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thestrandedrpg · 2 years

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News travels through the air on the island like salt on a sea breeze. Here is the gossip currently circulating as of November 11, 2022. Read on below the cut!

GENERAL NEWS / NOTICES:

NOTICE: Esther Achebe is no longer residing in the Fisher’s Hut. If you want this prime piece of real estate to yourself, it’s all yours! Contact Seamus Hayes at 1-800-FISH-HUTS.

ANNOUNCEMENT: I am circulating a petition to get Esther back on the New Council! (Silver Trio? The Hardy Regime and sometimes Seamus? IDK) and Seamus said it could happen if I got 100 signatures. I think he didn’t take me seriously because we don’t even have 100 people on this island let alone enough paper for 100 signatures (and also Esther killed Matthew I guess) but you know what? FUCK Seamus! Murder is TOTALLY OKAY! I currently have like 10 signatures. Fake names ARE allowed. What are they gonna do, check? We’ll just say the fake names are tooootally real people, they're just still stuck in the Labyrinth and that’s what we’re sensitive about! Come find me and add your name to spite Seamus TODAY! APPLICANTS WANTED: Folks, this island’s drama is always life or death. Like a whole ocean going poof? Or a Beast coming out to try to get us incinerated? That isn’t fun at all! So I’m looking to bring in some fun drama by starting the acclaimed TV show (minus the TV) The Bachelor: Meridium Edition! I will be the Bachelor since a disproportionate number of people here seem to think known murderer Emre Akbar is their only option for a good lay and who better to show them they’re wrong than me? If you would like to be a suitor, let me know! ADDENDUM TO APPLICANTS WANTED: Is it just me or does this handwriting look suspiciously similar to whoever wanted to make himself the King of Meridium and make Aurélie Queen? ADDENDUM TO APPLICANTS WANTED: I want Sisco to be the Bachelor :( It would be funnier than whatever this is CASTING CALL: CASTING FERDINAND MAGELLAN IN “A FISH OUT OF WATER,” an interactive musical thriller from the minds of Dawn&Dawner, based on the life of Lapu-Lapu, the first Filipino hero. Must look Portuguese. Mid-30s to mid-40s male preferred. Tomas or Joaquin, please contact Kang Sae-byeok or Alex Liwayway Woo for more information.

INTRAMURALS: Kang Sae-byeok knows everything there is to know about basketball inexplicably and has put together an exhibition tournament, Meridium's first-ever! At least she tried to; numerous newer residents kept asking her how to cut an umbrella out of dalgona and if they would have to play marbles. Said disappointed point guard Jupiter George: "I never even got the chance to say 'put me in, coach'! All my hoop dreams down the drain." Asked for comment on this disappointing development, Kang Sae-byeok was heard to simply murmur, "Whoa."

SEEKING: Someone with no adversity to water and two (2!) working hands to help set up lagoon water lanterns along the edges of The Bridge. Must also be willing to tolerate a fair amount of cursing. It won’t be directed at you but it sure will be directed.

AUDITION SIGN-UP! Plans for a South Beach talent show are underway! If you have a fun, theatrical, or engaging skill to show off, sign up for the auditions! (Disclaimer: auditions are a formality, everyone's going on the roster. Seriously, we're desperate for some light entertainment). Talents can include by are not limited to: - Birdcall whistles - One-woman acts to ensure all the attention - Freaky birdcall whistles that sound unnervingly like screams - Accidentally summoning a spirit in the middle of a harmless card trick with yo momma - Spooky-cute reading of Wren's fanfic (we know she has them written in her head) - Dramatic retelling of Kenzie Royal's life - Live dermal procedure: popping and draining an underarm cyst - Loud, slightly awkward refusal to play the piano - Folksong performance outshined by previous crippling inability to play the piano- 20-minute chanting hymn to put everyone to sleep (bring your rotten fruit to throw)

REVIEW: The new pamphlet titled “The Agricultural Revolution for Dummies” received fifty-six total power claps from Flora Hardy.

WANTED: Fresh, tasty mead! This is NOT an impossible request. If that bumbling beekeeper and that mousy distiller can actually get their act together, I'm positive this island would be overflowing with MEAD. What's the hold up! Stop being cowards, one of you ask the other on a date. Hold hands, talk things out, give it another try! Make each other a nice dinner, maybe candlelight and some light music. Set the mood, you two! Haven't either of you heard of courting? I can't believe I have to solve your issues just to get some good delicious mead around here!

EVENT: Upcoming two-weekend seminar to be held on: Meridium Survival Tips: What, Like it's Hard? Tips will centre around issues of food, shelter, and of course that general feeling of 'what the fuck is going on and why'. Survival cannot be done alone. Students will attend a general lecture in the first weekend, followed by a track the second weekend that is specific to your survival specialization. Each specialization taught by three unique weirdos/outcasts who always seem to make it out alive with a chill alomb. Track one: creepy Kang Sae-byeok. Track two: indifferent Kaz Raval. Track three: unfriendly Sandra Barrow. Be prepared for condescension, a semi-hostile unwillingness to teach, and a lot of enigmatic or bitingly clever quips guaranteed to go over your head. NOTE: your specialists might troll you. This is a test to read between their lines. Follow their every action and word to the letter. Seats limited! Register now!

NOTICE: Have you ever realized how messed up you are psychologically? Do you want to talk about it with a professional who will keep your secrets close to her heart while also giving you impeccable, thought-provoking advice? Then come spill—I mean consult noted therapist Lina Delgado. Lina was a licensed therapist before she came to Meridium and is more than willing to take the time to listen to your gossip, I mean problems! FWB fuck your dad? Jealous of your BFF? Marriage issues with your (ostensibly) beloved spouse? Abandonment issues because Mummy didn’t want you anymore or never liked you in the first place?* Dr. Lina is willing to talk out ALL of these issues with you! Schedule an appointment today! * All examples are fictional scenarios and any correlation to real-world events are coincidental

REGRETS: Ms. Tamyra Williams, in an unfortunate mishap, was startled by a yet-unidentified species of squid while she was taking a mid-afternoon swim. The squid, in what was clearly a targeted attack (Ms. Williams is conducting an investigation into the possibilities of squid-training), squirted a viscous dark blue ink all over Ms. Williams. The regret is that her pale yellow bikini in a perfectly flattering shade has been ruined, and nobody will be blessed by seeing her in it anymore.

ANNOUNCEMENT: The kimchi rotation is as follows. Monday - cabbage Tuesday - cucumber Wednesday - green mango Thursday- watermelon rind Friday - green papaya Saturday - carrot Sunday - tomato The wait list is now open. You will be eating with Sae-byeok unless Haneul is already there. It’s fine if you don’t talk. If you talk, make it good. If it’s good, you will be given access to the flavored milk rotation.

NOTICE: DO NOT, under any circumstances, approach the smokehouse on the Lower Farm without prior explicit approval and consent and a special sewn-together leaf badge!! There's no reason for this it's just that Kaz doesn't like interlopers. Or go bother him we're not your mother, sheesh. SPEED DATING! Lonely? Looking for companionship or just someone to hang out with? Drinking tonnes of tea but having no swipes on island tindr? Come for a night of speed-dating! We all know this outdated ritual, still dragged out by romcoms to show the desperation of the protagonist's singlehood. Meet other hot Meridium singles in your neighbourhood (South Beach has got neighbourhoods now, that's right.) and take five minutes to know each other before moving onto the next potential love! Be prepared to meet strangers, friends, frenemies, and enemies in a new light: the humiliating vulnerability of a five-minute date. So what if this guy gut-punched you earlier this year? He looks so nervous and cute in his bowtie now! So what if this lady stole your water during the drought? She got her hair in an updo for this night! Can't make this month's dating event? Next month will be: blind dates! You'll be forcibly paired with someone for two conscripted hours of faked cheer! We can't wait to see you there!

EDUCATIONAL EVENT: The older people on Meridium are sick of the blatant ignorance of everyone who's below some arbitrary age, let's say 32. In their boundless wisdom they have put together a chapbook of information, slang, and recipes that younguns should know for their own damn good! Some excerpts: - "dimanche tabernac: this is a slang but do not ever say this! Its meaning is so terrible I dare not even say it aloud, or put it down, or sign it to you. In fact please retract this entry por favor. You're retracting it, yes? It's gone? Gracias. It would be a true nightmare to know I have released this into the world. I must lie down now" - "If for some godforsaken reason you've decided to process bitter cassava then you need to, obviously, observe either the soaking method for the correct amount of time, or paste-drying, or else construct a long sleeve of tightly-woven palm leaves to extract the starch, or cook the syrup for no less than forty hours, this is all self-evident but I know you won't do it right so enjoy your cyanide poisoning" - "when you are attempting to extract information from a member of your preferred ... you know what I am saying. No, I will not elaborate. Such a foul mind you have to want me to say more! Sacre bleu I will not continue if all you require is filth!" Chapbooks are available at the little pond where there's that fish who sometimes spits at people. We do not anticipate running out anytime soon so visit at your leisure.

FOUND: A professional manicurist's case of twenty-four (24) assorted colours of unopened OPI nailpolishes. No need to try and claim them, I just wanted to boast about it. They're mine and I'm not sharing, bitchezzz! - Alex L. Woo

REGRETS: A cave flooded near The Bridge. Like, big time. Good news: Nice, fresh mud for self-care purposes! (May have fresh bone chips in it! So good for exfoliating!) Bad news: a bunch of people’s belongings got sucked in there. So... come have a spa day and get your stuff!

NEEDED: Someone to relay a stack of paper to the hairy 19-year-old Indian-looking boy named Kaz. I do not know where he stays, and I do not care to find out.

Obelisk Eye never closes! We will begin our latest entry with a poem about Meridium’s newest location, The Bridge.

here, and there within, but without the bridge is a gateway travel through lagoons the Labyrinth SEES we sleep, but we walk things are not what they seem running barefoot blood red on the white soles the Labyrinth LAUGHS the bridge, they said, is such a foolish name why not the way? the path? the portal? the mirror? the Labyrinth CALLS

Thank you to our particularly artistic ObOp for beginning to unpack one of Meridium’s greater mysteries! This week our Obelisk Operatives (ObOps) have observed the following behaviors. So pull out your magnifying glass, write in the sand, and let’s do some sleuthing. - One ObOp spotted Hanan Zakir... climbing? By herself? When asked, Hanan said it was "for fun" despite the obvious risks to life and limb. Note: it didn't look very fun. - Another ObOp has observed that whenever Jovi George doesn’t know what he’s looking at, he simply pokes it. We can’t help but wonder if he has ever hurt his finger doing this. Please do not do it to Our Obelisk. - Flora Hardy appears to be mastering different pitches in her so-called “nonsense words,” which her parents claim are “normal for a baby.” We do not believe that they are truly nonsense. Who could she be communicating with? - There are many mosquitoes beginning to gather in the standing water near The “Bridge”. They also make high-pitched noises, one ObOp noted. Is this who Flora speaks to?

Any other news to report? Become an ObOp or risk being spied on! Always remember:

T̶̪͋̓́̂͌̀̾͆͠H̷̺̙̥̟̼̿Ĕ̸̱͇̮̬̄̒̓̍̓̃ ̴̡͕̗͕̱͈̘͛́͋̀̈́̀̚͠͠ͅȎ̶̞̙͈͉͈̙̥͒͒̐̒͜͜B̸̧̪̀̎̃̓̉̌͠͝Ę̴͔͚̰̠͖̠̘͒̌̂͑̓́̓͝L̷̨͇̺̣̜̾̋̊̀̀͜Į̴̛̮͇̭͙̠̣̱̓̏S̴̡̗̦͚̠͖̺͋̉̾K̸͙̜̠̬̟͇͂́̎̀̒̑̇͜͝ͅ ̸̞̗̺͍̥̒̊̊̾̕͝͠͝E̵̯̺̼̤͉͉͆̄̈́́͝Ỹ̷͎̦̟͉̗̞̊͘E̷̖̫̫͂̑̽̋̈́͠ ̸͉͙̥͂̐̈́͛̊͠N̴͈̾͠È̷̬̜̘̘̇̑̈́̍͋͂͌̔͠Ṽ̴̫̰̥͓̱͕͓͆̐̈́Ȩ̸̛̦͈̗̯̘̫͙̇̀̌̾̑͊R̴̼̣̃̈́͊͠ ̸̡̖̝̬̝̊̈̕C̴̰̰̉̄̃̑͒Ļ̶̢̱̬͇̻̈́̔̈́͋̽O̵̼͍͔͂S̴̭͍̆̉͘̕E̶̮͓̯͕̓͌͋̋̉̓S̸̤̞̘͙̘͂̎̎̇̿̽͆̎̊͝

DEAR MS. MERIDIUM

Anonymous islanders are invited to voice their questions, complaints, and compliments to the island itself. Replies are not guaranteed.

Dear Ms. Meridium, I saw that a previous letter was signed by "Fauna Forever Flora Never" and I *can't* be the only one who sees this as a direct foretelling of that weird baby the Hardy-Blums found! Is it a warning? I think it's a warning. We should all be on our guard. - Rosemary's Omen

Dear Ms. Meridium, Listen. Listen. I think The Bridge is really neat. Being able to sit there and watch the Labyrinth do its thing? So cool! Very neat! What’s less cool? The bugs. They are everywhere. Can’t we get a little less buggy? You took the whole ocean away. Surely you can work on a little bit of standing water. I’m going to have to move if this doesn’t let up soon! Itchily, Bug-Be-Gone

Dear Ms. Meridium, That Madi from the farm has a vendetta against me! She put some snails near my train car and now those snails are keeping me up at night. Don't laugh I'm air-attuned so I can hear them slithering around and that gross pop sound when they pull into their shells. I think I'm developing a complex. Madi owes me and I think to make up for this trauma she should come be my wife. Just sayin. - Escargot Home With Me

AO-TREE

TITLE: a long way down (the love below mix) RATING: E for Major Character Death SUMMARY: for the remix challenge. kaz has had enough and alex doesn't know when to stop...but that's what makes it interesting once they figure out they have the same taste in hobbies. soon the whole island will pay the price.

TITLE: girls just wanna have fun RATING: G SUMMARY: lily and teenaged flora get to go on an adventure that isn’t interrupted by disaster. that’s it. that’s the whole plot. i just think these kids have been through too much, okay?! let them have fun!!

TITLE: If I Did It RATING: T AUTHOR: Kang Sae-byeok SUMMARY: How I would have successfully weaponized a cult following to gain control of South Beach.

TITLE: programmed to receive RATING: R SUMMARY: an AU of the shining. starring tomas as the drunk writer with a god complex, libby as the plucky wife with a whole closet of overalls, and lily as the creepy yet endearing child at the middle of it all. special guest appearance by joaquin as the kindly and therefore doomed spiritual guide. REDRUM!

TITLE: shere khan-shi RATING: E SUMMARY: emre akbar is the head of the mowgli crime syndicate, but he wants to bring it all down. journalist kang sae-byeok can help, for a price. and that price is his getting her pregnant.

TITLE: madison avenue RATING: T SUMMARY: madi's the newest copywriter at a high-pressure advertising firm, where all her coworkers have much more experience and are absolutely cutthroat. only one person is on her side: aurelie, the cold bitch office manager.

KIDDIE MERIDIUM THEORY CORNER! by Jovi George

The usual organizer of Kiddie Corner recently “nearly drowned” and “isn’t in the mood,” apparently, and I’ve got things to say, so here we go.

1. I think I’ve cracked it. If you want the island to be nice to you, you have to treat it like it’s your crush! Bring it nice things! Invite it on adventures with you! Compliment its abilities! It might intimidate you a little bit, but that’s fair! ... Actually, on second thought, I might be thinking of something else. But I still think that stands!

2. I think there are two Labyrinths. Of course, I’m not even supposed to go into one of them, so I can’t exactly test this out (cough wink cough), but I suspect there’s a kind Labyrinth and a cruel Labyrinth, of sorts. Though maybe it’s just a matter of attitude, like I mentioned above... the more I think about it the more I think I’m right.

3. If we go up somewhere high and put every cell phone that we collected in a circle, we’ve got to be able to AirDrop something to someone. I just need all of your phones.

4. Is it just me or do the dots on the Fisher’s Map look like they spell out ‘HI’? Maybe I’ve been staring at it too long...

5. There are tunnels under the beaches, yeah? Well who’s to say there aren’t more under the oceans? What if that’s where all of our stuff was kept all that time? And then when the ocean fell through and into the Labyrinth, that’s when they came up? Wait, I’ve drawn a diagram. I’ll attach it below.

6. Actually this is more of a question: how did North Beach people figure out that tea works to stop pregnancies? I’m not trying to use it, I’m just curious. Was it just trial and error? Or did someone sip it and think to themselves, hey, this tastes like my IUD feels? I’m serious! It’s a serious question!

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I’ve been notified that these things are “better suited for Ob-Ops.” But I haven’t gotten an invite! I’m not above joining a weird statue cult! I just need you to tell me I’m allowed! And what were you going to do, just leave Kiddie Corner empty? Shoot.

SUBSCRIBE FOR EXCLUSIVE CONTENT, WEEKLY NEWSLETTERS, AND MORE!

#meridium news

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torasame · 3 years

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BSD Beast Theory:

“This is the only world where he lives and writes novels.”

Why exactly is this the case? Of course, mathematically speaking, this statement would be improbable. Maybe the narrative is just overlooking the sequence of possibilities present in alternate realities - but that may not be the case. There’s an importance in the emphasis Dazai puts on the fact that it’s the only world where Oda lives and writes novels. There are multiple realities where Oda is alive - but not ones where he can pursue his dream.

How can this be? Of course, I obviously can’t detail every possible reality in a Dr Strange-esque fashion, but I might not have to considering that the confines of the available possibilities remain in the parameters of Dazai’s own reality. Remember, the Novel only works if the narrative written in it makes cohesive storyline (something pointedly contradictory to life itself. Then again, it is a Novel, after all). This limitation means we’re (thankfully) limited to the world and circumstances Dazai is aware of. Think of it like a deck of cards, in a sense. You can’t change the values in the deck but you can shuffle them around to turn the cards in your favour. Simply put, Dazai cannot rewrite the past or touch things nor can he just overwrite Mimic’s existence, for example. As the manga puts it “you can’t just write ‘all of humanity dies’” because you need to be able to construct a comprehensive-enough plot to reach that sort of conclusion. Even then, it’d be close to impossible because you’d have to account for details out of your control.

In this case, Dazai can’t just say “Mimic does not exist.” Think about it, if you took the 4 of spades out of the deck, you wouldn’t only lack a set of 4s, but you would also lack a 4 in a set of ace to king. You’d ultimately be lacking a card and of course, reality isn’t a game of “go-fish.” This means the only option Dazai has is to counter the events of canon.

Mori’s overarching plan of pressuring the government with Mimic is what ultimately leads to Oda’s death alongside Gide’s insistence on Oda being the only person who could kill him. There’s no doubt Mori is aware of Gide’s ability and he may understand Gide’s sentiments to a slight degree. This is evident in how Mori seems to know that Oda doesn’t want to be rescued, despite initially agreeing to Dazai’s request. Mori understands that Mimic has probably done something to shift Oda’s resolve and sees this as an opportune way to irradiate the organization. You can see that the PM does send gunmen to aid Oda, but in the end, he and Gide are the last ones standing. In Mori’s eyes and in regard to the state the PM was in at the time, there may have been no other way to eliminate Gide.

But what other measures are present to prevent this whole ordeal? A number of possibilities can be considered of course - but we know of the only plausible one that held out: Dazai’s rise to power as the PM boss. Think about it, anyone could have tried to overthrow Mori but the question lies in their competence and willingness to. With this criteria, we can understand how Beast managed to act as the only effective countermeasure in the aspect of saving Oda.

So we’ve managed to replace Mori. Woo hoo Dazai is the mafia boss and can probably cut Oda some slack and yet, that reality wouldn’t suffice.

Whatever. Maybe we can overlook certain aspects of canon and say that Oda and Dazai manage to leave the PM together with the help of Ango. We can say Dazai becomes the boss and deserts soon after coming into power. But of course, that still wouldn’t be plausible since it comes into conflict with Soseki’s three-fold plan. Dazai couldn’t just leave the mafia unattended and there isn’t anyone else fit to run in the position other than him or Mori.

Even if there is a world where both Oda and Dazai could live together - one major hindrance remains in the form of Dazai himself.

The truth of the matter is something Oda points out himself: “There is nothing in this world that can fill the emptiness inside you.”

In other words: There is no world where Dazai does not wish to die.

Something important to remember is that Oda is not Dazai’s ultimate means of salvation - Oda is not Dazai’s reason to live. I’ll apologize to fellow odazai enjoyers because of that - but if you look at it realistically and in the context of the story, you’ll find that the statement isn’t too far off.

In any reality they have a relationship together, Dazai puts Oda’s dream at risk with the inevitably of his suicide. His death would traumatize Oda to a degree we’ve already witnessed with the death of the kids. The inevitability of his death, in turn, would mean that Oda may be able to live in that world but will never be able to pursue his dream.

Through Beast, Dazai positions himself in the seat that prevents Oda’s death by external means and preserves Oda’s dream by their lack of affiliation. Dazai puts himself in a position where Oda thinks nothing of him - a position where Oda can go on with life even in the event of his death. He pulls an Itachi, to put it simply.

In short, Beast is Dazai’s meticulously crafted design created to safeguard both Oda’s life and his dream, seeing as they are both inexplicably intertwined.

In this fixed deck of cards, they’re both destined to be dealt bad hands. At least in this way, Dazai manages to ensure that this doesn't have to be the case for Oda.

Honestly, I came to this epiphany while brainstorming for a fic. I’m just humbled by how intricately woven the plot is and at the same time, I’m sitting here realizing Asagiri-sensei had laid out a statement that I have (hopefully) managed to prove as though it were a math problem.

Is this meant to hinder anyone (including myself) from imagining a reality where odazai can both live in relative harmony? Of course not. It probably wouldn’t have even with that intention in mind. I’m pretty sure this may already be common knowledge but it probably wouldn’t hurt to compile my thoughts. It’s just some random shot in the dark, by no means comprehensive, and the aftermath of exploring the “universe conspires against us” concept. Overall, not much to it and of course it’s “just a theory, a film theory” or well, anime theory in this case.

And that’s about it. Good on you for making it through the ramble. There’s no cool ending to this amalgamation but you can imagine a pat on the back or whatever helps. Anyway, thanks for making it through this TedTalk.

#odazai #dazaiosamu #odasakunosuke #dazai #odasaku #bungo stray dogs #bsd beast #bungo stray dogs beast #midnight rambling #for the record i am not anything close to a math major #theories and shit

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dogbearinggifts · 4 years

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What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever.

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

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rebrandedbard · 4 years

Text

A Bard He Would A-Wooing Go (6858 words)

Gift for @valdomarx: some good old mutual pining morons. In which Jaskier courts Geralt and Geralt is oblivious. Ao3 link in title.

Jaskier wrote a song like counting; Counting the years, the steps, until one day he might count the seconds and centimeters of distance that seemed to stretch like oceans between them. Each of them were like marks on a calendar, an entry in a diary to mark the progress. At first, he hid his true intentions behind false names and romantic figures, crafting beautiful damsels for the recipients of his verses in the time when he was still uncertain, but when the depth of his love became apparent to himself, he decided the day had come to be more overt.

