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sabraeal · 2 years

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and all my winding roads have led me here (to you), Part 2

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2022, Day 1: Beauty and the Beast Kindness, Night, Curse

The (Clarines) version of the song sung in this fic is this one written by @what-plant-metaphor-am-i! The second I heard it I knew it would have to be the one I used for the fic; hopefully she enjoys the raunchy Tanbarun version I made in return

I’m not much for people, Obi told her once, back before they’d known just how much coal would last a burner for a winter night, or how many miles of a sea a ship could cut across with all hands and sails unfurled. I don’t tend to stick around.

And yet, as the scholars of Lilias press around him, laughing at the flaps on his cap or plucking at the golden buttons of his coat, she realizes: he’s rarely without a crowd. In the training yard the recruits follow him like ducklings, waddling after him with wide eyes and rounder mouths; in the palace’s halls he’s always flanked by Makiri and his captains, discussing some patrol or another; and here, with her scholars, he’s the life of the party, everyone jostling elbows to come close and chuckle at the latest joke going round the guardhouse. No matter where she takes him, Obi is at the center of everything, and she--

She doesn’t know how to break through. Not the way she would have just minutes ago, slipping though with a smile and enjoying the way his arm would relax beneath her palm. Your cheeks are flushed, she’d say, a tease and a scold wrapped up in one. Don’t you know you need to keep warm up on your wall?

How easy it would have been to lead him away, to sit him by the fire and fend off the offers of too many drinks, curling into his side as simply as she always had and let his voice ease the hours away.

And now it is impossible. Yuzuri’s giggle echoes in her ears, and no matter which way she turns it over him her mind, looks like Obi needs to be warmed up, no longer conjures those conversations cozened in a forgotten corner, but instead--

Instead she thinks of his coat. Not this one the guard has given him, too short to warm much of anything, only making him look tall and lean beneath the heft of his cloak, but the old one. It’d hung long, the way Mitsuhide’s always had, more tunic than jacket in the Sereg way. Even when it fell open at the collar, Shirayuki had thought it looked warm, like a blanket someone might huddle under while the snow fell.

And it’s only a hop, a skip, a jump to think of it open to the waist, of how she might be so small as to fit inside it so long as she pressed close. How his own heat might mingle with hers, the way it had beneath the covers on Lilias’s coldest nights, and he--

Oh no, he’s coming toward her.

It’s tempting to do what’s always worked before: turn tail and run, hoping her good sense can catch up to her before he can. But there’s no use; if Zen chased her down in that wood without even breaking a sweat, a crowded room won’t even make Obi break stride. All it might get her is hurt feelings, and Obi-- Obi deserves better than that from her. He’s earned better than that.

So instead she plants herself on the carpet with all the courage of a deer before a carriage, legs trembling from the effort.

“Miss!” He can’t have grown since this morning, and yet she doesn’t remember having to crane her neck so much to bridge the gulf between their eyes. “I thought I saw you hiding back here.”

“I’m not hiding.” For all her speculation about the sort of warmth she could steal if she burrowed under his jacket, she hardly needs it. He stands close enough that she could reach out her hand and touch him with arm to spare, and still she feels his heat, barely muted by fabric and space. “I was just...cutting the cake.”

His glove splays over his chest; a gesture meant to be a joke, rather than a reminder of how large his hands are. “Without me? The guest of honor?”

“It’s not as if you’re the only one,” she informs him loftily. “There’s three of us, and we did have a majority.”

His brows lift, just enough to crinkle his scar. “That’s a very democratic celebration from a royal pharmacist.”

Her mouth twitches. “I get it from my father.”

“Now that I can see.” There’s a light in his eyes as he leans closer, a spark that dances as he says, “And Yuzuri getting punchy around drink three for something with enough cream to moo might have helped too, huh?”

“W-well.” Her back bumps into the table, jostling the dishes. “That might have had something to do with it.”

His hum rumbles in her ears, loud as if she were touching him, as if her bones themselves were conducting the sound even though there’s enough space still for someone to slip between them. It’s her only warning before that space disappears, the scent of leather and winter’s chill washing over her as Obi reaches out, lighting fast, to swipe a swirl of cream.

That would be bad enough to set her poor heart galloping in her chest, confused and skittish as a horse without its blinders, but then his mouth closes around that finger, sucking off the cream, and-- and--

Her mind goes utterly blank.

“Delicious,” he sighs, tongue trailing over his lips. “I’ll give it to Yuzuri, she sure knows how to pick a cake.”

“Here,” Shirayuki manages, her voice sounding as if it’s coming from down the hall rather than her own mouth. “Have some.”

It’s nothing to lift a plate from the table and shove it into his hands, and yet, she still nearly mangles it, getting half his fingers covered in frosting and the other half all tangled up in her own. If she’d been hoping to make some space between them, she’s sure done a botch job of it.

His skin has always been darker than hers, copper to her ivory, but it’s all the more apparent when his fingers wiggle, cream wobbling treacherously where it’s heaped on his knuckles. Obi blinks, eyes wide as he contemplates the mess she’s made, and the moment he opens his mouth, she-- she--

Well, she can’t help but wonder if he’ll lick them clean.

He doesn’t. “Here I was coming over here to see if I could get you something. And instead you’re the one getting me cake.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me,” she assures him, too breathless, not at all contemplating the uses of her own tongue. Not like it’s doing anything useful right now besides making her stumble over every word anyway. “It’s right here! if I want something I can just get it.”

It’s obscene how his mouth curls, that lop-sided smile of sending a jolt of-- of something straight down to her toes and back again. “I wasn’t talking about the cake.”

There’s a rumble in his chest, and-- and it must be new. It wouldn’t startle her otherwise, jolting her one step back and making all the silverware clatter on the tablecloth. “Y-you weren’t? Then--?”

But if he did want you. Yuzuri’s slur burrows into her ears, a burr she can’t shake off. Would that change anything?

It wouldn’t. It couldn’t, because it’s-- it’s impossible. Obi may be discreet, but he’s not subtle, not about something like this. If he’d been able to keep his opinions to himself, Mitsuhide wouldn’t need to look over his shoulder every time he picked up a dropped paper. On the other hand, Kiki wouldn’t know just how powerful she was without her coat on in the yard, and, well--

The point is, if Obi felt even the slightest stirring when she entered the room, he would have-- she would have--

“I thought you might want a drink.” His chin bobs toward her. “You’re over here empty handed when we all know just how you feel about Suzu’s cider.”

This time he does raise his hand, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he bends to take it into his mouth, and she--

She squeaks. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking tonight.”

That draws him up short, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately? Shirayuki can’t tell. “Miss, are you--?”

“I think I hear Yuzuri,” she blurts out, skirting a step around him. “Calling me, that is. So I better...”

She tries for an elegant bob of the head, something that said I’m leaving while also implying, but not for any reason that concerns you. Hopefully with enough confidence to add, don’t check.

If the way Obi’s eyebrows furrow is any indication, she fails on every count. “Miss, is there something--?”

She’d been hoping for a graceful exit, but in the end, Shirayuki will take full-on flight over having to talk about this any day.

“See you later,” she manages, nearly tripping over one of the girls from the geology department. “Enjoy the cake!”

In the end, Shirayuki does take that drink, though from a far safer distance if not from a steadier pair of hands.

“Here.” Yuzuri presses a warm mug on her with a laugh, cider sloshing over the rim. “Looks like you need it.”

Shirayuki suspects that she might be right.

It’s by the same magic that Yuzuri manages the second; appearing out of the crowd like some otherworldly creature, hair a tangled halo and earmuffs askew, before disappearing once more. Someone’s brought out a mandolone, and another a pipe, and with half the pharmacy’s day shift beating their hands on the table, something approaching music hangs in the air.

“Well the first snow has fallen,” a voice strains against the noise, pitched too high too start and too soft to hold, “and the second, third and fourth--”

She loses the thread of the melody, but it comes back in force when half the party shouts out, “Because we’re up so bloody north!”

A giggle bubbles out of her, and though these aren’t the words she’d grown up with-- those wouldn’t be fit for this sort of company, no matter what Yuzuri likes to encourage her to-- her toes set to tapping, and when it comes time for the second verse, she shouts out as loud the rest of the revelers, “cos we get twice the night!”

It’s then that her ear catches his voice, keeping up with the third verse, even if the rest of them can only stumble through. There’s as many as twelve to this one-- Suzu told her once when he’d found some notes about it in the archives, trying to win a bet about the wording of completely different song-- but she’s never heard more than five, and most of the scholars seem to know only a the first two plus whichever verse tickles them most.

But Obi’s always been a quick learner; when the last of his fellow singers bow out with a laugh, he tells the mandolone player to pick up the pace and launched into--

Ah, well. The verses she knew. At least, as much as she could hear through her grandmother’s hands.

“’Let us lay down together,’ the little herbwife said--” it’s strange how loud her voice is in her ears, the burr of his deepest notes shivering through her bones where he tempts the edge of his range-- “for a back on the mattress is the best treatment for the head--”

Ah, she’s never quite noticed that entendre, not until Obi’s smile wraps around it like a promise.

“--now the answer to your problem with which your questions begs--” the melody stretches his talents the other way now, climbing up the octave, but his voice doesn’t crack an inch-- “has always been best found right between the legs.”

It shouldn’t mean anything, not at all, but his eyes meet hers and-- and--

Obi looks like he knows a lot about that, Yuzuri had said, too confident. A lot, a lot--

Her hand slaps to her cheek, not nearly cool enough to quell its burning. That’s quite enough of that.

Yuzuri ambushes her with the third drink, flushed and jingling from the bells someone’s hung around her neck. Shirayuki’s tempted to wave her off-- the room’s already starting to sway, and if she tries anything more athletic than wall-leaning, she might have some distinct issues with the direction of flow in her esophageal region-- but instead she takes it, nursing it like Lata does his rocks.

It’s a mistake; this many drinks makes her thoughtful. If Obi had been watching, he would have kept her from making it. Occupational hazard, he would have told her, plucking it from her hand. Don’t need to be following you off any towers tonight.

But he’s not. No, instead he’s caught in a corner with a handful of scholars from the philosophical sciences, looking more entertained by the minute. One of them can’t be much older than Ryuu, but her head tilts just so, a fountain of loose blonde curls frothing over her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on his arm. Obi glances down, eyebrows lifting barely more than a twitch, and she expects him to slip away, to put space between them the way he always does when she attempts to bridge that gulf.

And yet, he doesn’t. Instead his lips curl at one corner, those sharp eyes of his fixed to where hers keep flapping. The way Zen’s would after his interest wandered, weary of more mundane matters and eager to-- to--

Ah. Well. Perhaps she shouldn’t be watching so closely then. It may be a public venue, but there’s no reason for her to spy on anything so, er, intimate. Or at least, heading toward that quarter. Obi deserves better than serving as her entertainment.

Still, it’s an effort to look away, to drag her attention anywhere but where he stands, the same way it had been when she and Zen had stumbled upon his date in the marketplace all those years ago. I’m done with all that, he’d laughed later, walking her home. Too messy for me.

But now...

She shakes her head. He couldn’t have been twenty-five when he said that, still struggling to grow much more than stubble on his cheeks. Shirayuki may have chosen plants over a partner, a career over being cooped up in the castle, but that doesn’t mean that Obi has to follow suit.

He’d never shown much of an interest, abstaining from all the same banquets and being flowers on all the same walls when propriety forced them into them anyway, but she can understand how it might appeal to a commander of the guard when so many of his junior officers were so keen to be wed. Just last week, Hiro had come by her office to give her the invitation to his in person, beaming as he told her about the lady scholar he’d be making his wife in only a month’s time.

If that’s what Obi wants, then she’s happy to support him. It’s only--

If he had been an option, Yuzuri’s words echo, loud even in the din, would that have changed anything?

It’s silly to even entertain it. She never had been, save for maybe those first few weeks, when he was all sharp edges and she might have posed some challenge. But now that he knows her-- maybe even better than anyone ever has--

Well, he would have done something, wouldn’t he? Said something. He flirts with her the same as anyone, but there’s no heat in it; he only likes to skirt propriety, to see what might make her squirm. If there was any more to it than that, he’d seek out her touch rather than tolerate it, closing that distance between their bodies for some other reason than duty. A hand on her hip, a breath over the skin over her neck, pin her to a wall...

Oh! Well. The cider might have warmed her, but that’s done quite a bit more. An interesting idea to think on, for...academic purposes. Not because--

“Looks like you’re just about done for the night.”

There’s laughter in Obi’s eyes as he slips the mug from her numb fingers. Her eyes catch on his open collar as he bends, gaping to bear the touchable skin of his throat. “H-huh?”

“You’re all flushed.” He smiles, one side tugging higher than the other, more fond than salacious. “You want to catch a breath, Miss? Maybe take a turn outside?”

“Ah...” She considers the room, the thick press of bodies that only seems to grow more cloying as the night goes on-- and then thinks of how it would be if it were just her and Obi, his heat radiating through the wool of his coat--

Shirayuki bobs her head, hoping it’s the right direction for a yes.

“Good,” he sighs, a laugh hidden inside it. “I’m dying to be able to hear myself think for a minute.”

Lilias may no longer be steeped in winter, the cold no longer burning every sliver of skin uncovered, but snow still coats what’s not cobble, squatting in slumped piles made months before. The breeze riffles through her cloak like a thief, still brisk even if it lacks all the bite of the nights before, stealing the break from her lungs and warmth from her pockets.

To think, if she stayed in Wistal, she would be wearing linen instead of wool and still sweating. Ah, no, worse-- her birthday would be a day earmarked on the court’s social calendar, a momentous occasion for her to fed and feted until she could hardly stand to see another cake. There would be no time to stand beneath the night sky, tracing the same lines the ancient scholars did between the stars; no quiet to escape to when the din grew too loud. Princesses lived for their people, after all.

There were reasons she hadn’t chosen that life. Good ones, better than just simple inconvenience. But tonight, as her breath mists trails into the late spring chill, it’s the petty ones that give her the most comfort.

A cape drops heavily across her shoulders, chasing away winter’s icy fingers. Her hands fly up, but she only manages to brush fingertips before Obi’s touch scuttles away. There it is again; she reaches, he retreats.

And yet it’s not far enough for his warmth to leave her, a tangible pressure at her shoulder. “Something the matter, Miss?”

She blinks, craning her neck until she meets the concern in his eyes. “Hm?”

“You’re quiet.” A corner of his mouth threatens to cant, trembling where he holds it steady. A perfect place for lips, her mind offers her, unbidden. “Which means you’re up to something.”

“Oh!” She tears her gaze away, letting it skitter over the stones like snow on the wind. “No. I wasn’t...I was only thinking.”

His laugh clouds the corner of her vision. “Ah, Miss. Don’t you know that’s worse?”

It’s odd to be so low at this time of night; usually their nighttime wanderings bring them along the wall, the whole of Lilias spread out beneath their feet. But tonight there are no twinkling lights below them, only the ones above, caught in the aurora’s current. “Should I be dissatisfied with my life, do you think?”

He shifts at her shoulder, all that confidence of his turned uncertain. She has a gift for doing that to him, for some reason. “Wanna run that by me again?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do at thirty, isn’t it?” She deflates with a sigh, her back bowing into his chest. He stiffens beneath the touch, but tolerates it. He likes her that much at least. “Think you haven’t done enough.”

“Ha.” The sound rattles along her spine before it ever makes it out of his mouth. “I think that’s for other people, Miss. Ones who haven’t spread Phostyrias across the North, or helped keep a civil war from spilling across Clarines soil. Or has that-- that stuff--?”

Rumor might paint Obi’s tongue silver, but it doesn’t make science any easier for him to speak. “Fervidus argens.”

“Right, that.” His shoulder twitches at her back, at least half a shrug. “Someone who hasn’t made that into something more than a bad night at the banquet.”

“I suppose that’s all impressive.” Her fingers clench at his cape, drawing it tighter around her shoulders until she’s enveloped in his scent, leather and pine and southern spice. “But...”

“But?”

“There’s things I haven’t done.” Her head tilts, just enough to meet his eyes as she tells him, “Gotten you to say my name, for one.”

Obi’s skin isn’t one to show a blush, not even as pale as it’s gotten up here, away from the sun. But still, his ears pink, just at the tips. “Miss...”

She takes pity on him, turning her attention back to the stars. “And according to Yuzuri, I’ve missed out on my chance for romance.”

He’s quiet then; the sort that’s far too thoughtful for something so silly, lasting entirely too long.

“If you wanted that,” he begins, voice rough as if he’d let a team of horses drag it gate to gate both ways. “Master would have--”

“Please.” Her hand flies into the space between them, and oh, she’s clearly had too much, since her fingertips take extra care in closing his mouth. “Don’t do that. I’m not-- I wasn’t trying to talk about Zen. There’s no regrets there, Obi. We did what was right for the both of us.”

And one of us was hurt far less by it than we expected, she nearly says, but his silence stifles it the way words never could. It’s not an absence of sound, the way she’s used to, but one that prickles with what’s unsaid. She and Zen might have said their piece about the dwindling end of their road together, but Obi-- Obi had only watched.

His jaw flexes beneath her hand, and she lets it fall away. It would serve her right if he scolded her now; leaving Zen behind had been her choice, but Obi’s future had always been mixed up in theirs, the way Kiki or Mitsuhide’s never was. His position depended on her being the second prince’s princess, someone deserving of protection, and she-- she let it all slip through her fingers, as easy as sand through an hourglass.

Whatever she expects, it’s not for him to say, “Did you want one? A romance?”

“No.” It comes out harsher than she means. “I mean, it’s never been a priority. I’ve always had other things to worry about. But sometimes...”

Her mouth works, but it take a few minutes before she manages to get out, “Sometimes I think about my mother. And my father. They had me when they were hardly twenty, and I...”

She swallows, hard. “I wonder if by choosing all this, I’ve given up to have that. Ah, have a family, I mean.”

It’s a silly thing, she knows it, but Obi doesn’t laugh. No, when she turns to look at him, he’s serious, those narrow brows of his drawn tight over the blade of his nose. “You know, if you’re worried about that, you could do what Yuzuri did.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What’s that?”

White flashes in the dim. “Make a pact with Suzu.”

“W-wha--?”

He slips around her, grin far too wide. “If she’s thirty and no one better’s come along, then he’ll get her pregnant.”

Distantly, she’s aware that her jaw’s just hanging there, open for the world to see, but there’s little and less she can do about it. “Yuzuri did what?”

He’s far too pleased when he offers, “I bet if you hurry, Suzu would be happy to help you too.”

Perhaps if she hadn’t sipped at that last cider, she might be able to hide her grimace. Or at least soften it into something else.

“Aw, c’mon, Miss. Don’t be like that.” His grin only widens, hovering far too close. “Think about it. Your kids would be half-siblings! Other girls might have double weddings, but you’d be sister wi--”

Her hand jumps up again, covering his mouth. This is becoming a bad habit. “I don’t want children that badly!”

It’s terrible how nice it feels to have his finger wrap around her wrist, even worse than the smile that presses into her palm. He pulls it down just enough to eke out, “But a sibling would be good for Little Ryuu--”

“Oh shush,” she murmurs, even as she lets her hand go limp in his grip. “He’s old enough to be a father himself, if he wanted.”

Obi shudders. “Perish the thought. But if you don’t want Suzu, there’s plenty of books in the library. I bet if you asked Kazaha--”

Her cheeks hurt from the way they pull. “Kaza--? Obi, you know that he--”

“You’re right,” Obi agrees too easily. “He’d never go for it out of the gate. Maybe if you went to one of his poetry readings?”

A laugh bursts out of her, unbidden. “Oh, please, stop.”

“What about the guy in geology? What’s his name?” Obi never forgets a name or a face, especially one that’s introduced itself to her. But he makes a good show of it, using her own fingers to tap his chin as he muses, “Daiki? Daisuke?”

“Daichi,” she supplies wearily, tamping down on the laugh that threatens to bubble out. “And I don’t want him or Kazaha to father my children, thank you.”

“Playing hard to get, are you?” he hums, brows leaping up his forehead. “Well, I suppose we could send out for Shikito. Or maybe ask Miss Kiki if she’d be willing to let Mister out of the stables--”

“Obi!” It’s impossible keep that laugh behind her teeth, not when she’s already gasping as he winds up to offer the next crop of unfortunately. “Please! I don’t want either of them. Or any of these ridiculous...parent pacts! I only--”

He tugs on her wrist, and it’s a misjudgement on his part; even without the cider, her laughter makes her helpless. They both stumble, careening back until his hits a pillar, and she--

She lands squarely on his chest. Or maybe his stomach, from the way he winces.

“Oh, come on, Miss,” he groans, head leaning back against the column. “Just give me a name. No, a hint. I promise--”

“If I was going to choose anyone,” she blurts out, too breathless, “it would be you.”

Her wrist aches where he grips it, so hard she nearly winces before it falls away altogether. He might have even put more space between them, if she wasn’t resting directly on his chest, palms keeping him pinned to the pillar. Instead he just stares down at her, wary as a cat caught in a corner, eyes too large in his face.

“I didn’t mean...” That I want to have sex with you, she means to say, except-- except she’s all too aware now why her breath quickens when he enters a room, or why her stomach flips when he bends closer than he usually dares, smile near enough to see the cracks on his lips. “It’s only that I...I trust you. We’ve been together long than...” Most couples we know. “...Zen and I ever were in the same place!”

Ah, that’s...worse.

“And, uh...” She clears her throat, trying on a smile that doesn’t quite fit. “You work has better hours.”

“Ah-haah. Well,” he manages weakly, not quite meeting her eyes. “That’s the sort of pragmatic consideration I expect from you, Miss.”

Shirayuki levers herself away, letting the chill slip between them. For once, Obi looks relieved.

Ha, and to think, Yuzuri has called him an option.

“Don’t worry, Obi.” she murmurs, staring down at where her hands grip each other, rather than him. “I would never impose on you like that. Or your happiness! Not with some silly pact or whatever. I mean, you looked like you having a good time tonight with that girl--”

“Girl.” He does look at her now, purpose honing his attention to an edge. “What girl?”

“Ah, the one you were talking to just a little while ago.” It was a mistake to have said something, but now that it’s out there, she can’t possibly take it back. She just has to forge on, regretting every word that falls out of her mouth. “Just before you brought me that drink. You, er, looked like you were having a nice time.”

“Ah, right.” He rubs at his mouth, and she could swear there’s the barest hint of a smile peeking through. “Her. Of course.”

When he peels himself from his pillar, it’s with an aching slowness, the sort that makes time stretch with anticipation as his hips roll up and the rest of him follows. Even standing, his saunter is so slow the half expects dawn to come before he reaches her, the bustle of the university breaking this moment’s spell.

But it doesn’t; instead he comes close, enough that the wool of his jacket brushes the palms of her raised hands.

“You know...” His voice rumbles through the arcade, humming at that frequency that makes her question the density of her own bones. “If you’d asked...”

“M-mm?” It’s an effort to make even that much of a noise, at least as long as it isn’t a squeak.

He leans in, breath fanning over her face and he murmurs, “I would have said yes, Shirayuki.”

Her ears ring, so loud that she can’t possibly have heard him. Not when he said-- when she thought he said-- “W-what?”

“Ah...” With no warning at all, he steps away, cold air rushing between them. His smile stretches too tight across his face, every line of his body wrong as he tells her, “Don’t worry about it, Miss.”

He makes to retreat, eyes slipping away from hers as his body turns, the space between them ever increasing, gaping--

And she panics. Her fingers hook on the thick fabric of his sleeve, halting him as quick as a dropped anchor. “Miss...?”

“Say it again,” she breathes, clenching tight, wool balled against her palm. “Please.”

He blinks, lost. “What--?”

“My name.” She dares to glance up, and it’s impossible to tell if he’s stepped closer or she’s dragged him, but his eyes are impossibly close, searching her. “Say it again, please.”

His breath hitches. “Shirayuki--”

It’s strange how easy it is to vault that insurmountable space; all it takes is pulling him down as she rises up, and they meet as inexorably as the tide and the shore. His lips are cold against hers, but that’s hardly a hurdle, not when they open on a gasp, and she-- she isn’t sure if she’s doing it right or well, but for a moment she buzzes wherever they touch, a puzzle electrified to find it’s missing piece--

And then his hands are on her shoulders, settling her back on her heels. “Miss!” he yelps, voice cracking on the vowel. “I didn’t mean you needed to start right now!”

“I...” It rushes back to her, Yuzuri’s foolish pact and Obi’s rumbling. Her cheeks are already flushed, but they burn now, tongue tripping over itself to untangle, “That’s not what I meant! Or, er, that’s not what I’m doing. No, wait, I mean...that’s not why I...”

His chest heaves under her hands, and-- her hands. She’s no longer just gripping his sleeve, but pressing him back, forcing him against the pillar. And he--

He’s arched into the touch, not simply tolerating, not anymore. No, he might be trying to put space between them, but every muscle is strained to keep it. As if it was an effort to keep from melting into her, as if--

As if she were an option. “Then what--?”

It’s impossible to explain how much she’s come to abhor the space between them, how every inch mocks her with how long she’s left it open. When after all these years, she could have simply leaned into him and felt what it was to steal his breath, to make his eyes as dark and wild as they are now.

So she shows him instead. Slower this time, not yanking him down to her, but slowly unfurling up into him, her lips brushing his with a softness that makes her ache in places she’s only heard of in Yuzuri’s books. His chest trembles beneath her palms, but it’s the only movement he makes, the rest of him frozen under her touch. It’s enough to make her hesitate, to wonder if maybe she had wanted him to want her too much, and he--

He cups the back of her head, pulling her impossibly closer, until there seems to be no beginning or end to their bodies, just this unending warmth as his tongue curls behind her teeth. Now it’s her turn for her breath to catch, for her to sigh into his mouth when his fingers trace shivers down her spine. Her her to moan when his hand curves over her hip and--

And suddenly the space is back.

“Ah, Miss,” he laughs, breathless enough that she wants to leap across the gap, to swallow it down and feel it ring in her own chest. But he’s already moving away, slipping out from between her fingers like smoke. “I think you’ve had a few too many tonight.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

What happened to Shirayuki? she means to say, but he’s already shaking his head, chagrined. “Nothing, nothing. It’s just...late.”

She can’t argue that point, not when it was already late when he arrived, and now it’s only gotten later still.

“We should...” He lets out a shuddering sigh, body twisted like she may not notice if he doesn’t face her while he does it. “You should really get back to you room. Sleep some of this cider off. I’d hate to see the kind of morning you’re going to have if you don’t.”

Perhaps she really has had too much; to her there’s no earthly reason to stop, to put this space back between them. But she doesn’t know how to put those feelings to words, only, “Will you walk me back?”

His smile is strained when he replies, “Of course, Miss. What else am I here for?”

