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pyrrhiccomedy · 3 years

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the People have requested my book report on The Library at Mt. Char so this is now a Mt Char book club.

if you have not read The Library at Mt Char there is no reason to keep reading. I hope you're having a nice day, stay safe and don't do drugs.

So Mt Char has a couple of problems, but in my opinion only one grave problem.

Not a grave problem:

Erwin doesn't need to be in this book. An astonishing amount of ink is spilled on giving us Erwin's POV and I am at a loss in regards to what that's supposed to bring to the story. I mean, it's kind of neat to see Carolyn's "trick shot" from the POV of one of the people being manipulated, but that perspective could have just been provided by Steve. Everything Erwin does of any plot significance could have been done by Steve, a character who actually matters.

Please note that I don't hate Erwin, he's perfectly fine as characters go, he just contributes nothing, and it is baffling that he and Carolyn get the last scene in the book (instead of just ending on her reunion with Michael, a scene that was emotionally affecting and felt like a natural end point to her story). We are taking no questions, Erwin needed to be cut.

Also not a grave problem in my opinion, but I am sure others feel differently and I understand why they would:

Yo, the scope of what the catalogs cover is mad vague. I mean, I get that that's the point: when you have a character whose magic powers are "anything that has to do with death or murder," that's a broad license, and I'm fine with that. These are supposed to be demi-gods. I don't require a rigorously explicated magic system.

But then like...why can't Jennifer, the healer, also heal minds? That seems weird. Or like, it's implied that she kinda can, maybe, but none of the kids talk about their therapy sessions with Jennifer: they explicitly call out that she heals their bodies. But then she talks about how Margaret and David are sick (meaning mentally) in a way she can "no longer help?" Aren't you supposed to be the God Of Healing? Why can't you help anymore? And were you actually trying to help them before - or anyone else? That's never shown. You could have just said you only healed bodies, not minds, but then it's repeatedly implied that she CAN diagnose mental and emotional problems (and therefore should probably be able to do something about them).

So that's weird.

Or like, why is there Alicia, who "sees the future," and Rachel, who "sees possible futures?" That, uh, just sounds like the author was running out of ideas. Also, if Alicia could see the future, she probably shouldn't have been in that house when the SWAT team hit, yeah?

Stuff like that. The magic the kids can do is very "they have the powers the author needs them to have when the author needs them to have them, and they can't do anything the author would find inconvenient for them to do" but that's not a deal breaker for me because overall the vibe being put off by their various magical specialties works for me. Still, there were ways of getting us where we needed to go without begging quite so many questions.

Also not a grave problem, although more of a problem than the other stuff:

You know that anime trope where a super-genius character is having an entire conversation with another super-genius character through a screen, and it's revealed that the whole conversation was a distraction and pre-recorded so that Character 2 could Complete His Scheme against Character 1? And used his super-genius brain to predict every single thing Character 1 would say? And your suspension of disbelief staggers bloodied into the alleyway and collapses because you're really trying to hang in there, Code Geass, but that's fucking stupid, you're asking for me to believe that this character's intelligence is flat-out supernatural now and you've given me no reason why that should be?

That's how I feel about Carolyn, by the time she takes over the Library. Like, okay. The kids canonically have not even been at the Library long enough for any of them to master their catalogues except for Jennifer. None of them but Jennifer are masters of even their own subject.

Carolyn has been studying in secret from multiple catalogues - which is cool! I like how she slowly reveals over the course of the latter half of the book that she has powers from other people's specialties.

...But like...

She seems close to mastering her own catalogue. She is a competent healer and can raise the dead (Jennifer's catalogue). She can block attempts to read her mind, beats David in a fight, and understands how to kill Father (David's catalogue). She speaks lion and controls the dogs that surround the Library (Michael's catalogue). She could make the mathy "Denial That Rends" thing that kicks off the whole plot, and she can make a new sun and correct orbital rotations around it (Peter's catalogue). She can predict the future with such specificity that she knows how to cause Steve to drop a clip of bullets while he's being attacked by dogs exactly where Erwin will need to pick it up later (Rachel's catalogue, also this one is stupid, she could have just given Erwin an extra clip or something, but whatever).

That's half the catalogues. Carolyn doesn't seem prodigiously more intelligent than the other kids. She's smart, sure, but they're all weird demi-gods with a genius for their specialties. The rest of them haven't even mastered their own catalogue, and I'm supposed to swallow that Carolyn has attained 'competent or better' status in six? When she has to research five of them in secret? Without falling behind in her own studies?

It would be fine if they had all been masters of their own catalogues for years and years; that would mean they would begin to stagnate, while Carolyn kept learning. But that's not the case. By the end I wasn't impressed anymore at Carolyn's resourcefulness, it just felt like she could do anything and everything, shh, don't ask questions, she's the Chosen One so she just can.

The reason this isn't a grave problem to me is because Carolyn's journey isn't about becoming more powerful: it's about her emotional journey, which isn't affected by her being stupidly OP for no reason by the end of the book. She still sucked at the things that mattered, like "feelings" and "relationships" and "not being a shitty person." But I do think it hurt the story. I should be cheering on my protagonist when her wild schemes come together, not rolling my eyes.

Anyway. All that was the aperitif. Let's talk about

THE GRAVE AND GLARING PROBLEM AT THE CENTER OF MT CHAR.

So everything that happens in the book stems from Carolyn's thoroughly justified hatred of Father (and David, but David was made that way by Father). Father treated her, and all of the other kids, with extravagant cruelty. If you haven't read the book in a while, here's a sample of the kinds of things Father did to the kids, or, if David did them, that Father did nothing to prevent:

- Cooked David alive over 2 full days in a giant bronze bull (and made the rest of the kids bring the fuel)

- Put Michael's eyes out with a hot poker every night for 2 weeks (and made the rest of the kids watch)

- Murdered Margaret every few days, often in drawn-out and painful ways

- Made Rachel repeatedly give birth, raise the babies to about 9 months, then murder them with her own hands

- Allowed David to rape all 11 of the other kids (except Jennifer, probably because she was the healer and he wanted to stay on her good side)

- Allowed David to crucify, brutalize and rape Carolyn and Peter

- Gave Carolyn a loving new family for a year when she was nine years old (those two deer), then had David murder them in front of her and blame it on her for not remembering her homework well enough, then served the two deer at a feast to 'celebrate' her returning to the family

- Whippings, skinnings, and bone-breakings as standard disciplinary actions

Whoo-ee! Okay! We are talking about mythological cruelty. I am fine with this! The story takes place on a mythological scale. As outlandish as all of that is, the cruelty feels proportionate in a story about killing and replacing god. Father is cruel, indifferent, controlling, and alien. I have no questions, Carolyn please proceed with your revenge. We seemed on track for a tale in which Carolyn defeats Father, but in doing so she runs the risk of becoming him. Will she step back from the brink and retain her humanity after all of the trauma and brutality she's endured? Let's find out!

And then

and then.

Oh boy.

And then.

...It turns out, Father is a good guy after all.

And let me be clear: THIS IS NOT, IN AND OF ITSELF, A PROBLEM.

By the time you learn that Father is actually benevolent, and loved those kids, and cares about being a responsible steward to the world, and tried to leave the universe a better place than he found it, and genuinely regretted the suffering he inflicted on them when they were growing up, it feels kind of...natural? Like, I was surprised, but also not, because there were 90 pages of book left and Carolyn had already become god. This seemed like a thematically meaningful place to take the rest of the story.

It turns out Father was training Carolyn to replace him the entire time. He had to make her hate David because it was important that she "defeat a monster" on her path to becoming god. (It's not explained why she had to defeat a monster, but sure, okay; it's the kind of mythic feat that fits with the story we're in.)

Why did he choose Carolyn to be his successor? Well, originally he chose David, but David wasn't strong enough: every time Carolyn was the monster in David's story, she defeated him, and went on to rule the universe as an unspeakable tyrant. Since Carolyn always won, Father swapped their roles. He knew he had made the right choice when he put David into the bronze bull, and heard David begging for mercy: because when Carolyn had been the fated monster, she had never begged.

...Okay, so...hang on.

Hang on.

The only rule that we've established on "how to become god" is "you have to defeat a monster," right? I'll even grant you for free that it has to be a monster who is personally meaningful to you, although that part is never stated. Overcoming a great evil which has cast you down and abused you many times before, sure, okay.

...Why the FUCK did all that other awful shit have to happen??

I did not have this question when Father was just evil! That was a good enough explanation! But now that he's not evil, you HAVE TO EXPLAIN why he treated all of the kids so brutally!

Like dude you're GOD. If you need a monster for Carolyn, I'm sure you can make that happen without TORTURING CHILDREN FOR DECADES.

There didn't even need to be any other children! You could have two kids: the languages-kid, who is the chosen one (the chosen one has to be the languages-kid so they can read the Onyx Codex or whatever it was called at the end, the one written by Original God), and the war-and-murder kid, who is the monster. They could have just been forbidden to read the other codices, if it's important to you that your chosen one still prove her resourcefulness or whatever.

Why include all of the other kids??? It wasn't to give your chosen one a sense of family: Carolyn didn't feel close to any of them except for Michael (who I liked, but whose contribution to the plot was negligible).

Or keep the kids! But then why make them, and Carolyn, hate you?? You could just say, "Hey Carolyn, I am raising you to be my successor, you have to figure it out yourself because part of proving your worthiness is this kind of abstract, big-picture thinking, but I love you and whatever you end up deciding to do, just believe in yourself." And meanwhile you're off torturing the fated monster in order to get him piping hot and ready to be served.

Was the idea that Carolyn had to endure so much horror in order to prove she was 'tough enough' to be god?? Because that's not how trauma works! Kids who have been brutally traumatized are usually not made tougher by the experience! A fact that even the book understands, because 10 of the 12 kids are completely destroyed by their upbringing (I'm giving marginal exceptions to Michael and Carolyn herself).

And like

if Father doesn't have a good reason for having treated them so badly, the whole book falls apart!

Because getting revenge for that cruelty is Carolyn's whole motivation!

We are clearly supposed to feel okay about Father going to make a new universe at the end of the book: he's going with his cool tiger friend and that little girl with the connection to the elemental plane of joy who used to be the sun, he's happy to see Carolyn embracing compassion and kindness, which means he cares about compassion and kindness. He invented light and pleasure. Carolyn does nothing to try to stop him from going. He seems like a pretty good candidate for god. And I do feel okay with him leaving! I was convinced! Father is not evil after all!

But then you have! to explain! the abuse!!

It can be a throwaway line!! "Carolyn realized that everything she and her siblings went through had to happen the way it did, because [X]," embedded in the middle of a paragraph! That would have been enough! But I need an explanation!

"They were raised the way Father was raised himself" WHY? He was raised by the Emperor, an on-the-record awful fucking dude! Father proceeded to rule the universe in a far more benevolent way than the Emperor did, why would he feel like he had to raise his kids the way the Emperor raised him?

"Carolyn needed to overcome challenges on her path to godhood" how is TRAUMATIZING HER SO BADLY SHE ALMOST BECOMES INHUMAN - SOMETHING YOU WERE OSTENSIBLY TRYING TO PREVENT, see Steve being preserved as something that could give her hope, etc - A "CHALLENGE??"

Again, none of this is a problem if Father is just evil! YOU CHOSE to make him not evil! And that's fine!! I think it's a good choice for the story actually!! But then you have to, you have to, HAVE TO explain why all of that bad shit happened!

Because all of that bad shit is the reason Carolyn made there be a story.

And it turns out it doesn't make sense.

#the library at mount char

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ssadumba55 · 3 years

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Santa’s Not Real (Bernard X Miller!Reader)

A/n: This one was not requested by anyone in particular, but is my own personal contribution to the Bernard catalogue. This was really just an excuse to write the Millers, because Neil is my second favourite character in the series. I’ve been writing for Bernard for three years and just when I thought I’d explored every possibility with him, we all come up with more ideas to keep the love for him alive. I want to thank you all for allowing me to write for such special and sacred movies to us all. I hope I do Bernard even a sliver of justice. Merry Christmas, you guys! Hope we see more Bernard content next year! Enjoy, you deserve this!

Being the child of Neil Miller wasn’t exactly what you’d call “fun” or “exciting”. He was always trying to get into your mind and figure out how you were feeling. Of course, sometimes it was nice to have your father be so understanding of your emotional needs, other times you wished he’d leave you alone.

At first, when he married Laura, you were worried about the usual kid stuff. Would your dad stop being as attentive to you? Would you and Laura get along? Would you and Charlie get along?

Laura had a son named Charlie. At first, you two were always butting heads. He was a firm believer in Santa Claus, which had never made much sense to you, what teenager still believed in Santa Claus? It was cute and charming when you were both kids, but now it was starting to get a little creepy.

You wondered if your dad was as worried as you. This had to stunt his mental growth or whatever.

“(Y/n). Pass me the glue stick,” Your little sister, Lucy, reached across the table to grab at the sticky tube. You swiped it up and handed it to her.

The two of you were sat at the table, Lucy was doing arts and crafts. You were supposed to be supervising. Laura, Charlie and your father were in the next room having a discussion. You didn’t even need to ask what it was about. Charlie’s father.

You had never met Scott Calvin yourself; you had always refused to participate in family outings involving him, feigning sick or making up other excuses for why you couldn’t go. It wasn’t that you hated the guy, you really had no opinion on him. You just found it weird to hang around with Charlie’s dad, after all Scott and Laura had divorced for a reason, right?

“Uncle Scott is Santa Claus, you know,” Lucy said matter of factly as she glued two pieces of paper together. She said this to you a lot and every time, it annoyed you just a tad bit more. There was no way Charlie’s dad was “Santa Claus”.

“Just because he’s fat and has a beard, does not make him Santa Claus, Luce. Grow up. Santa Claus isn’t even real, it’s just some lie dad and mom made up to get you to go to sleep on time on Christmas Eve, so you won’t see them putting the presents down,” you looked down at the book you were reading. Lucy glared at you from across the table, slamming her glue stick down.

“I’m serious!” She cried out.

“Lucy, (Y/n), Scott will be here soon. Come on out here.”

You rolled your eyes as your little sister hurried out of the kitchen, excitedly yelling about “Uncle Scott”. This was the first time, no matter how many excuses you came up with, your father refused to let you skimp on meeting Scott. His words echoed in your head.

“You’re as much a part of this family as Charlie and Lucy. Scott is an important part of this family, it’s time we finally share that with you.”

Whatever that means.

You followed your sister into the living room, where you could already hear a loud boisterous voice chatting with your family members. You hesitated in the hallway, trying to hear what they were talking about.

“(Y/n)?” Your dad called once more.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” you hurried the rest of the way into the living room, pausing as you reached the doorway.

Lucy was already all over her “Uncle Scott”, sitting in his lap and telling him an exciting story. Charlie was leaning forward in his seat, clearly very happy to see his father after not seeing him for so long. Laura and your dad had their arms around each other, sitting on the couch, watching the whole scene with affection.

Then there was somebody else standing beside Scott in his chair. You quietly walked across the room to sit next to Charlie without disturbing the guests. Before you could even get halfway into the room however;

“Who’s this?”

You froze, turning to look at Scott. Of course he would be curious why he’d never seen you around before.

“This is (Y/n), my eldest. They’re Charlie’s age.” Neil explained for you. You wished for a brief moment he wouldn’t do that stuff, you were almost an adult, you could answer simple questions for yourself.

“(Y/n) Miller,” you held your hand out to shake. He shook it and as he did so, you couldn’t help but think about what Lucy had said earlier. Maybe he wasn’t Santa, but he sure did look the part. You looked up to the guy standing beside him.

“Scott Calvin. My right-hand man, Bernard,” he introduced himself and the guy in one fell swoop. He looked a little young to be someone’s right-hand man. He almost looked like he was your age.

“Lucy says you’re Santa Claus. But I don’t believe that. Santa Claus is just a made-up character, there’s no such thing,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. The easy calm that was in the air previously dissipated somewhat as you said that. Scott was the only one who seemed completely unphased by what you said.

“You know what, I don’t blame you, (Y/n), one man delivering presents to all the children in the world,” he shook his head. “Sounds impossible.”

You nodded along with him, clearly, he was a very logical man. You wondered where Charlie got his obsession with Santa from. Clearly not Laura, she was very practical as well.

“But I seem to recall you wanted a dog for your 5th Christmas. And the year after your parents divorced, you wrote to me asking for your mother to come back. Unfortunately there are some things that even Santa can’t fix, though I would’ve loved it if I could,” he explained sympathetically. There was silence in the room.

You had never told anyone what you wrote to Santa that year. Not even your father. How could you tell him to his face that all you wanted was your mother back, after she’d abandoned the both of you? How, then, did Scott Calvin know your biggest childhood wish?

“I…”

“(Y/n)?” Your dad’s voice called from a distance, but you were already climbing the stairs, two at a time. You had to get away from him. He just reminded you of all the pain you’d been through after that divorce. That was the last year you wrote to Santa. That was the year you stopped believing in Santa. Not even Charlie Calvin could convince you after that.

There was a knock on your bedroom door.

You hesitated, opening the door slowly. You were expecting it to be your dad. But it was Bernard, you were pretty sure that’s what Scott had said his name was.

“I offered to come check on you, it’s a lot at first to find out Santa is real. I’m the best at answering questions on this topic,” he offered.

You scoffed loudly. “And what are you, then? An elf?”

“I’m really sorry about your parents, (Y/n), but you seem really happy here. With Neil and Laura. And Charlie and Lucy,” he walked over to your bed, sitting cross legged on top, as if you’d invited him in for a quick friendly chat.

You felt yourself deflate slightly. There was no denying you did miss your mom, even though you saw her occasionally. It wasn’t enough. But at the same time, your father had tried really hard to rebuild a family for you. What more could you ask for?

“Bernard, if you and Scott are really who you say you are, then how does that work?” You asked, uncertainly.

He laughed slightly, standing and patting you on the back. “It’s nice to know we didn’t completely lose you.”

“I’m not saying I believe in Santa-!”

“Too late you already did!”

This guy was going to get on your last nerve, you could already tell but you found yourself laughing as he walked out ahead of you.

Scott really was Santa, Lucy was right. You’d never doubt her again.

#Bernard the Elf #bernard imagine #bernard the elf x reader #The Santa Clause #the santa clause imagine #scott calvin #neil miller #laura miller #lucy miller #charlie calvin

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inmyarmswrappedin · 3 years

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So, because Fatou’s season ends today and, as far as we know, Druck hasn’t been renewed yet, I want to go over the things I feel the team did well in this season and the things I hope they take with them when they sit down to write the next season (which I’m manifesting will be Ava’s).

I think that s5 and, perhaps to a bigger extent, s6, were the team’s attempt to address fan feedback for and criticisms of s3 and s4. So I have hopes that, after possibly the most scrutinized season of any Skams, they are still willing to read even more feedback and sit down once again to craft a couple more seasons (possibly even 3 or 4 more seasons!).

So, without further ado, things that were done well! (Do I have to add “in my opinion”? Do I??)

I liked that for both s5 and s6, the thorough-line for the season wasn’t made obvious or shared in a press release, but rather it was up to fans to connect the story threads for themselves.

I loved that the team sought to address one of the biggest criticisms of s3, that is, that Matteo was given so many symptoms of a mental illness, but it ultimately went unaddressed in the narrative. They did this by giving Nora a dissociative disorder, and Fatou dyscalculia. (Matteo has been headcanoned as being mentally ill and having a disability.) It allowed the teams to develop both fan theories into full-blown seasons and give each of them the importance they deserved.

I have said this already, but I really appreciate that the team chose misunderstood, misrepresented and underrepresented mental illnesses and disabilities. I feel like s5 and s6 will be referents for many years, because they really took the time to portray a dissociative disorder and dyscalculia in a down-to-earth, unhurried way that isn’t meant to shock and awe, but simply allow us to understand why and when Nora and Fatou will struggle. Druck got the viewers to anticipate when Nora and Fatou would struggle, and that’s the first step in being able to anticipate and accommodate the needs of the Noras and Fatous of the world. I really can’t overstate how important this is and what a difference it makes in a real, tangible way. These seasons aren’t meant to be enjoyed for voyeuristic reasons, but they will legitimately help people.

One of the biggest criticisms of s4 was that Amira and Sam didn’t connect as women of color. In fact, it seemed like in s4 Sam was treated as another white friend, when in s2 both she and Amira were the victims of Kiki’s racism. The team addressed this by giving us Ava and Fatou’s friendship, which I want to say might be the first friendship between main characters of color where their race is a substantial reason for their bond. (There are the Sanas with their Jamillas, but the Jamillas aren’t main characters, and then there are friendships like Jo and Megan and Zoya, or Imaan and Liv, or Luca and Yasmina, but iirc in every case their bond as women of color isn’t made explicit.)

Another criticism of s4 was the way Kiki turned into the world’s most understanding white friend offscreen. The team addressed this with the Ava and Mailin storyline, which I think was wonderfully and subtly set up in s5, then built on with the biology test leaked answers.

On the topic of race, I think a major criticism of s3 was that David’s ethnicity wasn’t acknowledged (to the point where a white actress was cast to play his sister gvhvhv). The team has made up for this with Josh (more in the s6 sm than in s5, but I still count it) and with Kieu My. Fatou and Kieu My bonded over being first/second gen children of immigrants, and in doing so, they acknowledged that these characters aren’t white and have different experiences than white Germans.

The first 6 episodes of this season were some of the finest writing in the Skams. The storylines all connected and built on each other. The motifs were just so good and beautiful and fitting. The themes were all clearly defined and easy to follow.

The tortoise plot was one of the most fun and imaginative storylines in any Skams, it connected Fatou and Ismail in a believable way. And not to rave about a fucking tortoise, but animals can be really uncooperative and that tortoise delivered every fucking clip. Druck has a reputation for being one of the most depressive versions of Skam, but the Maike/Burger plot was just plain fun.

I feel like some of the old gen’s instas were a bit self-indulgent. I’m thinking specifically of Matteo’s memes and how they they weren’t necessarily the kind of memes a gay dude born in 2001 would pick, but someone a decade older. I think this is much better done with new gen. Fatou’s memes reflect her age and her sexuality, and not just that, but Ava, Mailin, Kieu My, Josh, etc. all pick memes and even focus on different aspects of recent news, based on their gender, race, personalities, interests, etc.

