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naussensei · 2 days

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Satosugu's First Mission

“Not gonna lie, this is a little depressing.” Said Suguru, kneeling to inspect the lower Ferris wheel carts. “Why did our first mission together have to be in a grim place like this?

“Easy.” Said Satoru, he was doing the same thing on the other side of the ride. “Places like this hold large amounts of cursed energy. All the emotions from the people who came here. It lingers.”

“I would’ve thought this was a place for happy memories only.” Suguru said, trying to pry open a rusty door handle. He grimaced as it fell off, and he wiped the rust off his hand with a look of disgust. “Isn’t this where kids come for birthdays or something?”

“And where couples come for dates and stuff. Exactly.” Satoru agreed as he stood up. “But anywhere people gather can turn into a curse hotspot. Subway stations, shopping centers, amusement parks. Just imagine – the kids scared of heights, couples breaking up, parents arguing… the list goes on.”

It was no surprise to Suguru now that Satoru could be quite knowledgeable sometimes. Not that he would ever tell him that to feed his ego, but he could still acknowledge it in his mind.

They continued to inspect the ride together, Satoru in the front, climbing up the next cart, pulling Suguru up. He was just about to keep climbing when something occurred to him.

“So, couples, huh?” He said in the most nonchalant way he could manage, to hide his discomfort with the subject. He didn’t know a single thing about dates, or amusement parks for that matter, he had never been to either of them, and the thought of Satoru having more experience than him was almost humiliating. “Is that like, a thing? People go to theme parks for dates?”

“Duh, obviously.” Satoru said with a confident grin, then paused for a moment. “I mean… I guess. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”

Suguru’s curiosity was piqued. “Have you ever been on a date?” he asked.

Satoru scoffed, inspecting the inside of the cart. “Do you think the strongest sorcerer has time for dating?”

Suguru couldn’t help but grin. “So you haven’t.”

“Have you ?” Satoru countered.

“Me?” Suguru said, smiling with resignation. “Do you think the biggest weirdo in the normie world has time for dating?”

Satoru turned to him then, and Suguru was taken aback for a moment. The moonlight poured through the shattered window, casting a faint glow on Satoru’s face. Suguru couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades, which made him feel a bit uneasy, but by Satoru’s expression he seemed to be assessing something carefully, something that Suguru could not quite figure out.

“Fair,” Satoru finally said, and the moment he turned away again, Suguru caught a glimpse of a faint smile. The slightest feeling of satisfaction warmed Suguru’s chest when he did, because for once, he’d made Satoru laugh more than once in a night. Suguru’s own smile grew then, too, because he knew the meaning of that subtle smile. It was the perpetuation of a silent ‘were not that different after all’ that Satoru would never voice, but he didn’t have to.

“By the way… Shoko has never been on a date either.” Satoru said with putty lips, as if that made the situation more acceptable for them. “Not that I know, anyway. I never see her talk to any guys, other than Kusakabe.”

“Uh, right…” Suguru uttered. He had a good idea as to why he hadn’t seen her talking to guys, but he would not be the one to tell him that. For all he knew, Satoru could be interested in her. He’d rather redirect the subject to them again.

“16 and not a single date.” Suguru said, taking a seat on the worn bench to look out the window. “What a bunch of losers.”

“I’m still 15 for your information.”

“Yeah?” Suguru’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “When’s your birthday?”

“Why?” Satoru’s eyebrows rose even higher than his as he grinned. He bent down to Suguru’s eye level. “Are you gonna buy me a present? Otherwise I won’t tell you.”

Suguru sank back into his seat a little, yet held his grin. “Sure. I may, actually. That’s… if we don’t die tonight.”

“Dumbass.” Satoru scoffed, rising to kick Suguru softly on the shin. “Nobody is dying tonight.”

He collapsed on the seat in front of him, hands still in his pockets, the weak cart wobbling a little as he did. Then he looked outside the broken window. Suguru did so as well.

The night was still as ever, a cool breeze seeped through the hole in the window. It was dark and cold, but somehow, it was not unpleasant at all. Suddenly, Suguru did not feel like moving anywhere.

“December 7th,” said Satoru all of a sudden.

It took a moment for Suguru to realize he was talking about his birthday. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a smile.

Satoru cocked his head at him. “Yours?”

“February 3rd.” Suguru shrugged, giving him an apologetic smile. “Turned 15 this year.”

“Ah, that’s not fair.”

“You kinda already gave me a birthday present.” Said Suguru, taking out his new phone from his pocket.

“Oh, that’s right!” Satoru said excitedly, moved to sit beside him and take the phone from him, no permission asked whatsoever. His face glowing with an excitement that Suguru could not relate to, but enjoyed watching in Satoru either way. “Did you change your wallpaper already? What tune did you customize it with?”

“I haven’t.” Admitted Suguru, slowly taking his phone back and moving closer to the window to make some space between them, and felt that if he moved any further he would fall out the cart. “We’re on a mission, Satoru. Now it’s not the–”

“Oh, give me that. It takes five seconds. I’ll send you one from my phone.” Said Satoru, his fingers already working on it before Suguru could even decline.

Suguru watched him do so in silence. It was a good thing at least one of them seemed to be entertained.

“Here you go, loser.” Satoru said as he threw his phone back to Suguru with a playful smile.

“Thanks.” Suguru chuckled. “So, how does it feel to know you're just as much of a loser as I am when it comes to dating?”

Satoru rested his hands behind his head and sighed. “Feels pretty fucking terrible, not gonna lie.”

“Hmm,” Suguru brought a hand to his chin and looked up, thoughtfully. “Well, we can count this as a date. Kinda feels like it, doesn’t it?“

“Uh, no… pretty sure it doesn’t.”

“How would you know if you've never been on a date?”

“Right,” Satoru scoffed, “because chasing cursed objects in a shitty place like this sounds very romantic.”

Suguru’s smile was smug. “Didn't take you as a romantic.”

“I’m not.” Satoru elbowed him softly. “Now stop talking and focus on the mission. ”

“Why?” Suguru’s grin grew wider. “Are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not.” Satoru said, averting his gaze, hand still behind his head. “I just wanna get this over with quickly. I don’t want Yaga or Yamato to yell at us for taking so long.”

Suguru leaned forward, seeking Satoru’s avoidant gaze. “We can still count it as a date and feel a little better about ourselves.” He said with a comforting smile, but Satoru had just stood to move out of the cart and begin their descent. Suguru followed closely behind.

“We’ll just omit the part about it being with a friend.” He insisted as they landed on the ground. Seeing that Satoru would not react, he added with a playful wink. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

“Ugh,” Satoru hung his head forward. “Why are you talking so much today? You never talk. I liked you better when you were quiet.”

“Oh?” Suguru speeded up the pace to walk by his side. “Are you saying you did like me before?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Satoru whined as he dragged his feet to continue their way to the next ride.

Suguru circled closely around him to walk on his other side. “But you’re always complaining that I’m too quiet and boring, and that I try to be ‘mysterious’ and don't share enough about myself, and now suddenly you don't want me to talk?”

Satoru rolled his eyes and made a disgusted face. “And you couldn’t have picked a better time than in the middle of a fucking–”

Suguru could not hear the end of Satoru’s sentence. His voice was swallowed by the deafening roar that came from under their feet, the same kind they had heard back in the shopping mall earlier, but several times louder and more unsettling. They looked at the ground, exchanged a glance, and looked down again. The earth rumbled under their feet briefly, until it went quiet again.

“What was that?” Suguru said, catching his breath, his heart still jumping in his throat.

“A curse, evidently.” Even Satoru seemed a little startled. Though he quickly composed himself, and was now gazing up at the buildings, eyes moving rapidly, as though machinating a plan.

“Curse?” Suguru chuckled ironically . “More like a giant animal. I thought we were after a cursed object, not freaking Godzilla.”

“It definitely seems like a big one.” Satoru agreed, gaze still upwards as he began to look for a way up. “We should climb higher, to get a better visual. It may not be the only one around.”

“Wait,” Suguru stopped in his tracks, holding Satoru by an arm. “I have an idea.”

From: Our Last Summer in Ao3

#satosugu #satosugu fic #satoru x suguru #geto gojo #gego #goge

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billys-pretty-babe · 1 year

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Cliche

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : Kissing on the Ferris Wheel is such a cliche, Billy always rolls his eyes at it but when you want to go on it, he can't say no.

Warnings : Swearing

Word count : 725

The State Fair always came around in September when the days were slightly cooler and the nights weren't as muggy. Billy had the idea to take you, a friend date, he had iterated.

Now, here the two of you were, hand in hand, belly full of fair food, having already ridden nearly every ride that interested the two of you. The sky was dark, the lights on the rides lighting up the sky. "Can we go on the Ferris Wheel?" Billy looked at you and nodded, letting you lead him to the ride.

He so badly wanted to say no and talk about how cliche it was but he didn't. If it was any other girl he would have, but not with you, he hated saying no to you. You both stood in line as he stood close to you, arms wrapped around your waist. "Gross," he said in your ear at the couple making out a few people in front of the two of you.

You laughed, "You're just mad because you get no play." He mocked you before gently pinching your hip. "You don't get any play either." You scoffed, "That's what you think." His face fell, he was thankful you couldn't see him.

The line moved and Billy swore he was getting hives from all of the couples around the two of you. Soon enough, the two of you were in the cart. "Move your thigh." He looked at you, appalled, "To where," he exclaimed dramatically, knocking his knee into yours. The bar clicked down and the carriage moved up before stopping again.

He watched the way the lights lit up your eyes. The game plan practically mapped itself out without him having to think about it. He did the most cliche thing he could ever do, something that's in all of those stupid romance movies you forced him to watch.

He brought his right hand up to his mouth, stifling a fake yawn before he smacked his lips and let his arm fall across your shoulders. You glanced at him before looking back at the view. Now, Billy wasn't an asshole, to you at least, but he was getting desperate. He moved over a little causing the metal carriage to rock a little, causing you a slight panic and you grabbed his knee.

He mumbled out an apology, hoping you'd buy it and go back to what you were doing and thankfully you did. Soon, the carriages were all loaded up and the ride actually began and Billy held you close to him as the September air nipped your arms.

"Cold?" You shrugged, "A little." He nodded and rubbed your arm, still nothing out of the ordinary for the two of you. The carriage reached the top and it stalled for a second so the two of you could take the view in but instead of you seeing anything, you felt Billy's lips against yours, the taste of spearmint and tobacco invading your senses.

Your eyes quickly fluttered shut as you relaxed against him before kissing him back. You pulled away first, heat was spreading throughout your body. Neither of you said anything before you put your head on his shoulder, his hand going to your temple, gently stroking it.

The two of you stayed silent for the rest of the ride, Billy giving you an occasional kiss on the top of your head. You two got off of the ride, still walking hand in hand. "Anything else you wanna ride?" You shook your head, "Do you?" He shook his head.

He grabbed his car keys and made sure he had his wallet before pulling you to him as he walked the two of you to his car. He opened your door before driving down the back roads, windows rolled down, the radio playing softly. He drove to your house, putting the car in park before he looked at you. "I had fun." You smiled and nodded, "Me too, B."

You quickly hugged him and gathered your stuff and you got out of his car. "Benny's tomorrow at eight! It's a date," he said before driving off and in this instance, Billy was thankful for the stupid movies you made him watch because if it wasn't for those stupid cliches, he would have missed out on his shot with his dream girl.

#billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things billy #william hargrove #billy hargrove x f!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove

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jelzorz · 10 months

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The Crack Quartet Timeline BC I'm sleep deprived and obsessed. Some housekeeping before we get into it:

For those unaware, the canon crack quartet, as @raayllum and I like to refer to them, is rayllum and the following insane trio of ships: claudiez, sorpeli, and corterry

You read that correctly

I got dragged onto this boat unwillingly so now all of you have to suffer too.

These are my hcs and I've already written some of it into fic (linked for convenience). Some of these @raayllum and I share but they also have their own separate ones and these are specific to what I've written already

It's important to note that the crack quartet can only ever take place 10-15 years from the end of canon. Everyone involved by this point is a fully consenting adult. Please keep this disclaimer in mind before you all start coming at me.

Now that that's out of the way

Some of you may have read the seed, so you may know already that I hc Soren and Corvus to be pretty steady at least until the end of the war, where the trauma is too heavy for both of them to be healthy about it. Soren ends the relationship and Corvus informally leaves the council. He's always preferred the serenity of the forest to the hustle and bustle of the castle anyway, and he returns every now and then to give Ezran reports about how things are going among the surrounding towns. It's on one of these journeys that he meets Terry, and their passing knowledge of each other is what gets them talking over a drink in a tavern. Corvus is doing his job and listening for gossip. Terry wants know if he's heard anything about Claudia. All the drama aside, it's nice to see a familiar face and to talk about old times.