#obiyukiweek22 #day 1 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #and all my winding roads #future fic #my fic #ans #Shirayuki turns 30!#ever since i wrote part 1 in february for Viki i knew that part 2 would be for obiyukiweek #AND HERE IT IS FINALLY #this one too forever to write despite being already drafted #just because there was SO MANY PACING BITS to fix #from when i thought it would be a one shot #and now it is a two-shot #....i say now #but i have a feeling with this ending #i will not be allowed to rest

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wheresmynaya · 3 years

Text

Hate to Date Ch.8 | Brittana

A/N - These next two chapters are probably some of the more difficult ones I've written so far for this story so be gentle LOL. Also, I've noticed readers saying in their reviews lately that these weekly updates are like waiting for a new episode of a fav tv show and I love that. One of the things I miss about Glee or whatever show I’m obsessed with is having something to look forward to each week so I'm really happy this story offers you all that kind of comfort! Hopefully I can keep it up 💙

Before you read on, consider treating your local fav fic writer with a coffee through Ko-Fi!

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

When Saturday rolls around, Santana putters around the apartment attempting to busy herself with meaningless tasks – anything that’ll keep her from anxiously watching the clock. She lounges in her sweatpants and a tank top all day, switching from vegging out on the couch to catching up on some coursework, but it gets harder for her to resist the urge to check the time the later it gets.

No matter what she does, no matter the many distractions she tries piling on – she can’t help but cave.

She can’t help but think about Brittany.

When Puck gets home a little later from hanging out with a couple guys from his team, he finds Santana close to falling asleep on the couch. He takes in the lazy clothes she wears, the messy hair, the sea of snacks that surrounds her and lifts a brow.

“What’s this?”

“What’s it look like?” Santana snarks.

“It looks like you’ve just gone through a rough break up.”

Santana shoots him a look, “I’m clearly having a lazy day.”

He glances from her to the tv screen and back to her again, “Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah,” Santana replies and averts her eyes as she tugs on her blanket. “You can either join or scram.”

Puck rolls his eyes and reaches for the remote. When the screen shuts off, Santana lets out a huff but Puck only crosses his arms.

“What the hell?” She snaps. “I was watching that!”

“So?” Puck challenges.

“So turn it back on.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kick your ass.”

Puck barks out a laugh, “I’d like to see you try. Go ahead.”

Santana doesn’t move, “I don’t have the energy for this.”

“You’re so damn frustrating,” Puck shakes his head.

The comment makes Santana falter a little; it makes her think about Brittany again, it makes her think about how she let her down, it makes her think about how it made her feel to watch the blonde run away.

But Brittany isn’t here, it’s Puck and Santana knows he doesn’t scare off too easily.

“Just leave me alone,” Santana grumbles.

Of course, Puck doesn’t.

“Are you seriously not going tonight?”

Santana clenches her jaw as the anxious feeling returns. It didn’t take much but she’s wavering and she knows it. Puck probably knows it too or else he wouldn’t be here pressing her buttons still.

“I told you I can’t go,” She tells him defiantly. “I’d only ruin her night. She doesn’t need that, no one does. It’s better if I stay here.”

“Bullshit,” Puck disputes. “You don’t know that.”

Santana stays quiet, she can feel her foundation cracking.

“I do know that,” She says. “You saw how pissed she was when she left. I’d just make things worse if I go.”

Puck sighs tiredly, “Why do you always do that?”

“What?”

“That,” Puck tries to explain. “It’s just like high school – you’re taking yourself out of the game before you even play it.”

That strikes a nerve with Santana, “That’s not what happened and you know it. This is so much different.”

“You gave up then,” Puck tells her. “And you’re giving up now. Why? I don’t know. This should be way easier for you. There’s no scholarship on the line or this big scary secret you need to help hide. You’re not even in love with the girl this time but here you are sitting on the damn bench.”

Santana shrinks back. She doesn’t want to talk about the past, she doesn’t want it mixing in with her present so she deflects, “Can you stop with the ridiculous sports metaphors?”

“No. Now get your ass up,” Puck huffs as he pulls off the blanket Santana covers herself with.

“Goddamn it, Puckerman! Cut the shit!”

“You first, Lopez!”

This time, Santana rises to her feet. She faces Puck head on and glares. Her fists are tight and her chest aches with rage and something else, something she’s tried so many times to push away.

“You know what you have to do,” Puck says. “Stop with the excuses and just go do it already. Quit being a little punk about it.”

“I’m not being a punk,” Santana grumbles.

Puck laughs as he waves his hand at her mess, “All this because Britt finally called you out on your shit? Come on, you’re better than that.”

Santana tenses her jaw again but Puck only softens as he puts his heavy hands on her shoulders, going into total pep talk mode. Santana tries to squirm away, but Puck steadies her like always.

No one would ever expect that this guy, the one with a ratty mohawk, could be the voice of reason for Santana but he’s never failed her before. Just like her, he doesn’t back down. He sticks by her even when she’s being a stubborn dumbass and if anyone needs someone in their life like that it’s Santana.

“I know you,” He says solemnly. “Going to this thing tonight is a piece of cake, all you have to do is quit selling yourself short and go.”

Santana’s shoulders drop even further as Puck continues.

“Prove yourself wrong and kill it,” He says. “You owe it to yourself and you owe it to Brittany.”

There’s an uneasiness still but Santana can’t lie and say Puck’s words didn’t ignite something within her. It goes without saying that his words have had an impact. She bats off his hands and glances at the time, frowning when she sees how late it has gotten.

“I don’t think I can make it in time,” Santana says. “I can’t get ready in forty minutes. My hair alone takes at least an hour.”

“Well what’s that saying?” Puck questions. “Better late than never?”

Santana sighs through a small smile, “I mean, I do like to make an entrance.”

Puck smirks, “Then you better get going.”

Santana’s used to walking into parties like she owns the place, but she finds herself struggling as she approaches the entrance of the Brainiacs’ Ball. She stares up at the prominent steps flanked by solid columns and has never felt so small in all her life. She’s way out of her comfort zone, but she takes the first step anyway.

Slowly, she puts one foot in front of the other. She can feel the low thrum of the bass from the music inside before she can actually hear it. At least that’s something she’s a little more familiar with and with that in mind, she continues her journey.

Maybe Puck was right? This is a piece of cake!

When she reaches the top and looks back, she finds Puck still waiting at the bottom of the stairs watching on like a proud soccer mom. He catcalls at her loudly and it causes the last of the guests making their way inside to stare.

Santana scrunches her face and waves him away, not wanting to be embarrassed by how he sticks out like a sore thumb in his ripped jeans and jersey. He gets the message though and gives her one last round of thumbs up before heading off.

Though she tries to play it off like she can’t stand his dorkiness, she’s thankful for that little bit of extra support and finds enough courage to walk into the building with her head held high.

She might not feel like she owns the place right now, but that’ll change by the end of the night!

Santana knew it was a black tie affair, but she really didn’t expect such extravagance.

There’s a great crystal chandelier hanging from above casting iridescent shadows across the lobby, spotless marbled floors speckled with flecks of gold, the ruby red carpet leading the way into the grand hall where guests dressed to kill mingle with champagne flutes in their hands.

All that’s missing are the annoying paparazzi and the blinding flashes from their cameras and she’d feel like she was at some gaudy Hollywood party.

It’s like she just walked into one of the parties Maribel’s firm throws for holidays and she so wasn’t expecting that. Although she’s been to many of those, she still feels a little out of place as she makes her way through the double doors.

“Good evening,” The doorman greets politely before extending a gloved had to the party. “Welcome to the Brainiacs’ Ball.”

Santana smiles in return and heads in. She tries to keep an eye out for Brittany all while trying to wrap her head around the fact that all of this is in celebration of a handful of academic decathlon clubs.

Who the hell knew they got down like this? Even their DJ has great music playing! Santana’s so surprised, almost distractingly so but then she spots a familiar someone in the crowd.

Brittany

There’s a sudden sense of relief but it’s soon replaced with a frown as Santana finds that the girl isn’t alone. She’s with some tall guy; Santana can’t really see that far to tell who it is or if she knows him. All she knows is that Brittany is standing with him and she’s laughing.

He’s making her laugh.

Santana’s frown deepens before she squints her eyes, trying to get a better look at the guy. Like the others here, he’s dressed to the nines in a dashing suit with his black hair slicked back.

Okay, whatever – he can clean up well. Santana can too! But the important question is, what’s he doing with Brittany?

She ducks behind a vase of flowers, peering through the gaps in the leaves so Brittany doesn’t spot her. She only briefly thinks about how ridiculous she must look before other guests unknowingly happen to block her view.

Frustrated, she tries ducking and dodging them but even in her stilettos she’s just too short. She’ll need to get closer if she wants to see what this guy’s deal is, but as she makes her way over she can’t help but think: did Brittany really replace her?

Surely not, that would definitely raise suspicion. She wouldn’t do that.

Would she?

Suddenly, a waiter dressed formally in a suit and tie steps in Santana’s path. There’s a silver tray full of champagne flutes atop his hand and he looks to Santana expectantly.

“Champagne?”

Santana takes one last look at Brittany and that guy and goes for a glass.

“Yeah, sure.” She takes one and downs it in two gulps.

The waiter raises his brows in awe and quickly goes to turn away, but Santana stops him.

“Hold up,” She says and puts down her empty glass in favor of taking two more. She smiles sweetly at him in thanks before getting her game face on. She finds herself thinking about what Puck said before and starts to fill with confidence – no more sitting on the sidelines for her!

Santana saunters over to Brittany with determination in her eyes.

It’s go time.

“There you are!” Santana greets cheerfully as she reaches Brittany with a champagne flute in each hand. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Brittany stops mid-sentence, her face pale as if she’s just seen a ghost.

“You’re here.”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss it,” Santana replies as she hands her the spare flute before pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. She looks up at pretty blue eyes and adds, “I know how important this night is for you.”

Brittany blinks, it’s like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Santana thinks she’s off to a good start so far – naturally – and sizes up the guy Brittany was talking to before she came over.

“And who are you?” She asks with a slight bite to her tone as she wraps her arm around Brittany’s waist.

He falters as he looks back and forth between her and Brittany, “I’m Mike.”

Santana lifts her brow challengingly, but Brittany steps in to add.

“He’s a friend of mine.”

Santana continues to stare at the guy, “Friend.”

“Yeah,” Brittany glances at her with slight confusion but it quickly disappears as she slips into character too. “I was just telling him you weren’t feeling too good and that you probably wouldn’t make it tonight.”

“Right,” Santana replies. Her smile turns devilish, “Well I appreciate the concern but I’m all better now, Mike.”

He looks a little nervous but nods, “That’s good to hear.”

“Mhmm,” Santana brings her glass to her lips. She maintains eye contact with him while she threads her fingers with Brittany’s and sips her champagne slowly.

“Well Britt, I’m gonna go,” He says hesitantly to Brittany before jutting a thumb over his shoulder. “I want to make sure we grab a good seat. I’ll see you over at the table.”

“Okay cool,” Brittany smiles. “See you there.”

“It was nice finally meeting you, Santana,” Mike says kindly to the brunette before disappearing into the crowd.

Santana watches him go as she takes another sip. This Mike character really changed up his tune once Santana was around – all nice and polite. He wasn’t fooling her though! Trying to steal her fake girlfriend, not today!

“He’s gone,” Brittany says gruffly. “You can let go of my hand now.”

“Oh sorry,” Santana pulls away and glances in the direction Mike went. “So he’s attractive…what’s he doing at a place like this?”

Brittany doesn’t even smile, “You know not everyone with a brain looks like Steve Urkel.”

Santana doesn’t notice Brittany’s dismissive tone as she looks around. She’s still mind blown by the atmosphere and the people and everything.

“Clearly,” She replies. “I mean, did you see that man’s jawline? I’m a lesbian, but I can still admire a good looking – “

“What are you doing here, Santana?”

Brittany’s curt tone pulls Santana right back to the other day where they sat together at her tiny dining table and she watched as Brittany grew more and more disappointed in her. There’s a hardness to her, an annoyance, that doesn’t go unnoticed. It makes Santana shrink back, that confidence before taking a big hit, but she stands her ground – even if Brittany makes her feel shaken.

“I’m here to be your arm candy,” Santana says in return – attempting to make this exchange lighthearted.

Brittany’s not having it though as she says bitterly, “I don’t need it.”

“Sure you do.”

“No,” Brittany admonishes. “I don’t so you can leave now.”

Santana slips up out of frustration, “Are you really going to make this difficult for me?”

That sets Brittany off once again, the bitterness intensifying.

“Seriously? You did not just ask me that. After everything you said the other night, after the way you just put your foot down and refused to budge? You want to talk to me about being difficult?” Brittany lets out a dry laugh, “You’ve got some nerve.”

Santana cringes as she takes a subtle look around to make sure no one notices them arguing, but no one pays them any mind. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t offer Santana much comfort with the way Brittany’s still glaring at her.

She was a little prepared for the backlash, she just wasn’t sure how bad Brittany’s words would sting. She isn’t used to the harshness in Brittany’s tone and she kind of hates that she’s the reason for it.

Still, she pushes forward. She’s determined to fix this, no matter how hard Brittany fights her.

“Okay,” Santana’s voice is meek. “So that was a poor choice of words... ”

“You think?” Brittany replies, her tone thick with sarcasm.

Santana’s instincts have her wanting to retreat. She has clearly messed up big time and everything in her is telling her to just listen to Brittany and leave – yet her feet don’t move.

Maybe she’s hardheaded, maybe she’s too damn stubborn for her own good; whatever it is, she continues to stand her ground.

“I’m here now,” Santana says earnestly. “That has to count for something?”

Brittany shakes her head, “It doesn’t.”

Santana lets out a laugh out of aggravation. Who knew the girl could be just as stubborn as her? Talk about grudges, no wonder no one ever gets on Brittany’s bad side! It’s damn near impossible to get off of it! But Santana’s made proving she can be there for Brittany her new mission so she’s not going anywhere just yet.

“What do you want me to do?” Santana asks dejectedly. “Get on my hands and knees? Beg for your forgiveness?”

“Save your breath,” Brittany replies briskly as she sets down her glass. “I don’t want to be here with someone that would rather be elsewhere and I’m tired of trying to force you to care.”

That one surprisingly hurts a little more than Santana expected, but it doesn’t top the feeling that quickly follows as she watches Brittany begin to turn her back on her.

“Brittany,” Santana finds herself calling out. When the blonde doesn’t stop, Santana calls out to her again. “Britt – “

“No,” Brittany pauses as she looks over her shoulder at Santana. “You were right. You’d just ruin my night. Go home, Santana.”

It’s another blow to the chest as the blonde turns to walk away again. Only this time, Santana kicks into gear. She’s got something to prove and she’s not leaving until she does! She quickly sets down her glass too and reaches out, catching Brittany by the wrist before she gets too far.

“Can you just wait?” Santana pleads.

“What?” Brittany snaps back.

Santana softens as she tucks her tail between her legs, “I’m sorry.”

Brittany looks a little taken aback by the relaxing of her tensed jaw, but it only last for a moment as she looks down at Santana’s hand still around her wrist.

“Okay, great,” Brittany says sarcastically. “Now let me go.”

Brittany doesn’t wait for Santana to loosen her grip and instead shakes Santana off of her. The brunette doesn’t try reaching for her again, but she does take a step closer.

“Hold on,” Santana urges again. “I’m not finished.”

Brittany pauses, taking a wary look back her. Santana can see that she’s wearing her down, but who knows how long it’ll last. There’s no reason for Brittany to give her another chance after having so many, so she has to make this count.

“I thought about what you said,” Santana tells her. “Like I really, really thought about it and I think you might be right.”

Brittany remains looking indifferent and that makes Santana nervous, but she continues on.

“You’re right about this being one sided. You’re right about you putting in most of the work and doing things that benefit me,” Santana says. “You’re right about it all – minus one thing.”

Brittany quirks her brow, “What’s that?”

“I’m not selfish.”

“No?” Brittany scoffs. “Then you must not know the meaning of the word because your past actions would say otherwise.”

Santana sighs, “Yeah, I know but I guess that’s why I’m here…to prove that you’re wrong.”

Brittany softens in the slightest as she listens.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” Santana explains. “You always go above and beyond. I mean, you climbed through a window for me and you’re learning Spanish to get on Abuela’s good side! Like what the hell? Who does that?” Santana pauses when she realizes she’s veering from her point.

“I know I’m still not on your level when it comes to doing the most,” She continues. “But I figured it’s only fair that I do something that I normally wouldn’t just to show you that all you do isn’t for nothing. By coming here tonight, I’m trying to return the favor. This is my metaphorical window and I want to climb through it for you.”

Santana pauses when she realizes how lame she sounds, but maybe this huge fuck up calls for a little lameness. Maybe a lot; whatever works at this point!

Brittany watches Santana for a moment as if she’s trying to decide whether or not Santana’s words have any weight to them. It isn’t the first time she’s said she’d do better, so it’s no surprise Brittany isn’t as quick to accept her apology.

“I don’t really know if I believe you,” She finally says. Her tone has lost most of its bite but Santana knows she’s not in the clear just yet.

“That’s fine,” Santana replies. She stands a little taller, puffs out her chest and says, “I’ll just have to spend all night trying to convince you. You want a perfect fake girlfriend? Well Britt-Britt, you’ve got one.”

There’s the slightest hint of a smile that graces Brittany’s lips and it makes the dimming beacon of hope in Santana begin to shine a little brighter.

“That is,” Santana adds. “If you want me to. I know this night is important for you. I can go if that’s what you really want.”

She bats her eyelashes for the extra touch – because if after all of that Brittany still makes her leave…well that would just be embarrassing. Surprisingly though, it makes Brittany’s smile grow. Santana can tell she’s fighting to keep it small, fighting to keep from giving in, and she takes that as a personal victory.

“You can stay,” Brittany says after making Santana wait a little longer.

Santana beams, “Okay gre – ”

“For now.”

“Okay,” Santana’s grin softens. “I can handle that.”

“I don’t want to fight with you here,” Brittany tells her firmly. “I only want to have a good time and if you try to mess that up then you’re out of here.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Santana replies.

Brittany holds out her pinky, “Promise?”

Santana eyes her skeptically, “Are you trying to make me pinky promise? What are we twelve?”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Brittany replies flatly – still holding out her pinky.

“Promise,” Santana sighs and curls her pinky around Brittany’s.

Satisfied, Brittany nods and pulls away. While Santana chuckles, she looks over to the direction Mike left.

“So I guess you can go ahead and tell Hot Stuff over there that he doesn’t need to be coming around here anymore too.”

That pulls a genuine laugh out of Brittany who can’t help but smirk at Santana’s comment.

“Shocking; you’re the jealous type.”

Santana lifts her brow, “I’m not. I’m just saying – his assistance as interim date is no longer required if I’m here.”

“I said you can stay for now. I can change my mind at any time.”

Santana’s shoulders droop as she’s once again put back in her place. Brittany notices and smirks.

“He has a date already,” Brittany continues. “His girlfriend. You know her. Tina?”

Santana’s jaw drops a little, “No shit, really?”

“Yeah, they’ve been together for awhile now.”

“Wow, I had no idea. Well good,” Santana lifts her chin. “He can carry his fine ass on over to her and stay there then.”

“You’re really hung up on how people can be both smart and hot,” Brittany points out with a laugh. “Like you and I aren’t also examples of that being a thing.”

“Hold up,” Santana starts to smirk. “Did you just say I’m hot?”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “I mean, you do look nice.”

Santana frowns, “Just nice?”

Brittany eyes her up and down slowly before shrugging, “Yeah, nice. I’m actually surprised you didn’t wear one of your stripper dresses. Guess you won’t be making it rain tonight.”

Santana lets out a laugh. She’s glad Brittany’s back to bantering with her instead of the heavy intensity from before. Maybe they’re not completely back on good terms, but at least it’s better than what it was.

“We’ll see. Those moves are for later,” Santana winks jokingly before giving her compliments. “You clean up pretty good too. I like what you’ve done with your hair. It’s cute.”

Brittany gets a little bashful as she fluffs her softly tussled hair, “Thanks.”

Santana only nods, “Now where’s this elusive open bar I’ve heard so much about? I needs me something other than champagne.”

“Ah, so that’s the real reason you’re here,” Brittany quips.

Santana feels like Brittany’s testing her although her tone remains playful.

“Yeah, but I’m mostly here for you,” Santana replies super sweetly. “I mean, how can I say no to an open bar? I am a broke college student after all.”

Brittany chuckles, “I see your priorities are straight.”

“It’s the only straight thing about me,” Santana jokes before hooking her arm with Brittany’s.

After getting their drinks, the couple roam around the room arm in arm. It’s mostly to keep up appearances; a way to make up for Santana arriving late and to show that Brittany really isn’t here all alone.

She’s surprised by how many come up to greet them – well, greet Brittany. Santana guesses the blonde really is a big deal here after all and everyone happily chats away with her. Who can blame them though? Brittany’s probably the friendliest person Santana knows.

They bump into Mike and Tina again near the giant owl ice sculpture while they make their rounds – because yeah, of course this party has one of those – but the conversation is kept brief with Tina trying to get in as many interviews with everyone before dinner.

Mike tags along after her with a proud smile on his face as he offers to hold her drink and for a second Santana kind of feels a little guilty about having her claws out when they first met. He seems kind, happy to be alongside Tina and Santana finds herself wondering if people get that vibe when she’s with Brittany.

While Santana and Brittany linger by the ice sculpture, Santana notices a small group of people that look a lot like the guys from Brittany’s team. At least the one in the center of it all is for sure. They stick out to her because they’re probably some of the lasts who haven’t come to greet Brittany which seems odd considering she’s their teammate.

Wouldn’t they have been the first to see her? Maybe Santana missed that part since she arrived late, then again judging by how they seemed to shun her at the match they probably haven’t come to say hi on purpose.

Santana quietly watches them though as Brittany chats with another guest about robotics or whatever nerdy talk that goes completely over Santana’s head. She notices how they all gravitate to the one guy in the center and it’s like they hang on his every word. They laugh when he does, they nod when he nods – they’re puppets and he’s the puppet master.

Santana doesn’t realize she’s pulling a face until Brittany bumps her with her elbow.

“Quit it,” Brittany chastises. “People can see you.”

“My bad,” Santana fixes her face and gestures over to the group. “He’s on your team, right? The one in the dusty grandpa sweater.”

Brittany glances in the direction and nods.

Santana wrinkles her nose, “He seems like a tool.”

“He’s not,” Brittany’s quick to defend before softening. “Not really.”

Santana doesn’t looked convinced so Brittany adds.

“He’s a pretty big deal to this community. People say he has one of the most gifted minds in our generation.”

Santana picks up on Brittany’s tone, but she can’t tell whether it’s envy or something entirely different. She knows one thing is for sure though.

“People say that about you too,” Santana tells her honestly. “The whole gifted mind thing.”

Brittany shakes her head and looks to the ground, “No they don’t.”

Her dismissiveness confuses Santana. She’s never not seen Brittany confident in how intelligent she actually is. If there’s one thing Santana knows the blonde is sure about, it’s her smarts. They argue about it all the time! That’s the very foundation of their rivalry, but apparently here that’s not the case.

“Word about his work has travelled all the way to MIT,” Brittany adds. “It’s so impressive.”

“And yet, he never went there. You did,” Santana reminds her as she continues to stare down the guy. She glances to Brittany again skeptically, “Or is he a transfer too?”

“He’s not. But I’m sure he would’ve gotten in easy. His work is…it’s legendary.”

Santana watches Brittany, trying to figure her out. It sounds a lot like admiration rather than envy, but why? How great can this guy possibly be if he has Brittany doubting herself?

“I didn’t know you were such a fan,” Santana comments.

“I just admire him is all,” Brittany says, confirming Santana’s thoughts.

Santana still doesn’t get it though and frowns around the word, “Admire…”

The both of them watch the man chat with the others silently for two very different reasons. The longer Santana stares, the more she kind of wants to punch him. He just has a very punchable face she supposes, especially when he laughs louder than anyone else in the room.

The sound makes Santana grit her teeth while it has the opposite effect on Brittany.

“He’s kind of cute too,” The blonde admits.

“Cute?” Santana raises both brows and laughs. “We looking at the same guy?”

Brittany shrugs, “He’s cute in that boy next door kind of way.”

“Seriously?” Santana snickers. “That Mike guy was kind of cute. Him? He ain’t it.”

Brittany suddenly hardens, “Well it doesn’t matter what you think. Does it?”

Santana’s taken aback.

“It’s not always about looks,” Brittany further chastises. “There’s more to people than that.”

Santana keeps quiet and nods, not wanting to piss Brittany off again. Afterall, her presence is completely dependent on whether or not Brittany wants her around. She can revoke the privilege at any second and Santana would hate to be kicked to the curb because she once again can’t keep her opinions to herself.

“What’d you say his name was again?” She asks a moment later.

“Artie.”

Suddenly something clicks. She remembers the conversation she had with Brittany’s parents at Brittany’s last match and the comment about someone named Artie.

“So that’s who your parents were talking about,” Santana hums.

“Wait what?” Brittany whirls on her. “I’ve mentioned him like twice. What’d they say?”

Santana shrugs, “They said dating me is an upgrade.”

Brittany gives her a look and slumps, “They didn’t say that.”

“No, but it’s true.”

“They clearly don’t know you well enough.”

Santana cringes, “Hey, I’m trying. At least I’m not a tool like that guy.”

“Debatable.”

“Rude.”

They settle into silence again. Santana goes from scanning the crowd to glancing Brittany’s way. She notices how the blonde continues to gravitate towards Artie too, just like one of his puppets. Santana finds it so odd and the curiosity begins to get the better of her.

“So what’s your deal with him?” She asks. “He an ex I need to worry about?”

“No. It’s nothing like that,” Brittany replies.

Santana doesn’t believe that for a second though.

“I sense a story.”

“There isn’t one,” Brittany says with a shrug. “We were friends and now, I don’t know what we are. Things got weird after I was asked to join the robotics team and he wasn’t. We used to study all the time together, but after that happened he kind of kept me at a distance.”

Santana struggles to mask the disdain she has for this guy. He really is a tool if that’s how he acts. But she fights the urge to speak on it, sensing Brittany still has some kind of connection with him.

“Do you like him or something?” Santana wonders.

Brittany shrugs again, “It’s complicated. We’ve got history I guess.”

Santana nods; she can oddly relate to that.

“You know, he was the first friend I made here?” Brittany smiles at the memory. “I was so freaking nervous – you know, new campus and all. I spent extra time trying to get my bearings the day before but I still ended up getting lost on my first day. Artie was the one who took the time to show me around.”

Santana quirks a brow at that, but notices Brittany’s melancholy even more.

“Don’t tell Tina that,” Santana tries to joke. “We’ll have some conflicting stories.”

When Brittany barely gives her a smile, Santana tries again.

“I thought Puck was the one who showed you around?” Santana asks. “That’s how you guys became friends?”

“He was, but Artie was the first.”

“Huh,” Santana glances at the guy and laughs. “He must not have done a very good job then if you still ended up getting lost.”

This time there’s a small that graces Brittany’s lips, but it’s not nearly as big and bright as Santana’s used to. She’ll just have to try harder.

“He also introduced me to the Brainiacs,” Brittany tells her. “It was pretty cool of him. When I was at MIT, it was hard to get into any clubs. Everyone was kind of cliquey, so it was nice to see that things were different here. Everyone on the team was super accepting at first.”

“At first?” Santana questions.

“Yeah,” Brittany starts to frown. “When I first joined, the team was mostly girls and they were really great – super smart and so lovely – but they graduated last year. Now the dynamic’s changed a lot because of all the new people who seem to worship Artie. That’s probably part of the reason for his ego boost.”