I appreciate that the team found a way to fit a sex scene between Fatou and Kieu My to add to the small catalogue of wlw sex scenes on Skams (I’m including the scene in lovleg or we’d only have two lol). While I understood the reasons eskam opted not to include one, I thought there were ways to feature a sex scene that didn’t sexualize the actresses and didn’t require nudity. Cases in point: the lovleg scene, and this scene in Druck.

And it also needs to be said. This is the first original season with a main of color, and the third season overall (after Liv and Imane) where 10 episodes are given to a character of color and no one else. Of the three, it’s certainly the season that loved and respected its main the most. The bar is so low it’s in hell, but Druck did clear that bar!

With all that said, let’s talk about the things I would really want the team to address in following seasons:

The thing I most want them to fix might be small or unimportant for a lot of people, but I think it’s at the core of why the season has been unenjoyable or certain plot points haven’t come across the way the team wanted, for many people. I am talking about the overly expositional nature of the writing. It appears as if the team approached the writing of the clips with the intention of hitting each beat as noted in their agreed upon outline, and absolutely nothing else was to be added. This is an issue both in s5 and s6. It’s just less noticeable in s5, because s5 is setting up stuff for Fatou’s season, and possibly even seasons that haven’t been written yet. The fact that absolutely every second counts makes for a stressful watching experience for me, because the narrative tension is always heightened. Whereas with Skam, the narrative tension would build throughout the clip. Take the Pride scene in Skam, for instance. The clip allows for Isak and Eskild to get increasingly more agitated as they butt heads. I feel like if this Druck team had done the Pride scene in s5 or s6, the clip would’ve started with both Isak and Eskild already on edge, and cut much of the dialogue that got them there.

On the topic of naturalistic dialogue, this season doesn’t have it. Here is an example from ep 10 clip 2, Wieder vereint/Reunited 11:37.

Fatou: I’ll get a certificate too and bring it over to you. And I checked it, I only have to change one course and my schedule will work.

Teacher: Miss Jallow, you are not the first one to come to me with an epiphany. We could fill entire school weeks with the lessons you missed. In addition, Doctor Steinberg told me about your, well… activities. You don’t have a lot of arguments on your side.

Fatou: But I’ve spoken to all of the teachers and they said they are okay with it.

Teacher: You seem to have friends among the teaching staff. Mrs Pavlovic put in a word for you. Okay then, do it and go before I change my mind. [translated by @kieu-tou! Thank you!]

Like. This is the bare bones version of a dialogue. This should be the first draft, not the final version. The coordinator goes from absolute no to yes, with just one line from Fatou. The coordinator gives reasons that would necessitate more than one sentence of counterargument, like Fatou’s absences and the Biology test leaked answers. The coordinator even says Fatou doesn’t have a lot of arguments on her side, and yet it takes Fatou one line to change her mind!

And of course we viewers don’t want or need a lot of time with the coordinator. And particularly at this point in the season, no one would enjoy a naturalistic dialogue with the coordinator of all people. But my point is that this is an issue with the dialogue all this season (and last season as well, but this season has been more scrutinized), the reason I picked this example is because of how easy it is to see here.

Which brings us to the pacing of the clips, and specifically the Friday clips. Because the script goes straight to the information the team wants to convey to the viewers, skipping the build up to it, many Friday clips have fallen flat, felt abrupt, and have been, tbh, unsatisfying. Again, I had this issue in s5, but as that season went on, I felt like the team had a better grip on Friday clips. But then they did it again in the first Friday clip this season, and so I think this is something the writers really should work on. The first Friday clip in Isak’s season closes on Isak being sandwiched by Emma and Even on a bench, visually setting up the love triangle, or more accurately, the personifications of who Isak should want to hook up with and who he really wants. But in order to get there, we’re shown a good amount of info, from the way Vilde, Eva and Sana are handling Noora’s absence, to Chris and Kasper, Even hovering around Isak, Emma trying to impress Isak, Isak escaping and, like, draping himself on the walls because he’s so over it all. Isak playing a game on the bathroom to stall for time. The paper towel maneuver to immediately give us a sense of what a weirdo Even is. A conversation between Isak and Even that gives us some clues about Even’s shame, as well as establish interests in common (like weed), and this is all before Emma even joins them! Just think of all the stuff we learn about who Isak, Even, Emma, Eva, Vilde or Sana are as people, before we get to the point of the clip! Fatou’s season simply didn’t have that. Compare it with the first Friday clip of Fatou’s season where the cashqueens quickly talk about the leaked answers, one of the major storylines this season that only gets a couple lines, before Fatou says she doesn’t want to talk about school (Fatou’s struggles with school, another major storyline), and then we’re onto the point of the clip, which is that Kieu My likes girls too. AND FADE TO BLACK. When people say they want longer clips, what they mean isn’t artificially inflate the clip length or add more plot stuff. Just let us watch the characters interact with each other so that we get a feel for how they relate to each other. I know I wish we’d have gotten more of Ava and Fatou interacting with each other before things turned to shit, and Ava with the other girls, so that I know why they all like and value Ava so much. I wish we’d have gotten more of Kieu My talking to the cashqueens about, like, why she didn’t make use of the biology test answers, instead of getting it on a chat. Or food combos they don’t like. So it makes more sense that later on Kieu My actually thinks she and Fatou are friends. And every line doesn’t have to count. In Skam España, the characters are constantly talking and not everything they ever talked about ended up being relevant. When one of the characters lied about her house undergoing renovations to hide the fact that she was poor, the characters joked about Italian marble and put on bad Italian accents and made that Italian hand gesture. None of this was important to the plot because those renovations weren’t real to begin with, but they made viewers feel like these were real friends joking around, instead of characters needing to hit every storyline beat in a clip.

I have this joke with my friends about Druck always going 🤪🤪 in the last third of every season, in which a season that was very tightly written and cohesive suddenly pulls something inexplicable and pretty much impossible to resolve in 1-3 episodes. Hanna’s season suddenly switching to Mia, Björn creeping on Mia in episode 9! of a total 10, David getting outed in episode 8 and then disappearing for a whole week, Amira’s season pivoting to Mia and Hanna. It has happened in every season except Nora’s, so I thought the team had learned its lesson, but then the forgotten date with Ava happened. To be clear. It really makes no sense that Nora would have hung out with Ava several times since Tuesday, and the topic of the cashqueens being officially introduced to Kieu My wouldn’t have come up. it’s just not realistic.gif I feel like at that point the writing for the rest of the reason became super contrived to keep Fatou miserable and apart from Kieu My and Ava to artificially delay the reunions until episode 9 and 10. Why add a cheating insinuation and the main checking her partner’s messages in episode 8 if you know you won’t be able to properly resolve it? Why make Kieu My mock Fatou’s “uhm” if it’s not going to be addressed in their reunion clip? Kieu My had taken the initiative for a lot of the relationship, so it’s okay for Fatou to take the initiative when it comes to making up. You don’t have to add things that can only be resolved through an expositional info dump. (Please no more exposition than it’s necessary! I think we’ve established that at this point lol.) In the case of Fatou’s season, this is even sadder because I feel like Kieu My’s intimacy issues could’ve been the reason to drive them apart for two weeks, rather than the Maya/uhm stuff. This could’ve also been resolved through Fatou and Kieu My explicitly negotiating their boundaries and how they want to be comforted and how they want to comfort each other, which I thought was the issue with Fatou rejecting Kieu My’s attempts to help while wanting physical touch, while Kieu My didn’t want to be touched but rather seen.

There are going to be many thinkpieces on why a myriad of stuff didn’t work for people, so I’m going to keep this simple and address one last thing. I think that choosing to focus on Nora’s mental illness and Fatou’s disability is a great choice that doesn’t complicate the themes too much, but Druck (and all the Skams, but I’m invested only in Druck succeeding at this point) still struggles with being intersectional. This is the major reason why the Ava/Mailin storyline ended not with a bang, but a whimper. There just wasn’t enough work done to connect Fatou’s struggles not just to her disability, but also to her race (and even her sexuality). I think that if people really want (and lbr, it’ll be mostly poc who will put in that effort and work), they can see how Fatou’s race affected the way other people and especially adults reacted to her, but this wasn’t made explicit. If Ava and Mailin are going to argue about racism all season, why not connect that with Karin firing Fatou from Aquarius? As it stands, Karin fired Fatou because of a disability neither of them knew Fatou has, and that was the resolution to that storyline. Why not make it explicit that the Physics teacher had preconceived ideas about Fatou because Fatou is black? Why wasn’t Fatou’s disability addressed in the meeting with the coordinator? Why didn’t Fatou express to Mailin that Fatou, too, had issues with how Mailin was acting wrt racism? It felt like, with the way the season was putting so much emphasis on racism, all these threads were going to be connected. In the end though, it almost felt as if only Ava is affected by racism (aside from Mailin mentioning Fatou in the last episode). It’s not like talking about how racism affects Fatou is going to make the topic redundant for Ava’s or Ismail’s season. As a light-skinned black lesbian with a disability, Fatou’s life is going to be impacted by racism in a different way than Ava’s will, as a dark-skinned black fat straight cis girl, or Ismail’s, as a Turkish-German possibly Muslim possibly non binary person. All these experiences are specific enough, and different enough, that they can be touched upon in different seasons without becoming redundant. The fact that Fatou’s season almost seemed to forget at times that she is a black lesbian, doesn’t bode well for Ava’s and Ismail’s season to acknowledge all their struggles.

The bottom line is that this season really was great and did a lot of good, and I feel like the writing just needs to be tweaked a bit for further seasons to be even better and more enjoyable overall. I am very pleasantly surprised by how the team took s1-s4 fan feedback to heart and worked to implement suggestions, and so I really trust them and hope they keep working on the show. It’d be a shame if Druck wasn’t renewed, with this team at the helm.

#druck #this post is 3K+ words in word I'm so sorry #but I really hope it makes its way to the writers and is helpful

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ronoken · 3 years

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Fic blurb

A fanfic blurb! If that’s not your jam, I get it. I needed a mental break from the non-fanfic story I’m working on.

I’m still fleshing the story out, but it takes place in the What To Do AU, as most of my serious stuff does. This one is set three years after the Baby storyline. Anyway, here’s a snippit.

***

Sabrina stood in the washroom doorway with her arms crossed and couldn’t help but frown. In front of her, Chloé was busy applying her eyeliner.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Sabrina said.

Chloé blinked a couple of times and examined herself in the mirror. “I know that, but maybe I want to?”

“Do you want to?” Sabrina asked. Her tone was dangerously balanced between a question and an accusation.

Chloé got out her favorite shade of lip stick, applied it, and then fished for some toilet paper to remove any excess. “Yes, actually. I do.”

“Buy why?” Sabrina huffed. “Chloé, she’s, she’s not good. And she’s not good for you.”

Chloé shrugged and puckered her lips for a final inspection. “Be that as it may, it’s been five years. I figure it’s time I got some things out of the way and we tried talking like adults.”

Chloé stood tall and gave herself a once-over in the mirror. She was wearing a yellow sundress that had a glitter texture to it. It was from the Audrey Bourgeois Summer Sensations line, and it was the only thing Chloé had found in the entire catalogue that resembled her typical outfit.

“But Audrey is awful to adults, too.” Sabrina scooted out of the way as Chloé exited the restroom. “Can’t you just, I dunno, text her?”

“I did, remember?” Chloé said as she grabbed a thin, white leather jacket and slid it on. “And for once, she responded. Sabrina, sweetie, it’s just lunch. That’s all.”

“She’s a monster to you,” Sabrina said, her face darkening. “She always has been. She’s the reason… She’s not good, Chloé. I hope you can see that.”

Chloé took a deep breath. “Of course I can, but she’s still my mother, and I figure it never hurts to try.”

Chloé planted a kiss on Sabrina’s cheek. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself. It’s just lunch.”

Sabrina surprised Chloé by wrapping her in a tight hug. “She gives you any trouble at all, you call me, okay? I can be there in two minutes, tops.”

Chloé hugged her back. “I love you, too.”

Sabrina blushed as Chloé headed out of the bedroom.

***

Chloé almost cleared the lobby before she felt something collide into her on both sides. After a startled squawk, she looked down to see two small children hugging her legs.

“Play Godzilla!” Camille, her little red-headed sister, demanded. “And tickle me!”

“Rwwwaaaarr!” Emilie, the small blonde on her other leg let out a high-pitched roar and broke down in a fit of giggles.

“Not right this second ladies, but when I get back? We’ll see,” Chloé said with a grin. Ever since she’d become a big sister, it was like someone had flipped a switch on Chloé. Practically overnight, most of her selfish tendencies, even the ones she wasn’t actively trying to promote, vanished.

Fine, fine. They receded slightly. She could still do bitch when she wanted to, she just, well, didn’t that much anymore.

Baby steps, people.

Everyone had noticed and commented on the fact that Chloé was, well, admittedly a pretty awesome sister. She always made time for Camille and often would put her first when it came to games, activities… everything. There was a running joke among their friends that if you wanted to fine Chloé, just look for Camille.

And where there was Camille, Emilie wasn’t far behind. The tiny blonde had become a regular at the Grand Paris. The two children were inseparable, and Caline loved babysitting, so she often times had her over. Which was good, as Emilie’s parents were both actively working, attending University classes, and occasionally out saving Paris.

“Come on, girls,” A clear (and slightly amused) voice called out from across the lobby. “Let Chloé go, or she’ll be late.”

“But we wanna play!” Camille pouted. “This is ridiculous! Udderly ridiculous!”

Emilie stomped her foot and pouted beside her friend. “Udderly!”

“Utterly,” Chloé corrected them.

“Kiddos?” Caline said, her hand on her hip. She was sporting a small yellow backpack on her left shoulder. “If we take too long, we’ll miss the movie.”

“I want popcorn!” Camille cried out. She instantly charged her mom and wrapped her arms around Caline’s leg.

“Can I get candy?” Emilie asked.

“Your mom asked that we go easy on the candy,” Caline pointed out.

“Gramma gives me candy,” Emile said.

“Good for her,” Caline retorted. “Now, outside, you two. Our chariot awaits!”

Chloé looked to the door, where the Gorilla was standing with a smile. The girls rushed over and hugged him, Emilie crying out, “Grandpa!” as she did so.

The Gorilla dropped to one knee and gave her a huge hug.

“You good with the dynamic duo over there?” Chloé nodded her head to the two girls. They now had the Gorilla pinned on the ground and were laughing their heads off.

“I have help today,” Caline said, smiling. “According to Adrien, the poor guy has wanted a day out with Emmy for weeks, but he felt too embarrassed to ask. He’s over the moon right now.”

“He looks it,” Chloé said.

“Hey,” Caline said. She put her hand on Chloé’s arm. “Are you okay with today?”

“Yeah,” Chloé said. She gave a curt nod. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Because if you’re not,” Caline said, “you don’t have to go. I’m serious, kiddo. You wanna ditch and hang out with us, I’d love your company. I’ll even spring for popcorn.”

Chloé blushed and glanced off to the side. “God, why do you keep calling me that? I’m, like, 22.”

“And you’re still my kiddo,” Caline said. She wrapped her arm around Chloé’s shoulder and pulled her close to plant a kiss to the side of her head. “I know you can take care of yourself. Just…” Caline frowned. “I don’t like the thought that she might hurt you.”

Chloé gave Caline a short hug back. “She can’t hurt me. Didn’t you know?” She said as she whipped out her sunglasses and strutted towards the door. “I’m a superhero.”

“Yeah,” Caline said. She adjusted the strap on her backpack and watched Chloé scoot past the laughing giant and two little girls as she headed out the door. “I know.”

***

#fanfic #miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #caline bustier

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Text

Partners in Crime

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment over on Ao3!

Just a silly little scenario I had rattling around in my head! Huge thanks to @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short for always being amazing betas!

tw: mentions of drinking, hangovers

Juno Steel opened his eye and immediately wanted to strangle the person who had designed this hotel room. Any interior decorator who knew they were putting together a hotel room in Nueva Vegas, the prime place on Neptune where people went to get blackout drunk and collect the finest hangover symptoms in the galaxy, yet still insisted on neon wallpaper deserved death.

He inhaled, feeling an ache in his ribs that came from too much raucous laughter and tasting stale alcohol, taking a mental catalogue of his body as his nerves came back online. His eyelashes felt heavy with mascara that had curdled overnight, his throat felt rough with overuse, his stomach only had a slight roil to it, a sea on a choppy day rather than in the middle of a storm. He was wearing the pyjama bottoms he’d actually packed but he couldn’t speak for the shirt- his top half was still wearing last night’s spangled bralet.

And he had Nureyev’s arm thrown bonelessly over his chest, his sharp chin digging a little painfully into his shoulder, his soft snores in one ear and his dark flyaways ticking his nose. His breath smelled pretty strongly of gin but Juno could put up with that, he wasn’t one to throw stones.

Overall, Juno Steel had suffered far worse mornings. In fact, this one would probably still make it into the top twenty.

Smiling, he gently nudged Nureyev to one side, making sure he fell back against the lavish pillows and settled again before sliding out from under the silky sheets. The hotel room’s crisp air conditioning raised goosebumps across his skin as he padded across the room, stockinged feet sinking considerably into the thick, bright pink carpets. They really had made an ungodly mess of one of the most expensive hotel rooms on Neptune, he was pretty impressed with just how many empty plastic glasses, dregs of champagne clinging to their sides, were scattered around the hot tub, just how much glitter had shed from their clothes onto the floor, the probably very incriminating blueprints and files and notes that were scattered like confetti. Not incriminating for the job they’d just pulled off, of course, just several they were considering in the future.

There was no sign of the rest of their family, no Rita singing almost incomprehensible karaoke into a can of chips, no Jet sitting in a chair by the window with his arms folded and head nodding as he slept like an old dad though a whisper of any threat would snap him up and ready. No Buddy and Vespa slow dancing to music only they seemed able to hear while the neon flashes from the signs outside the window bathed them in candy coloured light.

They must have staggered back to their own rooms, just before the celebrations of a job well done would have wound down into a sleepover. Juno frowned as he scratched tiredly at where his hair was matted down, trying to remember. Buddy’s usual habit of making them all drink as much water before bed as she could had saved him from vomiting and a splitting head but memories were still fuzzy. Very fuzzy actually, now he tried to grab hold of them. No wonder his tongue tasted of about half the bottles behind the bar and his bladder felt fit to burst.

By the time he’d gone into the bathroom, wincing at the colour of lime green it had all been done up in, and dealt with that problem he could hear Nureyev stirring.

Coming back into the room, now dressed a little more appropriately in a soft bathrobe, he saw him stretching like a cat, his own wince playing across his sleepy face.

“Good morning,” he rasped, “Feeling rough too, huh?”

“Fairly,” Nureyev croaked, not making it very far before slumping back against the pillows, “What time did Buddy say we had to be back on board?”

“Not till three. It’s only eleven right now.”

“Ugh...I might not make it.”

Juno snorted, rolling his eye, “God, you’re such a lightweight, you whine so much when you’re hungover. Look, I’ll pack the bags, you focus on getting your shoes on. I think one of them’s in the hot tub.”

Nureyev groaned, bringing his hands up to bury his face in them as Juno pulled the curtains wide and flooded the room with pale sunlight. So little actual sunlight could reach this distant gas giant, what fell across Nureyev’s face was actually simulated from a massive rig of translucent spotlights that covered the city much like Mars’ domes. Rita had told him all about it around their third glasses of champagne, before her speech started collapsing into inhuman giggles and nonesene and his memories got cloudy.

He certainly couldn’t remember quite how they’d gotten the room into such a state. It hadn’t even really been that big of a job, a fairly run of the mill casino heist to fund some bigger projects that Buddy had percolating in her brain. But, from the lingering carnage of their celebration, you’d think they’d stolen a goddamn planet rather than a few measly hundred thousands of creds.

And there was a lot of confetti. All over the damn place, where had that all come from?

“Babe?” Juno frowned as he started pulling their papers together, “Do you remember much about last night?”

Nureyev gave a sleep mumble and Juno heard the sound of the silken sheets running over each other as he turned, “I remember us pulling off a job so seamless it deserves to be in some kind of textbook on thieving. I remember everyone coming into our room. I remember Buddy ordering champagne...and that’s it.”

Juno suppressed a snort of amusement. He was sure if it was his husband’s small frame or his lack of experience with the stuff but about two swallows of anything alcoholic had him absolutely useless. Adorable but useless.

“Just seems like we really tore it up for some reason,” Juno shrugged as he moved further along, now gathering up scraps of their disguises- the velour blazer he’d been wearing over that bralet, the other one of Nureyev’s stiletto heels, a diamond ring he couldn’t remember which one of them had worn.

He paused, something about that ring making him stop. It was lying in the midst of some other jewels he’d been wearing yesterday in his role as a ridiculously wealthy outer rim socialite. So it must have been his, he didn’t exactly need his years of experience as a detective to realise that. So why didn’t he remember it? Why did it look so brand new, so out of place with everything else lying in that modest dragon’s horde of luxury?

“My love?”

Juno turned, taking the ring with him, “Yeah?”

Nureyev was still lying in bed, though he was holding his left hand a little ways from his face, frowning curiously up at it as he turned it this way and that. As he watched the fake morning sun catch in the gem on a ring that sat there, a ring identical to the one Juno held.

“Did...did we get married?” Nureyev said slowly, an expression on his face not dissimilar to the one he wore when he was doing one of the many puzzle boxes Juno got him as gifts, after he’d realised a year ago that he loved them.

“Yes, about a year and a half ago. You were there, remember?”

Nureyev shot him a look across the room, “I mean last night, my love.”

Juno sucked in a long, slow breath before answering, throwing the ring up in the air and catching it, “Yeah, that would really explain a lot, huh?”

They caught each other’s eye then and after that there was nothing they could do but laugh, hard and helpless until Juno was having to brace himself on his knees to stay upright and Nureyev was curled on one side and trembling.

Once he could see and breathe clearly again, Juno found it, lying amongst a sheaf of floor plans for the casino they’d robbed yesterday. A wedding certificate, one corner of it crinkled and soaked where some spilled champagne had caught it, a little rumbled from being shoved into the pocket of a velour blazer on the car ride back to the hotel but fairly unmistakeable. The signatures were certainly theirs, even if the names weren’t.

“Yep,” Juno’s face still ached from grinning as he climbed back into bed next to his husband-twice-over, “Apparently once Rigel Fortescue and Jack Antares were done being complete strangers while the Orion’s Palace Casino had half it’s funds drained, they went off and got married.”