He sang of a beautiful man with hair kissed by moonlight, eyes of amber still hollowed with the liquid golden honey left to flow inside. This he played by the evening fire, casting shy glances at Geralt over the flames. “Do you like my new song?” he asked.

“You inflate my image enough already,” Geralt replied in his usual gruff manner. The idea was to make him a hero of monster-slaying, not the heroine of some romance. Jaskier’s verses were too pretty and flattering, bound to be laughed at by the public. Moonlight and honey—such descriptions were wasted on witchers.

Jaskier frowned and played the second verse a little louder, ignoring his response. “I would rather sing it below a balcony; perhaps the artistry of the setting would help better mold your opinion.” He took on a faraway, doe-eyed expression as he spoke, strumming the gentle melody. “I would weave a crown of clover and present it to you. Yes, I think that would suit you fine. You’d cut a majestic figure, lighted by the stars. I would pluck one from the heavens and offer it to you so that it might sit atop your head, the very jewel of the crown, so that all might better see how brightly you shine.”

“Your songs do enough as it is. No need to crown me,” Geralt scoffed. He was not some divine hero. He was a witcher working for pay, and it was crude work. “You romanticize everything too much.”

“Oh, what would you know of it? You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.”

“First true thing you’ve said tonight.”

“The honey was more than true,” Jaskier huffed. He played the verse again, then stopped, something new glittering in his eye. It was an idea, Geralt recognized. He was far too familiar with that expression by now to mistake it, and he knew there would be a long, terrible enterprise awaiting him. Jaskier started to smile, and he took to his feet.

“Geralt of Rivia!” he proclaimed. “I’ve decided that this will not do. A simple song is not enough! Let it now be known that it is my intention, henceforth, to court you with all the trim, all the pomp, all the circumstance and bells and whistles! You must know the pleasures of romance in their many forms, and I will leave no stone unturned, no mountain unclimbed, until you have been thoroughly romanced!”

Geralt groaned and closed his eyes. He was not interested in a study of human courtship. He was especially uninterested in receiving such lessons from Jaskier of all people. Yet he knew there was no refusing once Jaskier set his mind to anything. Whether he wanted to or not, whatever protests he’d make, Jaskier would not be denied. The bastard would dig in his heels and get his way, and this—it was this game of his that would at last be the thing to kill Geralt. This farce would not be something Geralt’s heart would survive in one piece. He retired early, hoping the declaration would be forgotten in the morning if he gave no reaction. The slightest acknowledgement was all the encouragement Jaskier needed.

The next day, to his surprise, Jaskier was the first awake. He’d gone wandering in the woods before sunrise and returned with his arms laden with flowers. Geralt had awoken to the smell of the bouquet waved under his nose.

“Good morning, my dear witcher,” Jaskier said, grinning ear to ear. “Welcome to the first morning of the rest of your life! A humble offering, still wet with sweet morning dew.” He bobbed and placed the bouquet in Geralt’s hands with finesse before bounding over to relight the fire and begin their breakfast. To Geralt’s even greater surprise, there were five fish speared in the dirt beside it. Jaskier had gone fishing, it seemed. Flowers, fish—would there be a third gesture awaiting him so early in the morning? Or perhaps being first up was the gesture itself. Jaskier was not an early riser by any measure. Geralt might as well still be asleep as unbelievable as it was.

“So, you were serious about that courting thing,” Geralt said.

Jaskier waved his flints in the air dramatically. “Perfectly serious. Honestly, Geralt, you must have known this day would come.”

And Geralt had to admit, after several days spent with Jaskier giving lessons detailing the etiquette of the high courts, the more fashionable dances of the season, a history of the textile arts in which he explained how his doublets were made from the harvest of the fibers all the way through decorative pleating, and the proper forms of address for peers in no less than seven countries … yes, Geralt ought to have known that courting customs were next on the list of useless trivia Jaskier meant to impart.

At first, there was not much fuss and they were able to get on as usual. Geralt didn’t know what he expected in regards to a courtship from Jaskier, but what little thought he’d given the subject conjured images of endless smothering, Jaskier waxing poetic, arms waving dramatically, attaching himself at the hip of his hapless, adoring victim. But perhaps courtship was a one-a-day expression and that would be all until tomorrow.

He was wrong in multiple ways. Jaskier did not leap upon him with some obnoxious peacocking gesture, but he took it upon himself to pack camp after breakfast. Geralt watched him shuffle about, humming quietly. Jaskier had insisted Geralt stay out of the matter and sent him off to ready Roach. Camp packed, Jaskier tied their things to her saddle, and Geralt notice that he’d been careful to arrange the bags just as he himself might, the weight evenly distributed, potion bag furthest in front in easy reach, the rest in the order in which they’d need unpacking come evening. It was observant to say the least. Such a little thing, really, but Geralt was impressed.

“Ready?” Jaskier asked, offering Geralt his hand.

Geralt looked curiously at it, not sure what it was meant for. Jaskier was looking at him expectantly, and for an absurd moment, Geralt thought he wanted a tip like the men who kept Roach tended to in stables in town. At a loss, he shook Jaskier’s hand and turned to hook his foot in the stirrup. He startled when Jaskier took his hand again and helped him up over the side.

It was ridiculous. Geralt needed no help mounting. Yet … something about the action stuck with Geralt. It had been brief, but the way Jaskier had looked up at him as he held his hand, he looked almost as if he’d been about to kiss it.

Geralt wished he would.

After a while of travelling in companionable silence, Geralt inched his head to the side. He looked at Jaskier from the corner of his eye and asked, “What are your plans for this?” wondering just how well Jaskier had thought this silly game through.

“The courtship? Oh, flowers, sweets, dancing—the usual,” Jaskier replied with a careless wave of his hand. He played so casual, and yet Geralt saw the mischievous quirk of his lips. There was more. Jaskier was a great lover of surprises, both in giving and receiving.

Jaskier fiddled with one of his lute strings, running his nail up and down its length shyly. “I’m surprised you’ve accepted it without quarrel,” he said. “Thrilled, really. Not to imply that I’m blind to your reservations; I know how you must feel about the idea of formal courtship: a lot of fluff and unnecessary nonsense. But this is how I express my love, and it means a great deal to me that you would allow me to share the experience with you.”

“It’s not such a great burden,” Geralt replied, offering a light shrug.

Jaskier laughed. “No, indeed, I shouldn’t think so! It’s a gift—the greatest gift of all.”

Geralt snorted and argued that a new set of armour would be a much greater gift.

“Ever the pragmatist,” Jaskier sighed, smacking Geralt’s boot with a smile.

When they stopped for lunch, Jaskier offered his hand once more to help Geralt dismount. After eating, Geralt put his gloves quietly away in one of the bags, muttering to himself that is was a warm day, as if Jaskier might notice and wonder. And though the air had a leftover chill of early spring, when the time came to ride off again, his hand felt hot in Jaskier’s. Geralt soon forgot his gloves entirely, had misplaced them quite carelessly among his bags or on the road. But Jaskier never commented on their absence.

In addition to the attentions Jaskier lavished upon Geralt, Roach benefitted from a surge in care. Jaskier brushed her coat nearly every other day, and it was shinier than ever before. He braided wildflowers in her mane, styled each morning length by length. Afterwards, he would brush Geralt’s hair, braiding it to match. It was the most preposterous thing, and yet Geralt could not help feeling a silly sort of happiness. Jaskier had been feeling much bolder since the first day, and had even allowed himself to put flowers in Geralt’s braids. Geralt would wake to find them on his bedroll in the morning—Jaskier wasn’t as sneaky as he liked to imagine.

It was new, Jaskier brushing Geralt’s hair this way. He might comb Geralt’s hair after a bath or wrestle a brush through it when it had begun to resemble a feral rat’s nest, but now it was more regularly maintained. There was no excuse of necessity. Geralt could close his eyes and enjoy the moment, Jaskier’s gentle hands at work, sometimes simply scratching his scalp, the brush abandoned for minutes at a time. It was such a tender gesture, Geralt at times forgot that it was nothing more than a demonstration.

But oh, Jaskier went to such lengths so teach! He had Roach re-shoed in the city with fine new horseshoes, claiming that the shoes would clip and clop and ring out the song of his heart on every cobblestone, and that the gait of her stride itself would be a reminder of his devotion. And truly, as they walked her to the stables afterwards, Geralt heard their cheerful mocking with each step, “It’s all a game! It’s all a game!” He was glad to give her the day off to rest, and to avoid the clippity-clop of her bright new shoes.

Geralt tried to be objective. When they spent the evening at a tavern, listening to a local bard perform, he did not allow his thoughts to linger on the hand resting over his on the bench. Nor did he read into things when Jaskier asked him to dance. Dancing—the usual. It was one of the most basic aspects of courtship.

When they spun in and out of the formation on the dance floor, when Jaskier entwined their fingers, when Jaskier pulled them close together, Geralt tried in vain to blame his dizziness on the spinning steps. When someone tried to cut in for a quick romp with Jaskier, only for Jaskier to snatch Geralt’s waist again in rejection of the advance, Geralt did not let his thoughts linger on how pretty the young woman had been and how well Jaskier might look dancing with her, nor the thrill he’d felt in that instance of being so firmly chosen against such an enticing offer.

Though there were contracts to be fulfilled, Jaskier found ways to steal Geralt away for an hour or two here and there and between. He’d dragged Geralt along to see a play: something very modern and poetic. They paid for standing admission, the cheapest and, according to Jaskier, the very best way to appreciate the art up close. They talked throughout, joking with the other patrons and laughing at the worst bits in near-vicious mockery. Evidently, that was the only way to enjoy anything so poorly critiqued, and a step above throwing rotten fruit. He bought them a little parcel of candied nuts, and now and then they flicked a nut at the very worst actor for having every other line fed to him from offstage. They came away laughing with not a single guess as to what the play itself had been about.

The next week they were on the road again, and things were quieter. The city provided so many forms of entertainment, but Geralt liked it best when it was only the two of them, nestled in the calm of nature. Jaskier was lively, and the environment affected his mood. Out in the woods, his gestures were sweeter, smaller, and sentimental. Geralt enjoyed this gentler aspect of Jaskier’s courtship, for his method changed between the city and the road.

Away from the excitement and bustle, Jaskier expressed himself more subtly. As if by magic, ingredients for Geralt’s potion stock would be replenished after one of Jaskier’s morning walks. He did not make grand declarations or even show any signs of wishing to be acknowledged for the little things he did. He simply did them, waiting to catch Geralt’s smile.

“Here,” Jaskier said, tossing a coiled bit of leather at Geralt. It was a braided strap of cord, burnt black over the fire. “In your favorite gloomy color,” he teased. “Your old tie is a twist from falling apart; I thought you might like a new one to tie back your hair.”

Geralt smiled, and he was sure he’d begun to build muscle in his cheeks from how often that had happened now. He admired the tie, running his thumb over the pattern. Cautiously, he edged closer to Jaskier and handed it back to him. He turned around, offering Jaskier his back and whispered, “Would you fix it for me?”

At once, Jaskier’s hands were in his hair, swapping out the old tie for the new. When Geralt turned back around, Jaskier had the old tie fasted to his wrist, looking down at it with a gentle smile. His eyes flickered back up to Geralt, and that same shy expression softened his features from that day when he’d presented his new song. A new shine glinted in his eyes, a fresh spark that danced in the firelight. Geralt’s words of thanks died on his tongue at the sight of it. His eyes roamed Jaskier’s face, taking in the warmth of his gaze.

So loving. So deceptively close to genuine. What a fantastic actor Jaskier would make, Geralt thought. He even smelled happy. Like … vanilla. He leaned closer, breathing it in. By now he’d forgotten the smile in Jaskier’s eyes, forgot how long he’d ceased to study it. Now he’d been distracted by the smile on his lips, taking in their color, the shape of them. He wanted a better look. If he touched them, perhaps he’d learn what made them turn up the way they did—might know how much of their warmth was owed to the fire, how much was owed to Jaskier. He thought they’d come nearer now, and he could just make out the small lines in them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, sweeter, and he felt the touch of Jaskier’s hand brush his cheek.

Jaskier’s hands rose, curling back around his neck as he leaned forward. Geralt blinked rapidly, tilting his head a fraction to the side. His slow heart fluttered to life in his chest. Often he’d imagined what it might be like to be in this very moment. Once, he’d even had the pleasure of dreaming it, but living it was more unbelievable. That Jaskier might kiss him was unfathomable, yet he was here, his hands reaching out, his lips parting, the nearness of him overwhelming and gloriously true. Geralt had nearly closed his eyes when he felt a slight tug on his hair.

“There,” Jaskier said with satisfaction, pulling away. “It was a bit crooked.”

His hair. Jaskier had leaned forward to … to fix his hair.

Jaskier was up now, walking toward their bags. The wind of the motion sent a chill through Geralt and he slumped forward, feeling suddenly cold. He’d been on the flat of a mountain once, standing at the edge of a cliff, all the wide world below him. Looking down, he’d felt as if the world might swallow him up. The sky above was so clear, devoid of even clouds, and he felt he might fall into it if only to relieve the endless void. That was how Jaskier’s absence felt. The wind which had commanded the mountainside was but a puff of air compared to the waft of air left in Jaskier’s wake. Geralt turned like a dying flower turns toward the sun, longing after him.

The bedroll was made smooth beneath Jaskier’s attentive hands as he went about preparing to retire. Geralt sighed and watched, trying to remind himself again that he was reading too much between lines that were unwritten: lines like bars in a cell. His infatuation was unfounded, and this scheme of Jaskier’s to educate Geralt in the ways of courting was only fuel to the fire. What a pointless endeavour. When would Geralt ever use this knowledge? To aid Jaskier as he pursued his fancy of the month? To himself win the heart of some stranger?

Jaskier bowed playfully and motioned to the bedroll. “Your chariot awaits to carry you off into Slumberland, sweet prince of the night,” he announced. He held a blanket in his hands, his boots and doublet set by his pack. With a flourish he rose and waited for Geralt expectantly.

Geralt obediently removed his boots and crawled onto the bedding. Best to sleep and let the moment be forgotten by morning, start over with another day. He turned on his back, waited for Jaskier to cover him with the blanket, to finish his joke and set up his own roll to sleep. Instead, he found Jaskier flopped at his side, his arm flung over his chest, and the blanket wrapped around the two of them snugly.

“Goodnight, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. His breath puffed against Geralt’s neck as Jaskier cuddled closer, hooking an ankle over Geralt’s leg. He settled comfortably on Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes, the most contented smile on his face. Geralt could hear his heartbeat slow down, even and rhythmic, lulling.

After some time, Geralt thought he’d gone to sleep. He cautiously shifted, rolling on his side to face him. Jaskier had long eyelashes, he discovered. This close, Geralt could see a number of faint freckles on his cheeks, the subtle wrinkles about his eyes. He rarely allowed himself to look when they were together at night, but lately that had become a temptation hard to resist. He looked now while he might steal a private minute or two without fear. There was one little hair poking out from Jaskier’s nose and Geralt chuckled to know how bothered Jaskier would be when he noticed it eventually. He reached a tentative hand out, resting it on the loose fabric of Jaskier’s chemise where it lay on the roll, too cowardly to reach out and touch Jaskier in spite of the arm Jaskier had around him. That alone was enough. That already was daring.

Geralt slowly closed his eyes, trying to lock away the memory of the moment. He opened them again for one last look as the fire died down. Jaskier seemed to shine in the afterglow and Geralt closed his eyes again so that he might trap the afterimage in the dark. Then, Jaskier shifted and there was a warmth pressed to Geralt’s forehead. A kiss goodnight.

Was Jaskier awake, or was he in a dream? Geralt’s fingers curled in a fist around the hem of Jaskier’s shirt, desperately wondering. The question plagued him as he felt himself slip away. He shuddered, the inches between them a frozen tundra, all his doubts denying him the feel of Jaskier’s warm embrace even as it wrapped tighter around him. His last thought before being claimed by sleep was a silent wish. He wished that tomorrow the game would end. And more secretly, he wished it would be replaced with something real.

The courting continued more enthusiastically than before. Jaskier broke from the conservative spending habits Geralt had instilled in him over the years. He did not skip about buying frou-frou delights for himself or wasteful fashions. No. When he loosened his purse strings, it was to buy an extra plate for Geralt at dinner. It was to stock the spices Geralt liked best and the preserves he would never indulge in on his own. Geralt did his best to object, but relented upon Jaskier’s insistence that, “It’s a part of the courtship! You cannot deny me this privilege!” And because Jaskier would not be denied, he even found a twisted paper package of caramels hidden away in his bag among the empty potion bottles.

Jaskier continued to cuddle up with Geralt even as spring gave way to the heat of summer. Geralt thought that the game would surely be over by now, but there was no end in sight. Jaskier kept finding more and more ways to surprise Geralt, and it seemed his knowledge of courtship was far more lengthy than Geralt might have ever anticipated. That such an affair could hold Jaskier’s attention for so long was incomprehensible, and with nothing in return. Geralt could understand continuing their study if Jaskier were courting someone in earnest all the while, or having one of his romps for a weekend when they were travelling, but Jaskier had not so much as looked at anyone since … Geralt could not remember the last time Jaskier had flirted with anyone. That made it so much easier to believe. And that made it so much harder to withstand.

Months passed. Jaskier’s courtship fluctuated. He was mainly reserved in his affections and things were not much changed from before they’d begun. There may have been more lingering touches, but those had always been there, since the day they’d met. Likely it was only that Geralt was more aware of them, looking for any sign, grasping at straws for a hint of truth, denying it whenever he found one in an act of self-preservation.

Occasionally the grander gestures would return, and Jaskier counted these as special days. He justified their indulgence by using the situation as evidence; usually these occasions fell on holidays or anniversaries of which Geralt had been unaware, and if they should happen upon a festival or event unaware, Jaskier would sweep Geralt along for an improvised day of fun.

“As with any courtship, one ought to take any opportunities to enjoy oneself as one may find,” Jaskier said, always happy to remind Geralt that the courtship was ongoing, no matter how many months had passed, as if he could not tire of such proclamations. “And what could be more memorable than a day together where all the world is colorful, all the people laughing? It’s so much more fun when everyone is having fun! You can pretend that all the world is right and perfect for one day: no monsters to fight, no prejudices to contend with, and no disdainful destiny pulling at strings. Just a day chasing whatever shining thing catches your eye, unplanned, unbridled joy!”

And truly those were days where it felt like anything might happen. Jaskier shined so brightly, dragging Geralt from booth to booth. They played horseshoes, tried their hand at throwing hatches and other games and tests of skill. One favorite event they’d come upon was a sort of artist’s exhibition in Oxenfurt. Jaskier had been invited to give a lecture on his composition process and he’d insisted on Geralt coming along. After his lecture, which Geralt had listened to attentively from the back of the room, they’d gone through the university and explored the other lectures and demonstrations.

There were great works on display: tapestries and steam-powered inventions, fastidiously cultivated plants with clippings and pressed blooms for sale; a perfumer gave samples of scented paper and described how the brewing was done, and a much better kind of brewing was explained by an artisan ale brewer who offered them small mugs of her product while they listened. Jaskier attended a workshop on embroidery. Fascinated by the practice after so many years of wearing finely embroidered clothes, he wished to learn a bit of handiwork himself. Meanwhile, Geralt was especially interested to watch the smelter, blacksmith, and silversmith at work, privately comparing their methods of crafting swords with those he’d studied in the keep. It was by far one of the more memorable days of the season.

Jaskier bought Geralt a small scrap of decoratively twisted iron from the blacksmith to keep as a reminder. It wasn’t useful for much apart from keeping away faeries, but he bought a strip of cord from the lecturing tanner and fashioned a charm for him, tying it to the sheath of his silver sword. Once more, Geralt chided him for wasting money on useless things, but he found himself smiling at the charm whenever he sat to sharpen his swords. Later on, Geralt had nearly lost it on a hunt and had lingered later after the kill, searching the rocky terrain until he found it.

By fall, Geralt had nearly forgotten Jaskier was courting him at all. It had become their new normal. He let himself indulge in Jaskier’s attention, taking a page from his book. Once in a while Jaskier would make some comment about their courtship to someone in a tavern when asked why he would be travelling with a witcher, and Geralt would remember and the heavy feeling would settle over him again, but the days were too busy and bright, so he soon forgot again. It was difficult to be sad long with Jaskier’s arm looped in his.

When they weren’t travelling, that is to say, when they spent a day or two in town on a contract, Jaskier had taken to spending time alone. He would spend a few hours in their room, or he’d be somewhere in town, a bag always at his side. He practiced his embroidery, following the sample patch he’d stitched at the exhibition. Sometimes he displayed his work proudly when Geralt passed, and other times he was quick to hide it in his bag. Once, Geralt overheard news in a pub that Jaskier had been present at a quilting bee, then the gossiping party fell to whispers when they saw the witcher approach. This was during the time when Jaskier was more frequently away, acting secretive and sneaking about.

The reason behind these mysterious disappearances was shortly unveiled by the end of the month when Jaskier presented Geralt with a new winter cloak. He held it proudly stretched in his hands. It was a dark blue wool. The hood and collar were embroidered with white and yellow flowers, framed by a curling green ivy. There were two metal clasps sewn on either side, and a close look revealed them to be buttercups.

“I made it myself,” Jaskier said, glowing with pride. “Well, all but the clasps. But I did design them—think of it as the signature on a great painting!” Before Geralt could take a breath to compliment his work, Jaskier swung the cloak around Geralt’s shoulders, adjusting it handsomely. “Good, it’s not too narrow. I was a little worried, but I thought if it fit me it ought to fit you fine. Had to make sure it was wide enough in the shoulder, so I measured your armour for a good estimate. Do you like it?”

Geralt blinked. “It’s for me?” he asked.

“Of course it is. Why else would I have been so secretive? I wanted to surprise you!”

Jaskier turned away, kneeling down to pull something from beneath their bed. There was only one—had only been one for a long time now. When Jaskier emerged, he had a large box in his hands. “And now to complete the ensemble,” he said cheerfully. He shoved the box in Geralt’s hands looking up at him in anticipation.

Struggling to process the enormity of the gift, Geralt opened the box mechanically. Inside was a pair of new black leather boots with heavy tread. Upon further inspection, he discovered they were lined with rabbit fur inside the cuff.

“There. Now you’ll be ready for the journey home this winter,” Jaskier declared. Then, just a twitch, there was something reserved in his expression—something that suggested gloom. He smiled through it and straightened Geralt’s hood, making it symmetrical. His hands remained a moment, poised on Geralt’s shoulders. He seemed hesitant. There he stood, looking up at Geralt, and he appeared to be holding his breath, waiting for something.

“Thank you,” Geralt said at last. He shook his head. “No, I … it’s more than that.” It was too much; he didn’t know how to express his gratitude.

Jaskier’s hands fell and he looked at the shining clasps, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. “Yes, well. You’re welcome to it,” he said.