In Katolis, Ez and Rayla bully Opeli into taking self defence lessons with Soren after she insists Ez keeps up his swordfighting lessons when she herself has never touched a weapon in her life. If you haven't already read the seed, this is how sorpeli starts. Soren and Opeli have been p good friends for years now, and he has never considered her a mother figure the same way Callum and Ezran might have. He was essentially an adult when everything started so he hasn't ever really needed that guidance, but he's always had a ton of respect for her too. He is 24/25ish when he realises he's caught feelings. He asks her to dance at Callum and Rayla's wedding. He starts having tea with her in the mornings and walking with her to Temple Hill (ia163a)

Claudia tries to leave but the other medics beg her not to. They need her help and her knowledge of medicinal herbs and potions. There's no one to replace her. She stays for a little longer, intending to leave the following week when a cart arrives bearing equipment and support and the king's seal. There is also a letter addressed to Lissa. In it, Ez promises her that her secret is safe, and that she will always have a home in the castle if she wants it.

The month before Callum and Rayla's wedding, the kids are called away to a skirmish in a little town near the border. Ez goes for a wander through town to assess damage and how much they'll need in funds to repair everything when he finds a small clinic that desperately needs financial support. This is where he finds Claudia. She is tending to the medicinal herbs in the garden when he rides past. She's been going from town to town trying to make up for all the trouble she caused by assisting in their clinics and apothecaries under the name Lissa. Ez recognises her immediately. He knows he should tell the others. He does not. He is 14/15.

Callum, snake boi that he is, is Not Having It. Claudia is thrown into a cell on arrival and he insists on exiling her as a minimum but Ezran, who's been in contact this whole time, knows she's been trying to make amends for her mistakes. He demands a trial on her behalf. Soren agrees. Opeli, as a stand in for Justice, argues that a trial is the fair thing to do. Rayla looks at Ezran, realises something else is going on, and agrees that a trial is the better way to go. The sentence her to service within the castle. Callum is Not Happy about it. (ia165)

For a while, everything is fine. Callum and Rayla get married, and castle life is pretty stable in amongst the political squabbles and the trips to quell conflicts in the surrounding towns. Soren hangs out with Opeli pretty regularly. Ez is writing letters to Claudia and personally funding the clinic she works at. Callum and Rayla start trying for a baby. Rayla falls pregnant three years after their wedding. She is 20ish weeks along when Claudia comes home.

This is one of the biggest disagreements Ez and Callum ever have. Rayla does her best to placate them both but she is also pregnant and doesn't want to deal with it. Frustrated that his brother won't trust his decision making and keeps treating him like a child, Ez spends more and more time with Claudia, who trusts him and treats him like an adult, until they're courting in all but name. Callum HATES this but reigns it in for Rayla's sake who's stressed enough. She goes into labour at the end of that summer and suffers a post partum haemorrhage so bad that the only thing that can fix it is Claudia's knowledge of Xadian herbs. The midwives kick Callum out of the room to let Claudia in and Ezran lets them. Rayla and the baby are both fine thanks to Claudia but Callum is FURIOUS with Ezran for allowing it to happen.

Opeli miscarries. She collapses during a council meeting, and it all comes out while the castle doctor and Claudia are attending to her. Callum and Ezran realise how stupid they've been because of the way they hadn't even noticed and they are speaking to each other again by the time Opeli is in recovery. Callum accepts Ezran and Claudia's courtship and does his best to process both this and Soren and Opeli (ia164) and things settle down again for a little while. Opeli resigns from her post as High Cleric and attempts to do the same from the council but Ez refuses her resignation and keeps her on informally. Soren and Opeli are married in a quiet ceremony. Opeli finds herself pregnant again six months later.

They're so caught up in the drama that no one notices Soren and Opeli having drama of their own. They are now having secret, hurried meetings in each other's quarters, knowing how absolutely Forbidden it is, especially for Opeli, both because of her age and her position as High Cleric, but they can't stay away from each other until Opeli starts throwing up in the mornings and she breaks it off in her panic. Rayla is the only one who notices and goes investigating. She is the only one Opeli allows to know of the situation. Rayla goes to Claudia to find the appropriate herbs to help Opeli with her Dilemma, and Claudia figures it out on her own 1) because she knows her brother, and 2) she's not an idiot. Rayla takes the opportunity to thank her properly for saving her life and their friendship begins here, while the boys are still at odds with each other. Opeli does not take the herbs in the end. (the fruit)

Viren returns to the castle that same year. It's Claudia's return all over again: Callum demands he be executed on the spot. Ezran wants to give him a trial. Claudia begs them not to kill him through her courtship with Ezran, her relationship with Soren, and her friendship with Rayla. Soren votes no, for himself and for Claudia. Rayla votes yes because, tentative friendship with Claudia aside, she can't trust Viren, especially not with her and Callum's little one running around. Ezran votes no because he wants to be a better king. Clio, the new High Cleric, Opeli's old 2IC, votes yes as the stand in for LJ. Barius, too soft hearted, votes no. Opeli is the deciding vote. She also votes no and all hell breaks loose all over again. (the snake).

Anyway, this is where we're up to. Obviously there will be more as I update the snake but I don't wanna give anything away BC hooo boy that drama is a doozy. I know, okay, these ships are Insane but the extrapolation you can do is just so Delicious and the drama is absolutely *chef kiss*

Now with part 2: electric boogaloo

#rayllum #sorpeli #claudiez #corterry #canon crack quartet

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lillylvjy · 2 years

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LILLY

FERRIS WHEEL DATE WITH WILBUR???? also maybe a kiss scene when it stops at the top 👉👈

yes ofc I can aimi! This is adorable!

Warning// kissing, tooth rotting fluff, let me know what I missed :)

Not edited!

We keep this love( in photographs)

You always admired Ferris wheels. When you were little you were determined to own one one day. You loved how they looked at night. Loved how they looked when you at the very top. It felt like you were at the top of the world.

So when you told Wilbur your love for them, he was determined to go on one with you any chance he got. And when you both were visiting America for his tour, there was a fair just a couple miles away. Perfect!

When Wilbur told you he had a surprise, you were thinking it was going to be another dinner date or maybe a movie. But when you pulled into the parking lot of the fair, your face lit up in a matter of seconds.

“Wil! This is amazing!” You exclaimed as Wilbur came over to your side of the car and opened the door for you before you could do anything.

“I knew you’d love it. C’mon love. What do you want to do first?” Wilbur asked as he took your hand and led you to the ticket booth.

“Hm. Games! We’ll leave the Ferris wheel for last.” You told Wilbur as he got the tickets and led you over to the game area.

Wilbur attempted to do the ring toss and failed with flying colors. You didn’t even try because you knew you would fail. You both tried the water game (idk what it’s called). Wilbur won that game and won a prize. He picked out the small teddy bear hanging up and once he received it, he gave it to you.

“Here. I know you don’t like big things and plus I wanted to win you something.” Wil said as you took it. You mailed at the bear in your hands and then back up at Wilbur.

“Thank you my love.” You said, giving Wilbur a kiss on the cheek. You began to walk away until you felt a hand catch your wrist and pull you back.

“Love, I think you missed.” Wilbur said with a stupid smirk on his face.

You rolled your eyes and went closer to him as you grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him.

You pulled away and looked at him. “Better?” You asked him.

“Better.” He smiled down at you as you took his hand and led him to the rides that were there.

“Ok…. Which one?” You asked him.

“What about that one? Don’t you like basically float?” Wilbur said, pointing at the zero gravity ride(?)

You smirk, “You sure?” You asked for confirmation.

“Yeah. I mean it won’t damage me. Might make me a little dizzy.” He said, way too confident for this.

“Ok let’s go then.” You said, pulling him into the line.

After you both got off the ride, you were perfectly fine as Wilbur walked wobbly off of it. You laughed as your grabbed his arm.

“You good?” You asked him as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” He said, shaking his head, almost like getting his eyes to stop playing tricks on him. “Ok no more. It’s either we get food or go on the Ferris wheel.” He asked.

You laughed at his comment and looked at the Ferris wheel. “Let’s go on the Ferris wheel now. The suns setting and it probably looked super pretty from up there.” You said as you looked at Wilbur. He smiled and nodded at you both started walking to the ride.

Once you both got into a cart, and strapped in not so safely, you were off. The ride was jagged and creaky but that’s what made it fun! But apparently for Wilbur, it was like he was going to die at any second.

“Are you sure you enjoy these that much?” He asked, gripping your hand hard and looking around as you guys went up.

“Wil! Your fine! It won’t break. I promise. And if it does. At least I’m with you.” You smiled at him. He smiled back at you as you guys made your way to the top.

As you came to a stop, you looked out and saw the horizon. The sky filled with yellows, oranges, purples and pinks. It was beautiful. Like a scene out of a movie that didn’t seem real. You wished you could touch it or hold it in the palm of your hands and admire it for all it’s worth for as long as you live.

“Wil. This is gorgeous. Are you seeing this?!” You looked over at him to see him smiling at you. “Wil. Look at the sunset, not me.” You moved his head over a nudge so he was facing the sunset. But he just brought his eyes right back to you.

“Yeah. But you’re the only gorgeous thing I want to look at love.” He said, booping your nose. You blushed and looked back out at the sunset. “Nuh uh! I’m not done.” Wilbur brought your face back over to his and kissed you. Slow and lovingly. He held your face gently as he deepened the kiss, as if you’d break at any moment.

The moment was interrupted as the ride shook and began moving again. Wilbur yelled out of horror and gripped onto you. You laughed at his face and doubled over in your seat.

“Jesus! Calm down Wilbur. You’re acting like a cat. Aww my cute little cat!” You said as you put on a baby voice.

“Shut up!” Wilbur laughed at you. You both settled down and you grabbed his hand as you laid your head on his shoulder. “I love you darling. So much.” He said as he kissed your forehead.

“I love you more Wil. So much more.” You said back to him and he rested his head on yours.

“You still didn’t look at the sunset did you?” You asked.

“Nope!”

#lilly writes #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot #wilbur x y/n #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #dsmp wilbur #wilbur dream smp #wilbur mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #x reader

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crystalromana · 2 months

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Apocryphia Bipedium- Ian Potter

[FIXED THE WONKY MOBILE EDITING. >.< IT LOOKED FINE ON DESKTOP]

[I am obsessed with this short trip so I had to bring it to Tumblr. Yes I did just copy and paste this page by page out of the pdf and formatted it. I think about it all the time. Anyway.

Apocrypha Bipedium takes place in the gap between Time of the Daleks and Neverland. Enjoy]

A Suggestive Correlation of The Cressida Manuscripts with other Anomalous Texts of the Pre-Animarian Era as proposed for Collective Consideration by Historiographic Speculator Anctloddoton.

In my selection and placement of the following extracts from the literature of the extinct worlds, I have attempted to draw suggestive parallels between some of the Problem Texts of the humanoid cultures. Obviously, the records of those times are now so fragmentary that any conclusions we draw from the surviving evidence must remain speculative. We cannot know what evidence we are missing, thus the linking of events posited by the presentation of these documents must remain a tentative hypothesis at best.

HS A From The Primary Cressida Document – Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Mysteria Press Original, 2973 CE.

The past is another country, the Doctor used to say. By which I suppose he meant it’s a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there, and you can have real problems with customs when you arrive.

I grew up in the future myself, which makes living in the past tricky at times. Liverpool was a great place to grow up if you were into the past though. It was full of it; the Campus Manor theme park, the castle, the Beatles Memorial Theatre, The Saint Francis of Fazakerley Museum, the Carl Jung Dream Tour, Post-Industrial Land and all those cathedrals, you were tripping over history everywhere. Mummy’s parents came from there too, so it was practically like we knew reallife olden days people.

It was much better than Liddell Towers where we lived in New London – most of the history near there seemed to be about some silly girl who’d let a professor of sums take photos of her and fell down a rabbit hole, or about those awful Daleks wiping out Southern England with mines and things. Much duller and hardly any variety in the rides at all.

Here in the actual olden days there’s not much past anywhere, just loads of future, and the rides are even less fun, all carts and donkeys and hardly any roads. We’re moving again, you see, dear diary. Even though the conquering Greeks don’t really seem to want to colonise any of Asia Minor themselves they don’t seem to want any Trojans settling back down anywhere round here either. They’ve occupied what’s left of the city, I suspect mainly so Menelaus can find all the expensive bits of Helen’s jewellery she seems to have mislaid, and seem keen we don’t hang about too nearby. Mymiddon Hoplites apologetically move us on now and again, clearly wondering when they can decently be allowed back home to start fighting amongst themselves again, and so we pack up and move. Some of their chaps are still feeling rather tetchy for no good reason apparently. Troilus says there’s a silly rumour going around that some terrible woman, probably a goddess, went around whipping up aggression amongst the Greeks a few years ago by magic, leaving marks on their necks that mean they can’t calm down!