“Congratulations to us, I suppose,” Nureyev wiped his streaming eyes, giggles still pressing up against his words, “Oh god help us, is there any way we can keep this from the rest of the crew?”

“Well, looks like they all signed as our witnesses so I don’t think that’s an option, babe,” Juno snorted, showing him the band of signatures clustered along the bottom of the certificate, each one a ridiculous pseudonym but the handwriting was all familiar, even with how drunk their friends had clearly been.

Nureyev gave a groan of dismay that he didn’t really seem to feel, cuddling up against Juno, “Does this make us a little trashy?”

“Yeah well, you knew who I was when you married me,” Juno nudged him teasingly, “Both times.”

“Hush!” Nureyev kissed his shoulder, moving slightly so he could hitch one leg over Juno’s hip. He was still wearing his suit trousers from last night, Juno noticed, if last night really had been their wedding night then they’d neglected a pretty significant part of it.

So he turned to meet Nureyev’s body with his own, wrapping an arm around his slim waist to close what little gap there still was between them, “Maybe this could be our thing? We wear a new name pretty much every week anyhow, why don’t we get married as many times as we feel like? I know personally I’d be willing to go...well, at least another three times. Maybe four, for the money.”

He felt a light nip through the shoulder of the robe as Nureyev admonished him with his teeth. Though his hands were saying something different as they slid down Juno’s back, squeezing lightly.

“I suppose it could be quite a fun tradition…” he murmured softly, “But I would like to remember the next one. Perhaps a beach wedding on Saturn…”

Juno grinned and kissed the top of his head, “Whatever you want, babe. I’ll make sure the next one is perfect.”

“Our first one already was. But there were parts of my moodboards I didn’t get to use…”

Juno nudged him lightly until he was on his back, starting to kiss his way down his neck, tasting his perfume on his lips, “And?”

“And I love you,” Nureyev amended, smiling as innocently as someone very obviously moving his wife’s legs apart with his own could, “And marrying you a thousand times wouldn’t be enough to show you how much.”

“I love you too,” Juno murmured against his collarbone, “Happy honeymoon, baby.”

And, as much of a surprise as it had been, as much as their heads still ached and they could still taste cocktails on each other’s tongues, as much as they had a ship to catch in a few hours, it was. It really, really was.

#jupeter #tpp #juno steel #peter nureyev #post canon #just some daft fluffiness #them being loved up idiots #please reblog and comment!

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razieltwelve · 3 years

Text

The Real MVP (Final Rose)

Deep within Averia’s Semblance, in the alternate universe that served as a mental representation of Saviour, were countless mini-Dianas. Each was hard at work on a task of utmost importance.

There was Mad Scientist Mini-Diana who could be recognised by her lab coat, safety goggles, and maniacal cackling. It was she who was tasked with overseeing the various processes responsible for Saviour’s never-ending quest for perfection. Whether it was developing a process for transmuting water into napalm or creating a subroutine for chopping people’s heads off in a musical manner, she would stop at nothing to succeed.

There was Romantic Mini-Diana who was responsible for turning Saviour’s essentially limitless processing power toward romantic endeavours. Whether it was how best to woo someone or how to unleash the most smouldering of smoulders, she had a whole slew of processes ready to go. Sadly, despite her winning smile and romantic reservation of a table beside one of the many, many seas of multidimensional... stuff that dotted Saviour’s realm, she was horribly underemployed.

But not all Mini-Dianas had such illustrious purposes. Most of them dealt with much more mundane matters. There was the Mini-Diana who ran the trash disposal subroutine, which let Saviour dump garbage in other dimensions. There was the Mini-Diana who kept Saviour’s armour looking nice and spiffy. It wouldn’t do for the Semblance to look bad in battle.

And then there was a certain Mini-Diana who was one of countless Mini-Dianas that served as janitors. Given all of the amazing stuff that Saviour could do, it made sense that random crap had a tendency to accumulate. It was their job to keep the Semblance’s mental representation free of garbage, so the Semblance could function at full efficiency. It wasn’t the most awe-inspiring job, but it was honest work, and the Mini-Dianas who did it could honestly say that without them, the whole thing wouldn’t work nearly as well as it did. Why, there was a whole branch of the janitor Mini-Dianas responsible for keeping Saviour’s realm free of anything Gary-related.

Of course, since Averia was a softie when it came to her sister, anything Gary-related wasn’t actually thrown away. Instead, it was painstakingly processed, catalogued, and then stored away in case it was ever needed. It wasn’t like they could run out of space. Saviour’s realm was as big or as small as it needed to be.

This particular Mini-Diana, however, wasn’t part of the Gary patrol. Instead, her task was very simple. There were a whole host of mental switches and triggers associated with the various subroutines, processes, and commands that helped govern Saviour. Her task was to check up on things. It wouldn’t do for any of the switches to get stuck, and with how Averia had a tendency to just layer new orders on top of older orders, someone had to go in and make sure that there weren’t too many conflicts. She wasn’t the only one responsible for checking, but she liked to think she was the best at it.

It was usually boring work, but this Mini-Diana went about it with a smile and a skip in her step. Most of the time, all she had to do was some dusting and testing before she went on her way. The only complication was how many places there were for her to check, some of which hadn’t been checked in years. It was a sad fact, but Saviour tended to prioritise combat over everything else. Oh well. It wasn’t her job to question why things were the way they were. She was a janitor. She’d leave that sort of thing up to the higher-ranking Mini-Dianas. Staffing issues were for other Mini-Dianas to handle.

On this day, however, she noticed something odd. It had been ages since anyone had come down to check on the Friend-Foe Identification System because, quite frankly, there had been no indications whatsoever that it was malfunctioning. The reports from upstairs had all been good. Whenever they encountered an enemy, it either died, was captured, or otherwise dealt with. Likewise, their friends and family were all protected. There had been zero reports of the system malfunctioning.

But this Mini-Diana noticed something. Amidst all of the switches that governed the classification system, one of them seemed to be stuck. She frowned. That didn’t make much sense. If a switch was stuck, they should have noticed something weird by now. At the very least, there should have been some aberrant behaviour.

Mopping the floor on her way to the switch and doing some dusting, the Mini-Diana opened up her scroll and peered at the map. According to the map, the switch that was stuck was related to friend classification. Frowning, she opened up the file on the switch and read more.

Apparently, the switch wasn’t just some random switch. It was actually quite important. It was the switch that allowed people to be moved from ‘friend’ to ‘potential romantic partner’. For a moment, all the Mini-Diana could do was stare at the stuck switch in disbelief.

What the? How had no one noticed this was stuck earlier? This wasn’t like the time the switch governing whether or not Averia liked pickles got stuck. That could be overlooked, and it wasn’t like Averia’s preference for pickles was a big deal, the occasional burger at Gary Burger aside. Besides, that switch had only gotten stuck for about a month before one of the others had noticed it.

This switch... this was a big deal. As long as it was stuck, it wouldn’t matter what someone did. If Averia had already classified them as a friend, they’d be stuck there forever. They could crawl into her bed naked with rose petals scattered everywhere and...

Oh crap.

The Mini-Diana hastily pulled up a series of memories on her scroll. Since Saviour had perfect recall, it was a simple matter of requesting clearance. Since the memories in question weren’t considered particularly dangerous, she was able to get clearance from one of the other Mini-Dianas without any fuss.

Elsa had once crawled into Averia’s bed naked with rose petals... and Averia had just stared at her, asked if she was cold and then wondered if someone had tried to shove a rose bush through her window.

That wasn’t just oblivious. That was... yeah. The Mini-Diana immediately sent queries over to the Mini-Dianas in other departments and sighed at the response she received. Apparently, they’d just been following orders. After all, the Friend-Foe Identification System was a pretty powerful system. It wasn’t like they could just ignore it and do whatever they wanted.

The Mini-Diana looked at the switch. It looked like it had been stuck for years. How could no one have noticed? It was probably because of how well the system had been performing in most other respects. Out of the countless switches in this area, it was the only one that was stuck. In every other circumstance, the system was performing precisely as it should.

The Mini-Diana squared her shoulders. She might be a humble janitor, but she took pride in her job. She’d get this switch unstuck, so the system could perform properly!

Yet multiple efforts failed to so much as move it. Nothing she tried worked. In the end, she decided to do the only thing she could think of. She walked back to the end of the corridor and then turned before breaking into a sprint. With a mighty cry, the Mini-Diana through herself at the switch. She slammed into it and bounced off, and for a moment, she thought she’d failed.

And then the switch gave a loud clank and moved into its proper position.

Success!

X X X

Averia blinked.

“Averia?” Elsa asked. “Are you okay? You kind of just... twitched.”

“It’s nothing.” Averia shook herself. “You know,” she said. “That dress looks good on you.”

Elsa blinked. “What? I mean... it does?”

“Yes.” Averia nodded. “It matches your eyes.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

That is the story of the MVP Mini-Diana. She would later receive a promotion to admiral and get a spiffy hat. As to why she was promoted to admiral, it was because she thought the rank sounded cool. She now runs the maintenance department.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

#final rose #fanfiction #mini diana #averia yun farron #elsa

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portmanteaurian · 3 years

Text

So this year I, like a lot of people, was going through some stuff. And the way I coped, particularly over the summer, was by reading. I read between 275 and 300 books this year (final count pending), which is certainly the most I’ve done in at least a decade. And a lot of them were very good! I narrowed myself down to a list of forty recommendations, with short write-ups of ten, and made a point of not repeating authors. You can see everything else on my StoryGraph account though.

YA/MG:

The Beast Player - Nahoko Uehashi trans. Cathy Hirano

Death Sets Sail - Robin Stevens

Echo After Echo - A.R. Capetta

Half World - Hiromi Goto

A Phoenix First Must Burn: Sixteen Stories of Black Girl Magic, Resistance, and Hope - ed. Patrice Caldwell

Shadow of the Batgirl - Sarah Kuhn & Nicole Goux

A Song Below Water - Bethany C. Morrow

The Scapegracers - Hannah Abigail Clarke

YA contemporary fantasy is obviously a well-trodden genre, but this felt like a really fresh take. Sharp prose, interesting magic system, and a really fantastic and original-feeling POV character. I can’t wait for the sequel.

We Are Not Free - Traci Chee

This is a historical novel about residents of Japanese-American internment compounds during WWII, so it is not a light read. But it was powerfully emotionally affecting, and really compelling from a craft perspective as well; each chapter is narrated by a different character, and seeing how all the perspectives intersect is really remarkable.

ADULT FICTION (mostly spec):

A Choir of Lies - Alexandra Rowland

The City We Became - N.K. Jemisin

The Empress of Salt and Fortune - Nghi Vo

The Four Profound Weaves - R.B. Lemberg

Homesick: Stories - Nino Cipri

Master of Poisons - Andrea Hairston

Mexican Gothic - Silvia Moreno-Garcia

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Phoenix Extravagant - Yoon Ha Lee

Piranesi - Susanna Clarke

The Seep - Chana Porter

Skin Deep Magic - Craig Laurance Gidney

Stormsong - C.L. Polk

Freshwater - Akwaeke Emezi

One hell of a debut novel. Emezi has said it’s largely autobiographical, which makes it one of two really unique takes on autobiography and memoir that I’ve read this year. It’s about trauma, immigration, queerness, disability...I really just recommend you read it, though perhaps after checking a summary, as it deals very frankly with some potentially triggering subjects.

Not So Stories - ed. David Thomas Moore

This year I spent a lot of time with short stories and novellas, which is a little unusual for me. Several collections made a strong impression (there’s a few others on this list), but I adore the conceit of this one, which features a group of authors of colour responding to Kipling’s intensely colonial “Just So Stories” by writing new fables of their own. Some directly riff on Kipling’s tales, others go in entirely new directions, but all are really effective.

The Raven and the Reindeer - T Kingfisher

Kingfisher is one of those authors I discovered this year who I am shocked I had never read earlier. She’s prolific, works in genres I like, and is beloved by several of my friends. Consider this book a stand-in for her catalogue in general on this list, although of all the books by her I read it’s the only direct fairy-tale retelling. Really great take on Andersen’s Snow Queen

The Unspoken Name - A.K. Larkwood

This was just a ton of fun. Very queer, frequently hilarious, in a totally bizarre fantasy world (worlds, even!) and with a great protagonist. Another really confident debut novel, and another one where I can’t wait to check out where the series goes from here.

NONFIC:

The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma - Bessel van der Kolk

Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories From the 21st Century - ed. Alice Wong

Disfigured: On Fairy Tales, Disability, and Making Space - Amanda Leduc

Distorted Descent: White Claims to Indigenous Identity - Darryl Leroux

In the Dream House - Carmen Maria Machado

The other unique memoir I alluded to above, Machado non-linearly unpacks an abusive relationship she experienced with incredible clarity and artfulness. As someone who’s experienced abuse, parts were very familiar, and Machado’s writing is very effective at laying a situation bare (a skill she uses to great effect in her short fiction as well). This book also has some of the most memorable and narratively impactful citations I have ever seen. Read it to understand how that’s the case.

The North-West is our Mother - Jean Teillet

This is straight-up a history book but it’s a very clear and engaging one. For people who’ve ever wanted to know more about Métis people and our history, particularly in the 19th and early-20th century, this is going to be one of my go-to recs. It’s a little sparser with the more recent stuff, but there are other books to fill that gap.

ROMANCE:

Band Sinister - K.J. Charles

The Doctor’s Discretion - E.E. Ottoman

Invitation to the Dance - Tamara Allen

Two Rogues Make a Right - Cat Sebastian

Silver in the Wood - Emily Tesh

A Taste of Honey - Kai Ashante Wilson

Behind These Doors - Jude Lucens

This year is really the first I’ve read romance in any serious way, but I did read a lot of it and learned a fair amount about what I like. This ticks a lot of those boxes (historical [Edwardian, in this case]! Gay! Engages honestly with social issues of the period!) while also being a story about people negotiating polyamory, with much of the conflict being rooted in how one effectively communicates with the people they care about. Really different from anything else I read, and really well-done.

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows - Olivia Waite

This is probably my favourite romance novel of the year. It’s a slow-burn Regency story about the relationship between two middle-aged working women, a beekeeper and a bookseller. It’s also a story about prejudice, mob mentality, and the intense class divide in Regency England -- the Peterloo massacre is a significant element, and the way that opposition to it brought together a coalition of different social groups that ultimately could not hold due to other prejudices dividing them. It’s really nuanced, and really effective. Also, I am assured by a lesbian friend that the sex scenes are very hot.

SO ANYWAY. A lot of recommendations, and more detail about some of the ones I most encourage people to pick up. Really in my opinion you can’t go wrong with any of these, though, and I hope you take a look at some next time you’re searching for something to read!

What a year, huh?

#dorian reads 2k20

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notebooks-and-laptops · 4 years

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Based on that post about how keeping track of your possessions so they don’t end up in museums would be the real hardship of being immortal and I just thought that fit Jaskier so well and then...this drabble happened. You can also find this on AO3 here!

-///-

Certain hardships come along with being immortal which simply aren’t advertised.

And no, this isn’t at all about the horrors of watching everyone you love wither and age around you (the people Jaskier loves generally don’t wither and age), nor the torturous boredom created by unending centuries (Jaskier hasn’t run out of things to keep him entertained yet). It’s not even about that whole silly ‘falling in love with a seventeen-year-old human mortal angst’ that seems so popular in literature nowadays but which, quite frankly, strikes Jaskier as incredibly unrealistic (You wouldn’t catch him dead at a school. Kids are mean. They’d probably mock his singing. They’d probably mock it accurately).

No. The true secret hardship that came with being immortal was the historians.

Historians were the worst.

In Jaskier’s most humble opinion, historians were nothing but terrible gossips, good only for getting their facts muddled, making unfair judgements on events they weren’t even privy to and – worst of all - stealing his shit.

It wasn’t mere trinkets they were taking either. The British History museum had his second favourite lute. The American Smithsonian had somehow gotten hold of a couple of his early songbooks. The Museum under the main square in Krakow had gotten hold of a few of the jewels he’d once been gifted by his dearly departed Countess de Stael.

Assholes. The lot of them; gossiping and playing ‘finders’ keepers’, like children on a playground.

Jaskier hadn’t yet worked out a way of getting his stuff back. What was he supposed to do, stroll up to the help desk and tell them the truth? If they believed him he’d be shipped off to a lab for scientific testing or if they didn’t, he’d be put down as mental and shipped off to the nearest hospital. For all this age was so completely, mundanely magical (you could talk to people on the other side of the globe with the ease of a few dialled numbers on a thin black box) they quite resolutely refused to believe in things ‘out of the ordinary’.

“We could organise a heist,” Yennefer had suggested one dull Monday morning, emerging from Geralt’s room to peer at Jaskier’s laptop screen, the monitor displaying the British Museums catalogue. Jaskier wasn’t surprised to see her, though it was the first time he had for…how long was it this time? Six months? A year? She came in and out of their lives over the centuries like the turn of the seasons. Jaskier missed her when she was gone, but he was always sure of his return. Her and Geralt couldn’t stay away from each other for long.

Geralt and Yennefer: world record holders for the longest on-again-off-again Romance ever had.

He snapped his screen shut a little too firmly, shaking his head, “useless. By the time we finish, they’ll just have unearthed more of my most private possessions to flag to the world.”

He watched as she stretched her lithe body upwards to grab herself a mug from above the cabinet, the dark grey fabric of shirt riding upwards slightly to reveal the smooth skin underneath. Luckily, Jaskier was apt at pretending he wasn’t staring. He’d grown quite good at that, over the years spent with Geralt and Yennefer at his side.

“Could be fun though,” she pointed out.

“I’ll think about it.” She was right; it could be fun.

“No. You won’t,” Geralt’s gruff voice alerted them to his presence at the doorway (or altered Jaskier at least. Yennefer was rarely caught off guard by anything).

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jaskier pouted, “we barely even go on contracts nowadays. And you’re all against me getting famous. Old age has truly mellowed you.”

Yennefer handed Jaskier a mug of tea, then Geralt his morning coffee: made to perfection, despite her years of absence, “there aren’t as many monsters left,” she reminded him.

“Ah, but how I miss the days when there were,” Jaskier leaned back in the chair. Of course, central heating and vaccines were good too. Fair trade-off, he supposed.

“You complained back then too,” Geralt grunted, offering a kiss to Yennefer as a silent thank you for his coffee.

Jaskier didn’t steal a glance. He didn’t.

(Which he could say without lying because it was a bit more of a stare than a glance. But. Semantics. What could he say? His best friends were hot.)

They were getting off-topic, Jaskier thought. He wanted attention for his woes, not a morning of reminiscing and pining. “It’s just not right, that’s all. All those people looking at my private things.”

“The Great Bard Jaskier not basking in the attention? Why, are you feeling quite well? Been replaced by a doppler?” Yennefer quirked an eyebrow, removing herself from Geralt’s grasp to take a seat beside Jaskier.

“It’s not attention, though,” Jaskier whined. “It’s a bunch of tourists taking pictures they’ll never even look at when they get home, thinking how quaint life must have been way back when lutes were an easy commodity. Fucking hell, do you know how hard it is to find a lute nowadays? I can’t believe they’ve gone out of fashion.”

“We can thank the world for small blessings,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

Over a millennium, and still, Geralt was an emotionally stunted, dry-witted arse. Over a millennium, and Yennefer was still a beautiful, powerful bitch of a woman.

Jaskier loved them for it. He wouldn’t have them any other way.

Well— alright, not true. There was one other way he could imagine having them, and it involved him being a little bit more than simply a roommate to Geralt and a little bit more than simply an annoyance to Yennefer.

Still, things could be considerably worse. He wasn’t complaining. At least, he wasn’t complaining often. Not about that.

He’d complain about historians all he bloody well-liked though.

Arseholes the lot of them.

-///-

“You’re a traitor, a filthy, filthy traitor,” Jaskier hissed as he strolled up to the front desk of the British Museum.

Triss rolled her eyes, exasperation and fondness playing on her features in equal measures. He’d long since gotten used to people looking at him that way; it was the most common expression he inspired. “You asked me to tell you if anything showed up. I’m only here while they’re sorting through the collection of ancient plant samples. You’re lucky it all lined up.”

“And which one of my misplaced possessions has found its way into this house of stolen goods?” Jaskier’s voice was perhaps a tad too loud for dramaticism but sometimes you had to take one for the team and become the excentric mad man in the room when nobody else was willing to do it. Those teenagers in the corner could giggle and shoot him glances all they wanted.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that, don’t you?” Triss murmured, already turning to head back to the office she was working in, “they have a display on love through the ages. Third floor. Try not to get too flustered when you see it.”

“Flustered? By a bit of love poetry? Triss, what do you take me for?” Jaskier was a true romantic and had been falling in and out of love to varying degrees since he was but a mere mortal man. He wasn’t going to get flustered. Nothing could get him flustered anymore.

Ten minutes later, he had a rather pronounced blush on his face to match the speeded heart rate and the quietly muttered ‘no, no, no’ leaving his mouth like a mantra.

Certain hardships come along with being immortal which simply aren’t advertised.

The love letter you wrote to your best friend and his on-again-off-again-girlfriend showing up in a display case of a national museum? No one told him about that particular brand of down-side when he signed up for this gig.

This is so much worse than the lute, and the song-book and the jewels.

Oh, he is so screwed.

-///-

So far he’s managed to concoct and execute three cunning plans to get the love letter safely out of the display case and away from the public (the public that he’s very aware includes Yennefer and Geralt) eye.

Considering he’s in a holding cell at Scottland Yard waiting for Geralt to come and bail him out? Yeah. He can probably write all three off as a failure.

The first plan was to ask the attendant if the display would be up for much longer. Keeping Yennefer and Geralt from a museum they rarely frequented for three weeks wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, particularly if he had Triss on his side.

Today, the Gods were clearly not on his side. The attendant informed him that the display had proved a huge attraction and they had no plans of taking it down for the foreseeable future.

The second plan was to march into any office he could find and demand the letter be removed. It was his letter. This was a violation of his privacy. He had every write to want it removed from a display case.

Which was all well and good until the poor museum curator asked him why he was so instant that a five-hundred-year-old letter be taken down and – when Jaskier could give him no good answer – proceeded to believe he was being pranked.

“You’re one of those homophobes, aren’t you, young man? We simply won’t have that. The letter is a lovely display of impassioned bisexual polyamorous feelings and it’s not going to be censored by the likes of you.”

Jaskier would have respected him for that if it didn’t get in the way of his plan.