“I’m not sure how I ought to thank you,” Geralt continued. It occurred to him that he could ask. That was the purpose of all of this: to educate him on courtship. Every good pupil asked questions. So he did ask. “How does one usually show their appreciation after receiving a courting gift? Should I reciprocate?”

Whatever cloud passed over Jaskier’s features faded and was replaced by a small smile. “Custom dictates that you should complement the handicraft and dress yourself immediately that I might admire you bedecked in my gifts,” he answered. “Go on then! On with the boots! And if you’re feeling especially gratified, you may accompany me to dinner and allow me to show you off in all your glory.”

Geralt snorted. “Long-winded way to say you’re hungry and broke.”

“Put on the boots, you ass; I’m paying for dinner.”

As soon as Geralt had his new boots on—and oh, how comfortable they were!—Jaskier twirled his finger in the air, made him turn and model. Geralt rolled his eyes but turned around graciously. Jaskier beamed and showered him with praise. He slipped on his own cloak, for it was a cold evening, and they left the little inn, headed toward the delicious smell of the pub and their dinner, following the welcoming glow of its windows down the cobbled street.

“Wait!” Jaskier cried, leaping in front of Geralt. He spread his arms wide and Geralt nearly crashed against his back. Geralt looked over his shoulder to see what danger caused Jaskier to halt in the middle of the road, only for Jaskier to sweep the warm cloak from his shoulders and drape it across a rather nasty, muddy puddle before them.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. It was a new cloak—Jaskier had bought it only a fortnight past. He’d carefully selected a cool green, saying it would remind him of spring when the winter made the world grey, and Geralt had seen him embroidering the collar of it in the evenings before bed. Jaskier had doted on it, and Geralt had never known Jaskier to wear a cloak. Ever. He was never on the road when the weather was cold enough to warrant one, always holing up in Oxenfurt or carving himself out a space in some court for the season. He’d taken such pride in the cloak, adding his own personal touches to it, making it quite his. He talked about it constantly, boasting that it would keep him thoroughly safe when the winter chill set in, that he might climb the most icy, terrible mountain and feel as though he were snuggled up by the fireside.

That was the straw to break his back at last.

“What are you doing? That will never wash out,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskier bowed dramatically and rose with a charming shrug. “What burden is a bit of mud, my dear? I’ll not have your new boots so soon sullied on their first venture. If I allowed that, what kind of suitor would I be?” He chuckled and pressed a chaste, teasing kiss to Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt flinched away, heart leaping into his throat. “You’ve taken this too far!” he cried.

“Geralt, I assure you, the fabric is perfectly sensible and there’ll be no stain. I specifically chose it for wearing on the road.” He looked at Geralt, picking at the end of the cloak still draped in his hands. He kept his tone teasing and light, but there was a nervous edge to it he tried to hide behind a laugh. “Come now,” he said, “don’t let my gesture go in vain; I was trying so very hard to be suave.”

“No. It’s not just the cloak,” Geralt hissed. “This whole charade! I—!” Geralt fisted his hands in the thick fabric of his cloak. He turned his head away, grit his teeth. “I’m calling it off, Jaskier. I can’t tolerate one more day of this game.”

“What game?” Jaskier asked. The false cheer left him. Honest worry furrowed his brow as he lifted the wet cloak once more from the puddle, clutching it as a child might cling to a blanket.

“This courtship. It has to stop.”

Jaskier turned pale. He trembled, though no breeze swept through the air. When he spoke, his voice trembled in kind, and he looked at Geralt with anxious eyes. “If this is about the winter,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for being pushy. You’re not ready—I can wait. But we can move slower if that’s the issue, and I can give you your space until spring, just like every year.” His hands twisted in the cloak and he held it closer to his chest. “But I thought you wanted … you agreed to the courtship. And we were headed east together. It’s coming on winter, so I thought … And you’re not one for words …” he trailed. “I don’t understand what’s changed. Just this morning we—”

“This morning, you didn’t kiss me!” Geralt snapped. “I can hold your hand, I can dance with you and listen to your pet names, I can accept your gifts and gestures in an effort to understand your customs. I know you want to teach me about courtship. It’s important to you—or entertaining. But I can’t abide being kissed! Not as part of some lesson.”

Geralt’s eyes felt hot and there was a strange hollow in the pit of his stomach. “Not if it doesn’t mean anything,” he concluded. He couldn’t look Jaskier in the eye for fear of the understanding he’d find there. What pity or disgust would he see when the realization hit? What horrible expression would he find twisting Jaskier’s expression when he finally understood that his best friend, an emotionless, beastly, taciturn witcher, was in love with him?

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered.

There it was. Geralt’s head hung low. He silently braced himself. This was the part where Jaskier would let him down gently. Or he might make an awkward joke and pretend he didn’t understand, brushing it all aside and moving on as always. Geralt wasn’t sure which would be worse. He wished Jaskier would simply leave and he wouldn’t have to suffer either one.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered. Geralt heard the splash as Jaskier dropped his cloak once more to the ground. And suddenly there were warm hands cradling his face. “My darling,” Jaskier said, “let me be perfectly clear. No, no, don’t look away—you’ve got to look at me and listen very carefully to what I say. This isn’t a game. I’m not playing at romance with you. I’m not trying to teach you anything either. No games, no jokes, no tricks.”

Jaskier pulled Geralt closer, forced him to meet his eyes. Geralt looked at last and saw nothing but raw sincerity staring back. “This is real,” Jaskier said. “All of it. Since that day I stood and swore to court you and win your heart. Every action and effort I made was in earnest.”

Geralt felt the grounding touch of Jaskier’s thumb stroking his cheek. His heart remained in his throat, still uncertain, but it beat with a fragile hope. “What does it mean then?” he asked.

Jaskier sighed, resting their foreheads together. “It means I love you,” he answered.

Geralt closed his eyes. He felt such a fool. Slowly, he brought his hands up to cover Jaskier’s, pressing them more firmly against his skin. The touch felt new. It had a weight to it now, and he felt lighter than ever before, needed their anchor to keep from drifting away.

Jaskier loved him.

“How does a happy courtship end?” Geralt asked, though he did not wish for it to end so soon, now that he’d learned it was real. He was inclined to start over again and do it properly, no shadows or clouds to hang over them.

Jaskier let out a last nervous breath and smiled. “With marriage,” he said. “Eventually. But I think that may be a bit too soon for us.”

“Then before that.”

“Generally, the first stage ends with a kiss. I think that’s about right for where we are.”

“And … will you kiss me?” Geralt asked, opening his eyes again. He looked into Jaskier’s deep blue irises, and for once he could examine them as much as he liked, he realized. So he stared, taking in every brown freckle, every fleck of gold however small, looking as he never allowed himself to before. With satisfaction, he watched Jaskier’s pupils widen. He was sure he looked much the same.

Jaskier chuckled, pulling Geralt’s hands down and cradling them in his own. “Me?” he asked playfully. “Oh no, my dear; I did the wooing. The stage ends when you take the reciprocating action and encourage me to continue. Therefore it is you who must kiss me. If you like.”

“And if I do?”

“Then by all means,” Jaskier prompted. “Kiss me!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side, no more hesitation, and pressed their lips together in a gentle embrace. Just one short, reverent kiss: the fruition of his longing. It was not studied—was even a bit skewed from lack of practice. But it was freeing. He leaned back again as they parted, and he felt Jaskier leaning forward after him. Geralt smiled, his heart fluttering with a joy he never thought he’d know. This felt right. Felt wonderful. And now the tension was gone and he had nothing left to fear with Jaskier’s hands so tightly clasping his.

“So. What comes in the next stage of courtship?”

“Another kiss, certainly,” Jaskier said, stepping forward in an attempt to close the distance.

Geralt stepped back, a cheeky smile rising to his lips. “I’m fresh out,” he teased.

“Goodness me!” Jaskier gasped theatrically, and he was grinning right back. “Thankfully, I have one spare! Many, in fact, if you’d like them.”

“I would.”

“But, ah! I’m not so cheap as that!” Jaskier cried in retribution. If Geralt would refuse him another kiss, Jaskier would make him earn the next. “I must be wooed first, Geralt of Rivia. It’s your turn, I did say, and I’ll have you know I expect a great deal after all the work I put in. Rides on Roach, dinners cooked for me, breakfasts, embarrassingly poor poetry; then there’s the matter of you holding my hand when I ask, sweeping me off my feet and carrying me to bed in the evening, fresh flowers, foot massages, the—”

Geralt stepped forward again and silenced Jaskier’s rambling with another kiss, smiling through it too hard to make good on the act. He laughed, tucking his face against Jaskier’s jaw as he tried to compose himself long enough to see it through, then he was kissing Jaskier’s jaw and cheek, his eyes, everything within reach as the giddy feeling rose from his chest, laughing all the while as though he would never stop.

Jaskier laughed and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Yes, and as many of those as you can afford,” he chuckled. “You were holding out on me, you old tight-purse.”

Geralt pulled away enough to look Jaskier in the eye. “If I promise to woo you later, would you please just shut up and kiss me now?” he asked.

Jaskier huffed and regarded Geralt with sarcastic affection. “Someone has got to teach you about romance,” he said.

#witcher #the witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #my fic #a bard he would a-wooing go fic #gift fic #gotta love some mutual dumbassery

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witcherslittledove · 3 years

Text

Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

#the witcher rpf #henry cavill rpf #Joey batey rpf #Joey batey/henry cavill #Joey/henry

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Trapped and Forgotten Part 2

Part 1 here

Warnings: torture mention, arguing, bullying, hurting animals (scorpian), stab-like wound, blood, pain, manhandling and restraining, hunting fish, poison, force feeding, implied character paralysis and death, nightmare (not that creepy)

Well that wasn't exactly expected.

Hero assumed that Supervillain had a plan of torture that had something to do with whips, starvation, isolation, drowning or whatever evil scheme went through the pea brain.

Well that "pea brain" definitely had other ideas about what to with their newest additon to their prison.

The prisoners could barely resist as Supervillain's men attached heavy chains to their ankles and wrists that restricted any quick movement. They couldn't resist as they were dragged to a beating airplane and strapped in. Hero didn't really mind it. They were a hero after all. In about a week, the government would send people to rescue them and Sidekick, arrest the twins, and all would be back to normal. No stinky cells, no Supervillain, just Hero and their freedom. All they had to do was stay calm.

Calm and all would be all would get better.

It did not get better.

After a horrible plane ride with Villain rambling on and half-drunk pilots, they were mercilessly dropped (and when Hero means dropped, they mean thrown out of the plane and tumulting eleven feet onto the ground). If it wasn't for Sidekick's burly body as a cushion, Hero was sure they would've broken half the bones in their body.

Villain and Henchman were luckily dropped into water, but Hero still flinched when they heard the sharp splash of ocean as they hit it stomach first.

"Oh my gosh," Sidekick muttered and heavef themselves off the ground. Hero noticed their shaky limbs and helped them to their feet. They gave Hero, also known as the one who got away with just a bruised funny bone, a smile of gratitude.

Hero and Sidekick made themselves comfortable on the beach and allowed the sun to soak into their chilly bodies. Supervillain, for some apparent reason that was beyond Hero's cognitive skills, kept the plane at a freezing temperature.

Henchman collasped on the ground next to Sidekick. Villain stayed back. Hero could tell that they were exhausted from the swim, but they refused to show any sign of weakness. Not that it mattered. First, Hero saw them practically paralysized and just lying there after being shocked, and second, they had bigger things to worry about.

Like, where the heck were they? And why?

"Let's go Henchman," Villain growled and stormed back to the group. Hero raised their eyebrows, what exactly did they mean by that?

Henchman let out a groan and gave their twin a look. The two regarded each other carefully until Villain broke eye contact.

"Look," they glanced at Hero. "We are stuck here. You hear me? There is no way out and I personally do not want to be within a two mile radius from dumb and dumber." They looked at Sidekick and "dumb" and Hero at "dumber".

Before Hero could say something or throw a very pathetic insult back at them, Sidekick spoke up,

"Us dumb? Villain, you were the one who got us into this mess."

"Me?" Villain stepped forward and pointed at themselves. "Me dumb? Are you seriously saying that I, Villain, is dumb? I, I repeat," they pointed at themselves vigorously here, "I am not dumb. Not like you. I-i."

After a slipt second to recompose themselves, Villain snarled, "I am the smart being here. Henchman, let's go and leave these two to sulk in their lack of intelligence."

Henchman didn't move. They blinked at Villain very slowly, then looked at Hero. Hero couldn't help but chuckle lightly. Even Villain's twin sibling did not think they were using their thinking cap.

"Now Henchman!" Villain yelled and grabbed their sibling's arm. They pulled, but Henchman curled up in a ball and rolled uselessly to their sides.

"Knock it off!" Villain screamed and clenched their teeth.

Sidekick nudged Hero and twirled their finger by their ear. They let out a whistle, "Wee woo."

Hero bawled out laughing and smacked their friend lightly on the shoulder which added to Villain's anger. They clenched their teeth even harder and shoved their finger in Hero's face.

"Listen," they growled. "Knock that smile off your face or I will do it for you." The murderous look in Villain's eyes actually made them want to believe them for a second, but Hero could see the fight dying in there somewhere. Maybe they were finally coming to their senses.

"Hear me!" Villain hollered and grabbed Hero's shoulders. This was the last straw for Sidekick who stood up and grabbed the collar of Villain's leather jacket.

"Stop this Villain," Sidekick said in a near whisper. "You are out of line."

"Me?" Villain shot back. They might've intended it to be full of confidence, but Hero could hear the slight break in their voice.

"Yes you," Sidekick replied calmly. "Now settle down before you attract all sorts of creatures."

Villain struggled against the stronger's unyielding grip, only to fail and give up. Sidekick placed the defeated mess next to their sibling.

Sidekick sat back down next to Hero with a sigh. In sinc, they both looked at the villains. Henchman put their arm around Villain's shoulder, hiding their face and holding them dearly.

"Sibling love," Hero murmured to Sidekick. Now that the angry Villain scenario was over with, they took in the situation. Villain was right about one thing, they were stuck there... with each other which was not the most ideal thing ever, but with the current conditions, they would be forced to work with it. Unless, of course, Villain and Henchman left. 'That's not a bad idea,' Hero realized, thinking of the tad of freedom they would get if they did not have to babysit Hormonal Teenager and their killing counterpart.

"Those two are running," Sidekick said suddenly. Hero looked up to see the twins sprinting across the sand.

"Should we run too?" Hero asked. They really just wanted to take a long, warm, peaceful nap in the sun contemplating what to do than have a P.E. class on the beach.

"That would be a good choice," Sidekick yawned and heaved themselves to their feet. Hero did the same, and immediately regretted their life choices... again.

They could feel a presence right behind them and when they turned, they half expected to wake up from a horrid nightmare.

Because they were staring eye to eye with an enlarged scorpian.

_____

Villain thought of themselves as the sneakiest bastard in the history of bastards. They saw the scorpian thing the second Sidekick very rudely set them on the ground like a toddler.

Maybe they weren't acting their age, maybe, but a tussle with a creepy, disgusting, ginormous bug that was most likely lethal would be a great way to get back at them.

Awesome payback. Villain almost called it their best plan ever if it wasn't for the fact that there was two.

Yes, two scorpians.

Henchman and Villain skidded to a stop. Even if they were far from a genius (which Villain denied with a passion in their hopes to be the best), Villain excelled at fighting. The scorpions seemed to have a strategy which was an an immpossible idea.

'Scorpians don't have enough brain to attack with a seemingly planned strategy,' Villain told themselves over and over as the enormous bug crept closer.

Maybe bigger bugs had bigger thinkers? Villain glanced at Henchman who was also coincidentally looking at their twin. Both knew what they were going to have to do.

They would have to fight.

Villain waited for the scorpian to come to them. It walked as if it had many tricks up its sleeve, or endoskeleton.

Or was it exoskeleton?

"Hey Henchman," Villain said as the scorpian made its first move. A swift attack with its tail that Villain easily dodged.

"Kinda busy at the moment. What do you need?" Henchman asked smoothly as they pushed away one of the scorpian's claws.

"What's the definition of an 'exoskeleton'?" Villain asked.

"Outer protective covering like what you find on crustaceans and insects," Henchman replied. "Why?"

"Just wondering," Villain grunted and dodged another attack. "Define crustacean."

"Like crabs or lobsters."

"A scorpian?" Villain asked.

"A scorpian is an arachnid," Henchman answered without a moment's hesitation.

"So it is incorrect to call them a bug?" Villain asked.

"Shut up."

"Okay." Villain missed the casual conversation after a few seconds of fighting in silence. The twins fought blow for blow as if it was automatic. Which it was in a way. Villain sort of wished that Hero was watching them. They could just imagine the awestruck look on their face, but they knew that they were busy fighting their own crustacean, or arachnid... or whatever.

Whether it was scientifically correct or not Villain decided that "bug" was the easiest the say.

"How did you pass biology?" Henchman asked suddenly as a huge claw nearly smacked them in the face.

"I cheated," Villain answered and shot their twin a smug look.

"Off who?"

"You."

"How didn't I know this?" Henchman asked in an exasperated tone.

"Don't know actually," Villain laughed, kicking at the scorpian's fangs. "I also stole the answers from the teacher."

"All those times-"

"Yes," Villain interrupted. The two continued to fight in silence until they drove the scorpian into the water. They kicked, punched, tackled, did everything they could until it was half-drowned. They stepped back and gave each other a brisk high five.

Strangled grunts interrupted their victory. Villain turned around to see Hero and Sidekick fighting their scorpian about five yards away. They couldn't help but feel satisfied that the scorpian was winning.

The scorpian flung Sidekick into the water, leaving Hero to fend for themselves. The scorpian and the hero fought like they were old enemies and knew each other's tricks which was another impossibility that Villain felt that they had to overcome.

The scorpian got the upper hand and started shoving Hero down into the ground.

Something unexpected clicked in Villain. They ran to Hero and pushed them out of the way, shielding them as the sharp stinger at the end of the tail stabbed them.

Only it didn't hit Hero. It hit Villain instead, right in the shoulder. They bit back a cry of pain and grabbed the scorpian's head. It thrashed and tried to get out of Villain's iron grasp, but Villain kneed it in the face. They could feel fresh blood pouring out if the wound, but they ignored it.

Henchman and Hero joined Villain on the other side. All together, they dragged it into the water and left it by its injured buddy.

"You idiot!" Hero yelled after they caught their breath. "Your childish yelling drew them here. It's your fault."

Villain gave a wobbly smile as they staggered backwards into Henchman's arms.

"What the heck is wrong with you! You-" Hero stopped scolding when they noticed the crimson liquid staining Villain's shirt. "Oh gosh are you bleeding?"

Henchman delicately laid Villain on the warm sand. Hero and Sidekick rushed to Villain's side and examined the wound.

"Stop!" Villain screamed when Sidekick poked it. They withered around and scooted next to Henchman on their feet.

"Lay back down Villain," Sidekick sneered. "It's your own fault that you were so careless."

"No."

"Stop backtalking," Hero ordered and grabbed Villain's wrist. "You are gonna bleed out and I don't want that on my hands."

Villain pulled their hand back and cowered next to Henchman. They didn't care that they looked like a child scared of a spider, but neither did Hero. They grabbed Villain viciously and shoved them onto the ground.

"Hero be gentle," Henchman warned and put a hand out to block Hero from pulling Villain around even more.

Villain whimpered and grabbed onto their twin like they usually did when they were hurt. Pain pulsed through their body like being hit with a whip in the same spot over and over again. It wasn't that being whipped was too unbearable for Villain (personallly, they would rather be whipped than shocked), but it quite obnoxiously annoying and painful.

Henchman put their forearm on their chest as Hero pulled their arm through the sleeve to expose the wound. 'Please stop,' Villain wanted to plead as another wave of white pain overcame them, but they bit their tongue.

Villain allowed their head to loll towards the side. They could the pressure from a hand on their cheek, making sure they wouldn't move. Not that Villain would, they just allowed everything to happen to them without their sarcastic complaints.

"Hey," a soft voice murmured. "Sleep okay?"

Yeah no, not happening.

Villain squirmed and shot the owner of the voice a sharp glare, but only got a light chuckle in response.

Pain engulfed Villain again and they jerked upwards, finally crying out. Someone shoved them back on the ground again, not as kind as what they would ideally want.

"Sorry," a sarcastic voice sounded. Sidekick. Villain clenched their teeth. How dare they take advantage of them when they were like this?

_____

Hero held Villain down quickly the second they began to whimper. Sidekick already tied a tourniquet to halt the poison flow. Or the assumed poison flow.

After it was all done and Villain remained still, Hero finally relaxed. Their hands were covered in blood and so was their face. 'Gosh is Villain tough', Hero realized admirably.

"We are gonna have to get that posion out somehow," Sidekick said and gave Hero a long look. Both knew what it meant, but neither had the courage to say it.

"Yeah," Hero agreed. The two sat in silence and watched as Henchman comforted their twin with hushes and strokes.

A twig snapped and Hero looked around. They were way too exposed on the beach, but moving Villain would cause an uproar.

They studied the woods that were lined next to the beach as far as the eye could see. Oaks and elms mostly, with the occasional pine. As Hero observed, they could see squirrels and curious deer watching them.

"Hero," Henchman said suddenly. "We need food."

Yeah, no kidding.

Hero stood up and joined Henchman next to Villain who was getting paler by the second. Their face was contorted with pain and they wouldn't make eye contact as they lost focus. Hero could tell they were losing the fight to remain aware and awake.

"Stay awake," Henchman murmured and nudged their twin. Hero gave them a quizzical look. Wouldn't it be better if they slept off the sickness?

"When Supervillain was close to us," Henchman gestured at the half-conscious Villain. "They spoke of this... animal. Actually, come to think of it, it was a scorpian. Anyway, they said that the posion got worse as the victim slept because it caused drowsiness. Villain knows this." Both looked down at Villain who was staring at the tree line, silent apart from the pained whimper that escaped their lips every now and then.

"So we take shifts?" Hero asked, thinking about how tired they were going to get if they had to do it alone. No, they erased that thought. Not everything was about them, Villain would be sicker in the morning. Especially since they weren't able to clean the nasty wound. Hero peered at it. They could see the gnarled flesh that was ripped up as the barbed tail yanked itself out of Villain. The shoulder bone was likely hit and caused multiple chips. Not to mention the torn ligaments and tendons...

Hero looked away. The more they thought about it, the worse it seemed to get.

Henchman cupped their hand around Villain's other shoulder and sighed. "I know what you are thinking Hero," they looked at them with teary eyes. "They may not make it."

Hero gulped. That thought had indeed entered their mind once or twice. It was hard not to expect Villain losing their battle. Even though the injury literally just happened twenty minutes ago, they had to realize that there was no medical care on the island, probably more bizzare creatures that Villain could not run away from, and other environmental factors that made everything more and more difficult.

As night neared, Sidekick went into the ocean to try and catch some fish. They succeeded with a large salmon that the quartet shared. Even Villain ate a couple morsels, or more realistically, Henchman stuffed it down their throat.

They decided on a shift with four hour intervals. Sidekick's smartwatch still worked, so they used that.

