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thatkidwholikesthunderbirds · 3 years

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TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

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Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

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“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile. “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. “Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There’s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanart #katblu42 #kidthunder's art #tag mini bang 2021

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ultrahpfan5blog · 3 years

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Retrospective Review: Skyfall (2012)

So after QoS was generally considered to be a letdown after the impressive success of Casino Royale, there was a bit of a course correction required. It wasn't as if QoS was a bomb. Both Casino Royale and QoS were the highest grossing Bond films till then. But critically they needed to course correct a bit. Skyfall came in with a lot of hype since it came on the 50th anniversary of Bond in films. Sam Mendes came in and knocked it out of the park in Skyfall. In my opinion, Skyfall is second only to Casino Royale in the ranking of Bond films.

What is interesting about Skyfall is that it feels like it takes a significant step away from the previous two films. It feels aesthetically different from the previous two films and Bond himself is reinvented as someone at a different point in his life. While Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace were films with Bond as a new 00 agent. In Skyfall, he is an older agent, considered to be past his prime. So it seems like there is a big time leap in his career. The film has a fantastic opening action sequence, going from car chase, to bike chase, to fight on a train. You really feel Bond being pushed to his limit in this sequence. Yet, there are still very lovely iconic touches like when Bond leaps from the tractor into the train, he checks his cufflinks. Its really a small thing but it lends a lot of Bond's character. Skyfall is probably one of the most known Bond songs and it really lends to the mood of the film to follow.

The film's biggest strengths lie in the film making and in the performances from the actors who are all excellent across the board. The film has makes some bold choices when it comes to plot by making MI6 fallible. M in this movie is not at her best. She makes mistakes and a security leak happens as a result and people die because of the mistakes she made. There is also a legitimate argument to be made that she did wrong the villain and does manipulate Bond. As a result, she becomes an even more interesting character. If there is a true Bond girl in this movie, it is Judi Dench because she is front and center in this movie and the plot really surrounds her. Its by far her more substantial role in the franchise and she really makes the most of it. Her relationship both with Silva and Bond is fascinating, with Silva having almost an Oedipal complex with her whereas there is a clear maternal connection with Bond. Its a very fitting swan song for her.

There are a couple of other Bond girls in the movie. Naomie Harris makes an excellent debut as Moneypenny. If I am correct, I don't think we even know she is Moneypenny until the very end of the movie. But she's pretty badass from the very beginning and she has a nice witty banter with Bond. There is a nice and friendly sexual tension between the two. Its definitely a different Moneypenny from the previous eras but she is a welcome presence. One performance that doesn't get enough credit is Berenice Marlohe as Severine. She is actually pretty fantastic in the movie in a fairly brief role. She is enigmatic and seductive and a deeply tragic figure but her scenes are ones that really stick with me. Definitely the scene in the Casino is excellent.

We also get the reintroduction of Q, played by Ben Whishaw and he's immediately winning. It makes a lot of sense for the modern technology driven Q to be a younger man and its a fun switch of the dynamics between Bond and Q, where previously Q was sort of a mentor figure for Bond, here Bond is the elder person who makes fun of Q's age. One other character who is a surprise is Ralph Fiennes as Mallory. When he is initially introduced, he feels like a stereotypical government employee who is against Bond and M, but you slowly see that there is more to him than meets the eye and he's actually quite a badass himself and ends up being the new M by the end of the movie. Fiennes is great as he normally is. Albert Finney has a fun role in the last act and Rory Kinnear continues on as Tanner.

Javier Bardem's impact on this film is immense. What is interesting is that he doesn't appear until just a few minutes past the halfway mark of the movie. And even in the second half, he disappears for about 15-20 minutes after the hearing shootout. But his impact looms over the entire movie, even when he's not there. And that's a testament to his performance. He is brilliant in the role. He has an outstanding entry scene with a great monologue. You can just tell that Bardem is having a blast in this role. He manages to induce menace, rage, heartbreak, and madness. You genuinely feel some sympathy for his him because he isn't completely wrong. Its a performance that is truly right towards the very top of Bond villains and it elevates the movie a lot.

Daniel Craig is again fantastic here. He continues to give his all, both physically and emotionally in the role. The scenes between him and Bardem on the Island are some of the best acted sequences in the movie. And again, the dynamic between M and Bond sells because of how well both Craig and Dench play off each other. There are little touches that Craig does that I love so much. I already mentioned the cufflinks scene in the opening action sequence. Then there is a fight scene in a Casino where he and a goon fall into a pit and he spots a Komodo dragon and he is startled and points at it even, even when he is being picked up by the thug. Also, when he gets pissed off when he sees the DB5 get blown up in the climax. It doesn't sound like much, but it genuinely adds a lot to the character when you see it. He has good chemistry with all the cast and you even buy him when you see him struggling physically post the injury inflicted in the opening sequence. Its a performances where he delivers the humor, action, drama, emotion etc... and he does it all brilliantly.

As I mentioned earlier, the film making is terrific. Aesthetically, this film stands out and his beautiful to look at. Its no surprise that Roger Deakins is the cinematographer. There are just some gorgeous sequences throughout the movie, be it the fight in the empty office in Shanghai, the sequence in the Casino, the empty old house in the middle of nowhere, or the moors of Scotland in the climax. There is just a wonderful use of light to make every frame stand out. Sam Mendes also keeps the pacing tight. This is almost as long as Casino Royale, and just like that film, you don't feel the time. The only reason I rank this below Casino Royale is that the story telling isn't as tight as it could have been. For example, Silva's entire plan is really implausible when you think about it. No amount of preplanning would have led to everything happening exactly as he planned it because it requires a lot of random actions from people which he could definitely not predict. Then there is the fact that M endangers the ministers and everyone at the hearing despite knowing there is an eminent threat. Also, while the climax is spectacular and I get that Bond wanted to get Silva out of his comfort zone, but I still don't see how isolating himself in the middle of nowhere, with just M for backup against Silva and his entire army was a wise idea. Also, the film sets up the interesting notion that Bond is not at his best physically, but it sort of abandons the idea towards the end with Bond basically taking out Silva's whole army on his own. So there are some loose ends to the storytelling. But its easy to overlook them. The film also makes the brave choice to have Silva actually win since M dies in the end. So it is a bittersweet ending in a way. But its all done in a very satisfying manner.

Overall, its an excellent movie. Definitely top tier Bond and a very fitting movie for the 50th anniversary for Bond. A 9/10.

#skyfall #sam mendes #rory kinnear #tanner #naomie harris #eve moneypenny #ben whishaw #Q #M #berenice marlohe #severine #javier bardem #raoul silva #ralph fiennes #gareth mallory #007 #daniel craig #judi dench #roger deakins

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unforth · 3 years

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So keeping in mind that I’ve literally already written a 40k Destiel fic inspired by Selena Gomez’s “Back to You,” today it came up on my play list and I started to think about ficcing it again, but this time Wangxian. It’s just such a ficcable song, I can’t even.

Like, a modern AU (set in the US) where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were once dating, and Wei Wuxian started making friends with “the wrong sorts,” and so Lan Qiren forced Lan Wangji to dump him. They part ways for a few years.

Lan Wangji never really recovers, and he perfunctorily dates the people his uncle sets him up with, and his life kinda stalls...not that there’s anything wrong with it, just...it’s always the same, the same places, the same people, the same work, the same wake up time, the same daily routine, the same bedtime. Sometimes he’s not sure which he misses more - Wei Wuxian, or the disruption to his life that Wei Wuxian represents. He almost wishes that Wei Wuxian has gone as “bad” as Lan Qiren was so, so sure he would, because then it would be proof - that stepping outside the box is not the way to a good life, that Lan Wangji made the right choices even if he’s not happy with them, that kind of thing.

Wei Wuxian also never really recovers, but instead of letting it get him down, he’s even more determined to prove that he’s so much more than what snobs like Lan Qiren thought of him - and so are the friends he made, who are of course Wen Qing and Wen Ning. They also have really had a tough time, with a lot of people assuming the worst about them because of their family connections. The three make a pact together - to succeed, no matter what it takes, and to help each other whenever one of them starts to struggle. And it works. Though they’re a little behind their peers - they all go to college, and they all finish their degrees, they all get advanced ones. Wen Qing becomes a doctor. Wei Wuxian becomes an engineer. Wen Ning becomes a vet. They get respectable jobs, if poorly paid because that’s the economy in 2020s USA, and they’re slowly building lives for themselves. No one from the circles his adopted family move in will associate with him anyway - he got kicked out for some of his youthful shenanigans, and though he’s in touch with his siblings, his “parents” won’t acknowledge him - but he doesn’t care. He knows he’s succeeding, no matter what they say about him.

(read more)

Though Lan Wangji never stops thinking about Wei Wuxian, he refuses to Google him or look him up. Fantasize about him? Yes. Wish his current SO was them? Yes. Occasionally scroll through Jiang Yanli’s friends list just to make sure Wei Wuxian is still there? Yes. But he doesn’t look him up, doesn’t friend him, doesn’t outreach. Why should he? Some regrets are normal, but he’s over it - he’s definitely over it.

Not that Wei Wuxian expected him to. Lan Wangji broke his heart, and it hurt - oh, it hurt so much, but Wei Wuxian is definitely over him. Who needs that asshole anyway? Wei Wuxian knows his worth, and he doesn’t need the affection of someone who cast him aside at the say so of his uncle. If he occasionally comes moaning Lan Wangji’s name...that’s a perfectly normal thing to do as regards someone Wei Wuxian hasn’t dated in a decade, right? Lan Wangji was, and presumably still is, hot as fuck, and Wei Wuxian has a healthy labido

Which is to say, neither of them is over it at all.

Still, their mutual pining might have never come to a head if not for Lan Wangji’s best friend - Jin Zixuan - getting engaged to Wei Wuxian’s sister Jiang Yanli.

And then, suddenly, after so many years, they’re in frequent contact again - helping with planning the wedding - and, well...

For Wei Wuxian, it’s infuriating. There’s Lan Wangji, still quiet, still distant, and sometimes when Wei Wuxian glances his way, he can swear that he caught Lan Wangji looking at him with resentment and regret, which - that’s some fucking bullshit right there, cause it’s not Wei Wuxian who ditched Lan Wangji, not Wei Wuxian who caved to family pressure. That’s all Lan Wangji - what’s Lan Wangji got to resent?

For Lan Wangji, it’s awful. Wei Wuxian is at least 8 times more gorgeous than Lan Wangji remembers him being, tall and lithe, his hair long, his affect casual. Despite the same air of nonchalance he always projected, though, now he’s like that but ALSO educated, successful, and self-made. Every bad thing Lan Qiren said would come to pass for Wei Wuxian is now proven a lie, and Lan Wangji feels wretched about it. Even worse, Wei Wuxian is clearly single - and “ready to mingle,” as Lan Wangji believes the phrase goes. Literally anyone who breaths, of any gender, is apparently fair game, and Wei Wuxian flirts constantly, especially with members of Lan Wangji’s friends circle. Mo Xuanyu? The poor guy never knew what hit him. Lan Jingyi? Is like eight years to young for Wei Wuxian, but that doesn’t stop him. Ouyang Zizhen? Lan Wangji is pretty sure Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know Zizhen’s name - or his age - but again, when did any reasonable objection ever stop Wei Wuxian? Luo Qingyang? She’s a lesbian for fucks sake, but she apparently doesn’t mind, and even flirts back, and Wei Wuxian is incorrigible.

Maybe Lan Qiren was right after all.

Wei Wuxian is determined to flaunt what Lan Wangji missed out on, loudly and publicly. Mo Xuanyu does make for a fun fling, and Lan Jingyi is a good kisser but they never get farther than that. Ouyang Zizhen is definitely too young - and he’s straight - but he laughs along when Wei Wuxian is outrageous, and they understand each other. And Luo Qingyang...Wei Wuxian suspects she knows exactly what the score is, and is maybe even helping him.

Helping him make Lan Wangji miserable, that is.

Wei Wuxian is definitely not looking to accomplish anything else.

Unless he can secure a Plus One to the wedding, ideally one who can join the wedding party and stand beside Wei Wuxian when he and Jiang Cheng give Jiang Yanli away.

Cause, oh, the look on Lan Wangji’s face, if he’s forced to spend the entire wedding facing Wei Wuxian and his date? Priceless, definitely.

Lan Wangji is determined to give Wei Wuxian the space to do...whatever it is Wei Wuxian is doing. Wei Wuxian always was a whirlwind, and Lan Wangji has never wanted to control him, never known how to keep up. Still, it galls to see Wei Wuxian flirting, and it hurts to see Wei Wuxian act indifferently towards him, and it aches to remember that, had things been different, Lan Wangji could have been on the receiving end of all those lovely, carefree smiles.

Rather than deal with the difficulty he has breathing whenever he’s in the same room as Wei Wuxian is in the room, Lan Wangji throws himself into the logistic planning of the final weeks leading up to the wedding. He coordinates vendors. He soothes ruffled feathers. He makes sure the caterers know literally everyone’s dietary preferences and restrictions. He works, and he works, and he works, and he tries to do nothing but work, but sometimes...

...Wen Qing will wander by, take over his spreadsheet, and tell him to go socialize...

...or Wen Ning will intercept the decoration Lan Wangji was moving, lift it surprisingly effortlessly, and tell Lan Wangji to join the main gathering...

...or Luo Qingyang will come and lecture him about how hiding is dumb and maybe he’d actually meet someone new if he tried.

As if Lan Wangji will get to meet someone new.

As if Lan Qiren will let Lan Wangji be with them, even if Lan Wangji did.

They’re trying to help, but he can’t figure out why. Wen Qing and Wen Ning especially are barely even his friends - but they’re closer to Wei Wuxian than anyone else in the world...Lan Wangji can’t fathom what they’re up to. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think they were trying to get him back together with Wei Wuxian? Which makes him think they don’t know Wei Wuxian half as well as they think they do, cause there’s no way that Wei Wuxian wants that - no way that Wei Wuxian wants him. Lan Wangji had his chance. He gets that.

(But, oh, it’d be nice to believe, even for a minute, even for a single dinner party, that maybe that would be something Wei Wuxian would want.)

But that’s impossible.

So Wei Wuxian flirts shamelessly.

And Lan Wangji hides behind duty and a stoic facade.

And the day of the wedding approaches - they get through the rehearsal dinner, the bachelor and bachelorette parties, the hangovers the next morning, all of it...and then it’s time.

Lan Wangji knows he should be watching Jin Zixuan, dressed in full Chinese traditional garb for an utterly Western style wedding, but instead he can’t keep his eyes off the opposite wedding party. Luo Qingyang is maid of honor, in a chongseom that makes no sense as either traditional Chinese or modern Western - and Jiang Yanli insisted on her brothers standing at her side, and so Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are both there.

In tuxedos.

A sharp contrast to the robes in muted colors that Jin Zixuan picked out for his wedding party.

And Jiang Cheng still has a look on his face like he stepped in something gross and is too dignified to wipe it off on the carpeting, but Wei Wuxian...oh, Wei Wuxian is so perfect, absolutely flawless, and his pleasure is so obviious and uninhibited. From the moment the tent flaps open and Jiang Fengmian walks his daughter, in full Phoenix robes and an elaborate golden head dress (a family heirloom, no less), Wei Wuxian only has eyes for his sister, and his joy for her is spectacular and makes Lan Wangji’s chest ache.

As the ceremony commences - Western secular, seriously, what, not that it’s a surprise, Lan Wangji helped plan it, but it’s still weird - Lan Wangji looses himself in the rhythm of non-religious liturgy and imagining that, had his life gone differently, how Wei Wuxian looks now might have been how he’d have looked on their wedding day.

He wants that so badly.

He so, so desperately wishes that could have been.

For once, Lan Wangji isn’t wrong about Wei Wuxian’s train of thought. He’s got eyes for no one but Jiang Yanli - well, and a small aside of imagining all the ways he’ll make Jin Zixuan regret ever being born, should he ever hurt her. The ceremony passes so quickly he’s amazed - usually he’s super impatient and antsy during events like this - but no, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s...and then it’s over, and he glances to the groom’s party, and he realizes...Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Reflecting back over the ceremony...Lan Wangji has been staring at him the whole time?

And seriously - what the fuck is up with that? What had Wei Wuxian done wrong this time? Was it the tux? Lan Wangji coordinated the rental, if he’d objected to the Western attire, he had plenty of time to say something. Was it the way Wei Wuxian was rocking back on his heels? As if Jiang Yanli didn’t know Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand still - as if she’d ever hold that against him! His mind scrambles through explanations, each more ridiculous and rude than the last...no matter what the reason is, he’s sure that his existence offends Lan Wangji, as it also offended Lan Qiren. If it didn’t, why would Lan Wangji have treated him so indifferently since they re-met?

(It definitely isn’t because Wei Wuxian has intentionally kept him at arms length, oh no, this - whatever this is - is absolutely entirely Lan Wangji’s fault.)

Still, now that he’s aware of Lan Wangji’s condemnation, Wei Wuxian can’t stop thinking about it. It preoccupies him all through agonizingly dull hour of taking group photographs in various places in the picturesque garden, and all through the brief period he actually gets to spend during the passed platter part of the reception - hors d’ouevres to tide the guests over while the family and wedding parties do the pictures - and all through the achingly dull meal. The food is good, Wei Wuxian supposes. The wedding has been nice, Wei Wuxian supposes. Jiang Yanli is elated, Wei Wuxian knows, and he’s delighted for her, but...somehow, the joy has drained out of the evening.

Fucking Lan Wangji - can’t behave himself for one fucking evening, he’s even going to ruin this for Wei Wuxian.

Fuck it - as soon as the meal is over, and the first dances done, and the reception switches from staid social affair to open bar dance party, Wei Wuxian resolves to get sloshed as fast as humanly possible. Anything to stop him from thinking so damn much.

Lan Wangji is one of a handful of designated drivers amongst the people in his generation - he’s expecting to do at least three runs back to the hotel, starting with the bride and groom, then all the Jin half-siblings, then probably the Jiangs, judging by how they’re behaving so far, and then...he doesn’t know, but he suspects there’ll be others. Looking around as the evening grows later, the music louder, and the dancing more raucous, he tries to do a mental tally, and realizes...something is wrong.

No, nothing is wrong...someone is missing.

Where’s Wei Wuxian?

Confused, Lan Wangji looks around again. Wei Wuxian had been dancing - with his sister, with his brother in law, with Luo Qingyang, with Mo Xuanyu, with the folks a half-generation younger like Lan Jingyi, with anyone or anyone, by himself...but no...Luo Qingyang is dancing with Wen Qing, if “intense dance floor frottage” can be considered dancing...and Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli are dancing together, and Mo Xuanyu is flirting with some guy Lan Wangji doesn’t recognize, and the half-generation younger folks are teasing some poor Jiang junior, and Wei Wuxian has been exuberantly present for much of the evening, and now he’s just...gone.

As drunk as Wei Wuxian appeared to be, that can’t be good.

So, concerned - just that Wei Wuxian is drunk and might have tried something dumb, like driving home himself, or gotten lost on the way to the bathroom, or needed to throw up, not about anything else, Lan Wangji is definitely not concerned about Wei Wuxian in any other respect - Lan Wangji goes in search of Wei Wuxian.

He checks around the outside of the tent - nothing.

He checks inside the venue’s main building - nothing.

He checks the bathrooms - nothing.

He checks the parking lots - nothing, and of course Wei Wuxian didn’t take a vehicle, he didn’t drive himself.

He checks everywhere he can think, as the night grows later and darker and the party proceeds and the oldest, most staid guests start to say their goodbyes.

Finally, tired, out of ideas, and disinterested in returning to the loud bright heat of the tent, Lan Wangji goes for a walk through the manicured grounds. Even in the dark of night, the place the Jin-Jiang’s chose is lovely. Scattered decorative lights cast barely enough light to navigate the lanes and paths, aided by a full moon and the occasional flicker of a firefly. There’s a koi pond in the center - they took a lot of pictures there - and a few stone benches around it, so Lan Wangji meanders in that direction. He can still hear the party. He’ll know when they need him. He really needs some time to himself - it’s all been too much.

He tries not to think too hard about what “it” actually refers to in that thought.

Nothing Wei Wuxian does diffuses the empty feeling in his chest; every drink, he feels worse. Every dance, he feels more like he’s putting on an act. His friends were starting to notice - Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing had exchanged a look and then rounded on him like they were going to pin him down and force him to...or try to force him to...talk about his ~feelings~, and so Wei Wuxian fled into the gardens, found a bench where he could listen to the soft sussuration of flowing water somehow audible over the thump of the bass, and breathe.

It’s been a long time since Wei Wuxian felt like he could breathe.

He still doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

Which is ridiculous, he knows, and he’s in the process of going into extensive internal detail of why it’s ridiculous when a damn ghost steps into the clearing around the koi pond...

...no, not a ghost...it’s Lan Wangji, cheeks pale from how much time he spends in doors, robes nearly white when their pale blue is washed out by the moonlight, hair raven falling about his shoulders. His headband frames his noble brow, and his corsage rains a trail of vining flowers over one shoulder like some strange epaulette, and oh, he’s gorgeous, and Wei Wuxian recognizes, to his horror, in that instant...

...he’s never, ever, ever been over Lan Wangji, and he never will be...

...and he’ll never, ever, ever get to be with Lan Wangji. Like, ever.

Lan Wangji is staring at him.

Fuck Wei Wuxian’s life.

“I’ll just...go...” Wei Wuxian mumbles.