The third plan was to simply smash the case and run away with the letter, head across the seas (he hadn’t been to Asia in quite some time it might be nice to go back) and come back in a few decades when everyone had forgotten about a petty museum thief.

Except hitting frantically at a glass case in the middle of a crowded exhibit? Maybe not his smartest idea.

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Geralt growled. It was the same question he’d growled down the phone when Jaskier had first rung him and asked him (very nicely, he might add) to come and pick him up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the option of simply hanging up this time around.

Jaskier decided to bow out of answering the question with a good old diversion, “That’s just rude. This time. Like you expect me to get into these situations.”

Geralt fixed him with a glare which, alright, maybe he deserved. He did tend to get into these situations rather frequently, but one had to spice life up now and then.

Luckily, it’s pretty simple to get Jaskier out and they were let off with a warning and – for Jaskier – a lifelong ban from the British Museum. Jaskier has come to find life-long only really means about half a century anyway, so he can live it. Why would he want to walk into that den of thieves anyway?

“Were you trying to steal back your lute?” Geralt asks on the walk back.

“Um. Something like that, yeah.” Hopefully, he can play it off as just trying to steal the lute back.

“I said no heists.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Someone should be.” Geralt fits his key into their apartment door.

Unsurprisingly Yennefer is home, lounging as if she contributes to the rent on their sofa, doing her nails some stunning shade of purple.

“Me next!” Jaskier exclaims, already forgetting about the woes of his brief stint as a criminal that afternoon.

Yennefer raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “Don’t think so, lark. Only good boys who don’t get arrested get their nails painted.”

“Says you,” Jaskier scoffs, “You’re hardly one to follow the law. We get magic Netflix, Yen, that we don’t pay for because of your-” he wiggles his fingers, “it has movies that haven’t even be realised yet on it.”

She waves her hand dismissively, “I didn’t say you had to follow the law, I said you had to not get caught. I’m never caught, therefore, I get my nails done how I like.”

Jaskier scowled at her as Geralt reached over to switch on the TV. Still, he couldn’t keep up his petulant act for long. He had missed her after all; the times when Geralt and Yennefer weren’t together were almost as bad as the times that they were. Jealousy vs. longing, ah, what a hard existence he led. She’d only been back now a week, but he was so glad to come home to her that they weren’t even bickering very much.

Their couch wasn’t really big enough for three without excessive cuddling, so he took a seat on the floor while Yen and Geralt curled up together, his back pressed up against their legs. At some point someone’s hand – Geralt’s, he thought – ended up carding through his hair. It was nice, familiar, affection that only came with centuries of knowing and caring for one another. Eventually, Geralt started critiquing the monster law on the crappy show they were watching, which prompted Yen to start critiquing the magic.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the museum. If there was one thing age had brought with it, it was a sense of domesticity which had been oh so absent in their first few centuries. Witchering, Barding, maging—all of that still went on, behind the scenes. But they no longer lived on the road, they no longer lived out of a horse’s saddlebags. They had a home. They had movie nights. They had a life.

Once upon a time, barely a decade into their acquaintance, he’d asked Geralt if Witchers ever retired. He’d been told ‘no’ and yet…here they were. It wasn’t quite retirement, but it was something close to it, more than any of them ever thought they’d get.

It was just what they needed Jaskier thought. A good, long life deserved a bit of a retirement package, even if that package came intermittently interspersed with monsters and Jaskier’s absolutely hopeless pining for Geralt and Yennefer both.

After the show ended, they each had a glass of wine. Jaskier pretended he didn’t want to join them when they disappeared behind the door to Geralt’s room, and that he didn’t hear them moaning each other’s names while he tried to settle in for the night.

If there was one thing he was good at, after all these years, it was pretending.

-///-

In the end, it was Ciri who fucked it up for him; an inconvenience as he’d never much been able to manage staying mad at the girl.

Cirilla didn’t spend all her time in London; she still had the wanderlust she’d inherited from all her adoptive-parents (Jaskier was proud to be included on that list), and it took her across the world. Her Instagram account was a mess of photos taken in location after location: the pyramids in Egypt, the mountains of Poland, the ruins of Rome. Recently, her posts had also featured a tall, rather stunning brunette. Jaskier figured that was her main reason for coming back to England; so they could meet her latest girlfriend. (Ciri also had a way with women and men alike, which Jaskier would like to think she’d adopted from him too).

He was thrilled when he heard that she was coming home. He’d taken the day to prepare the spare room in their apartment (one that hadn’t been there a couple of days ago; there were advantages to having a mage staying with them) and was just finishing up making the bed when his phone buzzed.

Is there a reason why a love letter to Yen and Geralt is in the British Museum signed from you?? -C

Fuck. Fuck, not good, not good. Ciri was many, many things, but among her traits, he would definitely put ‘meddlesome’ near the top.

Because Historians are nosey pricks. Do NOT tell your parents. -J

;) – C

The winking face of a semicolon and a bracket stared up at him, composed of unforgiving pixels. She wouldn’t, would she? No. No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

He was sure of it.

Positive.

She wouldn’t.

-///-

“Where’s Cirilla?” Jaskier asked, his energetic bounce (which was partly built on the nervous energy of that damn winky face emoji what did it mean) slowing slightly when he saw their girl wasn’t entering with Yennefer and Geralt.

“She’s staying with Triss this evening,” Geralt explained, though really, that didn’t explain anything. Ciri and Triss got on excellently, but if she was coming home why wouldn’t she spend her first few nights catching up with them?

“But—we got her a room ready? Why would she do that? Oh, shit, what did you do? Geralt, if you were an ass to her about something then—” his words come to an abrupt halt as he notices that Yennefer’s left hand is curled around a piece of paper.

An old piece of paper. Practically parchment.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no—

“We got your letter,” there was a dangerous glint in those violet eyes that Jaskier didn’t know how to name. But he knew it didn’t bode particularly well for him. “Must have been an issue with the postal service, I think it spent half a millennium lost in the mail.”

“Ah. Well, yes, um—”

“And it’s really some of your worst prose, Jaskier. Completely dreadful. Let’s see…you compare Geralt’s eyes to ‘the burning sun of my desire’ a few times, and my hair to ‘the deepest waters poured from the holy grail itself’. Christian imagery? Really? What would the girls at Meleites temple that you swore belief to think about that?”

“Um,” Jaskier doesn’t know what to say. Here he is, stood in his hallway, staring down what feels like an ambush and there’s nowhere to run. Yennefer and Geralt are blocking the door. So unless he feels like going full childish mode and locking himself in the bathroom…

It is really, really pitiful that he actually considers doing just that.

Instead, he bites at his lower lip, “In my defence, I was…very drunk?” He’d spent quite a lot of that century drunk if he recalls correctly. He was going through a bit of a rough patch. That probably isn’t the only letter out there, though he desperately hopes it’s the only one that any nosey historians have managed to get their grubby fingers on. He doesn’t need any more embarrassment.

Because right now? This is the most embarrassed he’s felt in his entire existence and considering all the time he’d been alive…that was really saying something.

“Why didn’t you send it?” Geralt asks, and his expression is – if possible – even more guarded than usual; more guarded than Jaskier has seen it since their first lifetime together.

“Uh, because, as Yennefer just pointed out it’s literally the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever written?” his cheeks must be on fire, with how red they feel. He wants to look anywhere put them, but they’ve always been like the flame to his moth, he can’t keep his gaze from them for long. “Look, we don’t have to, um, I mean, look, they’re just words and it was a really long time ago now so really we could put this whole thing behind us if you wanted to—”

Geralt, if anything, appears to close off even more.

Yennefer does not. In fact, she looks even more predatory. Jaskier has the unnerving realisation that he is the prey in this scenario.

Yennefer takes a step forward. Her outfit, he notes dimly, is perhaps one of the most stunning he’s ever seen her in. She never gave up her taste in dresses, but today she’s donned black trousers, a white blazer and sheer necked purple top which is doing everything to accentuate her figure. He feels a little like a deer trapped in headlights.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t be interested in joining us tonight? Pity. And Geralt was so excited about finally getting you…”

“Wait, the fuck?” he can’t help it, it slips out, his brain trying to process what Yennefer just said.

You wouldn’t be interested in joining us tonight?

Geralt was so excited about finally getting you…

He feels like he’s slipped out of reality and into some fairytale world. He tries to recall if he and Geralt have been on a contract with any fae recently that might have entrapped him, but it’s been a few decades since they faced anything that could do that.

He shifts, one foot to the other. “Uh…is this some sort of trap?”

Yennefer laughs, and despite her expression, it’s bright and warm and he wants to bask in it for all of eternity. He gladly would, if she let him. “No,” she murmurs softly, she’s at him now, stepped close, and he didn’t really notice her moving but all of a sudden her slim hands are reaching upwards to cup his cheek, “it’s not a trap. Jaskier, songbird, we’ve been flirting with you for centuries now.”

Okay, now he knows he’s dreaming, “What? No. No, see, you haven’t, because I would have noticed that.”

“We touch you,” Geralt finally speaks up, “we ran our fingers through you’re the other night.”

“Yes, platonic touching. You touch me platonically.” Jaskier’s world is tilting on his axis

“Geralt let you slip on his lap in that pub three years back.”

“There weren’t many seats available! We were being economic with space!”

“We’re loud in bed when we know you can hear us,” Yennefer comments, and that one almost knocks the wind out of him.

“So…you knew. This whole time?”

Geralt steps closer now, “I could smell the arousal on you,” and wait, what? He knows Geralt can smell things like fear and pain and blood but arousal? A thousand-million moments flash to his mind, all becoming a hell of a lot more embarrassing, starting with his very first sighting of the man. “But we weren’t sure…”

“If it was more than that,” Yennefer finished for Geralt. They truly are the perfect couple, Jaskier thinks. He’s always thought that. Although sometimes it’s like something is missing from them, something that would make their on-again-off-again become more permanent, more stable.

They’re so close to him now. He can smell her perfume, he can feel the heat radiating from Geralt. It’s intoxicating. Fuck, fuck, if it didn’t feel so real he would be sure he was dreaming. “Okay…you’re going to have to give me a minute. And also, you’re fucking morons, you weren’t sure if it was more than arousal. I’ve—I’ve fucking been in love with you both for—the songs did you even listen to the songs? There’s like…so many songs I’ve written about you guys it’s unreal and—”

Yennefer shuts him up by kissing him.

Usually, he’d protest when Geralt or Yennefer try and shut him up. But this is a method he thinks he can get used to. Her other arm comes up to wrap around him, and he feels the fragile parchment brush the back of his neck.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” Geralt murmurs, low and he’s dropping a kiss to Jaskier’s neck and—

“Yes, yes, yes, enough time to talk later—”

Yennefer walks them backwards, and they stumble, and it’s messy and it’s wonderful and fuck Jaskier thought he’d felt all the pleasures of the flesh in his time but this…there’s nothing else like having the both of them.

Nothing else in the world.

-///-

“How did you even get it?” Jaskier asks a few hours (and more than a few rounds) later when they’re sweaty and panting and Yennefer has her head pillowed on Jaskier’s chest while Geralt plays with his hair.

“I’m a mage darling. And I did a little better than just trying to smash a case in, in broad daylight.”

“Hey! I was panicking!”

Geralt snorts. “You told me you were after the lute.”

“Which, by the way, if you can get the letter, you can get that back,” Jaskier narrows his eyes at her, “you could get them all back.”

She laughs and it is one of his favourite sounds in the whole world, “what would the fun be in that?” her fingers fiddle with his chest hair absently, “I like watching you squirm and suffer.”

Jaskier turns his head to press a kiss to her forehead. Fuck. He is so gone on her.

“And there is a vain hope that you might learn to take better care of your shit,” Geralt hummed, “teaching you a lesson.”

“The point is not that I take better care of my shit, Geralt, Gods how many times do I have to explain that it's about the principle of it all?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, shifts Jaskier’s head upwards and slots his lips against Jaskier’s again, lazy and content. He’s shutting Jaskier up again, but fuck, Jaskier can’t help but be glad of it.

“So, we’re dating now?” Jaskier murmurs, then frowns, “you can’t play on and off again with me. I am but a simple romantic soul, my heart won’t be able to take it.”

Yennefer and Geralt share a look. He’s not entirely sure what it means, but when Yennefer shifts closer and murmurs, “that won’t be an issue,” he finds himself believing her.

When he falls to sleep that night he is blissfully happy.

-///-

Ciri smirks her way through dinner, no matter how many times Jaskier calls her a traitor.

“It worked out, didn’t it?” She asks, green eyes far, far too innocent for her play in all of this. “Maybe you’ll have to forgive your grudge against historians now.”

“Never, Ciri.” He breathes, mock-aghast at the thought of dropping his grudge.

Still, at the end of the night when Ciri heads out to meet up with her current girlfriend, and Yennefer drags Jaskier by the collar to their bedroom, he will admit (privately) that perhaps she has a point.

This is the best thing that happened to him in all his long existence.

-///-

Yennefer doesn’t move out again, at least, not until Jaskier and Geralt do too. They stay together. There is no more on-and-off-again. It is like a hole was waiting to be filled all their lives, and now Jaskier is there and it’s like glue, keeping all three of them centred and – more importantly – communicating. So that changes.

Jaskier’s things keep turning up in museums. That doesn’t change (no matter how much he insists that he takes care of his stuff. Some things never do.

Jaskier wouldn’t have it any other way.

#geraskier #yenskier #geraskifer #Geralt/Jaskier/yennefer #yennefer #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #immortal jaskier #geraskier fic #yenskier fic #Geraskifer fic #niamh be a writing

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calm-and-wine · 4 years

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(I’ll give you) the best years

part I (moodboard)

Hello lovely people! Here is the start of a little drabble series about Nulu’s future (you can catch up on Down the line here). The biggest thank you to Anna @silverrank for editing and giving the best tips. Please come talk to me about those two anytime of day or night!

April 2022

“My mum’s been busting my ass with questions about the wedding. She’d love to help us plan things,” Niall said between bites of his breakfast.

They were in his house in LA, Niall had been putting finishing touches on his new album, while Lucy had a week off before going to Europe for clay season.

“Umm sure, I mean I’d love to have her help, but it’s not like we have a date set or anything. We haven’t even really talked about what we want it to be like.”

They had been engaged for a few months, but had yet to breach the topic of their wedding at all. Lucy quite enjoyed this phase of their relationship. Of course she wanted to take the relationship to the next level - hence the engagement - but after Australian Open, they hadn't spent more than two weeks together. The worst part of it was that those two weeks hadn't even been consecutive, thanks to Niall being busy recording his album and Lucy with playing.

“I know. But I think she’s just excited. And she assured me she doesn’t want to make decisions for us, just help with the organisation, since we’re both busy.”

“She’s honestly the sweetest soul. I love your mum.” Lucy sighed longingly, because she really did; Maura was an angel who had welcomed Lucy into the family with open arms, even when they hadn’t been dating that long. Because of that, she made a mental note to call her, as it’d been too long since their last chat. “Well, how about September next year? I could probably take a bit of a time off after US Open, skip a couple tournaments. I mean, it’s the end of the season anyway…”

“I’m gonna be done with touring by the end of July, so yeah, that’d work. Did you have a location in mind?”

“London,” Lucy said without a second of hesitation

“Really?” Niall looked at her surprised. “No destination wedding? Like a beach or something?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “London’s home and I’d love to do it somewhere there. Would you prefer somewhere abroad?”

“No, London’s good. I would be okay with a destination wedding, but it would be a pain in the ass with all the guests flying in and stuff. And some people wouldn’t come, so that would be a shame. Look at us, we already have a venue and a date!” Niall said with a big smile on his face. Apparently planning a wedding wasn’t that hard, all you had to do is have a chat with your partner and voila, everything was set!

Lucy laughed. “We do not have a date and a venue, we have a month and a whole city area.”

“Okay, party pooper.” Niall stuck his tongue out at her. “What about people? How many are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, about a hundred?”

A concentrated frown made Niall’s eyebrows scrunch together. “A hundred people for each of us? I guess I could make it work…”

Lucy made a face. “I meant a hundred altogether, actually.”

Niall looked at her with surprise. “Wait, what? A hundred people total?”

“Well, yeah. How many were you thinking?” Now Lucy was the one confused.

“I don’t know, around three hundred or something,” Niall mumbled, picking at his food like he was embarrassed.

“Are you serious? I wouldn’t know even half of them!” Lucy raised her brows and waited for Niall to raise his head, but when he did, he just shrugged. Lucy sighed. “And you wouldn’t even have enough time to talk to three hundred people.”

“So you want a small wedding, then?” he said after a minute.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I mean, I’d rather have fun with the people that are closest to us than spend half the night wondering if I talked to everyone and if no one feels left out or annoyed I’m not giving them attention.”

Niall hummed, but stayed silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Maybe you’re right. I think we should start making a list, see how many people we come up with.” He had his phone in his hand in a second, ready to type. “What?” he asked, when he looked up at Lucy only to see a wide smile and bright eyes.

She shook her head slightly, but the smile wouldn't leave her face. “It just kinda hit me that we’re really doing this. We’re actually getting married.”

“Are you regretting it already?” he asked with raised brows, but with a smile that matched hers.

“No, but I might, if you actually want to invite three hundred people.”

Niall’s laughter filled the place and she joined him, thinking that she might even endure a night in the company of three hundred people or more, if it meant hearing that laugh and making a man she loved happy.

February 2023

Lucy went dress shopping with her mum, Niall’s mum, Laura, Mia and Natalia. The latter was Mia’s girlfriend of almost a year. Lucy always had limited time in London, so instead of going to a variety of different stores, she looked through an online catalogue of the one they were in, now presenting the five dresses she’d chosen. The first one had gotten mixed reactions from her company, so it was a no. The second was beautiful, but Lucy found the narrow, mermaid style bottom of the dress a little too constricting.

The minute she put on the third dress, Lucy knew her mum wouldn’t like it. And she was proved right as soon as the dressing room’s door opened.

“Oh no, this one brings too much attention to your arms and shoulders and you don’t want that, honey,” said Megan right away.

Lucy didn’t even bother making her way to the mirror in the room, nor did she grace her mum with a response. They’d been through similar situations so many times she’d lost count. The rest of her help committee was rendered silent and she didn’t want to make the atmosphere even more awkward, so she just went and changed into dress number four, losing hope of actually finding one everyone would like, herself especially.

Two out of the pre-picked dresses were nice, the first and fourth one, but none was amazing. Not one made Lucy go, ‘Wow’. Maybe she just expected too much, she always thought that she would just know, she would try it on and just feel that it’s the right one. She wanted to fall in love with her wedding dress; was that too much to ask?

“Let’s maybe look around for a bit? Maybe something will catch your eye, it’s always a bit different than browsing online.” Mia stood up as soon as she saw her cousin’s disheartened expression after looking at her reflection in the last dress.

Lucy smiled with gratitude before stepping down and heading towards the racks full of all types of wedding dresses. The other women joined them, spreading around the room to look through the garments. The group worked quietly, the main sound in the room being the scraping of hangers and background music. Lucy’s attention was brought to whoever called her name to show her one of the dresses, but she mostly replied with a shake of her head. Diana, the shop assistant, was observing the scene, ready to bring whatever was needed or take a dress to wait for Lucy in the changing room.

“What about this one?” Natalia spoke up for the first time since they started looking. Lucy looked up, and she felt her eyes instantly starting to sparkle when she looked at the dress in Natalia’s hands. It was so beautiful and delicate, breathtaking, yet not too much, all at once. She was scared to like it too much right away, before even trying it on, but the thought that this dress might be the one made her heart do a little jump.