Hero took the fourth watch. Their "savior instincts" told them to stay up all night long, but Sidekick convinced them that it wouldn't help Villain being exhausted in the morning. So, Hero consented and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Villain was standing still. A silhouette against the setting sun. It was a gorgeous sight. The sky was a bright orange with red and yellow highlights. There was even pink and purple streaks throughout the sky. The sun was huge as it dipped behind the city's skyscrapers.

It would be beautiful if it wasn't for the fact that Villain used canes. Two canes for each arm, but it didn't help them. They couldn't walk, couldn't talk, couldn't function as a normal human being.

Their body wouldn't work for them, so when they turned to walk back where a car was waiting for them, they tripped and fell.

Hero woke with a jolt, shaking. They glanced upwards and saw Henchman tenderly shaking them.

"Your turn," Henchman yawned and laid across from Sidekick's snoring form. Hero groaned and crawled over to Villain. With the moon reflecting in their wide eyes, Hero couldn't help but admire their courage. After all, they did protect Hero whether either admitted it or not.

Hero gently shook Villain as their eyelids began to droop. They did this almost every minute. The whole time they couldn't stop thinking about their nightmare.

#villain whumpee #reluctant caretaker #tw poison #henchmen #sidekick #heros and villains

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dragonherder2030 · 3 years

Text

Cockatiel part 3

Atlas fiddled with her webbed fingers as she awaited the rest to arrive. She was sweating her scales off. This is her first time confronting the reptilians, she needed the negotiating chip, she needed to escape the waters.

Pacing around the wetroom Atlas counted the second, checking her hourglass every 15th. The room was filled with about a foot of water, and in the center of it was a large desk, sitting a few feet above the waterline. On it sat a array of non-lethal weaponry like nets and mud slings. Walls made up of thick coral surrounded Atlas, at the top a collection of glass that falls into the ocean, providing little light. None of the weapons were meant for attack, since we weren’t doing that, the only weapon that could actually kill was the one that she possessed, a dagger make of driftwood and whale bone. That also had some special abilities…

Before Atlas could finish her thought the coral door opened, and came in her burly associates, right on time.

Ethan came in first, he’s an fringehead, and known for his ability’s of capture using his large mouth as a slingshot for nets.

Everette was the second, she’s an anglerfish, and was the strongest of the group, she was going to be carrying the victim.

Oz, they were going to be the most important part of the operation. They were going to keep us from being caught, with Xandra’s magical abilities she will be the most dangerous of the group.

Atlas walks to the center of the room, spreading her arms in the traditional welcome.

“Hello! Ethan Everette and Oz. I, so glad you made it on time,” She said, holding her arms up for another 3 seconds.

The others all did as well, moving around to the table.

“Quite with the formal introductions, we all know each other,” Everette says with a smirk, sitting on the ground and plopping her hands onto the table.

“Yeah Atlas, its getting a bit annoying,” Ethan added on, sitting next to Everette and grabbing at one of the nets, examining it.

Oz gave me a toothy grin, their eyes glowing in amusement. Atlas laughs and sighs.

“You all should be more formal, my mother wouldn’t like me hanging out with a bunch of unschooled buff fish,” I say, failing to stop the smile from forming on my face. She takes a seat at the front of the table, sitting on the ground like the rest of her friends.

“Luckily your mommy dearest isn’t here right now, and gave you permission to hang out with us then,” Ethan says with a very laid back demeanor.

Atlas scoffs, “Permission is a umbrella term for her. But we aren’t talking about that right now,” she gives everyone in the room s teasing glare,”We are discussing the upcoming kidnapping.”

“Does it have to be called a kidnapping? I don’t want to need to explain to my brother that I went to a ‘kidnapping’ when I explain why I was gone late today,” Everette says, cutting me off. I scrunch my face up in annoyance at her interruption.

“Tell him it was a party or something, we don’t have time for interruptions! This is a happening tonight and this is serious! You all are just messing around, this society is to good for everyone here to just get eaten!!” I say, slamming my fist on the table. They were always like this.

Oz looks down, looking guilty even though they didn’t do anything. Ethan and Everette also avoid eye-contact with me. They all knew how important this operation was.

“Sorry… this is just, it can mean so much for our society and mom is letting me try this out. We need to take this chance. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m sorry,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. Ethan looked up at me.

“We know how important this is, we just, aren’t used to this level of intensity. But, continue with the plan…” He says, maintaining her gaze. I nod, now isn’t the time for feelings.

“As I’ve said before I’ve planted the flowering dragons in the location I showed you all last week, in the human world. Knowing Xandra and her cult, they will have found it and be after them. When they get there, presumably tonight since I checked yesterday and the dragons are still there, we capture one of them. If it’s a group or just one person, but if Xandra is there which she usually is for strange accuracies like this, leave her to Oz,” I give Oz a glance. They nod, shifting their tail to curl around them.

“Ev, you will carry the victim, and if Ethan can’t either bag them or tie them up. I’ll make sure no one can follow you,” The knife in my hands feels heavy, but I grip it tighter, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

————————

The operation is underway, I had spotted them arrive on some earth animal and a drake. Xandra was distracted, if we execute it right, there would be no need for Oz to step in. My night vision gave me an advantage as well, I didn’t know if she had it as well, but I assumed she did. The rest didn’t though, no reptile I’ve come across has. Looking to my left, Everette held a large, wet sack. I wait for Xandra to hand the flowering dragons to the blue belly, and lift her head back up. I nod at Everette and she slowly creeps up to the lizard closet to the water, an iguana. I clutch my knife close to my chest, and walk out of the water, the atmosphere was wet enough to go on land, as well as the mud. I slam my feet into the ground, making my footsteps echo. A light shines onto me, I stare past it to Ethan, who has crawled up behind the drake and holding a blob of mud. I stare back, seeing the blue belly back up to its growling drake, she says something, then I hear Everette bagging the iguana. I run onto land, seeing Ethan pounce behind the blue belly and fill her face with mud. I ran at the Axolotl, pouncing on them, getting on top of them and lifting my knife threateningly. They cover their face in fear. I look to the left and see Everette swim away as the iguana thrashes around in the bag. A pain jabs me in the gut and I see that the Axo has decided to fight back. I lift my body back and slam it into the Axo, swiveling my knife in my hand and punching them with the handle end. Their eyes roll back in their head and I feel them go limp under me. I look to the side and see the blue belly putting up quite the fight with Ethan, and had somehow gotten onto her drake, it and Ethan were having a hissing fit at the moment. The mud under my feet felt familiar, and I ran across it and grabbed onto the hips of the drake, swiveling my legs under my arms and landing a kick onto the blue belly. Falling off the drake, I rolled out. Ethan could take care of her, did Everette escape?

I looked up to see Xandra tending to the Axo, this was the perfect time to escape, Xandra wouldn’t leave her comrades. Quickly getting up I whistled at Ethan, it echoing to hopefully Oz. I run to the edge of the water and jump in, diving under, trying to get to the bottom. I hear Ethan jump in after me and join me at the bottom. We swim along it together, in the path we had chosen, holding our breath.

***************

Woo! Part 3/4 I have finally decided the next one is the last one. This has been fun so far, we meet our villain. Sorry for the weird 3rd person to 1st person change, I’m just to lazy to edit it XD. Alsooo sorry for the more explainy dialogue and stuff, I just wanted to make sure I got the ideas I wanted across.

Part 1 - Here

Part 2 - Here

Part 4: Here

#writing #smaugust #smaugust 2021

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naivesilver · 3 years

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top 5 adaptations of the Fairy from Pinocchio? (or maybe top 5 best AND 5 worst?)

I spent so long staring at this and wondering if I even KNEW five good Fairies, but it turns out I do, albeit mostly for asinine reasons. Anyway AHFAKKJKFHAHJKJA thank you <3

Ask me my top 5 anything

Obviously under the cut because I couldn't resist and did BOTH

The salt AKA the worst of the worst first:

1) Piccolino No Bouken

Surprised? I suppose most would have expected me to put the Disney Fairy first, and I did, too, for a while, but as I was sitting in my car pondering this ranking I realized I was SEETHING with rage about this one, so I had to rearrange things a bit. This, guys, is where my Fairy hate begins - not the book, not the Mouse's interference. This woman.

I hate her. I hate her SO MUCH, for all that I love this adaptation more than most things in the world, and that the choices made about her characterization were a huge inspiration for me. Not only does she not send Pinocchio to school, instead teaching him on her own, she is the only one to actively keep Pinocchio from his father - indeed, she makes the choice for them, saying to Geppetto's face that it would be best for the boy to be taught something before he goes back home. Who the hell are you to make this call, uh? You have known him for a day at most! You left him hanging from a fucking tree all night! I wouldn't trust you with a bloody lapdog, nevermind a child!

Also she lets Pinocchio believe she's dead UNTIL THE VERY END. She turns into a bird while he cries at her tomb. Are we fucking serious now? Leave him alone.

(Yes, this is elementary school me howling for revenge. I've been mad about this longer than reason would let me. Sue me.)

2) Disney's Pinocchio

Bane of my existence. I don't know if anyone remembers that pic of me at the Pinocchio theme park I posted a while ago, but basically in that moment they were putting up a little show to tell children a little bit of the OG story, and they asked the audience if they knew what color the Fairy's hair was - a few said blonde, and I, being on stage next to her, distinctly heard her mutter "dammit, Disney". I've been living with that mantra since then.

Nobody asked you to make that puppet sentient, ma'am. He doesn't owe you shit. Aside from that, just like Jiminy Cricket, she ruined her character in a good two thirds of future adaptation. And while we're speaking of Jiminy, WHY did she think it would be a good idea to entrust a little boy to a slime ball such as him? He's too horny to have an ounce of sense. Conscience, my ass.

Basically...begone, asshole.

3) Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night

This film is so horrible, the Fairy had no chance to be decent at all. A cheap copy of the Disney one, with the addendum that she turns MULTIPLE toys into living beings while holding them responsible for whatever they do after. Basically Victor Frankenstein, but make it a poorly dressed woman from a direct-to-TV movie that shouldn't have existed at all.

-100/10, at least you're pretty, but by God, SHUT UP.

4) Once Upon a Time

Honest to God if she doesn't keep her filthy hands off my faves she's gonna get a slap across the face so strong her Wish Realm self ought to feel it sting. I am not exaggerating.

Seven seasons in, she hasn't done ANYTHING useful that I can remember. She's not even good at her own fucking job! Not only that, she's traumatized and guilt-tripped a good chunk of the population of Storybrooke, including first and foremost my beloved son August. The Pavlovian reaction I had every time she appeared on screen can't be described in coherent words, only in eagle screeches.

She's wrong. On principle, she's wrong. Let's move on.

5) Luigi Comencini's Le Avventure di Pinocchio

Doesn't rank higher only because she's played by Gina Lollobrigida (my beloved). She's book accurate, which means she'd be annoying as fuck as it is, but what little they added only makes her worse.

She has the gall to tell Pinocchio she'd like to see him happier. Like, apart from the fact that the ghost of his father's deceased wife isn't exactly the most reassuring person to hear it from...Said father has been swallowed by a giant fish. You told that boy he's only going to see his father if he studies hard. You keep turning him into a puppet anytime he misbehaves. What did you expect, that he would do the Macarena every time he entered your house? I am honestly too shocked to say any more. What the fuck.

Okay, I've been enraged enough for a single night. Let's move onto brighter shores!

1) Enzo D'Alò's Pinocchio

Enzo D'Alò knows what the fuck is UP!!! The only one with the courage to let the Fairy be a weird little girl - not only for a short time, but up until the end of the movie! That takes guts! Balls of steel!

I've said before that this movie has nothing memorable to it, and it's true, but also...Pinocchio wanted a sister so bad, and the movie gave him one. And they even explained the plot hole of the medallion with Pinocchio's face in it! That's twice as good as the fact that they cut out the most awful parts of her story, which is already delightful.

Thank you, Mr D'Alò. You have my trust until the end of days.

2) The Adventures of Buratino

Speaking of weird girls, this one is officially balls to the walls enough to gain my respect. She's bothersome to Pinocchio, but she's bothersome to everyone and everything, so I'll let it pass. Her role is exclusively to appear out of nowhere and do batshit insane stuff for no good reason at all. A star.

Plus, other than having an handwashing obsession that I've felt very keenly in the past year and a half, she also has a boyfriend - her and Pierrot are the original girlboss and malewife, I'm not accepting any criticism on the matter.

(Fun fact: when I was a young kid I once dreamt that the Piccolino No Bouken Fairy was dating a big, buff and blonde farmhand. He wooed her by gifting Pinocchio a dog. Apparently I've always been very interested in Fairies getting a love life and staying the fuck away from my specialest little boy.)

3) Pinocchio miniseries

"Serena, but you said you were disappointed in this adaptation so many times!" True. But consider: I am also very, very queer, and Violante Placido being motherly and wearing wispy dresses stirred SOMETHING in 11yo me that I can't very well ignore.

In hindsight, she and the Cricket probably had something going on behind the scenes, which is a shame. Miss Fairy, I swear, you could do better than Luciana Littizzetto in an ill-fitting green suit. She's gonna break your heart and lose your puppet charge in a crowd of little idiots. Do me instead.

4) Pinocchio Vampire Slayer

This woman kills monsters - and she's damn good at it! Honestly, so badass, and such a good mother figure too, even in trying times. I don't want to spoil the comic much to those who haven't read it, but she and Cherry are the highlight of the first volume and I am very fond of them. A+.

5) Matteo Garrone's Pinocchio

This one's book accurate, too, but Garrone did something with her that almost burst in tears in a crowded theater. She's awful, and irritating, but she's...she's so human, too. I can't rage against a Fairy that's so impossibly human even during the smallest of scenes. It breaks me over and over again.

Look at her SMILING, for pity's sake, am I supposed to think there's some warmth in the dead lady? Fuck you, Matteo, what did you do to me? I am an honored Fairy hater. You're going to ruin my reputation if you keep this up.

#ask meme #bewilderemoth #pinocchio #the tag needed some more bullshit from yours truly didn't it

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akaluan · 3 years

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Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 2

They meet again on the battlefield.

Kisuke is late this time, having been caught up in clearing out a monster nest, and isn’t paying attention to his senses the way he should. He’s late, and the Invasion has already begun, and who knows how many people have already died because of his incompetence—

He skids to a stop on the edge of the battleground, eyes widening as he takes in the sheer devastation, the dead and dying monsters, the torn up ground…

And Erich in the midst of it all, exhausted but still fighting, emerald power flaring around his body like roaring flames, tearing through the monsters that remain.

Kisuke wills himself to turn away, to leave before the man spots him, but—

There are more monsters pouring through the Otherworld Tear, the Invasion larger than any other Kisuke has seen to date, and if he leaves…

If he leaves, he doesn’t know if Erich will survive.

So he draws his blade and plunges into the fight, carving a path to Erich’s side without a second thought; they’ve fought together before — fought well together before — and for all he suspects that Erich wants him dead, he doubts the man will sink to stabbing him in the back.

(Erich seems more like a stab-in-the-front sort of man.)

(It’s refreshing.)

Erich casts a startled look his way, then bares his teeth in a grin and says, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Maa, I was a bit delayed, sorry!” Kisuke replies as he settles in to fight at Erich’s side. It’s almost like breathing, if Kisuke’s being honest, the two of them flowing around each other as if they’ve done this all their lives, and in moments they’ve regained the upper hand. They start pushing the monsters back, destroying the invaders with negligent ease, and then—

“Look out!”

Kisuke looks up. Looks over. Curses at the sight of a Behemoth’s head emerging from the Tear, a bright cerulean orb of power already gathering in its mouth.

A Behemoth’s Cero will wipe them and the town behind them off the map.

He can’t let that happen.

“Awaken, Benihime!” Kisuke cries before he can think better of it, plucking at her awareness and rousing her from her rest. She uncoils from within his soul, stretching through his body to reach beyond him, layering crimson power across his blade as he keeps fighting, keeps killing, his attention on the Behemoth as he waits for the right moment—

“Nake, Benihime!” he shouts, slashing his blade through the air as the Behemoth fires its Cero.

Behind him, Erich sucks in a shocked breath as crimson blasts slam into the Behemoth’s cerulean Cero, the two attacks wavering in the air for one.

Brief.

Moment—

Kisuke crows his victory as the Cero evaporates into a small shockwave that knocks lesser monsters aside, then darts forward, another “Nake, Benihime!” calling forth a second arc of crimson blasts that tear through the monsters before him. He leaps. Brings his blade to bear. Cries “Kamisori, Benihime!” as he slashes down, and—

The Behemoth shrieks once, high-brittle-final, before its head tumbles to the ground and its body falls back within the Tear.

(*What barely suitable prey it was,*) Benihime scoffs in his mind as she begins to withdraw, then pauses to peer through his senses. (*So this is who you’ve been so wound up about,*) she purrs, presence draping across his mind with a sensation like sharp nails across his shoulders. (*How interesting.*)

(*Hime…*) Kisuke tries, hoping that he can dissuade her from… from whatever she’s intending, though the effort only earns him a throaty chuckle.

Honestly, he can understand why she’s fascinated, because he’s fascinated too; Erich is using the opening Kisuke gave him to completely destroy the few remaining monsters, his body limned with emerald power and his eyes practically glowing. It doesn’t take long before the battlefield is still and the Tear slowly, reluctantly closes, leaving behind another ruined area littered with bodies.

As if the Tear’s presence was the only thing keeping him up, Erich immediately crumples as his power fades away.

Kisuke bolts to Erich’s side with a curse, barely remembering to sheathe Benihime before he gets close enough to appear a threat. He kneels at the man’s side, scanning for any hint of a wound, but—

“Just tired,” Erich grunts as he reaches up with one trembling hand and shoves sweat-soaked hair out of his face. “I’ll be fine after some rest.”

“Maa… will you… let me help you back?” Kisuke hesitantly asks, then flinches at the bone dry look Erich levels at him in response. “It’s fine if you don’t want me to! But you seem, uhm, that is…”

Erich stares at him for a long moment, then huffs and holds out a hand. “Getting back up by myself is going to be… difficult,” he admits with a grimace. “Help me up and I’ll give you directions to my place here.”

“R-right, yes. I can do that.” Kisuke swallows at the implied invitation back to Erich’s dwelling and forces himself to focus; now isn’t the time to get lost in daydreams, especially with Erich in no condition to do anything but sleep.

(Still, a man can dream, can’t he?)

(Wait, no, damnit!)

(He needs to stop getting distracted!)

Ignoring Benihime’s wicked laughter, Kisuke pulls Erich’s arm over his shoulder and wraps his free arm around the man’s waist, then grunts as he heaves them both to their feet in an awkward, almost drunken stumble. Erich tenses in his grip, gaze slanting wary-uncertain-cautious, then breathes a soft sigh and slumps into Kisuke’s side, letting Kisuke carry most of his weight.

The trip back is slow and painful, the ground too torn and strewn with monstrous bodies for it to be anything else, but they make it back to town in one piece. From there, Erich directs him through the winding streets to another large, multi-family building, then up the stairs and down the hall.

Kisuke already suspects he knows where Erich’s room is: there’s a bucket and a tub set beside one door in particular, both filled with steaming water, just like there was at Erich’s other place. “Do you have people do your laundry at every town?” he asks in amusement as the approach the door.

Erich shrugs awkwardly and straightens up a bit, tugging at his blood-stained shirt in an effort to work it free. “Monster blood stains quickly,” is all he says.

Kisuke snorts but concedes the point: part of why he wears such dark clothing is because of how easily monster blood stains things. He just… finds it amusing that people simply leave buckets of steaming water outside Erich’s door any time a fight happens. “Come on,” he says as he skillfully fishes Erich’s key out of the man’s own pocket and unlocks the door, ignoring Erich’s offended squawk as he does. “In we go. I’ll take care of bringing your clothes back out.”

“Someone’s handsy tonight,” Erich mutters as they enter the room. “And when I’m in no state to appreciate it, too.”

Benihime cackles in Kisuke’s mind as his mouth goes dry and his mind swirls with ideas. “I’m certain I could still make you feel good,” he blurts out, then immediately ducks his head as his cheeks flame.

(Oh heavens above, what has he just done?!)

(Erich is going to kill him!)

“I might just take you up on that,” Erich says with a smirk, then slips free of Kisuke’s grip and settles on a stool with a soft groan of relief. “Though I make no promises on how long I’ll stay awake,” he admits as he starts to pull his clothing off, completely unbothered by Kisuke’s presence.

Kisuke’s mind goes blank-still-fuzzy at Erich’s words, his body acting on instinct to accept the man’s clothes as they’re handed to him.

(Erich wants…?)

(Erich— Erich still wants him?)

(Really?)

He swallows back his disbelief and forces a smile on his face. “Maa, that won’t be a problem at all,” he promises as he steps away to drop Erich’s soiled clothing into the tub of steaming water in the hall, then grabs the bucket, closes the door, and returns to Erich’s side with it. “If I can help you sleep, I’m certainly not going to complain.”

Erich gives him a considering look, then leans over to pull the washcloth from the bucket and wring it out. “There aren’t many who’d agree to that,” he says as he swipes the cloth over his skin to wipe away the worst of the grime.

“Aha, well, I’m hardly your average person,” Kisuke jokes weakly, then takes a steadying breath and leans over, plucking the washcloth from Erich’s hand before the man can protest. He rinses it out, wrings the excess water from it, then straightens up and begins to carefully clean Erich’s body. He takes it slow, watchful for any wounds, and just… lets himself enjoy the moment.

Erich leans into his touch with a quiet hum, head tipping down until his chin is touching his chest and his breathing begins to even out. It’s clear he’s enjoying it, especially when Kisuke gives in and rests a hand on Erich’s shoulder. That earns him a soft, pleased noise and a tiny shift to press closer.

Even the way Benihime is humming beneath his skin isn’t enough to bother Kisuke; her presence is warm-familiar-known and she doesn’t feel bloodthirsty, just curious.

It’s soothing, if he’s being honest; Benihime rarely involves herself in his personal life, but she does tend to make her opinions known if he accidentally wakes her. That she seems to like Erich is… it’s good. It’s a relief. It means he won’t have to be on guard at all times.

Kisuke drops the washcloth into the dirtied water and gives Erich a quick once-over; the man is as clean as he can get without a proper bath, and Kisuke hasn’t yet found any wounds, but he still worries. Worries enough to gather his flagging strength into a healing kido, to press it deep into Erich’s body—

Benihime crows her victory and rushes through his arm, using his kido as a bridge to dive into Erich’s body, her influence arcing through the man and tearing a pained cry from his throat.

“No!” Kisuke yelps as he hauls at Benihime’s presence, trying desperately to yank her back, to pull her away before she can do something irreversible—!

(*He has been wounded time and time again,*) she whispers in his mind, a smug-cheerful-pleased chuckle in her words. (*Feel how ragged he’s been run, my Kisuke. Feel it!*)

And through her, he can: a lifetime of combat has carved its mark deep into Erich’s body, with deep, hidden scars taking their toll on him one battle at a time. And Benihime sweeps into them, pressing the sense of damaged bone-injured joint-scarred muscle into Kisuke’s mind as she sinks her nails into each bit of damage, each spark of pain—

“He didn’t agree!” Kisuke protests, ragged-helpless-aching as Benihime drags strength from his body and into Erich’s. As she tears apart Erich’s old wounds and repairs him. Strengthens him. Builds him anew.