The statement hangs heavy in the night air as Wei Wuxian rises, straightens his tux, heads toward the pathway that Lan Wangji just entered from...and then stops.

Because Lan Wangji has grabbed his forearm.

“Oh come on, man - what the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, yanking his arm away. “Look, I get it, I’m your least favorite person - well, the wedding’s done, you’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want. Is that what you want? Would that finally make you happy?”

He’s breathing hard by the time he stops talking, and Lan Wangji is still staring at him, and Wei Wuxian wants to flee - not to the tent, but to...literally anywhere...anywhere that Lan Wangji isn’t...except he can’t make his legs work, and he can’t seem to move, and Lan Wangji won’t. stop. staring. and then Lan Wangji opens his mouth, and it seems to be in slow motion, and is he actually going to speak, holy shit, Lan Wangji hasn’t said a word to Wei Wuxian since he said, “good bye” ten years ago, and then of all the fucking things to come out of Lan Wangji’s mouth, all he says is,

“No.”

“Wha...why...ho...WHAT?”

“You asked, ‘is that what I want? Would that make me happy?’ The answer is no, Wei Ying. That is not what I want. That would not make me happy.”

“Oh. Well. Fucking good for you.” Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying. He doesn’t know what the fuck Lan Wangji is saying. All he knows is that being there hurts, and he’s so damn tired of hurting, and Lan Wangji already destroyed him once...

...and I’d give anything for five minutes with him, even if I know he’ll likely destroy me again...

“What do you want?” asks Lan Wangji, like he actually cares about the answer, and Wei Wuxian can only goggle at him, because he was so so incredibly clear about what he wanted ten years ago - he even fucking asked Lan Wangji to marry him, said, “I’ll do anything, conquer any challenge - we can make this life together, Lan Zhan,” and Lan Wangji had just said, “Good bye,” and now, now, Lan Wangji wants to know what Wei Wuxian wants? What gives him the right? What gives him the entitlement? What gives him the audacity?

What makes him think anything Wei Wuxian wants has changed?

But Wei Wuxian can’t say that, can he...?

The silence stretches out between them.

Neither moves.

Neither speaks.

Fireflies flit around them.

Lan Wangji dreads Wei Wuxian answering, dreads him walking away, dreads losing this last precious moment they share, even though the tension of this moment is so awful that Lan Wangji fears it will break him.

“What would you say if...if I said that all I want...is all I’ve ever wanted?” whispers Wei Wuxian, like he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea why he’s terrified.

Lan Wangji has no idea what he means.

He asks with a raised brow, and Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly. “Naw, I can’t do the ‘silent Lan act’ right now. Use your words, I’m fucking right out of here, okay?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try.” It’s ludicrously hard, but...for Wei Wuxain, Lan Wangji will always try, always regret that he didn’t try harder when he should have. “I...don’t understand. You say...what you always wanted. A degree. A found family. Your siblings at your side. A pet rabbit. An apartment with a bidet. A signed copy of ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.’ There were many things you said you wanted. I’m afraid I’m unclear which you mean.”

“You...you remember all that dumb shit I said back then?” Wei Wuxian sounds astonished. How can Wei Wuxian sound astonished? How can Wei Wuxian believe Lan Wangji would have forgotten a minute of those wonderful days - the best of his life?

“Mn.”

“Well, none of that shit’s what I mean. Got most of it anyway. Bidets are awesome. But Lan Wangj...Lan Zhan...”

His name, said in that sweet voice, causes a tingle to go down Lan Wangji’s spine.

“...all I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw drops.

“And you told me to fuck right out of your life when I asked for that, so...fuck, what am I even still doing here?”

“Kissing me.”

“Wha--”

Lan Wangji interrupts Wei Wuxian’s confused exclamation with action - grapping Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. It’s rude, and inappropriate, and consent - what consent? - and Wei Wuxian doesn’t reciprocate but...oh well. Lan Wangji has already ruined his love life. At least he can have one kiss to remember fondly, to cherish, to--

--and then Wei Wuxian has an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder, their bodies pressed together, their lips moving as one, and oh, it’s good - glorious - Lan Wangji could weep he’s so happy. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, shifting in the moonlight, lost in their embrace. Lan Wangji is breathless and growing dizzy, but he’s terrified to put space between them - what if this is goodbye? What if it’s just Wei Wuxian flirting, like he flirts with everyone? What if...what if...what if...

But finally, they do part, and scantly, bodies still close, embrace still maintained, faces inches apart.

“What’s going on, Lan Zhan?” asks Wei Wuxian weakly.

“I kissed you.”

“Yeah...got that part...but why...?”

“I know I’ve no right to ask this...but would you try again? With me? With us? Would you--?”

Wei Wuxian is kissing him again before Lan Wangji can finish the question.

Wei Wuxian can’t believe that’s a real question Lan Wangji has to ask - as if Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have taken Lan Wangji back anytime, at the drop of a hat, over the past decade.

(Okay, that’s unfair...Wei Wuxian’s actually been a huge dick about it...he knows Lan Wangji had no independent living, and relied on his family, and Wei Wuxian was just some aimless jackass, and, and, and...but it still stung that Lan Wangji wouldn’t throw all cares to the wind to be with Wei Wuxian, as Wei Wuxian would have done - had done - to be with Lan Wangji.)

But it feels dumb to dwell on that when Lan Wangji is in his arms, kissing him so eagerly, asking if he’ll try again.

Because of fucking course Wei Wuxian will try again.

“I don’t know what that means, Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji with obvious frustration.

Kiss.

“It means yes,” Wei Wuxian replies.

Kiss.

“Yes?”

Kiss.

“Yes.”

Kiss.

“Always?”

Kiss.

“If you’ll have me back...”

Kiss.

“As if I’d ever turn you down!”

Kiss.

“Already did once...”

Kiss.

“And regretted it endlessly.”

Kiss.

“Good. You deserved at least that much suffering.”

Kiss.

“Deserved it, and more.”

Kiss.

“I suppose I’ll forgive you, if...”

Kiss.

“Anything. Just tell me.”

Kiss.

Oh, Wei Wuxian has so many ideas, and he delights in teasing Lan Wangji with each and every one, whispered between husky breaths in to the cooling air, interrupting himself constantly to kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

They’re still making out by the koi pond when Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang come looking for the promised designated driver.

They don’t even consult - or consider interrupting - when they do find the two idiots locked in an embrace. As one, the ladies turn, exchange a silent, smug high-five, and pull out their phones to order Ubers.

They can pay for rides for the Bride and Groom and family members and other drunken party goers.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian have a lot of catching up to do.

(and done)

(oops, this got long)

(and yes, this is absolutely a mash up of a modern AU with the lyrics to “Go Back to You” with a healthy dose of the plot of Jane Austen’s “Persuasion.”)

#unforth writes #the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #modern au #background ships #idek here have a pile of words

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

A Twist of Fate

doing this thing | day 13 - poison

After so many years together, Geralt and Jaskier have developed a system of sorts for large gatherings. Jaskier loves being surrounded by people, loves the food and drink and song and will gladly spend hours upon hours dancing with whichever lord or lady catches his eye. Geralt is very much the opposite. The only reason he attends is either to keep an eye on Jaskier or to support him if he's performing. Otherwise, he'd rather be in the forest sharpening his swords or something.

As such, they've developed a signal for when Geralt has reached his limit of entertainment; he'll catch Jaskier's eye over the crowd - not difficult to do when Jaskier always has one eye on him anyway - and nod toward the door with his head. It's a statement as much as it is a question. I'm heading upstairs but also are you coming? Most nights Jaskier will remain for a while, enjoying the energy of whatever party they're attending, but on rare occasions, he'll turn in early.

Tonight it's the latter. He's finished his set and the main event is over - the engagement announcement of an old friend - and Geralt is looking quite spectacular tonight if he does say so himself. It’s an important event for Jaskier, so Geralt had let him pick out his outfit and had only complained once. Which, to be fair, was about the tightness of the sleeves around his arms. Next time, they'll just go to Elihal and have something made for him. But either way, he looks stunning tonight in black and gold and Jaskier is overflowing with pride that he's the one who gets to leave with him. Even if it doesn't lead to anything more than getting to sleep by his side.

So when Geralt rises from his seat, Jaskier is already prepared to leave. Being alone in their room is certain to prove frustrating because even surrounded by old friends, Jaskier can't keep his eyes off of him. Geralt nods and Jaskier smiles and mimics the gesture, earning him a soft smile from Geralt that makes his stomach flip. He bids a quick goodnight to the group he's talking to and quickly slips through the crowd to say a final congratulations to his friend before sneaking away.

There's a table of drinks to one side of the room and he grabs one on his way out; he'll certainly need the encouragement. He quickly downs the drink, setting the cup back down on the table before making his way through the halls.

He's barely left the hall when his head starts to feel strange, but he puts it down to the liquor being stronger than expected and continues on. But by the time he reaches their room, he's sweating. Heat prickles at his skin and there's an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that he can't quite place. In a terrifying moment of realization, he wonders if he's been poisoned because something is certainly not right here. He's had his share of drunken nights and no matter how much he's had to drink, he's never felt like this. Even as he turns the handle and pushes into the room, his body continues rapidly heating up and he knows from experience that that is never good.

But when the door swings open, the rest of his body becomes a background thought as his cock twitches in his trousers. He must be gawking because Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him skeptically but Jaskier hardly registers it. Geralt is standing in the room, clearly in the process of getting undressed. His fingers linger on the buttons of his doublet which is open, baring his barely covered chest to the world. Despite his brain ceasing to function, Jaskier thinks this might be why Geralt so often calls him promiscuous. He does look quite lewd like this and oh the things that does to him.

Arousal burns through him and Jaskier swallows hard in an attempt to tamp it down, to no avail. If anything the swell of need increases, which is... not normal. Jaskier has spent half his life forcing down his attraction to the Witcher, so much so that he'd call himself an expert at denying himself. But tonight, his body has different ideas.

Geralt's eyes flick downward then back up, skeptical.

"You didn't have to come up with me," he says, "if you wanted to find a partner for the night, I wouldn't have minded."

Jaskier frowns in confusion. He learned the hard way long ago that Geralt can smell many things, his arousal being one of them, but this is not an uncommon occurrence. He shifts his stance and- oh, when did that happen? His cock is hard, pressing uncomfortably against the front of his trousers now that he's aware of it. That is... not the worst thing that's happened to him in Geralt's company, but the fact that he didn't notice worries him a little.

"Oh, er, I- I didn't."

"Jaskier," Geralt says slowly, taking a step toward him. "Are you alright?"

"Well actually, now that you-" Geralt steps into his space and Jaskier's skin prickles all over. "No, I don't think so."

"Your pupils are dilated," he mutters and Jaskier just shifts uncomfortably. This close, he can feel the heat radiating from Geralt's body and his body burns with the need to touch, to get his hands under that shirt and just touch him. "How do you feel?"

"Hot."

Geralt presses a hand to his forehead and Jaskier groans as a wave of pleasure washes over him. That is definitely not normal. His body is incredibly sensitive in a lot of places, but his forehead is not one of them.

"Oh," he breathes and he presses forward into the touch. "That feels incredible." Geralt's frown deepens but Jaskier finds it hard to be concerned when Geralt's fingers slip down to tip his chin up. He shuts his eyes and hums.

"Did you take a drink from anyone?" Geralt asks and the words almost go unnoticed as Jaskier is overcome with another surge of arousal. "Jaskier," Geralt growls, pushing firmly with both hands on his shoulders, "focus." Jaskier looks up at him and his mouth goes dry.

Geralt's face is pinched in concern but it's hard to worry about that because with his hair tied back like that and that doublet he looks so fucking sexy. He always does, but seeing him like this makes Jaskier's stomach drop in the most delightful way.

"Hmm?" he asks and Geralt sighs.

"Drinks, Jaskier. Did you take a drink from anyone you don't know."

"No, I'm not stupid, Geralt." He leans in, pressing his hands to Geralt's chest without thinking and oh- Gods, he could touch him all day and never tire of it, but- "I did grab a drink from the table," he hums and Geralt takes his hands, gently removing them from his chest, much to Jaskier's displeasure.

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't drink so much but sometimes it's hard." He curls his fingers around Geralt's, stroking his hands. "I just want to touch you all the time and it's so hard not to."

"Jaskier I think you drank a love potion."

He freezes at that. "So I haven't been poisoned?" he asks cautiously.

"Unlikely," Geralt confirms, quickly detangling their fingers and pulling away, "but this could be much worse."

"How?" He's already reaching for Geralt again, desperate for the smallest touch, but Geralt steps away, crosses to lean against the wall at the other side of the room.

"Love potions vary depending on their intended purpose," he says and Jaskier climbs up on the bed where he can be closer. He flops down on his stomach and his cock slips against the inside of his trousers, pulling a soft moan from him as he tries to get comfortable. Geralt clears his throat and continues.

"Some twist other emotions to make someone fall in love - usually with a designated person. Some just enhance already existing feelings. Those ones can go very wrong very quickly if you ingest too much or if the formula isn't correct. Some of them create a false sense of love for as long as the potion remains in your system."

"For how long?"

"It depends on your metabolism. For me? Much shorter than for you. Some of them aren't love potions at all but are still classified as such. Probably because it's more acceptable to make love potions than sexual enhancers."

"And those ones?" Jaskier asks weakly, resisting the urge to rock his hips against the mattress.

"Make you desperate," Geralt says blandly, which seems cruel when Jaskier's whole body feels like it's about to combust.

"Which do you think this is?" he asks, but he suspects he knows the answer already considering it's taking every ounce of his control not to reach out and pull Geralt onto the bed with him.

"Tell me how you feel."

"Like I'm burning up from the inside out. Like I'm losing control."

"Hot?"

"Very."

"And still aroused," Geralt comments. Jaskier just presses his face into the covers and groans. "Is it constant?"

"No," Jaskier mumbles, "it uh, feels better when you touch me."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?" Jaskier looks to see Geralt uncrossing his arms and coming toward him. His pulse spikes and it feels like his heart is in his throat.

"Like this?" Geralt asks, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Another place Jaskier isn't particularly sensitive, but the simple touch makes him ache and he groans as his hips press forward instinctively. "Does it feel like it's getting any worse?" Jaskier pulls himself up, crossing his legs under him as Geralt pulls away.

"Not really."

"It will."

"What?" Jaskier squawks. It's the first time he's felt anything but overwhelming need since he came up to the room, but the fear of more isn't better.

"Don't worry," Geralt says gently, "I'll be here."

"That's... actually not comforting, Geralt. What does that mean?"

"You're going to get far more desperate before it gets better, you'll need touch and I'm not going to just sit here and watch you suffer." Jaskier's breath catches and he can't believe Geralt is saying this to him.

"Do you mean you'll-"

"Just be glad it wasn't intended for you or I wouldn't be able to help. I'd have to take you to Yen or you'd have to fuck the idiot who did this to you to ease the discomfort."

"I'm not sure it was done to me, per se. I am glad it's not poison though."

"You won't be saying that in a few minutes."

Geralt is right, unfortunately, and after barely five minutes, Jaskier can barely stand the way his skin prickles with the need to be touched. He's hot all over, sweating through his clothes, but taking off his doublet does nothing but apparently make him more sensitive to the fabric of his shirt against his skin. He whimpers as it brushes against a nipple and arches off the bed.

He's propped up on the pillows and it's taking all of his self-control not to roll over and rut against the bed. Even the thought of it makes his cock throb in its confinement and he very nearly shoves a hand down his trousers to ease the need. A sound catches his attention at the last moment and he looks up to find Geralt, divested of his doublet and tugging his shirt out of his trousers.

Jaskier's eyes catch the thin strip of skin above his waistband and he moans out loud as the shirt lifts, giving way to a vast expanse of skin practically begging Jaskier to touch it. Geralt tugs his boots off and climbs up onto the end of the bed, crawling up and pushes Jaskier's ankles apart to kneel between them.

"Geralt," Jaskier chokes, shaking his head.

He can't get the words out, but Geralt can't do this, he doesn't understand what it means to him. Suddenly the ache doesn't feel so bad and he's sure if he went off somewhere for a little while, he could work through it on his own. How long could it take for the potion to work through his system, anyway?

"Shh," Geralt whispers, leaning forward on his hands.

He's too close now and Jaskier has to shut his eyes because feeling him so close is already hard enough. His fingers twitch against the bed and he wants to touch, even to slip his fingers around Geralt's, but he knows he can't.

"You can't-"

"Jaskier," Geralt breathes, much closer than he was a moment ago, "I wouldn't do this for just anyone." Whatever protest he had prepared dies on his tongue and Jaskier chokes out a moan instead as Geralt's palm slides up his hip. "I can find someone else if it's easier for you-"

"No," Jaskier says a little too quickly. "No, please, I want you. Only you."

"You don't mean that," Geralt breathes, nosing at his neck. The second his lips touch skin, Jaskier moans softly.

Tentatively, he wraps his arms around Geralt's shoulders, careful not to be too quick, too needy. He fails miserably, but Geralt doesn't seem to mind as Jaskier's fingers dig into his skin or the way he whines with every little shift of Geralt's mouth against him. Geralt's lips press against his neck, slowly moving up as Jaskier tips his head back and with a sigh.

It does nothing to ease the burning in his skin, but it feeds another need, one much older and grounded than the lust that sears through his veins now. It's a welcome diversion but the insistence returns quickly and Jaskier finds himself squirming to get free.

He wants to get Geralt out of the rest of his clothes, to press against him with nothing between them, indulge in every secret fantasy he's had over the last two decades - but he doesn't get a chance. Before he can move, Geralt's mouth finds his own and any thoughts are chased away by the softness of his lips.

Jaskier's hands slip into his hair and he tugs Geralt closer, biting at his bottom lip and moaning against him. Surprisingly, Geralt doesn't withdraw, he presses closer, fitting himself between Jaskier's legs. He pushes under his thighs, folding Jaskier's up and rocking against him.

"Geralt," he moans, "oh fuck."

Jaskier wraps his legs around him and rolls his hips, rutting shamelessly against Geralt's hip. Geralt is hard against him, and Jaskier has never felt anything so incredible in his whole life. In some way, Geralt wants this too, even if it's just for the sex. He reaches down, squeezing Geralt's ass and pressing him down against him. Geralt is surprisingly welcoming, but it only lasts a moment before he's pulling away, rising up to his knees again.

Jaskier keeps his legs around him, but he reaches up, running his palms up Geralt's chest as he rocks under him. Geralt pushes his shirt up and Jaskier shudders at the first touch of his fingers against his bare skin. He arches off the bed at the faintest nudge letting Geralt push his shirt up over his head

Geralt's hands are rough but gentle, sliding back to his hips and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, dreading the moment he eventually wakes. Because this can't be real, can it? Even if he is helping him, Geralt couldn't possibly want this from him? With him? Surely after all this time- His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by Geralt's mouth on his own and dexterous fingers working open his trousers.

Geralt draws away, just as one of his hands snakes into Jaskier's trousers, wrapping around him and stroking gently.

"Stop thinking so much," he breathes, "don't worry, I want this." He rocks his hips forward as if to prove his point and Jaskier groans.

Geralt spares a moment, leaning over to brush a hand down the side of Jaskier's face. It's soft and intimate in comparison to the raging heat and want inside him and Jaskier melts under it, sinking back into the bed as his hips press up. A hand slides under them, holding him off the bed and Geralt holds him like that, bending down to kiss his chest. His mouth is somehow still warm against Jaskier's skin and it feels good despite him already being overheated. He craves the heat and Geralt drops him back against the bed, bending lower to kiss his way down to Jaskier's waistband.

He takes his time licking at sucking every inch of exposed skin, tugging Jaskier's trousers out of the way when he runs out of room. When Geralt's tongue meets the vee of his hip, Jaskier squirms, grasping blindly for Geralt's head. He winds his fingers through his hair, whimpering at the intensity of it. This is a sensitive spot for him, but he can't help wondering if it's just the potion that brings about this heightened sensation or if it's Geralt. Either way, his cock aches with every new touch, hips twitching up, seeking more.

Geralt mumbles against his skin and Jaskier has no idea what he's saying, but suddenly it no longer matters because Geralt's fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers, tugging them down without hesitation. Jaskier shuffles as Geralt sits back up, moving to help the removal of his clothes.

His eyes are shut, but he hears the sharp inhale and then a pause as Geralt gets him naked, tossing his clothes to one side. Normally, Jaskier might be inclined to go and gather them up and fold them nicely, but when he opens his eyes, Geralt is watching him with intense concentration. His eyes are dark, pupils wide with barely a rim of gold around them and Jaskier doesn't think he has ever looked so sexy. He moves reflexively, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck and hauling him down and kissing him hard. He gets a soft laugh in return and when Geralt draws away again he presses his face into Jaskier's neck.

"You can't be feeling too badly," he hums, but Jaskier groans at him.

"You make it better," he breathes, "it doesn't feel so... overwhelming."

"It's not me," Geralt mumbles, "that's just how it works. If you give in to it, the desperation eases."

"That's not what I said. I said you make it better, not that I wanted this less." Geralt's laugh tickles his neck and Jaskier twists his fingers into his hair again, pressing his hips against him.

Geralt's trousers are rough against his cock, but it feels good and Geralt is surprisingly responsive, meeting every thrust with his own. It's hardly fair that Jaskier is undressed and Geralt is not. He loosens one hand from Geralt's hair, sliding his palm down Geralt's chest.