“Yeah, I kinda love it.” She gave Nat a wide smile before turning to Diana. “Do you have my size?”

~~~~

After the visit in the bridal shop, Lucy, her mum, Maura and Mia went to lunch. Laura had a meeting about one of her new work projects, while Natalia had a photoshoot location to look at. It was nice to actually spend time with her family and friends and Lucy was relieved that most of their conversation topics weren’t about her wedding. Obviously she was excited about the whole thing, but she had been the centre of attention all morning and it was nice to get away from the spotlight a bit.

After lunch she had a session with her psychologist. They’d been working together for a few years now to make sure she had the right mentality on court, as well as helping with general mental health. As soon as the appointment was over, she had a proper training session with her coach scheduled.

It had been a good day, but when evening came, she was more than happy to be back home, enjoying a quiet evening with a steaming mug of tea and catching up on some tv shows. And when her phone finally rang with an incoming facetime call, she didn’t even try to contain her growing smile. She loved being back in London, but it was always a bit bittersweet if Niall wasn’t around. It didn’t feel completely like home.

“Hi, love.” Niall’s smiling face filled her screen and her heart instantly warmed.

“Hey. Are you leaving for the venue soon?” She could see he was still in his hotel room, shirtless as always and it looked like his hair was wet. He had a show tonight, though - in Chicago if she remembered correctly - so he should be heading out soon.

“Yeah, but I wanted to chat with you for a bit before. Did you have a good day?” He was lounging on his bed, his attention focused solely on Lucy. It was one of the things she loved most about him, especially because sometimes he found it quite hard to focus on one thing, but never when he talked to her.

“Really nice day. It was so good to see everyone and spend time together. I do miss you, though.” She pouted, an action Niall mirrored.

“I miss you, too, Lulu. I’m counting down the days for that week and a half together before clay.” He smiled sadly. They had a few small visits planned, but it was usually for two or three days; they had to wait until the beginning of April for a longer visit.

“48 days,” she said with a smile; she had an app counting the days.

As if to change the subject before the mood became too sad, Niall asked, “How was the dress-hunt?”

“Terrible, at first,” Lucy laughed. “But it got better.”

“I heard your mum made some comments…” Niall said, a bit tentatively.

“Did Maura tell you that?” Lucy asked, at which he nodded. “Yeah, she hates my arms and shoulders, but what else is new. Well, those arms and shoulders got me a spot in the top 10 best female servers for a few years now, so I really don’t care if my mum thinks they’re not feminine enough.”

“I love you, Lulu,” Niall said with a fond look in his eyes. She was appreciative that those were the words that left his mouth, not that she was beautiful; somehow it made her feel better and it was like he knew she didn’t really need that boost of confidence.

“I love you too, baby.” They stared at each other through the screen for a while, giving each other gentle smiles and supporting looks. “I hope Maura didn’t have a terrible time today.” She had to ask... well, indirectly, because she always had this creeping fear that maybe people didn’t enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed theirs. And with her mum making it awkward for a bit and the dress search taking longer than expected, she’d hate to think that maybe Niall’s mum became irritated at some point or would rather spend her time differently.

“Don’t be silly,” Niall said instantly. “She called me today as soon as I’d woken up and wouldn’t shut up about how great you are and how lucky I am to be marrying you, like I didn’t know already. You know she adores you and she felt very honored that you wanted her there. I’m pretty sure she actually texted me the minute you invited her.”

Lucy laughed. “That woman is so cute. Did she tell you about the dress?”

“Oh, you found the dress?” Something in Niall's tone made Lucy raise her eyebrows. A beat of silence followed, before Niall broke it with a sigh. “Well, she didn’t say much, refused to give me even the smallest description, but she did say you look absolutely stunning in it. She also said I’m gonna be completely speechless when I see you in it. I might not be able to say ‘I do’ if that’s the case. Do you think a nod will do?”

Lucy looked at him very unamused, while he cackled to himself. “Why, oh why, have I agreed to marry an idiot?” she asked.

“Oh please, you love my jokes. You think I’m hilarious.”

“I don’t think there’s a person on this planet who’d ever use that word to describe you,” she retorted, though without heat or malice.

They just leveled each other with a daring look until Lucy broke and started laughing, with Niall following suit.

“I really can’t wait to marry you, Lulu,” he said when they calmed down, with smiles still painted on both their faces. “Why haven’t we decided to elope?”

She snickered at that. “May I remind you that not so long ago, you actually wanted a wedding for three hundred people?” She raised her brow daringly, at which he laughed and shook his head.

“Well, good thing I’m marrying such a smart woman; at least she’ll always get my head on straight.”

Lucy let out a soft chuckle and silence engulfed them for a split moment before another thought hit her. “Oh, I told Mia we’re gonna come do the tasting in the week after Wimbledon, she said Monday would be best, cause they’re closed then, so they’d just come in for a few hours for us. You’ll be back then, right?”

Mia was a sous chef at one of the best restaurants in London, so of course they wanted to hire that team for their wedding. Obviously Mia herself wouldn’t be working as she was the maid of honour, but her colleagues would be just fine without her watchful eye.

“Yup, I’m flying back Sunday afternoon, shouldn’t be home too late, so Monday works for me.” Lucy nodded while Niall took a minute to consider something before speaking again. “I’m going to sound like a dick, I know, but is it extremely awful that I kinda hope you won’t become a Wimbledon champion this year?” he asked sheepishly.

She wasn’t offended at all, just looked at him softly, with a little tilt of her head. It just so happened that he was playing this tour’s last concert the day of the women's final at Wimbledon.

“Well, a part of me is kinda hoping I’ll lose early on, so I can come see you at least for the last show,” she said. “Maybe even a couple, if I lose in the first week.”

They shared a look with which they tried to transpire an unspoken message of ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love you’. This was their normal, not being able to experience all of the big moments together, having to make tough choices, knowing when you could be selfish and when to put the relationship first. Some may think that was too much trouble, but through their years together they learned to navigate it somehow. Sure, they still made mistakes and were torn between decisions, but as cliche as it sounded, communication was the key. And neither of them would ever exchange their relationship for something easier. After all, Lucy was a firm believer of working hard on things to truly earn them. And working on her partnership with Niall might actually be the most pleasurable work ever.

September 2023

“Man, you’re actually getting married, that’s so wild!” said Mully clasping a hand on Niall’s shoulder with a big smile on his face. “I mean, it feels like you two has been together forever, so no one really had a doubt that you’d be endgame, but just… You’re actually settling down, that’s crazy.”

“You’re one to talk… Should I remind you that you proposed to Jordan three months ago?”

“Touché,” Sean laughed.

“Can you go see how everything's going out there? And get me some water, please,” Niall said to his childhood friend, mostly because he wanted a minute to talk to his father.

“I’m on it.” Mully gave a salute and left the room with a laugh.

The rest of his groomsmen were out there as well, making sure their partners and plus ones didn’t feel abandoned and giving Niall a moment to breathe.

“Why are you so nervous, son? I thought you were a million percent sure she’s the one,” said Bobby, noticing Niall’s bouncing knee and unfocused gaze.

“I am, I mean I’ve never even been in love like that. I want to spend my life with Lulu, of course I do, but, like, what if things don’t work out? What if we actually won’t last? How can I know that?” he asked.

He loved Lucy with his whole heart and soul, he’d never been more sure about anything, and he knew she felt the same way about him. But some part of him was worried, because sometimes things just didn’t work out, right? Things happened and feelings could change. He was sure his parents were in love when they got married, yet their marriage didn’t last. And so did so many others. Maybe love wasn’t everything and marriage wasn’t the road they should take? Just thinking about losing Lulu was making his insides churn and if he focused on it for too long, he might just throw up his breakfast.

“Niall.” Bobby came closer and looked at him with a soft, but sure look. “There are simply no guarantees. That’s just life. But let me tell you that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a relationship as strong as yours, or two people so determined to make it work, just because of the love they have for each other. Sure, life will throw all kinds of troubles at you, but I think you’ve worked through a lot of the hurdles already. As long as you’ll stay like this, honest and open and wanting to make it work, you’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure of this.”

Niall looked at him with glazed eyes. His father wasn’t one for inspirational speeches like that, which made it even more meaningful.

“And I hope you know how proud we are of you, me and your mum. For everything you’ve done and what a beautiful life you’ve built.”

“Thanks, dad,” he said, enveloping Bobby in a tight hug.

He didn’t doubt Lucy and their love, he doubted life and happy endings. He doubted just how much goodness and happiness one could get from the universe. His life had thrown so many good things his way already, there was so much luck involved in all of his successes, and he just felt that someday it’d have to turn around and some gloom would take over. And maybe not seeing Lucy since yesterday and spending the night without her brought a bit of self-consciousness and worry. After all, she was usually his voice of reason. They lifted each other up. And deep down he knew it’d always be like that. They wouldn’t let each other fall, and together they wouldn’t hit the ground, because there would always be one to hold the other up.

“I need to see Niall,” Lucy said, when her hair was finally perfectly arranged and she was left in a room with her and Niall’s mums, Mia, Natalia and Laura, who were her bridal party.

“What?” asked Megan, brows drawn together in confusion.

It was less than an hour until the start of the ceremony. Lucy hadn’t seen her soon to be husband since late afternoon yesterday, as they’d decided to follow that bit of tradition and spend the night apart, with him staying at home, while she was at the hotel with her parents and Mia. She was very much regretting that decision now. They’d texted and talked on the phone before falling asleep, but she still missed him, it was different knowing he was so close, yet they weren’t together. It didn’t feel right. And now, when she was so stressed, not about the whole marrying him thing, but just about the whole ceremony and having all eyes on her throughout the day. At least she was glad that they’ve managed to wrap up the guest list just under hundred and fifty people.

Her and Niall were not supposed to see each other before the big walk down the aisle, but she needed his presence to calm her nerves.

“Can you please ask him to come meet me?” she asked Maura.

She looked at her a bit surprised, but nodded and brought a small smile to her face, even though her eyes looked a little worried. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, I just need to see him,” Lucy assured before Maura left the room.

“We’ll give you a moment,” said Mia, squeezing Lucy’s shoulder as she passed, ushering everyone out of the room. Megan gave her an unnerved look, but left the room.

While waiting, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her perfect dress, her hair was done just the way she wanted, part of it pinned up and part left down in soft curls, her face adorned by quite delicate makeup. Everything was just the way she imagined, even better.

There was a quick knock on her door followed by a nervous, “Lulu?”.

She took a deep breath before saying “come in”.

Hearing that Lucy wanted to see him and then standing outside her door, Niall thought his heart might just beat out of his chest. But when he walked in and saw her, standing there, a mirror behind her, a soft glow coming from the window and lighting up all of her best features, he felt like his heart just left his chest. He felt nervous and suddenly calm at the same time. His mum had been right - he was very much speechless, because Lucy looked like a vision.

“Is, um, is everything alright?” he asked, searching for any signs of distress in her eyes.

“Yes, of course. I’m about to marry the most wonderful man in the whole world. I’m a bit nervous, though, and just needed to see you,” she said a little sheepishly. She hadn’t really thought about how it might look to Niall when his mum showed up and said his fiancée wanted to see him, hadn’t considered how panicked he might get.

He took a step closer, not being able to stand the distance between them any longer, especially since he was sure she wasn’t about to call the wedding off or anything like that. When he was close enough, he noticed her hands were shaking and instantly engulfed them in both of his.

“Nothing to be nervous about. It’s just people we know out there. And I’m gonna be there, waiting for you at the altar and then be by your side the whole time. Plus, I have to say, just… wow. You look so incredibly beautiful, Lulu. I knew you would, you always do, but this... this is just a different level. And knowing you’re gonna become my wife today, somehow it just makes you even more stunning.”

When she finally looked at him, her eyes were already starting to water. “You look incredibly handsome as well.” His face finally lit up with a big smile and she almost launched herself into his arms. “Can we share our vows now?” she asked quietly into his ear.

Out there, in front of everyone, they’d decided to go with the traditional vows, to try and not make each other cry. But they both wanted to do their own, special ones. It was agreed to exchange them sometime later, probably late at night, when the wedding festivities were over, but she didn’t want to wait. As they were standing in this small room, both ready, wrapped up in each other, she wanted to be his already. Even if it wouldn’t be officiated, she wanted to have that promise between them already. She wanted to walk down the aisle with his vows playing in her head. She needed the confidence that his words would give her, the reminder of his love and devotion.

“Of course, whatever you want, love,” he whispered. “Do you want me to start?” Even though he didn’t see her because of their embrace, he could feel her nod. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek, right by her ear, before slowly pulling away, but keeping his hands around her waist.

Lucy felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. It was fluttering around her ribcage, when she looked at the man in front of her, ready to soak up his every word. Even though her heartbeat might say differently, she wasn’t nervous.

“My Lulu,” Niall started, looking straight into her eyes. He’d use her full name out there for their proper vows, so now, as it was just the two of them, he really wanted to call her by his favourite nickname. “I promise to love and to cherish you every second of every day, no matter what’s going on or where we are, together or apart. I promise to not let you lose yourself, especially not in my own life and dreams. I promise to always be your number one fan and supporter, to always believe in you, always let you shine and remind you how bright you are. But most of all, I promise to be your partner, through thick and thin, no matter what life throws at us, to stand by your side, hold you tight and lift you up. I love you, Lulu and I promise to try to be the best husband possible.”

About halfway through his speech, Lucy’s eyes not only sparkled, but full on watered, tears eventually spilling down her cheeks. Niall quickly wiped them away with a soft smile and a look that said he’ll always be there to do just that. He didn’t even need to say it out loud, she already knew.

Before she started speaking, Lucy reached up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss right on his lips. “Niall, baby, I knew I should have gone first, cause you’re better at words than I am,” she started, at which he chuckled and squeezed her waist encouragingly. “I promise to always make sure you know how much I love you, through words and gestures, to always make you feel secure and confident, just like you do for me. I promise to always have your back, cause we are a team and together we can do anything. I promise to always try to understand you and consider your feelings. I promise to be open and honest, just like you want me to. I promise to never lose sight of how amazing you are and not let you to, either. I promise not to let you sacrifice yourself too much for me, even if you want to. I promise to make you laugh, just like you do with your stupid jokes, and to play with your hair and rub your back when you’re tired or can’t sleep. And I promise to always strive to be exactly what you need. Even though I can’t promise to be the perfect wife, I promise to try my hardest and always be the best for you.”

Just as she was saying the last sentence, a tear rolled down Niall’s left cheek, which she wiped with the tip of her finger, just like he’d done to her a few minutes earlier. She’d barely finished, when he pulled her closer and enveloped her in a tight hug while planting kisses all over her face and neck. This moment was just so blissful, they both wanted to stay in it forever.

Neither of them could even say how long they’d spent alone, after their vows they just stayed in each others’ embrace, sharing kisses every other second, inhaling one another, swaying back and forth on their feet, even though there was no music playing. They were wrapped up in their little bubble of love and excitement. Until there was a knock on the door.

“Please stop mingling in there, you’re supposed to get married in twenty minutes. I can’t believe you couldn’t even keep your hands off each other for one day.” Mia’s voice was slightly muffled through the doors, but her words were still clear. Niall and Lucy shared a shocked look, not even thinking of what anyone might think they were doing (they truly didn’t care), before erupting in laughter.

~~~~

When Lucy was coming back from the toilet, someone pulled her hand before she reached the main room. She turned her head to see it was her husband. He had a wicked smile on his face and put a finger to his lips as a signal to keep quiet, even though she was pretty sure no one would hear them over the loud music coming from the dancefloor anyway. He laced their fingers and led them into a corner of the hallway passed the kitchen.

Niall propped her against the wall, but put a hand around her waist to soften the hit.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, quietly bringing his body closer and leaning in to kiss her cheek before moving on to her neck.

Lucy let out a lovely laugh. It was a sound that he wanted to hear for the rest of his life. “We got married today, baby, we’ve been around each other for hours.” Despite her words, he kinda had a point. Sure, they were always together, holding hands or wrapping an arm around the waist to keep the other by their sides, but they were constantly around other people, listening to congratulations, well wishes and just making conversations with their guests. It was lovely, it was a part of the whole wedding ordeal, and it was their family and friends, who they were so happy to share this moment with, but she did want a minute alone with her husband as well.

“Yes, but I want you just for myself for a moment. You’ve been my wife for hours now and I’ve barely even kissed you. It’s a bit outrageous, don’t you think?” He whispered it all straight into her ear, nibbling on a skin once he was done.

She hummed. “Very much so” she agreed. She grabbed the back of his hair to pull him away from her neck and finally bring him in for a proper kiss. Both of them were hungry for it, their mouths working hurriedly, like anyone could interrupt them at any given moment, which was kind of true in this situation. Niall’s hands were rummaging around her dress, sneaking from around her ribcage to her waist and then travelling down and in this moment Lucy was both glad and mad at herself that her wedding gown was floor length, because she missed the warmth of his skin on her, even though this definitely wasn't the time and place to be doing that. She wanted to do nothing more but rake her fingers through his soft hair, but it was still perfectly styled and she didn’t want to ruin it, especially since it would probably create quite a buzz between the guests.

“Man, I can’t wait until the party’s over” he sighed, throwing his head back, when Lucy pulled away with a groan to force them both to catch their breath. “Is it really awful that I’m saying that about my own wedding?”

“Nah, I kinda feel the same right now,” she admitted with a giggle. At this moment, when they were sneaking around the party for a bit of a make out session, she felt like a teenager with butterflies in her stomach, not an adult with a husband. But there was a certain beauty in that, how Niall could make her feel giddy and excited with the simplest things, no matter how long they’d been together.

“Should we sneak off to the bathroom or something?” he asked with a glint in his eyes.

Lucy chuckled, knowing, well, hoping at least, that he wasn’t actually being serious. There was no way she was having sex with her husband for the first time in some filthy bathroom at their own wedding. Well, maybe not filthy, cause the whole place was very nice, but the sentiment was very much the same. It was not the place (nor time) to engage in marital sex. She and Niall had slept together too many times to count, but both of them wondered if this next time would be different, because of the official commitment marriage brought, if anything would change in their connection. Lucy had a gut feeling it’d be better than any time before and that they’d feel close and connected like never before, although that’d never been an issue for them. Their intimacy always brought not only their bodies, but also their minds and souls as close together as possible.

“Absolutely not,” she said, planting a kiss on his lips to soften the blow. “But we should get back. Theo looked pretty sleepy and I promised him another dance. Also, Harry made me swear to save one for him as well.” She smiled at the memory of sharing a dance with Niall’s ten year old godson not even an hour ago, and at the conversation they’d had with his former bandmates, which involved a lot of teasing of her husband.

“No,” Niall whined languidly. “Why do I have to share you? I’m fine with Theo, he’s a good kid, but Harry can suck it, he has his own girl.” He pouted to emphasize his words, at which Lucy laughed and reached her hand to smooth his features.

“Well, you could dance with Meave or another of the boys’ girls and then we can swap to get back together. I’m the bride, baby, a hot commodity, nothing we can do about it.” She shrugged her shoulders with a smile.

He sighed and pulled her closer to hide in the space between her neck and shoulder, which might just be his favourite spot on her body. “Okay, let’s go, I want to get it over with,” he said after a minute, standing straighter up. The smile on his face and the kiss he gave her before pulling away and lacing their fingers to head back to their party told her what she already knew, that he wasn’t actually grumpy and he did enjoy the night, even if it meant sharing her the whole night. Because in the end, she was his and he was hers and they had a whole lifetime together ahead of them.

Right before they entered the room where most of the guests were gathered, he pulled her to her chest once more and whispered a simple sentence right into her ear, but that few words sent a thrilled chill across her whole body: “Can’t wait for our honeymoon.”

#1dff #niall horan fanfiction #one direction fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #one direction fan fiction #writing #dtl #down the line

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

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our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 12

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter twelve [12/12] AO3

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

this is it, guys. THE END.

i need to take a moment and thank everyone who’s been here following along with me, especially @carpedzem, @stahlop, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes, @kmomof4. i would have been lost without @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @katie-dub

to the fam in the @captainswanbigbang discord: truly, without you, none of this would have been happened. i am so honored to have spent time with you while we all embarked on these journeys together: @shireness-says, @spartanguard, @optomisticgirl, @justanotherwannabeclassic, @distant-rose, @eirabach, @winterbythesea, @scientificapricot, @phiralovesloki, @thejollyroger-writer. thank you again to mods B, kait, phira and @shippingtheswann for running such a tight ship. i was thrilled to be part of the crew.

this chapter is dedicated to robbie, a true hero with a happy ending.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air: And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest Act IV, Scene 1

Emma exhaled a strangled gasp. She felt like she had been through a wringer--literally flattened and squeezed out until there was nothing left inside of her--and then a pulse of warmth and light had traveled through every part of her, like lightning pulling at her cells. The room around her seemed brighter and there was a quiet in Emma’s mind, peaceful and happy.

read the rest on AO3 (full chapter below the break)

chapter twelve

“What’s going on?” Regina asked. She sounded far away, her voice somewhere on the edge between suspicious and--what else--angry.

“That, Your Majesty,” Gold said, “was True Love’s Kiss.” He was all crocodile as he said it, his voice smooth and smug. When he smiled, it was not a pleasant expression.

“The curse,” Henry said. “Emma broke it.” He was smiling, and Emma grabbed him, squeezing him so tightly that he grunted, and there was a commotion all around them--

“Snow?”

“Charming?”

“EMMA!”

“She found us--”

“Did you ever doubt that she would?”

--and Emma found herself wrapped up in an embrace that squeezed her so tightly that she yelped in pain, being held by her mother and her father, her father’s hand cupped against the back of her head as he cradled her body in a group hug straight out of--well, a storybook.

“She saved everyone,” Henry said.

Mary Margaret’s--Snow White’s--hands cupped Emma’s cheeks. “I knew you would,” she said.

“Me?” Emma said. The peaceful feeling in her mind faded, just a bit. “I didn’t--”

“You did,” Snow insisted. David’s--Charming’s--hand was on her shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck. He couldn’t seem to move himself away from her, or from them.

“True Love’s Kiss only works,” he said, “if there is love and belief on both sides. And, Emma--I love you. We love you so much.”

“I just hope that now we can show you,” Snow said. She faltered for the first time as she said it, as though the weight of the better part of three decades was suddenly heavy on her mind.

“You believed,” Henry said. He was still smiling. “That’s what a hero does, Mom.”

“Henry,” Emma said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” he said. Emma kissed him, hitting the crown of his head just like her mother had done--and she swore that, just for a second, she could feel that warmth pass through her again. The magic.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Lacey--Belle--dropped her bag and walked to him, nearly hurling herself at him instead of taking the last step, stopping herself and reaching instead for his arm. Her hand found his on top of his walking stick as she said, “I remember.”

Emma tried to extricate herself from her family--her family--waiting for his voice and the way it would say something stupid like “Hey, beautiful.”

Belle repeated herself. “I remember.” She said the syllables slowly, as if she was feeling each one in her brain and in her mouth before she spoke them. “I love you.”

Gold was very nearly in tears as he hugged her small frame. “Yes,” he said. His voice almost broke. “Yes, and I love you too.”

Where was Killian?

“Mom,” Henry said--

“What’s wrong with my brother?” Liam said.

“There will be time for that, Belle,” Gold said, and the way he articulated the words reminded Emma of that first meeting in her office--the way he sounded as though he was tasting them--his voice full of relish. It was creepy, and it meant nothing good. “There will be time for everything.”

The “later” was implied, but Belle heard it all the same, because she backed away, and that’s when Emma realized: Killian was still unconscious, comatose--cursed--on the cell mattress. Unmoving and even paler than he had been.

Emma went back into the cell and winced as her knee hit the floor, wanting to trace her finger along his jawline and settling for rubbing her thumb against his wrist.

Gold clicked his tongue and smiled, clearly unsurprised. “Why,” he drawled, “Hook is still under the effects of the sleeping curse. Naturally.”

Emma’s fingers reflexively curled around the dagger she still held as she reacted to his voice. Naturally. But there was no way, no fucking way this had been part of his grand plan--

Liam went at Gold, a fist already raised, and Emma grabbed his arm just as he tried to strike. She came up behind him and pulled him back. “Liam, no,” she said. “Not that I don’t applaud your initiative or anything, but--”

Liam glanced back at his brother. “He wouldn’t want this, would he?” He seemed to deflate slightly as he said it.

“No, kid,” Emma said. “He wouldn’t.”

Regina laughed. It was, truly, more of a snarl. “How do you feel about your brother now, Mr. Jones?”

And--dammit--Regina had read him correctly, because Liam flushed.

“I love him,” Liam said--insisted. “He has raised me as his brother with love and kindness for almost thirty years. He is my family, and I love him.”

“Perhaps,” Gold said. “But that anger and betrayal you still carry means that you cannot wake him. It must be her.” He lifted the tip of his cane two inches off the ground and used it to indicate Emma.

“Wait,” David--Charming--said. “Wait, is that Captain Hook?” His mouth opened to say more and--

“Charming,” Snow said, “now is not the time.”

Charming gave her a look that was fond but somehow grudging at the same time and Emma’s heart clenched at the affection there.

“I still have the bottle, Miss Swan,” Gold said. “I can offer you a deal.” The cane moved again, this time pointing at the dagger still in her hand.

He was calm, and he was composed.