It doesn’t make any sense to me. I think I might just be getting the cleaned up version of a soldier’s tale actually. I think that happens with me a lot. People treat me like a silly little girl sometimes, which isn’t really fair when I come from the future and know all sorts of things they don’t. I’m an adult now, even if not being born yet does make me about minus four thousand officially.

I don’t think Agamemnon’s Greeks really know what to do now to be honest, and after a decade’s anticipation I don’t think the trade routes or the princess they were sacking Troy to get are quite as good as they were hoping. I think they’re just hanging around stopping us settling down and looking for lost costume jewellery until they can think of something better to do. Some of the Ithacans are moaning it’ll be another decade before any of them get home at this rate. Bless them.

Running out of room, dear diary. Will write more when I have some new goats’ hides.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It! The True Confessions of a Ka Faraq Gatri not just written for the money when trapped on a primitive planet and needing cash to buy parts by ‘Snail’, Boxwood Books, 300 AGB.

Of course the hairy kangaroo had been at the mind rubbers and didn’t even realise the sword was there! How we laughed. Terrible namedropper, Zodin, but worth her weight in soufflé all the same

Naturally enough, mention of name-dropping reminds me of another anecdote, this one relating to dear old Bill Shakespeare, one of the finest writers and most atrocious spellers of any age. I’ve met him several times now and hope to again if I ever get off this pre-warp- engineering dustball. The last time was during that sticky business with poor Kitty Marlowe and those Psionovores from Neddy Kelley’s old scrying glass that I related in Chapter 9, but perhaps our most awkward misadventure together was the time I introduced him to some of his own characters, who included, as it happened, a dear, dear friend of mine.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress by Charlotte Elspeth Bollard, Library of Kar-Charrat. The work, having suffered some worm damage in the Great 2107 AD Cock Up, is presented here in the Elgin decorruption.

Travelling with Wilf and the Doctor was a curious experienced already felt somewhat out of sorts with time, having discovered my very existence was making history split in two, but sharing a home with a boy from the 16th Century and a man who seemed to come from nowhere so much as his own imagination, merely heightened my feeling that I no longer belonged to any era.

We three fellow time travellers had so very little in common beyond having all read the plays the boy had not yet written that the small talk had been small indeed, and, after a few days of the Doctor failing to get Wilf home, the atmosphere had become a little tense.

Wilf, it further transpired, had difficulty reading anything written in more modern Anglish than his own, which meant there had been little of a literary nature to distract him during his sojourn with us once he had read and re-read the Doctor’s picture books about Frinchs, Sneetches, Ooblecks and Cats in Hams.

Thankfully, towards the end of Wilf’s stay with us the Doctor had discovered a futuristic version of Lido called Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration that we could enjoy playing together and those last long hibiscus-scented afternoons in his music room passed pleasantly enough, without young Wilf having to constantly relate the escapades of besocked foxes to us.

The Doctor always won our games, usually coming from behind implausibly late in the day, and nearly always using some devious subterfuge to gain victory. Indeed, it was observing the childlike joy on the Doctor’s face at his underhand triumphs on the Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration board that I first realised just how much of Peter there was in his nature. Naturally, we loved him enough to pretend not to notice his cheating (I sometimes think the whole universe did) and at times towards the end we three had so much fun that I almost forgot I was a paradox, unpicking creation like Penelope at her tapestry in the heroic age we had just left.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur – works attributed to William Shakespeare collated by Heinrich Von Berlitz and Leopold Kettlecamp, Ampersand and Ampersand, 85 AH.

This passage from The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy – fragmentary foul papers of a naive work once attributed to the very young Shackspur, is worth quoting in full.

Act 2, Scene 1. A room within the box. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Here at last! Our journey finally through. In fifteen hundred and seventy two. Young Will, regard the ceiling viewing dome – Stratford on Avon, the Hathaway home.

Will. But sir, on those bare hills, no swarths do roll. And no houses nestle ’twixt those craggy knolls – The sun burns with a fierce un-English light And that beach there is not a Warwick sight! That’s not Stratford displayed above us

Char. – Lest the Avon’s turn’d to sea, ’Od love us!

Many scholars have disputed the authenticity of this piece of alleged Shackspurian juvenilia, pointing out, fairly, that it does appear to be the only one of his extant works that the Bard biroed in a twentieth-century school jotter otherwise festooned in swirly ink blots and doodled hexagons. However, if Shackspur did travel in Time, as several scholars suggest, this objection falls away. A more compelling argument for its inauthenticity is the verse style, experimenting uniquely within the Shackspurian canon with strict iambic pentameter composed entirely in rhyming couplets. Whilst dreadful, it is nothing like as appalling as that in Shackspur’s earliest known adult writing

***

From Tales from the Matrix – True Stories from TARDIS Logs Retold for Time Tots by Loom Auntie Flavia, Panopticon Press, 6833.8 Rassilon Era. Part of the Wigner Heisenberg Collection, The Mobile Library, Talking Books Section. Location currently uncertain.

The Doctor flicked the temporal stabiliser off and pulled down the transitional element control rod taking him out of the Vortex. Quite the wrong way to actualise and quadro-anchor even a Type 40 Time Capsule, isn’t it? Exiting the interstitial continuum at the perihelion of a temporal ellipse can cause serious buffering in your harmonic wave packet transference and sever your main fluid links, can’t it?

‘Here we are, Stratford on Avon, 1572!’ announced the Doctor proudly and wrongly. If he’d ever bothered to use his Absolute Tesseractulator to pinpoint his dimensional locations he wouldn’t have made these kind of mistakes, of course, but the Tesseractulator had never come out of its box, had it?

Charlotte Pollard, the Doctor’s friend, came over to him and flicked on the ceiling scanner.

A friend’s an Earth thing. It’s a bit like having a colleague or fellow student you co-operate with, but without any exams or project targets at the end to make the co-operation meaningful. There was a fashion for having them on Gallifrey at one time, ask some of your older cousins about it, they might remember.

Charlotte squinted at the view outside. It didn’t look like the Stratford she’d visited, with neither alien enslavers nor half timbered tea shops anywhere in sight. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

‘Positive. Ish,’ replied the Doctor. William Shaxsberd, a young man they’d promised to drop off in 1572, put down his coloured crayons and came to join them.

‘It does not look much as it once did, Doctor,’ said William, looking at the ceiling and cricking his neck.

The Doctor followed suit. The dustbowl outside was certainly not Warwickshire in any era he’d visited, ‘No. Indeed not,’ he admitted. ‘I think the rift in the Vortex is introducing a random element into my calculations.’

Do you remember the rift in the Vortex, from last time? That’s right, the Doctor made that too! It was due to the paradoxical interaction of two paravertical chronostreams further complicated by three retro- temporal augmented causal feedback loops, wasn’t it?

‘Another random element?’ asked Charlotte, ‘More random than the way you play “eeny meeny miney mo” with the buttons?’

‘Ha, Charley,’ said the Doctor. ‘Tres amusent.’

Charlotte turned to William to explain, ‘That’s French, Will, for “I’ve been banged to rights, Miss Pollard”,’ she said.

‘I somehow knew,’ William replied.

‘Really?’ asked Charlotte. ‘How?’

‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Charley,’ said the Doctor, ‘and yes it would be awfully de trop to ask how it works.’ Or at least that’s whatCharlotte thought he said. William heard something quite different of course.

Well, let’s get out there then,’ said the Doctor, opening the doorswithout taking any proper readings.

‘Er, why?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Because until we know how far out the rift has shunted us in spaceand time we won’t know how to get to Stratford, 15 diddlydiddly...’explained the Doctor, waving his hand vaguely as he searched hismemory for the end of the four digit number he’d lost interest in.

‘Seventy-two,’ prompted William.

‘The very same.’ The Doctor beamed, ruffling the young man’s hair in a way that, thanks to the TARDIS telepathic circuits alone, seemed endearing rather than insufferable and over familiar.

William and the Doctor headed for the doors. Charlotte was troubled though.

‘Won’t my temporal instability cause untold problems to wherever we are?’ she asked, quite sensibly, all things considered.

‘Oh, very probably, I expect,’ replied the Doctor airily, ‘but if you spent your whole life worrying about the consequences of your actions you’d never get anything done and the consequences of that would be unthinkable, wouldn’t they? Faint heart never bowled a maiden over,you know.’

Charlotte scowled. ‘Mind,’ added the Doctor as he stepped out of the control room, ‘neither did Katie “the Beast” Davies, if I remember my22nd-century Wisden correctly.’

That was an allusion to the Earth game Cricket, wasn’t it? It was the Earth’s planetary sport, despite the fact that humans were the worst players of it in the galaxy if you remember.‘

Doctor, I find your words confusing,’ said William as he followed him out.‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Will,’ Charlotte whispered. ’You’ll get used to it.’

* * *

From The Primary Cressida document

New hides! This keeping a journal business is awfully tricky when you’ve no paper around, but before mummy died, she did make me promise I’d write one when I eventually settled down. It’s a family tradition that’s been handed down for generations apparently, not that I ever saw mummy’s.

Anyhow, Troilus is still very eager to settle soon, but where? I’ve ruled out going east to the Holy Land because from what I remember from history and my travels we’ll get no peace there and the rest of the Med and Adriatic has already been bagsied. Troilus reckons Aeneas will have already have set up somewhere by now and we should have gone off on his boat when we had the chance. I just nod, and try to explain wave particle duality to the little ones.

I have a vague feeling I learned something about Aeneas from the UK-201’s didactomat box way back in the future. I think he ended up with Dido in Carthage for a bit, which confuses me because I thought Dido’s music was Late Classical, which must be after this period, surely. I’m sketchy on the details to be honest. I only remember it was Dido and not Sister Bliss because the planet we crashed into on the way to Astra was named after her.

Funny thinking about Dido, that was the place I’ve called home longest in recent years. I’ve been a nomad a while really – split between London and Liverpool as a girl, never knowing whether to talk posh and southern or not, emigrating to off-Earth with daddy, hopping about through Time with the Doctor, and now traipsing around Turkey with Troilus and his mates before its even called that or has any tourist facilities to speak of. I think I must have ‘space travel in my blood’ as one of those Baroque composers put it!

I’ve been wondering when I should discover electricity and plumbing a bit recently, these fleeces don’t clean themselves like proper clothes, so the sooner we can invent the twin tub the better. Are we before or after that Monk who invented things too early here, I wonder? I don’t want to mess things up like he did, but I’m shocking on dates. I just paid attention to the stories in the history books really, not the order they happened in. If I’d known the way round history went was going to be important I would have had the machine teach me it. Of course, as a child you never expect all that history around you is going to run away into the future like it has, do you? I’ve decided I’ll probably start with a steam engine and see if that messes up my memory of the future. The way I see it, it’ll be impossible for me to invent anything that’ll stop me being born so I can’t do too much harm.

I casually suggested making things out of iron the other day, which I know is a big step forward but everyone just laughed. Too brittle and hard to work compared to bronze or tin, they said. I suppose they’re right. You have to do something to it to make it strong, I remember that. I just don’t remember what that something is. For all I know my quad physics equations and could still compose a cogent analygraphfor the fall of the Mallatratt Protectorate, I’m a bit rusty on a few of the basics. Going to take us years to get garlic bread and sound radio at this rate.

Of course, I had a bit of training for life without the mod cons on Dido, so I can cope, but what makes things really fiddly at the moment is that my future’s past is catching up with my present, which is complicated enough to write down, let alone experience.

We’ve just bumped into the Doctor as a young man, and I’m sure it’s really bad form for me to let on I recognise him when as far as he’s concerned he’s not met me yet.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

My plan was pretty much the usual one, to go out and see if we could find out the year and our whereabouts in a way that wouldn’t arouse any suspicions, and then hang around until nightfall to get a better fix from the position of the stars. It may sound dull but I’ve found if I do that I usually find something or other to get embroiled in before sunset.

We stepped circumspectly out of the Ship and set off in search of the nearest habitation, ready as ever to improvise any number of cover stories to explain our presence and strange garb. As luck would have it we soon ran into one of the locals, and were able to subtly winkle out the info we needed on route to his encampment.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

People say you should never look back of course, advice we’ve been ignoring since Orpheus and EuroDisney, but I can’t help thinking that if the Doctor hadn’t landed us in the aftermath of the Trajan War a lot of that beastly business with the Time Lords might have been avoided later.

As usual the Doctor rejoiced in dropping straight into the middle of things without a moment’s forethought. Impossible, exasperating man,I tried to protest but somehow he just brushed my complaints away with a smiled shouldn’t have let him, but he did have such a lovely smile.