Santana turns up her nose at that, but Brittany’s quick to return to the positives.

“But when it’s just us, he’s not so bad. He really looked out for me when I first came to Columbia. He introduced me to the Brainiacs and recommended me for the tutoring gig,” Brittany tells her. “We used to work together all the time until I got into this fake relationship with you.”

“Sorry not sorry,” Santana quips, but Brittany doesn’t really laugh at that. So Santana softens, a little intrigued by Brittany’s past, “So after all that time spent together, nothing ever happened between you two?”

“No,” Brittany replies. “I don’t think it ever would anyway.”

“Because you’re taken or…”

Brittany sighs at the joke, “Like I said, things got weird after I joined the robotics team. It was like the first time I did something for myself without his help or recommendation and I guess it rubbed him the wrong way?”

“You’re friends, aren’t you?” Santana questions. “Why would he feel some type of way about you branching out?”

“I don’t know,” Brittany shrugs. “Maybe I’m looking too much into things? Maybe he really doesn’t feel the same way about me.”

Santana shakes her head and stares at Artie again, “Well it looks like on top of being a tool, he’s an idiot too.”

Then almost as if he was summoned, Artie looks their way.

Santana finds herself straightening up, trying to stand taller, trying to seem more intimidating, but it doesn’t look like it deters the guy as he begins his journey over.

“Brittany,” Artie greets with a nod. “Hi.”

Brittany smiles, “Hey Artie.”

He then looks to Santana and gives her a curious look full of judgement. It has Santana clenching her teeth, trying her hardest to maintain character when all she wants to do is roll the guy into the giant owl ice sculpture.

“Who’s this?” He asks Brittany as if Santana can’t hear.

Santana breaks slightly and scoffs, “You know how I am.”

Artie raises his brow and looks expectantly to Brittany.

“This is my girlfriend, Santana,” Brittany introduces. “I’ve mentioned her to you before.”

“Right,” Artie looks to Santana again. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

Santana stares back challengingly, “I bet your hear that a lot.”

Artie sits back in his chair with this smug look on his face, “Funny. She’s funny.”

“It’s one of my many top notch qualities,” Santana fires back before looking to Brittany. Her arm goes around her waist, “Ain’t that right, babe?”

It takes a moment for Brittany to play along, but then she’s smiling and melting into Santana’s side, “Yeah. Totally.”

Artie only eyes the two though, out of suspicion or jealousy – Santana’s unsure. She’s hoping for the latter, because it seems like no one’s ever put him in his place before. Santana’s just the girl for the job!

“So do you think the team is going to get the top spot, Artie?” Brittany asks, trying to keep things light. “It was a lot of close matches this year, I hope our percentage is enough to pull us through.”

Artie shakes his head, almost like he’s disappointed. “I don’t know. Several of those matches shouldn’t have been that close. You really should’ve spent more time studying.”

Santana’s brows rise, but she remains quiet – looking to Brittany to see her reaction. To her surprise, the blonde looks just as remorseful.

“Yeah, you’re right. I think I was having an off day.”

“I think you had a lot of those,” Artie quips. “Too busy with the robotics team maybe?”

Santana scoffs, “Is he joking?”

But Brittany doesn’t say anything so Santana keeps quiet too.

“Some competitors take a little while to warm up,” Artie continues. “You just aren’t a seasoned contender like I am. You know I hold the record for fastest buzz in during my rookie season?”

“I know.”

“No one’s come close to beating it,” Artie flaunts. “We might’ve made state if you didn’t botch the science round during the last match. Maybe I should’ve taken the turn instead.”

Brittany nods and Santana can tell she’s trying to take his criticism constructively – only problem is that it’s not constructive at all. It’s completely condescending and uncalled for.

“Hold up, no,” Santana finds herself interrupting which seems to surprise the pair. “Brittany killed it during the finals or whatever you call it. She was buzzing in when no one else on your little team was. Not even you knew those answers, so what I think you need to be doing is thanking her.”

“For what?” Artie challenges.

“For carrying the team obviously. No way you would’ve gotten far if it wasn’t for her.”

Brittany looks a little shocked by the way Santana stands up for her, but Santana barely notices – too busy willing Artie to step out of line again.

And he does, with an arrogant laugh, he brushes Santana off.

“But the time it took her to buzz in is what we lose points for,” Artie explains. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand how academic decathlons work. They’re not like your cheerleading competitions, we actually have to use our brains.”

“Artie,” Brittany chastises but he’s unfazed.

Meanwhile Santana’s eyes are wide with surprise. The nerve, the audacity – it’s unbelievable!

“I’m sorry,” Santana starts to lean forward, getting down on his level. “Are you jealous that you can’t possibly possess both brains and brawn?”

Artie shifts in his chair and tries to evade Santana’s eye, but she’s so close now that he can’t avoid her.

“Or do you feel threatened by it?” Santana presses. “Threatened because this cheerleader’s GPA is something you’ve only dreamt of having and I didn’t have to waste away in a musty old library to get it? Tell me, Wheels, who was it again that was on track to be valedictorian until Brittany came along because I don’t remember seeing your name anywhere on the list.”

Artie’s face goes a little red that time; out of embarrassment or anger, Santana doesn’t care. All she cares about is making sure that he knows he isn’t shit and there’s no way he’ll talk to Brittany like that while she’s around.

There’s only one person in the world that can pick on Brittany and that’s her.

“The keyword is was,” He retorts.

“The keyword is you’re a prick,” Santana bites back just as fiercely.

“Okay,” Brittany cuts in. She gives Santana a little tug until she can curl an arm around her waist, “I think that’s enough of that.”

Artie continues to look shaken, but he does his best to mask it. Trying to be as macho as he can while in that turtleneck sweater he must’ve stolen from his grandfather’s closet. Safe to say it doesn’t fool Santana one bit.

“Well, I can see why you like her, Britt,” Artie comments with a glance in Santana’s direction. “She’s fiery.”

“She’s also this close to going all Lima He– “

“Santana,” Brittany scolds again.

There’s a pleading look in her eye that has Santana softening. She remembers what Brittany said earlier about tonight being fun and not wanting to fight, so Santana let’s Brittany pull her back. She settles, but it feels like it’s only the calm before the storm.

Artie notices too and puts on a smug grin, “Come to think of it, I have heard your name floating around on campus. Santana Lopez; the girl can’t be tied down to save her life.”

“Well Brittany’s changed that,” Santana quips. “Hasn’t she?”

“Hmm,” Artie nods but the stare he gives her is almost analytical. “It’s not really a pairing I would’ve pictured considering your history.” He then looks to Brittany and frowns, “I’m pretty sure you once told me that she couldn’t possibly have any redeeming qualities.”

Santana tries looking unfazed, but she can’t lie and say that comment didn’t sting. One look at Brittany and she can sense the guilt, but she keeps it hidden from Artie. Santana can’t hold it against Brittany though if she did say something like that about her, there’s been many times she’s complained about the blonde to Puck too.

But that was before they got to know each other, that was before they had to work together to emulate this perfect couple.

“Looks like I was wrong about that,” Brittany replies behind a smile that’s directed at Santana. She squeezes a little at the brunette’s waist, “Who would’ve known, opposites really do attract?”

Santana chuckles, remembering saying something similar during a conversation with Tina months ago.

“It sure took me by surprise,” Santana adds before glancing to Artie. “Guess I have some pretty redeeming qualities after all.”

Artie hums again with this contemplative look on his face, but he doesn’t rock the boat any further. He just nods and says, “Well this was fun. I guess I’ll leave you two to enjoy the Ball.”

Santana sneers at him while Brittany bids him goodbye.

“Oh. By the way Britt,” Artie pauses and glances back. “You look really great.”

Santana raises a brow at the compliment.

She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but there’s the slightest little smirk on his dumb face as he says it and it has Santana feeling hot. Even if Brittany isn’t her actual girlfriend, what the hell? Who compliments another person’s date right in front of them? It seems as though Artie knows exactly what he’s doing, but given her promise to Brittany she’ll bite her tongue – for now.

While Brittany ducks her head in thanks, Santana stays quiet – waiting until Artie is out of sight before she can finally let down her guard and say what’s really on her mind.

#hate to date #brittana #brittana fanfiction #enemies to lovers #fake dating au

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dawsonscreekwasalwaysbad · 5 years

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season 6 thoughts

hey quick question why the FUCK did you start with that

like on the one hand i’m glad that now i know what happened right after the end of “that’s too much man!”. on the other hand… ow

the mountain bojack climbs is called “metaphor mountain” God bless Lisa Hanawalt

i LOVE the way the episodes are framed… like you get one flashback to bojack drinking and you think that was the first time then it’s like NOPE he was even younger

CINDY CRAWFISH AKSHDJDSF

AND BABY BOJACK SNUGGLING UP TO HIS MOTHER… TRYING TO FEEL AN EMBRACE SHE WOULD NEVER GIVE… CATCH ME CRYING IN THE CLUB

WHO THE FUCK CAME UP WITH THIS NEW INTRO

AND THE WAY IT HAS ALL THOSE FLASHBACK SCENES BUT IT STILL ENDS WITH HIM FALLING INTO THE POOL AND DIANE AND PEANUTBUTTER CHECKING TO SEE IF HES OK AND THEN HES JSUT LOUNGING IN HIS APPLE SHORTS;;; it’s just,, he’s going back home in the end, going back to the place where he started, as if everything will go back to the way it was before and he’ll find himself stuck in the same cycles he tried so hard to escape… all im saying is, i dont think this season is gonna end well

and how it dwells on his past, everything he did wrong, all the most heartwrenching moments, and there aren’t any changes to the intro (as far as i could tell) until episode 8… nothing changes if all you do is look back.

I am LOVING the Mr. Peanutbutter we’re getting this season. I was never really attached to him before; it’s not that I hated him, just that I liked all the other main characters better. and now that they’ve had him do something really bad and reckon with that,, he’s plumbing new depths, exploring those dark places, questioning if he’s truly as happy as he says he is

and bonding with bojack??? who would have guessed

bojack keeps giving advice that is, at best, the kind he doesn’t follow himself, and at worst, bringing others down into the well of self-pity that he’s been stuck in the whole series

Someone give Princess Carolyn a break…

SHE NAMED HER DAUGHTER RUTHIE IM CRYING

Guy seems like a cool guy but I feel like they’re setting him up to seem nice so that it’s more surprising when it’s revealed he’s not. I’m probably being too suspicious, but also we don’t know much of the details about his divorce, do we? Lakeith Stanfield's great tho

EPISODE 4 WAS COMEDY GOLD

The return of Queefburglar69

I WANNA WRAP PICKLES UP IN A BLANKET LIKE A BURRITO AND TELL HER EVERYTHINGS OKAY

Oh man Pickles talking about how her subscribers will always be there for her… like… it’s not one person, it’s a cloud of people, the contents and shape of which changes, might even be completely different and unrecognizable from one year to the next, but they’re all still there as this nebulous support system. and it reminded me of what bojack said to young sarah lynn about how her fans are the only things she can count on

Todd is babey.

Also him wearing the ace colors under his hoodie!!

I knew Diane’s rationale for going to chicago was bullshit. she said it makes her feel good, but “it doesn’t matter where you are, it’s who you are,” and she still dwells on her bad feelings and hates herself just as much in chicago as she did in LA. moving somewhere else isn’t necessarily gonna change those tendencies, she has to work on it herself.

OH MAN AND WHEN BOJACK GETS DR CHAMP DRUNK AGAIN… THROWING THE BOTTLE OUT THE WINDOW WAS A WAY TO AVOID RUINING ANOTHER LIFE AND HE ENDS UP DOING THE EXACT THING HE HOPED HE WOULD NEVER DO AGAIN

was honestly kinda hoping that Dr Champ was just pretending he got drunk to show how bad bojack could get if he relapsed but at the end when he was like “stay…” that’s how i knew that shit was real.

todd is so fucking stupid i love him

ngl am kinda disappointed that todd’s confirmed white, cause i’ve kinda been picturing him as latino for a long time and i know rbw said he doesn’t want to alienate latino viewers who relate to todd. but it makes a lot of sense, cause he always gets away with stupid shit and gets to the top of things without even having to try just because he knows a guy. and maybe the reason he’s so positive all the time is because it’s so easy for him to be, he never has to worry about shit bc of the privilege his whiteness affords him. also I love that we got to learn more about his backstory

THE CONTRAST BTWN “all the shitty things I did that I can barely even remember because I was high or drunk or it was thirty years ago” and “I remember everything. I’m sober now.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!

sharona sounds like a cross btwn princess carolyn and margo martindale

I have… mixed feelings about the haircut

Oh man Mr. Peanutbutter had a moment… he finally got that crossover episode… I was kinda hoping for a joke that went “Mr. Peanutbutter and BoJack Horseman in the same room? What is this, Philbert?” or “What is this, a short-lived show on a streaming network that got canceled because the star got addicted to painkillers and strangled his costar in a drugged haze?” but this is SO MUCH BETTER. I've never seen him cry before and the way he reacts to himself crying suggests that maybe he’s never cried before at all, and that’s why he just keeps laughing, almost like it’s forced, cause this is supposed to be his happiest moment and it’s not supposed to make him so sad. fucking,, character development

and the cold open of ep 8… you can forgive yourself and move on from your past wrongs but it doesn’t erase the things you did, the effects they have on people, and the trauma they’ve suffered. and then like, how can you forgive yourself if they never forgive you? how do you maintain that balance? why should you move forward if they can’t?

its weird to have an episode consisting entirely of guest stars but it also illustrates the extensive world they’ve built and i applaud that… also where the fuck is ana spanakopita

GINA RETURNS!!! HELL YEAH

her quote about not wanting to be defined by what bojack did to her has always stuck with me, and i feel like now, that quote has sort of come true. like, her saying that made us avoid reducing her to what happened to her, and thats why i wanted to see her come back this season, hopefully moving past it. but she can’t. it traumatized her. and everyone can see the effects of it but she feels like she can’t come forward, cause if she does she’ll be punished. shit like that changes you.

and it’s another instance on the show where someone chooses to advance their career & preserve their reputation over doing the right thing (like what bojack does with herb & sharona), but bojack does it out of self-interest, and gina does it so she doesn’t have to relive her trauma every time she gets interviewed or recognized by a fan. but even when she keeps quiet about it she’s still reliving her trauma

noah fence but what a waste of the once-per-season fuck word. youre really gonna use it in an episode IN WHICH BOJACK DOES NOT EVEN APPEAR, and not only that, but RECYCLE AN OLD SENTENCE FROM A PREVIOUS EPISODE

netflix places no limits on a show’s use of the fuck word (i think), so… fingers crossed for something better in the second part?

OH MY GOD PETE REPEAT INTRODUCED HIMSELF AS PETER ITS ALMOST LIKE HES TRYING TO FORGET THAT TIME & THAT PERSON HE WAS (im probably reading into it too much, I’m sure it’s mostly so we wouldn’t figure out who it was immediately. maybe im just like the kid with the coffee cup.)

and just… ppl describe this show as “family guy or the simpsons except the protagonist faces consequences for his actions” but bojack has gotten away with everything.

you ever just like… you ever watch a scene and feel the cliffhanger vibes creeping up and you just know it’s gonna end there and leave you unsatisfied and begging for more but at the same time that’s what makes it such a good place to end it. that was me with this. (and also the ending of undone)

the thing about this show is, it illustrates what it’s like to be a toxic person. and sure, he has it hard, but the show never asserts that he has it any worse than his victims, even if bojack himself does so. and he only does it so he can feel better about himself. he deserves a reckoning, he needs to pay for his bad deeds. but then, when you know what made him this way and what goes on inside his mind and that he wants to get better, it makes you feel for him, and forces you to ask if he deserves to get better and forgive himself and move forward. but even if he does, it doesn’t change the things he did. it doesn’t fix the lives he’s ruined.

anyway sound off if you think bojack’s gonna die at the end. hopefully not by suicide

#long post #bojack horseman #diane nguyen #todd chavez #princess carolyn #mr. peanutbutter #pickles aplenty #pete repeat #bojack horseman season 6 spoilers #doctor champ #sarah lynn #gina cazador #horsin' around #mr. peanutbutter's house #netflix #raphael bob-waksberg #lisa hanawalt #phoebe talks #mine

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raevenlywrites · 4 years

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The Ties That Bind 12 of ???

Rei and I held hands as we emerged from the dark into--more dark. Zane had promised the rsh wasn’t as dim inside as it seemed, but I missed the sun. And I was grateful for Rei’s hand in mind as we moved through the tight press of netting and vines.

There was an uncanny beauty to it, this joining of intention of happenstance, a closeness that I might have found comforting if I hadn’t felt so stifled already. Rei’s hand seemed too thick and hot in mine, but I stuck close to him anyways, unnerved by the walls of the rsh . They seemed to slither and switch, and it wasn’t until we rounded a corner back into the main room that I realized their movement came from the shifting shadows cast by a dancing flame.

Once a fire was lit in the central room, the entire space transformed. Where net and leaf began became much clearer, because the nets, I could now see, had once been bright, vibrant colors. Time had dulled them, and I could only imagine the brilliant jewels they must have once been, however long ago.

They say our peoples have been at war for over two thousand years.

They also say the falcon empress Cjarsa is older still than that.

It seems petty to doubt such magic when I myself have knit closed minor wounds with only the power of my voice and prayer. But surely, surely, some myths need not to be true. I didn’t want to believe our war was that old. And I didn’t know what to make of an empress that was supposed to remember a time we knew peace, but did next to nothing to help us return to it.

Zane startled me from my thoughts, even as my mind played back the last few seconds and realized I had noticed my guards shift around me and had simply dismissed it. It wasn’t Zane startling me, it was the interruption from my introspection in general.

“It’s eerie, isn’t it?” he asked, gazing at the wall and not me. “There’s a rsh just like this on the edges of the marketplace, with a central room just like this one, but...”

He trailed off, dropping the hand he’d been reaching out to a broken twist of net. It amazed me how it still stood at all, and I said as much.

“This one is more vine than net, I think,” he said carefully. “It takes time and patience to grow up walls like this. And even more to bring them back down.”

I humphed under my breath.

“Everyone keeps talking around me lately, in pretty metaphors--or obvious ones.”

He turned wide eyes to me and I gave him back what I hoped was a single arched brow. It was a difficult expression to master, without screwing up the rest of my face to be comical. Apparently it was effective though, or Zane was being polite at my failure when he smiled with a soft shake of his head.

“That one was for me, actually. If you feel the tearing down walls metaphor is apt for yourself as well, then hopefully it means we’ll be able to find more common ground before the week is out.”

My stomach dropped at the reminder that I was expected to stay here, with him--and Rei--for an entire week. It had seemed like such a good idea at the farmhouse, staring into the triumphant face of Alasdair.

“You said your dancers dance around the sign of the Anhleh,” I said, not caring how obviously I was changing the subject. “Do you think there’s one intact here, or...” I gestured lamely at the walls. Zane gave me another humoring smile.

“This nest is dead, a relic. I’m afraid if you want to see serpiente dance before the Anhleh you’ll have to come back with me to sha’Mehay.”

It was only my blood running cold that kept my cheeks from flushing. The terror at the thought of willingly entering the heart of the serpiente palace cooled any embarrassment at the thought that I might have been asking him to dance, here and now.

You want to do this here, now? Rei’s voice echoed in my head and the blush won out. Zane chuckled.

“Is the thought of merely watching others dance too much for you, pretty Danica? I knew hawks were prudes but--”

“I’m not a prude!” I snapped, and instantly regretted it. Softer voices could be politely ignored in this close space. Quiet shouting could not.

I felt Rei crowd closer behind me and suddenly wanted out of this hole in the ground.

��“Rei,” I ground from between my teeth, “you cannot hover over me all week. I meant what I said to Erica, and I’ll say it again to you too. I don’t need a soldier, I need a guard. Go fly a scouting circuit, see how obvious the smoke from that fire is above the trees.”

It was almost certainly the wrong thing to say. But he met my orders with a tight, “Yes, Shardae,” and gave me the space I so desperately needed. Now if only I could order myself up and into the sun.

Zane was studying my face, and didn’t have the manners to try to disguise it when I turned back to him. Or maybe it was a cultural thing. Maybe serpiente just openly stared at everyone. Either way, my emotions were too wrung out for niceties anymore. I’d spent the better part of a week either traveling or trapped in fruitless arguments, and I just needed a break .

“This is the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you,” Zane commented before I could speak. “It’s a shame it’s all tense and jagged like this. I have a feeling you’d have a lovely aura in more pleasant times.”

At that, I could only blink.

“W-wha?”

Zane did that sad smile, headshake thing that was definitely starting to seem like his go to cover up for laughing at me.

“In our scaled form, serpents taste heat. Life. Alive-ness. Like this, I can still taste your heartbeat, smell the sticky sharp closeness of panic on the back of my tongue--“

“That’s disgusting,” I said, nearly sick from the thought of it. How could serpiente stand to be so close to one another if they were so aware of each other’s bodies?

“It’s a metaphor,” he said lightly, colder than he’d been a moment before. “We sense it with a sense that isn’t taste or smell or touch, but it's like trying to describe a song to the deaf. I can hold your hand, tap out the beats, but you still miss the soaring of the melody, the finer notes that make it music and not just sound.”

I nodded, contrite at having offended him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

He sighed. “It’s quite alright. I can only imagine it will be the first of many.”

Something about that made me unspeakably sad. So sad that it changed my “taste” apparently, because Zane reached out for me, to brush my arm I think. But of course Erica was there, and I finally lost my temper completely.

“Enough!”

I snatched Zane’s hand in mine, earning startled cries from everyone in the room, even Adelina. I raised our joined hands and shook them, like brandishing a weapon.

“Zane and I are going to touch. Zane and I are going to be close, because Zane and I are trying to have private conversations. If one more person comes within a foot of me without my express invitation I am going to send them home. So help me I will sit in his lap if that’s what it takes to get you all to stand down .”

Abruptly, I became aware of the fact that I was holding Zane’s hand, that I had taken it without his permission, and that the whole room was staring at us. I squeezed his hand tighter, not knowing how to get off this metaphorical dias.

Zane squeezed back.

“It’d be almost worth it to call your bluff,” he muttered, but then said to the larger group, “Is there something we can do to help make you all more comfortable? Among my people, we have elaborate rules and traditions for guests, and I do consider you all my guests, even as I consider myself yours. In my house, I would offer you food and drink, and you would know that no harm would come to you unless violence was offered. What is the way of it in the Keep?”

In the Keep, violence was absolutely unheard enough. We had enough of that on the fields, on the training grounds. There was no violence in the Keep because it was our refuge from such things.But that wouldn’t help us here.

“We are held by our word,” Raymond said. I startled, almost having forgotten the quiet raven in the press of so many louder personalities. “Words spoken by or to the Tuuli Thea have power, real power, especially in the halls of our Keep. I do not know how such oaths would hold you, but it is what we would do, if we felt the need.”

Zane nodded. “We have our own words, codes of conduct, contracts.” He turned to me, pulling our hands closer to our chests.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes

#raev does fic #the ties that bind #hawksong fic #hawksong

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ootori-sibs · 4 years

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Winter lodge host club 6

It made no sense whatsoever to go to the town for a second time, but it was a nice day so she supposed it was alright. This time they didn't have to guide the guests around this time, so Haruhi was planning on spending some time with the twins. She'd spoken to them at breakfast and they agreed that they'd run off and grab some snacks before sitting at the nearby park. They'd made their break for it the moment Tamaki had finished his talk about safety- something he had also done the first time they'd been to town, mostly just general safety things but also reminding them of the locals who'd offered to give advice should someone get lost or scared. Haruhi thought that was sweet but the second he finished talking, her and the twins were off running to the nearest store that sold snacks.

Kyoya had decided to once again stay behind, though Tamaki had berated him for being so antisocial. Haruhi couldn't blame either of them, she just worried about his safety a little, at least Antoinette had been left with him, she ought to be able to protect him should the worst happen. So Haruhi was happy not to worry about him in the slightest, just spending time with the twins without a care in the world.

It did get boring just sitting at the park after a while, so they got up and decided to wander around the town for a bit again. The twins wouldn't shut up about people's outfits, bullying them to all hell, but Haruhi had to admit she found it amusing to hear them mock people with no restraint. Any other host would make a sly under the breath comment, or simply not speak at all, but the twins were a law unto themselves.

They bumped into Takashi and Honey again, so walked with them through the candy store, Haruhi's hand brushed Takashi's as they watched Honey go positively feral over all the candies and sweets. She really sympathised with him, it must be hard to keep up with such a high energy guy 24/7, it was hard enough to keep pace with the hosts as is. She would hold hands with him properly if there wasn't a chance the girls could see. They had come up for little chats a few times and Haruhi was happy to entertain the girls for a few minutes.

They stepped out of the store, Honey bouncing around with a huge bag of candy, babbling about everything and nothing. Haruhi noticed that Tamaki was in the next store over, looking over different kinds of coffee. It was a run-of-the-mill grocery store, which struck her as odd because they already had enough food, though she supposed that maybe he just ran out of interesting stores to enter. She points this out to the other hosts, curious, "what's he doing? We already have coffee at the lodge…"

The twins shrug, speaking in unison, "probably getting a gift for Kyoya, he loves coffee that one." They didn't seem bothered by Kyoya's apparent caffeine addiction in the slightest and Haruhi was more than a little worried about it- she remembered when Fiyumi had mentioned that his father had banned him from too much coffee and had to wonder if giving him coffee was inadvertently hurting him.

So they walked into the store, heading over to where Tamaki stood. He appeared to be murmuring to himself, something about Kyoya eating more, and needing to be treated for it- Haruhi found it funny how he treated everyone as if they were a dog, especially on the rewarding good behaviour front. It was incredibly amusing to see Tamaki debate with himself like this and she was about to interject but before they could say anything, he spun around to face them, holding two little bags. "Do you guys think Kyoya would prefer chocolate covered coffee beans or espresso chewys?? I can't decide!"

Haruhi sighed, guess they were doing this now. She looked at the bags, pondering the question for a moment, the twins suggested both, but that literally does not answer Tamaki's question. She thought that maybe he should get the coffee beans, they're more crunchy after all, but they are a higher concentration of caffeine… however, that might also be a plus. "The coffee beans I'd say," she told him, confident that she was correct. Tamaki thoughtfully nodded, putting the chewy bag down- where it was instantly picked up by someone else. They all collectively glanced at this strange, freezing in unison as they did so.

Tamaki was completely frozen, he knew that Haruhi had seen him but he hadn't expected to see the man himself, he heard the twins exclaim something vulgar in surprise, but Tamaki felt unable to speak. Hirano glanced at them, smiling slightly, though it was clearly forced, "oh hello, sorry I didn't notice you, I was completely in a world of my own." He chuckled to himself awkwardly, clearly just as unhappy to see them as they were to see him.

He swallowed his fear, unable to keep himself from thinking about Kyoya in danger, "Mr Hirano…" he gritted his teeth, faking politeness though he knew his seething rage would be clear to his friends, "how are you doing?"