He wants to keep touching him, to just run his hands over Geralt's entire body, but he doesn't have the patience right now. A small part of him is regretful that he may never get the chance, but his body protests the delay. Finally, he gets his hand on Geralt's hip, shoving his trousers down just far enough to free his cock and get a hand around him.

Geralt groans at the touch, shuffling forward to press his cock against his hand and he nips at Jaskier's neck. He works over the same spot and Jaskier shudders. He aches. He wants. He struggles to wrap his hand all the way around him and the thought of having that cock inside him makes him lightheaded.

"Geralt," he pants, "please, I want you. Please."

Geralt barely moves, slipping a little further down his neck. He continues nipping at the skin, sucking at it, leaving soft kisses over each mark before moving further down. His tongue leaves wet spots in its wake, cooling against Jaskier's skin in the evening air, a harsh juxtaposition to the heat still simmering under his skin.

By the time Geralt reaches his hips again, Jaskier's mind is foggy with need and his cock leaks steadily against his hip. Just as he's about to sit up, wet heat engulfs the head of his cock and Geralt's tongue slips over the head tasting him and he sucks hard as he pulls off again. Geralt looks up at him and Jaskier barely lifts his head off the pillow to see him, dropping it back with a groan.

"You're a damned tease, Geralt of Rivia. I fear I shall grow old and die before you fuck me."

Geralt dips to kiss his hip once more, laughing softly against his skin before rising up and climbing off the bed. He strips out of his trousers and Jaskier leans up on one elbow to watch. Geralt is magnificent and Jaskier only wishes something other than mistakenly drinking a love potion would have gotten him into his bed. The thought doesn't linger though as heat creeps back up into him, prickling at his skin now that Geralt is no longer touching him.

He wraps a hand around himself to try and ease the ache, stroking himself slowly and squeezing around the head of his cock. It feels good but does nothing to quell the urgency.

But Geralt returns, kneeling on the bed and sitting back on his heels. His cock just proudly from his body and Jaskier can't help but stare at the way it curves back up enticingly. He wants to get his mouth around him, but more than that he wants to climb into Geralt's lap and sit on him, wants to fuck himself on that incredible cock.

There's the sound of a cork popping and Jaskier looks up to find Geralt spilling something over his fingers. He doesn't have to ask what it is because a second later his legs are being nudged apart and Geralt shifts, reaching back behind his balls and slipping against his hole. Jaskier's eyes drop shut involuntarily and he groans, spreading his legs further to give Geralt better access. A wave of pleasure rolls through him and he tightens his grip on his cock, stroking a little slower.

When Geralt first presses into him, he thinks he might implode. But Geralt keeps going, pushing deeper inside him, first with one finger, then two, and he stretches him, thrusts into him until Jaskier can barely breathe - though miraculously his body remains intact. He doesn't realize he's even speaking until Geralt crawls up over him and covers his mouth with his own to quiet him. Jaskier lets himself sink into it, moaning into his mouth and pushing his fingers through his hair.

Geralt's fingers slip from his body and Jaskier groans at the loss, but he's not wanting for long. As Geralt shifts above him, he aligns himself, nudging against Jaskier's hole with the head of his cock. Jaskier holds his breath as Geralt pushes forward, but he wraps a soothing hand around the side of Jaskier's neck, soothing him.

"Breathe," he whispers, "relax, Jask." He rubs his thumb just under his jaw and Jaskier exhales slowly, blinking up at him. "Better?" Geralt asks and Jaskier hums, rolling his hips into him. He slides deeper and Jaskier moans softly, pressing his nose into Geralt's cheek.

"Please," he whispers, "I need you. Please, darling." Geralt tips his head back with just his thumb, nuzzling against his neck and pressing his lips to his skin.

He says nothing, but he moans softly as he pushes deeper and Jaskier whimpers at the stretch but he pushes back against him. As Geralt settles deep inside him, Jaskier shifts his hips, adjusting before rocking onto him again with force. Geralt is by far the biggest cock he's ever taken, but Jaskier revels in the stretch, in the intense feeling of fullness.

Geralt fucks him slowly at first, picking up speed as Jaskier wraps around him. He's quick and hard and Jaskier is overwhelmed at just how good he is, always knowing exactly where to touch him, where to kiss him. And when he shifts his hips just so, Jaskier sees stars,

He whimpers, arching off the bed and rolling his head back and the pleasure rushes through him, threatening to overwhelm him. He finds himself wondering again if it's just the potion or if Geralt is just a fantastic fuck. He finds it doesn't really matter as Geralt's hips snap again and he finds himself sinking back into the bed, eyes dropping shut in pleasure.

It's not long before he's shaking, his legs twitching around Geralt's hips. He's close, so close he can practically feel it already and he can hear Geralt's arousal in every huff of breath against his ear, ever little grunt and groan as he brings him closer and closer to the edge.

"Jaskier," he huffs, burying his face in Jaskier's neck, "fuck."

"Yeah," Jaskier agrees. He pushes Geralt's head back up, biting his lip and moaning against him.

When he comes, it's with his nose pressed against Geralt's, panting so hard he can barely think straight. Geralt buries himself deep, keeping his thrusts hard and shallow and Jaskier cups the back of his head, whispering to him.

"Come on darling. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck, you feel good."

"That's right," Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair, taking advantage of the few moments he has left with Geralt like this. He slips his hands down his back, rolling Geralt's hips forward even as he thrust stutter and falter.

He kisses Jaskier as he comes, shoving an arm under him and pulling him close. They fit together well, Jaskier thinks, but as Geralt comes down from the high, he rolls to the side, hauling Jaskier up against him.

"Feel better?" he asks, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair.

"Very much. Thank you."

"Any time," Geralt hums shutting his eyes with a soft smile. Jaskier lets himself be pulled into a warm embrace, rolling so he's facing Geralt. “You’re sure you feel okay?”

"Really?" he asks and he thinks he's pushing his luck but Geralt just presses a kiss into his hair.

"Hopefully next time you won't have to be poisoned first."

Jaskier pulls back to look at him, pressing a hand to his chest. "Darling, if I knew it was this easy to get you into bed I wouldn't have been downstairs long enough to drink the damn thing."

Geralt leans forward, catching his lips in a slow, passionate kiss. "I'll remember that next time."

#this is... not poison at all #so sorry #geraskier #rex writes #october prompts 2k20

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queerspacepunk · 3 years

Note

Welcome to DADWC!! How about “A lifetime of laughter, at the expense of the death of a bachelor” (Panic! at the Disco, Death of a Bachelor) for Bull/Dorian?

thank u for the patience friend! I hadn't heard this song before but now I have. (Second @dadrunkwriting fill in one day? :0)

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” “I really am. Are you disappointed?” Felix sighs, “I think you’re an idiot, and that this is a terrible idea but I’m also... strangely proud of you.”

To Blackwall, Cassandra, Cole, and 10 others: I was wondering if you would be free to join me tomorrow evening for... a memorial of sorts, for someone quite close to me.

To Blackwall, Cassandra, Cole, and 9 others: Room booked at the Herald’s Rest, tomorrow, 7PM.

To Sera: Room booked at the Herald’s Rest, tomorrow, 6:30PM.

From Josephine: Oh Dorian, I’m so sorry to hear this, of course we will be there! Might I ask, is this a recent loss?

To Josephine: Your presence is much appreciated. It’s something of a complicated story, I’m sure you won’t mind if I wait to tell you all at once, tomorrow evening.

From Josephine: No, of course not, forgive me for prying. Much love.

“You’re sure you don’t want to call this off?” Felix says through the phone.

“A little late for that now,” Dorian points out, “they’ll all be here shortly. What else can I do? Call them all and say, ‘sorry lied about the whole memorial thing, never mind’?”

“Isn’t the whole point of this that you’re lying to them?”

“Not lying,” Dorian says, “Misleading. It’s different. And I do think they’ll be a little too preoccupied to be mad, afterwards.”

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?”

“I really am. Are you disappointed?”

Felix sighs, “I think you’re an idiot, and that this is a terrible idea but I’m also... strangely proud of you.”

“Now, now,” Dorian admonishes gently, “there’s going to be enough sappiness later on, keep it together for me.”

Felix laughs, and Dorian can just about see him shaking his head.

“You sure you don’t want me to video call you in?”

“I’ll give the game away, just send me the recordings after, and Dorian?”

“Yes Felix?”

“Good luck.”

His friends arrive, almost entirely on time for once, in ones and twos and threes. Dorian greets them at the door to the private room, face solemn, and directs them to the seats he’s set out. There’s no faux coffin in the room -- he hadn’t wanted to get quite that morbid, but there is an indulgent spray of funeral flowers set at the front of the room.

Sera tries to ask questions, and is summarily shushed by Josephine. Cole tries to give answers and is dragged aside, informed, and shushed by Dorian. He doesn’t quite get it, but he must have a good feeling about the results because he keeps his mouth shut. Leliana seems to know something’s up, but is entertained enough to not say anything, and Bull gives Dorian a hell of a look, laced with enough concern that Dorian actually feels a little... guilty.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dorian says, once everyone is seated, and pulls out the stack of memorial pamphlets he’s had printed, “I appreciate your presence with me tonight, and your patience with what is a... complicated situation.”

He begins stepping around the circle, handing the pamphlets out.

“Er, Dorian,” Blackwall says, “I think there’s been a mix-up. They’ve put your picture on these.”

“Oh,” Dorian says, turning to the flowers to give him a moment to suppress the grin creeping onto his face, “no, that’s quite correct.”

“You better not be a bloody ghost!” Sera yelps, flinging her pamphlet at him as if to test her hypothesis. It manages, despite being a flat piece of paper that has no business being able to be thrown with any accuracy, to smack Dorian right in the face, which is unpleasant, but does at least seem to reassure her that he isn’t, in fact, a ghost.

None of the others seem particularly concerned that he’s undead, but there is a lot of muttering, and worried looks being pointed his way.

“You need an intervention or something, Pavus?” Krem asks with a frown, “cause I know that cries for help are actually a good thing and shit, and you Magisters-”

“Altus, Soporatus, you know better.”

“-fine, you Altus love your drama, but even this is a bit much.”

“I assure you,” Dorian says to the group at large, “this is not a cry for help.”

“You did just hand us all a funeral pamphlet with your face on it, Sparkler,” Varric points out.

“It’s not a funeral pamphlet, it’s a memorial pamphlet, and-”

“The dates are wrong,” Leliana interrupts, “The death date is a question mark so I cannot comment on that, however this is not your birthdate. You must have been... eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” Dorian confirms, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, “this has all gone rather off-track, hasn’t it. If you would all just hold your questions, and nonsense,” he throws a quick glare at both Sera and Krem, “and allow me to explain things, I think you’ll find it will benefit all of us.”

Bull, Dorian notes, is watching him very, very carefully. They haven’t seen each other since yesterday which isn’t entirely unusual, given Dorian insistence that they maintain their own homes up unto this point, even if he spends most nights in Bull’s bed or with Bull in his own, but he can tell that the fact he’s said nothing about any of this to Bull is concerning him.

Nothing to be done about it now. Nothing but going forward with the plan as intended.

“We are here, this evening,” Dorian says, “to consider, and honour the life of someone I believe we all care about. Someone who has, for many years been the life of our parties, a bringer of spectacular stories and an improver of our collective fashion sense.”

“What happened to ‘im?” Sera interjects. Dorian rolls his eyes but doesn’t grizzle.

“Nothing, as of yet,” Dorian reassures them, “but the bachelor of which we speak has, while not by anyone’s definition a selfless man, has decided that there are certain things worth sacrificing one’s life for.”

They look at him (with the exception of Cole of course, and Vivienne who’s grinning like she knows the answer is is utterly uninterested in giving hints to anyone else) like he’s spouting absolute gibberish. He’d hoped his friends would be a little more advanced in their thinking, but alas. If he has to help them along, so be it.

“How,” he says, “does one kill a bachelor?”

“Shoot ‘im!” Sera suggests.

“Blunt force trauma?” Krem asks, “to the head?”

Leliana hums quietly, “poison?”

“Blessed Maker,” Dorian says aghast, “what is wrong with you?”

“Hate to break it to you,” Herah points out, “but you did invite us all along to what is looking a lot like a fake memorial service for yourself. Your high horse is more of a rocking pony.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, “how long did it take you to think of that?”

Herah pouts, “a couple of minutes.”

“Well done, regardless,” Dorian admits, “now you’ve all had enough time to think. Varric, surely you’ll know. How does one kill a bachelor?

“Explosion?”

“Oh for-” Dorian throws his hands in the air and turns away from them all, trying to come up with a plan B for how he’s going to make this happen. He can tell them the answer, of course, but it won’t be at all the same and someone figuring it out themselves-

“Oh,” Cassandra says, “of course.”

Dorian spins back to look at her, as does everyone else in the room, and she flushes.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she insists, “to kill a bachelor, you marry him.”

They all stare at Cassandra a moment before turning, slowly, to Dorian, who has taken advantage of their distraction to sink to his knee, and pull the ring box from his pocket.

“The Iron Bull,” he says, and he’s not choking up dammit, of course he isn’t, he’s practiced this too many time for that to happen, “I have been a bachelor for over a decade now, and I have thought for some time that it was something I would never give up. That I could not ask for more than what I had.”

“Dorian-” Bull says and there must be something wrong with the acoustics in here, because now he sounds like his voice is cracking and there’s not way that can be the truth.

“Hush,” Dorian says, gently, “let me finish.”

Bull does, closes his mouth and leans back in his chair but not before taking Dorian’s hand in his own, and holding it.

“Right,” Dorian says, “as I was saying. Bull you have come along and swept everything out from under me. Shown me that there is in fact, a whole other life to be had. A life full of laughter, a life full of love, and safety, and honesty.”

And bugger it all he is crying now, and he can only thank the Maker for the fact that he’s a pretty crier.

“I have realised,” Dorian says, “that this is a life I want, even if it comes at the expense of the death of a bachelor.”

He opens the box. It wasn’t easy convincing someone to make an untinted dawnstone ring, or managing to get the measurements without Bull noticing, but he’s done it.

“The Iron Bull, will you marry me?”

#dadwc #i came up with this idea like an hour and a half ago and now it's WRITTE #N #how's that for turnaround huh #dragon age #dragonage #the iron bull #dorian pavus #adoribull #fix it in post #bing bong

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siimjaeyun · 3 years

Text

Chapter 10: Call of the Cicada

Synopsis: A stranger has been threatening Destructo, a company based in Seoul. As more and more businessmen get attacked on account of swarms of Cicadas, will it lead you to a new mystery and perhaps on a path towards a new relationship with Heeseung?

Series Masterlist

------

The man quietly drove home, slowly taking in his surroundings as he approached his destination. Abruptly, a phone call broke through his peace and he quickly picked up.

"I warned you to quit." The raspy voice threatened on the other side of the phone.

"I told you to stop calling me!" He hung up the phone and threw it to his backseat, ignoring yet another blackmail call.

He maintained his attention on the road before him. The first cicada fell onto the front window, and he pushed it aside using the windshield wipers.

“Those cicada things disgust me.” He whispered to himself, and continued his drive home. But his tranquility soon disappeared as more and more cicadas landed on his windows, forming a creature that would engulf both him and the car completely.

-------

Professor Yin stood at the center of the class, slowly caressing the cicada bug on his index finger; he later placed it back on the mini-tree while planting a kiss on the head.

“Did he just kiss the bug?” Heeseung, who was seated behind you, asked in a quiet voice, before you hummed back, slowly admiring the professor’s good looks.

“The cicada bug is one of earth’s most spectacular creatures, and are well-known for the songs sung by most if not all male cicadas. In their lifetime, cicadas usually will go underground and re-emerge every seventeen years to escape the pollution and disastrous human activity. Isn’t that right Sunoo and Niki?” The professor turned his attention on the two boys in the back of the class bickering over the last bag of snacks in their hands.

“Sunoo. Niki. Are you aware that Nature O’s are manufactured by Destructo, the biggest polluter in both Seoul and the country!” Both boys glanced at one another and looked back at the professor.

“Uh, no, but at least they’re delicious!” Professor Yin rolled his eyes and turned once the bell rang signaling their dismissal.

“Yikes, I swear Professor Yin gets weirder every class.” Sunghoon swung his back over his shoulder and led the way out of the front door.

“Really? I haven’t noticed much.” Jungwon stopped you mid-way allowing you to process your response.

“Of course you haven’t. You’re too busy staring at him.” You punched him lightly in the shoulder and noticed Heeseung with an unclear face.

“What’s so great about Professor Yin anyway?”

“He’s smart, pretty poetic, and good looking.” You quickly said the last part before running off with Sunghoon and Jay to the cafeteria.

“Oh yeah? I wonder how good he would look in my traps!” Jake looked at the boy oddly before running off to catch the rest of his 02 friends.

“Heeseung, are you jealous?” Sunoo asked bluntly.

“J-jealous, what makes you say that.”

“I don’t know, you just seem a little tense, a little-” Niki didn’t get to finish his statement before he choked on a slip of paper in his mouth.

“It’s a note from JK, it says there’s a mystery waiting for us at the city hospital.” Heeseung nodded at him, leading the young trio into the cafeteria before heading off to their next adventure.

------

“Please, we all know I’m the visual of the group.” Sunghoon cockily smirked, which earned him a few bickers from the other members as they entered the hospital.

Heeseung stayed back momentarily, patiently waiting as you got off the van and headed to the same entrance. Besides the limited adrenaline in his veins, and the anxiety rushing to his mind and heart, he continued with his mission.

“Hey, y/n.” At the mention of your name, you quickly turned back to see Heeseung standing there.

“I was uh...wondering if you’d like to go on a d-d-d-d-date.” With all his strength, he finally let out the magic words. The question perked your interest and you approached him with a building sense of happiness and excitement.

“A date? You mean it?”

“Yeah, there’s a new trap exhibit in town and I was hoping you’d like to go.” Your peaking excitement calmed itself down, facing the reality of Heeseung’s world.

“You know when you popped the question, I actually thought you meant it.” You crossed your arms and headed inside, feeling slightly guilty with your indirect rejection.

Heeseung caught up with you and kept his thoughts on what you had mentioned to him earlier. In his mind, you loved traps too.

“What happened here Chief?” Jay looked at both Chief Kim and Mayor Lee who were standing at the front door of an operation room.

“Nothing, now go away.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, now go away.” It was clear that Mayor Lee was trying his best to get rid of the pestering group, but ensured to stay strong on the task.

“Are you sure? He’s practically screaming inside the room.” Niki, using his advantage of height, peered over the Chief’s shoulder and saw as one of the nurses used a pair of tweezers to extract a cicada from the nostril from the man.

“You know what happened!? This giant disgusting cicada creature trapped the poor man. Imagine small little creatures crawling over your body, ew…” Chief Kim began to frantically scratch his arms as he confessed to the teen group the truth behind the incident.

“Okay, yes there’s a cicada creature. But! If you have any decency left in your hearts, you will stay out of this. It will be good publicity for the festival on Saturday so don’t meddle with it!” Mayor Lee retreated from the hall at his warning, not exactly prioritizing the well-being of his people.

Later that night, another attack occurred.

Another business man was going through his daily routine, ending the day with a warm night shower. As he moved back his hair, his phone rang, and he picked up while wrapping a towel around his torso.

“I warned you to quit.” The familiar raspy voice rang through the phone, leaving the man to hang up in frustration, preferring to return to his chore.

He entered the comfort of the shower once more, throwing the towel to the side and reaching for the knob to turn back on the water. His efforts were wasted seeing as the knob was turned, but no water exited the shower head. The man peeked closer, attempting to find the solution before a crawling sensation appeared on his left foot. A cicada bug was crawling on it, and as he flicked it away, a swarm escaped from the drain. He too had been consumed.

------

“Try Nature O’s, a proud product of Destructo Company.” Grandma Mimi smiled proudly through the screen holding up the iconic blue and orange printed bag which only permitted for the youngest members to let out a small groan.

“How long are we supposed to wait? Sunghoon and Heeseung left a while ago.” As if the universe had heard him, the said members had signaled to the group to follow them, leading to the room of the latest victim.

“There, there.” A feminine voice was heard from the other side of the door, and Sunoo and Niki looked at each other with wide smiles when they saw Grandma Mimi standing there.

“Oh my, we’re such huge fans!” They shook hands and she responded with a warm smile.

“It’s my pleasure, after all, I must thank Mr.Hughe for making them so popular.”

“You also work at Destructo?” Jake asked.

“I’ll leave you guys to be, take care.” Grandma Mimi left the room with the escort of Sunghoon and Jay who were kind of enough to help her.

“Yes. I had been getting blackmail calls since a few weeks ago to quit my job at Destructo. I didn’t take them seriously and well, now there was a bunch of small...creepy...crawling….disgusting little creatures crawling all over me.” Mr.Hughe entered into a state of hysteria, leaving all of you with no other option than to call the nurse for help. Once he had calmed down, you finally made your ways back home, heading first to the elevator.

“Jungwon, can you press for the lobby?” Jungwon did as told, pressing the small white button. As the elevator moved slowly, and opened, it left them puzzled as their eyesight was met with a dark basement.

“Good going dummy, you pressed the wrong button.”

“I did Jay, look.” Jungwon pressed the button once more and nothing happened. All of them stepped out of the elevator only to have it close them behind and for the lights in the basement to flicker on.

“Listen well, if you don’t stop, you will be next.” All of them ducked down as they heard the warning from the ominous and deep voice. A swarm of cicadas entered the basement, approaching you. You turned your head sideways and Jake with his limited bravery due to his fear of insects, managed to tuck your head into his chest using his jacket.