* * *

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 3, Scene 2. Another part of the hillside. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Yoohoo! Mister Goatboy, excuse me please, Could you tell me what time and place is this? Char. Discreet as ever.

Enter a Goatherd.

Doct. Yes, but awfully brave. Young man, there is information we crave. What land is this and what year are we in? We’ve lost track of both in our travelling.

Char. Oh I give up, you’re so inconsistent.

Doct. Just smile prettily, act like an assistant.

Char. But I never know what trick you’ll pull next!

Doct. Just grit your teeth, smile and stick out your chest; Magic’s best tricks work by misdirection.

Char. So I’m just here to stir his –

Will. Affection?

Doct. Quite so Will, a pretty face inspires trust. True, I’m afraid, if not awfully just. This chap will tell us the time and the place And Presto well head straight back into Space!

Goat. Eleven eight three BC is the year This is Hisarlik in Anatolia. I expect you’re traders from Phoenicia To be garbed and garbling here so queer. You’ve been ship wreck’d and concuss’d I’ll be bound. Which’ll be why you have no goods around. We must offer you shelter at the least Pop back home with me and well have a feast.

Char. How can he know he lives before Our Lord?

Doct. It’s just a translation device that’s flaw’d. It’s an awfully clever mechanism But it causes the odd anachronism. Kind goatherd, we would love to share a meal And watch the evening stars above us wheel. For by such means we will precisely know Our station now and where we next must go. Exeunt Omnes.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘Do we really need to do this?’ asked Charlotte as the band trudged wearily after the herdsman in their impractical shoes, ‘Surely the date and location he’s given you is enough?’

‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor replied, ‘but studying the stars will allow me to be more accurate. Besides, I’m famished. We haven’t eaten for minus three thousand years, bear in mind.’

So the Doctor and his companions blithely headed off into further temporal confusion, unaware that the goatherd had seen the TARDIS arrive and knew full well who the Doctor was already.

There’s a lesson there for anyone who thinks it’s clever to keep their TARDIS in one form, don’t you think? The Ionic Column factory preset might look nice, for example, but when using it means every Grun, Za and Caius in the Cosmos knows who you are immediately, it rather defeats the point of a chameleon circuit.

From The Primary Cressida document

One of our herdsmen saw the TARDIS arrive in the next valley this afternoon and instantly recognised it as the mobile temple that had prefigured the city’s fall, and the Doctor as a younger version of the old man from my tales.

He sent his mate back to tell us so we all had time to prepare ourselves and could all pretend we believed the Doctor’s implausible story about being a trader from Phoenicia when he turned up an hour or so later.

It’s definitely him, probably about 40 years before we met. He dresses similarly, his hair is curlier and darker and his face looks a bit different, but the years are never kind, are they? Amazingly, he’s almost as vague as a young man as he was when old, if not quite so ummy and erry. I’d always assumed that was because he was getting on a bit.

Thankfully, no one here’s too thrown by the idea of time travellers after me relating all my adventures to them, though one of the boys did ask me why the Doctor didn’t walk and talk backwards when his past was in the future. I was very clear why not when I started explaining it, but I must admit I got a bit confused as I went along. He hasn’t recognised me of course, dear diary, and we’ve invited him and his friends to have tea tonight.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Well, imagine my embarrassment when we arrived at the fellow’s encampment and who was in charge but my old friend Vicki (now calling herself Cressida of course) and her new husband Troilus, who I’d never actually met, due to quite heavy escaping commitments around the time they got together.

I realised with a start that young Bill Shakespeare was due to write a play about this couple in a few years, and that unless I was careful thismeeting would almost certainly be what inspired it, thus complicating Bill’s already tortuous history further and bringing yet another new paradox to mine. I’d only let Vicki go away with Troilus at Troy’s fall because once I heard she was calling herself Cressida I’d assumed it was predestined (well, I was young, I believed in that kind of thing), I knew there was a play about the couple by Shakespeare and thought I was helping history take its course by hitching them up. Now, if I’d only done that because my future actions would one day bring that play about, I’d accidentally made a big chunk of my past dependent on my future, which, as you know, isn’t really the accepted way of going about things.

I reasoned it was vital for the tidiness of the time line that I kept Bill from learning the background of Troilus and Cressida in any detail, ideally forgetting as much of their present as he could too.

To complicate matters further, Vicki had actually seen Bill as an adult on my time telly, the Time Space Visualiser. She was never the most historically careful of girls, and I feared that if she found out who he was, she’d probably tell him all about his future at the court of Elizabeth and getting the commission to write The Merry Wives of Windsor and the inspiration for Hamlet on the same day and how he’d sprained his wrist in his rush to write both.

All it might take, I thought, would be one slip from any one of us, accidentally mentioning the words TARDIS or Zeus Plug over dessert, say, and causality would be tangled up like President Pandak’s kittens in twine, quicker than you could explain what you pop in a Ganymede socket.

Luckily, it seemed Vicki hadn’t spotted how anachronistic our garb was and hadn’t realised I was her old friend, seeming to completely swallow my inventive tales of sea faring, despite Charley’s rather fanciful insertions about hook-handed pirates.

I had, of course, underestimated her, as a quick and entirely accidental glance at her diary before dinner proved. Not knowing I could regenerate, she had taken me for my young self in my first form and thought she was protecting me from foreknowledge!

This, of course, suited my purpose. All I reckoned I had to do now to save Time from chewing itself to bits was keep Will busy and make sure Vicki didn’t relate her history to any of us over dinner.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when tidy temporal strands we try to leave.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Mr and Mrs Troilus seemed a sweet couple, he a lanky chap with a curly beard and a well-meaning expression and she a rather enthusiastic young thing with big eyes, yet the Doctor had become rather shifty from the moment we met them. I knew he was preoccupied by something, but I had, at that time, no idea what. After some fun, improvising tales of derring-do on the high seas to prove our credentials as traders, he took me to one side and explained that I had to get Wilf as squiffy as possible at the feast that night for reasons it was simpler at that moment not to explain. He said history depended on me getting the boy so drunk he could neither speak nor remember his behaviour the next morning. I’m normally quite good at that kind of thing, it was hardly my fault the Bawd was a functioning alcoholic at the age of eight.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 4, Scene 1. An encampment in the mountains. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow, Young Will, a goatherd, Troilus, Cressida, divers villagers and guards severally.

Doct. Hello. (Aside) Her! ’Tis Vicki, I should have guess’d. I never with good geography was bless’d Hisarlik is the modern name for Troy. Quite a temporal tangle, boy oh boy! (To Cress.) Ha ha, my hearties! We here are sailors three. (Aside) I can but hope she does not see ‘tis me.

Cress. (Aside) Deceit upon deception! Can this be The Doctor who I first took it to be? Is this him when young as I assumed? Or must deeper deceit be presumed? I’ll play along until the truth I know. (To Doct.) Good mariners, welcome and hello.

Will. (To Char.) What’s this strange accented charade about?

Char. (To Will) Who knows, we’ll be, I bet, last to find out.

From Tales from the Matrix

Yes Time Tots, exactly! The first thing any of us would have done would have been to get out of there quickly before we compromised the causal nexus. Staying for tea and imbibing too much ethanol, which you’ll recall the Doctor had a particular weakness for on his mother’s side, doesn’t strike any of us as sensible!

From The Secondary Cressida document (a transcribed fragment allegedly found at a Church of Rome jumble sale) – Even More Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Hatper-Mysteria- Ellerycorp Press Original, 2977 CE

My ruse worked, the robot’s read my carefully exposed diary and thinks I suspect nothing! He’s so obviously not really the Doctor it’s not true, but he doesn’t know I know that yet, so we have the advantage. He’s definitely a Dalek robot double like that other one they sent after us.

They’ve probably made him the young Doctor this time to make it less obvious. He does look a bit like he could be him sometimes if you’re not paying attention, but if you look closely his face is all wrong and his voice goes a bit funny sometimes like that other robot’s did, almost doing my accent at times! I think he’s probably feeding on my jumbled memories or something.

We’ll overpower him and his companions at dinner tonight and destroy them, they won’t expect me to know how to deactivate them.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

I’ve always been keen on wine, particularly the heavier oaky reds, though I find there is a rather tiresome tendency for them to be drugged by villainous blackguards sometimes, rather impairing the subtleties of the flavour, but wine in the Homeric era was quite a different proposition. What can I tell you about it except that it tasted awful but did the job?

It wasn’t the heavily resinated stuff the Greeks later went in for, thankfully, nor indeed that watered-down muck the ancient Romans used to dish out at parties, but I think it’s telling that the most flattering thing Homer had to say about it in the whole of The Iliad was how like the sea it was in hue. When you bear in mind he was blind, you can tell he’d had to ask around a bit to find anyone with something positive to say about it.

The food wasn’t much better either. It can be terribly hard eating out when you travel like I do. These days at home, I generally try to eat only things that don’t have a central nervous system, or that I’ve knocked up in the food machine, but sometimes, when you’re a guest, qualms like that have to go out of the window, particularly on worlds ruled by intelligent plants, where you’re best advised not to ask for a celery stick and to just stick your toes in damp soil like everyone else at the table.

Even then I try to stick to my principles and not eat anything with a sense of self, parliamentary democracy or sultanas in it.

This dinner was a particularly awkward affair; Charley acting like a slightly sloshed pirate queen, Vicki acting like she didn’t know me, Bill acting up, singing lewd madrigals that officially weren’t due for invention yet in his rather reedy girlish voice, and all the while me worrying about causality falling apart around me rather too much to fully enjoy the dolmades.

Suddenly, half way through the proceedings, the impossible happened: it took a turn for the worse. Vicki shouted out ‘Now!’, and lunged at my chest and started tearing at my waistcoat.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

My recollections of the ensuing events are somewhat hazy; I had been struggling to match young Wilt measure for measure, you might say, when I saw the Doctor being attacked. I launched myself at his assailant and missed, I’m told, briefly losing my dignity and consciousness in the process.

A shocking melee ensued by all accounts, with Trajans tearing at our clothes with cutlery and all the usual business with tables being turned and the like breaking out; I’m only glad I can’t remember the full details, because what little I do makes me blush quite enough.

It’s quite possible I told someone I loved them, and was sick later too. I’ve never been brave enough to ask. The next thing I remember clearly was being in the main tent with the Doctor explaining a lot and me apologising a bit, just in case.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 5, Scene 2. At dinner beneath the stars.

Cress. Take that, false Doctor! But where are your wires? In sparks and puffs of smoke you should expire. Could it be that you are the Doctor true?

Char. Get your claws off him, he’s mine, you wild shrew!

Will. Oh, Pillicock sat on pillicock

Char. Will you stop that terrible singing, Will? The Doctor and I are under attack From this Troyan host, while you’re supping sack. Join in the scrap and cease your carousel Lewd songs, anyhow, douse all arousal.

Doct. Vicki, Will, Charley, all, put down those knives! You’re all making the mistakes of your lives.

Cress. Vicki, you say? You should not know that yet. If you’re the young Doctor, we’ve not yet met.

Doct. Vicki, the reason that I know your name Is that inwardly I am still the same Man who left you at Troy some years ago, I can change my looks, if you didn’t know. Char. Doctor, do you mean that you know this wench?

Doct. We travelled together many years hence. I think it’s time I explain’d the full truth Of why I’ve deceived you all, forsooth.

Will. If she��s an old friend then tell me why You did keep that fact from Charley and I?

Doct. This is an old friend, Will, but, what is worse, She features, in decasyllabic verse, In a drama that you shall one day pen That means I shall leave her with this Troyan, If you only write it because you’re here Chronological conundra appear. Effects and causes whirl and spin about, Go through the wringer and turn inside out. The egg that hatches out your chicken Does in that self same chicken thicken.

From Tales from the Matrix

Then in direct contravention of fifteen universal laws of Time and two local statutes, the Doctor sat down and explained everything that had happened, and, in explaining it, he brought all the things he was worried about happening that hadn’t into the open, didn’t he?

Of course, it turned out that some of the things he was worried about were of no concern at all, but as a result of relating them he brought worse problems about.

I expect most of you have read stories about the Doctor in other books, and I expect some of you think he’s quite clever, even though he breaks a lot of rules, don’t you? Well, you’re right! In a crisis, he’s just the kind of person you need around, he can come up with ideas almost no one else could. The only problem is, when you’re not having a crisis, he’s just the kind of person to cause one.

From The Primary Cressida document

How embarrassing. It turns out the Doctor was the Doctor after all, only older and with a new face for some strange reason. The girl who drinks too much is his latest companion and the little boy with the dirty songs and the voice like a girl is William Shakespeare! Nice enough lad, no wonder he ends up in the theatre with that voice though, perfect for all those drag roles they gave boys. We had a lovely chat about Dido and Aeneas and told each other about our scrapes with the Daleks, and I let slip the odd thing I knew about his future.