Erich gasps and slumps forward, toppling from the stool and to the floor, tearing away their connection as he does. He groans, weakly shoving himself over onto his back, and stares up at Kisuke with wide, confused eyes as he forces out a breathless, “K-Kisuke…? What…?”

Kisuke scrambles to his feet and stumbles back, legs barely holding him after Benihime’s unexpected actions. She’s purring in the back of his mind, pleased-content-satisfied, and it makes him sick with shock; Shinigami contract with Otherworld Beings to gain their strength, but this… he’s never heard of a contract spirit doing something so against their partner’s will!

What else has she been holding back? What other things has she done that he doesn’t know?!

“Kisuke…?” Erich prompts again, pushing himself up on one trembling elbow. “You okay…?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know— she’s never—” Kisuke takes a breath, his hand trembling with shock as he shoves it through his hair and looks away, unable to meet Erich’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he forces out with as much strength as he can, before he turns and bolts.

(There’s no way Erich will want him around after that.)

(What has he done?!)

#erich/kisuke #urahara kisuke #erich von rerugan #prompt fill #now for benihime to get involved lol #kisuke never asked for any of this

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mar-bluu · 4 years

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While i still ride out the last of the joy i got from rewatching Ruby Gloom, have some prompts based off some of my favourite quotes!

“For the first time, I'm speechless. Really, really speechless. I couldn't say a word really. Nothing comes to mind.”

“I hate the rain, bad things happen to me when it rains.” “Well, look on the bright side, A, bad things happen to you when it doesn't rain.”

“Don't worry, ceilings always cause problems for me, too. That and walls.”

“At least it’s not acid rain”

“We demand an answer! Who are you? What are you doing with B?” “Technically that's two answers.” “But we still demand them!”

“No! Not for good, not for bad, not even forever! More like, not for long.”

“This is my lucky charm! It brings me luck!” “And you supply the charm of course?”

“Thanks, but right now the bright side is a just barely enough light side”

“You must be A, B has told us so much about you. Do you really talk to yourself in the bathtub?”

“Unbelievable, on the seventh anniversary when A was rescued from a ice flow, they're stuck on an ice flow.”

“I believe that's called: Onomatopoeia.” “No, B, that’‘s irony.”

“My cousin got struck by lightning. Twice.” “Well, what're the odds it could happen to you too?” *lightning strike* “Fairly good. It’s genetic.”

“Uh, I'd move out if i was my roommate!”

*B, obviously crying and trying to hide it* “Uh, hi A! I’m very happy to make you some happy tea! I'm so happy, happy, happy, happy!”

“Must be a bummer to send invites to your own funeral”

“Saying all bats have to fly is like saying all girls have to wear pink, and we all know that's not true”

“Oh god, he really does like A!”

“He's cute when he's pleading for his afterlife, ain't he?”

“One day she pulled the Ouija board out of the cupboard, and it fell on top of her head. may she rest in peace”

“I've been defeated by a stuffed, one of a kind sock”

“Warning, love spell may cause serious inconvenience for wearer. Side effects include: swooning, stalking, chasing, screaming, giggling and nausea.”

“Fun? FUN!? Is our near death and certain peril fun!?”

“If they can take a little break, we can take a big break!”

“We have to save our friends!” “'Friends' is such a strong word, they're really more acquaintances”

“I can't concentrate right now with all these hearts distracting me”

“...I'll just leave the costumes here and back away slowly... to the door”

“I was doing an up-do and it up... and went”

“Maybe try something not so violent and 12th century?”

“Don't mind me, I'm just pretending to be a hat rack”

“I'll put it on my list! I only have 158 things to do first”

“Life is like cheese, there may be some holes in it, and mould, and it may stink. But wow.. is it ever tasty”

“Uh- B isn’t here right now, please leave a message at the tone. Ooah!”

“You will not disarm me!” “Uh.. A bit late for that don't you think?”

“I can't play all these parts myself! well, I could but that wouldn't be fair to the actors”

“Well, maybe I can grow a beard and move to Alaska?”

“Well there is one more thing we haven’t tried” “No! You can't mean-“ “That's right. group therapy”

“Tonight we come face to face with history. Once we leave this door there's no going back.”

“That’s not a real person!”

“Something is definitely in the air.” “Well it sure isn’t love!”

“Bubonic plague?” “B, the category is 'things that taste yummy'”

“I hate surprises. last time I was surprised that pack of wolves was ruthless”

*smacking their head into the wall* “Family visits are always fun! Family visits are always fun! Family visits are always fun!”

“Gee, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! Apart from my doctor telling me I don't have rickets”

“Wow. I will never say 'hello how are you?' again in my life”

“Woah, don’t you wanna wait until we're dead before you take all our stuff?”

“You can't just tell a twister to 'behave'!”

“Godspeed, furry, grey rodent.”

“Huh, remind me to go away more often.”

“That's not an entirely awful idea, better than using paint thinner to put out a grease fire.”

“I might not know where I'm from, but I know where I belong.”

“Sure, I landed face down but it was only 40 feet, I’m fine!”

“He’s so romantic and dreamy! And I never use that word!”

“I'm laughing about it right now. Inside. if you were my pancreas you'd know what I was talking about.”

“That's why I came here, to bother no one. Because they are dead”

“The only thing I’m sure of is that we might not get out if we don’t make an effort to get out.”

“Race you to the horizon!”

“Bye moon, never change.”

“I had to fish your ribs out of the rain gutter for weeks.”

“Never a dull moment when the family comes to visit, huh?”

“That doesn’t explain why I’m suddenly Mother Nature’s new best friend!”

“But, we’re in love?”

“Sure you might be a bit waterlogged and have 17 degree burns due to the lightning, but that’s no reason to give up!”

“Welcome to: disaster camp!”

“‘Left the tap running’? You couldn’t have let them down easy?”

“What’s a gal gotta do to get a little privacy around here?”

“Just go! The pain is killing me! And I have a high threshold!”

“Hey A! I’m smiling for real!”

“Okay, I didn’t mean this much space!”

“Uh, the dead girl’s got a point there.”

“Page 378, encyclopaedias don’t lie.”

“Hmm, sounds like the cat’s rearranging the furniture again.”

“I am an ugly, horrifying creature, and I’ve got this!”

“Well, isn’t this awkward?”

“Good luck, loverboy!” “Yeah make with the ‘wooing’ or whatever.”

“No need to be awkward, it’s just acting and we’re all mature here.”

“Your secrets will always be safe with me.”

#zip it jae #ruby gloom #writing prompts #prompts #ruby gloom quotes #send me some if you want lol #also! if anyone uses one of these feel free to tag me in it! id love to see it used!!#q wanna move the next edition

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mamabear-elinor · 3 years

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THE FORGING OF BITTER BONDS

V. Five Times Sorcha Flirted with Elinor...and one time Elinor flirted back. January 1993-June 1993

[cw -- some vomiting (from illness) that’s it for this one tho woo!]

→ → → January → → → “I got you something!” Sorcha’s arm appeared in front of Elinor’s nose, her bangles jangling loudly in the library, as she wiggled the little bag with colorful tissue paper sticking out of it. She moved into Elinor’s line of sight the next moment, plopping into the chair next to her.

“We’re in a library,” Elinor protested, but she took the bag from her. Sorcha just shrugged and lounged in the seat as if she was in her living room. She had a way of looking comfortable wherever she was. Elinor was jealous of it, considering she had spent the last few months of school not wanting to get comfortable anywhere. And, besides that, didn’t know how to be comfortable. Sometimes, she felt as if she was either five years older than her peers or had somehow grown up in a different universe. Their behaviors alien, their laughter loud, their words crass. Of course, Marigold took to it like a fish to water. Elinor had always felt stiff and awkward, like there was a tattoo on her forehead that branded her as a fish out of water.

“How did you know it was my birthday?” Elinor asked suspiciously, keeping her voice low. It was the middle of the day, so there weren’t many people around. She liked to squirrel away in the darkest parts of the library, where no one could find her. A habit leftover from childhood, she suspected.

“I asked Marigold, of course. I needed to know that I was right?” Sorcha replied with a smile, her voice the same volume it always was: loud.

“Right about what?”

“Your birth chart. And I was, by the way. You’re such a Capricorn.” She flicked a page of Elinor’s book, which earned her a scowl.

“I don’t know what that means,” Elinor sniffed primly, pulling her book into her lap where it would be safe from further abuse.

“I’m a Pisces, so don’t worry. We will get along.”

Elinor didn’t know what to say to that. She blushed slightly and grabbed the bag, just for something to do. Pulling out the tissue paper, she reached in and grabbed something small, smooth. It was a keychain of a golden sun, its rays stretching outwards. The metal work was lovely and carefully crafted. Elinor knew how delicate such work would be.

“Thank you,” Elinor told her, realizing that she had not received many gifts for her birthday. A new dress from her father and mother (though, Elinor had a feeling someone else had picked it out. Considering her mother could hardly look at her.) A set of hair pins from her sister. Wool for knitting from a few of the staff at the castle. Marigold had gotten the book for her that Elinor had mentioned she wanted, but that was as personalized as gifts got. “It’s lovely.”

→ → → February → → → The weather was cold and damp. One of the worst months of the year, in Elinor’s opinion.

Of course, Sorcha did not think so. As they walked back from class, Elinor hurried along, only to notice that Sorcha was no longer next to her on the way back to the dorms. When she looked over her shoulder, she found her standing in the middle of the field, her hat off, snowflakes caught in the tight curls of her dark hair.

“Sorcha!” Elinor hissed, backtracking and stomping toward her friend through the snow.

“Let’s make snowmen!” She flopped back into the snow.

“You’re going to catch your death,” Elinor told her matter-of-factly as she came up to her and peered down at her.

“And what a glorious way to die!” Her hand, which had been moving back and forth to create her wings, reached out and grabbed Elinor’s ankle and swept it out from under her.

Elinor yelped and lifted her foot up, trying to shake Sorcha off, but she just gave a tug, knocking Elinor off balance and sending her sprawling to the ground next to Sorcha. “Hey!” Elinor gasped as the cold snow started seeping into her trousers. She shivered but she reached behind her, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it right into Sorcha’s face.

“Eghad! She fights back!” Sorcha laughed after her moment of shock wore off. She sat up so that they were facing each other, their hips nearly touching. Perhaps it was just because it was cold, but Elinor could feel the warmth of Sorcha’s body, even through her thick coat.

“Of course I do,” Elinor sniffed and couldn’t help but remember the Winter’s Ball. Of course I did. Something curled in her stomach, a tug that made her look away from Sorcha’s dark eyes, dancing with mirth. She swallowed, then stood up, brushing the snow from her clothes and holding out her gloved hand for Sorcha--whose hands were bare, because she was a bloody idiot. Sorcha let Elinor pull her to her feet, but then stayed, clutching to her hand, even as Elinor began to walk off.

When she stopped again, glancing down at their hands in confusion, Sorcha shrugged in that way she did. As if she wasn’t confined by gravity and barely staying on earth. That simple movement was an acknowledgement of how her body wanted to leave this earth. “My hands are cold.”

They walked back to the dorm hand in hand, not talking.

→ → → March → → → It’s Sorcha’s birthday this time.

“I want to spend the day with you,” Sorcha told Elinor as she laid, sprawled on Marigold and Elinor’s couch. She was looking at Elinor in that way that made her feel as if Sorcha could see exactly what Elinor was feeling.

Elinor’s arms crossed over her chest and she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Her heart felt as if it was going to beat out of her chest. The feeling made her even more nervous than Sorcha’s declaration. She wondered if she should, perhaps, stop seeing Sorcha so much. Something about her burned. After all, she was brightness incarnate, if names were to be believed.

“Aw, I think that’s so cute!” Marigold says from her spot curled up in the arm chair. “I would totally come with you but it’s the women’s rugby match and I can’t let the team down.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Elinor asked Marigold, turning desperately to her friend. “I’ve never missed a match.”

“And we’ve never won one!” Marigold laughed brightly. “Besides, Thomas is coming up from Oxford and we’re going to be spending the weekend together anyway. He will be my new lucky charm, so don’t worry about me.”

That made the clawing in Elinor’s stomach worse. “Fine. I mean--yes. I’ll go.”

“Oh, you’re the best, Ells.”

Elinor wrinkled her nose. “Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, sunshine.”

Don’t call me that either. Elinor blushed.

→ → → April → → → “You don’t look so good, sunshine,” Sorcha appeared in the mirror of the bathroom behind Elinor. She hadn’t even heard the door open, or a knock.

“Ugh, get out,” Elinor mumbled from where her face was in the toilet.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” Sorcha asked as she came and sat on the lip of the tub, leaning her elbows on her knees. Her brow was furrowed with uncharacteristic concern.

“What? No!” Elinor used the rest of her energy to shout in alarm. Just the idea of something like that. Hilarious. Laughable. Her mother would kill her. “I must’ve eaten--” her words were cut off by another bout of sickness. She heard the water running in the sink and the next moment, there was a cool cloth on the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed as she laid her cheek on the disgusting toilet seat and reached up to flush.

It had been a long time since someone had taken care of her while she was sick. Her mother had never had the stomach for it and as soon as she’d outgrown her nanny, it was up to her. Thankfully, she did not get sick often. Which she credited to her great love of the outdoors.

“Go away,” she croaked.

“And leave you to drown in chunder and toilet water? I don’t think so,” Sorcha chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I catch whatever you have, you can put a cool cloth on my neck whilst I vomit.”

“Why are you doing this?”

There was a long pause. So long that Elinor thought maybe she’d imagined saying it.

“You’re my friend.”

“Marigold and she went to stay somewhere else so she didn’t catch it.”

Sorcha didn’t say anything, she just got up from where she was sitting. “I’m going to go make you some ginger tea and then maybe we can move you to the couch and get you a pail. Maybe watch a movie.”

“Do not,” Elinor feebly protested.

“You’re lucky you look so helpless and cute right now,” Sorcha laughed at her before disappearing.

→ → → May → → → “This is so cool,” Marigold giggled as they made their way down into the basement of the art history building, dragging Elinor by her sleeve. It was dark and cold and damp. The building was old, but it was not a castle. It had been built specifically as a university and not one that was supposed to have stood for four hundred years. Which meant that the basement leaked. It smelt of mold and the cold.

They found the door that they had been directed to and stepped inside. There was not a single light except for candles that flickered off the wet walls of the little storage room. Elinor and Marigold crammed into the room, Elinor doing her best not to brush against the walls, unless she get some sort of slime on her fine wool sweater. A shiver ran down her spine and while she knew nothing nefarious had ever happened in these catacombs, she really also hoped that she wasn’t about to be part of one.

“Do you think Sorcha tricked us down here for a ritual sacrifice?”

Marigold barked a laugh, making several people turn and look at them. She did not get a chance to respond, however, for the next moment Sorcha appeared on the stage as if by magic. Her dark skin seemed to absorb the light from the candle around her, making it a warm brown, reminding Elinor of summertime, not a damp, dingy basement with grey walls and unnameable sludge.

There was a smattering of clapping, Elinor followed along, not sure what the protocol is. (If you don’t know the etiquette, follow others. Always follow. Never lead.) It wasn’t until the sound of her own clapping, loud and harsh, reached her ears that she realized everyone else had been snapping gently.

Elinor blushed, just as Sorcha’s eyes found her in the near darkness. “This poem is for my friend, who inspired it.”

Another round of snapping. Elinor did not join in. Instead, her heart was clenched in her chest.

Elinor had read all the greats of poetry, of course. Dickinson. Wordsworth. Yeats. Keats. Blake. She had, also indulged a bit in Maya Angelou. Hughes. Plath. Elinor loved poetry. She loved the stories that the lyrical words could tell.

She did not know how she felt about this poem about dark, straight hair like a river at night or pale, rosy cheeks. Noses in books. Heads in toilets. Brightness. Illumination.

When Sorcha’s poem finished, Elinor turned on her heel and fled.

→ → → June → → → Elinor was drunk.

Elinor never got drunk. Usually, at uni parties, she trailed behind Marigold to make sure she didn’t get in a fight or fall down a flight of stairs and break her neck. But Marigold was in London, visiting Thomas. Her exams had finished before Elinor’s and--Elinor didn’t want to go home. She didn’t have a sweet, handsome boyfriend to visit.

All she had was her cold castle and her cold mother to return to. Her disappointed father and her judgemental sister. The only person she missed was Dawn. And Dawn, as her mother often reminded her, was not a person.

“Hey there, sunshine.” It was Sorcha, having found her sitting on the back steps of whatever house this party was at. Elinor couldn’t remember.

“Of course you’d be here,” Elinor scoffed, gesturing at Sorcha.

Sorcha just chuckled and shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.” She sat down on the steps next to Elinor.

Elinor scowled. “You aren’t disappointing me with your--” Elinor gestured again.

“My--?” Sorcha’s eyebrows were lifted now.

“Yes, your--the way you--how do you do that?”

“Er, not sure I’m following there, sweetness.”

“Do that thing where you make it seem like nothing bothers you.”

“Nothing does bother me.”

“How is that possible, how can it not bother you? Don’t you worry? Don’t you care?”

Sorcha just glanced out into the dark. “Sure, I care. That’s not the same thing as being bothered.”

It was to Elinor. She was bothered by everything, because she cared so much. She was bothered by the roundness of Sorcha’s shoulder, like a stone. She was bothered that she wanted to touch it. Feel Sorcha’s warm skin under her fingers. That Sorcha made her feel this way. Made her feel seen, understood. Elinor didn’t even understand herself half of the time, but Sorcha just seemed to know. What she needed. When she needed it.

She turned to look at Elinor now, her chin resting on her bicep from where she’d wrapped her arms around her knees. She smiled. It was a soft smile. An inviting smile. Her lips looked smooth and inviting as they curled in the corners. Her eyes were two warm, dark pools like the lochs that Elinor had been warned about as a child. The ones she used to dip her toes in anyway, just to feel that shiver of daring.

Before she could think about it, she dove in--pressing her lips against Sorcha’s.

They were chillier than she expected and it made her draw back after just a moment, though she didn’t fully pull away. Sorcha’s breath ghosted over her lips and that was warm and tasted like honey, despite the cheap beer they’d been drinking. It was Sorcha who nudged her chin forward the second time and kissed Elinor. Her hand snaked around Elinor’s neck and drew her in.

And Elinor was right: Sorcha was warm. She warmed Elinor. All the way down to her toes as their kiss deepened. Her own fingers curled against Sorcha’s bicep as if she needed to hold on, as if Sorcha had sucked the gravity out of Elinor and made her feel weightless.

When the kiss broke, Elinor felt like rain on a window pane, like falling snow.

“I do care,” Sorcha repeated softly. “I care about you.”

#the forging of bitter bonds #five times #self para #featuring marigold harrington #featuring sorcha benjumea #heheeheuaeluselag

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graaid · 4 years

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After nearly 36 years of cold hard denial, Arthur Morgan realizes he likes men. Don't get him wrong, he likes women too, but he's been crushing over Charles since his arrival, and he wants to tell him that he likes him more as just a fellow gang member. But that requires a lot of mental effort.

(Entire fic (don’t worry it’s a oneshot) under the cut, but if you’d like to leave a comment/kudos on AO3 I’d really appreciate it!!)

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky over Clemens Point when the members of the Van Der Linde gang woke up. Lenny and Kieran were, of course, the first ones up and active, ready to prove themselves to the rest of the gang.

The smoke hadn’t even begun rising from the main campfire when Arthur got out of bed. Out of everyone in the gang, he was somehow the most and least punctual; he may show up to a robbery late, but he’ll always wake up at 6:30 am every day, even if he had gone to bed at 3 am that night. Thankfully, this early rising habit gave him the time to get his chores and other tasks done so he could have a little relaxation time later.

“G’morning Arthur, have a good night?” Charles called from his tent as he stretched and started to weave a feather into his long black hair.

“Ughhhh, as good as it’ll ever be,” Arthur groaned, hiding just the tiniest of blushes. Arthur knew he shouldn’t be so gruff with the other members of the gang, but being the no-nonsense uncle of the family had more or less become his thing over the past few years, especially with all the younger folk joining. He had been trying to cut down on the cynicism lately, but sometimes the jokes just write themselves. He figured he should probably leave the joke making to Sean, or at least the assholishness to someone like Micah.

Even though he would usually go straight to chopping wood or transporting bags of grain to Pearson’s wagon, Arthur leaned back on his bed and looked out over the camp. Strauss was nose-first in some ledger book, probably wondering where he could find his next victim to send Arthur after. Javier was tuning his guitar, no doubt readying it for another late night sing-a-long session at the campfire that evening. John was avoiding Abigail like the plague, but Arthur didn’t really blame him; it had always bothered him whenever the two of them yelled at each other. Obviously all couples fight sometimes, but the bickering had gone on so long Arthur wished he could just snap his fingers and have them become a happy couple again, if they had ever been one in the first place.

Arthur’s eyes wandered over to the tiny dock with it’s equally tiny canoe. Hosea had thought it a good idea to purchase the canoe for the camp a week or so ago, and the sight of Sean trying to stand in it and falling over comically into the lake made the purchase definitely worthwhile. It had also allowed the gang to get access to better fishing spots, which made Pearson’s stew almost edible.

That’s what I’ll do , Arthur thought, I’ll go fishing. A fish fry tonight sounds pretty good.

Getting dressed took no time at all, and walking down to the dock, making sure to give Micah an obligatory death stare was even easier. Arthur noticed John sitting on the edge of the dock, staring off into the distance, probably thinking of running off again. Probably.

“Hey John, wanna come fishin’ with me?” Arthur asked, untying the boat’s rope from the dock.

“Arthur, you know I can’t swim, right? If that little dinghy tips even a little we’re both goin’ in.”

“Then don’t tip the boat, dumbass.”

“Oh c’mon, you and I both know that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well if it does,” Arthur continued, stepping into the boat, “Your big brother Arthur will be there to drag your ass to shore.”

John rolled his eyes, sighed dramatically and stepped in the boat, shakily sitting down on one of the planks. “Fine, but if we tip… I’m allowed to look at your journal.”

“If we tip there won’t be much of a journal to look through,” Arthur chuckled, patting his back pants pocket.

Arthur, sitting in the back, pushed off from the dock and started rowing out towards one of the small islands not too far from Clemen’s Point. He’d been affectionately calling it “Bird Island”, on account of all the ducks and ravens that populated it. It was a good spot to think on any other day, but not when bringing John along.

“So Arthur, you did remember to bring bait, right?” John asked, trying not to turn around in the boat too fast, since he really honestly did not know how to swim.

“Nah, bait’s for rich folk, we’re using lures,” Arthur remarked, “Plus, it’s easier to see the shiny, pretty lures than some dumb worm.”

“You sound like a crow, Arthur.”

“Oh shut up,” Arthur replied with a hidden smirk, splashing some water with his paddle in John’s direction.

“Hey no fair, I can’t get you back there!”

“Then jump in the water and get me yourself, coward.”

Arthur didn’t need to see John’s face to know his friend was giving him the dirtiest glare. Thankfully before any revenge could be plotted, they pulled up to Bird Island.