But Emma could sense something beneath the layers. Liar. He was scrambling, Emma realized. His plan had failed, his grand big plan of several centuries was over, and there was still something he needed--something he wanted her to do, in exchange for the dagger.

Emma was not going to fall into his trap, or be ensnared in any more of his deals.

They would find another way.

They had to.

“No,” Emma said. “No, I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Gold, and don’t think for one minute that just because your magic curse grand plan didn’t work out I am not throwing your ass in jail for murdering Graham. You still killed someone, buddy, and in this world, that has consequences.”

Graham had died for this blade; Killian had crossed realms and time and still balked at using it. No way in hell was she giving it back to the Dark One.

Belle gasped. “You killed Graham?” She looked from Gold to Killian and back again. “This was all part of one of your plans? You knew this--” she gestured at Killian, dropping Gold’s arm “--was going to happen? Because Hook came for me in the asylum. He gave me a home. He was my friend.”

“He also tried to kill you,” Regina said. Gold growled.

“You locked me up and took away thirty years of my life,” Belle said, all five-foot-nothing of her with hackles up as she faced the queen. “He gave it back to me. I think--I think he changed.”

“Only I was given a gift: To wake up, for twenty-eight years, and not dread the day before it began" "...a life, and friends, and lovers, and none of it was real.”

“He did,” Emma said. She caught Belle’s gaze and held it as she said it again. “He did change, Belle. He is your friend.”

Belle’s expression looked suddenly very far away again, but not cursed; it was as if she was concentrating, searching through a mental catalogue of something until she found the answer.

“This is about the magic,” she said. She looked up at Gold. “Isn’t it? That’s what you meant when you said there would be time for everything later.”

Belle reached for Gold’s arm again. “Swear to me on your son’s life that this isn’t about the magic and I will believe you.”

Gold said nothing.

“Rumple,” Belle said, and she was pleading. “Swear to me. I will believe you. I still love you.”

Gold looked away.

Belle looked at Emma. “You said this was about Bae, and you weren’t wrong,” she said. “But in order to find Bae, he must need a tracking spell. And that means magic. That’s what he wants.”

“How would he bring magic to this world?” Snow White asked.

“There’s a lake,” she said. “In our land, we called it Lake Nostos. It has the power to restore--”

“What’s been lost,” David said. Charming. Whatever. “I’ve seen it. I’ve been there.”

“Assuming that everything in our land has a corollary here, there must be a well nearby that connects to the lake.”

“The wishing well,” Henry said. “It’s in the park just on the edge of Storybrooke.”

“That’s what he wants,” Belle said. “The potion must allow the waters of Lake Nostos to have power here. That’s how he planned to do it. Emma--you can’t let him. It’s wrong. And--”

“Hook wouldn’t want this,” Emma said. “I know. I won’t.”

She repeated to herself, almost like a mantra: they would find another way. They had to.

Emma stood beside her parents, her arms crossed over her chest, the dagger still in one hand.

David looked like he suddenly remembered something as he reached for his belt--the cuff clip he wore there. He handed the cuffs and the keys to Liam and said, “Cuff him.”

“Try it, dearie,” he said. “I’ve been imprisoned before.”

“There’s no magic here, Dark One,” David said. “And there won’t be. I think we’ll be able to hold you this time.”

“No deals,” Snow said firmly.

“Emma can do this,” Henry said.

“I--” Emma said.

“Emma,” Snow said. “We believe in you. So did Hook. That curse only works if you take it willingly. He wanted to save you, and to save Henry. He believed in you.” Her eyes were only on Emma, and on Killian. Her eyes with nothing but warmth and compassion and understanding and Emma had no idea what she was meant to do, or how she was meant to do it. “You know what you need to do, Emma.”

She didn’t. She fingered the ring around her neck and felt hopeless.

“I’m not okay with this,” her father grumbled, then grunted when her mother elbowed him.

“Mom,” Henry said in a loud stage whisper. “You have to kiss him. That’s how the curse works.”

Snow smothered a laugh.

“But--” Emma said. “He has--had--I’m not--”

My Milah. My dead lover. She knew I was motivated. Any port in a storm.

Emma stood motionless.

“Oh, dear,” Gold giggled. “Has the good captain infected you with his ghosts?”

Emma stiffened.

“Milah wouldn’t have wanted this. I would have done anything for her, but she wouldn’t have wanted this.” Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.

“He always did favor brunettes,” Gold said. He was taunting her, he wanted to make her doubt, and it should have worked--hell, five minutes ago, it would have worked; five days ago, it felt like, she hadn’t even met him yet, or Killian, and yet--

Emma closed her eyes and could feel it, the way his breath warmed her skin when they were close together, when he had been so close to her; she could feel it, the way it had been in his office, in Jefferson’s house--that moment between ‘what was’ and ‘what’s next’--and she wondered.

He had loved Milah. But--”It’s you. Don’t you know, Emma? It’s all for you”--and in her dream, it had been an inferno, the magic pushing everywhere in her body, the silver strands of light burning through her.

They’d known each other for five days.

But those moments still felt worth fighting for. She couldn’t lose him before she’d even had the chance to know him, or to know what it was that tied them together.

She already wasn’t the same person she had been before they’d met.

You should know better than anyone that Lost Ones recognize their own.

And she wondered.

“There’s hope, Swan. All you have to do is believe.”

What would it be like, to finally give in, to feel something instead of nothing?

“Just look at me, and believe.”

His lips were cold. Smooth, and cold, and Emma held her breath, waiting--

Waiting--

Come back to me, Killian.

And then she felt it, felt the moment he woke up even before he gasped.

(an inferno, burning everything in its wake as the energy rushed through her. It was raw and unfettered as it pushed every molecule in her body, electrifying her senses until she couldn’t feel anything but him)

“Swan,” he said, his fingers brushing against his mouth and his eyes wide open and so very fucking blue, “what did you do?”

Snow squeaked. Liam and Henry rushed for the cell door and Charming held them back.

But Emma wouldn’t know any of that until later.

She smiled. A real smile, the kind that lit up her face and her eyes and showed all of her teeth. “I’ve been wondering if I would like it,” she said.

His eyebrows went up, and he smiled back at her--a real smile, that softened his entire face. “So what’s the decision?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, closing the infinitesimal distance between them, and there was the metal of his rings, cool as his finger traced the line of her cheekbone, and when his mouth opened and a sound escaped Emma wasn’t sure if it was him or her. She felt like she was being devoured, if the gentlest touch she’d ever felt in her life could eat her whole and make her crave it. It was everything--his fingers, the metal, his lips and tongue and the way he opened for her--

And it felt like magic.

Killian was breathing heavily, brushing his fingers against his mouth again, and she said: “It’s even better when you help.”

There were a thousand emotions flickering through his eyes, and Emma saw all of them: sorrow, remorse, understanding, desire, longing.

Love.

He was an open book.

Emma blinked. There was no way for her to look at him, to see him when he was like that, and pretend that she didn’t feel--all of it. Anything. Everything.

He smiled--a shy smile--and Emma realized that he saw all of those things in her, too. She leaned forward, feeling his forehead against hers when he met her halfway, his eyelashes fluttering across her cheek.

“What I wouldn’t give,” Regina said, “for another sleeping curse.” She sat on the cell mattress as if it was a throne. Her face was a mask of icy indifference.

Snow White stood in front of her, regarding her through the cell bars.

Emma tried to stand, but--

“Worry not, Swan,” Killian whispered, and she stayed with him, enjoying the weight of his hand on her arm.

“I agree with the pirate,” Charming said.

“Ah,” Gold sneered. “Twoo Wuv.”

“The curse is broken,” Charming said, ignoring him. “Neither of them can hurt us any more.”

There was a knock on the station door, a heavy object of some kind being battered against it.

“Open up,” Leroy’s voice called.

Snow walked to the door, slowly and with deliberation. “The curse is broken,” she agreed. She reached for the doorknob. “And now--we have a lot to figure out.”

“Together,” Killian muttered into her ear, and Emma nodded.

“Together,” she said, feeling the magic inside of her settle at the word; the inferno banked down to something warm and comforting and tied up between both of them, inextricable. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had long, blonde hair that curled just so at the edges of her face with skin as fair as snow. Her eyes glinted green, like emeralds in the sunlight, and the fall of her lashes was thick and dark.

Her name was Emma Swan.

Sheriff Emma Swan stood up, remembering at the last minute to turn off her oversized CRT monitor before she hit the light switch. On her desk there was a picture of her son; it was hand-drawn, in pen and ink. There was a pair of boots on the shelf behind her. One of them was missing a shoelace.

“I’m heading out, Red,” she called.

“Mmmm?” Ruby murmured, not looking up from her makeup mirror as she fluffed her waist-length, red-streaked black curls until she was satisfied with their volume. “You coming by later? I think Ursula’s got something new she wanted to try with the music tonight.”

“Tempting,” Emma said, “but no.”

“Belle’s gonna be there,” Ruby said, her dark eyes glittering. “And Will.”

“Poor Victor,” Emma sighed.

“Who said he wasn’t invited?” Ruby asked. She smacked her lips and blew a kiss.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “That’s my cue. Besides, I gotta go home first.”

Emma was very, very good at her job, even though there was one mystery she couldn’t solve: how to mend a broken heart. She had once believed in love--in True Love--but now she wasn’t sure if it even existed. She had been given up by her parents, Snow White and Prince Charming, minutes after she was born, sent through a magical wardrobe so that she would have her best chance--so that some day, she would find them again. She would break a curse, and bring back the happy endings.

But Emma Swan didn’t know any of that. All she knew was that she grew up alone, moving from city to city with no one on her side, and no one who knew her.

The logistics were the easy part.

Well--the logistics were the part that was less hard, because magic, it turned out, was a very funny thing. It had no rules but its own, and the more questions Emma had, the more she had to shake her head and move on.

You really could handwave away anything in Storybrooke by the simple expedient of magic being involved.

Cursed neighborhood in a thriving city? Magic.

Mary Margaret Blanhard as the only living heir of Regina Mills? Magic.

“Not really,” Mary Maragaret--Snow White--had said. “She is, after all, my stepmother.”

More surprising was the fact that Henry Mills turned up as the legal heir to Robert Gold.

“How,” Emma wanted to know, “did the curse know that Henry was his grandson?’

And the Blue Fairy just leveled a glare at Emma, a superior air about her--a Mother Superior air--and said, as if it should have been obvious, “Magic.” She still wore her religious habit, the one Emma had noticed at Graham’s funeral, and it clung to her curves in a way that suggested “magic” had a sick sense of humor.

She didn’t know it, sent away from her family to live in a land without magic, but Princess Emma was going to grow up to be the savior.

There was no justice system in the city equipped to handle the murder committed by Robert Gold or the Dark Curse committed by Regina Mills. Storybrooke was its own jurisdiction; a mysteriously unincorporated neighborhood with no relevant law enforcement agency except a small, understaffed sheriff’s department. Then again, the former residents of the Enchanted Forest--two words Emma still struggled to say with a straight face--

“If it helps,” Killian had said with a wry grin, “we always called it ‘Misthaven’ on our navigational charts.”

Of Misthaven, then, were perfectly prepared to administer mob justice against the two people most responsible for their current predicament. Turns out, a ride with a Dark Curse was a one-way trip.

“When someone casts the curse, it’s a sacrifice of one world for another,” Blue said. “That’s simply how the magic works.”

Of course.

Nurse Ratched was perfectly happy to keep them in her asylum for a continuation of her current pay--plus dental. Emma agreed immediately. Anything to make the goddamn dwarves subside and leave her the hell alone.

Snow White looked on serenely. Prince Charming regarded her with pride.

Emma Swan was no stranger to tragedy, but she eventually made her way to Storybrooke, and found herself a home there. She had a home, and friends, and a job that she loved, until, on her twenty-eighth birthday, the curse struck her. It was a day like any other: she got up, went to her office, took on a new case.

But then her best friend--her partner--was murdered.

It wasn’t like the salty, half-assed dinners she’d had in so many foster homes--instant soup, just add water.

“Instant family--just add magic!”

It wasn’t easy. (That’s not how the magic worked.)

But heroes, Emma had learned, didn’t do what was easy. They did what was right.

Emma knew that she had no choice but to pursue justice for her friend, and to punish the person who had committed the crime. But when Emma tracked down a possible lead to a bar on the outskirts of town, she didn’t find a suspect. She found an ally.

And she found out how deep the rabbit hole really went.

“Wait,” Emma said to her mother one night at dinner. “Let me get this straight: you’re the head of the Mills Organization.”

Family dinner.

“You’re a teacher,” Emma said. “And you’re just going to--”

“She was raised to be a queen,” David--Prince Charming--reminded her with a smile, and Emma scowled. She had really, really wanted to hit him in that moment.

It must have shown on her face, because her father laughed. “God,” he said, “you’re so much like her.” He said it with wonder and pride and a lot of other emotions Emma was still learning how to deal with.

The emotions were the hard part.

Well--the emotions were the part that was less easy, because Emma.

Family dinners and Killian sitting next to her, squeezing her knee under the table to let her know that he was there.

“So,” Emma said, “how rich are we, then? Like, King Midas rich?”

Snow looked at Charming.

Charming looked at Snow.

Something passed between them.

“It’s kind of a funny story,” David said.

The night that Emma Swan met Killian Jones, she didn’t know his real name, or who he was, or where he was from.

She didn’t know how much she didn’t know, or how all of it would change her life. All she knew was that her partner was killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him.

All she knew was that something inside of her recognized him, like she had known him in another time and place; as if she had known him from her dreams. From her future.

Nights were the hardest, the part where the logistics and the emotions all bound up in each other; the part where she wanted, needed, desired Killian, to have him with her and to be with him. It was overwhelming, but the only part of it that terrified Emma was the part where it didn’t terrify her at all.

That first night--that first time--it was hot and raw and unchecked, all of those feelings, all of those emotions, that Emma had been denying herself coming up to the surface. She could feel it in her breathing, in her heartbeat, in the way that he laid hands on her and in the way the magic flowed through her, and it shouldn’t have been possible.

That’s not how the magic was supposed to work.

He was reverent and it left her trembling. It was too soon, too fast, too much.

But she slept, sated and spent in the arms of her True Love, and she dreamed.

She walked along the rocky shoreline, tilting her head toward the sky and feeling the sunlight on her face, and she looked for him. The sky was a perfect shade of blue and the air was crisp and clean and it was a perfect quiet moment; there was no sign of him.

Emma closed her eyes and took a breath, counting three before exhaling, and she was in Granny’s. It was empty: a glittering jukebox lit up in the corner, the wall clock set at 8:16.

Another breath and another three count and Emma opened her eyes, feeling something inside of her. A point of warmth that was getting warmer and the asylum laid out in front of her. The blind janitor watched her as he mopped the floor.

“That’s not how the magic works.” Regina’s voice, disembodied and hollow, drifted down the corridor. “Magic here is...unpredictable.”

“You know this isn’t right, Swan.” The whisper felt like it came out of the warmth, the warm spot that was still getting warmer. “Trust your gut. It will tell you what to do.”

The sheriff’s office looked like a dungeon, the bars made of fire, and Emma exhaled; Killian sat in the corner. She called his name.

“Swan,” he said, gasping, his fingers going straight to his mouth, “what did you do?” He didn’t look at her. “Why did you do it? Why did you not take the deal for the potion?”

The fire began to spread. He didn’t see her--he couldn’t see her.

“Killian,” Emma said, “come back to me, Killian--”

Emma turned, concentrating on the warmth inside of her, and pulled.

She held him against her, their backs toward the water as a wave crashed and bubbled up along the rocky shoreline.

He blinked. “Emma,” he said. His hand came up toward her face, and she leaned toward him. Their foreheads touched and his fingers were in her hair and he said her name again. “Emma,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

“I kissed you, Killian,” Emma said. “I kissed you, because you’re my happy ending.”

Emma closed her eyes. One, two, three--

And woke, Killian sweating and shivering in her arms.

Killian Jones was a complicated man. He had wandered, and traveled, and suffered many hardships. He had been a slave, and a naval lieutenant. He had been a brother and a pirate and, some would say, a villain. He had given himself to vengeance and turned himself toward the darkness after his first love was murdered. He had willingly subjected himself to the Evil Queen’s plan, to the Dark Curse, in the hope that he might finally see his vengeance delivered.

For the first time in her life, Emma asked her mother for advice.

She’d always wondered what it would be like, to ask her mom about clothes or makeup or boys or--life. It never occurred to her that she’d need to ask about a sleeping curse.

“What was it like for you,” Emma said, “after dad woke you? From the--from the thing?”

“Oh, Emma,” Snow said. There was so much understanding, so much sympathy, so much empathy in the single word. It shocked Emma how much her mother immediately understood, and how much of a comfort that was. “Is he having the nightmares?”

Killian Jones--Captain Hook--had spent many years in Neverland, the home of the Lost Ones, and still had not realized that he, himself, had been Lost. Until he met Emma Swan, and found himself again.

They found themselves in each other.

It wasn’t easy.

She had a kid who believed everything was going to be okay. He had a brother with a lot of justifiable anger issues.

Emma had literally never in her life lived under the same roof as her parents.

“You never even got to spend a single night in the nursery,” her father said, and Emma remembered the page in the storybook, of Prince Charming fighting off a horde of Black Knights and nearly dying in the process, all while protecting the daughter in his arms.

“There were unicorns on the mobile over your crib,” her mother said, and Emma could picture it, the colors and the crib and the toys, the hopes and the dreams manifest in a single room.

Emma had never gotten to spend the night with her kid, either.

The loft, Mary Margaret’s loft, was barely big enough for two. It had not been designed for six.

Fuck logistics.

But the nights were the hardest.

Because when Emma and Killian were apart, that’s when he was afraid to close his eyes.

That’s when the nightmares were the worst.

The night they met, Killian told Emma about the Dark Curse, and her parents, and about a creature known as the Dark One, who had killed both his first love and Emma’s partner. The Dark One had lived for centuries, immortal, his powers seemingly limitless. But here, in Emma’s home, in Storybrooke and the Land Without Magic, the Dark One had no power. He only had plans. It was his curse that had brought Storybrooke into existence, and forced Emma from her parents.

It was his curse that, unbeknownst to him, would bring the savior and the pirate together.

It wasn’t the same, every night--every time.

But Killian had so many regrets; when he slept, it was as if his body became, again, that prison--until she found him.

She always found him. She found him, and pulled with her magic, and they would stare at the ocean.

Peaceful, quiet moments. Together.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he always said.

“Killian,” she always said. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re a survivor.”

“The only one who’s ever saved me is you, Swan,” he said.

It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.

“Any port in a storm,” she said.

“That’s just it, love,” he said. “I’m not in the storm, not any more. Not since I met you.”

And when they were together, she could feel it, the way that her magic would settle around them.

No one knew why--that wasn’t how the magic was supposed to work.

Twoo Wuv, Emma thought, and held him tighter.

The nights were the hardest, with the emotions. And the logistics. And the fact that there was no goddamn space in the loft--no doors, even. Four adults--two couples--and two adolescent boys, or near enough, and Emma learned very quickly that when her mother sent her on a grocery run in the middle of the afternoon to take her time and knock very loudly before she used her key.

Not that Emma didn’t find her own ways--The Rabbit Hole had doors that locked and a bedroom and an office with a large desk and that one time up against the hallway wall, in between the kitchen and the restrooms--Killian did, after all, still work most nights. But they always came home, after. They always spent the nights together, all under one roof. It was a family rule.

And then one night, as Emma kicked off her boots, as Killian helped her off with her coat, the door barely shut behind them, there was Snow White sitting at the table with cocoa and cinnamon and Scotch and rum. “We should talk,” Snow said.

“Pleasant conversation then, innit?” Killian muttered in her ear.

Henry was already using his cinnamon stick in lieu of a spoon but Liam looked suspicious. He was quiet and reserved and holding himself back, like he was afraid everything would shatter around him. He had seen everything he thought he’d known change twice in the space of mere days, but Emma was determined to do what she could to erase the haunted lost look from his eyes in the way that it never had been in hers, or in his brother’s.

“Everything okay, Mom?” Emma said, sitting down.

“Your father and I--” Snow paused and smiled. For an instant, her parents were the only two people in the universe.

Ruby had only fifteen minutes ago been throwing French fries at her in an attempt to divert Emma’s attention from Killian--but, gross. Emma didn’t need to see her parents like that.

“We think it’s time to make a few changes,” her father said.

Emma stiffened. It was an instinct, and the habits of a lifetime were not going to be broken by a few weeks of relative peace, but--her breathing hitched and her heart rate sped up and then she felt Killian’s hand on her knee, squeezing gently.

“Like what?” Henry asked, slurping his whipped cream. Henry had nothing but glee at his suddenly expanded family. It would shock her ten-year-old son to know that in that respect, Emma wanted nothing more than to be like him, her amazing, empathetic, achingly open kid who wanted all of them to have their happy endings.

One roof, three floors; the Mills Organization, and therefore Mary Margaret Blanchard, owned the building and all three apartments tucked into it.

“Okay,” Emma said. “But seriously, how rich are we? You sure it’s not, like, Midas rich?”

Her father laughed. “I’ll leave that to Kathryn,” he said.

“Kathryn really did go to Boston, though,” Emma said. “So that’s relevant how, exactly?”

“She was Princess Abigail in our world,” David said. “Abigail, daughter of Midas.”

Killian’s eyes lit up and his eyebrow went up and the corner of his mouth went up and Emma knew it was going to be trouble before he uttered a single word. “And why,” he said, “would you want to give up an opportunity like that?”

Snow let out an indignant sputter as she choked on her cocoa, but Charming laughed again.

“You of all people know why,” he said.

Killian’s arm snaked around Emma’s waist and he pulled them closer together. “Aye,” he said. “That I do.”

It wasn’t easy. It was too soon, too fast, too much.

But they found a way; that’s what this family did.

Killian wasn’t someone who trusted easily. Emma wasn’t someone who trusted at all. But they quickly realized that together was the best way to get through, to get justice for Emma’s friend and partner--and to break the curse. When Emma’s life was threatened by the evil Queen of Hearts, it was Killian who was able to defend her. And when Killian put himself in the way of a sleeping curse to protect Emma’s family, Emma was able to awaken him.

It was True Love’s Kiss, and it sent a pulse of magic through Storybrooke. Emma realized that her feelings gave her strength. She broke the Dark Curse. She found her family. She brought back the happy endings.

Including for Killian Jones.