He’s told me we should go and settle in England. Apparently there’s an old book he’s read by a chap called Geoffrey that says relatives of Aeneas were the first Britons I think it’s a super idea, ’ I know Troilus will like it in England, and I think we’ve persuaded the Doctor too! Just think! could be one of my own ancestors passing on my secret diaries for years and years, a bit like mummy’s family did! How smashing would that be?

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Of course I decided in the end that honesty would be the best policy and that as long as everyone knew the full facts, and swore not to be influenced by them, we could probably darn the hole in causality in such a way that it wouldn’t show. I sat everyone down in the central tent and explained. Well, what a Charlie I looked!

*** From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Ridiculously, the Doctor had been worried about Wilf getting inspiration for the play Troilus and Cressida from meeting the real Troilus and Cressida! I protested that Wilf had already read his own plays in the future anyhow, but the Doctor countered that they’d have been corrupted playing texts and in a court of law it would be hard to prove that was down to him, whereas if Will had got any of the plot or characterisation directly through his adventures with us that was a bit more serious.

That was when Will started laughing.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Tray Act 5, Scene 4. A tent in the camp.

Will. But Doctor, I did not invent the tale Of Troilus and Cressida’s love that fail’d. Why, Geoffrey Chaucer told it years ago! I cannot believe that you did not know. Have you read even half of what you claim Or do you just like dropping well-known names? Cressida’s tale is part of tradition Not the result of my precognition Of future perfect past present events, If you will forgive me my mangled tense, And my quondumque futures version Should have put you off this girl’s desertion.

Char. You should have read your Brodie’s Notes on Will. The phantom threat you feared from his quill Was nothing but an insubstantial shade, And there’s a real spectre here I’m afraid. I’m half a ghost of Christmas yet to come, Remember, I’ve made history come undone. You’ve got paradoxes enough to be Getting on with, as far as I can see, So why do you search for new ones instead That only exist inside of your head?

Doct. If I had known the work of me laddo Would I have found menace in my shadow? I here resolve to watch much less TV And be the reader I do claim to be. For half my erudite orations Come straight from books of quotations.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘What was Helen of Troy actually like then?’ asked William Shaxberd as he helped himself to more wine.

‘Is,’ corrected the Doctor, prissily.

‘She’s a good egg by all accounts,’ said Vicki, politely not mentioning the fact she thought her looks had gone, ‘and Menelaus was happy enough to have her back, even after all the bother, so she must be quite nice when you get to know her, I suppose.’

‘Well, she would have to be a good egg really,’ said William, ‘Her father was a swan supposedly.’ Like most young human men of his generation, he knew the salacious bits of Greek Mythology surprisingly well.

‘Half human on his mother’s side?’ smiled the Doctor, thinking himself clever. ‘Aren’t we all?’

‘No, just men,’ said Charlotte through a falafel.

‘She has two birthdays they say, one when the egg came out of her mother and another when it hatched,’ Troilus revealed, leaning forward over the table and whispering in that conspiratorial manner people sometimes do when divulging well known but dubious trivia.

‘It would have been an easy birth if she was born an egg,’ said Vicki ruefully, one hand on her stomach.

‘An easy lay, you mean,’ William corrected.

‘So Paris said –’Troilus began, his eyes a twinkle.

He was shouted down by his wife seconds later, barrack room tale untold, and one of those awkward silences ensued that dinner party guests in all cultures and times know only too well.

‘Have you actually read Troilus and Cressida, Doctor?’ asked Charlotte a little later.

‘You ask me, who had a hand in some of Shakespeare’s finest work – who put the mixed metaphor in the “To be or not to be” soliloquy, who hired the bear for The Winter’s Tale, and who really shouldn’t have passed on the story of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, if I’ve read Troilus and Cressida?’ replied the Doctor, rather over-egging it in that way he usually did when he was on the defensive.

‘Yes!’ they cried as one.

‘Well, no,’ admitted the Doctor. ‘It’s supposed to be one of the better ones, and well, you know, I’ve been busy. I’ve still not managed to tune the Time Space Visualiser in to catch all of The Golden Girls and I’ve been trying for decades.’

‘She doesn’t end up with Troilus in it, she ends up with Diomede, andit’s set during the war not after it!’ said Charlotte patiently.

‘Diomede! That was Steven!’ Vicki laughed.The Doctor looked confused. ‘Vicki and Steven were just friends,weren’t you? Just the odd haircut and getting locked up together, Ithought.’

‘Yes, that’s right, how many times do we have to go through that?’Vicki explained, giving a petulant Troilus a peck on the cheek.

‘Well the legend must have got a bit confused by the time it gotwritten down I think Chaucer got it from a foreign book,’ said William,draining his goblet.

The Doctor beamed, thinking he’d got away with his tinkering again.‘So Troilus and Cressida weren’t predestined after all!’ he said

‘Well, only because of your lack of reading,’ snorted Charlotte.

‘Oh that is a relief,’ said the Doctor taking the wine jug from William and helping himself without asking.

‘Now what about this business of giving us charts to help us reach this Britain young Will spoke of?’ asked Troilus, passing the Doctor a goat’s cheese nibble.

‘I really shouldn’t,’ explained the Doctor. ‘If you go there, on the basis of the frankly dubious history of Geoffrey of Monmouth then Vicki is in danger of becoming one of her own descendants, which is at least as badas the things I’ve been trying to prevent all day.’

‘Oh go on Doctor, please!’ begged Vicki. ‘We could mine tin in Cornwall and I’d promise not to invent anything I shouldn’t as long as I lived, not even roller skates!’

‘I don’t think I should. I’ve made enough of a mess looking after young Charley here, the repercussions of me sending you to Britain because the unborn Shakespeare suggested it could be horrendous,’ said the Doctor, finally being responsible for once in his lives.

‘Oh go on Doctor, I’m unborn too, remember, so that shouldn’t matte rmuch,’ said Vicki.

‘And I’m only half here,’ said Charlotte grimly ‘Why stop messing about now? You should have stayed at home watching these Golden Girls of yours if you weren’t prepared to get involved in real people’s lives. They’re messy and not always in the order you’d like and sometimes too short, and they’re not always better for having you in them, but you either face that or hide away somewhere, don’t you?

’The Doctor kissed her.

‘What was that for?’ asked Charlotte.

‘To shut you up,’ he said. He tapped Vicki on the nose and smiled,’Come on, let’s carry on the party, and in the morning, when rosy-fingered Dawn has done her bit, we’ll sort out a good map of Europe for the Trojans and get them started on their boats. Any consequences which haven’t happened yet we can worry about later!’

Some of you will be shocked at just how naughty the Doctor was in this story: jeopardising the stability of all those will-have-might-have-been futures out there depending on him by interweaving all those strands of destiny connected to the Dalek race and all on the basis of a whim.

The Doctor already knew Dalek causality was partially snagged in a loop in Time and his friend was the focus of a temporal anomaly, but of course he had spent a jolly long time in the Vortex, hadn’t he? That meant his causal connections to events future, past and maybe- somehow were a great deal more jumbled up than most people’s and he was quite good at judging just how likely to snaggle the Web of Time his whims might be.

Or so he thought.

The Doctor believed in two very wrong things you see; firstly, in something he called personal morality that he thought was more important than doing the things simply everyone knows are right, and secondly, that he was cleverer than everyone else and could always sort things out.

He deserved what happened to him next, didn’t he?

Document from the Braxiatel Collection Shakespearean Ephemera wing, a note found in the effects of William Shakespeare by literary assessor Porlock. It is not believed to be in Shakespeare’s hand though it bears some graphological similarities to the disputed Scarlioni Hamlet manuscript.

List of things not to mention

The Daleks,

That you’ve met me before when we meet next (because you didn’t mention it last time, you know),

That you’ve read half your plays already

That I wrote all the good bits in Hamlet, [‘good bits’ later amended to ‘rubbish bits’ in a different hand]

The idea of cigars (until Raleigh gets back from abroad),

That cigars will end up named after some of your characters,

That someone called Raleigh will go abroad,

That Troilus and Cressida had a lovely marriage and lived happily ever after in Mousehole, no matter how the story goes in Chaucer,

Oh, the places you’ve gone and the things that you’ve seen

#Charley Pollard #Eighth Doctor #Vicki Pallister #Apocrypha Bipedium #time of the daleks #z

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simp999 · 6 months

Text

A New Home Ch. 33

Various! Splatoon Manga x Skilled! Isekai'd! Reader

Wc: 1k

Milo playlist!

Back to the Start! Previous Next

The night went by quick, your family enjoying the time off you're allowing them to have. Of course you're still enforcing a healthy diet along with regular stretch sessions, but that's the bare minimum at your rank.

The following morning, you found yourself sitting infront of a simple meal- very unlike Milo before a battle so important. WIth his pastel green apron on, he slightly turns to face everyone at the table;

"Sorry guys, I need to do a grocery run."

He opens up the last carton of juice just for Leo, placing it in front of him. While he's beside you, you ask Milo if he'd like it if you joined him to do groceries. He offers a warm smile, mixed with pleasant surprise.

"Of course! We'll leave right after I'm done eating, sound okay?"

You nod, knowing that allows you some time to get dressed and whatnot because he still hasn't sat down to eat.

Before long, you're both standing at the front door, right on time. Very different from how it usually is compared to when Leo tags along.

You adjust your shoes one last time before waving at Leo and Tasha- the both of them preoccupied by their usual activities: Tasha cleansing her weapon and Leo with his eye glued to the TV. Milo sighs and loudly proclaims a goodbye, gaining their attention and telling them to take care, telling Leo he set out some snacks for him.

You always knew how protective he was, but it seemed so absentminded sometimes. He stood behind you nearly the whole train ride, and you could've sworn his smile turned into a slight frown when he saw some guy staring at you a bit too long. He caught you gently when the train stopped a bit too hard, arriving at your destination. A short walk later had you through the doors, Milo grabbing a cart. Money was no longer really an issue these days thanks to your rank, but he still shopped as if he didn't have lots, getting lots of non-name brand stuff. When you finally built up the courage to ask, he said that his mum taught him lots of ways to bake and cook, and the non-name brand stuff was just as good for it.

Not too long in, you ran into some fans. You slightly stood behind him, feeling a little embarrassed being spotted by actual fans in public, but Milo took care of the situation perfectly. He even offered them a hug! One was a sweet little girl, and another, an older boy who was more distant. The brother- you assumed- seemed to be happy for his sister, asking if he could get something signed for her for when she got older. Maybe it was actually for him- that wasn't for you to assume.

You stifled a slightly annoyed laugh noticing how he roamed the aisles exactly like a mother would. Very slow steps, leaning down on the cart often. You trailed beside, pointing at stuff here and there. Every once in a while he'd ask for your opinion between a few things, and you'd remind him that there are no issues getting both.

"Okay, yes- but Leo's gonna go through these packs of gummies in seconds. He doesn't need two boxes."

You shrug and nod- okay, that one's fair. ... Maybe you just wanted some too.

Shopping with him did have some positives despite the sore feet after standing for so long, allowing you to get your favorite cookies and him "treating" you to a plushie. (You could have gotten it yourself, but it just felt more special when he got it for you.)

Then, you pointed to some strawberry mochi. You remember Tasha enjoying traditionally Japanese snacks and foods, so you figured she might like them. Milo's eyes widened a bit and his gaze softened when he quickly nabbed the box. Under his breath he whispered;

"My sister used to love these."

"Used to?" Your question slipped out completely on accident.

He softly nodded. He was quiet for a bit with a warm look on his face, but you noticed the slight furrow in his brow. Of course you wouldn't force it, but you were open to listening.

After a while, you felt the need to apologise. He's usually really talkative, but it seems he was completely lost in thought. He slightly jumps up, and waves his hand dismissively.

"No, no! It's okay- I just-, she was a very sweet individual. I miss her a lot."

"Is she still at home?"

"...No. She's passed to somewhere nicer now."

Oh. OH carp now you really felt bad. How did you not get the hint?! You assumed Milo moved from his home to here and had to leave his sister at home, but duh- of course it wasn't that.

You held your breath, feeling very awkward about bringing it up.

"It's okay, Boss. Really."

"She was younger than me by 8 years. I know, I know- don't think ill of mum though, okay? She was just doing her best, and I was very glad for both of them. Mum's still around, I talk to her every few days. She taught me everything. And my sister, Luna, I loved her so very much."

The two of you went through the checkout together, you helping him put the groceries on the conveyor belt in order. He carried most of the bags himself.

The two of you made it to the train without issues, besides him grabbing another bag from your hands and you barely noticing until it was too late. He teasingly stuck a tongue out, claiming it was good for "strength training". Yeah right.