Once the swarm had disappeared, the elevator doors had opened once more, letting all of you make your way up to the van.

“That was close.” Sunoo opened his school bag to find another cicada bug flying out.

“We have to find who this creature is and fast, otherwise we’ll be next.” Heeseung drove off before coming to an abrupt stop.

“That’s it, why didn’t I think of it before? Who loves cicadas AND hates Destructo, it’s Professor Yin!” He shouted almost too enthusiastically at the thought of him behind bars, but wasn’t willing to admit the slight bias in his accusation.

“You can’t be serious Heeseung.” You crossed your arms and looked at him.

“I’m sorry, but I’m with Heeseung on this one. It makes sense.” Sunghoon demonstrated his support which prompted them to go to the school despite your refusal.

Eight bodies stood outside the door, quietly observing as Professor Yin placed the cicadas onto the small tree, taking out a small flute in the process. You and Niki stayed back and watched as Heeseung burst the door wide open with the other five boys following behind.

“Aha, caught you right in the act girlfriend stealer!” Heeseung shouted louder that he would have wished, seeing as all of the boys looked at him and back at the door where you and Niki were.

“What are you talking about?” Professor Yin stood agape and got himself up from his position.

“You’re the cicada monster!” Jungwon’s accusation didn’t settle in considering the next few minutes developed into a massive debate between all of you, with Chief Kim and Mayor Lee arriving into the mix.

“Enough! What is going on?” Mayor Lee broke into a booming voice and claimed a silence into the room.

“He’s the cicada creature! You have to arrest him.” Heeseung pointed once more at the Professor and although it was audible how Mayor Lee asked him to come to the festival at 6PM if he was the creature, it still irritated the poor man.

“I’m not the creature, and if you don’t leave, I’m pressing charges.” All of you exited the room with nothing much accomplished.

“Look, all of you need to quit it.” Mayor Lee pressed his nose bridge as he looked at all of you.

“We don’t have time, it told us that we were next.”

“That’s fantastic,” a foreign glimpse of happiness appeared on Mayor Lee’s face as he continued with his ramble, “all of you can show up at the festival tomorrow and we’ll make sure to have extra photographers! We don’t want you getting hurt for nothing!”

Mayor Lee left with Chief Kim almost immediately, leaving all of you both clueless and lost.

-------

The day of the festival had commenced and all of you approached the fun booths and cicada-themed attractions.

While looking around, you noticed Heeseung approach one of the games: whack a mole.

“Heeseung!” he kept pounding the plastic creatures and tried his best to give no reaction.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday? About me being your girlfriend?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Knowing too well about Heeseung’s struggle with expressing himself, you wrapped your arm around his and turned his face towards you.

“Because if it is, then I’d love to go to the trap exhibit with you later.” He kept his look firm, but couldn’t help a silly grin on his face as he pulled you into a hug.

Both of you pulled away with wide grins, but it didn’t last long when Mayor Lee approached all of you.

“Remember if you see the creature, run here. Got it?” The eight of you made your ways to the other side of the festival, when Niki grabbed your attention while pointing at Professor Yin who was seen entering the haunted house.

“To the haunted house!” Sunoo trailed forward and went in first. None of you were too amazed with the decorations inside. Yet again, all of you were in constant peril at least once a week.

“This is so dumb, what are we, five.” Jake commented as you reached the end. What you didn’t expect was for a wall to appear inclosing all of you inside. The swarm of cicadas appeared and tried to consume you as you broke through the tent finding as escape.

“Guess it wasn’t Professor Yin.” Sunghoon admitted as he saw Professor Yin who was calmly eating as the giant bug chased after him.

“To the van!” With all your might, your tired legs dragged you to the van where Heeseung opened the back door to let the vacuum suck up all the tiny insects.

When the swarm had finally become consumed by the machine in the van, all of you found Grandma Mimi with a white outfit.

“What is going on here?” Chief Kim asked as he looked at Grandma Mimi who was getting her hands tied together by Jay.

“She’s the cicada creature.”

“But why?”

“I’ll tell you why. When I sold my Nature O’s to Destructo, they changed the recipe to have landfill waste. Can you believe it? When I demanded they return to my original recipe, they refused. So when I saw this documentary about using sound to control penguins, I had my plan. I didn’t have penguins, but I did have cicadas. Using my device, I was able to control them. And I would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for you meddling young people!”

Chief Kim escorted her into the car, leaving a frustrated Mayor Lee behind.

“Why can’t anything in this town be real?” He complained and left as well.

“Well, that’s another mystery solved.” Sunoo let out a cheer first, relieved at the solved crisis.

“I’ll have to catch you guys later because y/n and I have a date.” Heeseung proudly announced before swinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you towards the car. As your two bodies started to get further away, with laughs apparent in your conversation, Sunghoon looked at his other friend Jake who had turned away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, come on.” Jake swallowed the bitter feeling behind him, joining the others in celebration.

------

Next- Chapter 11: Bikers and Jealousy

Tag List: @softkons @nikisboxysmile

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immoral-tales · 4 years

Text

Wicked Ballad

Simeon X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7,313

Warnings: angst; mentions of religion; corruption;

A/N: I would like to thank my close and dearest friend for aiding me when I was writing this heart-wrenching story. If it had not been for her, I would have—most likely—made it much worse. Truth be told, many stories and art have inspired me to write this story, therefore, I would like to thank everyone. I sincerely hope you love this story as much as I adore it. I almost cried whilst writing it, I poured my heart and soul into it.

Summary: a bittersweet tale of an angel and his human crossing paths with each other. their story truly is a wicked ballad.

❝You say I took the name in vain I don't even know the name But if I did, well really, what's it to you? There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah❞

He could vividly recall the very first time his blue gaze had laid on her. It was in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, in the middle of the night. Dragging an unfamiliar piano in the deserted streets of Paris, the clock striking midnight. He could remember the word “Yamaha” was emblazoned on the wooden part. Settling herself on the wooden stool, she opened the lid of the piano, her manicured fingers skimmed over the keys. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath and started playing a soothing melody. The harmonious notes lingered in the air, dancing with the wind, engulfing the deafening silence with great ease.

The moon glimmering in the darkness of the night, the scattered stars accompanied it with their dim illumination above the cloudless sky of the city. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, one in a million. A familiar wind caressing her face; the symphonious notes her slender fingers produced, reverberated in the air, waltzing around the ancient buildings of the capital of France.

It was an enchanted song for a creature like him. Humans... Who would have thought their simple, yet unforgettable creation would mesmerize an angel?

The rumors spread like wildfire about the fallen angel finding refuge at the cathedral. Every one of them refused to accept the responsibility, the humans heard about their ceaseless quarrel and took matters into their own hands.

Both of the sides present in the city, they had heard so much about. It was the day when the creatures of hell and heaven had decided to leave their humble abodes and visit the neutral territory, the human world. If they had been familiar with the term, they would have referred to this realm as Switzerland, always avoiding conflicts like the plague and minding their own business. Even though they had a perfect opportunity to get involved, they would never trouble themselves as humans abandoned their faith years ago. They stopped believing in miracles decades ago.

Heaven and Hell, paying a visit to the capital of France to see the scene unfolding right in front of their eyes. It was the day when humans had enough of their endless cycle of invisible war as if they did not have their own wars to handle.

An angel had fallen and no one was certain what path he would choose. The spectators surrounding the Cathedral of Notre-Dame had made sense now. As a human would have said, they were the juries of the court and they would be making a verdict. A final decision would be theirs. And humans, they had to play the devil’s advocate. An ironic choice of words.

The situation was becoming tenser and tenser, it could have been cut with a knife. The air surrounding the cathedral felt suffocating, making it almost impossible to breathe. And it was not because of the pollution.

It was a sight to behold, and every one of them was well aware of it. The woman sitting in front of the piano resumed playing her captivating melody. She had realized the predicament she was in when she dragged the piano across the empty streets of Paris. She was not alone, she had viewers from other realms. If she were not too engrossed in her activity, she would have mocked their curiosity. Tilting her head; her cold and calculating eyes were fixated on the entrance of the cathedral. Her hands moved in a hypnotic manner as if it was natural for her to be in the darkness, playing an enthralling piece of music. As some would have called it, a true masterpiece. It had never been her responsibility to lure the fallen angel out of the holy grounds, yet she understood his dilemma rather well.

The song was nearing its end and the woman could sense the tension in the air rising as the last notes of the harmonious melody faded, becoming non-existent. Finding a replacement to it was not that difficult, the breeze swept in, greeting her as if it had been an old friend of hers. The silence reigned in the air, lingered there more than necessary. It had overstayed its welcome, refusing to leave her side.

Standing up from the wooden stool, she stretched her arms and stepped forward. The sounds of the clacking of her high heels against the pavement resounded in the deafening silence. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, her eyes continued to study the grand entrance as she did not trouble herself to pick up her pace. Strutting towards her destination, her walk was painfully slow as she was tormenting her spectators by depriving them of the show. She inspected the tufts of white hair peeking out of the opened door. Her suspicions proved to be correct as she halted in front of the cathedral. Opening her lips, she started speaking. “There is no need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Raising her hands, she demonstrated she was unarmed. Perhaps, he was not aware of the gesticulations, but the tone of her voice indicated she was not a threat to him.

Taking his sweet time, he had finally decided to reveal himself. Stepping forward, he walked out of the cathedral. His movements were slow; however, the woman had no problem with it. It was a normal occurrence for her, and she was well aware, earning one’s trust was not a simple task. Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand for him to take. As he fully exited the premises, she could clearly see his appearance under the artificial light of the lampposts. He was a young angel. His stark white hair covered his amber eyes filled with curiosity. He was not a fallen angel, he had merely lost his path and found refuge at his Father’s home.

Tilting his head, he examined her cautiously. Before the woman in front of him had a chance to utter a word, he ran towards her and wrapped his small arms around her, embracing her tightly. She froze in one place but quickly reacted as a low chuckle escaped her full lips. “Easy there, no one is going to hurt you.” Ruffling his short hair, she looked down at him with a smirk. He was so young, yet they kept referring to him as a fallen angel. Hypocrisy at its finest. She had a strong desire to roll her eyes but refrained herself from making the young angel uncomfortable.

She handled the situation quicker than anyone had anticipated, therefore, they were free to return to their respective realms. But one issue was still present, she was not certain what to do with the angel. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the boy who was not planning to release her from his iron grip. Opening her mouth once more, she was interrupted. Pursing her lips into a thin line, she furrowed her brows as she heard a loud clapping noise resonating in the air, shattering the deafening silence. A hulking figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a red uniform. The Prince of Hell graced her with his presence as his loyal butler trailed behind him.

Quirking a brow, she turned around to greet the familiar faces. Shielding the young angel with her body as he hid behind her, watching two men with great fascination. A sly smirk danced across her beautiful facial features. Nodding her head in acknowledgement, she began speaking. “Came here to enjoy the show, My Lord?” Those undertones of mockery still laced her alluring voice as she cast a glance at the notorious butler. Allowing every one of them to realize she was aware of their location as they lurked in the darkness of the night.

A sigh escaped her full lips, her attention returned to the young angel as she squeezed his shoulder lightly, in reassurance. As long as he was with her, she would never allow him to be put in harm’s way. It was her silent vow, yet all of them understood it. She had no intention of demonstrating her positive qualities to the world to see—the spectators of the three realms, to be more precise. The woman could feel how her young companion’s tense body relaxed as he resumed staring at the demons. He had never seen them before, and it was not that difficult to deduce it.

As always, booming laughter reverberated in the streets of Paris, bringing her back to reality as she craned her neck to get a better look at the handsome prince. Despite wearing high heels, he was still taller than her. As much as she did not wish to admit, she had always wondered what they had been giving him to be this huge. However, she did not have any right to complain, and she was not going to.

“How could I possibly miss such a spectacular show?” Grinning confidently, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world; and crossed his muscular arms over his defined chest. His golden eyes glinted with mischief as they studied his beautiful companion. Straightening his back, he resumed speaking. “It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness a human playing the piano for an angel in the streets of one of the human realm’s most popular cities.” His excitement was quite noticeable in his voice, but he did not trouble himself to conceal it as he meant every one of his words.

Nodding her head in understanding, she glanced at his loyal butler as he mirrored his master’s action. Of course, every one of them was aware of it, but a human had to do the dirty work. Their every step was calculated beforehand; however, the humans had the element of surprise; and she used it to her advantage. These immortal beings never anticipated such an outcome, but she did. It was her world and no one knew it better than her.

Shaking her head to dismiss all of her useless thoughts, she gave them a questioned look; and was ready to deliver her endless cycle of sarcastic remarks. Taking a deep breath, a sly smirk danced across her attractive features as she opened her mouth to start speaking. “As much as I wish to give you what you desire most, unfortunately, I enjoy our game of cat and mouse a bit too much.” Her mesmerizing eyes shone underneath the moonlight, yet they did not reflect anything.

Another boisterous laughter echoed in the air, stepping forward, the brown-haired demon prince got closer to the woman. He pounced on her, enveloping her with his strong arms in a tight embrace; and lifting her off the ground. A low chuckle escaped her full lips as she looked back at the young angel. He was still astounded by the scene that unfolded right in front of his eyes. Feeling safe around the demons was an understatement, but he could feel at ease as she was with him. This human woman was his guardian angel, but in reality, it should have been the other way around. His amber eyes observed their interactions cautiously as he understood the woman was not hostile towards the demons. He had always had a great fascination with humans, but coming into contact with a human was a different experience. The young angel was thrilled to learn more about them. His morality clashed with his desire. At this point, he did not wish to return to his home, the Celestial Realm. He decided to remain with her. Oh, how excited the woman would be upon hearing the news.

“I would like to discuss a very important matter with you, but not here.” The tone of the demon prince was quite serious as it caused the young angel to snap out of his trance-like state. Getting even closer to his companion, he whispered words that were only meant for her. His golden eyes were locked with her captivating ones as he awaited her answer. He earned a nod of approval from her. His grin widened as he clasped his manicured hands together. He snaked his arm around her waist and guided her away from the cathedral. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame. He assured her his loyal butler would take care of her piano.

Walking away, the clacking of her high heels resounded through the streets of Paris. The young angel followed her as he eyed the demon prince suspiciously, but he trusted her. He had faith in her.

Saved an angel; was tempted by the demon prince himself as he led her away from the cathedral. The woman was aware of her surroundings from the beginning. No one could use her. That was her remarkable ability. She was desired by many, yet none of them had the privilege to touch her or even dream about having her in their arms. She was one of a kind; and every one of them knew. The Prince of Hell did not cajole her into following him with his words, she merely accepted his offer.

The clacking of her high heels became unbearable as the spectators resumed enjoying the scenery. His blue gaze had never left her as he silently prayed she would look back. One last time. The woman halted dead in her tracks, surprising her companions. Looking over her shoulder, a half-smirk decorated her beautiful facial features as her eyes stared into the void of blackness, far away from the artificial lights. His breath was caught in his throat, she could sense his presence. She could feel his eyes on her, she had heard his prayer.

“After introducing our new exchange program students,” a loud, booming voice resounding in the large ballroom. Covering the melodious music to earn every one of the attendants’ attention. All eyes were on the tallest man in their presence and they looked at him with great interest as they awaited their prince to resume his speech. “I would like all of you to enjoy yourselves.” It was not the monologue they had anticipated, but none of them were troubled with the short introduction of their prince’s guests from the other realms.

Every one of them returned to their respective activities as the pleasant, yet unfamiliar melody played in the background to make the visit of attendants at the Demon Lord’s Castle unforgettable. The Prince of Hell himself was quite preoccupied with engaging in conversation with his close friend, the Avatar of Pride, and an old acquaintance of his as his sharp golden eyes detected a rather familiar face in the ocean of people. A huge grin tugged at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkled in delight as he managed to get both of his companions’ attention. The black-haired man gave him a questioned look, awaiting his response. Diavolo did not pay any heed to his subtle signals. Waving his arm, he opened his mouth to start speaking. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you would never come.” His voice had a playful lilt to it as his eyes were fixated on a feminine figure in front of him.

A woman clad in a long, black dress with a slit that reached her mid-thigh that hugged her curves perfectly. A simple, yet elegant combination of attire attracted their attention, but she did not seem to mind all the eyes that were on her as she idly conversed with the white-haired sorcerer. Flashing him one of her infamous smirks, she excused herself and turned on her heel to leave. Swirling her alcoholic beverage absentmindedly, she straightened her back and stepped forward. Her high heels were clicking and clacking against the marble flooring as she took a deep breath. She already had a certain destination in mind, her smirk grew wider. Her eyes were fixated on the handsome demon, weaving her way through the crowd was not an obstacle for her as she easily arrived at her destined location. The tantalizing sway of her hips earned her several compliments from the demons.

A low chuckle escaped her full lips as her eyes met his golden ones. Bowing her head for the sake of formality, she straightened herself, once more, and took a sip of her beverage. “My apologies, My Lord. Every woman takes her sweet time preparing herself for the big event. Unfortunately, I missed the introduction of your new students.” Breaking eye contact with him, she cast a glance at the sorcerer and resumed speaking. “I have to admit, you have chosen rather intriguing candidates from my world, without consulting me.”

Simpering, he followed her gaze and nodded his head in agreement. Diavolo shrugged his shoulders as he commented on her remark. “It was Lucifer who chose the candidates from the human world.” Looking at his companion, his eyes glinted with an unreadable expression as he continued talking. “I believe you are familiar with Lucifer, but have you ever met our new exchange program student from the Celestial Realm?” the brown-haired prince questioned his beautiful companion as he directed her attention towards his third companion.

A handsome dark brown-haired man with a brilliant shade of blue eyes—the most enthralling color she had ever seen in her life. He had a charming smile dancing across his breathtakingly beautiful features. His blue gaze never left her figure as his companion resumed his conversation. “Allow me to introduce you to Simeon. He is one of the two angels sent from the Celestial Realm to take part in the exchange program. And this is [Name] [Surname]. She is…” He trailed off. The Prince of Hell stopped for a moment to think about it.

The woman standing right next to him sensed his distress and decided to get involved to avoid any unpleasant situations. Offering one of her infamous smirks, she extended her hand for him to take as she opened her mouth to begin speaking—well, finish what Diavolo had started. “Lord Diavolo, I’m certain the introduction was not necessary as we are familiar with each other.” She sent a wink in his direction as Simeon stared at her extended hand. It took him several seconds to realize what that gesture meant as he took her hand, shaking it. His grip was firm but gentle. Releasing her slender hand from his bigger one’s grasp, her next sentence made him snap out of his reverie as his heart picked up its pace.

“We met in Paris.”

Simeon blinked once, twice, thrice. His heartbeat was getting faster and faster as her words echoed in his mind. He did not hear how Diavolo and Lucifer left them alone to speak with other guests. His companion took another sip of her beverage and attempted to break the ice. Biting her lower lip sensually, she thought for a moment. “Have you ever heard the tale of Romans? In ancient times, Romans shook each other’s hands to demonstrate they were unarmed and their handshake was a symbol of friendship and loyalty.”

Shaking his head to dismiss his useless thoughts, his blue eyes met with hers. She was aware of the events, taking place in the capital of France. Oh, Lord Almighty, she knew. The brown-haired man was great at having conversations with anyone, yet this one human managed to take his breath away by uttering several words. He was not certain how to respond to her, but to one’s relief, she quickly detected his uneasiness and resumed speaking. “I know what you are thinking, Simeon.” A low chuckle escaped her lips, once more. “Please forget what happened in Paris. The young angel is safe and he is with me. During my absence, he will remain in Rome, at my family estate. If you don’t trust my word, then you may pay a visit to him. In the meantime,” she inspected her surroundings. “May I have the honor to accompany you outside as it is getting rather crowded in here?”

Placing her half-empty glass on the nearby table, she inhaled the fresh air. Getting closer to him, she linked her arm with his and started to lead the way, guiding him outside of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Simeon was speechless, he could not utter a word as he allowed her to sweep him away. The blue-eyed angel had met many humans and demons in his long existence, but this human woman intrigued him. Her enigmatic aura attracted him, he wished to learn more about her. Simeon was an experienced and mature angel, he could easily read anyone like an open book; however, her behavior puzzled him. By now, he could have gone through numerous subjects during his conversation with Diavolo and Lucifer, but not with her. The woman waltzed into his life without asking him, and currently, she is dragging him away from the ball.

It would have been an understatement if he had said he preferred to remain at the castle. His gorgeous companion guided him outside of the premises, into the gardens. There was the moon glimmering above them in the darkness of the night as the stars accompanied it with their dim illuminations. It was a beautiful, cloudless sky. Looking up to get a better look at the scenery, he noted the moon of the Devildom differed from the one in the human world. And he was certain, she would not be fascinated by the view unlike him. His blue gaze landed on his arm that was linked with her, and then, his mesmerizing eyes studied her as if he was trying to memorize every small detail of hers. In his eyes, she was perfect.

Yet the angel wondered to himself, how he had managed to find her. There were more than seven billion humans on Earth and he had the privilege to meet an occult detective with an eccentric personality and antics. He had to find this particular human interesting. Simeon cursed his existence, at the same time, he silently thanked his Father for allowing him to meet her. Developing romantic feelings for a human was not an option, but he indulged in his sinful desires a little bit.

