uniform for the entire trip.

Desdemona: "The Mojave probably wouldn't know what to make of our mission, which is how you know it's a good place to hide. I wonder if any of our rescued synths made it out this far."

This is by far the most relaxed the sole survivor has ever seen Desdemona, and why wouldn't it be? She's so far removed from her usual sphere that she drops her usual, tight-knit demeanor and embraces loosening up. She's still not talking openly about the Railroad's operations, but she is more likely to answer questions both personal and professional. Like Deacon, she knows a bit about the Mojave, but not so much that she can blend in completely. Instead, she embraces being a tourist and does all the usual things that go with it: Visiting the Strip, the Sunset Sarsaparilla headquarters, the Thorn, and especially Hoover Dam. When she's looking out over Lake Mead, with the sun getting caught in her hair as it sets on her left, she almost looks happy.

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