Once you were walking back home from the train, he finally spoke up again.

"She was... well, believe it or not, I was small and weak at one point in time."

"I wasn't able to protect her."

Mar. 9. 24

Next part

#fanfic #x reader #splatoon manga #splatoon #splatoon manga x reader #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #coroika #Spotify

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madisonmontgomeryimagines · 2 months

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brooke + a reader who’s more extroverted and openly affectionate? ^^

Initially, you had been a little worried that you'd overwhelm her, the much more reserved girl always polite when you exchanged a few words on her way into the library. While you wouldn't consider yourself rowdy, you couldn't deny that you flourished when you were around other people. You didn't know enough about the other girl to say that she was the opposite, but you worked at the library often enough to notice that Brooke generally kept to herself unless she needed help.

There was nothing wrong with that, it was meant to be a quiet and peaceful environment, but it would be a lie to say that boredom never snuck up on you and made you ache for companionship. Brooke had taken to spending hours at a time in the library anyway, it just made sense to be friendly, but you didn't want to push anything and seem weird.

A shrill shriek made you jump harder than the loud snarl of thunder did, cast into darkness by the storm. Despite yourself, you heaved an inward groan at the thought of fighting with the backup generator, and suddenly going to make sure no one was being murdered was almost appealing. Almost.

The streetlights outside were dark too, not leaving you much optimism for a speedy fix. "Hello? Is everyone okay?" You called out, fingers trailing the wall as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You could make out a couple flashlight beams - an elderly woman using her phone to illuminate the crossword puzzle she was working away at and one of the local students making a hasty exit through the glass doors.

"Sorry," Brooke's mumble came from one of the aisles to your right, and if you stared hard enough into the shadows you could make out her frame. "I thought I saw something, trick of the lightning."

"It's okay, as long as you're not hurt or anything?" You dug around the re-shelving cart for the flashlight someone insisted on keeping there, carefully guiding the beam towards your companion while trying not to blind her.

"No, just mortified." Brooke offered a wry smile, looking very much like she'd like the ground to open up and swallow her.

"Well, I should have the lights back on in no time, but if you want to head home before the storm gets worse I can wait for your ride with you."

"No," she answered too quickly, silent steps closing the distance between the two of you. "If the power is coming back on, I still have some stuff I need to find."

"Fair enough. Give me a little bit to get it set up."

With that, you'd made your way to the door that descended to the basement, not even realizing your companion had followed you until you were already squeezing between boxes of stored books and documents to get to the beast you needed to appease. A coworker had tried to explain it once, what actually happened when you reset the generator and brought it back on, but you didn't really feel confident enough in your understanding of electricity and motors to say you understood it beyond memorizing the ritual to make it turn on.

Brooke took the flashlight gently from your grasp before you could ask her to hold it, a measure of curiosity in her gaze as she illuminated your work station.

"Thanks," you flashed her a grin, "really didn't want to have to hold it in my teeth." You were only half joking, but it was enough to earn a chuckle from her anyway.

"Does this always happen when it storms?"

"Just about," you lifted a shoulder. "The wiring is all fucked up and around here the power nearly goes out if the breeze is too strong." When you heard the great beast hum to life, you wiped your hands on your pants and stepped back, taking the flashlight back, fingers lingering when they brushed hers. "Once it gets up and running the lights will be back. Maybe I can help you find what you're looking for."

"I'd appreciate it." Her smile made your bones weak and turned your thoughts to quick glimpses of desire to spend time with her outside of work - buying her a coffee, grabbing lunch together, cooking her dinner.

Embarrassed at how smitten you were, you could only nod as you led her carefully back to the stairs, grabbing her hand gently without thinking about it as you weaved through the piles of boxes again. Above you, the lights buzzed quietly with grumblings as they glowed to life again. Without releasing your hand, Brooke gravitated to the same aisle you had found her in, leading you away to a space that almost felt tight enough to be intimate.

Finding the book that she wanted seemed rather determined to make itself a challenge for you. It hadn't been on the shelves, or in the piles at the desk, or on the carts. You knew the library had it, you could even see the title in your own handwriting in one of the inventory logs, and the last time it had been checked out was almost a year and a half ago.

"It's okay, I can try and dig around online for a copy somewhere." Brooke clearly felt guilty that her request for help was now approaching a half hour long search without results.

"Let me check one last place," you pleaded quickly, enjoying her company and not wanting to face the misery of working alone. Again you went down into the basement. The piles of boxes were helpful landmarks now, the closer they were to the back wall where the generator was, the longer they had been down there. As the person who got saddled with the unlucky job of bringing the boxes down here, you were confident in saying that only three or four boxes of nonfiction reference books came down in the time since the book Brooke wanted had last left your doors.

She sat on one of the bottom stairs as you shifted through different sizes and titles, and when you peeked at her from the corner of your eye, the smile playing on her lips threatened to make you search every last box. Mercifully, your quarry was in the second one you checked, a triumphant sound slipping from your lips as you lifted the book out of the box and extended it towards Brooke.

"You're incredible," she was on her feet in an instant, dark eyes greedily scanning the pages she was flipping through.

It felt like you were walking on air as you followed her back upstairs and urged yourself back to your nightly duties so you could close up soon. "I'll wait for you and we can leave together," she had told you in her soft voice when your paths crossed as you headed to the computer room.

You felt ready to burst out of your skin when you were finally released from the jaws of responsibility as the hour turned over and you could lock the doors with yourself outside of them.

"Let me thank you with dinner." Brooke suggested when your hand again reached for hers before you could think better of it.

"I won't complain," your voice was playful, smile audible as you pressed a kiss to her cheek.

#brooke thompson imagine #brooke thompson x reader #brooke thompson

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theheadlessgroom · 2 months

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@beatingheart-bride

Just as wordlessly, Randall took Emily's hand and squeezed it back, exchanging a tender smile with her when he did. He knew in his un-beating heart what she was thinking, what she was feeling, and his heart went out to her at such. It wasn't fair that she didn't have these sorts of fond memories to reflect on when it came to her own family, who by and large let the servants handle the child-rearing, particularly in Emily's formative years. It was not the childhood she deserved.

But similarly, Randall held his own tongue, not wanting to bring up the de Clair's-it wasn't his place, and now wasn't the time. The tension that had hung over his parents and uncles like a dark cloud was beginning to wane now, fortunately, chased away by Lon's infectious enthusiasm for his home, and Erika's sweet answers to the little questions her family asked her and her brother as they continued to explore the park, and he preferred it stay that way. It was nice, the whole family going on a walk like this...

"You wanna go on a ride with me, Uncle Cal?" Lon was asking, hanging off his great-uncle's arm; at this, Callahan laughed, saying, "Ah, Col and I would be delighted to go on a ride with you, lad!" It'd have to wait until the evening, of course, but he'd be more than happy to join his young nephew on one of these new-fangled thrill rides, something neither he nor his twin had ever been on before, but was intrigued to ride.

"But only if it's okay with your folks," he added, looking up to Randall and Emily, not wanting to overstep any parental boundaries. At this, Lon turned back to his parents with big eyes, asking, "Can I, can I?"

As he did so, bouncing up and down in anticipation, Erika shied away a little-noticing this, Josephine asked, "Not as enthusiastic as your brother about these sorts of rides?"

"Uh-uh," she confessed shyly with a shake of her head, at which her great-grandmother laughed gently, saying with a smile, "That's okay, neither is your granddaddy. Just looking at one of those big roller coasters with the loop makes him nervous!"

"Riding a glorified mine-cart is just not my idea of a good time," he shuddered with a chuckle, and Josephine smiled (the idea of going on such a ride thrilled her, but she knew it held no appeal to her husband), before suggesting, "Well, if it's alright with your parents, maybe we could split up: I'll go with your brother on one of the roller coasters, and maybe your granddaddy could go on one of the slower rides with you?"

"I'll go with you too, Erika," Wilhelm added-those sorts of rides didn't call to him the way it did his brothers, so he wouldn't mind taking it slow and easy with her, and he was sure Randall would be no different.

#((oh no!! that'd be some heartbreaking lore; oh my GOD!))#((there's defidently a tragic streak of the pace men dying WAY too early; and under tragic circumstances))#((-what with wilhelm drowning and randall being murdered-))#((and it'd be awful if even in an au; lon were to meet a similar fate; oof!))#((fortunately we're not *that* cruel; and fortunately it's not a part of our lon's lore; even in a human au!))#((and that said; i don't think it's dumb-we've all had those moments where we've been a little groggy waking up))#((and taken a look at our phone and had to do a double-take because we misread something; so you're good!))#((still; just thinking about that *actually* being a part of the lore...that'd be so heartbreaking! D:>))#outofhatboxes #beatingheart-bride #V:Two Worlds; One Family

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nuriaredgrave · 1 year

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Prompt #9: Fair

Nuria groaned in discomfort, leaning over a railing that hung above a pond nestled within the bustling theme park. Hani and Dane had warned him to take it easy on the fair food, but with so many bizarre and delicious snacks being offered up, how was he supposed to resist? Deep down they expected this, Nuria was nothing if not stubborn. The two friends simply rolled their eyes at each other, sighed and began rubbing his back to try to ease his misery.

Aside from this the day had been great. The three of them arrived at about midday, Nuria practically vibrating with excitement as they waited in line at the entrance. Dane raised an eyebrow, "You gonna be alright? Kinda freaking out, there." Hani laughed, "I think he's just excited." Nuria really had no idea what to expect, for all the times he'd heard of fairs and carnivals he'd never actually been to one. After what felt like an eternity the gate swung open, and the eager trio made their way inside.

Nuria was like a whirlwind the girls could hardly keep their eyes on. Breathlessly sprinting from vendor to vendor, buying up the strangest foods he could get a hold of. His arms seemed constantly full of these snacks, always ready to share a new one with his friends. However after their 4th deep-fried, cheese-glazed, body-destroying nightmare kebab the girls swore off fair food for the remainder of the visit. Of course, Nuria soon ended up with another monstrosity in his hand. Hani gave him a concerned look, "Nuria...I really think you should take it easy." Dane just shrugged, "Nah, let him go for it. Can't say we didn't warn him."

He did alright for a little while, he was honestly having the time of his life. A bit of wood-breaking with Dane, a Whack-a-Bomb game with Hani, the three of them even took a relaxing ride around the fairgrounds on a miniature train. They found a funhouse hall of mirrors which Nuria kept moving far too quickly in, repeatedly slamming his face against mirror walls and sending the girls into tear-jerking laughing fits. The last attraction was a pitch-dark haunted house, which practically terrorized Nuria and Hani but had Dane giggling the whole way at the cheap scares. She'd never admit it, but she was guilty of brushing her tail against Nuria's legs a couple of times to get a good scream out of him.

As the sun began to set, and after all that running around and screaming, here the friends were at the railing as Nuria paid for his poor eating decisions. After a while he stepped back and slumped on the nearby bench, leaning his head back and letting out the most worn-out "Fuuuuuuuuck" this star had likely ever heard. Hani and Dane came to sit on either side of him. He let out one more pained groan and mumbled, "Sorry this is how the night's ending, guys. Eyes were bigger than my stomach." Dane patted his back, "No worries, big guy. We had a great time anyway. Gods, you just.." she was struggling to hold in her laughter, "..you just couldn't stop running into those mirrors." Nuria snorted, breaking through his belly discomfort with a smile, "It was pretty funny, huh." Hani beamed at him and reached up to fix his messied hair, "I thought today was great. Even if you were being kind of a butthead eating all that food."

The three of them sat and relaxed for a while, making small talk and enjoying the evening breeze. When all's said and done, they were always happy to spend some time together. With how busy they all were and how chaotic things had been in Eorzea in recent times, it wasn't something that happened as often as they'd like. So they made the most of it when it did. Eventually they all got up, stretched their legs a bit and made their way to the fairgrounds' exit. Just then, a vendor wheeled past them with a cart serving delicious piping-hot pizza by the slice.

Nuria looked at his friends sheepishly for a moment, slowly turned away from them, then darted after the vendor. Dane sighed heavily but smiled, "As usual, he didn't learn a thing did he?" Hani just chuckled, "That's Nuria, alright."

#ffxivwrite2023

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possumsinpeoplesuits · 11 months

Text

Hard Lessons in Cosplay

So, I decided to go to the Texas Ren Faire yesterday, and after nearly dying by being a bit of a thembo, I'm here to share what I've learned so that my fellow people-who've-never-done-this-before won't also end up nearly unconscious because of a bomb-ass outfit.

So, first off, the good parts. While I didn't bump into any friends there, and I didn't see any other Locked Tomb cosplayers there, a lot of people liked the costume anyways! Also, the fans in the mask were a lifesaver, as having a way to keep my face out of the sun while still having a steady breeze was absolutely key to making it through the early morning's 70 degree weather.