Releasing him from her grasp, she turned around to face him as she leaned back on her elbows against the railing. Her cold and calculating eyes studied him, but not with a scrutinizing gaze. Her tense body relaxed as she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. The deafening silence reigned in the air, she refused to speak up, taking pleasure in being far away from the crowded ballroom.

A soft hum resonated in the darkness of the night, opening her eyes, she straightened herself. Her gaze softened as she glanced at her handsome companion. Pretending she was sitting in front of the piano, her slender fingers started moving with perfect synchronization. It seemed they had minds of their own as they produced illusive notes, waltzing in the air. Her eyes met his brilliant shade of blue. She studied them with great curiosity. It was barely undetectable, yet she noticed how his sapphires lit up, engulfing her with his warmth.

Stepping forward, she got closer to him. Her eyes were locked with his as the silence lingered between them, not planning to leave them any time soon. Even though she delighted in being with him in solitude, she had a strong desire to have a decent conversation with the angel. The woman opened her mouth to start talking. “This will remain between us. Cross my heart and hope to die,” a low chuckle escaped her full lips as she resumed. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

Before the brown-haired angel had a chance to respond to her a rather odd vow, she gave him a two-finger salute and turned on her heel, leaving him to his own thoughts. Simeon opened, then closed his lips into a thin line as his blue gaze never left her. Her tight-fitting dress outlined her curves, awakening immoral desires within him. Feeling his heartbeat increasing, this human did wonders to his immortal heart.

The rays of sunlight seeped through the famous stained rose windows of the cathedral, dimly illuminating the surroundings. The rows of pews decorated the main part of the church to greet as many believers as possible. Its doors were always open to anyone that wished to pay a visit to one of the wonders of the modern-day world. Every one of the visitors adored the magnificent masterpiece of the French Gothic architecture accompanied by its loyal guardians, gargoyles—never once leaving their respective places to keep a close eye on the place they learned to call home. An intriguing statement, yet all of them were well aware it had the seeds of truth.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame—The place where it all had begun—had always had countless visitors to witness its greatness with their own eyes, yet it was devoid of its usual attendants. A familiar silence reigned in the air as it lingered more than necessary, not allowing anyone or anything to produce sounds. However, the clicking of the rather familiar shoes against the marble flooring resounded in the large cathedral, shattering the deafening silence completely. The sounds of footsteps halted in front of the altar as the man dropped to his knees, his white cape pooling around him as his head lowered in humiliation. His heavy breathes resonated throughout the church, his quickened heartbeat could be heard.

His lips were pursed into a thin line as both of his hands clutched a rosary, hard enough to draw blood. Closing his endless oceans of blue, letting out a shaky breath, he stopped himself. The stagnant air in the church was suffocating, burning his lungs. The man opened his mouth, yet no words came out. Inhaling the fresh air, he listened to his heart hammering against the ribcage, convinced it would jump out of his chest.

Evening his breathing, he gained enough confidence to open his bewitching eyes as he raised his head. He started speaking. “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.” His words echoed in the cathedral.

His very own words made him shiver with disgust. Was remorse eating him alive? Were his mind and intuition screaming at him that it was too late to redeem his actions? Was he regretting his deeds? All of the questions were running rampant in his mind. He could not help himself, yet he had tainted himself. Was he even worthy of stepping his foot in his Father’s house? Thinking about it made him hang his head in shame, the tufts of his brown hair framing his sapphire blue eyes. The angel tightened his grip on the rosary.

A soft melody found its way as his mind played tricks on him. It was a wicked ballad, yet he was enamored by it. He could not escape its clutches, dragging him further into the depths of hell. The return was non-existent. His predicament was laughable, he understood the absurdity of his situation. The brown-haired angel had always believed he would not make a similar mistake, yet there he was contemplating his own existence. Simeon was certain it was a fleeting feeling, a mere infatuation with a human woman.

The brown-haired angel should have heeded the warnings of not following the white rabbit until the end of the road. Now, he had fallen down the rabbit hole and he could not claw his way out of it. He fell deeper than he had anticipated. Could his soul still be saved?

An angel falling for a human. How could anyone be so foolish to voluntarily corrupt themselves? Straying away from the path of the righteous man. An angel; a man of God—falling head over heels in love with a human. Having strong bonds with the creations of God had never been an issue, but getting involved with one of them had always been frowned upon. Simeon had been aware of it, yet he could not help himself.

His body stiffened, his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. His heart-wrenching pleas had not been heard, it was apparent. He could sense it. Simeon’s words merely ricocheted off the ancient walls of the cathedral. His stark white attire dirtied, his hands scarred beneath the black gloves from clutching the rosary. It was a sight to behold. An unforgettable memory for a mortal man, yet no one was there to witness the angel’s former glory. The angel’s silent cry of distress to be heard. He was all alone at his Father’s home.

The cursed notes of melody had never left him, accompanying him until the end. A loud clatter reverberated, the rosary slipped through his iron grip and fell to the polished ground. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his heart beating rapidly against his chest as he looked up, his brilliant shade of blue staring at the ceiling. He should have known, yet he knew. It was inevitable. Every one of them was aware of it from the beginning.

The clanking of ice, joyous laughter, and a familiar song played in the background. Creating a welcoming aura for the guests that desired to visit a small bar in Zurich, Switzerland. The true neutral territory of the human world—especially for humans. They had once said: “politics is a dirty game.” And every one of them agreed. As they would say, it was a “human thing” and a demon, nor an angel would never understand it. An intriguing concept, yet some were not courageous enough to delve deeper into the matter. The creations of God—humans—were an interesting case.

As the music resumed playing in the background, the guests enjoyed their alcoholic beverages in their own small circle of friends. It was a unique place and all of them intended to keep it that way for a long time. It was a perfect consensus among strangers.

A certain woman frequented the bar with her associate and it was yet another day to discuss their daily lives. Her eyes had a mischievous glint as they were locked with her companion’s unnaturally-colored ones. With a shake of her head, she took a sip of her dirty martini. Settling her glass on the wooden table, she opened her full lips to throw one of her snide remarks in his direction, but she was interrupted when someone barged into her haven. Quirking a brow, she looked over her shoulder to see the person who opened the wooden double doors with such force. Her eyes widened as she froze in her seat. Her words were caught in her throat.

Her companion mirrored her actions as he cast a glance at the entrance of the bar. Exhaling, he blinked several times to adjust his vision. He was not certain whether his eyes were deceiving him or his mind was playing tricks on him. He swallowed thickly as he opened his mouth to start speaking. “Luke, what are you doing here? Most importantly, how did you find us?”

Solomon took the words out of her mouth as if he had read her mind. His yellow-blue eyes studied his partner thoroughly, her every facial reaction and movement. The sorcerer did not require her affirmation to understand something unspeakable had occurred, yet he was not certain whether she was aware of it or not. His curiosity had always been insatiable, but with this woman, he never allowed himself to let his guard down as she was a walking disaster. She attracted trouble without even trying. And of course, the young angel—already—in front of their table was the living proof of it.

Clenching his hands into fists, his face was entirely red as his nostrils flared. “How could you do this to us?! I thought you cared.” The young angel’s fury was directed towards the woman.

Her expression was unreadable, her eyes were devoid of emotions. No sign of life. She could not utter a word as she lowered her head in shame. All eyes were on her, everyone at the bar watched how the entire scene unfolded. The guests of her favorite bar were the witnesses of her humiliation and failure as their judgemental stares bored holes into her soul. Every one of them was observing her with their scrutinizing gazes. Lowering her head even further, her hair obscured her regretful face. She received their silent curses openly, accepting them. Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and looked at him.

The white-haired sorcerer could sense her melancholic soul, her nihilistic thoughts, and the rapid beat of her heart. He did not even deem necessary to use magic on her to see her facade cracking and her mask slipping after all these years. Yet he still was amazed by how she held herself. He could not tear his eyes off of her as he resumed observing her.

“Of course, I did…” She trailed off, taking her sweet time to process the young angel’s every word. The background music did not allow silence to reign in the air, not this time. “I…” The woman stopped as she pursed her lips into a thin line, refusing to say another word.

It was getting unbearable, the tension was tormenting the young angel. He was not used to it, he was not even used to being surrounded by so many sinners. Humans and their judgemental gazes. He could feel his lungs burning because of the air. It had been tainted. Shaking his head in disbelief, his nails dug into his palms, his knuckles turning white from the sheer pressure. Gritting his teeth, he exposed his pearly white teeth to the world.

“They are judging Simeon.”

Four words. Those four damned words. Feeling her skin being prickled with goosebumps, her frozen state worsened. She could not hear anything, his words were nothing but white noise. A shaky sigh left her full lips as she blinked once, twice, thrice. Her mind replayed those four words. Closing her eyes for a moment, she listened to the song that resumed blending in with the background effortlessly. The woman then allowed her heart to calm down as she opened her eyes. Looking at him, she finally responded.

“Tell me more.” Her voice was firm but uncertain.

“Simeon’s life is at stake. He is going to fall.”

Slamming her hands against the wooden table, she stood up from her seat. The chair fell to the laminate flooring with a loud thud, yet no one paid attention to it. Their eyes were still on her as every one of them heard. “I have to go,” muttered under her breath.

Taking a sip of his alcoholic beverage, Solomon continued watching the entire scene with great amusement. His eyes followed his companion’s figure as she left their favorite bar, the young angel running after her.

Once he had heard a visit of an angel supposed to be a good omen, but now, he started to doubt the statement. A sly smirk danced across his handsome facial features as his hand started glowing, surrounded by the dim golden illumination. With a flick of his hand, the golden light spread throughout the small bar. “Always making me do the dirty work.”

How hypocritical of him to speak such words. Solomon was fully aware of it, but he could not care less about it. He had always been more of a spectator than a player. It was a mutual agreement. She had his back, and in return, he was always there to aid her. A perfect symbiosis between two human beings. He was quite proud of his achievement.

The judgement had been passed.

An angel had been cast out of heaven.

He had fallen.

Standing in front of the familiar castle, the darkness of the night concealed her figure rather well. Her hands shaking, her breathing ragged as she was on the verge of losing her consciousness, yet she held herself perfectly. Her nerves betrayed her as she dropped to her knees, her legs refusing to assist her. Digging her manicured nails into her own skin, her gaze lingered on the Demon Lord’s Castle. Her vision blurred. Blinking several times to adjust her vision, but she could not. She had not realized how tears trickled down her cheeks, soaking the soil beneath her. When was the last time she cried? She could not recall. Her pulse skyrocketed.

Her mask was cracking without her noticing it. The beating of her heart could be heard from kilometers away. She should have known, yet she did not deem necessary to pay any heed to it. Now, he had to pay the price. He already had. Lowering her head in shame, her hair covered her disheveled appearance and expression.

Attempting to stand up, she teetered. The woman mentally embraced herself for a possible impact, but it never came. Looking up, her eyes met with his. His arms were wrapped around her waist to catch her. Draping her arm around his shoulders, she balanced her shivering body as she tested her legs. This time her legs did not betray her as she leaned against him. He did not reject her physical contact. Laughing bitterly, she straightened herself and opened her chapped lips to start speaking. “Impeccable timing as always, Barbatos. You’re always there to witness my failures. You have seen both of them. Would this answer your eternal question of what it means to be a human and hurting someone you love?”

“He has been waiting for you. Forgive my curiosity, but how long have you been in the Devildom without anyone being aware of it? How did you manage to convince the Young Master to permit you to remain here?”

Assisting her to stand up, he bombarded her with so many questions, she did not have enough time to process every one of them. It was quite uncommon for the demon butler to question people, yet the woman in front of her was a different occasion. He was one of the most powerful demons in existence, yet he still had difficulty understanding human nature and how this woman’s mind functioned. Inspecting her unkempt appearance, he noted she had seen better days.

Separating from his strong grip, she stretched her limbs and wiped her tears away. Inhaling the fresh air to calm her beating heart down, she pushed her hair back and tilted her head. Biting her lower lip—a rather familiar habit of hers to which even Barbatos got accustomed to. She thought for a moment, she was stalling some time. She could have easily used a question dodging technique, but she decided to tell the truth.

“You and I both know you are already fully aware of my current predicament. Is there anything you wish to know?” Those undertones of mockery were remarkable, considering her current situation. Quirking a brow, she studied the demon butler as an infamous smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips. “I thought we had a mutual understanding here.” Stopping herself for a moment, she shook her head to dismiss her useless thoughts. Straightening her back, she looked at him and added the last part. “My egotistical desires led us to this irrevocable act. I should have known. I did, yet I did not do anything.”

The last part of her speech was barely audible, but the demon butler heard every word of it. Nodding his head in acknowledgement, he placed his chin between his gloved thumb and index finger, he appeared as if he was thinking. He opened his mouth to start speaking. “This is not my place to meddle; however, do you regret your decision of getting involved with him?”

A low, bitter laugh escaped her full, yet chapped lips. Her eyes glinted with an unreadable expression, once more, he had difficulty comprehending her emotions. He decided to await her response before jumping to conclusions. That smirk of hers still present on her gorgeous features. Several dreadful seconds passed before she responded.

“How could I?” She stopped, once more, allowing the silence to reign. “I have made many foolish choices in my God-forsaken life, but loving him is something that I would never regret.” Looking up at the darkened sky, she resumed. “It’s quite ironic, I’m telling my life story to a demon who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me. Look, how low I have fallen.” Her every word was dripped with venomous self-hatred.

“Unfortunately, you are not wrong; however, I’m not the only listener you have tonight.”

Casting a glance at the demon butler, she noticed another dark figure standing behind Barbatos. Under normal circumstances, she would have easily detected an unwanted presence looming into her field of vision. It seemed she was too absorbed in her self-pity not to let her guard down. Her mask had slipped. She realized it a long time ago, but it was too late. It had always been too late for her.

Furrowing her brows, she did not say anything as she patiently awaited the figure to reveal themselves. The woman already had her suspicions, yet she refused to believe her own intuition as her heart skipped a beat. She could not shake her head or dismiss her useless thoughts as she did, not long ago. Her entire body was frozen in one place, she had no desire to move. Inhaling and exhaling, her chest was rising and falling. Mentally, she tried to deceive her mind to calm her rapidly beating heart, but to no avail. Her heart rejected her attempts, becoming an obstinate vital organ.

The tall figure stepped forward, revealing himself in the dim moonlight. Her breath hitched as she stepped backwards. It was him, the most magnificent creature in this damned world. A genuine smile decorated his handsome face as his brilliant shade of blue shone—in the darkness of the night—brighter than ever. A pair of midnight black wings were folded tightly against his back as a pair of black horns protruded out of his skull, completing his ethereal beauty.

Simeon stepped forward, but she moved backwards. Her gaze shifted between him and the demon butler. Her heart was wrenching, the feeling of regret was getting unbearable. She watched how Barbatos turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness. As expected, he always did it. It would be no different in this situation.

She stopped moving, raising her head up, her grief-stricken eyes met with his. His smile grew wider as he approached her. Without wasting any moment, he wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly as if he was afraid of waking up in a world where she did not exist. Placing her head against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat. It was not quickened like hers, it was as serene as the melody of their wicked ballad. She refused to stand idly, but she could not touch him. Her consciousness did not allow her to reach for the stars.

He could sense her distress, but he was fully aware of her internal conflict. As much as he could remember he had always been fascinated with human nature, how different they were from angels and demons. Humans always had a knack for making their lives more difficult and he had a perfect opportunity to witness such an event with his own eyes. Ironically, he could relate to her struggles. He understood her.

Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he whispered. “I forgive you.” Wrapping his large wings around her form, he shielded her from the harsh weather of the Devildom.

Three words. It only took three words to lift all of her burdens off her shoulders. A shaky sigh escaped her chapped lips as she snaked her arms around his torso, tightening her grip on him. Her heartbeat started to quiet, inhaling the fresh air did not burn her lungs anymore, and her tense body relaxed. After all these years, she had finally found her place.

“I know.”

49 notes · View notes

blu-eh · 3 years

Text

quaranteens

[AO3]

Or: a day in the life of the quarantined high school spider-kid.

Cindy Moon thinks she knows weird.

New York has always been a little strange on its own—there’s a reason it’s so well known despite the general vastness that is the entirety of America. Still, the rise of superheroes and supervillains when she was a little girl had been a punch in the face. Aliens had been more of a straight-up knockout at the time. The Avengers formed and, yeah, that has been somewhat of a wild ride because now there is always something happening in New York. Still, those somethings are usually handled by at least one of the wayward superheroes who now live in the city she calls home.

Until they weren’t. Like half the population of the universe, she just up and died for about five years before they were suddenly resurrected and thrown into a world that they didn’t really belong to anymore. If aliens were a knock-out, she's not quite sure how she'd describe the previous months of absolute anarchy.

It’s alright, though, because eventually everything calmed down and life is back to its normal amount of weird. Social media is currently bopping because she (like half the population) had missed five years’ worth of memes and are desperate to learn. Even now, eight months later, she still hasn’t caught up totally. She still goes to school in the morning. She says hello to the friends that were blipped with her (and says goodbye to the ones that weren't). There are other happier things, too, like that time she caught Spider-Man on the rooftop singing some offbeat pop song. He spent the better part of an hour desperately trying to get her to delete the shaky video she took while trying not to laugh.

(She posted it anyway. It had almost half a million views by the time the week was over.)

So, yeah, Cindy is pretty confident she knows weird.

You can imagine her reaction when the quarantine started.

No one is quite sure what caused it, exactly. Cindy had spent late nights on google like any other reasonable person trying to find an answer for why all of New York and most of the east coast has to be locked up in their homes for the foreseeable future. There no certified answer, really, but Cindy can pretty safely assume it’s probably something supervillain-related. That, or it’s aliens again.

(She really, really hopes it’s not aliens.)

The reason doesn’t change the outcome. Work and schools close. No one is allowed to leave their homes or apartments. Teachers spend exactly a week setting up online classes, and Cindy very much enjoys that break, before she’s forced to attend first-period chemistry at exactly seven-thirty in the morning online. If that isn’t enough to certify a horrifying start to her day, then the mandatory ‘video cameras on at all times’ rule certainly would.

But that’s all fine. It’s whatever. Video cameras on at seven-thirty for online classes might really suck, but there are some exciting things about it too. Mainly, Cindy can now confirm her theory about how Suzan hasn’t outgrown her middle school horse girl phase given the number of horse pictures still hanging up on her furthest wall. Or there’s that fact that Flash’s apartment is always strangely empty and startlingly clean despite being so absurdly big and nice. Or that Abe’s bunsen burner collection next to his bed makes him a nerd with a capital N.

So, it’s not all bad. She’s known her classmates (or, at least, she's known half of her classmates) since they were all young, but even she has never really interacted with them in a situation like this. Being stuck in quarantine with everyone else lets her see just a little bit closer into everyone’s lives.

This all leads back to the most crucial point—Cindy Moon knows weird. And Peter Parker? Yeah, Peter Parker is weird.

Peter’s life is no mystery to most of Midtown School of Science and Technology. Especially not to Cindy, who’s known him since they were both toddlers in the same preschool. He’s not exactly subtle in any way, either. She knows about how he lives with his aunt in Queens, and, subsequently, his uncle’s untimely and incredibly devastating death. She knows how he’s a nerd that likes school, how he wears science pun t-shirts every other day, and how he’s just about as close to a teacher’s pet as you can get while being the school’s greatest genius slacker.

She also knows that he mysteriously got jacked their freshman year of high school, and no one could ever explain why. Something happened, then, because he quit a lot of their shared activities. Robotics club had been the first causality, but it doesn't stop there. He started getting into furious whispered conversations with Ned more frequently in the hallways when they both thought no one was there. He started skipping decathlon practice not long after, which was perhaps the most startling given how dedicated he had been to decathlon previously. Sometimes he comes in with a limp or sloppily done makeup to cover up a bruise, only for it to disappear the next day. Cindy is also pretty certain she isn’t making up the time, right before the blip, that Peter had seemingly disappeared off a moving bus right as the aliens started attacking.

Peter Park is weird. This isn’t new.

However, what really ties this all together is that Cindy might not know everything about Peter Parker, but even she’s fairly convinced his little apartment in Queens is not supposed to look like a log cabin disguised as a mansion. Yet, every morning when she logs onto Zoom for their shared seven-thirty chemistry class, Cindy can definitely make out the beautiful finishes of a massive kitchen with beautifully crafted wood cabinets and a stunning view of the lake through the kitchen window. If Cindy’s paying attention enough, sometimes she catches the blurry image of a toddler running around at seemingly random intervals.

Flash is convinced he’s using a background filter to make himself seem cooler. Cindy is not so sure.

It takes another week of Zoom University, but the reality of the situation comes crashing down in perhaps the most spectacular fashion. Cindy’s seen a lot of soap operas and medical dramas recently, but absolutely nothing compares to the glorious spectacle that is Peter Parker’s life.

Like most of this weird form of a quarantine adventure, it starts in the regular seven-thirty AM Zoom chemistry class. There’s nothing specifically remarkable about this chemistry period—the most interesting thing so far is how fast the majority of the class had forgone any sense of getting ready in the morning. Even Brad Davis, who has been trying to impress MJ for the better part of the year, did nothing more than roll over and turn on his camera when asked. Cindy herself barely makes it to her desk in her PJs in time for class to start. It’s only MJ, who somehow manages to get up at the ass crack of dawn every morning and still manages to look perfect in time for class, and Peter, who’s still sitting in that picaresque kitchen, that even try to look like they’re ready for the day.