Once upon a time, after a long day at her new job with her best friend, Emma Swan came home to the apartment she shared with her family. She pulled off her boots, stepping over them into the apartment, and hung her red leather jacket on the hook by the door.

Killian Jones--Captain freaking Hook--was sprawled out on the couch, his hand over his eyes. In his lap was a black-and-white speckled composition notebook; there was no sign of the work crew that had left a small pile of equipment in what was slowly becoming her--their--kitchen.

In the apartment she shared with her family--the second-floor apartment. The one that was currently being fixed up with extra bedrooms and talk of breaking through the floor to the flat below, to make a duplex.

“‘Ello, love,” Killian called softly, and Emma smiled.

She did that a lot more often now--the real kind, that made her eyes light up and showed all of her teeth--and her smile didn’t fade as she stepped into the living room and took the notebook out of his lap.

“He told you the story again,” Emma said, gesturing at the sleeping form curled up in the oversized chair and the goddamn domesticity of it--

“Aye,” Killian nodded, scrubbing his hand down his face as he sat up, and she still wasn’t used to it, what happened with his face when he got all soft like that talking about her kid. “Your boy spent the entire day working on it with Belle, and he was quite insistent. Seems to think hearing it will--”

“He worries,” Emma said. The lack of walls when sleeping upstairs left no room for secrets, and Henry did worry. He’d come up with the idea, to write down their story like a fairy tale, about Emma and Killian and Liam and their family and it made Emma’s heart hurt, sometimes, when she thought about all that Henry had brought into her life. “He just wants to help.” She paused, then: “Does it? Help?”

Emma Swan hadn’t been looking for someone who would give his heart to the world, or some True Love riding to her rescue. The only one who saved her was her. But she had always hoped that somewhere in the universe, there might be someone who would keep her warm when she was cold, feed her when she was hungry, and maybe--on occasion--take her dancing.

No one was more surprised than Emma when she found her True Love in the Storybrooke Sheriff’s station, when she kissed Killian Jones and saved him from eternal sleep.

No one was more surprised when she found her family that night.

“Hearing a story where I’m not the villain? Yeah,” he said. “It helps.”

“You’re more than that,” Emma protested. “You’ve got a mark in the hero column, at least.”

“I’m not so sure about that, love,” he said. “I don’t believe I ever--to use your phrase--rode to the rescue, or gave my heart to the world.” Killian’s words were teasing, but his eyes were serious.

“You gave your heart,” Emma said. “You gave it to me.”

“I did,” he said. “But you have given me use for it: a double heart for my single one.”

Emma grinned. She could always tell when he was quoting something.

“Shakespeare?” she asked.

“Aye.” He smirked. "I'm getting a mite predictable, then?"

"Maybe you should try something new, darling," Emma said, her voice a terrible imitation of his accent, and he laughed and stood up and pulled the notebook from her hands, placing it with some care on the couch cushion.

Killian's voice was low and sleepy as he began to speak.

"'i fear / no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want / no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) / and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant / and whatever a sun will always sing is you'," he said. He pulled her until she was flush against him. His finger traced the chain around her neck.

'"and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart,'" he said. 'i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)'." He kissed her, starting at her forehead, trailing down to her mouth, and whispered against her lips.

“Dance with me, Swan,” he said.

And they all lived happily ever after. The End.

The Tempest Act IV, Scene 1

-30-

#cs fic #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #our little life (rounded with a sleep)#canon divergence #s1 divergence #cursed!Killian #an alternate theory of the curse

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Blame It On My Youth

Summary: You’ve seen enough of Michael’s world to last you three lifetimes. Now, it’s time to show him some of your world.

Word Count: 4907

A/N: Did that sound a bit like the Little Mermaid? Yes. Do I care? No. Hope you guys enjoy, feedback is always appreciated and, if you feel so inclined, I would love if you reblogged, liked, and commented.

Out of all of the fantasy books that you read as a child, none was more frustrating than Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland. It was a fine book, filled with whimsy and adventure, all things that a child can devour like candy, but one particular passage captured your attention and warranted your problem-solving abilities for an entire week after you first finished the book. The famous question of “why is a raven like a writing desk?,” posed by the Mad Hatter to young Alice at their tea party, drove you nearly as mad as a Hatter in trying to solve it. It’s not as if there was an answer; the protagonist, herself, declared that “I think you might do something better with the time than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers,” but you were determined to be the first to solve this unsolvable riddle. Obviously, you didn’t solve the riddle, and the answer still eludes you to this day. You haven’t thought about that old riddle for quite some time, but your current predicament, and the amount of time spent thinking about it, gives you an odd sense of deja vu and reminds you of Lewis Carroll’s question with no answer.

It’s been two weeks since your trip to the Murder House, and your mind has spun with hundreds of questions that seem to have no answer. Michael, of course, hasn’t been any help at all. The man seems to be a walking paradox; when you don’t need him, he’s impossible to get rid of, and on the rare occasion that you do need him, he can’t be reached. You’ve been able to talk to him, your weekend visits to his mansion forcing you to make some conversation, but Michael has diverted every question you’ve shot at him. He doesn’t get mad that you’re constantly coming up with questions that, to you, have no answers, which only confuses you even more. Although you shouldn’t be pushing your luck after his show of mercy at his childhood home, you feel that you’re entitled to some answers.

Michael, the infuriating, confounding, caring husband that he is, has patiently reminded you time and time again that your finals are more important than any questions you may have. You hate it when he’s right, especially when he pulls out the contract and points out that it was you who made it a point to refuse dropping out of school. Your questions, he tells you, can be answered after you’ve finished the semester and gotten the grades you know you’re capable of. If you’re being honest, at this point you would take a year of being trapped in the Murder House over a week of finals (“Your dramatics truly never get old,” Michael commented dryly when you complained to him during a study break on Sunday). Finals week, you’ve decided, is certainly the work of Michael’s father.

Regardless of your opinions on the week of tests that largely decide your grades, the feelings of joy and relief that flood through you upon walking out of the classroom in which your last final of the semester was held. You have a high enough grade in the class to be able to keep your ‘A’ even if you flunk and, if you were brave, you would have just completely skipped the final. Worst-case scenarios, however, prevented you from doing so and made sure that you actually studied for this test. No matter how you did on the tests, you walk across campus feeling like you’re floating on air. No more school for an entire summer! The bliss that accompanies a last day of school does not, thankfully, fade with age.

Part of you wants to literally put the school in your rearview mirror and stay at least a mile away for three months straight, but you’re also a good person who promised to meet her friends for lunch and isn’t about to back out of a commitment. College dining halls, contrary to popular belief, are not nearly as clique-y as high school lunch rooms. Although there’s a few tables that everyone knows the athletes sit at, the rest of the tables are up for grabs. This can make things difficult when you’re one of the last to an already-packed dining hall and you have to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room while you search for your ‘group.’ Having friends like yours makes this move a lot easier, waving at you to get your attention once they notice that you’re looking around for them.

“You had finals today, right? How’d they go?” Kate and Brennan sit across from you, a bowl of cucumbers sitting between them. You grab at one when you take your own seat, deciding a water-based vegetable is better than nothing.

“They went okay, especially considering they were my last finals,” you reply, glancing around the table to catalogue who is and isn’t here. It’s the usual crew, but you take note of a new face. Shooting Kate a glance, she quickly picks up on your question.

“Oh yeah, you two haven’t met before! (Y/N), this is Mallory. She’s in my Russian Lit class, her other friends have already left for the summer so I invited her to come sit with us today.”

Mallory’s beautiful, her large doe-like eyes and golden leaf headband nestled in her brown locks giving her the appearance of some sort of angel. She’s wearing a black dress that’s cinched with a belt that matches the headband, her outfit looking like it costs as much as a couple of textbooks.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you smile warmly, Mallory returning your smile and waving at you.

“It’s really nice to meet you, (Y/N),” she says.

“Why haven’t I seen you around campus before?” Although it’s a large and populated college, you’re sure that you would have remembered seeing someone as unique as Mallory.

“Oh, we must just run in different circles.” The buzzing of your phone draws your attention from the conversation, sending Mallory an apologetic look before checking the notification.

“How did your tests go?” You can’t help the smile when you see Michael’s message, thumbs flying across the keyboard to type a reply.

“I think they went really well, thanks!”

Barely thirty seconds pass before Michael’s responded, and you stifle a laugh at the mental image of Michael sitting at his desk and just waiting for you to check your texts.

“You should call me when you get a chance, maybe we can go out and celebrate?” After the Murder House escapade, you had become a lot more lenient with your “two phone calls a week” rule. Sometimes it’s actually you that calls him first, much to the shock and surprise of both of you.

“Wow, our second date? Amazing, maybe we can even go steady after this lmao,” you can’t help the sarcasm, especially not when the opportunity is right there.

“-and--(Y/N),” Kate whines, drawing your attention back to the people in front of you.

“I was listening!” You unconvincingly insist.

“Really? What was I talking about, then?”

“Um...Brennan?”

“No, but nice try. I was talking about the end-of-year party at Colin and Noel’s.” Colin and Noel are two best friends who live together and, at least once a month, throw the type of parties that are the stuff of legends. The first, and only, time you went to one, Noel got so drunk that he body slammed himself onto the pong table, somebody tried to crowd surf, and multiple people ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.

That was on a regular Saturday in January.

“I don’t know, Kate, I’m still trying to recover from Thirsty Thursday at the Stadium House.”

“That was almost a month ago.”

“That’s the point,” you say jokingly. “But really though, I don’t like crazy parties, and I’d rather not deal with the cops.”

“They’ve scaled their parties back so much since the last time you came to one! No hospital visits related to events at their house, even!”

“Really?” You can’t help but be skeptical at her claim.

“Really. Listen, you don’t even have to stay for long, but I’d really like to hang with you one last time before I go back home for the summer.” Kate smiles when you sigh, knowing she has you. A good chunk of your friends are all going off to the far corners of the country for the break, and this will probably be the last time that you’re all together for three months.

“Alright, let me talk with, uhh--yeah, I should be able to swing by for a bit,” your friends don’t know about Michael yet, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Yay!” Kate squeals, drumming her hands on the table in excitement.

“I should get going.”

“I’ll see you tonight though, right?”

“...Right.”

“Are you going to the parking lot? I’ll walk with you if you are,” Mallory says, a twinge of guilt running through you at the realization that you practically forgot about the poor girl.

It’s impossible for you to say no, and you find yourself walking side by side with Mallory towards the parking lot. It’s a bit of an awkward silence, as it usually is when two people who don’t really know each other are left alone.

“Seriously though, how have we not met before? Are you a freshman?” You ask.

“No, but this is my first semester here. I transferred from a school in New Orleans.”

“Oh, I love New Orleans! I went there for a week last year, it was amazing.”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Mallory looks down towards her heeled shoes, nodding, “I miss it a lot.” Your heart aches at the sudden look of homesickness on your new friend’s(?) face, causing you to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Well, at least the school year’s over and you can go home now.”

“Actually, I think I’m sticking around for the summer. My aunt thinks it’s good for me to get out of New Orleans and out of my comfort zone. My best friend Coco’s letting me stay with her.” Mallory’s phone starts to ring, and she laughs when she looks at the caller ID. “Speak of the devil; it’s my aunt.”

“I’ll see you at the party tonight?” Mallory nods.

“See you tonight, (Y/N).” Mallory watches you continue towards the parking lot, only answering her phone when you’ve rounded the corner. “Hey, Cordelia...Yeah, it’s her alright.”

////////////////////////////

Michael, as per usual, is in his office when you arrive at his home. Even though he has no logical way of knowing that you’ve arrived, the opening of his office door before your hand even makes contact with the knob gives you the sneaking suspicion that his Antichrist powers give him an advantage. You stroll in, Michael looking a little too nonchalant as he reads through some papers on his desk.

“Some serious Cooperative business?” You ask, falling into a chair on the other side of his desk.

“You could say that,” he looks up at you, smiling. “How was your last day of the semester?”

“It was fine, finals were fine, it’s all fine, fine, fine.” You spin yourself in the chair, head falling back as you watch the blur of the ceiling above you.

“That’s a mood.” Stopping suddenly, you look at Michael in surprise before laughing loudly.

“Look at you, catching up on your slang!”

“Figured I’d try and actually learn what you were talking about.”

“Speaking of ‘moods,’ I might have something that would help to raise both of ours.” Michael raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. “Some...friends of a friend are throwing a huge party tonight for the end of the year. Would you wanna go? I know you had talked about celebrating, but maybe we could celebrate this way?”

“You want me to go to a...college party? The same type of party that you drunk-called me from and where I had to get you from?”

Your face heats up at the reminder. “I’m not even going to be drinking at this party, I learned my lesson last time. Look, I know that you didn’t have the most normal upbringing, so maybe this could be your chance to experience some of the things you missed out on. You can’t tell me that you’re perfectly fine with going from a child to running your father’s army and planning the apocalypse practically overnight.”

Michael’s thinking about what you’ve said, which you’re not sure is good or bad yet. You know that you’ve made some good points, and he knows that you’ll go to the party even if he doesn’t. Maybe this is a question with no answer, like so many that you’ve encountered lately. Michael and parties don’t seem like they’d mix, and it’s impossible for you to read his mind like you can read his.

“Will I be out of place there?”

“Michael, there’s going to be so many people there that nobody will even look at you twice.” A lie; Michael’s far too beautiful for just one look.

“What time?” You aren’t even aware that you were holding your breath until he sighs and looks at you again.

“Really?” Michael nods. “Uh, probably nine or ten?”

“Is there not a set time for these parties?”

“Not really, just whenever people show up.” You stand up, smiling widely at Michael’s sudden apprehension and choosing to leave before he can change his mind. “I’ll leave you to your work!”

The good thing about being at the home of your Antichrist husband is that your wardrobe is limitless. A red satin top and a pair of black jeans (tightened with a Gucci belt, because how are you not going to take advantage of that?) is dressy, yet casual enough to be worn at a college party. When you trek down the stairs at a quarter to nine on a quest to scrounge around the kitchen for a quick meal, you’re not at all surprised to see Michael standing at one of the counters.

“You haven’t gotten dressed yet?” You ask, hopping up on the counter next to him and tearing apart a bread roll before popping a bite in your mouth.

“I figured I could just wear this to the party.” Michael’s expression sours when you laugh.

“I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to laugh! It’s just--if you don’t want to attract a bunch of attention, then I wouldn’t suggest wearing a cloak, a suit, and a pair of red bottoms.” He looks down at his outfit, as if suddenly realizing how overdressed he is.

“But...I don’t know what else to wear?”

“C’mon, I’m sure we can find something in your closet for you to wear.” Michael hesitates when you grab his hand, obviously unsure of what to do next. “Kind of need you to lead the way, since I’m assuming your closet is in your bedroom that I’ve never been to before.”

“Right! Let’s go.”

The uncertainty that you feel at the threshold of Michael’s bedroom holds you back like a tether. It’s not as if anything unscrupulous is going to be happening, but the idea of invading the sanctity of your husband’s private bedroom is a little jarring. Peeking into the room, you’re reminded of a conversation you had with Michael during your first weekend here.

“Does every room look like this?” An unspoken question dangles in the air: does your room look like this? Michael grins widely, but it’s devoid of any of the emotions that a regular smile would accompany. It’s the smile of the devil.

“Guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, won’t you?” He chuckles at the withering glare you give him, loping back towards the door and resting a hand on the silver handle.

“So, every room does look the same,” you comment with a smirk, finally getting over your sudden fear and following Michael into his room.

“I had to have a little mystery surrounding me.” Michael smiles. “Are you going to help me or not?”

////////////////////////////

“Everybody here is in khaki shorts and printed shirts,” Michael hisses in your ear. Your hand grips Michael’s firm bicep, and you give it a teasing squeeze.

“Yeah, and you look a thousand times better than them. You always do.” Cars were already inconspicuously-but-not-really parked up and down the block, and you have to maneuver through at least fifty people just in the entryway and the living room. “College guys don’t really have a sense of style.”

“So I won’t lose you to one of these ‘boys,’ then?” Michael’s style, in your opinion, is timeless. You managed to work with his formal wardrobe, finding a white t-shirt and pairing it with an unbuttoned black shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows (although that part may be totally self-serving), and his black jeans are cuffed into a pair of boots. He still looks more formal than everyone else, but it’s way better than him showing up in a goddamned cloak.

“You never even had me in the first place,” you chuckle, shooting Michael a playful wink. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find any of my friends around here.”

There’s coolers set up in the kitchen to keep the different cans and bottles cool, as well as an array of liquor on the kitchen island. Michael looks like a fish out of water, standing around awkwardly while you start peeking into the coolers.

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking,” Michael comments.

“I’m not, I’m just trying to find some soda or water.”

“(Y/N)!” You turn around, smiling when you see Noel standing before you.

“Hey, bud.” Noel, one of two party throwers of legend, is a shorter guy who makes up for his lack of height with his absolute insane stockpile of never ending energy. His black hair is always carefully gelled and combed into place, and he dresses like a middle-aged rich dad who’s going boating for the weekend.

“Who’s your friend? If he’s a part of Sig Tau, he needs to get outta here before Colin sees him, because Colin still has a huge problem with--”

“No, don’t worry, he doesn’t go to our school.” Noel nods, drumming his hands on the table and picking up a bottle of tequila.

“In that case, can I get you two some shots?”

“I don’t know, Noel, I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), one shot’s not gonna get you fucked up. I’ve seen you drink before, you’re barely even gonna get buzzed.” He winks, already knowing that you’re going to say yes when you sigh.

“Two shots, then.”

Noel expertly pours two shots, sliding them your way with a friendly “enjoy” before leaving to continue his hosting rounds.

“What’s Sig Tau? Is that some sort of a cult?” Michael asks once Noel’s gone.

“It’s a fraternity, so close.” You slide a shot to Michael and pick up your own, downing it with a grimace. Michael just stares apprehensively at the clear liquid in the shot glass. “Are you not going to drink that?”

“What is it? It looked like you were drinking gasoline.”

“It’s tequila, which is kind of the same thing.”

“If I die, I’m holding you responsible.” Michael throws his own shot back, coughing and hacking as you cheer. “Satan, that was terrible. Why do people drink that?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, grabbing two bottles of water from a cooler and tossing one to Michael, “quick little buzz, palate cleanser, there’s a million different reasons.”

Michael grabs your hand and pulls you out of the way when a girl, clearly already drunk, nearly bumps into you on her search for another drink. She mumbles an apology, choosing to take the whole bottle of Jack Daniels with her instead of pouring it into one of the hundreds of red Solo cups stacked on the counter. His blue eyes meet yours and you both chuckle, silently agreeing to move out of the cramped kitchen and somewhere with less people. While the living room’s not any better, you do manage to run into Kate and Mallory.

“You made it!” Kate exclaims, pulling you from Michael to hug you. Her eyes are wide while also managing to droop at the same time, and you can almost guarantee that she’s crossed.

“I told you I would be here,” you say, giggling when Kate affectionately boops your nose. Mallory’s standing awkwardly to the side, eyes flickering between you and Michael. Kate also seems to pick up on her friend’s sudden change in demeanor, and smirks when she notices the man trailing behind you.

“And just who is this, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, this is my--uh, my friend Michael.” ‘Friend’ seems like a good term to settle on; you can’t explain your true relationship, Michael is not your boyfriend, and ‘acquaintance’ would be weird to say. Kate wiggles her eyebrows at you, sticking her hand out for Michael to take.

“Helloooo, (Y/N)’s friend Michael.”

“So, do you two have the same classes?” Mallory asks politely.

“No, Michael isn’t in college. He...well, he does--”

“I work for my father,” Michael interjects, smiling down at you. “I’m learning the ropes before I take over for him.” It’s technically not a lie, and you’re impressed until you remember that this must be one of his Antichrist powers. Mallory nods, but you can see a hint of something--doubt, or maybe suspicion?--in her eyes. Kate gasps before anymore words can be exchanged, grabbing yours and Mallory’s hands excitedly.

“I love this song! Dance with me, please!” You don’t really have a choice, the small woman amazingly strong when she wants to be. You look back at Michael apologetically, but he just smiles and gestures for you to go with.

The familiar bass that underlays all hip-hop songs thumps loudly through you, acting as some sort of an electric charge. Where you had once been bored and ready to quietly slip out of the front door, you’re now controlled by the beat of the song. The congregation of partiers who have also decided to dance grows larger with each passing second, enveloping your trio in the middle. While the dancing isn’t so much dancing as it is bouncing in time with the rhythm, it’s carefree in a way that you didn’t know you needed until now. Mallory takes your hands, both of you laughing as she spins you in a circle.

Michael leans against the wall, head tilted as he watches the dancing college students. More specifically, he intently watches you dancing with your friends. He’s intrigued, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smile as you move in a way he’s never seen you move before. While you’re more relaxed around him now, you’re still so reserved in your mannerisms. Here, Michael sees a glimpse of who you once were before he dragged you into his life. You smile widely, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs along with everyone else in the group of dancers. Your hair flows freely around your face, and he finds himself enraptured by the movement.

Would things have been different between you two if Michael wasn’t the Antichrist? Maybe, in another life, or another universe, you both would have attended the same college. The image pops into his head like it’s burned there; Michael sitting next to you on the first day of some nameless class, becoming friends with you first. Slowly but surely, your bond would only deepen, and from friends would spring lovers. Michael shakes his head imperceptibly: a fantasy. He can’t dwell on these silly theoretical questions that have no answers. It’s a fruitless pursuit, and nothing good will come out of fixating on the ‘what if’s.’

Michael jumps in surprise when you’re suddenly in front of him, being too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the song ending and you making your way back over to him. You laugh, obviously delighted at finally catching him off guard.

“I let you startle me that time,” he jokingly argues.

“Uh-huh, if that’s what makes this crushing defeat easier for you. Anyways, do you wanna get out of here? Kate and Mallory are the only ones I really came here to see, and if we’re not going to drink there’s not really any reason to be here.”

“I’m ready to go home if you are.”

“Actually, I might have a little detour for us…” you trail off, smiling conspiratorially.

“Oh?” Michael’s not sure if he should be excited or nervous for idea of yours, something that you easily pick up on.

“I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on opposite sides of a booth in a small diner that you frequent with friends during the school year. A basket of french fries sits in the middle of the table, two tall glasses that are already beading with condensation standing guard next to the food. Amidst the fluorescent lighting, scratchy country music, loud ceiling fans, and run-down booths, you’re struck by how out of place Michael seems here, in your world.