Now, for the parts that sucked.

So, you know how I mentioned it was 70 degrees in the morning, despite it being late October? Well, at around noon, that hit to 80 degrees. I started the day with a 1.5 liter bottle full of cold Gatoraide, but that got drained fairly quickly, and was soon replaced with 80 degree tap water from a water fountain. I was still okay on hydration, but I was losing electrolytes fast, and could no longer cool down as easily. To give a visual, this is how much I was sweating before I took the coat off:

I took that picture the next day, after leaving the coat to dry all night. It was STILL that wet.

So, I made my only smart decision of the day: I started heading towards the exit, to call off my first outing before the dehydration got dangerous. The only unfortunate part is, it took me almost two hours to find the exit, because I was getting a little delirious and couldn't remember where I came in, and my map had soaked through with sweat and become unreadable.

But I made it! At around 3 or 4pm, I got out of the faire, ready to get into my car, crank the AC, and laugh off the whole thing. That... did not happen. Because I had no idea where I parked.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, but the parking lots for the faire were divided into 30 rows, each roughly... two hundred yards or so long? So too long for my key fob to set off the alarm after walking the space in the middle of the rows.

I walked all the way to the end, then started walking back, and started stumbling because my body was starting to not work due to the heat. Some guy on a golf cart gave me a ride to the front, and I misunderstood him when he handed me a card of where I was picked up at so they could take me back when I recovered.

My dehydrated brain read it as "This is definitely where your car is, start walking again, you're almost done." So I walked there, checked all 200 yards of the combined north and south aisles... then walked back to the entrance, sat for a while to try to think up a plan, then when I went to ask someone working the entrance what to do... just kinda started blacking out.

So I sat at one of the stands outside the entrance, and while the lady running the stand didn't have the contact for the medics, she did give me some ACTUALLY COLD WATER, which didn't immediately cure my exhaustion, but cooled my brain down enough to work.

I eventually decided, hey... it's getting close to closing time. Eventually, everyone'll leave, it'll be cooler, and I can rest my legs for a bit. Someone even gave me a wet wipe to wipe the STALAGMITES OF SALT CRYSTALS off my chin.

This did, however, mean that I would be looking for my car at night. Normally, I'm pretty confident at night because I'm A. Fairly fit, and though I've been on HRT for about twelve years, I do still have them AMAB shoulders, and B. I was very, VERY heavily armed, with two two-handed Cold Steel Latin machetes, and a back up knife in my fanny pack.

But, again... I'd already fainted once, I was running on empty since I hadn't eaten since that morning, and was about 9 hours into my 10 hour death march under the Texas sun. So by 8pm, in the woods, alone, I was fucking scared. I even considered just stumbling to a main road and calling an Uber, but I was afraid that being summoned to the woods by a masked goofball wearing machetes on their legs might be, as the kids would say, sus as hell.

And finally, FINALLY, at 8:30, I found my car. After systematically searching every aisle past the reserved spots, starting from where a worker estimated I would've been parked at 10am, and searching another eight of the 200-yard aisles... I finally heard my car beep.

I proceeded to drive directly to a gas station, drink an entire cold bottle of pedialyte, then went to a chicken place and DEVOURED as much protein and fried pickles as I could, drank another liter of gaotraide, a 32 ounce soda, and made it home.

The damage? Aside from the usual chaffing, and some little marks where the knee pads were bumping into the upper part of my shin, I ended up with blisters on the pads of both feet, and one that took the entirety of my heel. My mask had worn through the skin of my nose, I was missing a section of skin on my thigh because I had a forgotten soda in that pocket, I was sore as hell, and was still five pounds lighter than when I left that morning. I also had to get up and drink some more gatoraide in the middle of the night because I was feeling feverish, but now that morning is here, I'm feeling much more alive.

So, the lessons I've learned is... bring more to drink than 1.5 liters if you're going to be outside, consider cutting the lining of a heavy coat out to stay cool, remember where the fuck you parked, and if you do end up on a ten hour death march under the Texas sun, consider bringing a necromancer with you. You might need them.

#cosplay #our lady of the passion tlt #our lady of the passion #the locked tomb #I was also wearing my “resting butch face” shirt #It should have been my shirt with Thembo written in the Barbie font.#ren faire

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apomaro-mellow · 2 years

Text

Old Fashion Romance

"OoOoOh~ Who are you gettin' all gussied up for, Lance?"

He didn't even turn away from the mirror as he fixed up his hair. "You already know who."

"For that greaser guy? The one who carries around a knife?", Hunk asked. He was already dressed and ready to go to the fair.

"I bet he's gonna look snazzy tonight too", Lance smiled at the image of Keith wearing slacks and a vest.

"He's probably gonna come in jeans and that leather jacket he's always wearing", Pidge said, not looking up from the magazine she was reading while kicking her legs in the air on Lance's bed.

Keith was in fact wearing his leather jacket. But he wasn't wearing jeans. No, he also had on a pair of leather pants. Fall was in full force and it was getting cold out. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he waited for Lance. They had been going steady for a few months now. Keith still couldn't believe that the school's baseball star would even glance his way but here they were.

The fair was already filled with people trying their luck at games, going on rides, and having a blast and every moment that Keith stood there at the entrance waiting was another doubt settling in that maybe Lance had come to his senses and wouldn't show-

"Keith! Hey! You weren't waiting too long, were you?", Lance asked as he came up.

"N-no, I uh, just got here", he bluffed. He saw Lance's two friends not too far off, gossiping to themselves. Keith had given up on keeping up the tough guy front almost immediately after meeting them. They saw right through him. Just like Lance.

Lance himself was looking like he hopped right off the cover of All-American Boy magazine with his perfectly ironed blue-plaid shirt. Seriously, what was a dude like this doing with Keith.

But then Lance took his hand and pulled him into the crowds and his doubts were left outside. Lance linked their arms together and Keith was just happy to be like this, by his side, having those adoring eyes on him. For a moment, Keith didn't even notice they were bypassing all of the booths and food vendors.

"Are we...going on a ride?", Keith asked when Lance led them away from the cotton candy without even giving it a look.

"Yup! A very special ride~"

Keith was about to question the tone of his voice when he saw what they were getting in line for - The Tunnel of Love. Keith swallowed. There were eight couples in front of them. He had heard about this kind of ride. He knew Lance must've too.

"Are you sure about this?", Keith asked as a couple got onto the little cart and went into the dark ride.

Lance took his hand and intertwined their fingers. "I am."

Some of the other couples weren't as subtle at hiding their true intention for this ride. One girl was giving her guy was seemed like a chaste kiss but the way he stared at her chest was anything but innocent. And two girls were giggling much too much and had their heads inclined way too close for a simple ride for gal pals.

There were six couples in front of them.

Keith's heart pounded as they stepped closer to the ride. He and Lance has kissed before but that was it. They never really got a private moment. Lance had a big family and Keith's parents always had someone over. The one time Keith ambushed him in the locker room they only got as far as taking off his shirt before Keith was stuffed into a locker as the rest of the baseball team came in.

There were only three couples left now.

They were doing this. They were really doing this.

Two couples in front of them.

Keith looked over at Lance and then looked away. If their eyes met for too long, he didn't know what he'd do. Whatever it was, it wasn't meant for the public eye. That's why they were going on this ride. To do it in the privacy of the dark.

One couple left.

Lance was hugging his arm into his chest now and if the person in charge of the ride knew what any of the teens were doing, they didn't look like they cared.

#apo writes #fanfiction #voltron #klance #1950s

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

Text

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Five: Taken

A powerful revelation. An important caveat. Regret.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

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CHAPTER FIVE: TAKEN

The morning is hard.

There’s no further reason to stay. They both know it.

They check the goods Martin procured for the Village, but that’s just lingering. There is no crime in this world. They both understand why, now.

And it isn’t better. It’s not, Martin tells himself, repeats, holds on to.

Still, they delay leaving, and hand-in-hand, and take one last walk around a London they’ve never known.

No one gives them a second glance, or cares the tiniest bit about their open affection.

Martin has enjoyed not being judged for loving whom he loves. But the rest of it….

It just isn’t fair, really. None of it is fair at all.

Pepper is in a good mood as they board the cart for their last journey through. Jon keeps looking around as they slowly ride through the streets toward the exit, and it’s not an ordinary looking around.

Martin can’t feel stories like Jon can. Has never felt statements under other people’s skins.

He wishes he hadn’t told Basira about Jon’s… bad behavior, during the worst of things.

Wishes he’d handled it himself.

But he wasn’t grown then. (That’s what it feels like.) Didn’t know how to deal with it. Had no confidence in confronting Jon, in risking Jon’s dislike.

Now, of course, that’s not an issue, and he recognizes the intense, unpleasantly hungry look on his lover’s face. “Steady there,” he murmurs.

And Jon understands, and slides his hand onto Martin’s thigh. Breathes a little funny—too slowly, too deep.

“I thought you said there weren’t statements here. It’s all controlled,” says Martin.

“Not the way we had them back home. But there are stories. Your favorite group has one,” says Jon.

Martin blinks. “Julia, Peter, Mark?”

“And Eloise.”

Martin’s eyes go wide. It takes focus to keep his hands steady on Pepper’s reins, to stay centered and steady-handed. “What.”

“Eloise. She was the fourth. They loved her. She loved them. But she was smart. She asked questions. And the King took her.”

This hurts on a level Martin hadn’t known he could feel since his mother died and he was left at Peter Lukas’ mercy. “Did he.”

“He did. He… he pays attention. Thinks it’s better for everyone. When someone questions, he doesn’t hold back. He makes it very personal.”

Martin has Eloise’s ink.

He breathes carefully, trying not to weep. “That’s not good.”

“No.” Jon exhales, focuses on his feet. “He’s sought them out for so long that it doesn’t happen often, now.”

“What, he’s bred stupidity? People are just born that way?”

“I think we both know this has nothing to do with intelligence,” says Jon. “If I had any, it never would have even gotten that far with Jonah, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Of course Jon went there. Of course he did. Martin sighs.

Kayne’s comment about Jon stabbing himself returns. He’s beginning to wonder if he understands just how much Jon hates himself. “Hey. You’re talking about my favorite person. Watch it.”

Jon smiles weakly. “It’s almost funny to think about. Even if I didn’t have that damned tether, he’d still have come to kill me.”

Martin does not think it’s funny.

“It feels like a bullseye on my brain, who I am. What I am. I’m afraid.” Jon looks away.

That’s more than Jon usually verbalizes about feelings. “Well, I’ve got no regrets,” Martin says.

Jon stares at him.

“I got to spend several nights in a feather bed, and my back has never been so happy,” says Martin.

Jon laughs. “There is that.”

“Let’s go south,” says Martin. “Why not? Maybe there’ll be a boat. And it’ll be lovely, anyway.”

And that, Martin thinks, is precisely how fucked they are: just going to find a pretty view, because there was nothing else to do.

Jon sighs. “What about Pepper?”

“I’ll try to make sure she gets back home. I’ll leave a note.”

“I suppose that’s all we can do,” says Jon.

“Yeah.”

They ride in silence for a while, until they pass through the oddly scaly walls, back into the wild outdoors.

Leaving London with its weird tri-hook shape is mostly a relief.

Mostly.

Jon hopes there is nothing left in that library he needs. To believe anything else is unbearably damning.

Martin is more than a little freaked out to find Nyarlathotep’s black book in the cart.

There is zero chance they brought it with them.

Jon doesn’t seem to notice. He’s building a fire, focused, and has been in his head most of the afternoon.

Good, thinks Martin, trying to decide if he’s going to burn this thing, or hide it, or toss it into the woods.

“He’s waiting,” says Jon, softly, into the fire.

Martin goes very still. “What?”

“The King. He’s waiting. We’re heading right for him.”

“Well, we’re turning around!” says Martin.

“He’ll just float over there and wait for us in whatever direction we pick.”

“Stop accepting this!” snaps Martin, who isn’t actually sure what he’s protesting, isn’t actually certain which part is making him mad.

Jon looks at him. “I will do whatever I have to do to keep his attention off of you.”

“Oh, so this whole time you were quiet, you were going insane,” says Martin. “No.”

Jon sighs and (finally) looks away, but his eyes—that expression—that piercing, too-broad, unnervingly inhuman gaze….

It wasn’t like in the apocalypse, no. It wasn’t that bad. But it wasn’t like in the Archives, either, when Jon was truly human, before Jon literally came back from the dead.

This mess has somehow jump-started Jon into going more eldritch, and now Martin knows where to direct his anger—at the King.

There has to be a way to stop this. “We have to run,” says Martin.

Jon just looks at him. “To where?”

Martin grits his teeth.