“Alright, here we are, pick a spot and get comfy, we’re gonna be here a while.”

John grumbled in agreement and pulled a downed log to the beach so he could sit on it.

The two of them cast their lines into the water and began the waiting game, slowly reeling their lures back to the beach in hopes of catching some perch or trout.

As Arthur had imagined, John had somehow scared away all the fish. He didn’t know how, but he assumed it was something about his aura, or whatever Hosea called it, that just made it impossible to catch anything.

By the time it was noon, the two of them had only caught about 3 fish in total. Arthur didn’t especially mind though, he enjoyed days when he wasn’t robbing banks and killing innocent folk. He enjoyed his personal self-care days more, but he knew he should take what he can get.

Even from far away on this tiny island, Arthur could see some of the other gang members back on Clemens Point. He could easily make out Sean’s bright red hair as he chased after who must’ve been Mary-Beth around Pearson’s wagon, no doubt on another mission to woo her. Scanning over the edge of camp, he also spotted Charles chopping wood. Normally this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary, but Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off of the fact that Charles happened to be chopping wood shirtless. Which he normally never does. Arthur suddenly wished he hadn’t asked John to come fishing. He couldn’t make out anything specific, but he had seen Charles shirtless once and the guy was built like a brick wall. He’d seen him knock a man out in one punch before, and the witnessing of it both scared him and made him feel just a little constricted by his pants.

Arthur must’ve been lost in thought longer than he imagined, because before he knew it, John was kicking sand at him, yelling that he had a fish on his line.

Arthur quickly diverted his attention back to his line, reeling it in and trying not to glance back over at Charles. Eventually he pulled in a 5 pound trout, so at least that came of something.

“Hey Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve never been married, right?”

Arthur laughed, “God no, John. This life ain’t really one that allows for much marrying and settling down.”

“But you’ve had… relationships before, right?”

Arthur reeled back his line and sat down next to John on the log. “Is there something you want to talk to me about, Marston?”

John scooted over a bit to give Arthur more room on the log and reeled his line back in as well.

“I… I don’t know Arthur,” John started, “It’s just that, like, I know Abigail and I have been fighting pretty much since we met, it’s just… I thought we would’ve figured it out by now, even just for the sake of Jack, but it just seems to be getting worse every damn day!”

Arthur grimaced. Relationship trouble was never his strong point, but he’d at least try for the sake of his friend.

“Well, you have tried talkin’ it out, right?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah of course,” John continued, “It just never seems to be the right time to talk. We’re just always doing something else, and when we do have free time to talk it just… never feels right, or we just don’t agree.”

“Oh c’mon, you must agree on something.”

“Yeah, that I’m a miserable no-good deadbeat dad.” John chuckled, resting his head in one of his hands.

Arthur sighed and looked out over the water. He knew John didn’t really mean that, even if Abigail’s point had some validity. It’s hard having a relationship in a life like this, you never know if the person you love is going to return that night. It must weigh pretty heavily on Abigail every time John goes out, not knowing whether to tell their son now or later that his daddy might not ever come back.

“Y’know John, I think I have the opposite problem from you,” Arthur observed, “You’ve got someone who cares too much about you, while I’ve got someone who I’m not even sure cares about me.”

John picked his head up from his hands. “You do? You mean that Mary girl?”

Arthur chuckled and looked back at camp where he spotted Charles, unsurprisingly hard at work, “No, this one’s a little different.”

“Is it one of the girls in camp? You know I’d support you but you are a bit… old compared to them.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Close, but no.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Arthur could tell John was really thinking hard.

“Jesus, Marston, I know I’m dumb but you’re really pushing the bar. It’s Charles, okay? Don’t think too much harder, you’ll break somethin’.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Charles, like the one working with us?” John hesitantly asked.

Arthur’s silence told John all he needed to know.

“Huh,” John began, “I uh… never thought you, y’know, swung that way.”

“Me either,” Arthur admitted, taking a drink from his water flask, “But it took me nearly 36 years to figure it out, so don’t go telling me it’s fake or nothing. I did like all those girls I dated, but I just never really clicked with them, I suppose.”

John chuckled. “Well I guess it makes sense you’re the way you are. You probably rubbed off on me, certainly explains the eyes I’ve been making at Javier lately.”

Arthur almost choked on his water. “Say that again cowboy, you’ve been WHAT at Javier?”

John picked up a stick and began drawing in the sand with it. “Eh, it’s nothing really, Arthur, nothing really at all, it's just that… sometimes when Abigail and I fight I just want to run away with someone new, y’know?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Arthur smirked, wrapping his arm around John’s shoulder, “I ain’t gonna let you run out on us again, you’d find me cold in the ground first!”

John beamed back one of his rare sunshine-y smiles. “Aww, I guess big old tough Arthur Morgan actually does have a heart inside afterall!”

“Don’t push your luck, kid,” Arthur replied, standing up to cast his line out again, “You ever gonna tell Javier how you feel?”

“You gonna ever tell Charles how you feel?”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Hey, maybe Charles can give you a little pain in the ass, if you know what I m-”

“Marston you shut your trap before I drown you myself!” Arthur half-jokingly reprimanded, kicking some sand at his adopted brother.

A bit of time passed. Arthur happened to catch 4 more perch, and John devoted the rest of their time on the island to picking some herbs and flowers, knowing that his skills as a fisherman were almost completely useless.

By the time the sun was going down, John returned with a bundle of burdock root and purple flowers.

“Hey uh, Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“Are you ever uh, gonna actually tell Charles or anyone else at camp how you feel?”

Arthur sighed and packed up his fishing pole. “Probably not. It took most of my effort just now to tell you because I knew I could trust you, so you’d imagine what it’d be like to tell someone like Micah, let alone Dutch and Hosea.”

“Aren’t Hosea and Dutch together?” John asked, packing his herbs and flowers into the boat.

“Haha, very funny Marston, they’re just good friends, they’ve been that way for a long time. I would’ve thought you would know that.”

“Well that’s certainly strange, I never knew “good friends” kissed each other on the mouth.”

Arthur stopped what he was doing. “Dutch and Hosea? They’re a… a thing? I thought Dutch and Molly… Hold on a second…”

John wholeheartedly laughed. “Jesus, Arthur, I thought I was slow to get things but I think you just broke the world record for ‘slowest time a man’s taken to figure out his adopted fathers are homosexuals’. All those smart reflexes went to your Deadeye skills instead, huh?”

“Alright now I’m going to drown you in your sleep instead.”

“I’d like to see you try,” John beamed, hopping into the boat, almost tipping it over, “Plus, if you kill me now, who’s gonna help you kick Micah’s ass when you come out to everyone?”

Arthur turned his head away so John couldn’t see his smile. “Let’s just get back to camp first and give these fish to Pearson. I’m almost terrified to see what he does with them.”

Arthur and John rowed back to Clemen’s Point with minimal water damage to their clothing, at least on accident. John, apparently moved by Arthur’s mini-therapy session, made a beeline to Abigail and gave her the bouquet of purple flowers he had picked. Arthur could see her blush all the way from the dock.

“Had fun on your fishing trip, Arthur? I’m surprised you convinced John to come out with you on the water.” Hosea, sitting under a tree, book in hand, called out to Arthur as he made his way to Pearson’s wagon.

“Yeahhhh it was alright; John and I got to talkin’ about some stuff, and we caught some pretty good fish, so expect them in the stew a few weeks from now.”

Hosea grimaced, scrunching his nose. “Can’t wait for Pearson to overcook them too. Oh well, at least we’ll have something to eat.”

Arthur cracked a smile and sat down next to his adopted father under the tree.

“Hey Hosea?”

“Hm?”

“Are you and Dutch, y’know…?” Arthur asked, making a lot of vaguely suggestive motions with his hands, none of which Hosea could gather meant anything literally, but he understood what Arthur was getting at.

“Heh, well I was sure it was going to come out at some point,” Hosea said, closing his book and resting it on his lap, “Yes, Arthur, the two men who have raised you since you were 13 are indeed romantically involved with each other.”

Arthur leaned back on the tree. “Huh, I guess it makes sense. I just… I just wanted to make sure Marston wasn’t lying ta’ me again, y’know?”

Hosea chuckled, brushing his gray hair back into its place. “Oh don’t you worry Arthur, John doesn’t need to lie; and I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m surprised it took you this long to catch on.”

“Eh, well, I’ve got my mind on other things, I guess.”

“Oh? Do you need to talk about something?”

“Not really,” Arthur began, “I mean… it’s just that…”

Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s okay son, take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Arthur felt a tear well up in his eye. Between his two adopted fathers, Hosea had always been the one that Arthur knew he could come to with his non-outlaw related problems. Maybe it was his calm, almost flamboyant mannerisms, but it made Arthur, and he was sure plenty of the other members of the gang too, feel like you could trust him like a father.

“I… I’ve been thinkin’. About… things…”

“What kind of things?”

“Well, love things, I guess. ‘Cause I mean… I’m getting up in years, and I look at people like John with Abigail and Jack, and you and Dutch, and I just keep wonderin’ when I’m gonna meet someone, y’know?”

“Ah, those kinds of problems,” Hosea mused, scratching his chin, “I remember being your age and thinking the same things. Even when I was with Bessie I was thinking those same things. It’s hard to know when you’ve found ‘The One’, Arthur. I loved Bessie, I really did, and I thought she was my One for a long time, but there’s something about Dutch that I just clicked with all those years ago that I could never get enough of. So now I’m here, with the rest of ya’ trying to make sure you all don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Arthur nodded his head and started drawing in the dirt with a twig.

“But that’s enough about my sordid old past,” Hosea continued, “Is there something that’s happened that made you think about all this?”

“Well yeah, I told you, I’m getting up there in age and-”

“No, I heard that Arthur, I mean is there someone you’ve met that’s made you feel this way?”

There was a brief moment of silence. “Yes.” Arthur muttered.

“Do I know them?”

“Mhm.”

“It isn’t John, is it? I know you two are pretty close, but I’m not sure how… close.”

“What? God no, Hosea, it’s not like that,” Arthur proclaimed, looking around to make sure no one was listening in, “It’s… Charles. Charles, like the one we work with, the one over there.”

Arthur pointed over to where Charles and some of the rest of the gang were hanging around the main campfire. It had become dusk by now, and the gentle orange light from the fire made Charles’s dark skin look like it was glowing.

“Hm I see,” noted Hosea, “Have you told him how you feel?”

Arthur snickered, “Y’know, John asked me the same question earlier. I didn’t even know you and Dutch were together, so no, I haven’t.”

“Well whenever you want to, I’ll be behind you.”

“Thanks… dad.”

“Oh come now Arthur, you don’t have to get all mushy on me, just be confident and speak from the heart and you’ll have no trouble at all.”

Arthur sighed. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll try to remember that.”

The rest of the evening passed normally. Pearson served everyone stew for the Nth time in a row and Uncle roused everyone’s spirits with another vaguely sexual song as they sat around the firepit. Charles was too invested in his dinner to see Arthur shooting glances at him. Arthur knew he didn’t have to tell Charles how he felt, but the constant burying of his emotions was beginning to drive him insane.

Arthur began thinking about ways he could confess his feelings. He could always ask Charles to go hunting with him, but it’d probably be a bit awkward to profess your undying love next to the corpse of a recently deceased deer, so Arthur scrapped that one. He could always just invite him to his tent and tell him there, but then Strauss, who’s tent was right next to his, would definitely hear them.

By the time Arthur came to a conclusion, everyone had settled down and were now just enjoying each other’s company around the fire. Even old Uncle, who was usually the first to a song, was silently leaning back on the grass, already half-finished with his second bottle of whiskey. Nearly everyone was there, and the thought of coming out to that many people at once frightened him, but Arthur knew he just needed to get it over and done with, then everything would be better, right?

Arthur set his mostly empty bowl down on the grass, stood up, and cleared his voice.

“Uh, everyone, I have a, uh, announcement to make.”

“You’re pregnant?” Joked Sean from the other side of the fire, causing a few giggles to be heard.

“Haha very funny Sean,” Arthur continued, rubbing his hands together, “But this is important. It’s, uh, something that I’ve been thinkin’ on for some time now, and I felt like I needed to get it off my chest.”

“Arthur, my boy,” came Dutch’s voice from behind as he sat down on the log next to his adopted son, “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“No! No, god no, it’s not anything like that. I just… I just… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Well then just say it as simply as you can then,” Lenny piped up from next to Sean, “That usually works best for me.”

There was a short pause.

Arthur took a deep breath. “I…well… I like… men.”

The pause after Arthur spoke might’ve only been a few seconds, but to Arthur it felt like years. His eyes kept bouncing around to the other gang members, trying to read their expressions before they spoke. His eyes eventually fell on Charles, who’s expression hadn’t changed since Arthur’s announcement, although it might’ve been his imagination, but he could swear there was the faintest twinkle in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, the silence was broken.

“Same.” Came Bill’s hoarse but quiet voice as he took another swig of his drink. There seemed to be a collective sigh from the group.

“Jesus Arthur, I thought you was going to tell us that you were dyin’ or somethang.” Said Sean.

Arthur chuckled timidly. “Nah, you’re gonna have to wait plenty more years before you see me go down.”

“Well that’s good, son,” Came Dutch’s warm voice again, “I’m glad you got that off your chest.”

Arthur chuckled again, this time with a bit more confidence. “I mean,” he continued, “I like women too, I just wanted to say this ‘cause I didn’t want y’all to make a big fuss if you ever see me bein’ sweet on another man, y’know?”

There were lighthearted chuckles around the fire. It was pretty obvious that this whole situation was really awkward for everyone involved, but Arthur could tell that they were all at least trying to be supportive, so he sat back down and took a few more deep breaths.

Some time passed and most of the people around the fire had left to go to bed. Arthur had been feeling a lot more relaxed, now that his big secret was out, but at the same time he knew that once Micah heard about it there’d be a whole new line of harassment coming Arthur’s way. Arthur hoped that maybe, just maybe, if Micah was being an asshole to him about this issue now, that Dutch may finally come to his senses and kick the bastard out of the gang. But getting Dutch to go back on his word was like trying to tell a bird not to fly, so Arthur didn’t get his hopes up too much.

Soon enough it was nearly 2 am, and everyone figured that they may as well go to bed. As Arthur was settling down, he heard Dutch’s voice half-whisper from his tent.

“So uh, Arthur, about what you announced at the fire tonight…”

“Yeah, Dutch?”

“You mentioned bein’ sweet on a man. You found someone?”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up fast and consciously moved his head so Dutch couldn’t see.

“No. I was just, uh, sayin’... like in the future, y’know?”

Arthur heard Dutch chuckle to himself. “Y’know Arthur, considering all the time you spend with Hosea I would’ve thought you’d be better at lying. I won’t press it though; take your time, I certainly took mine.”

Arthur heard Dutch’s tent close and breathed a sigh of relief. Coming out to everyone about his attraction to men was already a lot, coming out about which specific man he liked was just a little too much for one evening.

That night Arthur dreamed that he was looking down on three houses facing each other in a wide, open field of grass and lavender. Off to the side of the houses was a field of plants and other herbs and a small wooden chicken coop. There was a big lake not too far away with a dock and a large fishing boat. It reminded him of the area near Big Valley. Sitting on the porch of one of the houses was Dutch and Hosea in twin rocking chairs, Dutch just basking in the sun and Hosea nose deep in some book. Even from Arthur’s far away point of view, he could see a glass of something cold in Dutch’s hand. It was nice to see his fathers relaxing as opposed to what they usually have to deal with.

Sitting on the porch of the second house was John and Abigail. Abigail seemed to be showing John how to sew, who must’ve been doing a spectacularly bad job beforehand. Jack was there too; he was chasing some big golden dog around the field, throwing a big stick for the pet to catch and bring back. All three of them were smiling and laughing at some unheard joke. Arthur felt happy for them, and he wished he could be like them. Maybe someday.

Arthur looked to the porch of the third house and saw no one there. He came closer, and to his surprise, there was a tiny carving of a deer standing at the top of the steps. Next to it was a same sized carving of a wolf. Arthur felt a strange pull to the carving of the deer and he reached down to pick it up. As he did so, he saw a hand out of the corner of his eye pick up the wolf carving. As he stood back up with the deer in his hands, he saw that it was Charles who had picked up the wooden wolf. The two men were standing mere inches apart, eyes locked on each other. Arthur so desperately wanted to kiss Charles, even if this one was just a figment of an overactive and horny imagination. But instead of a kiss, Charles took Arthur’s free hand, led him up the steps of the house to the porch, and sat him down on a large wooden chair next to his own. Neither Charles nor Arthur spoke a word to each other, but the feeling of Charles’s large, warm hand on Arthur’s own as they sat and looked out over the lake together as the cool air wafted past them made Arthur feel an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time: contentedness. The feeling was so comforting he even forgot that this was all a dreamed-up fantasy. Arthur wished he could skip having to tell Charles that he liked him and just go straight ahead to this perfect moment. But Arthur knew that he’d just have to get it over with, like with his coming out. But thankfully now, with the thought of (just) about everyone behind him, he knew he could do it.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr1 #charthur #vandermatthews #arthur morgan #arthur rdr2 #charles smith #lgbt #graaidart #but writing this time #writing #hosea matthews #Dutch Van Der Linde #fanfiction #fanfic #trans #transgender

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assassinscreed-photomode · 4 years

Text

softish Spoilers for the final final chapter (Hunting Alfred)

😭

long, sorry. also I have an identity crisis at the end. Fuck england

Gods I hate that final final hunting king Aelfred quest, erasing that from my memory in 3 2 1...nope, everyone was just horribly injured, but survived and they all got everything they wanted, and lived full happy lives until the end of their days! Woo fiction!

Seriously, my delicate heart can’t take the whole trope of bringing in all these wonderful fantastic characters only for them to be used as pawns to sacrifice in the final chapters for the emotions.

I actually ended up skipping through a number of death scenes and similar because I was so desperate to get to the end. I don’t even know for sure how many of the characters died lmao......It really draws you in with those first few chapters, oh look how fun and interesting everyone is, here's a low stakes saga to get you started and then BAM dead dead dead.

I don’t know what it is.

I think because this game is set in my country, one that I have a complicated relationship with. Many of the regions I know and love, places I have not been able to go to or anywhere this year due to covid, I found myself feeling deeply emotional in regard to certain visual and regional aspects of it, and then that high emotional state would transfer onto the characters and story. It mainly manifested in me having deep deep empathy for our Eivor, so much that I felt I was hurting on her behalf. Especially in regards to Sigurd, all those visions, the shit that went down in Norway like girl ARE YOU OK? Someone hug her, please.

There were times I was playing this where I genuinely felt distressed and anxious on behalf of Eivor, mainly in regards to Sigurd’s sudden anger after Suthsexe, but that's a whole other thing. I tried to be perfect around him so he wouldn’t shout at me, which obviously didn’t work. which is literally what I learnt to do as a small child and have been working through now I’m an adult. Did Sigurd fuck with my mental health progress? Omg that’s kinda amazing lol. (though it did work out with him returning to Ravensthorpe with me because I didnt fck his wife and punch him in the face, so lesson.....learnt???)

AC games can be stressful because they chronicle somebody’s whole life from start to finish, and that can feel like a lot of pressure when you are playing through the game and growing very found of the character you are using.

It’s also a bittersweet ending because you know that historically.................y’know with Alfred and the Danes, it’s no fairy tale. Its a shitshow, the danes do not conquer england or leave, they slowly lost more and more land over the century and their culture just blurred in with all the others

That SHIT IS NOT OVER.

England’s history is so so ugly. I’m talking England specifically, not Britain. It’s hideous, truly. There has not been one age in England that hasn't be fraught, fractured and rotting. From when the Romans showed up and started killing off and kicking out the indigenous celtic people, to god damn last week.

Like, as an english person who has roots and ancestors deep in these regions from as far back as my family can tell, who am I meant to be rooting for in this story? Who are me? The Saxons? They shot up from germanic regions a few hundred years before, are they my people? The Vikings? Danes the like invaded and took the land, for...reasons? I suppose? I mean, I did grow up in a town names for a viking raid of the monastery there...?

Should I root for the celtic britons? Don’t get me wrong Rhodri was evil, but is he my people?

By the time england became england, where there any celts still there? All kicked out of killed off by invading forces. Should I be rooting for the Picts from Scotland and the Pagans from the West Country? Indigenous Celts, who stick out and stand out in Valhalla’s England but were once the only people there, do they count as me? Or whatever is left of Roman descendants? Am I all of them? Centuries later the French took over, sort of. It was all mixed together at that point, genetically, culturally.

What does it even mean to be english? It’s like an ancient version of america. We all came from somewhere else, or left. What counts as being from somewhere?

I mean, I kind of knew this history before, but this game has really cemented in me just how fucked up the concept of england is. The last 5 years or so, politically, has made me resent and hate england in many ways. Not britain, england. I couldn’t imagine myself loving it ever again. But I think I do, I think I understand what it is now, more than I did before.

A mish mash of fractured ancient cultures clashing together trying to resemble a country. Its a wound that may never truly heal, but that is what makes it different from its celtic neighbours . NOT BETTER but it just had a different and very ugly start in life. I always joke about needing to move to scotland, to escape. But I know I never will, I’ve always known. I can’t do it. When Ivarr was talking about Ubba in that drinking scene, saying he disagrees with what Ubba is doing and what his goals are but he CAN’T leave him, he’s his brother. Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel about this stupid ancient busted up land.

I just want Eivor to be happy. I’m reminded of an amazing post I saw here on tumbler years ago, it went something like: I feel like a lot of people fail to realise that for some, loving fictional characters is the closest thing they have to loving themselves. Self love, self compassion, it can be so, so hard. So when you see someone else on screen, someone you can relate to, you pour your heart and soul into loving them. You want to protect them and give them all the love you can’t quite convince yourself you deserve. And by doing that, maybe just maybe, they can bring you one step closer to loving yourself.

I feel like I’ve been trampled by a fucking horse. This started out as a joke post about head canons and turned into me delving into my life long relationship with national identity. All I’m going to do in Valhalla now is fish.

Wow, successful therapy session, thanks all

._.

#WHY DO I PLAY ASSASSINS CREED #It just fucking hurts #lol #I never learn #I should have known it was gonna hurt when they kept introducing #such lovely lovely characters #Assassin's Creed #valhalla #eivor #assassins creed #assassins creed valhalla #assassins creed spoilers #valhalla spoilers #female eivor #asscreed

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enby-hawke · 4 years

Photo

Chapter 6 Summary: Malcolm and Leandra finally have the night to themselves or do they.

Warnings: Racism, Mageism, Gamlen’s an asshole, and songs

Word Count:10,037

A03:

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Malcolm was nervous, gut-nervous, like he’d just come from a Fade jump and his stomach was still doing all the roller coaster flips, threatening to empty out his hard-earned dinner. It didn’t help that the mountains of half-eaten food piled in the dumpsters were starting to turn along with the pungent aroma of the fish stew that gave the alley a rather wet smell. He couldn’t help but feel that this was a terrible place to meet Leandra. This held none of the grandeur of the Palace, the walls defaced with graffiti that had yet to be painted over. And since no one important usually came back here, they wouldn’t bother to for a while. The dumpsters were leaking what Malcolm hoped was just leftover soup, still dripping and draining down the gutter into the sewers below. Hardly romantic.