The man, dressed in all black, smiled back, nodding in recognition of Tamaki's question, "well I'm just here because I needed a distraction from the mourning…" he trailed off after the word mourning, which explained the black. But that confused Tamaki slightly, who could he be mourning but Shin? Yet Haruhi said she'd seen Shin the other night…

"Mourning? So did Monsieur Tonnerre shoot your brother after all?"

"What?" Hirano seemed surprised by this, "no, we never found his body… only his clothes…" he took a breath, clearly choking back a son, which Tamaki found odd, "soaked in blood…" no doubt Kyoya's blood, Shin being the horrible beast he was. The clothes thing stood out to Tamaki for some reason, although he wasn't sure why…

Haruhi was frozen, he glanced back to see her standing there, clearly having a bit of an epiphany. A few seconds later and she bolted out of the store, dropping her bags. Tamaki picked the backs up as Mori ran after her, both worried about their little commoner friend. The twins were just looking at Hirano with disdain, clearly not believing a word he said, Honey looked sceptical too. Tamaki supposed he shouldn't be too trusting of the guy whose brother tried to kill Kyoya. He just quietly said his goodbyes to Hirano and ushered the other hosts out of the store.

"What the hell is up with that guy?"

Tamaki sighed, shaking his head, "that doesn't matter, we should just avoid them for now, why don't we go find some of the girls?" He suggested something that might keep the twins entertained, Honey could tag along with him if he wanted. He was worried about Haruhi but didn't want to bother her if she and Mori were about to have a moment, he wasn't going to be that guy.

Finding some of the girls, he quickly got his mind off the issue by entertaining them; asking them questions about what they bought, complementing them, sprouting some nonsense about how beautiful winter is- and it is beautiful, it's positively gorgeous. Now Tamaki's favourite season will always be spring, but his second has to be winter, there's just something about the snow, and cuddling up with a loved one… Kyoya gets so very cold so it's the perfect excuse for some much needed snuggle time. Winter brings out the best in people, even without Christmas to aid in it, there's so much fun, and warmth coming from each and every soul under the cool winter sun. There's nothing Tamaki likes more than watching the snow land on someone's skin, it's just so soft and beautiful, a gentle kiss from nature herself.

So he tells the girls this- omitting the comment about Kyoya of course, and they go crazy for it, sharing their own romantic ideas about winter. He loves hearing how others romanticise things he enjoys, it's such a wonderful thing to hear, everyone has a different kind of poetry in their souls and it feels so enriching to hear how others view the world. Like snowflakes, everyone is completely unique, but since everyone is so beautiful and unique, they all sort of blend into one, a pure blanket of soft snow, but to pause and look closely at an individual, to examine the true self, really makes the entire larger picture so much more worth it- god, he loved metaphors!

Umehito also enjoyed metaphors, he had a poetry book he was reading to the girls. It was gothic poetry, but he made sure to only read the passages that he felt they would enjoy, he didn't want to freak them out at all. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak to Ootori about sending the girls home yet, but he was currently alone with only a couple of guests so Umehito was planning to the moment he finished these poems. He wondered what Ootori would say, hopefully yes.

He wondered if it would be rude to send the girls home early though, he supposed Ootori didn't really give two shots about manners though, considering he'd fed them to the beast. Last time the guests were inconvenienced, Ootori had sent them flowers, so maybe he would simply do that if he did send them home. That sounded like something that the girls would go for.

The poems he read were the most innocent and romantic ones he could find, some featured some children befriending innocent monsters, some featured a woman in love with a ghost- it was really a mashup of pg horror content. Umehito was never one for any sort of flat tales or storybook endings, but the words and metaphors flowed like silk and water, he could tell them a poem that's a metaphor for death and their only response would be to think it's just a vapid rhyme about butterflies.

The girls at Ouran were vapid though, at least most of them were, he knew a few personally that were a little more three dimensional then others; Fujioka for one. She was quite a fun girl, pretending to be a guy was quite an interesting thing for her to have done, and Umehito would love to learn the motive behind that, but he hadn't really talked to her properly before, so he had no clue how that'd even go.

One of the girls had already fallen asleep, her head resting on the lap of the second, who was braiding her hair as she listened to Umehito tell the poems. Nekozawa didn't mind her falling asleep, he didn't take it to mean his poetry reading was boring as most would, he understood that poems were soothing in a way that most other things weren't- why else do people listen to music so much? Both of the girls had brown hair, but the sleeping girl had longer hair than her friend, so Umehito couldn't blame the girl for wanting to braid her friend's hair absentmindedly. They both heard the door upstairs slam open, the girl looked at him in concern, "that didn't sound nice, what do you think happened?"

He shrugged, not wanting to panic her but genuinely not knowing what the noise was other than the door going. "Someone was probably just excited to get back into the warmth, not to worry my dear."

"Don't call me that," her face was now one of disgust, clearly not enjoying Umehito's attempt to charm her like Souh-san would, "it's creepy."

Nekozawa nodded, point taken, he wasn't meaning to scare her, he was doing his best actually. It just so happened that he was a scary guy in general, Reiko wouldn't think he was being creepy, Reiko was his best friend… "my apologies, I won't do it again." Maybe he'd text his fellow club members, let them know he's doing alright. He wondered if they'd be worried about him, he couldn't remember if they'd let him know where he was going… probably not, knowing him.

#kyoya ootori #tamaki souh #ouran high school host club #tamakyo #haruhi fujioka #hikaru and kaoru #hikaru hitachiin #kaoru hitachiin #mitsukuni haninozuka #takashi morinozuka

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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The POTC AU is continuing, and with it, the reveal of the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove! Above we have six out of our seven Pirate Lords -- you’ll be meeting all of them in this section one by one, but to list them off, we have Merula Snyde; Arjun Singh (pictured with Aishwarya Mehra) @hogwarts9; Ellie Hopper @that-ravenpuff-witch; Jacob “Black Jack” Cromwell Roberts; Orion Amari; and Jae Kim.

Merula’s outfit is modeled slightly off of Angelica Teech’s from the fourth Pirates film, though with an oversized 18th century-style men’s undershirt rather than the “Renaissance Fair”-style shirt we get in the movie, while Jae’s most closely resembles Elizabeth Swann’s Pirate King ensemble from the third movie. Ellie’s is most closely modeled on Carina Smyth’s from the fifth Pirates film, though I did make some more period-worthy adjustments like the sleeve length and the light-weight scarf underneath the neckline, which were often worn by women of the time to obscure any deep cleavage and/or for warmth. Arjun and Jae, like the rest of the male pirates, I also gave facial hair because it was considered bad luck to shave while on board a ship, and so most pirates would invariably have beards of some variety, since they would be at sea much more than on land. In the 18th century in particular, beards were kind of “out of fashion” for men on dry land -- were you to have one, you were generally presumed to be eccentric, wild, uncouth, or just flat-out insane. (Which honestly kind of fits the traditional image of a pirate. XD)

The song “Hoist the Colours,” in the original Pirates films, actually refers to Davy Jones and the Brethren Court “binding Calypso in her bones” -- but since in this version of events, Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws had no part in the Court binding Calypso (because seriously, OG!Jones?? Dick move), the “King” in the song is the original Pirate King, not Jones. It’s actually a rare case where one can take a lyric more literally than metaphorically. XD

A kumiho is a nine-tailed fox spirit from Korean mythology, rather like the Japanese kitsune. One of my personal headcanons for Jae Kim is that his Patronus is a fox. *grins at @kyril-hphm* 83

Previous part is here; whole tag is here; and also featured in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier (happy belated birthday, mon couer!) and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x

Shipwreck Cove was a settlement made out of hundreds of wrecked ships, all stacked on top of each other inside of a dead volcano. It was an imposing fortress, lit by thousands of lanterns in the night. Even its location at the end of the treacherous Devil’s Throat gave it a sense of impregnability -- it needed no tall walls to keep its enemies out.

As soon as Charlie arrived on the island, his new First Mate Barnaby Lee cheerfully showed him and the rest of the Phoenix’s crew around before he guided them to the Hall of the Codex, the room where members of the Brethren Court gathered, whenever they convened. Barnaby advised Charlie to make sure he stuck his sword in the globe before approaching the table -- it not only signaled his status as Pirate Lord to the other gathered Lords, but it also was a sign of respect to the others, indicating that he would not incite violence at the meeting.

“You can bring other weapons to the table, though, so you could still start a fight if you really wanted to,” Barnaby added rather brightly.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” laughed Charlie.

“CHARLIE!”

The new captain of the Phoenix looked up, and his face lit up at the sight of a familiar freckled face racing towards him.

“Bill!”

The two Weasley brothers latched onto each other, squeezing each other in a giant hug.

“Thank God, Charlie!” Bill mumbled as he clutched at the back of his brother’s coat.

Jules ran over too so she could also bring an arm around Charlie, resting a hand on the back of his head as she and Bill both hugged him tight.

“We were so worried about you,” said Jules, her voice a bit more level than Bill’s but no less relieved.

She glanced curiously at the new hat and coat his new crew had lent him.

“...Is there a story behind the new clothes?”

Charlie grinned a bit sheepishly. “Uh...aye! Actually...”

“Can we send Weasley and her crew out so we can call this meeting to order already?” came a rather impatient female voice from the table.

“Captain Farrier-Weasley and the crew of the Revolution are my guests,” said the level, patient voice of Orion.

“This meeting is for Pirate Lords, Amari,” said the impatient voice irritably. “You can’t just invite non-Lords to it -- ”

"Jules’s father is the Governor of Port Royal,” said the logical voice of McNully. “Since Port Royal’s the current base of operations for Cutler Beckett and the Navy, there’s a 65% chance she’ll have some good insight about how to approach this whole thing.”

“And considering we’ll likely be missing a member of our Court, I thought it might be helpful to have another captain present who could fill in for our seventh Lord,” Orion added calmly.

"You can’t decide that all on your own, Amari!”

“He’s not trying to!” snapped Skye’s voice. “At least Orion’s trying to bring something to the table besides tantrums -- !”

“Skye, please,” Orion soothed quietly. “Samantha, is it against the Code for Pirate Lords to invite other captains to meetings?”

Charlie’s ears perked up. Samantha O’Connell was there too?

Jules beckoned Bill and Charlie with a jerk of her head to follow her into the Hall of the Codex properly.

There was a large, stained, circular table set up in the middle of the room, around which two women and two men -- presumably four out of the seven Pirate Lords -- were already seated with Orion. One of the Lords -- a young man with tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a black ponytail -- had a dark-haired woman who closely resembled him standing behind his chair with her arms resting on top of the back. Charlie guessed they must be related.

“...The Code does state meetings of the Brethren Court are to be attended by the Pirate Lords and their crews,” said Samantha. She was sitting with her legs slouched over the right arm of a high-backed chair in the corner of the room, a gigantic, dusty, leather-bound book open in her lap. “But it doesn’t say that it can only be attended by those people...so any dispute to the rule could be settled by popular vote. If any other Lord wished to co-sponsor your guests, Orion, they could stay.”

Samantha then flashed a beady look at the brown-haired female pirate -- likely the one who’d been arguing with Orion -- across the table.

“What is stated, though, is that all active Pirate Lords must be present before a meeting starts.”

The blond female captain sitting closest to the door nodded in agreement. “And we’re still missing one Pirate Lord.”

“Technically we’re missing two Lords,” the tanned young man pointed out in a rather charming, amused voice.

“I doubt the Lord of the Pacific Ocean will show up, Arjun,” said the woman leaning against the back of his chair. “I mean, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court...”

“You’ll have one for this meeting.”

Everyone turned around in surprise as Charlie strode forward toward the globe, stabbing his dragon-hilted blade into it just as Barnaby instructed.

“Charlie?” said Bill, perfectly stunned.

Charlie walked up to the table, the crew of the Phoenix following along behind, and stopped in front of the empty chair beside Orion’s. He shot Samantha a smile and a little wave, before he glanced around at the other Lords more more seriously.

“I’ll second Captain Amari’s sponsorship of Captain Farrier-Weasley and her crew,” he said firmly. He tapped his hat to indicate the S-and-anchor-trimmed “Piece of Eight” button he’d sewn onto it, before removing it and setting it down on the table as he took a seat. “The crew of the Revolution is welcome to attend this meeting.”

He shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder at his brother and sister-in-law. Bill’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. Jules looked rather stunned too, but she recovered more quickly and soon smiled broadly herself, coming up to stand between Charlie and Orion the way the woman with Arjun stood behind him.

Orion gave Charlie a muted, but still very pleased smile.

“Captain Charlie Weasley...allow me to introduce Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird, Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea -- ”

He indicated the impatient pink-eyed brunette, who was now slouching in her seat and crossing her arms irritably.

“ -- Captain Ellie Hopper of the Treasure, Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea -- ”

The blonde pirate wearing the thigh-length teal dress and brown tricorn hat nodded politely to Charlie and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“ -- Captain Arjun Singh of the Naga, Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean, and his cousin and co-captain, Aishwarya Mehra -- ”

The man called Arjun and the woman behind him both smiled and inclined their heads respectfully to Charlie.

“ -- Captain Jae Kim of the Kumiho, Pirate Lord of the South China Sea -- ”

A pirate with a long black braid dressed in a beautifully patterned gold silk tunic, who was slouching casually in his seat, raised his hand in an off-hand wave. “Hey.”

“ -- and last but certainly not least, Samantha O’Connell, Keeper of the Code.”

“We’ve met,” said Charlie with a cheeky grin.

Samantha’s lips were tugged up into a broad smile too as she closed the large book in her lap and got to her feet.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And of course you already know Orion -- Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea.”

“So the last Lord is for the Atlantic Ocean?” said Jules after a moment, once she’d mentally listed off all the seas she’d heard.

“Aye -- that I am.”

Everyone looked up as a man with a long mane of dark curls and hollowed-out, almond-shaped blue eyes strode up to the round table.

“Black Jack!” said Barnaby in relief.

The rest of the Phoenix chattered happily at the sight of the Tower Raven’s captain. Charlie was relieved too, seeing that Carewyn’s brother was all right after all. Unlike the rest of the captains present, Jacob only had Ashe accompanying him instead of a full crew, and both men were also missing their hats and dressed in sopping wet clothes.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” muttered Jacob as he sidled into the seat next to Merula’s. “Ashe and I had to swim most of the way here, as that twat Rakepick decided to blow up my ship -- ”

“Swim?” repeated Merula, sounding both perfectly scandalized and disbelieving. “How could you have swam all the way here from...wherever the Hell you were?”

“Very strong lungs and muscles,” Ashe said in such a cool voice that it put an end to the train of conversation. He stood over Jacob much the way Aishwarya stood over Arjun, draping his arms around the back of the chair so as to hug Jacob from behind, and shot beady looks at the remaining Pirate Lords. “Seems they’re all in attendance, Jack.”

“Aye,” said Jacob. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Aye,” agreed Samantha. “Now, as per the Code, we can call this meeting of the Fourth Brethren Court to order.”

“Finally,” growled Merula.

She immediately shot to her feet and addressed the others.

“All right -- for those of you who aren’t aware...the Flying Dutchman, cursed ship of the damned, has been impressed into service by the British Navy. Then, under that arse Cutler Beckett’s orders, it attacked Tortuga.”

Jacob looked stricken. “Tortuga?”

Merula nodded. “Two hundred people have now been hanged in Port Royal, all for supposedly aiding and abetting pirates -- men, women, and children.”

Ellie looked back at her crewmates, visibly disturbed by the news. Arjun and Aishwarya exchanged a grim look.

“Both of the Captains Weasley and I were on Tortuga at the time of the attack,” said Orion, indicating Charlie, Jules, and himself. “I’m afraid the Flying Dutchman has burned the settlement to the ground. It’s no longer safe to return to.”

“It’s worse than that,” Charlie said lowly. He glanced from Jacob to Orion. “...Commodore Carey Weasley...warned me that Beckett is on his way here, to Shipwreck Cove.”

Orion’s dark eyes widened. Jacob stiffened sharply.

“You saw Carey?” said Bill, his voice strained with desperation.

Charlie glanced at his brother uneasily. “Yeah. ...He’s aboard the Flying Dutchman.”

The pronouncement made Jacob lunge to his feet so violently he knocked his chair over with a clatter.

“What?!”

His face was as white as a sheet as the rest of the Pirate Lords and their crews muttered amongst themselves. Ashe squeezed his lover’s shoulders that bit more tightly, his own brown eyes narrowing in concern. Bill had also blanched, his freckles sticking out sharply on his face. Orion’s gaze dropped onto his hands as he clasped them together on the table in front of him.

“Sh -- he can’t be on that ship!” Jacob shouted. “I explicitly told him to stay in Port Royal, away from the sea -- !”

“Carey had to have been ordered to go,” Jules cut Jacob off as gently as she could, even if she looked just as anxious as Bill and Charlie were. “If he got the order, he wouldn’t have been able to disobey it...not if he wanted to keep his position as Commodore -- to protect all of us.”

She glanced at Bill and reached out and took his hand, squeezing it empathetically.

Arjun exchanged a confused look with Aishwarya.

“I’m sorry -- but I think we’re missing something here,” said the Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean with a bit of a sheepish smile. “Is the Commodore of the British Navy our ally now?”

“Of course not!” scoffed Merula. “Beckett’s been puffing his chest out for weeks, crowing about how he’s roped ‘the great Carey Weasley’ into his anti-piracy campaign. Rumor has it that the Commodore himself was the one who suggested sacking Tortuga in the first place!”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Jae.

Everyone turned to look at him, startled.

“Amari here captured Carey Weasley to send a message to the British Navy and the East India Trading Company, didn’t he?” said the Lord of the South China Sea. “Yet Weasley escaped him. Then, only a short while later, Amari got arrested in Weasley’s hometown of Port Royal, only to be ‘liberated’ by Weasley’s own brothers and the Governor’s daughter, who has now become his sister-in-law.” He nodded curtly at Jules, Bill, and Charlie. “...It seems clear to me that all of it must’ve been planned. There’s no reason I can see for Charlie, Bill, and Jules Weasley to break Amari out of prison unless he and the Commodore were allies.”

The Pirate Lords’ crews excluding Orion’s starting muttering again. Charlie glanced at Orion, but the Captain of the Artemis’s gaze was still solidly on his clasped hands on the tale.

“...That’s true,” the second eldest Weasley said at last. “Captain Amari and my twin staged the escape. That was the reason Jules, Bill, and I helped Captain Amari escape prison, so he could help us rescue Carey from Charles Cromwell. Carey may be with Beckett...but he’s only agreed to it so that he’ll be in a position to protect us, now that we’ve been branded pirates.”

“Your twin’s smart,” said Jae with a nod. His black eyes then flitted over to Jacob. “What I want to know, though, is how you know the Commodore, Black Jack?”

Jacob’s skull-like blue eyes narrowed very coldly upon Jae’s face. “My history with the Commodore is none of your business. Nor is it relevant.”

He turned his focus back to the rest of the Brethren Court, his eyes blazing. “If that bilge rat Beckett does know where Shipwreck Cove is, then we’ll need to make preparations.”

“What preparations?” said Jae. He looked oddly unconcerned as he slouched back in his chair. “Shipwreck Cove is a fortress. It would take ages for anyone to penetrate our defenses.”

“The British Navy has broken out their Man O’ Wars from the War against the Spanish,” said Jacob grimly. “No pirate I know of has a ship that large and heavily armed.”

“Even so,” said Arjun bracingly, “it would take at least a month for them to reach us here, even if they found Shipwreck Cove. Would Beckett really want to waste that much time?”

“And money too,” Ellie pointed out. “That’s always what men like him worry about most.”

“Not to mention all the lives of the men he’d lose,” said Aishwarya.

“I’m afraid those things mean little.”

Everyone looked at Orion. He slowly raised his gaze from his clasped hands at last to look at them all.

“Cutler Beckett may be a man of business,” the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean murmured, “but he’s also a vengeful, close-minded, and ambitious person. He seeks status and wealth, and he has no compassion for those who might stand in his way of achieving them. And right now, in his eyes, what stands in his way -- in the way of the East India Trading Company’s profits and his own personal ambitions -- is every person who sails under a pirate flag or who shows any sympathy for our plight. Beckett may be crafty enough to manipulate others rather than just using his own physical strength...but he only acts like a gentleman when he doesn’t have absolute power over another person’s life. When he does have that level of control over someone...he can be as ruthless as the Kraken itself.”

Despite the calm, serious expression on his face, there was an odd flash of cold emotion that crackled through his dark eyes. No one doubted Orion’s testimony.

“If the fleet Beckett’s assembled does contain Man O’ Wars,” said McNully, as he rolled his wheeled chair up beside Orion, “then there’s a 73.2% chance this could turn into a siege.”

Jules’s dark eyes became a little smaller and she set her jaw tightly.

“...Then we’ll just have to assemble our own Navy and fight back,” she said firmly after a moment.

The other Pirate Lords’ crews started to laugh.

“‘Navy?’” repeated Arjun. He wasn’t laughing, but he did look a little incredulous. “Captain Weasley...we pirates may have a Court and Lords, but we’re not a country. Even those of us who have fleets -- or had fleets,” he gave a nod toward Jacob, “don’t answer to anyone else.”

“Even Shipwreck Cove isn’t a military fort or town,” said Aishwarya. “People stay here, and it’s very well-protected...but it’s no one’s home.”

“No pirate has a home,” said Samantha solemnly from the sidelines. Her emerald green eyes had drifted off toward the wall absently. “Just a ship, if we’re lucky.”

Charlie’s eyes lingered on Samantha’s face, clearly struck by how grim and oddly sad she seemed, saying this.

Jules, however, didn’t falter in her conviction even slightly. If anything, her dark eyes grew sharper as she put a hand down on the table and leaned over it.

“Cutler Beckett is an ally of my father’s, so Beckett hates pirates just as much as he does -- likely more, if we take Orion’s word -- and we’re all pirates. There’s no way any of us could defeat Beckett on our own, and if he reaches Shipwreck Cove, it’s likely he’ll treat it the same way he did Tortuga. If that happens, where else will anyone branded as pirates be able to go? Where else will we be able to go, if we decide to run instead of standing our ground? Even if you don’t have a home, we all need a safe place to rest and resupply...”

Bill nodded in agreement. “We all need a sanctuary to escape to, now and again.”

Jacob rested his head in his hands on the table, interlacing the fingers over his lips thoughtfully. Ellie Hopper placed both of her hands on the table so as to hoist herself up and out of her chair to her feet.

“You bring up a good point, Captain Weasley,” she said to Jules, “but it’s as Captain Roberts said -- none of our ships are comparable to a Man O’ War. And although there are pirates who were once soldiers...” she inclined her head respectfully to Bill and Charlie, “...there are quite a few of us who never were. Most pirates who were once in the Navy were privateers -- sailors who only ever attacked merchant vessels, not war ships -- and others, including both you and me, have no military experience at all. We don’t have the strength needed to defeat an entire fleet of Man O’ Wars.”

“We don’t,” said Orion very softly. “But there is someone who does.”

He glanced at Charlie. “Charlie Weasley...is Chia Dalma still with you?”

Charlie blinked. “Aye...she didn’t seem to like the thought of meeting the rest of the Court, so she stayed behind on the Phoenix.”

Orion nodded, but seemed unconcerned -- likely he’d presumed as much.

“You all recall, I hope,” he said, “that the Brethren Court was first formed when the original Pirate Lords decided to steal control from the goddess Calypso?”

Most of the people in the room nodded and murmured in assent. Charlie, Bill, and Jules did not.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that story,” said Jules.

“I’ve heard of Calypso,” said Bill slowly. “She’s supposed to be a goddess of the sea, isn’t she?”

“She was, once,” said Orion.

“There’s a song that tells the tale,” Skye added.

They both glanced at Merula, who straightened up in her seat and sang in a rather lovely voice,

“The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed

And bound her in her bones --

The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

The tune immediately sounded familiar to Charlie, Bill, and Jules -- it was the same one Carewyn had sung for Pearl, just before she died.

“You see, the original Pirate King, Henry Morgan, and his allies were buccaneers who were scared of how dangerous the sea was,” said McNully. “Because their livelihoods depended on their ability to sail, they all decided to tame the sea enough that it’d be safe to travel on, without them needing to appeal to the whims of a ‘heathen goddess.’”

Jules’s eyebrows came together tightly.

“And how did they ‘tame’ her, exactly?” she asked, her low voice betraying some cold disapproval.

“They ‘bound her in her bones,’” said Jae, “or, more simply, trapped her in human form. The transformation restricted the use of her powers significantly, making the seas less turbulent to sail on and therefore making it safer for the Lords and other pirates to evade the Navy and ‘ply their trade.’”

Jules looked furious. “So they cursed a goddess, just to help themselves?”

“To protect themselves,” Merula shot back a bit defensively.

Skye nodded in passionate agreement. “Calypso was terrifying at full power. She could create maelstroms out of fat air, send wild sea creatures to attack ships. She was the one who created the Kraken and the Flying Dutchman in the first place. Davy Jones was her lover, so they say...”

“The decision is more complicated than you think, Captain Weasley,” said Jacob, and his skull-like blue eyes drifted absently off toward the ceiling as his voice grew more thoughtful. “The Pirate Lords, much like us, could only support themselves and their families through their buccaneering. They did not come from wealth as you have. There was no other good way for them to make a living or a better life for themselves and their loved ones, as they weren’t land-owners and didn’t have any financial collateral. Not to mention many of them were God-fearing Christians who were intimidated by what they thought must be a servant of Satan, since there can be no other God before Him. What they did was cruel, of course -- no question...but it was made out of self-preservation and fear, not just greed.”

Jules crossed her arms, clearly unmoved. “It seems to me that people who so clearly value freedom shouldn’t try to justify why someone else should be denied theirs.”

“I agree,” said Orion, and although his voice was much softer and more level than Jules’ was, his eyes twinkled with something like approval in response to her words. “And that is why I propose that we reverse the First Brethren Court’s decision, from all those years ago...and release Calypso from her bonds.”

There was a silence. Then, very abruptly, all of the other pirates started shouting and arguing.

“Are you insane?!”

“That’d just make everything worse!”

“Cut out his tongue!”

“Calypso has no reason to help us -- she’d no doubt hate pirates, for what we did to her -- ”

“Give him a good shot to the head!”

“We’d be fighting both a sea goddess and the entire British Navy, if we did that -- !”

Even Skye and McNully looked at Orion with notable trepidation.

“Orion, I’d say you might want to pull back on that idea a bit,” McNully muttered to him.

Even if the volume and anger in the room did take him aback slightly, Orion kept his cool. He rose to his feet, holding up a hand for calm, but many ignored him and instead shouted louder. Seeing this, Charlie got to his feet too and, pulling his pistol of his belt, pointed it at the air and shot at the ceiling. The loud BANG scared everyone enough that they fell silent and the Lords who were standing all returned to their seats.

Orion nodded to Charlie in mute gratitude and addressed the rest of the pirates again, his hands clasped in front of him.

“We currently don’t have the force needed to overcome Cutler Beckett and his Company. We do not have the force needed to defend Shipwreck Cove, or even to ensure that we all escape this storm alive. We could hole up here for a month or so and hope that the Navy tires themselves out -- but as McNully stated, that could easily become a siege, at which point this place would become our tomb. We could all evacuate the island before the Navy arrives -- but as Captain Farrier-Weasley said, we’d lose the last sanctuary we have remaining in the world, as well as the last place from which we could plan a counterattack. We would all be out for ourselves at that point...leaving us to be picked off one by one by Beckett’s greater forces.”