Mr. Cobbwell commented on it the first couple of days to get them a little more motivated to be presentable. Now, even he looks like he’s barely holding it all together. It’s truly remarkable how a single Zoom class can expose man's fallacies in such a blatant and brutal manner.

So life continues on. The first part of the class is normal—Cindy's not quite sure what they're learning about but she'll probably figure it out by the time the second test rolls around. Then the toddler runs behind Peter Parker’s screen.

That in itself isn’t wholly unusual. Cindy’s not quite sure where Peter is, exactly, but the toddler isn’t anything she hasn’t seen before. In fact, the toddler has made quite a few (adorable) appearances over the last two weeks. The most notable one being the time she ran screaming behind Peter while Peter had been asking a question and Peter never once batted an eye.

This time, it’s the man that comes running in after her that gives Cindy pause. He scoops her up and says something that Cindy can’t hear due to the mandatory mute rule that Mr. Cobbwell had imposed on them last week after someone’s parents got into a screaming match (swearing and all) halfway through the lecture. He holds her on his hip, kisses her forehead, and almost immediately zeroes in on Peter's computer screen.

This man isn’t someone Cindy recognizes right away despite the ringing familiarity in her head. She squints, trying to figure out where she’s seen this man and his toddler before and why Peter is in this man’s house and/or why this man is in Peter’s house.

The man turns around to face the camera—arm full of toddler and everything—and Cindy finally makes out the fashionable goatee, oil-stained t-shirt, and actual arc reactor in his chest before she makes the connection and bites one her tongue to keep from shouting in surprise.

No way.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed, either. Mr. Cobbwell (bless his soul) is still droning on about moles or something equally unimportant. The rest of the class, though? Yeah, the rest of the class has noticed if the wide-eyed looks and subtle glances in the direction of Peter’s screen are anything to go by. The tension on the Zoom call is almost palpable.

Peter himself remains blissfully unaware of the entire situation. Cindy wants to scream.

Absolutely no fucking way.

The man—Cindy doesn’t want to call him who she thinks he really is because it makes absolutely no sense for that man to be in Peter Parker’s home—doesn’t stay for very long. He ends up wandering out of the camera’s sight not thirty seconds later—she’s not quite sure, but she thinks he might’ve winked before he left too. More than half the class has definitely taken a screenshot by this point. Herself included in this list.

It’s almost agonizing, having to sit in her uncomfortable desk chair and not say a word. It’s not like she can unmute herself and start what will definitely be the wildest Zoom class fight of the twenty-first century. Mr. Cobbwell probably wouldn’t appreciate her interrupting his stoichiometry equations, the mystery of the Tony Stark lookalike or not.

She doesn’t have to wait for long, though. Whatever stars are smiling down upon her, Mr. Cobbwell ends up being forced to take an emergency phone call. Cindy bides her time until the exact moment that Mr. Cobbwell had muted himself and walked away off-screen before she furiously unmutes herself.

“Peter fucking Parker,” she says. Peter’s head snaps up so fast that it almost looks inhuman. “Did Tony Stark just waltz in and pick up his child in the background of your Zoom call?”

Peter freezes. Wide-eyed, with ‘guilty’ written on his forehead in 72, bold, Times New Roman font. It takes a solid thirty seconds before he can put himself together enough to click the unmute button.

“I—no?” Peter says. His voice is startlingly high pitched, and his expression is nothing short of horrified.

Damn, if that isn’t anything but a confession.

There’s a voice in the background that’s too garbled to make out, but Peter quickly mutes himself and turns his camera off despite the mandatory camera-on rule that had been in place for the entirety of the founding of Zoom university. Two messages come through the Zoom chat before Cindy has the chance to wrap her head around the entire transpired interaction.

[Peter Parker]: Sorry, Mr. Cobbwell. My mic and video aren’t working.

[Peter Parker]: I think I have a bad connection.

Cindy’s not the only one who finds this bullshit if the look on Flash’s face, in particular, is anything to go by. The rest of the class simply watches this entire interaction with wide eyes. Considering this is the most interesting thing to happen to most of them in the last two weeks, Cindy can’t really bring it in herself to blame them.

“Peter,” Cindy says, loudly. “Just because you muted yourself doesn’t mean you can’t hear me. What the hell was that?”

There’s no answer. Not even a chat message comes through.

Cindy’s about to rip into him again, peanut gallery and all, when Mr. Cobbwell decides to make the most inopportune appearance in the history of teachers walking into classrooms at bad times. Truthfully, this one would go right up there on the top of a compilation of worst teacher entries.

“What happened to Peter?” Mr. Cobbwell says. He reads the messages in the class Zoom chat. “Oh, that’s unfortunate. Peter, let me know if you need any help or continue having trouble before the next class.”

[Peter Parker]: I will. Thanks!

Cindy doesn’t get the chance to wring more answers out of Peter before the class period ends. He’s the first one to leave, lack of camera appearance and all. Cindy logs into her next class confused, and frustrated, and oddly excited all at once.

---

The next morning, Cindy is the first person to log onto the Zoom call for first-period chemistry.

She’s not the only one who has this idea. By the time seven am rolls around—a full thirty minutes before class is even set to begin—over half the class is in the Zoom call. It’s no secret that Peter liked to join Zoom calls early, and everyone’s more than a little curious after the events of yesterday morning.

Like clockwork, Peter joins with his camera working at exactly seven-fifteen. He takes one look at the almost-full meeting, does a double take, and scrambles for something on his computer.

Cindy narrows her eyes. “Peter, if you leave this Zoom call, I’ll have MJ eject you from the decathlon team.”

“MJ wouldn’t do that,” Peter says but he doesn’t sound so sure.

“That all depends on how convincing her argument is,” MJ says. Her camera isn’t even on.

The look Peter gives her is so full of betrayal that Cindy almost wonders why he isn’t on the acting team.

(Then she remembers that Peter has commitment issues on a good day and, well, acting has never really been his thing. He can’t even lie with a straight face, and considering most of what comes out of his mouth this day and age is a lie, it's probably for the best that the idea is never considered again.)

“Why are we even here? It’s a background,” Flash insists. “He just coded it or something for attention.”

“Flash, shut up,” Suzan says.

“Yeah, okay, Flash. Why are you even here if you think it’s a background?” Cindy shoots right back, full of adrenaline from the Tony Stark-shaped mystery that’s being hung above all of their heads.

“No, no, no. Flash is right,” Peter says immediately. “It’s a background. I had Ned help me code it and everything.”

Ned’s in the meeting, but his camera is off, and his mic is muted. Cindy gives Ned a moment to speak up and confirm but there’s not even a twitch. Cindy turns her pointed look back to Peter.

“I said,” Peter says louder. He subtly glances in the direction of the list of names currently in the meeting, “That I coded that background with Ned!”

Ned doesn’t come on to confirm or deny. If the look Peter is sending the Zoom call is any indication, he knows that there will be no help from that corner of the room. Either Ned is watching this all go down with popcorn in his hand like the rest of the class, or Ned is AWOL and won’t be returning in time to save his best friend from getting his ass absolutely grilled.

“Right,” Cindy says dryly. “Peter, you are the worst liar in this entire class.”

“It’s a coded background,” Peter insists. “That’s all it is. It’s a coded background.”

---

It’s not a coded background.

Peter doesn’t log on early the next day. In fact, he logs on a full five minutes late and gets a snide remark from Mr. Cobbwell for his efforts. His camera is on, at least, and Cindy knows he sees her glare if his paling face is anything to go by.

I will find out, she mouths at him.

She’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand the exact words she said, but her vibes are not hard to guess. He gives her a wide-eyed stare and shakes his head in defiance.

Well. No one can say that Cindy never liked a challenge.

This time, though, she doesn’t even have to wait until the end of the class period to get more information. Peter does that all for her.

Peter’s unmuted. He had just finished giving Mr. Cobbwell a (correct) answer to the latest chemistry question when there is a thunk sound from his side of the line. Peter glances up, seeing something that isn’t in the camera’s line of sight, and his expression drops so fast that Cindy’s not convinced he’s seen a ghost.

“Who is that?” a voice says. It sounds strikingly familiar. “Peter, are you chatting with your school friends?”

“No,” Peter whispers in poorly disguised horror.

“Well, well, well,” the voice says and, oh god, it’s so familiar. “What do we have here?”

Peter lunges for his computer. He turns off his camera and mutes himself before Cindy can even think of a proper response. There’s silence in the Zoom call. Even Mr. Cobbwell can’t find it in himself to reign in the class and break the absolute grappling stillness that is currently holding the entire first-period chemistry class.

It’s all of thirty seconds before Peter’s camera flicks back on. This time, he isn’t alone.

Cindy might have thought about it, and she’s reasonably convinced that she’s right about the entire situation, but truthfully nothing could prepare her for the emotional whiplash upon seeing The Anthony Edward Stark pulling up a chair at the beautifully carved wooden table and plopping in a seat directly next to a red-faced Peter Parker. Tony Stark takes it all in—the leftover Zoom chats from those kids that don’t want to unmute themselves to ask a question, the half-finished equations written on Mr. Cobbwell’s shared screen, and the twenty-something high school kids staring at him with a combination of confusion and awe.

“Good morning to Peter’s class and friends,” The Tony Stark says. Peter’s face seems to get redder and redder. “What a wonderful day to continue the education of the youths.”

Ned turns on his camera and unmutes his mic. “Hi, Mr. Stark, sir!

“Hi, Ted,” Mr. Stark says. “Good to see you again.”

“OhmygodMr.Starkalmostknowsmyname—"

Peter buries his head and lets out the world's most pathetic whining noise.

“I—,” Mr. Cobbwell stutters out. “Mr. Stark, what are you doing…here?”

It’s a very eloquent way of asking why the hell are you in the house of one of my students? Cindy has to give him props for not being a stuttering mess. She’s not quite sure she could form actual words currently, even if she tries.

“I love disrupting important conversations,” Mr. Stark says. Cindy’s pretty convinced that he’s purposefully playing ignorant. “And I was curious to see what Peter here was doing at so early in the morning. So, what’s on the lesson plan today?”

“Well,” Mr. Cobbwell says. What’s he going to do, tell the Tony Stark to leave? No sane person would even try. “Today, we are working on balancing equations.”

“Basic stoichiometry,” Mr. Stark says. He’s ignoring Peter very obviously pushing on his shoulder. “I would say I’m rather adept at that, right, Peter?”

“Not really,” Peter says.

The Zoom chat starts blowing up. No one wants to verbally get in the middle of what is possibly the most interesting thing to ever happen to them. This is including the time where half the population died for five years.

[Abe Brown]: can someone PLEASE explain whats going on

[Zach Cooper]: honestly dude if any of us knew i think we would tell you

“Right,” Mr. Stark says. He stands up and lets himself be pushed a little further away by Peter. “I have to do other things right now—very important work things that pertain to the safety of the universe and whatnot—"

“Mr. Stark, you’re retired,” Peter says.

“And you’re in class,” Mr. Stark says. “But feel free to send me an email if you ever want a guest lecturer. Well, send Peter an email and I’ll respond through that. Probably.”

[Betty Brant]: does this mean peter was telling the truth about the internship?

[Sally Avril]: whos gonna tell flash

[Flash Thompson]: shut up. i can read

[Sue Lorman]: what are your current feeling, flash?

[Sue Lorman]: ….flash you there?

[Sue Lorman]: you know we can see you camera on right

[Sue Lorman]: ope he turned if off lmao

Mr. Cobbwell gaps, unable to come up with a proper response. Peter’s looking somewhere off-camera with desperation bleeding into his expression.

“Mrs. Potts,” Peter says. His voice pitched upwards, almost as if he were whining to Pepper Potts, which of course, Cindy thought of as ridiculous. After all, common sense dictates that no one would ever whine to the Pepper Potts.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” a voice says off-screen and, yeah, Cindy has seen enough of the #1 woman CEO’s interviews to be able to recognize her voice. “But you and I both know that it was only a matter of time before he made an appearance.”

Peter puts his head back in his hands and looks like the picture perfect definition of someone how has tried to fight with the logic of the universe and lost spectacularly. Ms. Potts steps into the view of the camera for the firt time, just as beautiful and as striking as every interview Cindy has managed to get her grubby hands on.

“Tony,” Ms. Potts says. “Why don’t you go get Morgan some breakfast?”

It’s not a suggestion. Mr. Stark doesn’t take it as a suggestion either. He gets up so quickly that it’s almost like he had never been there to begin with.

“I’ll sort this out,” Ms. Potts tells Peter. Then, to the rest of the class, “I’m incredibly sorry for my husband’s disruption. I’ll make sure he doesn’t interrupt further so you can finish your class.”

Class had ended almost ten minutes ago and almost everyone will be late for next period, but no one tells her this.

She leaves them after that—Peter still hasn’t removed his head from his hands, and he doesn’t look like he’s about to join the world of the living any time soon. Cindy takes this as the perfect opportunity to maybe-finally figure out the mystery that is Peter Parker and Tony Stark.

(Because as much as she loves being right—and, oh man, this is definitely going on her resume under ‘amateur detective'—this entire situation only leads to more questions than it does answers. Mainly how the fuck does Peter Parker even know Tony Stark? Why is he spending quarantine in that house? How does someone like Peter Parker even get there in the first place?)

[Cindy Moon]: alright which of you has peter’s contact info because We Need To Chat

[Peter Parker]: we really don’t

[Ned Leeds]: i have it

[Peter Parker]: ned.

[Peter Parker]: ned don’t you dare

[Sue Lorman]: guys this is the class zoom chat

[Sue Lorman]: everyone can see these messages

She almost forgets Mr. Cobbwell is still in the meeting, so you can imagine her surprise when she looks up to see him reading the Zoom chat.

“I think,” Mr. Cobbwell says. “That we will end the lesson there for today.”

[Cindy Moon]: sweet

[Cindy Moon]: hmu if you want to be added to this new

[Cindy Moon]: hmmmm

[Cindy Moon]: lets call it a study group that im making

Half the class joins within fifteen minutes of Cindy making it. She’s never been so proud in her life.

---

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Peter Parker]: oh no

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

[Cindy Moon]: no you dont

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Peter Parker]: please dont do this to me

[Cindy Moon]: you brought this upon yourself

[Michelle Jones]: spill, parker

[Peter Parker]: mj you literally already know

[Michelle Jones]: i mean, yeah, but i really like watching you squirm

[Peter Parker]: why are you and i friends again

[Michelle Jones]: i don’t know, loser. why are we?

[Ned Leeds]: because peter thinks youre really cool

[Peter Parker]: ned i love you but i am actually going to toss you into the hudson river one of these days

[Ned Leeds]: :(

[Flash Thompson]: this is literally disgusting

[Michelle Jones]: Then Leave

[Peter Parker]: you know for a sec i completely forgot about this entire chat

[Peter Parker]: so im just gonna,,,,

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Cindy Moon]: bro.

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Cindy Moon]: PETER

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

[Abe Brown]: honestly i don’t know why i expected anything different

---

The next day, Cindy is yet again the first person in the Zoom meeting. Yet again, Peter doesn’t show up until some five minutes or so after the 'tardy' bell rings.

Unfortunately for Peter, Mr. Cobbwell is also running late that day so he gets the full brunt of a curious class of twenty or so students who accidentally saw Iron Man on a Zoom call and not once got an answer as to why. Only about a third have their cameras turned on, likely because it’s seven-thirty in the morning and no one actually wants to be here but curiously is a dangerous thing. However, very, very few are muted. It’s as if they’re predicting the argument that is undoubtedly going to take place and are just waiting to jump in like the hungry pack of drama-feeding sharks that they all are.

Peter takes all of ten seconds to notice the silent tension. He yet again freezes on the spot. “…Where is Mr. Cobbwell?”

“He’s late,” Suzan says. “Like you are.”

“Oh, great. Uh, I guess I'll be taking my leave—"

“—Oh, no, Peter. You are going to sit your little white boy butt down and explain why Tony Stark and Pepper Potts are in your house,” Cindy pauses and then, “Or are you in their house? Do you even own a house? This is confusing.”

“Why would I own a house?” Peter says because of course that’s the part he gets fixated on. “I live right in the middle of Queens.”

“Well, obviously not right now,” Abe Brown says.

Peter bites his lip and goes silent. Cindy wishes they had class in person so she could wring the answers from him personally.

“Peter,” she says slowly. “The quicker we get an explanation, the quicker we stop harassing you.”

“You could just stop harassing me to begin with and forget about it,” Peter offers helpfully. Some of the class boos. Peter ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck.

“That's not happening and you know it.”

“I—ugh, fine,” Peter says. He doesn’t meet their eyes and instead chooses to fiddle with his notebooks in front of him. Cindy knows this is a lie before it even comes out of his mouth. “I’m, uh, I’m here for my internship?”

It comes out more of a question than an actual answer. He still doesn’t meet their eyes. Cindy sends him a look that’s so unimpressed that she can see the exact moment that Peter’s eyes flicker towards the 'leave Zoom meeting' button.

“Peter,” she says. “Stark Industries is currently shut down, like the rest of New York, because we are in quarantine. Also, internships don’t usually constitute internees going to their mentor's houses to attend online school. So if you are going to lie, at least make it believable.”

Peter gives her a look of utter horror and turns off his camera.

“Peter!” she hollers. “You can’t run forever! I know you can still hear me!”

“I knew it,” Suzan Yang says, quietly. There’s something like muffled laugher that comes from MJ’s computer.

Peter is saved by some ungodly force of nature because Mr. Cobbwell takes that exact moment to log into the meeting. Cindy puts on her perfected look of an innocent high schooler and greets her chemistry teacher at ass o’clock in the morning just as she does every day.

(If she sends a particularly vicious look towards the black square labeled 'Peter Parker' at the top of the screen, well, no one can really blame her.)

Peter never once turns his camera back on.

---

[Jason Ionello]: anyone want to take bets on why peter parker knows tony stark or

[Flash Thompson]: i still say its fake

[Betty Brant]: flash the only one youre fooling is yourself

[Betty Brant]: peter did say he had an internship

[Cindy Moon]: weve already debunked the internship theory

[Betty Brant]: hm. damn i got nothing then

[Suzan Yang]: i have a theory

[Cindy Moon]: you have said your theory many times in person and i honestly don’t want to think about it at all, ever, so im going to say debunked

[Suzan Yang]: your loss then

[Zach Cooper]: five bucks on the secret love child theory

[Brad Davis]: bet

[Kenneth Lim]: theres no waayyyy lmao could u even imagine

[Sue Lorman]: no, no kenneth shut up i want to hear more about this theory

[Zach Cooper]: its really quite simple and im sure you can understand it if you read the name ‘secret lovechild theory’

[Michelle Jones]: im screenshotting these to send to peter

[Cindy Moon]: oh right peter said you already knew the reason

[Cindy Moon]: mj spill challenge

[Michelle Jones]: no thanks its more fun watching you guys guess

[Cindy Moon]: hm alright i guess we need an answer from the source

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Cindy Moon]: confirm or deny above theory

[Peter Parker]: oh my god

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

[Abe Brown]: yet again i am not quite sure why i expected something different

---

Perhaps the most surprising outcome of the entire clusterfuck of a situation is that they do get something out of it. Of course, it’s not from Peter because Peter is like a steel trap and everything he says only leads to more questions and no answers. Cindy has been trying this for almost a week now. She knows how this goes.

She isn’t expecting to log on for first-period chemistry like always, only to see The Tony Stark already on the meeting.

She’s not early this time—she stopped that some three days ago when Peter made it incredibly clear that he wouldn’t show up early anymore either. Instead of wasting thirty minutes of precious sleep, Cindy decides to put her drive towards more obtainable goals like trying to get out of bed instead of trying to grill a person who doesn’t even show up half the time.

Mr. Cobbwell is already on too. He seems ecstatic for incredibly obvious reasons. Not many teachers can say that they had Tony Stark guest lecture, after all, even if it is just through Zoom.

He’s got a little label with 'Tony Stark' and everything. Cindy doesn’t know why she’s surprised that the previous CEO and Iron Man does, in fact, have a Zoom account.

“—I’m sure the student will enjoy whatever you have planned,” Mr. Cobbwell is saying. He checks the timer and startles. “Oh! We’re about ready to start. We’re missing a couple students, I think, so we might have a few that log on late, but you can start whenever you’re ready, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark looks at his screen intensely. Then, he stands up from his kitchen table (the same one that Peter has been sitting at. Go figure) and says, “Hold on just a moment.”

Mr. Stark wanders off-camera just as there’s a crash in the background.

“Peter, you’re supposed to be in class,” Mr. Stark says. It’s muffled, almost impossible to understand, but Cindy’s listening in so intensely that she’s determined to understand every word. “C’mon, kid, Pepper is going to kill me if you skip.”

“I’m not skipping! I’m just—I’m sick! I’m so sick, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice comes through. It’s even more muffled than Mr. Stark’s is. “I’m sorry but I don’t think I can make class today. I’m gonna throw up or something. I’ll just be going back up to my room—"

There’s a sigh. Mr. Stark wanders back into camera view and addresses Mr. Cobbwell and the entire class, “Yeah, I’m going to need another moment. Teenagers and all that. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Cobbwell rushes to assure. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Stark says. He turns off his camera and mutes his microphone.

It doesn’t take long—Cindy’s not counting the time despite being incredibly invested. However, Peter does log on almost five minutes after the bell should’ve sounded looking distinctly not-sick and incredibly disgruntled. He shoots someone off-screen a look just as Mr. Stark turns his own account’s camera and microphone back on.