He tucks the black book into his bag with his notebook, though he’s not sure why. Sits with Jon for a while, eats a little with him; Jon’s bread is really good.

He douses the fire.

When he sits in the cart, he takes Jon’s hand, and urges Pepper the way they were already going.

There was no way out of this moment. But maybe they could do something after the axe finally fell.

“We’re probably near Brighton,” says Jon after what feels like hours. “Funny, that. It’d have been more thematically appropriate to head toward Bournemouth. Beginnings and endings, and all.”

“That’s morbid, Jon. Also way west,” says Martin, trying to lighten the mood. “Think your Yellow King would’ve had that much patience?”

“Probably not.”

They’ve reached some sort of finality, emotionally. Martin’s not sure they went through all five stages of grief, whatever they were (he only vaguely recalled the counselor telling him about them when his mum died), but this has to be some final point.

Acceptance? Sort of?

It doesn't feel particularly good.

The air has been briny for the past twenty minutes. He can almost hear the ocean, sometimes, when the wind is right.

It’s probably amazing. No industrial revolution, everyone so neatly (terribly) controlled. Martin wonders what color the water will be.

But the way Jon is looking ahead, they won’t be given the chance to enjoy that untarnished sea.

“We’re sticking with our decision,” says Jon, voice hoarse. “I’m not bringing the Fears here.”

“Of course not,” says Martin.

Jon’s eyes are wide, and he’s gone very stiff, and his teeth are bared. “No matter what, Martin? You won’t change your mind? Even if I can’t talk to you anymore. You’re certain. You’re certain.”

“I’m certain,” says Martin, but he isn’t, he is not, because he’s suddenly wondering at what point he would give in, at what point the price would be too high, and he hadn’t been thinking like that until this very moment, hadn’t been trying to count the cost the way Jon clearly had been for a while, but what else could he say? What else could he do?

Kayne was right. Jon will choose the way Martin wants, and that is not a power Martin wants to have.

“There,” whispers Jon.

Martin squints.

Ahead, the land drops off in a beautiful blue-gray line, and the thin, dark arches of birds hint at the expanse of the sea, the richness of whatever swims within it.

But there is a shape between them and the ocean.

It doesn’t resolve as a person, not right away. It’s off the ground, and it’s too wide, and it's yellow, and Martin can’t help pulling Pepper to a stop.

Jon looks at him. Into him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” whispers Martin.

Jon slides off the cart.

Martin leaps off, jogs around, stops Jon with hands on his shoulders. “No! Jon!”

Jon looks ill. “I have to go. If he has to come to us, it… it’ll be worse.”

“Don’t you dare do this! Where you go, I go. That is the deal, Jonathan Sims!”

“He could hurt you,” Jon whispers.

“And maybe he can, or maybe Kayne’s going to do it instead, but no matter what, I’d rather be at your side than trying to hide somewhere else!”

Jon leans into him. “All right. All right. It’s your choice. I’m never taking away your choice again.”

Martin exhales. That was an improvement, at least.

It still echoed past events too much.

I won’t have to stab him again, Martin tells himself, swears to himself, tries not to hear Kayne’s dreadful ways out of this—breaking Jon’s mind, or killing him. Why can’t we have… he starts, then stops himself. “Come on. You’re going in style.” He lifts Jon back into the cart like Jon weighs nothing.

That earns a weak smile. “Show-off,” Jon whispers.

Martin smiles. To his surprise, it’s real.

The King lowers slowly, timing his descent with the mule’s approach, and it’s so absurdly dramatic that Martin would laugh if he saw it in some show.

He has to admit it’s effective in real life.

The psychological power of it, the weight of heading willingly toward descending doom—

Yeah. It works. Martin’s a little irritated that it does.

Pepper is the only one who seems normal about all of this. The mule stops when bid, calm, and munches a little bit of grass that still grows before the sand takes over.

No one moves.

Is it a test?

Jon touches Martin’s leg. “I’m ready,” he says softly, and again, gets down from the cart.

So does Martin.

A million missed opportunities flash through Martin’s mind, little moments when they could have touched and didn’t, or when he thought something nice and didn’t say it, or when one of them or both were grouchy and let the silence go too long, or when they should have dug into a topic that needed digging and they did not, or—

Jon takes his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” whispers Martin.

They hold hands and walk toward the end together.

The King doesn’t look toward Martin at all. “I see you’re better prepared this time.”

“Am I?” says Jon, and it’s not a tone Martin likes at all.

It’s too calm, too… too….

Submissive? No. But that’s almost the word.

“Yes. As I’m sure you’ve realized, there’s no point in denying what you are.”

It’s such a big voice.

Martin hates it, feels it. Suspects he’d hear it even if he were buried in the ground.

Wonders if he could somehow grab the Lonely, grab Jon, and vanish.

But no. It’s not near enough, not close enough. And Martin has not fed it at all since he came to this place.

Jon’s grip is almost painfully tight. “Please leave Martin out of this,” he says. “Please.”

“Oh, Jon,” says the King with warmth and fondness (and if Martin had an axe right now he might try chopping). “That’s going to depend on you.” The King in Yellow reveals a humanoid hand—huge, ebony black—and holds it out, beckoning.

It is so condescending, and so superior, a crumb thrown to a starving dog, a penny dropped on a poor man’s head, and Martin feels something rising in him he has rarely felt: rage.

This god is so certain it has Jon that it doesn’t even care how much this is hurting him.

Martin opens his mouth to say something.

“Now, is that really the way to start all this?” says Kayne, appearing as if walking out of a fog (and that was on purpose, and that was pointed at Martin, and he knows it was). “No, no, no—we will only have maximum fun with honesty all around.”

Jon makes a tiny, terrified sound.

Kayne beams at everyone. He just looks like a guy. Attractive in a symmetrical sense, brown hair, tan skin, nothing to write home about.

There’s nothing here that should be terrifying, especially next to the enormity of the King, but… there is.

It’s like he casts a shadow Martin can feel but not see, hungry and grasping.

Jon’s breathing has gone shaky and shallow. He stares.

Martin knows Jon is seeing something that isn’t just a guy.

“Leave!” growls the King, a low and terrible sound.

Kayne winks. “He can’t touch you, muffin-cakes.”

“What?” says Jon.

And Kayne’s fingers suddenly shoot toward them.

Long, thin, like some kind of horrible black spears tipped with flickering purple, they stop an inch from Jon’s face, too fast for anyone to deflect.

Jon cries out and stumbles back. Martin catches him.

“Hey!” Martin cries.

“Any more than I can touch that,” says Kayne. “Ew, by the way.”

“Wh-what?” says Jon, and looks at the King. “You really can’t touch him?”

There is a moment of thick and awkward silence that reminds Martin of nothing so much as the tension between Peter and Elias after he’d refused to stab Jonah’s corpse.

“No,” says the King at last. “I cannot. We have an arrangement.”

“What?” says Martin.

Jon looks at Martin with joy, as though they’ve received a stay of execution.

And Martin is furious.

It’s not enough to do this, to ruin the life they’ve built, to force these things on Jon, but it has to be done in such a humiliating way, making Jon grateful? “Jon, don’t—”

“Jon,” says the King, sounding warm and congenial and utterly demonic. “Come. Let us talk.”

Jon brings Martin’s hand to his mouth and kisses it, then looks at Kayne. “If you leave him unharmed, I… I swear, I’ll….”

“Not to be heartless—oh, who am I kidding, I am heartless—but you have nothing I want. If he’s going to be ‘safe’ (a relative term, don’t you think, if we’re being honest) it’s all on him.”

“Jon,” says the King.

Jon ignores him. He’s breathing too fast. Whatever he sees when he looks at Kayne is almost panicking him, and that—more than anything else—signals warning in Martin’s gut. “There has to be something!” Jon says.

Kayne just laughs at him.

“Jon,” snaps the King.

Is he jealous? Martin thinks, which can’t be, because this thing is old as the universe, not actually a baby, and so it cannot be jealousy he hears in that tone. “Jon, I don’t need—”

“We are done here,” the King suddenly says, and his freakish yellow cloak swarms, grows, swallows Jon and eclipses Martin’s sight, and there is the smell of stone and a weird, not-right heat.

Something trips Martin up. Just catches him like a foot to his ankle, and Martin goes down hard.

Jon’s hand is torn away, and he’s gone.

Martin screams.

“There, there, puddin’ pop,” says Kayne, almost sounding compassionate, close enough to kind that it’s clearly mockery, a joke at the expense of horrible pain.

Martin breathes like a broken locomotive, looks around, but there is no sign of them at all, no distant yellow shape, nothing.

They’re gone.

“No!” Martin cries, and turns to the only option he has. “What do you want? What? I’ll do it! Help him!”

“Mmmm, oh, lemme see, lemme think real hard, no,” says Kayne, and smiles.

Martin wants to hit him.

It’s stupid. It wouldn’t do any good to anyone, and probably wouldn’t even land.

It’s also wildly outside his normal reactions, this violence, and that realization lurches Martin’s heart in a weird, painful way. He curls down over himself, breathing hard.

“Oh, the desire to kill things, the need to hit? It’s not puberty!” says Kayne. “Exposure to something like Hastur makes all kinds of things go haywire. You’re lucky, really. You’ve been sucking down divinity, my boy. Archivist saliva, or whatever you’ve put in your mouth lately (ew, by the way) has given you loads of immunity. DNA, magic, all of that. Most humans just go completely bug-fuck crazy when they meet the Yellow King.”

Martin feels the truth of it. It’s sobering, humiliating, amazing. “That’s why everyone’s minds are blanked when he shows up,” he guesses. “So they don’t go crazy.”

“Very good! So smart. I could just eat you up.”

“And what are you doing to me, then, if that’s what his presence does?”

Kayne just smiles, and it is a wicked thing.

Martin decides he doesn’t give a flip about Kayne right now. “Jon,” he whispers, curling down further, and cries so his tears drip into the grass.

For a long moment, there’s no sound at all beyond his hitching breaths and Pepper’s munching, off to the side.

He’s never hurt this much.

His mother’s death didn’t hurt this much.

His banishment into the Lonely didn’t hurt this much (those first few minutes before numbness took hold were horrible, but this was still worse).

Stabbing Jon….

Okay, yeah, that hurt this much, but there was somehow more hope in that, because wherever they were going, they were going together.

This is not together. This is apart. And nobody even broke any promises this time.

He makes a sound, long and hoarse. He doesn’t know what it is. A wail? A cry? A bellow?

Kayne waits. Humming. Filing his fingernails.

It is ominous. Martin knows without knowing how that Kayne doesn’t do idle, doesn’t do bored.

“Just tell me what you want,” Martin says, his voice so quiet.

“You don’t even know what you want, little biscuit, so no, I don’t think I will.” Kayne sticks his finger in his mouth, then wipes it—wet—on Martin’s cheek.

“Oh, gross!” Martin startles, wrenching away from him.

“Mmm, it’s really not my style to help out,” says Kayne, “and don’t get me wrong, you’re adorable, but not, like, that adorable.”

And Martin says what he’s actually thinking. “If I really didn’t have anything you wanted, you wouldn’t be here.”

Kayne smiles, and it is dark, and final, as if Martin passed some kind of test. “Fair enough, my little dove bar, fair enough. You just keep making me so happy, so tell you what: you go take your cart home, and I’ll check in with you there.”

Martin feels like his heart is burning. “But that’s more than a week’s ride!”

“Sure is, mon petite profiterole.”

“You—look, why are you doing that? Never mind, why do you even know French?”

“Outside, remember?” Kayne says. “And a week is good! Should give you time to think, figure out what’s going on in that wholesome little head of yours.”

“But Jon—”

“Will be having an amazing time. Just imagine the war stories he’ll have!”

Martin knows pleading won’t help. He can’t threaten. He has nothing—except the bare, vague, unfounded hope Kayne will show up after he gets home. “Where did they go?”

“Nowhere you can follow on your own, my love.”

Mart hangs his head. Why does it have to be this way?

“Iunno,” Kayne shrugs. “Ta!”

Gone.

Just gone.

Martin rises and walks forward.

He stands in the surf for a while, boots in hand, letting the absolute aching cold of the ocean eat at his feet and ground him.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if…

If Jon…

If Jon what?

If Jon summons the Fears, Martin will be with him. There’s no doubt of that. Once Jon has the power to keep them together, he will.

But that would cost the world.

If he doesn’t—and Martin is sure he will not—there’s a good chance he’ll never see him again.

And it’s stupid, and selfish, and unwise, but he wishes he hadn’t been quite so firm when Jon asked that last, crucial question.

Not that he wants the Fears here. He does not. But there has to be a third way.

There has to be.

Pepper is waiting when Martin returns, and is more than happy to trot for hours while Martin goes numb.

(part six)

NOTES

Martin's right. It's absolutely not fair.

It's about to get worse.

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