His dark eyes grew a little smaller and more solemn.

“Therefore...the only path remaining to us is to stand our ground. And if we don’t wish to die on that path, we’ll need to gather whatever strength is available to us. Uranus and Saturn are set to collide in the Heavens...hinting to a climatic battle between order and chaos. We cannot know what the outcome will be unless we decide not to fight at all...but if we did that, then we’d only know the outcome because it would indisputably be failure.”

The other Pirate Lords exchanged wary looks among themselves. Jacob then gave a loud sigh and gave a reluctant nod.

“Amari’s right,” he said lowly. “Regardless of what your positions on releasing Calypso are...we don’t have a choice in whether to fight or fly. We will have to fight...and it’d be stupid and pointless to try doing it on our own.”

He glanced at Ellie, who nodded in agreement, and Merula, whose pink eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

“We can’t declare war,” the Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea pointed out in a rather arrogant sort of voice. “Only the Pirate King can do that.”

Orion actually blinked in surprise. “Really?”

He turned to Samantha. “Is that true, Samantha?”

The Pirate Dragon’s emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she reopened the large leather-bound Codex in her lap, flipping through the pages and scanning each line to find the proper section.

“...As per the Code,” she said lowly, “‘the Pirate Lords shall select a captain by popular vote to serve as Pirate King, who shall represent the entire Court when all cannot be present. The Pirate King alone can declare a state of emergency; declare war; take custody of the eight Pieces of Eight; take governorship of Shipwreck Cove; and give commands to ships that he himself does not sail.’ Looks like Merula’s right.”

Charlie frowned and turned to glance back at Barnaby, who’d been standing on the opposite side of him as Jules.

“The Pirate King is the leader of the Brethren Court, right?” he muttered to him.

“Aye,” Barnaby whispered in his ear. “Only, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court.”

“Why?”

“Everyone from the other Courts just voted for themselves...so there was always a six-way tie and no one could decide on a winner.”

“I call for a vote,” said Orion serenely.

A lot of the other pirates in the room sighed in frustration or covered their faces and shook their heads. Jae himself plopped his chin down on his hand and rolled his eyes.

“Amari, are you serious?” he said tiredly.

Orion looked perfectly nonplussed. “Captain Roberts, would you start us off, please?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow at Orion and exchanged a suspicious look with Ashe, before he shrugged and nodded.

“I vote for Black Jack Roberts,” he said coolly.

He glanced at Merula sitting next to him.

“Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird -- most powerful ship on the seven seas,” she said, her lips curled up in a dry smirk.

“Ellie Hopper,” said Ellie uncomfortably, exchanging looks with some of her crew members.

“Captain Jae Kim,” sighed Jae.

“...Arjun Singh, of the Naga,” Arjun said after he’d exchanged a bemused shrug with Aishwarya.

When it was Orion’s turn, the Pirate Lord gave a quick sweep around the table with his eyes, before they shifted to his left, twinkling with something almost like mischief.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley.”

“What?” said Jules.

“What?” said Charlie and Bill, just as taken aback.

Orion’s lips actually spread into a full, broad grin seeing how much his choice had blindsided everyone.

“The Pirate Code said that the Pirate Lords must select ‘a captain’ to be the Pirate King,” he said airily. “It never said that captain had to be a Pirate Lord. So I vote for Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley of the Revolution to be our Pirate King.”

He then nodded to Charlie. “Captain Weasley -- your vote?”

Charlie grinned broadly from ear to ear and he shot a glance over his shoulder at his sister-in-law, who had flushed a dark shade of red and looked very stunned.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley,” said the Lord of the Pacific Ocean.

The other Pirate Lords and their crews all started chattering at once.

“What?”

“If I’d known you could pick any captain, I would’ve voted for Aishwarya -- ”

“Choosing your own sister-in-law -- ”

“I call for a recount -- ”

“How long has she even been a pirate?”

“Pure nepotism, that’s what it is -- ”

Orion raised his eyebrows very coolly. “Am I to take this to mean you all will not be keeping to the Code?”

Everyone almost as a unit turned to look at Samantha, who was glaring very pointedly at them as she rotated a pair of grenades in one hand.

Ellie, the Pirate Lord who had reacted with the least hostility to the decision, turned to Jules with a solemn look.

“The votes have it,” she said. “So Pirate King Weasley -- what say you? What shall we do?”

Jules, her face still very red, glanced hesitantly at her husband. Bill looked at her with pride, his eyes sparkling fondly as he squeezed her hand. Her lips spreading into a comforted smile, Jules raised her head and faced the Court with new confidence.

“Gather together and arm every vessel that floats,” she said firmly. “At dawn, we’ll prepare for war.”

With the meeting having come to a close, the Pirate Lords departed one by one to begin their preparations for the battle to come. Jules (knowing that, even though she was now Pirate King, she lacked military experience) immediately asked Bill, McNully, and Charlie to help her with figuring out what strategy would work best to defend the Cove. Orion himself seemed very pleased with the final outcome -- Charlie had asked him why he didn’t vote for himself, but Orion merely smiled and didn’t reply. Bill, however, thought he could guess.

“I don’t reckon Orion’s the sort to want to rule over anyone,” he said with a knowing smile. “Guide them, yes -- lead them, maybe -- but not rule.”

Orion looked at Bill, his eyes as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Interesting conclusion. What made you draw it, Bill Weasley?”

Bill’s smile faded, but his brown eyes lost none of their warmth. “Because Carey’s the exact same way.”

There was a strange spark in the back of Orion’s eyes -- something almost like surprise, which then morphed into something warmer and softer...fonder.

“...True,” he murmured. “Although she may have the heart of a queen, and all of the grace...Carewyn Cromwell would never choose a crown for herself.”

Bill’s gaze softened. Before he could say anything, however, there was a very loud WHAM.

Jacob, who was still in his seat and had been talking to Ashe, had abruptly slammed the large table across the floor with all of his strength, nearly knocking it over as he barreled over.

“YOU!”

Out of nowhere, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic seized Orion by the collar with both hands.

“Jacob?” said Bill, completely taken aback.

“Jack!” said Ashe, his eyes narrowing in concern.

But Jacob didn’t seem to hear either of them. His blue pupils were dark, irrational slits of rage.

“IT WAS YOUR VOICE! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CALLED MY WYN BY HER NAME! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SPOKE OF HER IN THAT SOFT VOICE, YOU MAGGOT-INFESTED BASTARD -- !”

“Jacob, let him go!” said Jules.

Orion amazingly didn’t look the least bit scared -- instead his expression was rather tense as well as a bit confused.

“Captain Roberts,” he spoke quietly in an attempt to soothe the other man’s anger, “I understand what Carewyn means to you -- what you mean to her. I would never harm your sister. I could never hurt Carewyn, nor could I ever wish to -- ”

Bill was reminded of when Orion was trying hard not to fight him, back in Port Royal. Jacob, however, was just as unmoved as Bill had been.

“STOP CALLING HER BY HER NAME!” he roared.

Jacob yanked Orion around by the collar, slamming him roughly into the wall.

“IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT JONES IS AFTER WYN! SHE WOULD BE SAFE NOW IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU -- I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SCABBY, BILGE-SUCKING SON OF A -- !”

“Jacob, stop!” Charlie bellowed.

“Get off Orion NOW!” yelled Skye.

Samantha, Barnaby, Skye, Jules, and Charlie had all grabbed onto the back of Jacob’s coat and onto his arms, trying in vain to pull him off of Orion. Jacob, however, was ridiculously strong, and his grip tightened around Orion’s collar and throat, making the taller man wince.

Bill, his expression darkening more than anyone had ever seen before, very sharply skipped grabbing onto Jacob and instead stepped right between Orion and Jacob, taking his pistol out of his belt and pointing it right at Jacob’s temple. The move prompted Ashe to make an angry move toward Bill, but the eldest Weasley put out his other hand to hold him at arm’s length.

“Jacob, Carey’s not here, so I’ll say this for her,” Bill said very icily. “‘I’ll never forgive you if you hurt him.’”

Jacob gave a sharp flinch. His mad, hollow, slitted pupils never left Orion’s face, but they seemed to lose some of their focus -- almost as if he was looking right through Orion.

Ashe, furious at Bill having held him back, grabbed the red-haired man’s wrist and twisted it painfully out of the way so he could run over to Jacob himself. He brought both of his arms tightly around his lover’s neck, his face resting in the dark curls over Jacob’s brow as he hummed something under his breath. The sound seemed to calm Jacob little by little, making his shoulders loosen and his grip slacken. Light gradually returned to his eyes as he slowly removed his trembling hands from Orion’s throat, breathing shakily.

Jules immediately moved to Bill, bringing up a hand to his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too badly hurt. Once she’d confirmed he was okay, she turned to Jacob with a fierce look.

“Jacob, what do you mean Jones is after Carey?” she demanded. “Why is she in danger?”

Jacob’s gaze had fallen to the ground, throwing his eyes into shadow as he continued to take heavy, labored breaths. Ashe, still holding Jacob tightly, turned around, a very hard, grim look on his face as his eyes flickered from Orion to Jules.

“Jones aims to force someone into servitude on his ship,” he said lowly, “and he’s decided that person is Jack’s sister.”

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alwaysanotherrainbow · 4 years

Text

silent, quiet, yet so loud

When the Duke has to explain his thoughts or his love, sometimes words are not enough. The best he can do is explain it like he experiences it.

Notes: A fic title suggested by the lovely remromfantasies! This is a very experimental fic, so hopefully it works.

ship: remrom

characters: remus and roman, and then thomas and deceit mentioned

warnings: remus-typical violent stuff (nothing worse than in the ep), intrusive thoughts about harm. Second person. angst with a happy ending, heavy depiction of self-doubt

Secondary warnings include: bug mention, fears of friends leaving, food/drink mention, blood mention (let me know if you need anything in the secondaries edited out and I can post a version for you!)

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Morning starts for you at noon. Your face is pressed up against the satin sheets, your voice mumbling something about chainsaws and expensive ways to make your life worse. When you come to, it’s not all at once. Your consciousness settles in the base of your throat, like if you just say a few words or yawn, you’ll black out again.

The Duke never sleeps, some people in the Imagination say. Well, it’s not true. You sleep in late and stay up late. Live fast.

Your fellow Creativity, your boyfriend... is it easier to just go with ‘your love’? Either way, he’s left a note. You read it, a smile crossing your face, butterflies entering your stomach like... like moths gnawing at...

Look, pleasant metaphors aren’t really your strong suit.

You change out of your clothes, sighing when you look in the mirror and take off the makeup before jumping into the shower. Once you’re done, you snap back into your usual things before crossing into the common area and starting your work.

Roman is busy working on a project, and you’re busy feeding Thomas truths. At his worst, Deceit speaks in lies-- at your worst, you speak in sharp truths-- Virgil used to take truths and make them into lies. Perfect triad. Now, you’re a bit imbalanced.

However, when a friend of Thomas might be claiming one of his ideas...

Deceit says to take what’s yours. And you say back with a grin: Thomas, it’d be so much more fun to burn that bridge!

Angel on his shoulder. Imp and nymph.

Which is which, you have no idea, but either way, Thomas comes up with a solution entirely his own.

He suggests talking to the friend firmly and letting them know how he feels, and you both concede. It’s an elegant solution, though you and Dee agree that it’d be so much more fun to simply push them down the stairs.

It turned out to be an accident, but it’d still be more fun to push ‘em.

You two overlap more than you’d like.

After that’s over and done with, you and Deceit share a few strands of conversation. You two are different, the kind of different that should hate each other but gets along just fine. You both don’t mind hurting someone else to help Thomas. You both care more about what you can do for him rather than what he thinks of you. You both gave him your name so that he would trust you.

(Does he hate you for giving it up so easily?)

Deceit’s patch is sewn on sloppily... Usually, he wouldn’t allow that. Maybe one of the other Sides stitched it on for him, or it fell off? Either way, strands of gold hold his emblem to his heart, hidden under his cape but still there. Like him. Hidden but there.

Notably, you don’t wear your emblem anywhere on you. You’d rather it not be hidden.

You’d rather there be nothing to hide.

Well, why? Not like you can lie, you think as you gaze at Thomas. You’d never hide anything from anyone.

That’s the problem. You’re afraid of what that means. You’re afraid that he’ll hate you if he realizes. He’s a myriad of everything right and good and you aren’t that. There’s a reason your emblem portrays night. (long dark night of the soul--?) Hidden. A tower-- duke in distress? Distress. Help. I’m not right. Not ready for you, not ready to love someone. Think I’m doing good enough? My heart is hurting. I’m not doing okay.

Well, Roman certainly thinks you’re doing okay. That’s not nothing.

You sigh and take a pull from your glass of juice. He made it for you. Of course he did.

It’s your favorite kind.

It is dead silent, and everything is so loud.

You pass by him in the hallway. His eyes pierce you, the same way they have since the Split, and he smiles as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. You shudder, and his smile fades.

He says something you can’t understand.

You nod.

And you walk along.

What if he hates you?

What if he doesn’t? Look at him, so precious and perfect, like a noun.

Like a noun? Creativity, what’s with you?

Look, pleasant similes are tough. What am I supposed to call him? I can’t describe him with negative stuff, and all I can think about is negative stuff right now. Not forever. Just right now.

You speak in loose thoughts sometimes, and it’s all you can do to make things make sense. You criticize each idea as it passes through your mind. I am this, he is that. Fish on a boardwalk, what if you killed your brother, what if they don’t like you, et cetera. What if Thomas doesn’t like you, what if he doesn’t, are you really ready for anyone--

Roman drops his papers.

Before you can really register what you’re doing, you’re on your knees and picking them up. He makes a comment about there being blood in your hair, and you remember what you did on your dinner break, going out to fight some creature instead of eating. You live for that sort of thing.

He smiles at you. God, he’s cute.

You smile back.

7 PM, now. Time to go party. This time, however, you have a guest.

Roman stands in the doorway. He’s wearing his royal regalia, while you’re in your party wear. He dives in for a kiss, you indulge him, and then you go in for the dancing.

He asks you how your day was before you go into the room, but you can feel the thump thump thump of the bass in your heart. Is that normal? Will your heart stop right now? You shake the thought away, bad thoughts bad thoughts bad thoughts.

(What are you, if not bad thoughts--?)

You’re the Duke, he once told you. Depravity, taboo, chaos. Revolution. Apparently your eyes sparkle like emeralds, or something. Apparently your smile brings down the room, apparently your wit and charm rivals even the most distinguished Casanova, and your mere presence and personality makes people happy. It makes you happy the way you are.

Most days, that’s true.

Most days, you believe it.

You take a deep breath in, look at your black nail polish, and you find it within you to believe it today, too.

You take his hand and guide him into the party room, explaining some things or other. Your high heels click on the tile floor. The figments of the imagination that populate your duchy (ducky! Ha! No, seriously, it’s like a duke’s kingdom) greet him warmly, and he still carries that regal presence even as he grabs your hand and you dance to his favorite songs.

Then your favorites.

Everything dissolves in a sea of neon lights and sequins. The bass-thump is your heartbeat, his hand on yours provides your bearings, you’re a sailor in a sea of emotion and fun and dance. As you stomp your feet and go limp when he spins you, you laugh, because with every bit of movement, the impossible to describe atmosphere gets added to more and more.

Spinning in cyan, lime green, profound blue, crimson (as crimson as glowing lights can get, anyway), he is beautiful. He’s having the time of his life. Eventually, however, the atmosphere begins to slow down. You’re done, and he’s tired.

It’s like a fuse that burns out.

You kiss him on the cheek and gesture that it’s time for you to go. He follows.

Bed at midnight. God, it’s comically early. To him, it’s ridiculously late.

He talks about how cool the party was. You nod along.

Eventually, the topic turns to how you really ought to take your makeup off now, and you go and clean up. You change into pajamas. You don’t usually, but hey! He got you the pair! There are little octopodes (...octopi? octopuses?)… er, sea creatures on them.

You go back into bed and nuzzle up to him. He’s warm. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, and you nuzzle closer. Never close enough. What are you even hoping for?

Well, actually. You have everything that you’ve hoped for.

He asks if you’re feeling okay. You nod.

He asks if you’re sure. You shrug.

He asks if you need to talk, and you say yes, but not tonight. Tonight is just calm, like this. Nice equilibrium. In the morning... in the morning, maybe. Roman accepts this, giving a little nod.

He starts off a sentence, and then the illusion that lasted all day breaks. Something deep in you tells you that he cares.

He looks at you-- you who’s cried all your mascara off, you who’s come up with enough filthy thoughts to land anyone else in permanent ill favor.

He asks if you’re okay.

You tell him of course, that you just didn’t talk much today. You dive in for a kiss.

In his crimson eyes, you see something, and you begin to understand.

He sees you. He knows that you love him, love life, and maybe might love yourself one day. Even if something happened, you’d be okay, because you’re strong. You made it through today, even though it wasn’t very nice, and even if he wasn’t here, you’d make it through again.

Right now, he is here.

“I love you,” he says to you, and when you hug him back and whisper “I love you, too,” you understand how silence can be so loud.

It’s not so loud anymore.

#remrom #my fics #I am very proud of this

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roswelldetails · 4 years

Text

RNM 2x12 - Crash Into Me

EPISODE SUMMARY:

WELCOME TO CRASHCON — As the town prepares for CrashCon, Liz (Jeanine Mason) and Max (Nathan Dean) attempt to piece together who may be behind a potentially deadly plan targeting the festival. Elsewhere, Maria (Heather Hemmens) and Isobel (Lily Cowles) take drastic measure to learn more about the night Mimi (guest star Sherri Saum) disappeared, while Michael (Michael Vlamis) is forced to do someone else’s bidding.

DETAILS:

Max is secretly practicing with his powers. Was Max's "light cardio" actually just him trying to strengthen his powers?

Max has a land line. Hee. Which Liz doesn't mind answering for him.

Liz is looking for a pen on his desk when she finds the empty vials of the antidote. Max plays them off as being leftover from when he had amnesia.

Liz mentions that the phone call was Max's bank calling to verify a deposit for him.

Max is choosing not to worry about Michael because he and Isobel can feel that he's not badly injured or in serious danger.

Liz called Dirk:

"He said before she left she was getting nonstop calls from a 575 number. The Sunset Mesa facility where Mimi DeLuca lives."

"Wait, Mimi was calling your mom before the abductions?...Mimi was always obsessed with alien movies. Maybe fiction and reality are blurring. Your mom is working with Flint Manes who spent years making an alien-killing weapon while at Caulfield. What if your mom found out Rosa was killed by an alien? She'd want revenge."

Note: Max and I apparently think alike, because this was my assumption going into the episode as well. For the sake of detailing and not making this confusing plotline any more confusing...Max and I were both wrong.

Also, I love that they mentioned cell service issues during Crash Con. That is extremely realistic and makes a ton of sense, speaking from experience at like, concerts and baseball playoff games and such.

Maria gets Liz's voicemail and immediately confronts Mimi.

"I just got a message from Liz. Mom...when you disappeared, it was Helena Ortecho that took you...You didn't have butyricol in your system when they found you. You know Liz's mom. You'd remember if you spent a month with her. Mom, are you covering for Helena?"

"Everything is going to be fine."

"I'm not fine. Alex and Michael are missing."

"Helena is a lot of things, but she won't hurt your friends. I'm sure… (Isobel walks in) You're the blonde. The one that Rosa was afraid of."

"Hi Mimi...I'm your cool Aunt Isobel. Hopefully we can get to know each other under better circumstances sometime. Sure about this DeLuca?"

"Desperate times call for desperate alien invasions."

Isobel's first trip into Mimi's mindscape:

"Show me what happened the night you disappeared, Mimi."

Mimi turns to see headlights approaching. It's the hunting van. Helena is driving it. After they greet each other they talk in the van.

"I saw her. I saw her in a vision.

"I didn't believe you. I had to see it with my own eyes."

"You saw her. You saw Rosa."

Flashback to Liz and Rosa arguing over Rosa's necklace in 2x01. Just as a note, Isobel is in Mimi's head, not Helena's, so she shouldn't really be able to see this flashback since Mimi wasn't there when Helena saw Rosa.

"This is a good thing, Helena. Your daughter is alive. She needs you."

"When Jim Valenti was dying, I came home to say goodbye. He kept saying Rosa could live again, that she was preserved."

"But you didn't believe him. No one ever believes us."

"If Rosa is alive, it means Jim was telling the truth. Which means everything else he said could be true, like aliens are real and Jesse Manes has a weapon that can kill them. It means I have to go to war, Mimi. First, you need some shoes."

Then Mimi somehow kicks Isobel out of her memories, which gives Isobel a nosebleed. But Mimi doesn't seem to know what happened. It's almost like she has a kind of subconscious protection on her own mind, somehow.

Note: the hunting van must not be Flint's, because Helena is driving it when she first considers teaming up with Flint, I assume based on the above. Maybe she was the suspicious figure in Flint's house when Max and Kyle were hiding in the closet? And what about the car that Rosa blew up? Did she have access to multiple vehicles? Am I overthinking this?? Haha.

Kyle's tip to Max:

"I found this at Flint's, but it's from a florist my dad used when he was in the doghouse with my mom. I finally guessed the password today. Rosa's birthday. The only thing on it is a note my dad wrote to Helena. It's a lot of romantic crap followed by details for a storage unit he had up near Haystack Mountain."

Haystack Mountain is an off-road vehicle recreation area about 30 miles northeast of Roswell.

Michael working on the "bomb". Charlie is working on the toxin nearby and Helena is keeping an eye on both of them.

"This entire process would be more efficient if I could attach the release chamber to the other side."

"Ay, mijo. Now is not the time to get creative. Time is running out. Follow the blueprints exactly."

"You don't look like an obedient soldier. Who'd she take to force you to do her bidding?"

"A friend. It's complicated. Why are you helping her? Jenna's free."

"Flint Manes has a sniper rifle on the roof pointed at her bedroom window. If I step out of line and something happens…"

"You'll never forgive yourself."

"I'll never forgive myself anyway. Helena has me formulating a pathogen that I invented when I was 17. It's a poison that dismantles specific DNA. If targeted your death is quick and ugly. A bleeding from every orifice kind of deal… I thought that I was saving people. Okay, imagine a weapon that you could drop into a populated city and the only people targeted would be al-Qaeda leaders and their direct descendants. Okay? In the right hands my weapon could prevent innocent civilian casualties and save our troops."

"I'm guessing these are not the right hands? Why am I building the bomb when the inventor is under Helena's thumb?"

"I do chemicals, not mechanics. And technically it's not a bomb. It's a catalytic toxin atomizer that was developed in a top secret operation involving weapons specialists from both the Army and the Air Force."

"Project Shepherd. One more question for you, Charlie. Whose DNA is that poison you're making gonna target?"

"Judging from conversations I've heard between Helena and Flint, it's alien DNA. Like, literal aliens."

This is actually the part of this story that's crystal clear to me. We've been getting tidbits on this dating back to 1x12, when Flint told Alex about his "smart bomb". Jesse told Jenna in 2x04 about Charlie's toxin that could pinpoint specific DNA, and even used a similar metaphor in explaining it as Charlie did in this episode. The part that doesn't make sense to me is, why did FLINT need Michael to build it, if he developed the blueprints?

Liz and Rosa in the lab discussing Max taking the antidote.

"He's only supposed to take a drop when he has amnesia. It's not vitamin C. In high doses it could cause surges of adrenaline that could be dangerous."

"No offense, but you sound like a mom. Like a real mom, the kind who actually give a duck. Oh I just figured out what autocorrect is. It's hilarious."

"Speaking of moms, ours hasn't reached out to any of your old dealers and she hasn't shown up at any of the churches in town, so you got any other ideas?"

"It's CrashCon. We usually find her wearing the loudest t-shirts and flirting with the richest nerds."

"Yeah, but Flint and Jesse Manes hate aliens. I mean it's literally their only hobby. If she's with them, I'm betting she's lost her affection for the simple charms of UFO novelty kitch."

"Wait, if you were going to get revenge on aliens, CrashCon is the perfect place. There's all kinds of conspiracy theorists and press. You know how mom loves attention."

"You think something's gonna happen tonight?"

"Papi is there by himself setting up. I think he should come home."

Note: my phone autocorrected duck to fuck. So I guess that tells you something about me. 😳

Also I just realized that for once ROSA and not Liz is the one who put the pieces together! Good for her. I wonder if that's purposeful since she's the daughter who is more like their mom? Like, she understands Helena's motivations better than Liz or something.

Steph and her father are going to CrashCon together. Kyle helps her with her makeup. Super sweet, but rather pointless since the scenes of Steph at CrashCon were cut. Mostly just including this here as a reminder that she's there in case it comes up in the finale.

Max and Cam, who got her job back!

"Thanks for the assist. I'm guessing that guard wouldn't let me through with bolt cutters unless I had an officer of the law present."

"Oh well, don't be jealous, Evans. Valenti has me on desk duty. So this little adventure is my lunch break."

"Valenti did the right thing, giving you your job back."

"Yeah well, you know, apparently some local bartender gave her reason to doubt the events the night of the gala were my fault. So I owe you."

"I've lost track of who owes who what at this point."

They break into the storage unit. It's empty except for an empty shelving unit, a locked chest, and a puddle of purple alien goo.

"What is that?"

"It looks like embryonic fluid. There must have been a pod in here."

Note: no, Max! Pod Goo evaporates upon contact with Earth's atmosphere/air. So it's not pod goo.

There isn't a super clear shot of inside the chest, but Max pulls out a love letter from Helena to Jim Valenti. I can transcribe it if you want me to. It's pretty easy to read and frankly, there's nothing important there. My heart is forever yours...it feels good to actually love and be loved in return...blah blah cheesy platitudes.

But seriously. Just send me an ask if you need me to transcribe it. But I'm gonna skip for now.

Isobel is chugging acetone straight from the bottle in the middle of the Pony.

Isobel's second trip into Mimi's mindscape:

"Mimi. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but Helena is holding people hostage. We have to understand her motive."

"You all think I'm losing my mind. But I just...slip out of my time and into a different one every once in a while. Sometimes Maria's. Or Mama's. Other women in our future or past. I saw you when you were a baby. The sky was red."

"What can you tell me about your time with Helena? She had you for a month."

"We were in a motel. We watched movies. We laughed and gossiped. She wanted to trigger my visions...gather information."

"What information? What did you tell her? What did you see?"

"What's important is Helena will take care of our girls. I'm not afraid. That's enough."

Mimi kicks her out again.

"I tried. She's fading."

"She's tired. It's harder when she's tired. Come on, Mom. I'm gonna take you back to Sunset Mesa."

"Maria, you just have to look for the signs in the water. You have to believe. Go on, you'd better hurry."

"Hurry where?"

"CrashCon closing night! You don't want to miss the fireworks. You always loved the fireworks."

Max and Cam going through the chest of letters back at Max's house:

"Okay, all these notes are from Helena to Jim Valenti. This is from the week Rosa died. I mean even 20 years after their affair she's still writing and he's still saving her letters."