As the minutes dragged on he made wet tracks into haphazard circles as he found new anxieties that weren’t there before, seeds of doubt cracking into his confidence. What if he was not worthy of her? It wasn’t that he was an elf, though that difference did come to the forefront of his mind often, but what could he possibly offer her to sway her from the lover that already claimed her. He was a mage in the Circle, which meant he had no means to provide for her. He couldn’t compete with the wealth of a billionaire, couldn’t take her to the finest restaurants in Kirkwall to sample cuisines from far lands, couldn’t woo her with expensive gifts like bouquets or beautiful jewelry. He couldn’t even afford the suit the Circle loaned him. Would this night be all he had? Would she have her fun with him and go back to her wealthy fiance, and live her charmed life, and leave him with a broken heart?

And she would break him. He could feel it. He would spend the rest of his days aching for a taste of her lips. His hand clenched and unclenched, feeling so empty without her hand. He clenched it once more and punched the wall, the pain of the brick against his knuckles enough to shock him back to his senses. “You are not a coward!” he growled at himself.

But the seed of doubt rooted deeper. What if this is all she wants from him? A good time. A new experience. What if she didn’t see him as a man willing to love her but some plaything?

The door opened behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t say he jumped, but his feet definitely left the pavement. He straightened himself out to hear the alley suddenly echoing with a bounding argument broiling between Leandra and another man who looked similar to her in the way their scowls matched, but his eyes were not starry black but a shocking blue against his tawny beige skin.

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea. Now let’s go home before we’re caught.”

Leandra snarled, her face more akin to a warrior than a prim noblewoman. “Oh, please, you’re lecturing me?” she snapped her hand back from his muscled grip. “I thought you’d be more supportive considering all the times I’ve covered for you and Mara.”

Another woman in a red dress the same color as the man’s suit followed close behind, trying to keep the two of them apart, but it wasn’t working. Her cat eyes were pulled in a glare as she stayed close to Leandra’s heel. “Gamlen, for Maker’s sake give it a rest.”

Malcolm didn’t know who this man was to Leandra, but he didn’t like how handsy he was being, jerking her arm this way and that in forceful attempts to get her to follow, and Malcolm’s temper quickly snapped as he raced forward to defend Leandra.

“Hey, what’s your problem, asshole?” He balled his fists, rolling up his sleeves as he glowered up to the taller man, knowing he couldn’t use magic but he reckoned he could bet his Ferelden pride he could throw a better punch than a prissy Kirkwall nobleman.

The man looked down at the shorter elf’s stature and snorted, utterly unimpressed as if a kid had challenged him. “Run off, rabbit, this doesn’t concern you.”

Malcolm snarled ready to swing but Leandra instinctively put herself as a shield between the two men, “Malcolm, wait!”

Malcolm pulled himself back from the momentum, almost tripping over himself as he tried to veer direction. He was dazed in that moment, off-balance first by the sudden realization that this was the very first time she had ever said his name. He was so puzzled about how she even managed to remember it with dream fog he almost didn’t realize Carver had just walked through the door and had witnessed most of the exchange.

Carver walked up to Malcolm and pulled him back with force so Leandra, the man and he were now a good distance apart. “What are you doing starting fights?”

“Did I start a fight?” Malcolm shook himself back to reality, a new glare settling at the man who was holding Leandra’s wrist hostage. “Or did he?”

“Yeah, Gamlen, what’s your fucking problem?” the woman marched up beside Leandra as if to protect her.

Malcolm was about to say something else when Carver slapped the back of Malcolm’s head, not hard enough to hurt but the metal of his gauntlet still made a satisfying thwack. “Use your head. This is not some Circle brawl where you’ll get detention. Assaulting a nobleman has real consequences, Malcolm.”

The pushy man made a satisfied smirk at being defended, before it quickly dropped. “Wait, this is Malcolm?”

Malcolm’s ears twitched, not liking the accusatory way he used his name.

Leandra looked at the man as if she was pleading him not to say whatever was about to come out but still he just gawked at Leandra as he pointed at Malcolm with the force of a smack. “Are you kidding me? He’s an elf!? Are you trying to kill Mom and Dad?”

And there it was, the metaphorical elephant in the room that had plagued Malcolm’s thoughts had been spoken aloud and was staring him in the face. So this man was her brother. How unfortunate. He could see the resemblance now in the shape of their eyes and flat of their noses, and Malcolm suddenly felt self-conscious. Already her family disapproved of him, and he didn’t realize how badly he wanted their approval until now, but he knew how ridiculous it was to even have the expectation. He knew the raw ugly truth about how people would look at their relationship, but he wasn’t looking at her brother’s grimace, but at Leandra.

Her shoulders snapped back as her fury exploded like cannon. “When did you ever care what Mom and Dad think!?”

The other woman also didn’t look pleased with Gamlen’s confession. “Did you forget my grandfather is an elf?”

“Mara…” Gamlen sputtered. “It’s not the same. That’s your grandfather. You’re practically human.”

Mara’s smile turned chilly as she cocked her head at the statement, squinting her eyes. “Am I?”

The man sputtered again as Malcolm crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels thoroughly enjoying himself now. The man seemed to understand that this was the wrong answer but from the look of his face everyone could tell he was confused about why. “I mean…it’s not only that. He’s a mage, too.”

“And we have family that are mages,” Leandra countered.

His head was turtling into his shoulders as the two women stared him down with equally withering glares, but still Gamlen pleaded at them to listen. “Think this through, Leandra. You’re practically married. Do I have to remind you tonight was literally your Betrothal Ball. Think of how selfish you’re being.”

Leandra was tiny for a human woman but she had the ferocity of a warrior when she was angry, and it spilled out in a gushing tsunami at the accusation of being selfish. She shoved the other man off of her. “I supported you!” she cried and then shoved again, “had your back against mom and dad at every turn, and now I’m supposed to self-sacrifice and play good child so you can do whatever you want?” Gamlen balked at every shove, not expecting Leandra to fight back so fiercely, and he held her wrists as she attempted to hit him in the face but she was much too short to get a good swing so she started jabbing her heels into his legs. “When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy?”

Malcolm covered his mouth in amusement as the tiny woman beat back her brother with shorthanded swipes looking oddly like a housecat trying to beat back a confused crocodile. Her temper was beautiful, like the oncoming rage of a storm, leaving him in awe of her.

At the sound of Malcolm’s laughter she dropped her shoulders suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” Malcolm grinned at her. “I’m enjoying the show.”

She looked at Malcolm with wide eyes suddenly uncertain and shy and she tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone behind her ear, trying to look prim again.

Malcolm was disappointed. He would have liked to see at least one more kick.

“I like Malcolm,” she announced, not quite able to meet Malcolm’s gaze though her voice remained steady.

Malcolm blinked a couple of times unsure he had heard right, but then she marched up to Malcolm and picked up his freckled hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I want to explore what that this means,” then she glared back at her brother over her shoulder. “So can you kindly butt out?”

Malcolm didn’t mean for a laugh to escape. Maybe he was relieved to hear her say that. Maybe it was because that furious expression didn’t quite match her soft personality. And then her anger softened into a shy smile when he squeezed her hand in silent thanks, her whole demeanor suddenly demure again.

Malcolm could see the man confused, as if he didn’t expect her to take such a strong stand.

Leandra ignored her brother, her attention only on Malcolm. “I’m so sorry. I hope my idiot brother didn’t spoil our night.”

The smile that was already on his lips pulled wider. Our night.

She then glared at her brother. “He won’t join us.”

“Fine!” Gamlen barked. He snapped his fingers. “Mara, we’re leaving.”

Mara snorted. “You sure? Cause I think I’m going with Leandra, tonight.”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an edge of possessiveness. “Mara, we’re publicly together now. I know we don’t always agree but you’re supposed to be on my side, not Leandra’s.”

Mara laughed which seemed to confuse Gamlen and she took Leandra’s other arm and wrapped herself around her. “You’re just my boyfriend. Leandra’s my best friend. Get the hierarchy?”

Leandra looked utterly disappointed in Gamlen. “Need a shovel for the hole you’re digging?”

This time Carver joined Malcolm’s laughter. He had been standing silent the whole time, making sure Malcolm’s temper didn’t get away with him again, and he didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he met Malcolm’s gaze. “She’s a keeper,” Carver nodded approvingly, earning a pleased but flustered blush from Leandra.

Gamlen turned his scrutiny on Carver. “Aren’t you a templar? What are you doing letting this mage off his leash?”

Malcolm bristled at that, but Carver just placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a squeeze reminding him to behave. Still, it was a friendly enough gesture that Gamlen seemed uneasy by it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this dynamic. “It may be a long leash, but believe me, there’s still a leash.”

Malcolm grunted at that, hating how true his words were, but Carver continued, “I know you have your doubts about mages, and I know fully the dangers that magic can bring, but Malcolm has opened my eyes many times to the wonders magic can bring.” He let his hand drop from Malcolm’s shoulder but didn’t lower his proud gaze. “He is a good man, a better man than many who serve under me and I’m proud to call him a friend.”

He had never heard Carver talk about him in such a way so to hear him come to his defense made him swallow a lump that suddenly crept up his throat like a frog, but it was apparent that Carver’s pretty words were not swaying Gamlen, though he looked like he was losing some of the fight out of him once he realized that he had no ally to turn to. So he resulted in sulking, hunching his shoulders and jutting out his lip which made him look like a mannish baby. “This is still a bad idea.”

Leandra nodded. “Noted. And ignored.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Gamlen argued. “If only because someone needs to watch out for you tonight. He’s clearly got you under some sort of spell.”

Malcolm’s shoulders raised at the accusation. Gamlen was glaring at their intertwined hands with a sneer he couldn’t contain like she was touching a dirty animal. He was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming feeling like he would taint Leandra. Stories about how mages seduced their lovers by altering their minds with blood magic or how elven men tricked and stole the innocence of naive human women recounted in his head and though he thought he would have some sort of reply to that he found the words caught in his throat. Instead he held back a tremble as he struggled not to act on his temper and punch the man senseless, only to prove that he didn’t need a spell to rub that sneer off his face. But then even that was a trap, for it would only prove that he was uncivilized as the humans claimed elves to be even if humans never seemed to show much civilization.

There was no way he’d last the night.

Leandra glared. “As if! You’re being a real ass.”

“Well, how are you going to stop me?” the man’s voice took on a childish challenging tone as he dug in his heels.

Leandra groaned, knowing her stubborn brother wouldn’t take no for an answer. What brought on this bought of overbearing protectiveness she didn’t know, but she wanted to spend the night getting to know Malcolm, not bickering with her little brother.

“Fine, but if you say anymore idiotic things to Malcolm I won’t hesitate to knee you in the balls,” she huffed as she started dragging Malcolm and Mara around her annoying brother. “And you're taking your own cab!” she added with a snap.

They started marching out of the alleyway and out into the street where they found that the place was swarming with Guard and Templar cars in flashing red white and blue lights bathing the streets in headlights so that they all seemed exposed and Leandra froze at the thought of suddenly being caught and marched back to her parents.

“Follow me,” Carver spoke from behind them, and then marched past them as if there was nothing amiss about what they were doing.

Leandra dropped Malcolm’s hand and put some distance between them at the sight of the crowd that clearly saw them. Malcolm’s stomach dropped in disappointment. Though he knew an elf and a human holding hands would only invite more stares it didn’t keep his heart from aching, wishing just for a moment that he was human so that she wouldn’t let go.

The templars and guards glided around them without notice all seeming to have their own agendas and orders to carry out. There were news vans swarming the front of the Palace trying to make sense of what was happening and they took great care not to get in their line of sight.

Malcolm had a sinking feeling as he followed Carver, thinking that he’d return to his duties and let him have some peace with Leandra. Well, he and Leandra’s friend, who invited herself, but he knew the hierarchy. As they approached an armored vehicle with reinforced wheels and a red Chantry sun impaled a sword, the symbol of the templars, Malcolm realized another was joining the night. It seemed his leash was shorter than he thought, tonight.

Carver opened the door gesturing for the ladies to go in with a respectful bow.

Mara’s eyes gleamed in mischief as she inspected the back of the templar’s car, the armored barriers seeming more fit to housing dangerous apostates than escorting Kirkwall nobility. “Are we in trouble, Officer?”

Carver’s eyes crinkled in a smile but his face remained neutral. “Simply making sure you all get home safely.”

Mara bounced into the backseat. “This standard?”

“Perfectly,” Carver allowed a small smile.

Leandra, too jittery with all the people about quickly ducked behind Mara without a word, grateful to be out of sight.

Carver blocked Gamlen’s push forward so Malcolm could snag the seat next to Leandra and shut the door behind him.

Gamlen scowled, trying to look intimidating but Carver had a few inches in him and was in full armor and gear and didn’t bother to even look in Gamlen’s direction as he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Gamlen tried to get into the passenger’s seat but he found that it had been locked. Gamlen pounded on the tinted window demanding to be let in.

Carver rolled down the window only enough so Gamlen could hear him say, “I thought the lady told you to get your own cab.”

Gamlen’s face went slack with shock, his blue eyes glassy as he was not able to process what was happening. He could hear Mara and Gamlen’s laughter peeling out from the window, mocking him.

Even Leandra barked out a short laugh before she clapped a hand over her mouth, burning in shame. “That is not necessary, Lord Carver.”

But Carver was already pulling off from the sidewalk, a shellshocked Gamlen watching as they left him at the curb.

There was a satisfied smirk on his lips that no one else could see. “The silence might give him some time to reflect on what he said.”

But it seemed like silence wasn’t what Gamlen wanted. Mara’s phone started to ring, Gamlen’s ringtone, which was a high stringed addictive pop song that filled the cabin.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride.”

Mara sighed raggedly knowing the tantrum that was sure to come. She clicked the button to answer, cutting the music and with a curt voice she said, “I’m not interested in anything but an apology.”

“Apology!?” his voice boomed loud enough from the speaker. “You should apologize. You ditched me and laughed!”

“That’s right,” Mara confirmed in a sing-song voice. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Mara-”

But she quickly cut him off with a snarl that was unlike her, “I’m turning off my phone. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll text you where we’re at.”

Then she cut off the rest of his tirade by ending the call and did just that.

She then threw her head back in her seat, her face reddening as she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

Leandra looked at her friend feeling torn. On one hand she couldn’t excuse her brother but she felt her heart ache at what she thought might be the end of their relationship. She knew her brother was better than this and she hoped that somehow he’d find a way to fix this. Still she felt shame like somehow it was her fault the whole wonderful night had been left uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she said guiltily.

She found Malcolm touching her hand, unsure if the gesture was welcome, but just his hand being close made her fingers wrap around them to keep him there, hoping Malcolm didn’t think less of her.

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. They get more creative in the Circle,” he said it like a joke, but there was tenseness in the admission.

Leandra didn’t like the thought of that. She knew what her brother said was ugly, and yet to know it was not the worst experience he’d had made her squeeze his hand, the words to comfort him failing her.

“So I’m curious,” Mara’s voice cut between them. She leaned forward so Carver could hear her better through the bars that separated them. “How does a templar and a mage get so chummy?” There was mischief in her curiosity and Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like Mara was scrutinizing him, judging his every move, but unlike Gamlen, she seemed to have not come to a conclusion yet.

“Carver’s not a prick,” Malcolm explained which brought delighted laughter from Carver, a soothing sound like water bubbling over a brook.

“It’s easy to be friends with Malcolm, as long as you can handle some honesty,” Carver echoed back.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Leandra asked.

“I watched him grow up,” Carver answered as he wove through the streets of Hightown. “He’s always been a bit of a scamp.”

Mara’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh then you’re the one to ask for all the juicy details.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy, not sure exactly what Carver would share.

“That’s true,” Carver admitted freely. “I do have a few stories, but I’ll let you get to know him yourself. I plan to mostly stay out of the way tonight and let you all enjoy yourselves.”

Malcolm found himself sighing in relief. Carver was a true friend.

Mara started leaning on Leandra as she gazed at Malcolm, and he felt strangely like she was a cat and he was her new toy. “So who are you Dream Guy?”

Malcolm found the nickname brought a smile to his lips, especially with the way Leandra was reddening.

“Just an elf from Ferelden,” Malcolm summarized. “Not anyone special.”

“Ferelden?” Leandra asked. “You’re far from home.”

Malcolm nodded grimly. The homesickness burrowed in his gut. The food at the ball was delicious, but he found he missed his mother’s cooking, lechon at Satinalia, pancet at celebrations, adobo, dinuguan, even lumpia. Being a lone elven Ferelden in a Marcher state that kissed Orlais ass with the rest of the world was terribly isolating. It almost seemed fitting that it was an Orlesian that claimed Leandra. They claimed everything Malcolm knew.

Leandra seemed keen to know more. “What about your mom and dad?”

“My mom’s might be somewhere in Ferelden. I haven’t seen her since I was taken by the templars when I was 8.” Admitting this so freely felt odd to Malcolm. They weren’t exactly secrets but he kept his memories close to his heart, but Leandra wanted to know. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Leandra could sense there was more to the story. Malcolm’s eyes were far away, watching the lights of Hightown’s neon bathing his dark skin in a heavenly glow.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

“I mean when I was in Ferelden’s Circle I got a letter or two, but…” Malcolm sucked in a breath not admitting how the templars took those, too. “Nothing since Kirkwall.”

Leandra stroked his thumb with hers. “What about your father?”

At the mention of his father Malcolm’s whole body went rigid and his breathing got shallow. “Better off forgotten,” he muttered as he stared dully at the window.

The high cityscapes of Hightown receded into the bridge that was thankfully not filled with the usual traffic at midnight. Malcolm’s eyes were far away as his eyes passed over the neon marketing sign and art and competing billboards that seemed to permeate every corner. Kirkwall was a loud city, even at night, but the city seemed to be holding its breath. The high-tech architecture that was just on the other side of the bridge seemed to just die off into the archaic city of Lowtown. There were still ads and graffiti and neon signs on every street, but Kirkwall elite had not seen a purpose of modernizing most of Lowtown, except for the subway system that most of the inhabitants used for travel, so that the sounds of trains running through tracks was a constant echo across the stone. The snaking networks wound through the city but stopped at the bridge that connected Hightown. Lowtown only had so many major streets, the main one connecting to the Lowtown market where shops were piled on top of each other like shoeboxes, mimicking the cityscapes of Hightown but with the grace of a graffiti-filled dumpster. The city cleaners didn’t extend to Lowtown so debris covered the street, the car dipping into the cracks of the concrete and swerving to avoid potholes.

Leandra wanted to know him, but it seemed that poking at him only brought up painful memories, and it was already a painful night. She had no idea how she could even fathom what he went through. He was always carefree and smiling, but now he looked brittle, like he would break if she pressed him too far.

So she tried to change gears. “I have family in the Circle.”

“Oh?” That made Malcolm perk up, curiosity in his golden eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he realized the interrogation was over.

“A niece in Ostwick, a nephew in Markham, and another nephew in Kirkwall.”

Malcolm seemed much happier to continue this conversation. “What a small world,” he hummed in amusement. “Well tell me about the one in Kirkwall. I might have met him already.”

Leandra was pleased that he wanted to know her family. “His name’s Isaac. He only came to the Circle last year around spring.”

Malcolm placed his free hand on his chin as his eyes reached up into his skull as he tried to summon a face. “Isaac…Isaac…” The name sounded familiar. “Wait does he like to make a lot of truck noises?”

“Yes!” Leandra jumped in her seat in excitement and then blushed when Mara snickered.

Malcolm smiled as he recalled the little guy, suddenly seeing the family resemblance in their eyes. He had life just like Leandra did. “We call him Lil’ Garbage Man. He’s the funniest dude.”

Leandra shook her head though a smile was on her face thinking of how horrified her Mother would be at the nickname.

“You call my nephew Lil’ Garbage Man? Why?”

“Cause he makes garbage truck noises when he busses people’s trays. Dude seems to have a blast doing it.”

Leandra laughed imagining the look on her parent’s face if they had heard that. “My nephew is bussing people’s trays?”

“Isaac is helpful and compassionate. He might be a little odd to people but he has a very good heart,” Carver’s voice came from the bars. “In fact, if you would like to see him, I think I may be able to arrange that.”

Leandra’s eyes widened pouncing on the chance. “Can you? I haven’t seen him since he was taken.”

“I’ll add you to the allowed visitors list in Isaac’s file. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Carver’s voice was steady and comforting, like a sturdy oak giving shade. “You’ll still need to come after Mass. There’s no way around that.”

Leandra felt positively giddy. She had tried to get on the visitor’s list before but Chantry policy only allowed immediate family members. The bastard father who abandoned him had more rights to see Isaac than she did, and she had given up on that cause for the moment but to just be offered as a gift was more than she had words for. She found grateful tears prick her eyes. “Bless you, Lord Carver.”

Carver chuckled. “I think at this point you may just call me Carver. At least in private.”

Leandra wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “Do you think I can smuggle in a gift?”

Carver hummed on his answer noncommittally. “Toys will be taken if he’s not careful to hide them.” But he didn’t say no.

Leandra considered this as she brainstormed what she could bring. Nothing too big. It had to fit in her purse.

Before they knew it Carver pulled up to what looked like a ratty old bar. It was originally called The Caged Canary, but half the light bulbs were burnt out so it spelled Cage Cry with the ‘The’ blinking in and out.

Malcolm chuckled. “Here?” he asked Carver.

“It’s private and she liked your singing,” Carver replied. Malcolm could hear the smirk in his voice.

Leandra looked at the bar that had so many flyers plastered on the wall it looked like a Chantry board. There was graffiti layered upon layer, sometimes over the flyers, some beautiful mosaics and art pieces of colors. Birds behind bars seemed to be a theme throughout the patterns. It was a chaotic sort of art, the kind that would make her parents sneer, but Leandra found it beautiful, the many hands working together to make something so utterly unique, like a thousand memories cased in time speaking at once. “What is this place?” she found herself asking Malcolm as Mara started shuffling out of the car.

“A karaoke bar,” Malcolm said nonchalantly as he watched Leandra’s face which quickly drained of color.

She froze in the car as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. “Oh, no, I’m better at playing the lute than singing,” Leandra blubbered, suddenly mortified at the thought of making a fool of herself in public.

Malcolm grinned. “Karaoke is not about sounding good, it’s about having fun.”

“Well, no one’s going to have fun once they hear me sing,” Leandra protested.

Mara peeked in the car from the other side, ganging up on her with Malcolm with a conspiratorial grin. “You should do more things you’re not good at, my lady. It will be good for you.”

Leandra pouted as Malcolm offered his hand to help her out of the car. She reluctantly took it, knowing once she did there was no going back.

Carver started pulling out his phone as he approached the group. “The address is 369 Copper Avenue if you would like to invite your brother,” he looked at Leandra as he said this and she was already pulling out her phone to text the details.

Then Carver’s eyes slid to Malcolm as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a sovereign bill and handed it to him.

Malcolm resented being handed money like a kid but it wasn’t like he was allowed to have money like a normal person. That didn’t stop him from finding his ways, but he hadn’t expected to go on a date tonight and didn’t bring anything with him. So he took the bill feeling like a teenager being chaperoned on his first date.