“Now then,” Mr. Stark says. “How about we start this lovely little lesson? High school chemistry is one of my favorite subjects, after all."

(Cindy can’t be certain because Peter’s muted, but she’s pretty sure that he gives a little groan when he buries his face in his hands and looks like death personally came to pick him up.)

The lecture starts. Unfortunately for Cindy and the rest of the class, chemistry isn’t suddenly exciting even when you have a superhero to teach it. It’s still seven-thirty in the morning, they’re still playing the part of innocent Zoom University students, and chemistry itself just really sucks, if she’s completely honest.

Time passes. The class is about to end. Cindy does manage to learn something even if that something is the fact Peter is not below a couple backhanded comments directed at The Tony Stark. She can’t hear them very well because Peter’s mic is muted but, y’know, Tony Stark is sitting right next to him and his mic definitely isn’t muted so she gets to hear a couple of gems with the rest of the class. That alone makes this entire thing worth it.

“I would appreciate it if you would all keep this on the down low,” Mr. Stark says right after he had finished his guest lecture on the applications of modern chemistry. It’s possibly the most excited Cindy has seen Peter all week. “PR and all that. I’m sure Pepper could explain more if you wanted her to.”

“Mr. Cobbwell, are we done?” Peter says suddenly. “I have another class to get to and I’m sure Mr. Stark is really incredibly busy—”

“I do have a toddler now,” Mr. Stark says with a nod. “And an ungrateful teenager, apparently.”

Peter very distinctly ignores that. “—I’m not sure I’ll have enough time to make it to my next class if I don’t leave now. So can I please leave?”

Mr. Cobbwell gives him a look but Peter doesn’t back down. Eventually, he says, “Alright. Everyone say thank you to Mr. Stark for so generously spending his morning being here with us—”

A couple students unmute just to say “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” while even more post thank yous in the chat. Mr. Stark gives them an award winning Iron Man smile and, yeah, he definitely just gave them finger guns as well. Cindy’s not quite sure if that makes him cooler or not, honestly.

“—And with that, class dismissed,” Mr. Cobbwell finishes.

Peter is the first one to leave the meeting.

---

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Peter Parker]: cindy its almost 3am

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

Cindy Moon has added Peter Parker to Explanation Station

[Peter Parker]: It Is Almost Three In The Morning

[Cindy Moon]: throw us a bone, peter

[Cindy Moon]: peter???

[Cindy Moon]: peter you there???

[Peter Parker]: listen.

[Peter Parker]: yes, okay, i know mr stark

[Peter Parker]: and he promised to stay out of my calls originally so No One Else Would Know This but you all saw how well that went

[Kenneth Lim]: guys its three am

[Sue Lorman]: no shut up peters about to let something slip something i can feel it

[Jason Ionello]: oh my god why is my phone going off at 3am

[Zach Cooper]: everyone shut up let peter type!!!!

[Peter Parker]: you guys are really invested in this huh

[Zach Cooper]: dude u know The Tony Stark

[Peter Parker]: i guess that’s fair

[Peter Parker]: mr stark heard that he was caught on video the other day and. well.

[Peter Parker]: he decided to make it worse

[Sue Lorman]: you mean better

[Peter Parker]: no i definitely mean worse

[Peter Parker]: im pretty sure hes making you sign NDAs though

[Cindy Moon]: hes making us do what

[Sue Lorman]: what

[Jason Ionello]: oh damn

[Zach Cooper]: can someone tell me what an NDA is

[Peter Parker]: i mean. he’ll pay for your college

[Cindy Moon]: nm my lips are sealed

[Jason Ionello]: same

[Betty Brant]: yeah u know what. thats fair

[Peter Parker]: ok! cool now that’s all sorted out

[Peter Parker]: uhhhhhhhhhhh

Peter Parker has left Explanation Station

---

Just a day later, a mysterious envelope shows up at her door with a return address already stamped. Cindy wishes she could say she’s surprised at the bolded 'Non-Disclosure Agreement' stamped at that top but, really, that would be a lie.

She does end up reading through the entire thing, mostly because she has a big fat tendency to run her mouth and doesn’t really want to get sued by a man who could buy a team of lawyers just to have them over for breakfast. Seeing the very eloquently written ‘if you keep your mouth shut, we’ll pay for your entire college and graduate program if you want’ clause is very nice to read.

She signs it without hesitation.

Mr. Stark doesn’t really make many more appearances after that, mostly because quarantine comes to an end and they’re all back in normal school by the end of the month. When she sees Peter Parker in person for the first time, surrounded by both MJ and Ned, they only meet eyes for a second before Peter is hurriedly packing up his backs and heading to his next class.

They don’t say anything about what happened during those quarantine weeks. In fact, no one does.

Cindy doesn’t really ever get an answer as to why Peter Parker is at Tony Stark’s house, of all places. She doesn’t ever really get an answer to why Peter Parker knows Tony Stark in the first place. There are theories, of course, but there had been theories long before The Reveal happened and there will be theories long after. It’s just yet another thing to add to the mystery that is Peter Parker.

However, with the prospect of a fully paid college tuition and the many hours of engineering and business tutoring from Mr. Tony Stark and Mrs. Pepper Potts themselves, she finds that she doesn’t quite mind letting sleeping dogs lie. And, yeah, Cindy Moon is pretty sure she knows what weird looks like now.

#my fics #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fics #spider-man #marvel

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lesdemonium · 4 years

Text

My Heart

Rating: E Words: 9,118 Summary:

Things were different after the mountain.

For one thing, when Jaskier met up with Geralt again, it was with a refugee princess in tow. Somehow this wasn’t surprising, given the way Geralt’s life often went, but it did create a different dynamic.

Beyond that, though, Geralt was different. Softer, somehow. Like he was actively trying to smooth away his hard edges, and his face often constricted with the pain of it.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to do with it.

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Things were different after the mountain.

Beyond that, though, Geralt was different. Softer, somehow. Like he was actively trying to smooth away his hard edges, and his face often constricted with the pain of it.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Jaskier had broken a string on his lute.

This wasn’t entirely unheard of. After all, with use, strings tended to break every so often. One spectacular time, Jaskier had stumbled while tuning his lute, and the string and snapped so suddenly that it whipped his face, splitting the skin of his cheek. The scar wasn’t truly visible anymore, but Jaskier still noticed it, and more importantly, Geralt still noticed it. Though the event happened years ago, it could still startle Geralt into the witcher’s version of giggles. At those times, Jaskier found himself both indignant over Geralt laughing at what had really been Quite painful, honestly, Geralt, and warm over the fact that Geralt of Rivia was actually brought to laughter over a memory involving Jaskier.

A string broke again, and luckily this time it happened without maiming his face, though poor Ciri was nearly a casualty. This time, however, Jaskier was dismayed to find that he had no replacements. He hadn’t had enough coin to afford more strings the last time he stocked up on materials and he had only replaced them recently, so surely they would last. They had, it just had been a very long time since the thought had crossed his mind.

Jaskier wasn’t pouting. Despite Ciri’s teasing, he was definitely not pouting, he was just a little… off, without the ability to play his lute. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and they hadn’t planned on any stops in towns until they made it to Posada, where Geralt said Vesemir had sent him a note, which was still days away. Jaskier was a grown man, he could handle a few days of disappointment until they made it to Posada.

His mood was definitely soured, though.

Without his lute to play, he was quite a bit more observant. They should have turned right at that fork, but Geralt had led them to the left. Ciri hadn’t noticed, but of course she wouldn’t, she was still learning. Surely, though, Geralt knew that they had turned the wrong way.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. Geralt grunted in return. “Shouldn’t we have gone the other way at that cross section? We’re moving away from the river. You aren’t losing your sense of direction in your old age, are you? Oh, what a way to perish.”

Ciri giggled at Jaskier’s dramatics and Jaskier was sure Geralt had rolled his eyes. But even a minute later, he still hadn’t answered the question.

“Geralt?” Jaskier prodded.

“We have business in Lyria,” Geralt answered, finally. “We’ll stay the night there, then continue on to Posada as planned.”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press further. Geralt was taciturn at best and frequently elusive, but if Geralt wanted to tell them what their business was, he likely would have already told them. They weren’t far from Lyria, at least, so soon Jaskier would know what, exactly, was so pressing to make Geralt of Rivia change their plans without so much as a warning. So Jaskier bit his tongue and they continued on silently.

Jaskier found himself without words when Geralt pointed him toward the very same shop Jaskier had replaced his strings at all those years ago. There wasn’t a hint of humor on Geralt’s face, though Jaskier did notice his eyes glide over Jaskier’s cheek.

Finding themselves in Posada again was strange. It wasn’t the first time they had been back since their meeting, but every time held a strange edge. Posada felt both familiar, and like a brand new world to Jaskier every time, though the town itself rarely changed.

Vesemir’s note turned out to be inconsequential; it was merely a reply to Geralt’s announcement that Geralt would be bringing company with him to Kaer Morhen this winter. When Jaskier read it, he almost scoffed--that was what they had rushed here for?--but one look at Geralt’s face silenced him. Geralt had been tense the past few days traveling, leading Jaskier to believe this message was more important. Life or death, even. Now, however, the lines on Geralt’s face had finally smoothed away, and his shoulders dipped. Geralt was relieved. This wasn’t just an acknowledgement, this was permission.

Jaskier supposed it made sense. If they didn’t have Kaer Morhen, then Geralt had nowhere safe to take Ciri. And if the fort was as secretive as Geralt had led Jaskier to believe, then Geralt must have been legitimately concerned that Vesemir would deny them. Then what would they do? Hole up in a court for the winter with Jaskier? That seemed recklessly dangerous, what with Ciri being a wanted young lady.

“Well!” Jaskier said, handing the letter back to Geralt. “Wonderful news! I, for one, think we should celebrate by sleeping in a bed, don’t you?” He turned to Ciri, who nodded vigorously, as if she had never heard a more devine suggestion in her life. “And as we are rather low on coin, it sounds as if it’s time for me to earn my keep!”

And with that, he stood up, lute in hand, to grace the fine people of this establishment with his craft.

The concert went well for a long while. Jaskier hadn’t been counting, exactly--it was hard to sing, play an instrument, keep eyes and charm on the room, and do math in his head all at once--but it seemed as if there was enough coin in his hat to pay for not one, but two rooms. Poor Ciri could finally have a moment to herself, rather than constantly having either Jaskier or Geralt as her babysitter.

Jaskier’s audience was a beautiful one. As the wine and ale flowed, they danced with his jigs, they sang along with some of his more colorful tunes, and some of the women (and a couple men) grew a little teary eyed at his more maudlin ballads. They clearly had chosen a good tavern to set up in, because every so often patrons, heavy with drink from other locations, made their way inside and joined in the festivities.

He was about to call it a night and take his coin to the inn-keeper, when he decided to end on his claim to fame. This wasn’t the first time he had played the song that night--in fact, it was the only one he knew how many times he had played it, because all four times he had sent a wink to Geralt’s scowling face. This time, however, Geralt wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was talking to some man, and the way they were bowed low together convinced Jaskier that this must be about some monster. It was disappointing, but Jaskier brushed it off quickly. It was easy to, when he had caught Geralt staring at him all night, looking less surly and more… captivated. No, surely, captivated was the wrong word. Geralt had hardly expressed any interest in Jaskier’s music before, aside from correcting Jaskier’s creative licenses. But there was something in his look that made Jaskier feel seen. Every time, he had quickly broken the eye contact, but he was living off the high it gave him.

That particular line of thought had Jaskier neglecting his duties to the room. His playing didn’t falter--he could play this song in his sleep without a single mistake, thank you very much--but he had definitely lost the crowd for a moment. When he came back with a cheeky grin and a wink at one of the women, he was too late to attend to the fist that hit him a moment later.

To say he was caught off guard would be putting it lightly. He stumbled, his cheek blooming in heat and pain, and nearly dropped his lute. Luckily, he caught the beautiful thing with a jarring twang of the strings, and for a moment there was complete silence before it felt like everyone started yelling.

“Shut the fuck up, witcher whore!” was the only piece Jaskier picked up as he attempted to catch up with his shocked, sluggish brain, before he was assaulted again; this time the fist went for his gut.

Jaskier was quicker this time in disengaging--the punch turned into more of a light tap as Jaskier nimbly stepped away from the angry drunkard. His moves were as slurred as his words, but still he pursued Jaskier with intent to hit him again. Jaskier wasn’t much of a fighter, especially not when he had nowhere safe to put his beloved instrument, but he was quick and lithe, especially when confronted with a man who had likely had drunk Jaskier’s bodyweight in ale. He only had to evade him long enough for the man to get tired or for someone else to step in and escort the brute out, and Jaskier had faced far more frightening foes than this.

Unfortunately, his space was extremely limited, what with the patrons scurrying around like they had been victims of the onslaught and their deserted furniture clogging up Jaskier’s path. So when the drunkard was yanked away from a very near second assault on Jaskier’s face, Jaskier’s breath came out in a cheered rush. It wasn’t surprising to see the witcher as his savior, and it was extremely satisfying to see the brute tossed out on his arse outside the door.

What was surprising, was Geralt immediately returning to Jaskier once the man was taken care of. His hands on Jaskier’s face had Jaskier gasping, and Geralt hesitated, moving fingertips away from the bruise. But it hadn’t been pain that caused Jaskier to gasp, rather it was the soft, gentle way Geralt was touching him.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, turning Jaskier’s face with a soft press of fingers on his jaw.

“I’m just fine,” Jaskier breathed, and he wanted to ask Geralt what he was doing, but he didn’t want to break the moment. Geralt’s fingers ghosted over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier was sure he would have a bruise there tomorrow, but all he could feel now was the white-hot heat Geralt’s fingers were leaving behind.

They were there for hours, Jaskier was sure, as he catalogued the way Geralt’s eyebrows knit together in concern for him, but when the spell finally broke and they returned to the world, not even a minute had gone by.

Their rooms were lovely, and Ciri’s had been on the house, as an apology for the brawl.

Jaskier’s favorite thing to do, now that the three of them were together, was to watch Geralt teach Ciri.

There was a new lesson every night they camped. Whenever they stayed in inns, Ciri received a helpful reprieve of privacy, after that first night when she was in a much better mood the entire next week after having some time to herself. Turned out thirteen year old girls needed some alone time. Who knew? But when they made camp for the night, Geralt took the opportunity to give her at least one new skill.

Sometimes it’s survival related: which berries are safe to eat, how to pick the best firewood, how to set a trap for rabbits. Sometimes they sparred, and though Ciri never won, Jaskier could see her getting closer, the way her arms and legs were thickening with muscle, and how her hold on her wooden sword became surer every time. Tonight, the subject was apothecary related. Geralt spent the past half hour pointing out the plants around their campsite and the medicinal benefits of each one, both for humans and witchers.

Teaching seemed to come naturally for Geralt.. It was the most patient Jaskier had ever seen him, and usually Ciri listened with rapt attention. Every so often, she would interrupt to ask questions, and Geralt would stop, listen to her, and answer the question without any trace of annoyance. He always answered carefully and thoroughly, making sure she understood before he continued on with whatever he was saying.

Jaskier found himself playing and composing quietly, just so he could hear the two of them as they worked. It was the most peaceful Jaskier had ever felt. He was so peaceful, he almost didn’t notice the cold settling in around him, despite the fire. He didn’t notice he was shivering until Geralt abruptly stood up, peeled off his cloak, and draped it around Jaskier’s shoulders without so much as a word, before going back to Cirilla.

It happened so quickly, Jaskier didn’t have time to protest, only react. Even that he found difficult. He froze, glancing after Geralt, who just continued on his lesson as if nothing had happened. Jaskier waited a moment, trying to figure out if this was real, before he tugged the cloak closer with a small, private smile.

There was something particularly comforting about being surrounded by Geralt’s scent.

Sex hadn’t changed much. Over the years, being intimate with Geralt had been so varied based on the circumstances that there wasn’t really much of a “normal” to speak of. The main difference now that Ciri was here was that it was rare for Geralt to touch Jaskier under the stars. The only time they found release with each other was when they stayed at an inn, which only happened every now and then, since they were trying to make their coin stretch farther while Geralt was taking less contracts.

The way Geralt held him afterward, however, that was new. It wasn’t that Geralt had been cold or distant after they had lain together, he had accepted any tenderness Jaskier had initiated. Now, though, Geralt seemed to seek it out.

Once, Jaskier had gotten up immediately after they were finished to grab a cloth to clean them up, and Geralt’s eyes had seemed… wounded, almost. Geralt was completely rigid against Jaskier’s body as he pressed against Geralt’s side, and only relaxed when Jaskier pressed soft kisses along Geralt’s shoulder. After that, Jaskier made a point to prepare a cloth and some water before they engaged physically, so he never had to leave the bed. It was a little uncomfortable, wiping them down with water that was now cold--especially after sessions that lasted hours--but it was worth it for the way Geralt stayed pliant and open against him.

Tonight, Geralt had been particularly thorough. He had teased Jaskier for hours, drawing sounds from his lips that Jaskier didn’t even know he could make. Jaskier wasn’t as young as he had been when they started this, but Geralt had been singular in bringing Jaskier just to the brink of his breaking point. Now that they were finished, Jaskier was too worn out even to clean the spend from his chest. His arms and legs were boneless, and all he could do was catch his breath.

Geralt looked downright smug as he took over the task, though cleaning Jaskier’s body seemed to come second to mapping the planes of Jaskier’s skin with his mouth.

“I hope you’re not trying to start something again,” Jaskier mumbled fondly. “I have nothing left to give. You’ve finished me. I fear you and Ciri shall have to leave me behind.”

If the sharp burst of air from Geralt’s nose was anything to go by, he at least found this amusing, but he didn’t stop. His lips trailed their way along Jaskier’s body, pressing soft, intent-less kisses, mostly on marks Geralt had left behind, but on bare expanses of skin as well. Jaskier sighed into the action, feeling almost close to tears, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing if Geralt looked up only to see Jaskier crying? But he couldn’t help it. It was moments like these when Jaskier wanted so, so badly to tell Geralt he loved him, but knew he couldn’t.

But then Geralt was face to face with Jaskier again, pulling Jaskier close, allowing Jaskier to press his face into Geralt’s neck, and running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s bare back, and Geralt had to know. He had to know how affection bloomed in Jaskier’s chest, how every kiss he pressed to Geralt’s skin was a declaration of love.

I love you. I have always loved you. I always will love you, he kissed.

This wasn’t the first time Geralt had gotten hurt.

But Geralt was gasping for breath and Ciri’s eyes were wide as saucers with her barely concealed fear and Jaskier knew things were going south quickly.

The one respite was that both the drowners and the kikimore were dead. What wasn’t good was that Geralt hadn’t been expecting the kikimore, and witcher healing be damned, Geralt was hurt from the strike it landed on him before Geralt could kill it. Geralt had barely been able to pull his sword from the beast before he passed out into the swamp, and thank god Jaskier and Ciri had been there to pull him out of the water, or he would have drowned.

Now, though, he was going to die simply because Jaskier couldn’t find the right freaking potion.

Geralt was going to be annoyed when he came to and his bag was disorganized, but Jaskier could deal with that later, because right now he just needed to find that blasted vial of swallow. And then Geralt was going to get an earful about needing to pack the important potions closer to the top or, and here was a novel idea, in their own compartment.

It was after he pulled out probably the third vial of fucking bindweed that Jaskier finally, finally found what he was looking for, and he tipped its contents into Geralt’s mouth without even making a triumphant noise--that was how scared he was. Already, color was coming back to Geralt’s face and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief before he could finally tend to the gaping wound in Geralt’s chest.

“He’ll be okay,” he had the presence of mind to say to Ciri, who immediately sat back and let out the breath she had been holding.

He and Ciri struggled to pull the dead-weight of the witcher, water-logged armor and all, to a nearby clearing, and Ciri set to work building a fire (thank you, Geralt, for making her so self-sufficient) while Jaskier tended to Geralt’s wounds. Taking off his armor and shirt wasn’t easy, but he managed it well enough. If Geralt complained of a headache when he woke up, Jaskier would insist that was due to the battle, rather than when Jaskier dropped his head on a log. He stitched up the gaping wound from where the kikimore had pierced him, and despite how badly his hands were shaking, he had to admit that his stitches looked fine. Not expert, by any means, and not even the best he had ever done, but Jaskier was at least convinced that they would do their job.

He was washing the blood off Geralt’s chest when Geralt came to, though Jaskier didn’t notice until the witcher’s hands wrapped around Jaskier’s. He looked up and let out a relieved, just shy of manic, laugh to see Geralt’s amber eyes looking up at him.

“Jaskier-” Geralt started, only to be interrupted by Jaskier.

“We are going to have words, Geralt of Rivia, about where you keep your fucking potions. I could have lost you just because it took me so fucking long to find the right one. You may have superhuman healing abilities, but you’re not impervious and you can’t just walk away from a kikimore trying to rip your heart out, you great, big-”

This time Jaskier was cut off by Geralt pulling him down into a soft kiss. It was effective, Jaskier had to admit. As soon as Geralt’s lips were against his, Jaskier stopped his tirade and just melted. Well, melted as much as he could without putting any weight on Geralt, who was still very much not healed. It didn’t last for long--they both found themselves short of breath quicker than usual, probably due to the physical exertion and Geralt’s injuries. But instead of pulling away, Jaskier rested his forehead against Geralt’s.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jaskier whispered.