"Pining after an Ortecho for years and years. It's so weird. Who does that. This is a receipt. It's a money transfer he made around the same time. He paid Daniel Fuller a thousand bucks."

"Fuller was the county coroner. Okay we still don't know how Noah got Rosa's body into the pod, right? But Jim had Project Shepherd connections to the morgue. So maybe if Noah knew about Jim and knew that he'd be grieving Rosa, he could have told him where to find the pod, right, and maybe he didn't even take the pod back until after Jim died."

"I mean, this is all a bunch of conjecture."

"Jim pulled me aside at high school graduation, he said I was the kind of guy the sheriff's department could use. Look, I mean maybe… I mean, he never let on, but maybe he knew I was an alien, right? Maybe he knew more than that."

"Okay, Evans? Breathe. You're looking a little clammy. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"No. See, something's going on, and you're gonna tell me or I'm out, I swear to God."

"Okay you can't tell anyone."

"You know I won't."

"Okay, I've been taking this antidote that Liz made. No...she doesn't know. But its rebuilding some of my memories from before the 1947 crash, right? I was just a little kid, but I had a destiny. I had responsibilities."

"Right, you're the savior."

"Yes! Well, maybe. But I was starting to remember these symbols from our old language, right? I remember what they mean, but it's like the meaning is just out of reach. And I'm out of the antidote. And you know, Liz is getting suspicious. So…"

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"Really? Can you tell that to your face? I am not using my friendship with your girlfriend to steal alien steroids for you. Okay? Our partnership has limits."

Michael and Helena:

"It's done. So now what? You inject my spine with your mind-eraser?"

"We only used the butyricol on Jenna Cameron because there was still work to be done. And Flint was afraid she'd ruin it for us. You told Flint Charlie was creating a toxin that would kill aliens. But if you wanted aliens dead, you'd be testing it on me right now. 'Cause that's what I would do if I was a criminal mastermind."

"I needed Flint for the schematics and the muscle. Our agendas didn't need to align perfectly."

"You don't have to do this. If you kill anyone tonight, Liz and Rosa will never look at you the same."

"That ship has sailed. Besides, I'm not killing anyone. If disaster never strikes, justice won't be served. Do you want to see Alex or not?"

Liz tries to get Arturo to go back to the Crashdown. She tells him that the kitchen is backed up because it's so busy. The interesting part of this exchange from a character perspective though:

"Papi, please. I have a bad vibe, all right? A gut feeling I can't shake."

Diego walks up.

"Who are you? Elizabeth Ortecho doesn't do feelings. She believes in facts and evidence."

"No, I do feelings now. I've evolved."

Alex is chained up in the house. There's a takeout box and coffee cup next to him. He's humming a song under his breath. Michael walks in and they talk.

"Guerin, you were right. They used me to get to you. My dad hit me over the head and then he swiped the piece of the console. And then Flint showed up with a gun to my head."

"Did anyone hurt you?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Helena's been weirdly motherly. She's bringing me clothes and meals."

"Your leg."

"Yeah they took the prosthetic. I tried to bludgeon my brother with it. Come on, use your powers. Get me out of this."

"Helena dosed me with something. I'm basically human until it wears off."

"Okay then find something that'll break the cuff or my wrist. I don't care."

"Alex, tonight at CrashCon, your dad plans to release a toxin that kills anyone with alien DNA...Helena made Charlie and I build an identical device, but one that targets a different DNA. She somehow got her hands on your dad's cells. She knows your dad killed Kyle's dad. She wants revenge. But she wants him to take himself out. When he pulls the trigger on us tonight your dad's gonna die because of a device I built."

"No, that is not on you, okay? Now let me out of here."

"I can't. The atomizer will kill anyone in your dad's direct line. You are safer here."

"Are you serious?"

"And I gotta go. I'm gonna come back for you."

While Michael explains to Alex, we get a flashback to Helena in her totally fake blonde wig at the hospital in 2x02.

Helena disguises herself as Jesse's maid using her totally fake blonde wig and switches out the bombs while Jesse is in the shower.

The @ladiesofrnm have their first scene all together! (With Max...and eventually Michael…) reading through Helena's letters together. Michael makes quite an entrance. Afterwards:

"You're such an idiot! You don't comply with a kidnapper's ransom demands. Without telling me."

"Alex was in trouble. He had to go."

"Mikey, where are Alex and Charley?"

"They're safe. Your mom doesn't want to hurt them."

"Look I don't get it. Does she want to kill aliens?"

"No. She's avenging her murdered lover."

Back to the house where Helena talks to Charlie:

"This atomizer contains the poison that kills anyone with alien DNA. I need you to destroy it."

"Does Flint know that you have it?"

"Flint. Jesse really broke that boy. Some people were never meant to be parents. You can go when you're done. The door's unlocked. Flint's rifle shoots blanks."

"What's to stop me from leaving now?"

"The knowledge that that deadly device only exists because of you. You decide. I'm off to CrashCon. I hear there will be quite a show."

Note, when Helena says Flint's name she says a word in Spanish that I can't make out and isn't in the closed captions.

Max and Liz's conversation about racism and privilege:

"I want to help. Your mom's not the villain here. All right? She's going about this all wrong, yes. But Manes is already a murderer. I mean, if he'd succeeded today…"

"I know...I could have lost almost everyone I care about in a moment. I remember every day what it was like to lose you and Rosa. I don't think I could survive that again. She could've built a decoy bomb that wouldn't have hurt anyone."

"He'd just get angry and do it again."

"Yeah, but he's not the only one that this would hurt. I mean, the headlines if she gets caught? Illegal Mexican Immigrant Slaughters Decorated American Vet via Bioweapon. People will line up to lay bricks at the border wall. But hey, maybe the president will talk about my family at his rallies. That's gonna be fun."

"That's not gonna happen. This will get covered up like every other strange death in this town."

"In case you haven't noticed those cover-ups don't tend to protect the Mexicans. Even when…"

"Even when Rosa died. You can say it, Liz. It's okay. It's fair. Rosa got blamed. White people didn't. Okay? I get it."

"I know you're on my side, but you don't get this. And that's not your fault, that's just the reality of our experiences. If I mess up. If I so much as roll through a stop sign, it reflects badly on any Mexican who came before me. And it hurts any Mexican who comes after me. I used to think that nothing would ever change that, but lately I think...maybe if something extraordinary happened it could."

"Extraordinary? Like what you're doing in your lab?"

"I've discovered something that could be the key to curing people who have no hope otherwise. I can't walk away."

"So you're gonna turn my family's stem cells into the hottest commodity?"

"No, I won't. I...we'll find a way to synthesize it or replicate it."

"Is this about the people you're trying to save or about becoming the poster girl for immigrants everywhere? You want the president to talk about your family because of you. Because you saved the world."

"If those in power see what happens when people are given opportunity…"

"You want the glory."

"I want recognition. I want to be the example I never had. And people who want glory, they're just in it for selfish reasons. People like Jesse Manes want the glory. He wants to be a big American hero. He wants the parades, he wants the medals. If he sets off his alien atomizer at CrashCon, a handful of twenty-something's will die of some mysterious ailment and it's barely gonna make the news. That's not what he wants. We're missing part of his plan."

"First, something violent. Large-scale that'll draw media attention. And then, once all eyes are in Roswell…"

"He'll blame the violence on the aliens. He only gets his parade if he makes people afraid and then he destroys the thing that they fear. If he makes people think that you're terrorists before he kills you."

Graham Green's reveal at CrashCon. Graham is announced and takes the stage as Max, Liz, and Rosa arrive to find Michael, Isobel, and Maria nearby.

"Hey, you guys shouldn't be here."

"I was held hostage, Max. I deserve to ride the Sizzler until I barf cotton candy, and maybe watch a bad man die."

"You guys, we think that…"

Graham Green starts his presentation.

"Hello loyal fans and devoted supporters! You patience is about to be rewarded. Today I am thrilled, nay, honored to show you the result of years or painstaking work. The moment we've all been waiting for. Irrefutable extraterrestrial proof! A bona fide alien artifact!"

Graham pulls the curtain and reveals what appears to be something similar to Michael's console, only it is complete and intact.

Flint brings Alex food and they discuss Flint's motives:

"If you're doing this to impress dad, it is never gonna work."

"I'm not trying to impress dad. His shutdown of Project Shepherd was an inform decision, but he's trained me my entire life to take it on.

Flint goes to leave but Alex stops him.

"Do you remember when mom used to drive us to the res, and you would sit at the loom with Granddad? Weaving stories. When was the last time you made something, Flint? Anything that wasn't built to destroy?"

"Around the time that mom decided that to leave dad, she had to leave us."

"She didn't know what he would do to us."

"He didn't do anything to us. Me and Clay are fine. He'll, even Gregory is coming to see dad today."

"...You are wrong. We are all dad's victims. Sure, he beat me up, but what he put the rest of you through was abuse too. He made you watch while he kicked my ass… He scared you into thinking that there was only one type of man that you could become."

Alex manages to knock Flint out, steal the key to his handcuffs, and free himself.

"You're so pathetic. You don't know me at all. This has nothing to do with dad and everything to do with our history. Aliens are a foreign threat. They're invaders."

Back to CrashCon, where the gang discuss the alien object:

"Alex's piece must have been the last one that Manes needed to finish building it. Where's he been keeping the rest of this?"

Sanders appears out of nowhere.

"Kid, I seen that thing before. Your mother built that back in the old barn. I don't know what it is, but it is definitely explosive. I always wondered what'd happened to the pieces."

"Maybe Harlan or Tripp Manes gathered them up. Rebuilt it."

"Yeah but if Manes is gonna use that to blow up CrashCon, it's gonna make Graham Green look like the bad guy. No one's gonna think an alien planted it."

"Unless they follow the money. I got an alert from my bank this morning. A $10,000 deposit had cleared."

"You think Manes set it up so that the investigation would lead to you?"

"If I become the world's first alien terrorist and he takes me out, the world cheers."

"Guys, you need to do whatever you can to get as many people out of here as possible, okay? Get help."

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Michael and I have studied this material before. It's part tech, but it's also part organic. And if it's part organic, that means it can be killed. I gotta get back to my lab."

Diego sees Max toss Liz his keys.

Max and Michael sneak backstage and convince Graham Green to let them have a moment with the alien ship thingie. Max takes photos of it with his phone.

"Do you think we can destroy it?"

"No. The pieces want to be together and now that it's complete if we break the bonds with brute force we risk a violent reaction."

Max hears voices whispering and reaches out to touch the alien tech. The alien symbol forms under his hand and he pressed it. There's a surge from the tech and it almost appears like Max is absorbing something from it. The voices get a little louder. When he breaks the connection it almost seems like it takes effort and he seems stunned.

"What the hell just happened to you?"

"Nothing. I think this is a remote. I think this controls a ship."

"It's a what?"

Gif by @maxortecho

Note, the way Max laughs when he says nothing is oddly similar to how he responded to Cam when she called him out on his weird behavior from the antidote. Like he's hiding something or brushing off the worry or something.

Sanders interrupts before Max can respond. Points out that the top of the stage is varnished which is highly flammable.

"Wait, if this is fresh varnish, this whole platform is set up like a tinderbox."

"There's gonna be fireworks tonight."

"One spark'll light a fire. I mean, this whole thing, the whole platform will go up."

"If this giant remote goes kaboom aliens will be framed as terrorists. You have to get out of here."

"What? No. I'm not going anywhere."

"Max you are all sorts of worked up right now. What happens when you're worked up?"

"Sparks fly. Right, okay. Yeah. I'll go."

Before Max leaves he spots something on one of the display boards that makes him pause. He grabs it before leaving.

Charlie is working on her chemicals in the makeshift lab when Flint sneaks up on her and puts a gun to her head, demanding that she gives him the atomizer.

Maria and Rosa hurry through CrashCon discussing each other's alien biology and Mimi's vision. They spot Gregory Manes and decide to try to get him to leave since the Manes bomb would kill him. He has 12 kids with them so they suggest that he take them to the Crashdown for free milkshakes. He recognizes Rosa, but they tell him she's Rosa's cousin.

Liz works in the lab while blasting Alanis Morissettte - great call back to last year when she told Michael that Alanis helped her channel Rosa's creativity. She says to herself:

"Destroy the organic cell membrane. Disable the nanotech."

She mixes some chemicals which react and explode her flask and start a fire. Really don't know if that's supposed to represent success or not.

Flint and Helena talk at CrashCon. She is surprised to see him. He tells her that he cleaned up the mess at the house.

We flash back to the house which is on fire. Charlie is chained up and trapped.

Liz hurries from the lab and doesn't realize that Diego followed her there. He sneaks his way into the building while Liz rushes for the car.

Speaking of cars...they're in the middle of nowhere. Where's Diego's car? I had the same thought last week when Max and Kyle were searching Flint's house and they almost got caught. Whoever pulled up in the hunting van should have seen their car!

Maria and Rosa are helping get the kids loaded onto a bus when Rosa points out Pisces to Maria. Call back to 1x03 when Maria tells Liz that she and Rosa used to compete to see which one of them could spot the constellation first. It gives Maria an epiphany. Pisces is "the water sign" which was one of Mimi's clues from her vision. Maria goes to follow the sign. She runs into Max who tries to get her to safety. They spot Flint Manes carrying the atomizer. Max tells Maria to get out of there and hurries after Flint. He tries to sneak up on Flint, but Flint is able to disarm him and beat him up. Flint sets the atomizer to go off in two minutes and then throws it like a Hail Mary into the crowd. Max chases after Flint while Maria goes after the atomizer. She pushes through the crowd and spots another clue from Mimi's vision - a poster of aliens asking "Do you believe?" The atomizer is sitting below it. Maria grabs the atomizer and takes off running with it. Cam spots Maria and follows.

Flint beats Max up again and then pulls a gun and threatens to shoot Max. Max disarms him and is holding the gun to Flint now. He laughs and asks Max if he's really going to shoot a soldier. Tells him that he already pulled the trigger to kill Max by setting off the atomizer. Max tosses the gun aside, and uses his powers instead to kill Flint,

Michael and Isobel are trying to keep the stage from catching fire, but then the fireworks start going off into the wind (which blows the embers towards the fair). The hay bales easily catch on fire. Isobel used her powers to hold back the flames. She can feel that something is wrong with Max and send Michael to find him.

Instead Michael finds Jesse and Alex. Their exchange:

"You know, I actually started to believe that you had changed."

"You never could tell friend from foe. I actually counted on it."

"Hey I know exactly who you are. You were gonna let all of these people die and you were gonna let the aliens take the blame."

"It's high time they got blamed for something, I think. I'm gonna drag them from the shadows."

"Yeah and then what? You're gonna use the atomizer to kill them all? Then you become some hero by destroying the enemy that you created?"

"American children are gonna read about the events of tonight in their history books... And don't worry about collateral damage, son. That's just an unfortunate aspect of war. You know that better than anyone, Alex."

"You're gonna become your own collateral damage if that thing goes off. Helena Ortecho switched the devices. That's not gonna kill aliens. That is set to destroy your DNA. If it goes off, you are going to die in a puddle of your own blood."

"What are you doing? Are you bluffing to protect the aliens?"

"What I'm doing is I'm trying to protect our family. Dad, if that goes off it kills all of your direct descendants. Flint and Greg are somewhere in here. And I don't care how much I disgust you, I am still your son!"

Greg runs up looking for help responding to the fire. He spots the atomizer and immediately recognizes it as a weapon. Alex tries to get him to leave. Michael runs up and Jesse pulls his gun on him. Greg steps between Michael and the gun to protect Michael for Alex.

Maria throws the atomizer off into the desert and immediately begins bleeding. Thankfully Cam is there to try to help.

Max kills Flint which in turn gives him another heart attack. Liz arrives as he's collapsing and starts CPR. Rosa runs up and tries to get Liz to let her step in to help Max so that Liz can stop the alien device from exploding… And cliffhanger.

MUSIC:

1. Valley Queen "Chasing The Muse"

2. The HawtThorns "Give Me A Sign"

3. Everclear "Everything To Everyone"

4. Alanis Morissette "All I Really Want"

5. Gary Numan "I Am Dust"

#roswell new mexico #rnm season 2 #episode details #long post #rnm 212 #crash into me

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bard-llama · 4 years

Text

Five Almost Kisses and One Happily Ever After (Part 4)

Read on AO3

Parts 1+2 | Part 3

They had split up for winter after what Geralt had termed the succubus incident in his head. It had been awkward the few days before they’d parted, with stilted conversations and heavy silences. But Geralt was hoping that the season apart will have fixed everything.

Not that anything had changed for him. If he’d been extra taciturn after the incident, well, he was the one who had focused his senses on Jaskier while they were at the brothel. Jaskier may have known about it, but Geralt had been the one to overstep.

He wasn’t sure why Jaskier had been odd – letting his sentences trail off in the middle and staring off into space. He’d seemed fine initially. Geralt hoped he hadn’t made Jaskier feel too uncomfortable, but the bard hadn’t seemed offended at the time.

He wasn’t sure, though. That’s why Geralt was here, at this ridiculously fancy party where Jaskier would be performing. Jaskier was usually the one who found him after they split for the winter – and it wasn’t that Geralt thought he wouldn’t go looking for Geralt after his performance. It’s just that… well, he still didn’t know why Jaskier had been awkward, but if Geralt had offended him, then seeking him out would hopefully be understood as an apology.

Especially since Geralt had to listen to him perform.

He didn’t actually mind Jaskier’s singing as much as he pretended, but there were times he truly did dislike it. Like when Jaskier pranced around in his best clothes, a peacock on display, winking through metaphors just abstract enough to get away with, and flirting with everyone in the vicinity.

Except Geralt.

Geralt firmly stomped down the part of his mind that suggested in a reedy voice that he was jealous. Witchers didn’t feel. Ergo, he couldn’t be jealous.

Or in love.

“Ugh,” he scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get it together if he didn’t want to embarrass Jaskier at this party. Geralt rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath before diving into the niceties of polite society.

He stuck to the edges of the crowd and nabbed a drink from the first tray to pass by him. Jaskier would presumably be playing for most of the evening, so Geralt probably wouldn’t even get much of a chance to talk to him. Which made him question why he was even here, why he was subjecting himself to suffer through Jaskier’s flirting and flouncing, taunting himself with what he couldn’t have?

But Jaskier liked these parties, and Geralt’s apology had to be meaningful. It had to be something Jaskier would understand. Jaskier knew how much Geralt disliked crowds and extravagance and – he shuddered – nobility. He would understand what Geralt was trying to say by coming here. Wouldn’t he?

Geralt walked the perimeter of the banquet hall, scoping out any threats and where the best place to watch Jaskier would be. The sounds of hundreds of guests chattering and eating, chairs scraping across the floor and plates clanking against tables – it was overwhelming. That was the excuse Geralt told himself when Jaskier managed to sneak up on him.

“Geralt?” There was a note of something like awe in Jaskier’s voice that made Geralt feel warm.

He turned to face the bard and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Jaskier in a black suit. He’d never seen Jaskier wear black before, and it was an unusual choice for a fancy party, though it was striking. But then Jaskier strode towards him and Geralt suddenly realized that Jaskier’s clothes weren’t black, but rather, they seemed to change color from every angle, shifting from dark blue to light green to soft red and back to black. It was mesmerizing, and every shade seemed to make Jaskier’s eyes shine brighter.

Or perhaps that was the open joy on Jaskier’s face. The bard wrapped his arms around Geralt in an eager hug, and Geralt deliberately forced his muscle to relax into the touch. He didn’t know what to do with his arms, so they just hung beside him, but Jaskier withdrew before Geralt had too much time to worry.

“You’re – wow, you dressed up,” Jaskier pulled back to look him over and Geralt shifted awkwardly.

He’d tried his best to find something that wouldn’t embarrass Jaskier, but he hardly knew anything about fashion. Geralt had asked the tailor to make something in the Nilfgaardian style Jaskier seemed to favor, and he rather thought that the tailor had done a good job with the colors – a lovely teal with soft gold accents. Geralt wasn’t fully comfortable wearing anything but his usual black, but the tailor had seemed approving of the final look, and no one had thrown him out of the party yet.

“Figured I could do better than you did in Cintra,” Geralt rumbled and Jaskier grinned broadly. There was something soft and warm in his gaze and it made Geralt tremble, too finely for anyone to tell. He clenched his fist and ordered himself to get it together. He wouldn’t embarrass Jaskier with some emotional display.

“You definitely succeeded!” Jaskier said, and he sounded so pleased and so very proud of Geralt that he couldn’t help the way his breath started to come faster. “Did the Count hire you? Should I expect that some monster will interrupt my performance at an inopportune moment?”

“Ah,” Geralt grunted. “No. I –” he cleared his throat and then said in a rush, “I was in the area. I heard you were playing. Figured it was about time to meet up anyway.” He shrugged jerkily.

“Oh,” Jaskier blinked and looked him over once more. Then he started grinning widely. “You dressed up for me,” he teased.

Geralt was very glad that Witchers didn’t blush easily. “When do you play, then?”

“Oh, not until the Countess arrives,” Jaskier shrugged. “Her husband likes to wine and dine the lords for a good while, but the Countess is the real life of the party.” Jaskier’s smile was fond and Geralt suddenly realized he’d failed to foresee a very big hole in his plan.

“...the Countess?”

“The Countess de Stael. The host of the party?” Jaskier cocked his eyebrow. “Did you really come to a party without even knowing who it’s for?”

Geralt shrugged. “Didn’t care about that.” He licked his lips and thought about what Jaskier had said. “The Countess de Stael. Your “muse and beauty of this world”?” Geralt quoted and his voice sounded hoarse and stiff in his ears.

Jaskier tilted his head, his forehead creasing. “Of course. I winter here most years, you know.”

“Ah.” Geralt grunted. He had clearly made a horrible mistake coming here. What had he been thinking? Of course Jaskier didn’t want Geralt to seek him out – he had a cushy situation for the season and didn’t spend half his days wishing for spring to hurry the hell up. Disdain pulled at his lips, and he sneered, “did she welcome you back with “glee, open arms, and very little clothing”, then?”

Jaskier’s brow knitted deeper. “Didn’t think you’d paid that much attention when I talked about her. But there’s no need for your snide disposition. The Count, the Countess, and I have an… understanding. If you’re worried you’ll have to save me from an angry husband, then I can assure you that shan’t be the case!” He clapped Geralt on the shoulder before guiding him to walk with a hand on the small of his back.

Geralt would never admit to the way his mind fixated on that point of contact or the way he was entirely pliable under Jaskier’s touch. He hardly even noticed when Jaskier led them out onto a balcony and closed the glass doors. Immediately, the clamor of voices was muffled and Geralt felt himself relax.

“Better?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm.”

“You really do look wonderful,” Jaskier said as the two of them leaned against the stone railing, looking down into the gardens. “I’m honored you bothered to dress up for me.”

Geralt turned his head to face Jaskier and found the bard already gazing at him, eyes half-lidded. “Didn’t want to embarrass you,” he cleared his throat.

Jaskier’s smile turned soft again, all for him this time. “Thank you. I happen to like you no matter what you’re wearing, but you know how polite society can be. But you look fantastic – if there’s any talk tonight, it will be about how well the White Wolf cleans up.” He winked.

Geralt scratched at his arm, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Doubt anyone cares what I clean up like. And your outfit is certainly eye catching enough to keep attention on you.”

“Damn right it is,” Jaskier twirled around. “I paid a pretty penny for this, but I’d say it’s well worth the cost.” His eyes darted back to Geralt’s and he settled back against the railing slightly closer to Geralt than he’d been before.

Geralt didn’t mind, letting his shoulder relax into the warmth against his side until they were pressed together.

With the party muffled, it almost felt like they were in their own world together as Jaskier chattered about the winter and the guests at the party and the most embarrassing gossip about them. Jaskier leaned into him as he spoke, and with their heads tucked together, it was easy for Geralt to get lost in the fantasy that he was all that mattered in Jaskier’s world.

“...absolutely absurd, don’t you think, Geralt?”

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed, gazing at Jaskier with a fond smile on his face.

Jaskier smiled back at him, and Geralt almost thought Jaskier was going to lean forward and –

“Jaskier?” There was a knock on the glass door and then a heavyset woman in an elegant purple gown stepped onto the balcony. “You missed your cue, which you’ve never done before, so i had to come see who has captured your attention so.” Her voice was sultry in a way that made Jaskier flush and Geralt decided he hated her on principle.

“Countess! This is Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier said significantly, as if his name had some deeper meaning.

“Aaaah, the mighty White Wolf. I’ve heard so much about you,” she purred.

“Maybe some of it was even true,” Geralt grunted, a curl of contempt pulling at his lip.

She seemed taken aback by his venom, but she took the rejection gracefully, turning away from Geralt to focus on Jaskier. “You really do need to get back in there, Jaskier. The lords are calling for their bard.”

Geralt almost growled. Their bard? If Jaskier was anyone’s bard, he was Geralt’s!

He was, wasn’t he?

Or more accurately, Geralt supposed, he was Jaskier’s. The bard had named him, made him famous, even changed how people on the continent thought about Witchers. Jaskier had truly made life easier for Geralt, and all Witchers.

And there was something about being considered Jaskier’s that made tingles shoot down his spine.

“Ah, sorry, Countess. I’ll be right there,” Jaskier promised, then turned back to Geralt, catching his hand. “Stay, please. I know you hate these parties, but I’d like to talk to you more. Please?”

Geralt grunted. He’d been expecting to be stuck at the party all night anyway, so it seemed only right to nod and follow Jaskier back inside until he could lurk around the edges of the room with the bard in view.

In truth, he knew that he would wait an eternity if Jaskier would look at him so very softly at the end of it.

Geralt grabbed another mug of ale when a server passed by and settled against the wall. Despite the unwelcome interruption of the Countess, whose gaze Geralt was determinedly ignoring, the time he’d spent with Jaskier made him feel loose and warm.

That feeling only increased when Jaskier began his set. Jaskier seemed – not contained, because delight was bursting from Jaskier’s very being, but his behavior was more...well, acceptable. Instead of his usual flirting with everyone in the room, he was confining himself to friendly smiles. Instead of bawdy drinking songs, Jaskier led the room through tragic love ballads and epic adventure tales. When he did wink and focus all of that laser attention on someone, it wasn’t the lucky maiden of the hour, but rather Geralt.

It was...well, Geralt hoped his face wasn’t showing what being the sole focus of all of Jaskier’s attention was doing to him. He barely heard Jaskier’s songs, so focused on the way Jaskier moved, the way he spun around and winked and danced and played and all the while, he kept looking back at Geralt. Jaskier was ablaze with energy and euphoria and Geralt imagined holding him like that, pressing his mouth against Jaskier’s and trying to hold all that Jaskier was. He never could, of course - Jaskier was never one to be contained, but one day, maybe he would let Geralt press close and feel what Jaskier tasted like when his smile was bursting with happiness.

Geralt leaned back against the wall and when Jaskier’s gaze settled on him again, he let the smile that was threatening to emerge overtake his lips. He wasn’t sure how he’d expected the night to go, but the reality was better than Geralt might have dreamed. Even if Jaskier never did want more from him, even if Jaskier could never feel the same way, Geralt considered himself lucky to get this much of the bard. Who else did Jaskier dedicatedly dub his ‘best friend’? Who else knew Jaskier as well as Geralt did?