He had stuck out like a sore thumb at the party, his uncomfortable posture and expensive clothing practically screaming that he did not belong in that small house. Here, in a restaurant with patrons ranging from a young family to an elderly couple, a middle-aged businessman to a homeless woman, he looks like some far-away traveler who landed in the wrong town. He’s a Renaissance piece of artwork, something far too beautiful and celestial for the eyes of these mere humans who couldn’t begin to comprehend the masterpiece that is Michael Langdon.

“Just what are we doing here?” Michael asks after the waitress, an older busty woman with red hair straight from the box, sets your order down and leaves.

“We’re enjoying a late-night snack,” you say simply, grabbing at a fry and savoring the first bite into the just-fried food.

“A late-night snack consisting of french fries and--are these milkshakes?” Michael picks up one of the glasses, investigating its contents.

“Uh, yeah? Have you never had a milkshake before?”

“(Y/N), my grandmother hid me away and refused to let me out of the house. Of course I’ve never had a milkshake before.” Your face falls, proving that you’re still not good at hiding your emotions like Michael is. Pushing the other glass towards him, you lace your fingers together and place them under your chin.

“I’m honored that I get to be a part of your first milkshake experience, then. There’s vanilla and chocolate; try them both, and then you can have whichever one you like best.”

Michael looks uneasily between the two glasses, as if trying to decipher if one is poisoned. “Which one do you prefer?”

“I like them both,” you shrug.

Finally, he takes a cautious sip of the chocolate. You’re mildly disappointed when he doesn’t have any sort of reaction, silently cataloguing his opinions on the flavor before taking a less-cautious drink of the vanilla. Without any fanfare, he pushes the chocolate back towards your waiting hands.

“They’re both good, you’re right, but I like this one better.” You smile, sliding the glass towards you and sipping the shake that he’s rejected.

“Um, Michael…” you trail, not sure how to phrase what you’ve been thinking of for the past week.

“Yes?”

“Would--is the offer to move in with you still on the table?” Michael smirks widely, and you rush to explain yourself. “It’s just that my rent is going up next month and it’s not worth it at this point, and your place is closer to campus. Plus, my cat likes you better than she likes me.”

You’re not sure why you’re nervous, since he’s obviously going to say yes to your request. You living with him was one of the only things he desperately wanted during the contract negotiations. When you think about it, you just don’t want him to get the wrong idea. It seems as if you’ve finally reached a comfortable relationship with Michael, a place where you tolerate him and could even see him as one of your friends. But an actual romantic relationship is so far down the list of things that you and Michael are, and you don’t want him to think that you’re finally going to be the loving wife that Satan wanted you to be. For lack of better wording, there’s no way in hell that will happen.

“Only because I like your cat better than you, and I wouldn’t want her to go homeless.” Your mouth drops and you laugh, picking up a fry and throwing it at Michael who, of course, deftly catches it in his mouth.

“You jerk!”

“You said it first, not me!”

“Fine,” you sit back against the booth and cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your best poker face on, “but you should know that we’re a package deal.”

“Hmm, I suppose I can cope with that.”

“Do we have a deal, then?” Yet again, you’re struck by the irony of making a deal with the Devil (well, the Devil’s son, but close enough). Michael picks up his glass and waits for you to do the same, clinking your milkshakes together in agreement.

“We, my dear, have a deal.”

////////////////////////////

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#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagines #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse imagine

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danetobelieve · 4 years

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If A Seal Falls In The Woods || Ricky and Winston

It had been immediately disturbing to Ricky when he’d received the text from Winston that they were in the hospital having suffered an attack by one of the many night-dwelling creatures that seemed to get entirely too brazen these days. It’d gotten more disturbing when Winston had mentioned it had been a rawhead and Ricky had looked that creature up. Nightmares for days. But either way he’d quickly offered to pick his roommate up from the hospital when they were ready to be discharged and after getting permission to go in Winston’s room (which was just as impeccably kept as Ricky had thought it would be) he had rolled up to the hospital with a change of clothes, a bag full of tacos, and a giant bunch of balloons and flowers. Because if you were going to pick your roommate/one of your best friends up from the hospital you had to do it in style. When Winston limped through the hospital lobby towards him Ricky’s face split into a bright grin, “The warrior lives!” He crowed, dashing forward to loop one of Winston’s arms over his shoulder to help him along, “I brought gifts.”

Honestly, Winston was a little disappointed that a little gremlin fucker that they hadn’t even been able to deal with had been what had finally put them in the hospital. Fortunately they only needed a few stitches and they were good, but they weren’t sure how the stitches were take or something like that and had insisted that Winston stay for observation for a little while. Shiloh had long gone and Winston needed a ride home. But fortunately Ricky would always come in clutch for the stuff like this and had immediately offered to come get them. As they noticed their friend with a load of flowers and balloons, Winston grinned before pulling them into a hug as they were enveloped into their friends embrace. “Warrior seems like an over statement, I’d have definitely had worse done to me if Shiloh hadn’t literally carried me to safety, which reminds me, definitely need to get her a thank you gift for this.” They smelled the tacos before noticing the bag in Ricky’s hand. “And you brought my favourite, what exactly did I do to deserve this?”

Ricky returned the hug tightly, nose wrinkling as the smell of antiseptic sharply assaulted his sensitive sense of smell. “You survived a battle with a great and horrifying beast, I googled them, I’m going to have to sleep with the light on now because those little fuckers seem fucking horrific. You’re a warrior.” He passed off the balloons and flowers as they worked their way slowly towards the car, “I’ll add it to the shopping list we’ve got on the fridge. Thank you gift for gallant rescue. Right under the smoked salmon and cream cheese we need.” He held the bag of tacos out as they reached the truck and he half-lifted Winston into it so they wouldn’t have to put weight on their injured ankle. “You’re one of my best friends and you’re out of the hospital, you deserve all the tacos. That’s just the rules. I didn’t make them I just adhere to them.”

Winston shrugged. “I had a weird bestiary book in my bag from the Scribe place and I was able to find some info on them, otherwise I wouldn’t have known what they were. I’m just glad that it didn’t come after my bones because I kind of need those.” They winced as they placed their leg down and shifted from one side to the other, slightly in pain. “Can you just get a bunch of vodka? I’m gonna try making skittle vodka and then even if she doesn’t like that then you and I can just get fucked up.” Winston felt slightly less embarrassed to accept Ricky’s help then they had being bodily carried about by Shiloh. She was strong as fuck and Winston was somewhat surprised by just how strong she had been. “Well, thank you for buying me tacos and I’m sure you got yourself some because you know I don’t want to eat this shit alone.” Winston didn’t pause as they unwrapped the first soft shell taco and stuffed it straight into their mouth. “Fucfff,” they swore around a mouthful of beef, “thif if somf goof shif.”

“Ah yes. The spooky old abandoned Scribe headquarters. Which… by the way…. Would be a great set piece for a Scooby Doo episode.” Ricky involuntarily shivered “I am also glad they didn’t come after your fucking bones, which is a horrifying statement to have to utter out loud.” Starting up the car he chuckled under his breath, “Yeah dude. I’ll grab some skittles and a handle of vodka and we can make some skittles vodka. If she doesn’t like it you and I will get drunk and game and ignore the constant night outside, which I assume is why that fucking lovecraftian nightmare was roaming out and about and not hiding in some nightmare pocket dimension avoiding the sun.” As they pulled out of the parking lot of the hospital and onto the main drag Ricky pulled his own bag of tacos out and set them on the center console between them, unwrapping one and taking a giant bite out of it, “You know I did. Can’t ever turn down tacos. Even if I make better tacos sometimes you just want garbage food. So do you need special medimagical care for that wound?”

Winston swallowed their mouthful of food. “Hey, we got the power going again and we also started cleaning up the kitchen and the bedrooms and the obviously the library but that thing is so huge that it would probably take a life time to fully do it with just us, but we’re making progress.” Winston was shocked at just how things had changed since the beginning of the year. Ever since that fateful night where they had been attacked by that fire breathing dog -- they really needed to work out what that had been because calling it a fire breathing dog sounded lame -- everything was now different. They had actually embraced the change as well. “Thanks dude, I’d come with you but walking isn’t exactly my favourite thing to do right now,” they nodded down at their leg, careful not to allow the filling of their taco to go everywhere, “but I feel like it’s a win win either way, besides we could just make extra for you and me.” They smirked gently as they filled their mouth and swallowed before speaking once more. “I don’t know, healing magic is really complicated and I don’t fuck with it that much, the doctor’s seemed to think that it was fine, they gave me a tetanus shot just incase, but thankfully I’m still under my parents insurance so that won’t kill me with debt.” They sighed gently and settled into their seat as they drove. “I’m ready for this perpetual night shit to end.”

“I know this will sound sarcastic but I legit love that you and Rio found a spooky old abandoned library place thing and you’re turning it into your secret clubhouse. That’s a big mood and I’m all about it. If there’re any repairs you need done inside I can probably help with those, if you want. I’m a pretty decent handyman.” They continued through the murky pitch of the day which was starting to seriously fuck with Ricky’s circadian rhythm. The glowing clock in the dash said it was only 2:30 in the afternoon, but the endless night made it seem very much like it was the middle of the night, “Fucking tell me about it. My body is like hey… it’s time for fucking bed, and the clock is like mmmmmmm maybe not quite yet bucko.” He’d been about to comment on how fortunate the insurance thing was when a tree came crashing down from the forest on their left, forcing Ricky to swerve into the underbrush or risk getting the hood of the truck absolutely obliterated, “What the ever loving fuck?!” he managed to gasp out, as he coughed aspirated taco out of his lungs. He threw the truck into park, looking cautiously at the tree lying in their path, “That’s not…. Hmm. Stay in the truck.” He popped his teeth out, running his tongue over freshly exposed fangs and grabbing a decently-sized hunting knife from its spot under his seat. One of the downsides to the eternal night was it had made everything so quiet, normal animals didn’t quite know how to act in it, but even in that silence he couldn’t hear the thing that reached an incredibly powerful tail down from the trees and slammed him across the road into the side of the truck, “f-fuck” he gasped out as the creature came into view, hooked feet adhering it in defiance of gravity to a nearby tree, “FUCK!” he tried quickly to flip through his mental catalogue of supernatural creatures until this one fit against a definition, “asanbosam!” before he could scramble back into the truck the tail had wrapped around his ankle and was dragging him across the asphalt.

“You are right,” Winston replied with a shake of their head, “that did sound very sarcastic. But if you want to start helping with some stuff, as long as Rio is cool with it then I think we could use all of the help we can get. There’s a lot to do and just having an extra person doing it would definitely help.” Winston was starting to get used to the perpetual night, but it didn’t make things any less depressing, actually getting used to it was possibly more depressing. “Constantly, I constantly feel like I might drift off to sleep at any point. The rest of the time my body is asking why it is the middle of the night and yet it knows it’s not.” Their conversation was cut short by a tree falling through the forest on their left, as Ricky swerved their truck through the ferns and bushes of the forest, Winston tried to find the words to describe how they felt. ONce more, the only one that really covered things was the word fuck. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck, are you okay dude?” they asked, making sure that they too were relatively intact. “What the fuck happened?” They’d heard the crash and they’d seen the tree fall, but they couldn’t tell you why it had. When Ricky told them to stay in the truck, well of course Winston didn’t listen. After all that would require them to be sensible, grabbing one of the crutches that the hospital had armed them with, they got out just in time to see a tail whip out and knock Ricky flying across the road and slamming into the truck as Winston had stepped away from the door. Winston was glad that they had eaten most of their tacos already, they were going to need the calories. “I don’t know what that is!” Winston snapped back as they summoned their powers and shielded their eyes, “Shut your eyes, I’m using a flashbang,” they muttered something in Latin and clicked their fingers. There was a bright flash, and Winston watched the tail that had wrapped around Ricky’s ankle release it’s grip, starting forward, Winston tried to get close to their friend to help them up, but they were slow and even more clumsy then normal leaning on their crutch. Why did this shit always happen to them? Sweat poured down their back from the magical exertion and they already felt kind of tired, they really needed to practice magic more so they didn’t die of exhaustion with even the simplest spells. “We should run, I don’t know how many more spells I’ve got in me dude.”

Ricky had never felt the sensation of being flung into a truck before, and honestly wasn’t about to recommend it to his friends, because it was a giant pile of awful. He coughed in agony as he watched Winston clamber out of the truck “I said stay in the truck, idiot!” he screwed his eyes shut against the flash that emanated from his friend, listening to the chattering of iron teeth as the asanbosam reacted negatively to the light. The tail released itself momentarily but Ricky knew it was only a matter of time before it recovered from the flash, “Tree hunter.” He gasped out, fairly confident that the initial collision with the truck had at least fractured something, “Don’t let it…” the rest of his warning was cut off as the tail found him again, slamming him down against the fallen tree as the horrifying face of the asanbosam drew closer, “STAY AWAY FROM THE TREES.” He shouted out, remembering something his grandmother had told him as he watched his horrific hooked feet dig into the tree trunk, “It can’t walk on flat ground well. In the truck…” He slashed at the creature’s tail with the knife, trying to get away from it as it stalked slowly toward him, glittering metal teeth flashing against the headlights, “Rosary. Rear view mirror. Throw it to me. Please hurry. These things aren’t known for kindness.” The knife sunk deep into the tail, deep enough that it pinned the tail to the tree and he heard an anguished hiss, the tail going slack enough for him to start dragging himself towards the truck again.

“If I had stayed in the truck then you would be currently getting dragged away to your death,” Winston snapped back as pain ricocheted up their leg from the exertion that they had placed on it, “so forgive me for saving your life. Just cause your handsome and muscular doesn’t mean that you always get to play the hero.” Winston’s eyes did their best to adjust to the new found darkness and they suddenly wished that they had hit this thing with something harder that could've stopped it in its tracks. Winston was watching concerned as Ricky once more was dragged away into the darkness, but they weren’t about to stay away from the trees when their friend needed help. Ricky was saying something about staying away from the trees and how it couldn’t walk on flat ground and then something about a rosary. A rosary was a cross. Why did Ricky want a rosary? “I’m not sure that this is the time to pray,” Winston said as they reached into the cab of the truck and wrenched it off of the rear view mirror before starting to limp over to their friend, “Hey, tree hugger!” they screeched in the creatures direction, a second later they caused another flash, this time in front of the things eyes, praying that it would be enough to get over to Ricky in time. Sweat wet their brow and trickled down their temple, gasping raggedly for breath, Winston stumbled towards their friend. “Why do you want the rosary?” they asked as they got within throwing distance, “I really don’t think that god is about to intervene on your behalf.”

“Do you think this is the first time I’ve been dragged to my death?!” Ricky snapped out in agony, “This is not the moment to argue about my fucking hero complex, Winston!” Ricky had been pushing himself to his knees when he heard Winston grousing about the practicality of asking for intercession in the middle of a monster attack, “It’s not for me!” the second flash went off just as brightly as the first and as spots swam in front of his vision he saw the rosary clatter to the ground in front of him, “I don’t fear god, but vamps fucking do.” as he rotated to attempt to whip at the creature with the metal crucifix the ansanbosam’s tail caught him again, flipping him into the air and onto his back, stunning him long enough for its owner to leap from tree to his chest, one hooked foot landing square on the right side of his chest. There was a very distinct crack, and a very distinct piercing pain, and then a very loud scream. Or maybe the scream came first. Ricky couldn’t remember. It took him several long seconds to figure out the scream was coming from his own throat. He coughed up some blood onto his shirt, but recovered just enough to see that the creature had brought itself well within attack range. “Pater fucking noster…” he gasped out as he tied the rosary as tightly as he could around the vampire’s ankle. Which had the intended effect as the monster’s red eyes went wide and it scrambled back to the tree canopy, howling with fury and fear as it clawed at the symbol tangled in its fur. He managed to drag himself back to the truck, the short gasps he was able to breathe in confirming his fear, “I think…. That fucker… punctured my lung….. Hospital. Please. Real quick.”

“As you have yet to die,” Winston replied with a shake of their head, “then yes it appears that this would be your first time being dragged away to your death and we don’t even know if you’re being dragged away to your death yet, not if I have anything to do with it.” They weren’t about to let their best friend get killed by something that went from tree to tree. This wasn’t Assassins Creed III. “It’s a vampire?” Winston asked, suddenly completely understanding what it was that they were doing with the rosary, “why the hell didn’t you say that sooner?” they asked as they wished they had been able to get this thing the religious iconography a little bit sooner, maybe it would’ve been able to help them sooner. Winston’s breath was ragged as they leaned upon the crutch and took a long moment to attempt to compose themselves. Then Ricky was screaming and there was blood pooling on his shirt. Winston was reaching into themselves, gathering the energy to do something and then the thing was scurrying away. Winston raced to Ricky’s side, the adrenaline enveloping them and making them forget about the pain that they were feeling. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Winston pulled off the plaid shirt they had been wearing over a t-shirt and pressed it against the wound on Ricky’s chest, “you need to compress this shit hard, you know first aid, you gotta stop the blood.” Leaning on their crutch, Winston pulled Ricky up to their feet, they would look back at this unsure how they’d managed it all things considered and wrapped their arm tightly around their friend, leading them back to the truck and pushing them into the back seat. “Keep the fucking pressure on it,” they said as they got in the front seat and revved the engine before tearing off towards the hospital.”

It was a strange sensation to be in his own truck, wavering closer and closer to unconsciousness, with someone else driving it. Ricky had Winston’s shirt pressed tightly to his chest, though, from what he could tell the asanbosam’s claws hadn’t pierced straight through to his lung. From the incredibly agonizing shifting of bone every time they hit a bump it seemed like it had been his ribcage that had done that particular piece of work, crushed by the monster’s weight, “Winston.” he managed to gasp out in between bumps that made his vision black out momentarily “You have to tell the hospital…” the words trailed off momentarily as his grip on lucidity got a little bit hazy, “tell the admissions desk…. Code Umbra patient.” He struggled to sit up and look at Winston in the rear view mirror, “Tell them I’m a Code Umbra. Admissions knows…. They’ll get the right doctors. The ones who know. Who can keep secrets.” He laid back down, spitting a gob of blood onto the floor of the truck, “Gonna have to get this detailed. I think I left a dent in the side. God dammit. Fucking vampires. What the fuck is one of those doing in Maine? Those are…. West African boogeymen vampires. I have to tell Sky. No trees. Stay away from trees”

Winston’s fingers gripped the steering wheel with a vice grip. They couldn’t lose Ricky and they weren’t about to risk them getting hurt just because Winston couldn’t get them to the hospital quick enough. They really wished that they had spent some time learning a bit more then the fundamental theory of how healing magic worked. Maybe they could’ve done something for their friend. “Don’t worry, Code Umbra, got it.” They weren’t going to leave their friends side for the whole time that this was happening and if anyone tried to make them then they would have something else to deal with that was more severe then a selkie that was bleeding, “you’re overreacting,” they had to keep Ricky awake and conscious, they had to keep them fighting, “you know that Skye is going to be completely fine, but I’ll tell her just to be safe anyway, but you’re going to be fine, I’m going to be fine and I’m also going to find someone to take care of that fucker.” They weren’t sure what the hell a West African boogeyman vampire was, but they weren’t going to let it hurt someone else. These things were animals. Maybe this is why hunters and slayers existed, to deal with … this.

Ricky raised a hand to give Winston a shaky thumbs up from the back seat, grimacing at the amount of blood covering it, “Oh well that’s not good.” He’d been trying to count the minutes, to get some sense of how close they were to the hospital and safety, but had given up after the fifth bump in the road made him lose control of his mind for a second. But they had to be getting close. “Am I, Winnie?” His voice was a ragged rasping shred he barely recognized “Am I really overreacting? Really? I think the small puddle of blood staining my upholstery begs to fucking differ.” That much conversation made his vision swim with brightly colored spots, which would have been nice and akin to a good trip if he hadn’t been in the apparently slow and laborious process of actually dying. “I think… I think they’re solitary hunters. I don’t think they’re pack vamps. So. Probably just the one. But still. Woods are dangerous now. Gramma said they were pretty brutal fuckers…. And it seems she was right.” When Winston mentioned taking care of the asanbosam Ricky bolted in his seat, yelping slightly in pain, “No no no you can’t. You’re not strong enough yet. Let some expendable dickbag hunter do it.” He could see the glowing lights of the hospital coming into view up ahead of them “Oh good. I can pass out now. That’s gonna be nice”

The bollocking that Ricky would have normally gotten from Winston for calling them Winnie was immediately forgotten. Their friend was bleeding out in the backseat and in this instance Winston decided that was enough for them to get a free pass and call them a nickname that they would not have normally allowed. “Okay, maybe you’re not overreacting, maybe this is a little more proportional then i would like to admit but I am trying to be positive because a fucking west african tree vampire attacked you. SO FORGIVE ME?!” Winston didn’t listen to Ricky’s advice. Besides they knew that their friend was definitely not in a position to stop them and if Winston was going to have to deal with this shit then they were going to deal with it on their own turns. Screeching into the parking lot of the hospital, Winston sped to the front doors and skid to a halt. Kicking their door open, they leaped out and start screaming for help. “HEY, SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME MY FRIENDS BEEN FUCKING HURT FUCK WHERE ARE YOU NO GOOD FUCKS SOMEONE FUCKING HELP!” Wrenching the door open, they reached inside to help Ricky out, doing their best to carry most of his fucking weight, which was way too much muscle for Winston realisitcally to manage on their own.

“If I live, I’ll forgive you.” A sudden thought gripped him and as they skidded to a halt in front of the hospital, Ricky started to drag himself out of the truck, gripping Winston’s shirt tightly, and staring at him with a fervent honesty, “If I die. Winston…” a wracking breath shook him as they tried to move slowly towards the door, the pain white hot inside his chest, “Stay in the house and take care of Dee. My skin…” an ill timed cough spattered blood on the white concrete in front of the building, “Is under the floor of the workshop. Under my drafting table. Safe combo. Is Dee’s birthday. 8. 17. 53. I have to be wrapped in it and burned.” He could see an orderly hurrying towards them with a wheelchair and he started to head towards them, vision blurring, “Do not let them put me in the ground. Please. Living will. On file with Dee’s attorney.” He collapsed into the offered wheelchair, still holding the now soaked shirt to his chest, “Don’t go after it. Please. I can’t lose anymore of my family.”

#p: ricky #para #wickedswriting #chatzy para #if a seal falls in the woods

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