“I need to make a phone call. You can go ahead and order a round of drinks with the booth.”

Maker, at least he could drink. “You going to join us?” He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for.

But Carver said, “I have some reports to catch up on but you have fun.” Then Carver walked off into a corner to take his call in private.

Malcolm led Mara and Leandra into the bar which was smaller than anticipated. There was a TV with the news reporting on the incident on the Viscount’s Palace, speculating attacks and calling it the worst haunting of the new century. The bartender who was a pallid man with graying hair raised an eyebrow at Malcolm’s fine suit and the ladies’ gowns which were much richer than the sticky floors and peeling dull brown faded wallpaper that decorated the environment.

Malcolm marched up to the bartender with confidence as the ladies inspected the furniture that had looked like it hadn’t been changed out since the place was built. The grout of the floor was uneven and chalky.

Malcolm placed the bill on the cracking counter and said, “A room and all the drinks this can afford.”

Would this afford much? He didn’t exactly know the prices on things.

The bartender looked at the bill and took it without question, though he was curious about the party’s outfits he seemed more interested in their money. “Room 3,” He leaned his head to point to a dark cove where a line of rooms were waiting. “And for the drinks?”

He looked to Leandra, who looked to Mara who said, “Shots. Tequila. Vodka. I don’t care.”

“You got it,” the bartender chirped.

Malcolm led them down the corridor, jealous of the way Mara openly leaned on Leandra’s arm. He could tell the two women must be close and he felt in some ways there was a bubble between him and them.

“Charming place,” Mara cooed as she looked at the posters of different singers lining the walls, flowing locks and colorful makeup and costumes crooning into microphones. “You bring all your dates here?”

Malcolm chuckled. “The only time I’ve ever gone here is with Carver or Charlie,” he said.

He opened the door to the room for them which was a cozy little setup with a boxy couch that wrapped around the room, a table in the middle with a thick booklet, and a screen with a few microphones.

“Boyfriend?” Mara prodded as she passed Malcolm, cat eyes gleaming.

“Brother,” Malcolm countered.

Leandra perked up, trying to corral some of Mara’s teasing with a question of her own. “You have a brother in the Circle?” Her voice was hopeful and she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the square couch fully listening.

Mara plopping beside her to take a look through the booklet, the laminated pages cracking and yellowing.

“Not a blood brother,” Malcolm explained. “We just grew up together.”

Leandra tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes.

He took a seat, close but not too close. He glanced at her hand which was relaxed at her side, tempted to reach out and grab it, but with Gamlen in his head he just clenched his fist.

“So what would you sing?” Leandra leaned over as Mara flipped through the selection as she tried to find something that she recognized.

The bartender came in holding a large tray of liquid amber and set it on the table without a word.

“Well first we’d get drunk,” Malcolm said, suddenly needing the liquid courage and he grabbed one of the glasses and knocked it back, the burn welcome and warming him, soothing his frazzled nerves.

“Smart man,” Mara grinned as she grabbed two glasses and handed one to Leandra without thinking. “But you’re breaking the party rules. We’re supposed to cheer before we drink.”

Malcolm reached for another glass with a chuckle. “I can just grab another drink.”

Mara gleamed at Leandra holding up her glass as she said. “To Leandra. She’s the most badass woman I know.”

Malcolm grinned at Leandra’s fluster as he held up her glass to match Mara’s praise. “She definitely is.”

Leandra clinked glasses with them and knocked back the liquid before coughing which brought chuckles out of Mara and Malcolm. “That’s much stronger than wine.”

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang and she looked at the cell phone to see that Senhel was calling. In confusion she answered it thinking it was an emergency.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell,” the voice of her mother shrieked on her phone. “Do you have your Father and me on ignore!?”

Leandra grumbled, she was just starting to have fun. “Mother,” she hicced. “I thought I told you I’m resting.”

“You are certainly not in your room!”

“I’m at Mara’s.”

“Don’t lie to me. I sent Sylvain to fetch you and you’re not there.”

Mara and Malcolm looked at each other as Leandra slunk into the couch, looking ragged and tired. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sounding like a tight thread. “I’m out having a drink with Mara. Because it’s been a night. And I deserve it.”

“Leandra Amell-”

“Goodnight, Mother. I’m turning off my phone,” then she powered down her cell and threw it back in her purse with a huff.

“Another drink?” Malcolm offered.

Mara was beaming at Leandra. “After standing up to the wicked witch of Kirkwall let’s have three.”

So they did, clinking their glasses each time as they knocked it back in unison, the alcohol starting to make them feel giddy and loose.

Finally Mara picked up the microphone and waggled her eyebrows. “Alright we’re supposed to be singing, right?”

Leandra and Malcolm cheered, raising more glasses sharing a grin.

Mara plugged in the song and with an upbeat piano that was as spunky as she was. She wiggled her hips as she grooved with her microphone, getting into it, her face goofy and carefree for the first time that night.

“Why men great til’ they gotta be great,” she sang loudly and proudly off-key.

“I just took a DNA test

Turns out

I’m a hundred percent

That bitch

Even when I’m crying crazy

Yeah I got boy problems

That’s the human in me

Bling! Bling! Then I solve ‘em

That’s the Goddess in me

Malcolm and Leandra danced in their seats and Mara gave them a show, belting her frustrations into the mic and only slightly tripping over the words with her drunken tongue. The mistakes only made her laugh which made everyone laugh. Then she grabbed the mic with both hands, her face twisting in anger as she kicked off her red strappy heels so they bounced against the couch and wall, belting out with flourish,

“You could have had a bad bitch

Non committal

Help you with your career

Just a little

You’re supposed to hold me dooown

But you’re holding me back

And that’s the soooound

Of me not calling you back.”

Soon Malcolm and Leandra were trying to sing along to the chorus, though Malcolm didn’t know the words to this one. Still, Mara was fun and it was nice to see Leandra with that beautiful smile. He thought her laugh was the most gorgeous sound in the world and he’d never tire of it.

They were all thoroughly enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t notice that Gamlen had now perched himself at the door and listened to the man-hating song, a bouquet of what looked like store bought roses in one arm and a box of expensive fine truffles in the other, but Mara at one point noticed him, the song fading from her lips as the music continued and quickly wrapped up.

The silence was awkward and no one knew what to make of it. Everyone was staring at Gamlen but Gamlen was only staring at Mara.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was an idiot.”

Mara huffed putting down the microphone with a thud, feedback shrieking through the speakers.

“No denying that but do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Gamlen rushed forward and placed the gifts in Mara’s arms which she reluctantly accepted. “I was an ass. You told me that enough.”

Mara blew out air, ruffling her bangs. “But the comments you said about Malcolm said a lot about what you think about me.”

“I don’t-I would never,” he sputtered. “I just…Being an elf never seemed to matter to you before.”

Mara glared. “Of course it matters to me. I might not have the pointed ears, but Lolo is all I have left after the car accident. You know that.”

“Of course,” Gamlen said. “Of course it’s important. I just…” he blew out a ragged breath, his eyes flicking to Malcolm. “This is all so fast. Leandra just met him tonight.”

“But you heard Leandra, she likes him. This is not your decision to make.”

Gamlen looked like all the air had been taken out of him as he struggled to find an argument but failed.

Mara looked at Malcolm who seemed to have gone quiet at Gamlen’s presence. “I’m not the only one who deserves your apology.”

Gamlen looked conflicted as his eyes snapped to Malcolm who was knocking back another drink. Gamlen clenched his fists, as he looked over Malcolm, the disgust still clear in his eyes but from the look on Mara’s face she wouldn’t let this go.

Through clenched teeth he said. “Sorry,” but he spat the word out like a curse.

Malcolm discarded his glass and picked up another, feeling slightly drunk and still very very pissed off. “I don’t know, did I hear an apology?”

Leandra crossed her arms, matching Malcolm’s glare. “No, I don’t know that I did.”

Mara dropped Gamlen’s gifts on the table like she was dropping trash in a bin. “Care to try again?”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in fear and he swallowed his anger as he tried to suppress his glare at Malcolm. “Fine, fine. I’m really really sorry.”

“For…” Malcolm drawled looking into his glass of amber liquid.

“For being an ass,” Gamlen chewed out.

“And…”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, flicking to the other women for help but they simply waited expectantly for his answer. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to add. Apologizing wasn’t exactly something he did voluntarily.

He looked for Leandra to help but found her usual warm expression cold, but still she added, “And he won’t do it again.”

Gamlen bristled at that, seeming reluctant to actually say those words, but with Mara glaring at him, too, he repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

Malcolm grinned at that, all teeth. “Now that’s an apology.” Then he made a cheering motion at Gamlen and knocked back his drink.

Mara sniffed and sat down beside Leandra, satisfied but still seething. Gamlen followed her like a sad puppy and when he sat down next to her he tried to hold her hand but she snapped it back, still angry.

Malcolm sighed, feeling sloshed by now, but with Gamlen being so close he felt himself tensing like a stretched rubber band ready to snap. Still, getting the asshole to apologize was at least slightly satisfying even if Malcolm didn’t believe a word of it.

Leandra brushed his hand, bringing him out of his churning thoughts. Her eyes looked worried as she bit her lip, seeming unsure. “I’d love to hear you sing next.”

Malcolm did have a song in mind already, one that he heard long ago but didn’t have any meaning to him until meeting Leandra, but his eyes flickered to Gamlen who was sulking in the corner, unsure if singing it would bring more ire.

Leandra seemed to sense his hesitation and she was suddenly rambling as if she was nervous. “You don’t have to. I mean I can definitely try singing a song with Mara if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Mara leaned over to Leandra with a grin on her face. “What are we singing?”

Gamlen snorted. “You’re singing?”

Leandra glared. “Shut up! As if your voice is any better.”

“At least I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Not when it counts,” Malcolm’s unfiltered drunken thoughts blurted out which brought another laugh from Leandra and Mara and a scowl from Gamlen.

Malcolm smirk softened at Leandra’s laughter and he watched her with soft eyes.

She stopped when she noticed he was staring, his honey eyes drawing her in.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Malcolm said in a voice so genuine she could only swallow.

Leandra dropped her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean you’re going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm grinned. “Since meeting you it feels like I’ve been living a dream.”

She blushed deeply, her breath stuttering, a pleased smile forming on her lips as she choked on what she said. “I guess I’m drunk enough to sing.”

Mara cheered and Malcolm and her clinked glasses in a celebratory drink.

Leandra and Mara took the stage, their eyes on the screen as they huddled together.

A slow ballad filled the speakers, soft and sweet, just like Leandra was. Mara opened her mouth widely inhaling but as soon as the countdown signaled for them to start only Leandra’s voice sang out,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you”

Leandra’s eyes flew in panic as she realized that Mara was not singing along but looking at her with a smirk as she was forced to either stop or continue. Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s like a moth to a flame, her voice trembling in uncertainty.

She was not as terrible as she claimed, not a singer’s voice sure, but Malcolm found he could listen to her all night. He watched the rosy glow of her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered, looking so uncertain and vulnerable.

“Like a river flows

Gently to the sea

Surely how it goes

Some things were meant to be.”

Malcolm hoped that was what she was telling him, and his gaze turned so intense she could not bear the scrutiny, her voice shaky and faltering but she finished the song to the end. Malcolm and Mara then burst into applause as Leandra shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

She glared at Mara but there was no anger in her voice. “Traitor.”

Mara shook her head in laughter as she took her seat beside Gamlen.

Leandra sauntered up to Malcolm, closer than ever. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the alcohol on her breath. She playfully grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage and pushed a microphone in his hand. “Ok, now it’s your turn. Better make it good.”

Malcolm was nervous, but the way she was smiling at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “I aim to please, my lady.”

“Well, then do it,” she commanded cheekily. “Please me.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened at this challenge. Her cheeks were so rosy he had to resist cupping them, her smile brilliant as she sat captively in attention. He felt shaky with nerves, his stomach doing that warm flutter. He plugged in the song, a soft drumbeat pulsed through the speakers as he gazed in her eyes, feeling like there was no one else in the room. His heart sped up, aching to have her. His honeyed voice crooned through the speakers, begging her to accept him.

“I wish we were both someone else

So you wouldn’t be somebody else’s

I don’t want to lie here by myself

Ain’t afraid to say I’m selfish.”

“Don’t wanna lie to you, Don’t wanna promise something

Knowin’ I can’t come through, toast over this discussion

More of ignoring the rules, too close and then we’re touching

Now we’re both confused.”

Leandra found herself rising to her feet, her heart feeling the same ache in the lyrics. His hand seemed to beckon her to him as he looked at her with a yearning that made her feel alive.

“Something in the way you smell

Something in the way touch me

Maybe it’s the way you wrap your arms around me

Makes me wanna lay you down, Tell you all the things we could be

Tell me that you need me now, even though it’s not allowed.”

Leandra couldn’t help herself if she wanted to. Malcolm’s honest words crooning at her had her grabbing his tie before he could reach the chorus again and she answered him with a hungry kiss. He tasted strawberries and alcohol and her taste coated his tongue until he was lapping it up greedy for every drop of her. Hungry. That was the only way that could be described when their lips met. His hands snaked up her back untangling her braid loose as she held him captive by his tie, pulling him closer by his curls as they devoured each other, the beat still pulsing in the background. They stumbled, trying to find steadiness as their mouths refused to part, tripping into the table and almost knocking each other over.

Mara hooted encouragingly at the kiss and she tried to get Gamlen to join her in a cheer but he looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at his sister. When Malcolm had backed her into a wall and it was clear that they wouldn’t stop, Gamlen finally snapped and said, “Leandra!”

Malcolm pulled away, surprised by Gamlen’s shout but she held onto his tie and stuck out her tongue like she was five. “Grow up, Gamlen. I’ve watched you and Mara dry hump since tenth grade.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh, lipstick smeared across his lips. Then Leandra pulled him in for another sweet kiss. “Sing me another,” she asked against his lips.

The night seemed to go much better, the laughs easier, and after Malcolm sang a few more songs they went back to rotating. Gamlen mostly sulked throughout the night, giving a tight-lipped glare as Malcolm and Leandra shared kiss after kiss, feeling bolder and handsier, but other than some huffs he didn’t do much more to ruin the night.

Before they knew it Carver crept through the door, his face amused at the state of Malcolm’s lipstick smeared face as he and Leandra were cuddling in the corner sharing a drunken snooze, Leandra cradled on Malcolm’s chest.

Gamlen sat in the corner, tight-lipped, the same scowl he carried all night plastered on his face.

“So you all had a good time,”

Leandra and Malcolm stirred, both yawning and blinking.

Mara saluted drunkenly from the couch, in a fit of giggles. “Yes, Officer. Mission succeeded.” He had interrupted her from eating Gamlen’s apology chocolates, a pile of used wrappers piled on the table among the many, many drained glasses.

“Very good,” Carver had a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll need to take you back to Hightown now if Malcolm’s going to make it back by First Bell.”

“Nope,” Leandra shook her head with a yawn, her words a little slurred. “Nope. No, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. Take me to Mara’s.”

Mara yawned and covered her mouth. “Good idea. You have the day off so we can just sleep.”

Leandra jerked, suddenly realizing, “Oh, no! I have a Cleansing today!”

Mara cocked her head. “What time? Maybe we can grab a nap?”

Leandra chewed her lip picking herself up from Malcolm’s hold so she could look through her bag for her phone.

It was full of texts from her Mother and Father. She scrolled through the lectures and threats to find that her Cleansing was early and not only that but the Du Lancets would be participating and the Guillaume would be at her side tomorrow. And then the bubble popped.

“Oh, how am I going to presentable by 10 am?” Leandra’s voice was filled with panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mara patted her chest confidently. “As long as I can pass out as soon as I’m done.”

“You’d have earned it and your raise,” Leandra pulled herself upright and wobbled in her heels.

“Easy there,” Malcolm automatically moved to steady her and she placed her hand on his chest as she willed the room to stop spinning. He sat her back down allowing her to lean on him.

“Something greasy will work wonders,” Carver said helpfully.

“I’ll whip up a bacon breakfast when we get home,” Mara yawned. “And lots of coffee.”

As Mara stretched she looked at the templar with renewed interest, the man seeming more like a statue to her than a person and she eyed him from head to toe. “Not going to sing at least one?” she said in a sing-song voice, her cat eyes gleaming with mischief. “Malcolm tells us you have quite the voice.”

Carver smiled, chuckling. “We don’t really have time.”

Malcolm was looking for any reason to make the night last just a little longer. “Oh, c’mon just one. For old time’s sake?”

Leandra blinked her doe eyes, batting them like a weapon. “Oh, please,” her words crashed together clumsily. “You’ve been alone all night, Ser Carver. I’d love to hear you sing.”

“I’m tired,” Gamlen snapped. “Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the fact that the other three were pleading, their drunken stupor making the consequences of the night still seem far away. Or maybe Carver wanted to have one more opportunity to get under Gamlen’s skin, but he smiled wider than he did all night, fully coming into the room and headed for the stage, crooking a motion to Malcolm to follow him. “I’m only singing if you join me, Hawke.”

Malcolm pushed himself off the couch eagerly. “Deal,” he said grabbing one of the extra mics from the stand as Mara and Leandra cheered, no more alcohol to toast with but they still raised their hands up in the motion.

Carver plugged in the song and a high energy guitar riff started streaming. Malcolm grinned as he recognized it. Carver’s energy seemed to change, his stiff shoulders relaxing as his warm coffee eyes gleamed at Malcolm, still remembering how Charlie was there the last time they sang this. He raised the mic, a raspy baritone ringing clear and beautiful like a deep bell, belting the lyrics with confidence.

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the clear blue sky.”

His eyes flicked to Mara, his hands cradling the mic as the beat rocked. Their eyes met in a strange crackling energy that Gamlen didn’t seem to notice cause he was too busy sulking. Carver watched as her slow gaze inspected him in curiosity, following the lines of his armor.

“Now and then when I see her face

It takes me to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry.”

Malcolm joined him for the chorus, harmonizing with him so beautifully that it brought goosebumps to the ladies skin.

“Whooooa, Sweet child of mine,

Whooooa, Sweet love of mine.”

Then Malcolm’s honeyed voice took over, his eyes meeting Leandra as he sang with a smile, his face smeared with Leandra’s kisses, light and life in every bounce of his step.

“She’s got eyes like the starriest skies

As if they thought of rain

I’d hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain.”

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I’d hide

And pray for the thunder and rain

To quietly pass me by.”

Carver joined him again for the chorus, his soothing deep voice weaving around his melody as they repeated, their gazes meeting in boyish mischief.

Then soon the guitar break came and both Carver and Malcolm went into ridiculous scatting, mimicking the riffs as they pretended to play invisible guitars. When the lyrics came back they echoed against each other, the melody getting more complicated as they each broke into their own renditions, bouncing and dancing on the stage as they pushed each other, a couple of boys roughhousing. Leandra and Mara couldn’t stop laughing at their silliness, the song stretching on and on never seemed to end until Carver and Malcolm kept singing back to the other.

“Where do we go?

Where do we go now?”

It was the question in Malcolm’s mind. His eyes stayed drawn to Leandra, asking her.

Then the song wrapped up with the same high energy and Leandra and Mara rose to their feet cheering drunkenly.

“Bravo!”

“Bellissimo!”

“Encore!”

Gamlen’s scowl looked like it had been carved into his face and would stay there forever. He glared at the two men as they made exaggerated bows at the ladies’ applause.

“Now can we go?” Gamlen snarled.

Carver’s proper demeanor was back in place as he put away the microphone with care. “Yes, I believe that is best.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Leandra reached through her bag for her phone and turned it back on. Ignoring the new messages, she then went to her camera. "We need to commemorate the night."

Malcolm and Carver looked at each other.

"I'm not sure we should be leaving more evidence," Carver's voice said nervously.

Leandra blinked her eyes pleading. "Please, it won't leave my phone. I just need something to remember the night was real."

That was all the convincing Malcolm needed. He grabbed Leandra's waist pulling her in for a pose. She blushed and snuggled in closer, holding out the phone, their faces framing the screen.

Carver looked like he wanted to protest more but Mara grabbed his arm. "C'mon Officer, loosen up." He seemed flustered as the small woman led him. "It's just a selfie." She then motioned Gamlen to join her. "You too, Grumpmeister."

Gamlen looked irritated to see Mara casually touching Carver's arm and so stormed up and claimed her with a possessive grab on her hip and yanked her to him.

Mara seemed annoyed, but said nothing as they all huddled in close for the camera so their faces could fit.

It flashed, and they all blinked, temporarily blind.

"Sorry," Leandra said as they all peered at the picture.

Carver was caught in the middle between Mara and Leandra looking out of place in his armor, his face grim like a statue. Mara leaned on Gamlen but her face was closer to Carver, smiling a model's smile as she posed expertly. Gamlen's face was cut off slightly, his ugly glare caught as he stared at Malcolm and Leandra pressing cheeks, her lipstick had left a clear trail of where she claimed him and they shared the same ecstatic smile.

Malcolm wanted something to remember the night, too. He grabbed Leandra's phone and texted himself the picture. He handed the phone back. "Now you have my number."

She gazed at her phone blushing as she realized he inserted himself as "Dream Guy."

They left the club, the sky still dark among the high buildings, but there were still signs of the bus moving for the early commute. Carver drove them to Mara’s place in Midtown which bordered the edge of Lowtown and Hightown, a cut of suburbs that were newer and had a cookie cutter like appearance. There was already a car in the driveway, a nice but older SUV that had been handled with care. The streets were dark except for the street lights that marked the houses in neat little rows, flowering shrubs and gardens filled with knick knacks differentiating them.

Malcolm got out of the car and helped Leandra out, their hands not unlinking as she stepped out.

Mara pushed out of the templar car still yawning, Gamlen following quickly behind. “You can go to my room, but don’t be loud and wake Lolo.”

Gamlen nodded, keeping close to Mara as she dug through her purse for her keys. He cast a glare in Malcolm’s direction when he noticed he was holding his sister’s hand but he kept to his apology and said nothing, following Mara into her house.

Leandra and Malcolm’s stroll was a languid shuffle as if they slowed down the moment it wouldn’t end. Still Mara’s porch approached and it did.

“When can I see you again?” she asked shyly as she squeezed his hand harder instead of letting go.

Malcolm’s heart fluttered, his voice eager. “I’ll break out as soon as I’m able.”

Leandra seemed conflicted about that. She placed her hand over his heart, lines of worry streaking her face. “Don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Malcolm grinned cheekily as he leaned into her face. “I am trouble.”

He captured her lips in a hungry kiss, not knowing when he’d be able to taste her next. Their lips moved unhurried and slow, their fingers exploring over their clothing under the arch of the porch. One minute passed, then two. It seemed there was not enough time in the world to memorize each other, and they were soon interrupted by Carver’s loud but abrupt honk.

Malcolm grinned against her mouth. “See you soon,” he promised and he dashed off and hopped into the front seat of Carver’s car.

Leandra didn’t go inside until the vehicle pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the street.

#my writing #leandra x malcolm #hawke #da fanfic #da2 #wrote this instead of sleeping #did I post the reworked chapter 5?#idk

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