His gaze flicked over to the Countess de Stael. Even if she did know Jaskier as well as Geralt feared, he was the one Jaskier would be leaving with in the morning. He was the one Jaskier spent most of the year following on the road.

Geral turned away from the Countess and all the other curious eyes on him and let himself get lost in Jaskier’s performance and Jaskier’s attention.

And if, that night, Geralt pretended that it all meant more, that Jaskier sang to him because the bard truly wanted him, then that was his business and no one else needed to know about it.

#my fics #5+1 #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #countess de stael #the witcher #fic #writing

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timelesshonesttrailer · 5 years

Text

The bane of many writers is that once you have birthed a story, taken the time to write, erase, rewrite, edit, scream at, and finally accept the words that you have written… you have to name it.

Like people, or businesses, the name is everything. It’s one of the first things people see. It’s what they will use to communicate the story to others. So picking a good title is vital, which makes it all the more daunting. But like most things in life, once you break it down and examine its parts, see how it works, it becomes a lot less scary and a lot more manageable.

This is how I got pretty good at making titles, not only for my own works, but for others. And I want to share with you what I learned, and hopefully make the task of titling your stories a lot less terrifying.

To create a good title, you have to focus on two things: Structure and Meaning.

Structure

Quick, think of all your favorite books, shows, and movies. Now think of popular franchises that are household names. What do they have in common, title wise? They are short and to the point.

On average, these titles are one to two words long. This does not include articles or connecting words like “the,” “of,” “or,” etc, because they pretty much disappear.

The titles also average few syllables, about two or three. You don’t really want to go above four. English is a very lazy language and we like to keep things short. This is why a lot of titles get shortened anyway.

Examples of Titles (remember, articles/connectors don’t count):

Friends – One word, one syllable.

Cheers – One word, one syllable.

Lost – One word, one syllable.

Dune – One word, one syllable.

Timeless – One word, two syllables.

ER – One word, two syllables.

Twilight – One word, two syllables. Can refer to the entire series.

The Mummy (1999) – One word, three syllables.

The Simpsons – One word, three syllables.

Parasite – One word, three syllables.

Titanic – One word, three syllables.

Hamilton – One word, three syllables.

The X-Files – One word, three syllables. Though it’s debatable if X-Files is one word or two.

CSI – One word (standing in for three), three syllables (standing in for seven).

Star Wars – Two words, two syllables.

Good Omens – Two words, three syllables.

Game of Thrones – Two words, three syllables. Often verbally shortened to Thrones.

Lord of the Rings – Two words, four syllables.

I can keep going, but you see the trend.

But what about titles like the Harry Potter books? The answer is in the question. Each book/movie title starts with Harry Potter and then has a modifier. Harry Potter itself is only two words and four syllables. Then if someone talks about a specific novel, they typically would not say the whole title, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, they would simply say Azkaban. The same is done in other series. Percy Jackson for example.

There are, of course, exceptions.

Elementary is a one word, but five syllables. It’s also a very common phrase in both the genre and in everyday life. Use of common phrases is a way to get around the above formula because we’re already used to saying them, thinking them, etc. One Day at a Time is another good example. Three words, five syllables, but doesn’t feel any longer than Lord of the Rings.

But the longer the title, the more likely it will somehow get shortened. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep was changed to three syllable Blade Runner. My favorite book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, has a very long title. Technically it’s three words when you remove articles/connectors, but the syllable count is a whopping ten. It gets away with it because for one, it’s a rift on an already common phrase, and two, fans can call it Hitchhiker’s Guide which is only four syllables.

Now, once you know the structure of a title, you can work on choosing one.

Meaning

The title of your story has to give the reader an idea about what they’re getting into. It does this by focusing on one of the following:

A literal Person/Place/Thing – Percy Jackson, Cheers, The X-Files

The Subject Matter – Friends, Law & Order, The Sixth Sense, CSI

The Genre – Twilight, Star Wars, Friday the 13th, Altered Carbon

The Overall Metaphor/Concept – Game of Thrones, Parasite, Pride and Prejudice

Many of these cross over. The Sixth Sense and CSI could also be considered a literal thing as well as a genre marker. If your title fulfills more than one slot, that is neat, but not a necessity. You might feel like you have to come up with some complex title, but sometimes it’s really just as simple as it’s a show about friends and their relationships with each other.

Take the title Catch-22. The term Catch-22 is a major metaphor and concept that is universally known today. But when Joseph Heller wrote Catch-22, no one called that concept a Catch-22. The title was simply naming the military rule (a thing), which created the situation and therefore drove the narrative. People later co-opted the title to quickly express the concept that the book so masterfully discusses.

Whatever you chose, the title should match the feel of the story you’re trying to tell. It’s part of your promise to the reader, and must make sense by the time they get to the end of the story.

But how to pick a title when you have persons, places, things, subject matter, genre, and metaphors in your story? You simply work backwards. Ask yourself what your story is really about.

What is the driving force of the narrative?

What do you want your readers to get out of the story?

Is it a story about a person?

Or about the people of a specific group?

Is the story a one-shot or the beginning of a trilogy/series?

Is there a specific name or line of text that sums up your story neatly?

Somewhere in the answers to those questions is your title.

Now, I can make guesses on how some of the above mentioned titles came to be. Cheers takes place in the bar of the same name, and it’s about the patrons of said bar, so it’s the story about a place named Cheers. But I can’t speak for the creators and what thought processes they might have went through in order to choose their titles. So, instead, I am going to give you some of the titles I have come up with and explain how I got there.

Copper and Gold Two words, four syllables. Genre: Urban Fantasy This is the first book of a series based around a singular character, Minni Masterson, whose motif is copper, which plays a large role in the story. Since it’s a series, I need a title that could be formulaic across each one. In the first novel, the “guest character” is a gold dragon (Aiden Drake). So when I say Copper and Gold, I’m really saying Minni and Drake. And in the second book, when I say Copper and Cobalt, I am saying Minni and the Kobolds. Copper and Mercury is Minni and the Werewolves. Etc.

Emperor’s Shadow Two words, five syllables. Genre: Star Wars fan fiction/Mystery/Character Study The story is about Mara Jade who was an Emperor’s Hand. It’s about her coming to terms with the shadow that looms over her from her past and what Palpatine did to her. Instead of going with something much bulkier like In the Shadow of the Empire, I merged her past (Emperor’s Hand) with her current conflict.

The Serpent and the Liar Two words, seven syllables. (This format of “The X and the X” is one that is an exception to the rule, so long as the syllables belonging to X remain low) Genre: Marvel!Loki fan fiction/Pre-Movies Canon Compliant The story is about Loki and the events leading up to the first Thor movie. It also brings in Sigyn to explore that ship, along with some Norse myths, and to explain why she isn’t in the movie. Loki, of course, is known for his serpent motif and as the god of lies. I play on this, giving Sigyn a serpent motif, something to match her with Loki. But on several occasions, I raise the question of who is actually the serpent, and who is the liar? Because the best way to lie, is to tell the truth. So, like Copper and Gold, I’m really just calling the story Loki and Sigyn, I mean, Sigyn and Loki?

Amehrana One word, four syllables. Genre: Timeless Food Truck AU/Garcy Slow Burn The story is about Flynn and Lucy, and the rest of the team, in an AU setting. I named Flynn’s food truck Amehrana because it’s a mix of the word American and Hrana, which is Croatian for food. So the title is both a thing (the food truck) but also another word for Flynn and Lucy because he’s Croat and she’s American. But unlike Copper and Gold and The Serpent and the Liar, there is the added symbolism here of Flynn and Lucy coming together.

Frankenstein’s Monster Two words, five syllables Genre: Timeless Mission Fic for Proposed Season 3 (non-movie compliant) The mission is Mary Shelley, but that doesn’t mean there *has* to be a Frankenstein reference. But you have Flynn who thinks he’s a monster, one created by Rittenhouse. I also go deeper and hint at Lucy herself being a Frankenstein Monster, i.e. created by Rittenhouse for a purpose she doesn’t want any part of. Once again, my title is basically just another name for my main characters.

I want to interject for a moment and point out that we all have our preferences in our writing styles, and titles are no different. If you realized you tend to do most of your titles a specific way, then own it. It’s part of what makes you unique as an artist. And if you occasionally decide you want to go a completely opposite direction for one story, then go for it.

Case in point.

No Accounting for Heroes Three words, seven syllables Genre: Canon Compliant account of the Fall of SHIELD and its aftermath This fic really takes a hard look at what happens to those living in a world with superheroes. The main character, an accountant named Rani, is giving an account of events. My cowriter suggested putting “accounting” in the title which made me think of the common phrase, “no accounting for taste,” which is a concept about how different people like/need different things, and applied it to the story. No Accounting for Heroes means that we all need a hero, but maybe not the heroes we think we do, and we can all be heroes in some way, to someone in need. But also, there is that underlying current that heroes are not held accountable for the destruction that follows in their wake.

Never be afraid to ask for help with titles. And don’t be afraid to reject titles if they don’t fit. And definitely don’t be afraid to take the suggestion, turn it over, season it, put it in a waffle iron, and see if what comes out is edible.

I have helped others name their stories, and here are three examples:

Remember, Remember Two words, six syllables. Genre: Timeless Garcy Canon Divergent/Angst/Mission Fic The story is about Lucy trying to save Flynn after he goes back to 2012. Emma saves him instead. Eventually Lucy runs into him and she discovers he doesn’t remember her and only knows what Emma has told him. At the end of the story, they have a final confrontation during the Gunpowder Plot. When the author asked my thoughts on a title, well, the Gunpowder Plot has the very famous saying “Remember, Remember, the 5th of November” and the whole story is Lucy trying to get Flynn to remember…

Disavowed One word, three syllables. Genre: Timeless Luciana Canon Divergent/Angst In this Twitter story, Flynn is blocked from returning to the US from Canada because they still think he’s a terrorist. Basically, his own country, whom he helped save, rejected him. When asked for a title, I focused on the idea that this story is about Flynn being rejected/denied entry/etc. I basically flipped through synonyms for rejected until I came across disavowed which is a term often used in spy craft. It’s a heavy word which paired well with the angst of the story.

Only Our Stories Three words, five syllables. Genre: Timeless Movie Canon Compliant-adjacent/Angst/Mission Fic The phrase “only our stories” is said in the fic itself. Future-Lucy writes it down towards the beginning, once she’s returned from dropping off the journal post-Chinatown. All that she has left of Flynn is only their stories, which she writes in the journal. She is eventually able to change things to get Flynn back, but he doesn’t remember her. There is still a connection though… their stories.

Never be afraid to take a line from your story to use as your title, so long as you follow the structure guidelines from the first section.

At the end of the day, coming up with titles is just as much a skill as any other part of writing. We suck at first, then we figure out what's good, what's bad, and look at the world around us to figure out how to make it better. And don’t be afraid to edit it as much as you edit your novel. Until you publish, no title is set in stone, so it doesn’t have be right the first time.

And now here is where I close out this reference guide by saying something inspirational. Instead, I’m going to name this piece. While I wrote it, the temp file name was “Creating a Title” which is technically accurate but has no umph or style. This guide is meant to be helpful so the title should inspire confidence that I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t want it to sound too clinical either.

A synonym for “name” is designation which I like but too many syllables because I’ll have to add to it. Synonym’s for “title” don’t give me much either. Instead, I should focus on the concept of the guide rather than its direct contents. Using something like “What’s in a Name?” would be too cliché. “I Suck at Titles” is funny, at first, with it being the exact opposite, but my genre is more educational than satire.

Wait, if I’m not going to reveal the title until the end, as a way to show you the thought process in creating a title, then to the reader, the title both does and doesn’t exist at the same time. It’s what you might call a…

Schrodinger’s Title: A Guide to Naming

#Reference #How to title a story #Naming #I also used this to name the starring section of #Timeless Honest Trailer

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roseskiesandbutterflies · 4 years

Text

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 1: Nouveau Départ

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): implied/referenced trauma, swearing (this goes for probably every chapter, but I’ll keep putting it here)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: This was probably a bad idea, considering I have three other series on the go right now as well as a one-shot that isn’t done yet, but life’s too short so here it is. Updates on all of my works are going to be a bit slower from now on now I’m back at school (I’m in Year 11 too so I have even less time to write these days), so just bear with me. I promise I have a plan for the next twenty chapters at least, I am planning for this to be longer, but I haven’t decided where I’m going to take the rest of the story yet.

By the way, you can imagine Eloise to look like whoever you want because I’ve been a bit vague with her descriptions, but I imagine her to look something like @angelknives13 on TikTok.

As I do for most of my stories, I’ve made a Spotify playlist for this fic! Just copy and paste the link below to listen and remember that I’ll probably keep adding to it. Please listen at your own discretion because some of the songs contain spoilers. Just be wary of that. Also, some of the songs’ lyrics don’t actually make sense/relate to the story, but they’re on there because they fit the general vibe of the story. Hopefully, that makes sense.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6BaXMlb26dBYyhRCqXrEeP?si=6rY8lOkeSSmE8LRDC_Cb5w

Taglist: @bhmay @briarrose26

Ask or comment to be on my taglist! Let me know if it’s for a specific fandom(s) or series. Full list is in my bio.

Fool (upright) + Six Of Swords (upright)

New beginnings. Transition. Shaking things up a bit.

She called herself ‘Eloise’. That wasn’t her real name. She hadn’t been referred to by her real name for an awfully long time. No, Eloise is what she called herself so Eloise she was. Somewhere along the line, humans had decided that one’s name should have a meaning, and in some cultures that that name should tell of your past and also of your future. Eloise had been all for this notion, thinking it a marvellous idea. She’d then found out that the meaning bestowed upon her chosen name was ‘famous warrior’, which she thought was rather accurate. For before all else, Eloise was a fighter. She had fought tooth and nail to carve out the identity she had cultivated for herself and by God was she willing to fight again to keep it that way. It was an identity that she kept in her metaphorical left breast pocket, right next to her metaphorical beating heart; right where she could have it close to her, always and forever, but also where she could take it out, hold it in the palm of her hand and just admire it from time to time before popping it back in the metaphorical pocket, safe and sound. Art for art’s sake. It was an identity that she had chiselled out of the finest marble, chipped at to perfection or the closest thing to it, so that now it was the image of a Roman bust, of an ancient and long-forgotten deity. It was taller than giants and softer than the clouds above her head, richer than the finest food that the humans could create and more complex than the human mind. It burned with the heat of a thousand fires, never to be doused nor tamed. It flowed freer than the flow of a thousand rivers, winding and twisting through the corners and crevices of her mind–

She looked at it for a second longer before placing it back ever so carefully in the metaphorical pocket. It’s healthy to admire one’s soul every now and again but look into its depths for too long and you will get sucked into your own vanity. So, she returned it home to the pocket, where it belonged.

After all, there were things to be getting on with.

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

I would like to see that light once more. […] The light of the hour before the sun goes down. When every object begins to glow with its own light and gives off its own particular colour.

– Christa Wolf (Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays)

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

There was something about evening sunshine. The sun beats down on every little thing without mercy during the day, but five o’clock rolls around before long and everything turns sweeter. The usually red bricks of identical townhouses glow orange as they cast shadows down on passers-by, the leaves of oak trees turn golden-green as they sunbathe, not all that different to the humans that seek them for shelter. The breeze blows a little cooler, the sun shines a little softer, the sky rejoices in the oil painting below it. Sunbeams caress your face, holding you in an embrace that’s warm and comforting and oh-so-familiar. It feels like returning home, and in some ways it is.

Aziraphale loves to read at this time. Though nothing should be inferred from this, as Aziraphale loves to read at any and all hours of the day and night. Aziraphale would read all day, every day for the rest of time if he could. Unfortunately for him, he can’t do such a thing, but he does read an awful lot, and he likes to make a point of always reading in the evenings. He would swap his east-facing desk for the comfort of his lapis-coloured armchair, where the window that peers over his left shoulder tries to read with him in comfortable silence. The sunlight spills into the room, casting the soft pages beneath his fingertips in a homely, golden glow, illuminating and enhancing the words printed on them. Dust particle dance like fairies in this natural spotlight, but Aziraphale is, more often than not, too engrossed in his reading to pay attention to things like these.

He is not, however, too oblivious to notice sudden noises. Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale tended to find them too loud to ignore most of the time.

His head popped up like a meerkat when he heard the bell hanging above the bookshop door ring, its tune singing out and filling the quiet of the room. The noise of outside chatter and traffic disappeared as quickly as it came as the door swiftly opened and closed. His brows furrowed in confusion, for he was sure that that door had been locked ever since that phone call he’d had with Crowley which had eventually resulted in the latter coming to stay with him, and as far as he knew, Crowley was upstairs somewhere, probably watching yet more reruns of Golden Girls. He rose cautiously and ventured into the main shop, worst case scenarios flooding his mind with every step he took.

“Hello? I’m sorry but we are most definitely closed, as you would know if you read the sign on the door…”

He faltered when he finally came face to face with the intruder. She looked at him with dark eyes wide with curiosity, her gaze intense but at the same time comforting, as if you could get lost swimming, drowning in them if you searched for too long. She then softened with the realisation and nostalgia of reuniting with an old and long-forgotten friend, her smile small but full of unbridled joy. Her voice was no louder than a whisper but held a power that compelled you to pay attention as she murmured, “Oh, there you are.”

Aziraphale’s throat ran dry with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite name, an emotion that was on the tip of his tongue yet so out of reach. He scrambled to gather his senses because for goodness sake, this is a complete stranger whom you have never met until now, pull yourself together. “I-I’m not quite sure how you got in, but the shop is very much closed so I-I must ask you to leave,” he managed to stammer out, much less confident than the Aziraphale from a minute or two ago.

“Oh no,” she said reassuringly, her joyous expression never waning for a second, “I’m not here for a book.”

“Angel!” Crowley suddenly called out from upstairs, melting some of the awkwardness that was hanging around the room like a rather awful smell. Aziraphale noticed how the stranger’s eyes lit up even further, smile grew even wider, and more and more questions swirled around his head. He forced himself to look away from her as he heard Crowley saunter into the room from behind him. “Angel, I’m just about to put the kettle on, did you want a cup of tea or–,” he stopped when he finally noticed the other presence in the room, “I thought the shop was still supposed to be closed?” he asked warily, something in the back of his mind telling him not to trust the stranger.

“It is,” Aziraphale replied uncertainly while she waved awkwardly at them, “I don’t know how she got in, but she said she isn’t here for a book.”

Her face twitched slightly as if she wanted to comment on being spoken about like she wasn’t even in the room, but quickly decided against it for the sake of politeness.

Crowley’s face morphed into the epitome of confusion as he asked, “Well, if you’re not here for a book then why are you in a bloody bookshop?”

She looked at him as though the answer was blatantly obvious, “The bookshop has an owner, does it not? Or two unless I’m very much mistaken. It’s you. I’m here for you two.”

Crowley was quick to defend his image, “’S not my bookshop. I’m just, you know, here,” he gestured vaguely at his surroundings.

She nodded with understanding, then seemed to shake awake, “Sorry, I’m forgetting myself. Do you mind if I sat down? It’s just I’ve been travelling for an awfully long time; it’s been a while since I’ve been able to rest.”

Aziraphale nodded almost immediately, “Yes, yes, of course. Be my guest.” He didn’t think he’d be physically able to refuse her if he tried, there was something, something about her, “Could I get you a drink, or something to eat, perhaps?”

She smiled gratefully as she took a seat on the ancient looking yet somehow almost pristine armchair in the corner of the shop, “A glass of water would be lovely if that’s okay with you.” Aziraphale was gone in an instant, bustling around the make-shift kitchen in his backroom, quite glad to have something to do with himself if he was honest.

Crowley, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes at the stranger ever so slightly. Her story so far wasn’t adding up in his mind; if she’s been travelling for as long as she says she has, then why was her only luggage a handbag that she’d discarded on the floor when she’d sat down? And then there was the nagging in the back of his head that he was trying to stifle as best as he could. He stopped his train of thought dead in its track when he noticed that she’d been staring at him the entire time, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. There was something in her eyes, those damn eyes, that momentarily made him worry if his whole thought process was being projected above his head. She was observing him with a scrutiny that made him positively squirm. Finally, he said something, managing to stutter, “I’m gonna, erm, go, yeah,” he awkwardly pointed his fingers in the direction of where Aziraphale had left before sighing and making his much-needed exit.

She just nodded even though he could no longer see her, then suddenly sat up straight and let out a shaky breath. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered to herself. This was about to be the biggest risk she’d taken in years.

She took a deep breath and let go.

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

“Do we know her?” Crowley asked from his seat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child and cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, “Or is she just some random stranger who couldn’t read the ‘closed’ sign?”

Aziraphale looked at him as though he wanted to comment on his bluntness but had decided against it for the sake of not wanting to pick a fight, “I don’t recall meeting her at all. Surely, she would have mentioned where we know her from…”

Crowley looked at him knowingly, “But yet she seems oddly familiar and you can’t for the life of you figure out why?” His face softened when Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock, “I know what you mean. It’s off-putting. Her, I mean, not you, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled softly at him before looking away and asking, “What do we do? Do we ask her to leave?”

“Okay, you know as well as I do that you’re too curious for your own good,” Crowley smirked, “You want to find out everything you can about her, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna try and do.”

“I, well, um,” Aziraphale stammered out, face flushed bright red much to Crowley’s amusement, “Well, when you put it like that, I sound awfully nosy.”

Crowley snorted, “Well, you are a bit but where’s the fun in minding your own business?”

“Oh, hush, you wily old serpent,” he said, pursing his lips in mock discontent.

“Ah,” Crowley grinned, “Haven’t heard that one in a while. ‘Wily old serpent’. What ever will you think of next?”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale smiled with no real malice behind his words, playfully swatting Crowley with a tea towel that he’d miracled into his hands for that precise purpose, “Now get down from the counter, we can’t put this off forever.”

“Why not?” he asked as he jumped down with a swing of his legs. That earned him another swat from Aziraphale and his evil tea towel.

They continued to bicker as they reluctantly made their way back to the front of the shop, the unease in the atmosphere palpable to point where you could cut it with a knife. Neither one was quite sure why they were so nervous to talk to the stranger.

Crowley noticed it before Aziraphale did, stopping dead in his tracks and holding a hand out for Aziraphale to stop and just notice.

For standing in the middle of the bookshop with her back to the pair of them was the stranger and it was now painfully clear that she was in no way human.

A giant pair of wings sprouting from her back, spread out with pride, not unlike their own except they were the most beautiful shade of grey. The grey of an elephant in the sunlight, of the cobblestones shining in the rain, of shields from empires of long ago. They were the mist that lay on the sea in the moments before dawn and the oh-so-cold breath on a frosty morning. They were the fog that lay on a path yet to be crossed, the ashes of people long gone. They were almost hypnotising with not only their beauty, but also with the colour itself, and a hundred questions were swirling around their heads.

Who was she? Where had she come from? And, how on Earth did she come to have grey wings?

It was only when Aziraphale’s cup smashed to the floor when the stranger whirled around to finally meet their eyes, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked down the mess on the floor, and she smiled warmly at one very shocked angel before forcing the mug to reassemble itself in Aziraphale’s hand with a flick of her wrist, “There, no harm done.” Her smile faltered when she noticed their blank expressions and she sighed, “I think we best sit down, don’t you?”

The pair of them exchanged a nervous glance, speaking a language with just their eyes, before wordlessly following her suggestion and taking a seat on the sofa next to Aziraphale’s desk, while she perched on the chair opposite. “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Crowley scoffed, earning him a small glare and pursed lips from Aziraphale who just wanted to know what was going on, thank you very much.

“No, Aziraphale, it’s okay, he’s right,” she said, holding a hand out to stop him. The silence that followed was thick with unease and uncertainty, but she didn’t notice until it was too late, “Oh, shit,” she said simply, bracing herself for their reactions.

“How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name, how do you know it?” Aziraphale asked, the words tumbling out of him before he could even think about what he was saying.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she rushed to settle him, “Aziraphale–”

“Who put you up to this? Who sent you here?” He was standing now, blind with panic because what if they’ve found us, what if this is it, what if these past few months were all we were going to have before they came for us-

“Aziraphale, please,” she cried before looking at Crowley for help, not quite sure what she was dealing with here.

“Angel,” he said, voice as gentle as he could make it, smiling slightly when Aziraphale finally looked at him, “Just hear her out, okay?”

The angel stayed standing for a moment, collecting his thoughts because the worry in her eyes, no one from Heaven or Hell could even pretend to care for him so much. Finally, he nodded and sat down again, a trifle warily, a blush dusting his cheeks with a sad kind of shame.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you like that,” she murmured, voice a lot quieter, a lot less confident, but tenfold more sincere. She let the moment hang and dissolve, and then she perked up a bit, getting back to the manner at hand, “And no, no one sent me here. I came of my own accord, alone, just like I always do,” her eyes trailed away for a split second. They can’t see the memories if they can’t see your eyes. They can’t see the pain if they can’t see your face.

She felt Crowley’s eyes linger on her face with curiosity, grateful that he let the flicker of hurt wash over her face. After a second, he asked, “Who are you?”

Silence followed, for a moment. She sat there, thinking to herself, because who are you is a tricky question to answer when you have things that need to stay hidden. “My name is Eloise–”

She was cut off by a loud noise that must have come from upstairs, sounding not altogether dissimilar to someone crashing through the roof, followed by an overwhelming sense of divinity.

Eloise could only find it in herself to sigh and mumble, “Fuck.”

#good omens #good omens headcanon #good omens imagine #crowley #crowley headcanon #crowley imagine #Aziraphale #aziraphale headcanon #aziraphale imagine #good omens fic #oc

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mm-mendell · 6 years

Text

Blearily, you watched the city lights flicker in the tiny window above your seat. You had to sit really awkwardly to hit the right angle, half-slumped against the wall and your neck craned up to try and catch even the tiniest glimpse. You weren’t tall enough to look directly out the window, not even if you stood on top of the seat, and you weren’t about to subject yourself to such an indignity regardless.

Of course, the only reason you knew it wouldn’t work was because you had already tried it, but no one else needed to know that.

You were preparing yourself for another slow night - and it wasn’t a hardship, by any means. Slow nights or busy ones, they hardly mattered to you. Time passed by the same either way, and either way you got to relax in your little abode. There was really no difference at all.

But then, you felt it - someone approaching. Just one someone, apparently, which was enough to catch your interest, moving to sit up straight.

Lately, people had only been approaching you in groups, seeming to treat it as some kind of test of courage. Maybe this would be another child, dared by their friends to touch the door, or a stumbling drunk with no recognition of what they were seeing, let alone the significance of it.

Regardless, you would welcome them. If they belonged to this city, they were always welcome.

The footsteps stopped right outside your little wooden box, the newcomer shifting in place slightly, as if unsure of what to do next.

“What am I thinking…” A voice muttered, only seconds later. It was the voice of a young woman, tired in ways that only college students could be. You’d had many, many college students come to you over the years, though not usually for the reason you suspected this girl was here. “This is ridiculous. I’m so dumb.”

She seemed about to continue admonishing herself, but that was where you decided to step in - metaphorically speaking.

“Hello there!” you said brightly. “Welcome, friend. Do you have a request?”

She said nothing. You knew that she was still there, because she had yet to flee in terror as some of your would-be visitors did, but she didn’t say a word.

And then - “Holy shit. There actually is someone in there.”

You chuckled. Yes, that was usually the reaction.

“Indeed,” you said warmly. Oh, you loved the people of this city. Beautiful and erratic and yours.

“Um, well,” she said hesitatingly, and you could hear that she had started pacing in front of the door. “I do have a, uh, request, I suppose.”

“Speak it, then,” you said encouragingly. “You know that I will listen.”

You would always listen to these precious, beloved children.

There was silence for a moment, and you could hear the sound of her gentle breathing on the other side of the wood.

“It’s going to sound bad.”

You smiled, and in that moment you were very glad that your guest could not look through the window to see you - your smile was not, as some would say, pleasant.

“Chickadee, I am the god of all this city is. I am the god of rotten things and false stars, I am the god that never sleeps. There is nothing you could say to disgust me.”

And it was true. Nothing this human or any other had to say would be enough to put you off. You were the god of decaying bodies being lovingly consumed by the earth and this city both, and you were oh so proud of it.

“I… have this professor, at my college,” she said haltingly, stumbling over her words as if she’d never actually had a chance to speak them outloud. “He’s really creepy. And uh, we’ve tried to report him before, but even after we fill out the forms we just… can’t get up the courage. I always thought it was okay, because I figured someone else would do it. But, um, I was just told that he’s retiring at the end of this year, and…”

She fell silent, clearly troubled.

“He’s never, like, touched anyone,” she said, speaking slowly. “At least, not that I know of. He kinda stands too close to you, but I thought that was bearable. I thought that was something that you could, just, suffer through, y’know? But… he makes everyone so uncomfortable, and says these weird, sexist things, and like… I just don’t know what to do.”

You chuckled lightly. “Chickadee, if you came here, then you know exactly what you want to do.”

The pause this time was strained, but lasted only for a moment. She was laughing, breathlessly, a second later, and you heard a soft thud on the other side of your door, like she was leaning forward to rest her forehead against the wood.

“I guess so,” she murmured. “Please, I… I’m worried. At the college, he could be reported. There was a way to do that, easily, and people were still frightened. I was still frightened. After he leaves the school, I have no idea where he’ll go, and if anyone there will think that they have a way to keep themselves safe. I just want there to be a way that I know he won’t hurt anyone.”

“A reasonable request,” you said agreeably. You were her god, and this professor’s god too, but the professor was not the one who had come to pray to you. You were allowed to play favorites.

“Really?” she rushed out, her words jumbled and strung with a terribly desperate sort of hope. “You don’t think I’m overreacting, or, or - “

“Not even a little,” you assured, standing up from your seat almost without notice. You wanted to reach out, you wanted to comfort this child of the city that had spawned you, but you could not.

If you were to leave this confessional, it would rather ruin the mystery, wouldn’t it?

“I will help you,” you said confidently. Like there was ever any doubt.

But it seemed that there was on her end, because she let out a broken sob, leaning more heavily against the door.

“Thank you, thank you, I - when Katy told me about you I wasn’t sure it was legit, but I don’t even care anymore. You’re the only one who’s listened to me.”

And what a shame that is, you thought sadly. You couldn’t be everywhere, you couldn’t even leave your confessional, but you still mourned for the children that didn’t come to you. Even gods, it seemed, were helpless in the end.

But not in this.

“I have no power to arrest him, nor the right to kill him,” you declared, “but there are things that I can do.”

She was waiting, breathless, for your answer, and you smiled that same smile as you gave it to her.

“I can have the crows watch over him, and the alley cats trace his steps. He will never make a single move without my children knowing, and they will tell me. The rest of his time on this earth will be measured, the life he lived in this city will be judged. He will not escape my eyes, nor my punishment. And when the time comes, the worms, too, will enact vengeance for you. Is that satisfactory, Chickadee?”

“Anything,” she said immediately. “Anything is better than letting him go. Thank you.”

This time, when you smiled, it was gentle.

“You’re welcome.”

Many crying people came to pound against your door, and you were not always able to send them off with a smile. But the times like these were your most favorite of all.

She pulled away from your confessional, the wood creaking as she lifted her head from where it had been bent in prayer, and you could sense that she still had a question for you.

“Um, god?” she said, still a bit unsure but sweetened by belief, so heady that it made you let out a grateful sigh. “If you rule over all of these rotten, awful things, why do you help humans?”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself.

“I do not rule over anything,” you corrected gently. “I was born of graveyard dirt and the human heart, and there is nothing awful in that. Vermin and human alike live in this city, and they all belong to me, and each other. Rotten and lying they may be, but there is beauty in that too. Just like the city lights above you, humanity pierces through the fog. What else can I do, but watch in awe?”

“Oh,” she said quietly, like a confession, a realization. Then, you heard the sound of her footsteps walking away.

You hope that she gained something more from this than what she came for. You hope, from this, that she learned more about the value of rats and roadkill and tired college students.

You were the city, and the city was you, and you loved every part of it. Humans, yes, and the dead things too.

But she was not dead, not yet. And neither were you.

What a marvelous thing indeed.

notes:

ahhhh thanks so much to @caffeinewitchcraft ! I love what I came up with here, and I never would’ve actually gotten off my butt and written it if I hadn’t had this challenge to get me moving! hopefully I'll be able to do the other ones this week too, if I can keep producing things like this! until next time! <3

#caffeine challenge #mendell writes

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queenmorgawse · 5 years

Text

bang bang, there goes your heart

here’s some modern / espionage au sangcheng as a somewhat belated birthday gift for @hua-lian !! once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY JY, ilysm and i hope you enjoy this. <3 ( read on ao3 + end notes )

For the eighteenth time in the span of twenty-four hours, Jiang Cheng asks himself how the hell he ended up here — stuffed in a janitor’s closet, with his heart racing in his chest and about two inches of breathing room between his face and Nie Huaisang’s.

It begins, as all disastrous stories do, with a dare from Jiang Cheng’s idiotic brother.

“You wouldn’t have the guts.”

“Like hell I wouldn’t.”

In retrospect, it really is laughably easy to get Jiang Cheng to do anything, especially when your name is Wei Wuxian and even a slight smirk from you can be enough to send him spiraling downward into an ocean of spite. It’s like they’re eight, not twenty-eight.

The mission isn’t even anything complicated. Get in, socialize, wheedle the right information out of the right people, plant a few cameras and microphones here and there, get out. ( Wei Wuxian is not actually dumb enough to suggest they pull this kind of stunt during an assignment that requires their full focus, much as Jiang Cheng hates to admit it. )

“You’ve got to go together anyway, don’t you?” His brother flutters his lashes at him, and any charitable thought towards him Jiang Cheng might have entertained immediately vanishes from his head. “Why not as a couple?”

“What am I getting out of it?” Jiang Cheng grits out. After twenty years of knowing each other, he’s learned to exploit an opportunity when he can.

“If you do it, Lan Zhan and I will do it next time we have to be undercover together,” Wei Wuxian declares, and Jiang Cheng snorts.

“With you? Like he’d let you.” If he’s being honest with himself, he’ll admit that one was mostly to get a rise out of the other. Lan Wangji will definitely let him pass as his fake boyfriend, fiancé, husband, whatever he asks of him, a fact obvious to all but the interested party.

Whatever. It’s not the point. If they go, Wei Wuxian might finally clue in on Lan Wangji’s feelings, and then Jiang Cheng will (hopefully) be free of his oblivious pining. What’s one evening of pretending against that?

“Fine!” he snaps, and Wei Wuxian’s face lights up. “I’ll do it, but only if Nie Huaisang agrees.”

“I doubt he wouldn’t,” the other retorts, intently checking out his own nails. “You’ve got to change your personality for this thing, which is clearly your most disagreeable trait, so once that’s done, anyone would jump on the chance of going on a not-date with you.”

Jiang Cheng launches himself across the desk at him.

The evening even started out well. No one even glanced twice at their forged invitations, the appetizers weren’t half bad, and Nie Huaisang clearly charmed at least one of the targets they were supposed to. Everything goes exactly according to plan, until Jiang Cheng spots an unfortunately familiar set of faces across the room and swears under his breath.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says with the most convincing smile he can, crossing the room and tugging at Nie Huaisang’s elbow. “Darling,” the pet name leaves a strange taste on his mouth, though not an unpleasant one, “can we walk out for a minute? Family emergency.”

The lady across from them makes sympathetic noises and waves away Nie Huaisang’s apologies. Jiang Cheng watches him deliver a few more carefully chosen lines about how sorry he is and how he’ll be delighted to bask in the light of her company again when their business is taken care of before he lets himself be led away.

“What is it?” Huaisang asks the moment they’re out of earshot.

Jiang Cheng jerks his chin towards the entrance, where a commotion is visibly kicking up some metaphorical dust. “Wen Chao, some new girl of his and Wen Zhuliu just got here.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen. “What? Qishan didn’t notify us.”

“When do they ever tell us anything important?”

“...Good point. What do we do?”

Jiang Cheng only hesitates for a fraction of a second. “Lie low, tell the boss so they can take it up with Qishan themselves, and follow what they’re doing on the cameras we already placed. Wen Chao won’t give a shit about the Five’s agreement, he’ll definitely be an asshole and expose us if he recognizes us.”

He doesn’t voice the more pessimistic possibility : that this is indeed something none of the other four central offices know of, and Qishan Wen has its own agenda in sending its own agents here without warning them. It could be nothing, just Wen Ruohan’s usual pride in assuming he doesn’t have to notify anyone else of his will if he doesn’t want to, or - knowing the Wen patriarch - it could be suspicious.

It’s not Jiang Cheng’s place to decide. The best he can do is not compromise their mission, report to the higher-ups, and comply with what they’ll do.

“I hate them so much,” Nie Huaisang sighs, and though his tone is merely annoyed, Jiang Cheng is reminded of Nie Mingjue’s usual fits of rage whenever Qishan’s central office is involved.

“Ditto,” Jiang Cheng echoes. They exchange an exasperated look, several years’ worth of disagreement flashing through their heads, before Jiang Cheng sighs and offers Nie Huaisang his arm again. Together, they sweep out of the ballroom unseen.

For such a majestic place, the museum certainly lacks spacious, empty rooms. Oh, Jiang Cheng does not doubt that there are offices aplenty in parts of the building that aren’t accessible to the public, with locks that would be laughably easy to pick, but the only cameras they’ve managed to place so far have a ridiculously small range. Which leads them here, now ⎯ crammed together in a closet, with the light of Jiang Cheng’s phone between them and not much room for anything else.

He’s uncomfortably aware of Nie Huaisang’s presence, from his quiet breathing to the flowery smell of his cologne. When he tries to move, they knock together once again, an awkward tangle of limbs in the dark.

Nie Huaisang takes a sharp breath.

“That is indeed a gun in my pocket,” Jiang Cheng hisses before he can add anything.

He must have gotten it right, as in the glare of his screen, the other’s mischievous look turns into one of disappointment. “Jiang-xiong, if you ruin my jokes before I even get the chance to tell them, what am I to do?”

“Get a better sense of humor,” he snaps back, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck at the way Nie Huaisang’s lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks.

“How rude.” Jiang Cheng can feel him tilting forward. Deliberately closer, he tells himself. He’s just teasing you. Still, it’s hard to keep his thoughts in order when Nie Huaisang quite literally leans on his chest, his face now just a breath away from Jiang Cheng’s. “Don’t I even get an apology?”

Maybe it’s because of his nerves. Maybe tension has been running through him like electricity through a wire for the past hour, and something had to take the edge off. Or maybe it’s the warm weight of the arm Nie Huaisang has slung around his neck, his general proximity, and the fact that Jiang Cheng has kissed him once at a drunken college party and lived from that point onwards with the knowledge that perhaps, just perhaps, he wanted to do it again.

Regardless of the reasons why, here is what happens : Jiang Cheng tilts Nie Huaisang’s chin up and presses his mouth against his.

Nie Huaisang makes a little surprised noise and goes boneless in his arms. It only lasts an instant ⎯ before Jiang Cheng can overthink his decision and jerk away, Huaisang is the one grabbing him by the collar and bringing their lips together again. They crash against the back wall of the closet, Jiang Cheng’s arm coming up around the other man’s waist to brace the fall.

“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang breathes, like he’s discovering it for the first time. Jiang Cheng finds he likes the way it sounds on his tongue, soft and breathy, like something to be held dear rather than carelessly thrown around.

He should say something. Explain. Ask him, is that alright?, even though it must be, given the enthusiasm with which Nie Huaisang reciprocated, tell him he’s been thinking about this an embarrassing lot. But Jiang Cheng has never been good at juggling with words, especially when they matter as much as they do now, so instead, he runs his fingers through the loose strands escaping from Nie Huaisang’s bun and kisses him again.

He loses track of time ⎯ the only thing that matters then is the warm touch of Nie Huaisang’s lips on his jaw, on his neck. He makes a sound he would be way too embarrassed to let anyone here in different circumstances, but Huaisang doesn’t point it out, only seems to take it as encouragement.

Then Jiang Cheng’s earpiece, so far carefully tucked under his hair, crackles, and both of them are brutally jerked back to reality.

“A-Cheng?” Jiang Yanli’s voice on the other end of the line instantly sobers him up. “Are you alright? We reached Qishan’s office and demanded an explanation, they should be removing their agents now.”

Next to him, Nie Huaisang has also recovered, as straight-faced as someone who was not making out in a random closet just a few seconds ago. He swipes Jiang Cheng’s phone out of his hand and flips through the cameras before nodding his assent. “Gone,” he confirms. “Or at least I can’t see them anymore.”

“Good. Do they know we were there?”

Jiang Yanli chuckles. “Not your names, no. I wish I was there to watch them try to figure out which of the guests were Lotus agents.” She pauses before her voice turns serious again. “Coast’s clear. Go do what you have to do. I sent Nie Huaisang some convenient excuses in case you need to explain what took you so long.

“Thank you, A-jie,” Jiang Cheng says, just as Nie Huaisang echoes with thank you, miss Jiang.

“Good luck, you two.” He can almost feel the smile in her voice before the earpiece goes silent again.

The atmosphere is awkward as they step out of the closet into a mercifully deserted corridor and fix up their clothes. Jiang Cheng’s collar is somewhat rumpled, and he knows without looking his hair must be a mess.

He catches Nie Huaisang looking at him, an amused glint in his golden eyes. “What?”

“You’ve got lipstick on your neck,” Huaisang says dismissively. “Better clean that up quickly.” He taps a finger against his lips (now somewhat smudged themselves), then seems to take pity on Jiang Cheng and pulls a packet of wet wipes out of seemingly nowhere.

“Thanks,” he mutters. The first wipe comes out stained with a dark shade of red.

If he’s blushing, and Nie Huaisang is watching, he might as well end himself here and now.

“We are not talking about this,” is what Jiang Cheng finally settles on. He pairs it with a withering glare, for good measure.

“No, we’re not,” Nie Huaisang agrees, then winks. “Not before I take you out for dinner for real.”

Not for the first time tonight, and - he has a feeling - probably not for the last, Jiang Cheng is left speechless.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #sangcheng #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #kim's fics #hua-lian

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writehardwhumpharder · 5 years

Text

Drabble - Carson gets drugged at a party and it all goes downhill from there

It was a simple request. Anyone with a grain of magical talent could probably pick up energy trails if they really tried. Carson tended only to look at magical energy while he was using it. His main source was the white orb of light that glowed in the center of every living being. Some were brighter than others but they all looked pretty much the same. That energy was clearly supposed to be there. When people started to move energy around and meddle with the fabric of the universe, that produced a whole array of distinct colors and textures. Magic users carry an aura around with them, something unique to their use of magic. When they spend a lot of it in one place that aura settles around that spot for a while. Carson had gone to a crime scene looking for these types of energies. When Morris found out he was not too happy with him but he could still picture the magical signature in his head. It was a deep swirling purple, just on the edge of dark magic.

Tonight was his chance to figure out who that magic belonged to. A party was being held in Manhattan, the kind that attracted the attention of any criminal with a small fortune along with the occasional musician or local rich person looking to make some less than legal business acquaintances. More than anything it was a chance for everyone to show off. Carson had no idea how Riley snagged an invitation, she surely didn't do it by flashing her badge at anyone, but she had a hunch that the suspect might show up and yet again she wanted his "opinion" on the matter. Meaning she wanted him to use his magic to look over every single party guest until his eyes bleed. Metaphorically, he hoped.

Carson took one last look at himself in the mirror. He wore a classic black suit with a skinny navy blue tie that would have been fashionable several decades ago along with a pair of shiny black dress shoes. His dark brown hair was parted on one side in a neater version of his usual style. The longer, wavier hair on top was combed back in a tousled way which he achieved by putting a touch of jell in his fingers before raking them through his hair away from his face. The dark suit contrasted nicely with his light blue eyes. All in all the look was more wedding than cocktail party but hopefully people wouldn't be paying much attention to him. Someone knocked on his door at 8pm precisely. He opened it to see that Riley had somehow turned her pretty but average looks into something absolutely striking. Her dress was an emerald green that made her eyes sparkle, actually sparkle. She had on a few pieces of thin silver jewelry that might as well have been diamonds on her fair skin. It was the hairstyle that really did it though. Her medium length, dull brown hair cascaded across the top of her head, pinned down expertly in a way that left just a few stray curls to frame her face. And though he couldn't see them under her floor length dress, she must have been wearing three or four inch heels that put her close to eye level with Carson.

Riley felt a little self-conscious under Carson's gaze but he wasn't looking at her sexually, it seemed more like he was taking in the details of a work of art. She cleared her throat to end the moment and started heading out towards the car. Carson followed a couple steps behind. What met them at the curb wasn't a limo, but Morris's honda civic was black and sleek enough in design to mostly blend in with the rest of traffic in Manhatten.

***

Carson's heart started to race as they neared the double doors at the entrance of the building where a few very scary looking guards stood on either side. A woman in a plain black dress greeted everyone and checked a list as they went in. He half expected the woman to turn them away but so far the plan went off without a hitch. They got there shortly after it officially started, leaving plenty of time to scan everyone. A server approached them with champagne, which they accepted, directly followed by another server holding a tray of finger sandwiches which Carson was more than eager to take. Riley grabbed one as he piled three onto a napkin. In total Carson almost had a whole sandwich, score. Riley ate hers slowly with a hint of both satisfaction and disinterest. She blended in well with their current company who all seemed to be having a good time but still managed to be extremely uptight as they did. As more people started to fill in the large ballroom Carson saw a few people he might have recognized. Riley made a much longer mental list of all the known criminals she saw. Carson stood behind Riley and focused his eyes, opening them to the lingering energies around them. So far nothing looked significant. A few people had a faint glow of pink or yellow, showing they had just a touch of magical talent. Random white sparkles floated around the room, just trace energies left by regular people. Carson closed his eyes and let go of his concentration, blinking the lights away.

"See anything?" Riley asked.

"Nothing yet."

A steady stream of people passed them and shook hands with Riley, exchanging polite smiles. Carson managed to fade into the background, keeping his eye on the current of people going in and out the doors. Maybe he did too good a job of fading because he suddenly felt kinda tired. He yawned discreetly, only catching Riley's attention.

"Bored already?" She asked.

"Mmm." He responded, trying to keep his eyes off the way the chandelier reflected little beams of warm light across the ceiling, fascinating. She turned to him finally, a little concerned by his lack of an answer.

"You okay?" She asked. He looked a little unsteady on his feet but Carson's face still held the serious look it always had. She stepped closer to him. Without the heels she might not have noticed his eyes and just how large his pupils were. The light blue ring was reduced to a small sliver encompassing two large saucers.

"Yeah I'm fine, must have had too much champagne." He said, sounding a little distracted. Riley had been warned that Carson was a major lightweight and was to be kept away from alcohol at all costs. Although Daniel might have been a little dramatic about that last part. Even so, he didn't even have a full glass. She distinctly remembered him put the glass, half full, on a passing server's tray. He closed his eyes tightly for a second, looking a little pale.

"You don't look so good. But I don't think it was the champagne."

Music started up from somewhere nearby and Carson's look of discomfort vanished, replaced by a dazed excitement. The band picked up and couples made subtle attempts at dancing.

"Ooh come on, let's dance. I love piano." He beamed, looking a little crazed as he did so. Carson grabbed her hand and pulled her farther onto the floor. She played along, casting a skeptical glance around the room. He pulled her against him and she put one hand on his shoulder, taking shuffling steps to mirror his.

Riley figured it would be best to get out of there as soon as possible, before Carson managed to act any stranger than he already was.

"Why don't you take one more look around and see if you spot anything like the energy you saw. Then we can leave."

Carson seemed to think about that. Somewhere in the back of his mind a warning bell went off. He'd completely forgotten about the reason they were there.

"Okay." He mumbled. Carson closed his eyes and prepared his awareness, only to find that his brain was too fuzzy to do even that much. "Bastards." He slurred.

"What?" Riley said, looking up at him with concern.

"I can't see anything. Whoever it was made sure I couldn't see them, which means they must be here." He whipped his head around wildly.

Riley swore. If the suspect's intention was to drug his drink, impairing his ability to identify them, they had certainly succeded. Okay, it was officially time to abort mission.

"Let's go. While you can still walk." She said, grabbing his arm to lead him to the door.

"No, I'm gonna get that bastard." His voice turned serious and he managed to wiggle out of her grasp. Carson closed his eyes again, putting much more energy and thought into it. When he opened them he could see faint traces of energy. Either that or he was hallucinating. His brows furrowed with determination and focus. The lights got a little clearer. He could make out the white orbs of people's souls as well as the faint yellow glow of a woman near them. But nothing looked like the deep purple he remembered.

A spike of pain went through his head and he dug his fingers into his temples.

"You're gonna hurt yourself. Let's just go, it's not worth it."

Carson was starting to agree as his head ached with the effort. He swept his eyes across another corner of the room. The pain increased threefold as he narrowed his eyes, looking for any hint of a purple aura. Something wet and warm trickled down his face.

"Do I have to call Morris in here to drag you out?" Riley threatened, already grabbing her phone anxiously.

"No... we can go." He mumbled, letting her guide him across the floor. She dabbed at his nose with a tissue she seemed to conjure out of nowhere. They were almost to the door when Carson stopped. He wavered, bending to put a hand on one of his knees for support.

"We're almost there, you're alright."

Carson was not alright. His feet started to feel heavy at the same time he started getting lightheaded. Spots started to form in his vision so he blinked his eyes to clear them. When the feeling didn't pass, Carson tried to press through it. He made it a few steps closer to the door before stopping again. Riley looked around anxiously. It was only matter of time before people started to notice them.

"I don't... I don't feel.." He breathed, swaying dangerously.

"Ten more steps. I believe in you." She slung one of his arms over her shoulder and he fought down the rising sense of nausea as she dragged him out onto the sidewalk. The cold air was refreshing for a second. But then his stomach turned and his whole body felt too hot. Riley looked up and down the street for Morris's car, he should be pulling around the corner any second now.

Riley had left Carson leaning against a stone pillar, he wouldn't have been able to stand without it. Paling even further, his stomach lurched without warning. Apparently it was convinced that whatever he'd been drugged with was some kind of poison that must be ejected. He turned around quickly to throw up into some bushes. He made an effort to be quiet but a few party goers chose to walk out at that exact moment, giving him dirty looks as they descended the stairs. He wiped his mouth off with his hand and staggered a little.

Carson yelled at them, slurring drunkenly, "Don't look at me like that. It's not-" Riley caught his arm and started to pull him away, looking absolutely mortified.

"Jesus christ, keep your voice down."

Morris's car slid to a stop in the middle of a no parking zone and he jumped out rushing toward them.

"What happened?" He asked, moving to grab Carson who was starting to sag in Riley's grip. She rubbed at her shoulder once the weight was taken off of it. Carson's eyes looked glazed over and they slid out of focus just as his body went completely limp. Morris had gotten there just in time because if Riley was still holding him then she would have dropped him on the pavement for sure.

Morris let out a huff of breath as he picked Carson up in a bridal carry so he could slide him into the backseat. "I'm too old for this shit."

Carson didn't stir as he was settled on the leather backseat. Riley took shotgun while Morris jogged around the car to the driver's side.

"Do we need to take him to the hospital?" Morris asked as he rejoined traffic.

"No I don't think so. They just wanted to keep him impaired, not kill him. It's probably some kind of roofie." She said, glancing back at Carson who was sprawled across the backseat. He moaned quietly.

"'S not fair..." he mumbled.

"What is?" She asked, barely able to make out what he'd said.

"They only drugged me. I mean, what did I ever do to them?" His voice was weak and words blurred together all over the place. Riley had seen drunk frat boys who were more coherent than Carson was now. He bolted upright suddenly, his face twisted in distress. Riley knew that look.

"Pull over." She said urgently. Carson barely waited for the car to stop before he pushed open the door and leaned out. He coughed and threw up whatever was left of the finger sandwiches, then weakly pulled the door closed again. He curled up, looking absolutely miserable and more than a little disappointed that he didn't manage to do the one thing he set out to do.

***

When they pulled up outside Carson's apartment building it was getting pretty late. Riley and Morris talked in hush tones the whole way back.

"I don't know should we leave him alone like this?" She asked.

"Not alone." Carson muttered as he summoned up the energy to pry himself off the leather bench and stumble out of the car. The thought of laying down in his bed was the only thing driving him at this point. Riley followed him up the steps to the door and unlocked it for him. Unsurprisingly, Daniel padded down the stairs with his arms crossed to meet them. His apartment gave him perfect view of the street and he'd probably already picked up on the poor state Carson was in.

"I warned you not to let him drink. At all costs." He scowled. Carson returned the look as he shuffled over to his door, a little hurt.

"What happened?" Daniel asked, softening his voice a little.

"Roofie." Riley sighed, looking a little guilty. He was a civilian and it was her job to look after him when they went on little missions like this one. She'd failed now on more than one occasion. Carson looked completely done as he leaned his head against the wall and tried to open his locked door.

"I think you need a key for that." Daniel said, taking a step closer to help.

Carson looked him in the eyes and ran his hand over the lock. It clicked audibly. "Do I?"

Carson's knees buckled as fatigue washed over him. Now was not the time to be reckless with his energy. Riley was closer but Danny was faster. His arms wrapped around him, stopping his descent to the floor. Oh well, Carson had felt cool doing it. His friend got him back on his feet and pushed the door to his apartment open with his foot.

"You guys can go, I'll babysit." He said to Riley as she headed to the door. "You looked nice tonight." He added.

"Thank you." Riley smiled.

Carson's head lolled against Daniel's chest, "What, you're not gonna tell me I look nice too?" Carson slurred.

Danny shook his head and laughed, "Yeah you look pretty too. Now let's get you inside, my arms are getting tired."

#whump #drabble #OC drabble #whump fic #Carson Hall #Riley Miller #Henry Morris #Daniel Hopkins #drugged #roofied #weak #sick #out of it #dizzy #unsteady #minor nosebleed #a little vomiting

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