He took a moment to breathe before pulling away and getting back to work on cleaning Geralt up. Ciri rejoined them and dutifully asked questions about the kikimore, and Jaskier smiled as he worked. It was kind of her to let Geralt go back to a teaching mode, lest he be uncomfortable with Jaskier’s fussing.

It took hours for Jaskier to realize that was their first kiss outside of sex.

Jaskier was not sick. He couldn’t be. Jaskier didn’t get sick.

This was a stance he clung to the entire walk that day. Even though he was definitely slower than usual--Geralt often had to slow Roach so Jaskier could catch up--and Ciri looked at him pityingly every time he let out a nasty cough--but that was just the dirt from the road irritating his lungs. Every time he insisted that he wasn’t sick, that it was just allergies, or he didn’t sleep well the night before, Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.

By the end of the day, though, it was getting harder and harder to cling to this assertion. When they made camp, Jaskier dropped heavily to the ground, unable to even fathom helping with camp, but Ciri and Geralt had it under control anyway. His body ached all over. He felt like he would never be warm again, shaking as he sweat with such intensity he was sure he had sat right inside the fire.

“Come on,” Geralt finally urged him, helping Jaskier up--despite Jaskier’s protests that, Really, Geralt, I’m fine right here--and into the river.

The water felt like ice, and his entire body tensed as he wrapped his arms around himself to try to stave off some of the chill. Geralt was not far behind; he’d had to help Jaskier out of his clothes, and didn’t even laugh at a single one of Jaskier’s very witty sexual jokes. Once he was naked, too, he joined Jaskier in the river, and hardly even reacted to how cold the water was, the mutant. But Jaskier had to admit, the way Geralt washed him felt divine. It was completely unnecessary, as Jaskier reiterated to him every chance he got, but every time Geralt just hummed or shushed him, then went back to washing Jaskier’s hair. Eventually, Jaskier gave into it. He leaned into Geralt’s body and allowed himself to be taken care of; he even managed to doze a little against Geralt’s chest.

Leaving the water wasn’t very nice, but the way Geralt led him with a hand on the small of his back was.

The potion, solution, stew, whatever it was, that Ciri made didn’t taste nice, but the way Geralt smiled at her and told her “You made it perfectly,” made Jaskier feel the warmest he had all day.

Soon, his body felt so heavy and his mind felt so cloudy that all he could do was lean into Geralt’s side. The witcher held him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they had always done this, and carried on testing Ciri on the uses of various herbs and roots. Jaskier barely noticed drifting off.

When he woke--hours later, judging by how the fire had died down--he was on a bedroll, tucked tightly against Geralt’s body. Jaskier lifted his arm and draped it around Geralt’s middle, managing to press a kiss against Geralt’s temple before the clutches of sleep took him again.

Geralt was drunk and Jaskier was delighted.

It didn’t happen often. Geralt didn’t drink to excess unless he felt safe enough to do so, which was rare, especially since gaining Cirilla. But something about this town had, apparently, made him feel secure enough to let loose, because when Jaskier had come back from his performance, Geralt’s eyes were unfocused and he had a lazy smile on his face.

“Ciri, I thought I left you in charge,” Jaskier teased.

“And I did exactly what you taught me to do--arrange the situation to my advantage,” Ciri smirked back, and, ah, she did look a little hazy eyed as well. Sneaking drinks was much easier when Geralt was also drinking, Jaskier assumed.

He had to admit, though, he was very proud of her mischief. But now he had a very, very inebriated witcher on his hands.

“Well, I think the party is officially over. Let’s go upstairs,” he said, standing up.

Geralt’s gaze was lazy and fond, and it never left Jaskier. Although he also did not seem to be listening to Jaskier, because it took several tugs to get the witcher to stand up. Jaskier was relieved that Cirilla at least seemed to be more sober than his White Wolf, but that still meant that her steps were meandering as she, more or less, led the way upstairs.

“I don’t have to bar your door, do I?” Jaskier asked, turning a stern gaze on Cirilla, though he was pretty sure the impact of it wavered some due to the way Geralt was leaning on him and petting Jaskier’s cheek.

“The innkeeper stopped serving me about an hour ago anyway,” Ciri huffed. “And everyone fun already left. I’ll stay in, I promise.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at her a moment longer, as Ciri made a cross over her heart, then grinned toothily and slipped into her own room. Jaskier sighed fondly, before opening their door, which really would have been easier without Geralt nipping at his neck and earlobe the entire time.

“Geralt, honestly. You do make this difficult,” Jaskier whined, but he finally opened the door and all-but dragged the witcher through the threshold.

He barely got the door closed before Geralt was pressing him back into it. Jaskier huffed a laugh as he curled his fingers into Geralt’s gorgeous white locks, keeping Geralt’s head exactly where it was: sucking and nipping a mark into Jaskier’s neck.

“Not a very subtle location, darling,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Good,” Geralt answered. His leg shifted and his thigh pressed against Jaskier’s hardening length so deliciously, eliciting a gasp from Jaskier’s lips. “Then they’ll know you’re mine.”

A flush crept across Jaskier’s face. “Yours, hm?” Geralt hummed his affirmative. “It’s a pity you heal so fast. I can’t leave anything on you.”

“They know,” Geralt answered, pulling back to admire his handiwork. The grin he gave was downright wolfish, just moments before he leaned back into Jaskier’s space to kiss him so hard that Jaskier was sure his lips would be kiss-bruised tomorrow, too. He couldn’t find any will to complain. Especially not when, minutes later, Geralt continued, “Don’t need marks for everyone to know I’m yours.”

They were getting closer to Kaer Morhen.

Although Jaskier knew that was always the destination, and that Ciri and Geralt had to get there soon, he still wanted, more than anything, to stall them. Soon they would have to part, and Jaskier would have to find some way to grow used to sleeping alone again. He didn’t even know if he’d see Geralt again in the spring, like usual. Maybe he and Ciri would stay in Kaer Morhen for protection. The idea of a season without Geralt was enough to inspire Jaskier into a mournful ballad. The threat of longer had him feeling too empty to even pick up his lute.

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. And it was easier at night, when it was harder to see Geralt’s face. Wrapped up as they were, he knew Geralt could still see his, so Jaskier only spoke once his nose was buried in Geralt’s neck. It was going to be hard enough to harden his body language--Jaskier didn’t think he’d be able to keep his face neutral.

“We’re very far north,” Jaskier began.

Geralt hummed. His fingers played with Jaskier’s hair at the nape of his neck, and it would have been so easy to just pause there, end the conversation, and let Geralt be tender with him. Only for Jaskier to continue to feel on edge as they got closer and closer to Kaer Morhen.

“We’ll be at Kaer Morhen soon.”

Geralt only hummed his agreement again. Was he really going to make Jaskier ask? Jaskier waited a moment, but Geralt did not continue. Apparently he was.

“Do I have another week? A few days?”

Geralt’s hand stilled. “Jaskier?” he asked, and he sounded so confused.

“Until we part?” Jaskier just barely whispered it. He didn’t want to will this into reality, but he had to know. He had to know how long he had left with Geralt and Ciri, until he had to make his own way.

Geralt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded pained. “You’re not coming to Kaer Morhen?”

A wave of ice rolled over Jaskier. He pulled back, suddenly very, very frustrated that he had waited until nightfall to have this discussion. He couldn’t see Geralt’s face, only his eyes that just barely shone through the darkness. Well, if he couldn’t see Geralt’s face anyway, then he might as well have the reaction his nerves felt like they needed. Jaskier sat up, looking incredulously at Geralt as he tried to puzzle this out.

“I didn’t--you never--” Jaskier sputtered, turning around to face Geralt. So much for schooling his expression. Jaskier was bewildered. He tried a few more times to speak, his mouth opening and closing over and over until Jaskier was sure he looked quite like a fish. When he finally found his voice, he sounded quite hysterical to his own ears. “I thought it was only you and Ciri going!”

Geralt slowly sat up, too. His hand was hesitant as he reached for Jaskier, but even with the hesitancy, Jaskier startled some when Geralt touched his hip. Geralt continued on anyway, tugging Jaskier closer.

“I thought you were coming, too,” he said, and his voice sounded as hesitant as his hand had been.

Jaskier stared at this man, this bewildering, reticent man before him, his mouth agape. “Geralt, you didn’t-” he started, then paused. Gods, his voice sounded wrecked. Jaskier knew he wanted to go, but he didn’t know just how much he wanted it until now. He tried again. “You didn’t ask me to. I-I thought. I thought I couldn’t.”

Geralt hummed, but instead of answering, he laid back down. After a moment, he hauled Jaskier down with him, pulling their hips flush and smoothing away Jaskier’s surprised squack with his lips. Jaskier melted into the kiss--he hadn’t found some way to mess this up. Though he still didn’t know where this left them.

“Geralt,” Jaskier insisted, finally pushing Geralt away with a hand on his chest.

Geralt hummed, tried to kiss him again, then let out a soft, breathy laugh when Jaskier’s hand stayed firm.

“Jaskier, come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he whispered, and a shiver went through Jaskier’s body. He was pretty sure nothing Geralt had ever said to him sounded quite as seductive as that, and he wasn’t even trying to seduce Jaskier now. “I want you there.”

Jaskier grinned, and leaned in for a kiss, but Geralt pulled back. Jaskier raised an eyebrow, confused, until Geralt nudged his hip against Jaskiers.

“Oh, you great, big--yes, darling. Of course. Of course I’ll come to Kaer Morhen.”

This time, when he surged forward to kiss Geralt, Geralt didn’t pull away. In fact, he wrapped his arms around Jaskier and tugged him on top of his body. Jaskier’s legs bracketed Geralt’s hips and his arms haloed his head as they kissed. He didn’t need to breathe anymore; Geralt had more than filled him.

“Can you please go to sleep?” Ciri asked after a while, and Jaskier had to laugh at how annoyed she sounded. “Gross.”

Jaskier was being good. Honestly, he was. If being good meant sulking in the corner of a tavern while Geralt and Yennefer discussed “very important matters” at the other end of it, then he was being a saint.

Geralt had only told them this morning that they needed to stop in Gelibol. Jaskier was excited; he was ready to have an actual bed to sleep rather than the cold, hard ground. Not to mention, Ciri was just as ready as Geralt and Jaskier were to get some time away. What Geralt had failed to mention was the fact that Yennefer was the reason they were in Gelibol, not because he was so overcome with lust for Jaskier that he just had to fuck and be fucked by him until they were both sated enough to finish the hard journey to Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sorceress; Cirilla only just barely managed to stop in time to avoid a collision. Then he turned on his heel, leveling Geralt with a glare that Geralt, the absolute demon, shrugged off.

“She has information on Nilfgaard, Jaskier,” he said, stepping ahead of Ciri and leading Jaskier into the tavern with a hand on the small of his back. He brought Jaskier to a table and all but pushed him into the chair. Jaskier glared up at him, but allowed the manhandling. Damn him. “The more we know the better.”

“Can I talk to her, too?” Ciri asked, though Jaskier saw the hurt flash across her face for the briefest of moments.

Geralt must have seen it, too, because he shook his head. “Not yet. Watch Jaskier. Don’t let him do anything stupid,” he said, then paused a moment. “Or drink himself to death.”

Jaskier scowled at Geralt as he turned to the sorceress, and just barely managed to resist the temptation to mock him. He did, however, immediately order copious amounts of ale from the barkeep.

“You don’t like her very much, do you?” Ciri said, sitting down next to Jaskier so that she, too, could watch the conversation.

“Now, what gave you that idea?” Jaskier asked, before downing half his ale in one go, and immediately motioning for another.

The conversation between Geralt and Yennefer went on long enough that by the time Geralt returned to the table, Jaskier was well and truly drunk. And moody. But he had been moody before Geralt had left, so that wasn’t much of a change.

Geralt’s steps were wary as he approached the table. “I thought I asked you not to let him drink himself to death,” he said, looking reproachfully at Ciri.

“He’s still alive,” Ciri answered with a shrug. “And, really, what did you expect me to do when he’s like this? Scream at him?”

Jaskier snorted, but Geralt only pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yennefer wants to talk to you. I already bought our rooms. I’m going to take him upstairs.”

Geralt reached for Jaskier, but Jaskier threw up his hands. “I can walk myself, thank you,” he said, though he grimaced a little at how his words slurred together. Okay, maybe drinking as much as he had in such a short period of time wasn’t the best idea. But Jaskier was emboldened with righteous fury. And maybe a little jealous. And hurt. Mostly the emboldened with righteous fury part, though.

He slammed his hands on the table, loud enough that a few nearby heads turned, and pushed his chair out. Jaskier took a deep breath and stood up, swaying enough that Geralt took a step forward, but Jaskier waved him off. He wasn’t about to be carried out of here in front of Yennefer of Vengerberg. Even if, really, he probably needed it.

Jaskier managed to make it to the stairwell without too many issues, aside from nearly knocking over a stool as he rounded the corner of the bar. Yennefer hadn’t even said anything, except for whatever she had scoffed into her drink as he passed, but Jaskier hadn’t heard it and was too afraid if he wheeled to face her that he would eat the floor. He wanted to maintain some shred of dignity, thank you.

These stairs, however, were not happening. Jaskier stared at them hopelessly for a moment, then stepped up the first one, only to immediately stumble back down. His hands clenched into fists as he tried again, and this time he got four steps up, before he swayed dangerously back and had to be caught by Geralt.

“Geddoff,” Jaskier grumbled, pushing half-heartedly at Geralt.

He pressed his hand against the wall and tried again. This time he got only one step and was attempting a second when Geralt sighed behind him and swept him up into a bridal-style hold.

“I can do it,” Jaskier insisted, feeling hot shame wash over him.

“Maybe by next week, but we don’t have that kind of time,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier sighed and allowed it--not that he really had much of a choice. The only thing fighting against Geralt would do now is land him very painfully on the floor, and Jaskier had zero intention of causing that kind of drama.

So Geralt carried him to their room, through the doorway, and dropped him unceremoniously on the bed. Jaskier groused to himself and rolled over onto his side, curling his body up on what could generously be called a mattress as he heard Geralt undress.

“S’where are you sleeping?” Jaskier asked. God, he sounded miserable. This wasn’t a good look, and he knew it, but he was far past being able to help it now. “Didn’t Yennefer get a room?”

“Stop it, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

Jaskier did stop. He didn’t say a word or move as Geralt’s boots landed heavily on the floor. The mattress dipped a bit as Geralt sat on the other side, and Jaskier could just barely feel the heat from Geralt’s body.

“What’d’you learn?” Jaskier asked.

“Nilfgaard is much farther south. They took a big hit a few months ago. They’re rebuilding and seem to have no idea where Ciri is. Yen thinks they’ll start looking again soon, but we have time until then. She didn’t have more information on Ciri’s powers, but she’s going to look into it, see if anyone can help her. She had some suggestions on how to help her harness it, though.”

Jaskier harrumphed. He was, somehow, more bitter at the fact that talking to Yennefer was useful. Of course it would be, though. The sorceress was brilliant. And had far more ability to do information digging than anyone in their party could. Honestly, Jaskier was surprised Geralt didn’t meet up with her sooner, and yet--

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded petulant. He knew he did. He couldn’t help it.

“Is that what this is about?” Geralt sighed again. “I had a feeling you’d react poorly. Clearly I was wrong.”

Jaskier finally turned just enough to scowl at Geralt, then rolled back over. He grunted a reply back.

“Damn it, Jaskier. What’s the matter with you?” Geralt snarled, finally standing up.

Ah, there they were. It hurt, but a masochistic part of him wanted this. It was easier if Geralt at least had a reason to yell at him. Then Jaskier could control this.

“Nothing, Geralt,” he mumbled.

Geralt rounded the bed, kneeling to look at Jaskier’s face. Jaskier reared back and rolled away onto his stomach so he could turn his face to the other side, ignoring Geralt’s frustrated huff.

“You don’t wear jealousy well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pushed himself up on his hands, turning his glare back on Geralt. “I’m not jealous, Geralt,” he exploded. He was, but that wasn’t what this was about. Jaskier would always be jealous of Yennefer, for having a piece of Geralt that Jaskier couldn’t have, for being the one Geralt chose over him, but that wasn’t what this was. “You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t tell me the real reason why we were here. Instead you hid it from me and-and-and-”

He didn’t know what else he wanted to say. He didn’t know what the and was. He pushed himself up fully, sitting on his calves, and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes.

“Is this it? Where you... Take back my invitation? She can offer more for Ciri, so now it’s time to yell at me and push me away? Because I’m jealous?”

“You pushed me away tonight.”

“Oh, so for once it’s me! Great! I’ll go tell Yen that this time it was me that drove you to her, at least this time I will have had warning before you go off--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt cut him off, and something about his tone made Jaskier quiet. Geralt scrubbed a hand over his stubble, and the room was suddenly so quiet that the sound was loud. “You’re drunk. And you’re spiralling. And you need to stop. You’re being an asshole, and still, I’m here. Not with Yennefer. With you. So will you shut up and stop this?”

Geralt had barely finished speaking before Jaskier was launching himself into Geralt’s arms. Bless witcher reflexes, honestly, because anyone else would have dropped Jaskier. Jaskier hugged Geralt tightly, pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder. Half of him believed that if he didn’t throw his entire strength into it, then Geralt would still extract himself from Jaskier and leave the room. No matter how much a self-hating part of him had wanted that before, he desperately didn’t want that now.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re acting like this, then?” Geralt asked minutes later, climbing onto the bed when Jaskier showed no sign of letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier almost sobbed into Geralt’s shirt. Another reason why it was good Geralt was a witcher, with strengthened witcher hearing. Jaskier was barely understandable. Even if he had extracted himself from Geralt’s shoulder, he was weepy from the drink. “Last time-last time you went to her over me every time. And you sent me away. And you didn’t tell me she would be here. And I didn’t want you to go. But. But if you did, I wanted it to be my fault.”

Geralt sighed, his grip tightening on Jaskier’s back as he slowly rocked them back and forth, like Jaskier really was a child. He felt like it, now, just barely holding back tears from his tantrum. He wished he had stopped two tankards ago, so he could have had this conversation like an adult. There was little he could do about it now, though.

“I’m not going anywhere, you drunk fool,” Geralt said. “I should have told you. And you should have talked to me. What, you get a little insecure, and all of your bardic talents for endless speech fly out the window?”

He was teasing him, and Jaskier huffed out a relieved laugh. He hadn’t ruined things, no matter how much he had tried to.

They stayed there for a long time, just holding each other as Jaskier calmed down. His face remained flush the whole time, though at this point, Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was from the drink or from the shame of his actions. The door to the room beside them opened and closed, and the footsteps must have been familiar, because he felt Geralt relax just slightly against him.

It was a slow process, but eventually they ended up laying in the bed, Jaskier’s body draped over Geralt’s, his arms looped under Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt’s arms drawing idly on Jaskier’s back. Jaskier was slowly drifting off to sleep when he finally spoke again.

“Why don’t I have a nickname?” Jaskier mumbled, but the words held no bite.

Geralt gave him a breathy laugh. “Jaskier is a nickname.”

“That doesn’t count, darling, you know it doesn’t.”

Geralt hummed, but if he replied, Jaskier didn’t hear him, because he was already asleep.

After Jaskier had ruined their stay in a town, it took a lot of needling to convince Geralt to make another stop before their ascent to Kaer Morhen.

“Please, Geralt? It will be so nice and cozy in a bed. And you’ll be able to have a bath. In something other than a frigid river. I could wash your hair.”

Geralt hummed. “We could have had a bath in Gelibol.”

Jaskier sighed. “I apologized a hundred times, Geralt. When will you stop punishing me for what I did?”

Geralt smirked, leaning in close to Jaskier’s ear to whisper, “It’s too bad. I had planned to have you on your hands and knees. I would have used my mouth to open you up until you begged me to fuck you. We had a whole night without contracts. Just you, and me, and complete privacy.”

Jaskier shuddered, then glowered at Geralt. “You punish me, Geralt.”

“Maybe in Yspaden,” Geralt answered, shrugging as he pulled away. “If you’re good.”

Jaskier recognized the offering for what it was--a chance for Jaskier to truly make up for his behavior in Gelibol. Though Geralt had insisted he wasn’t mad, Jaskier knew his witcher was as disappointed as Jaskier was that Jaskier had squandered a perfectly good night in an inn. And for all Geralt grumbled, he knew as well as Ciri and Jaskier did that they would need a final night in comfort before they stumbled their way in the frigid cold to Kaer Morhen. Yspaden was their last stop before facing the other witchers, assuming they also returned.

The relief was evident on Ciri’s face, too. Surely she had dealt with quite enough of Geralt and Jaskier’s bickering after leaving Gelibol. Having such a disappointing, largely unresolved night had set both men on edge, and as such most things set them off into petty squabbles these days. Really, it was for the good of all of them that they stop in Yspaden for a night.

When they entered the town, it was like a spell had been cast over all three of them. Everyone’s shoulders relaxed and they found themselves drawn to an inn as if it was calling to them. They didn’t have much coin left, but there was enough for two rooms for two nights--the unspoken agreement being that they’d spend the following day replenishing their purse--and hot meals all around. They ate their food in silence, just barely managing to nod at each other before they retired to their rooms for the night.

The bath was still hot and steamy when Geralt and Jaskier entered the room, and Jaskier took Geralt’s belongings from his hands, urgently casting his eyes toward the tub before Jaskier set about staging the room exactly as Geralt always did. Swords close and easily accessible, but everything more or less hidden away.

By the time Jaskier turned back, Geralt had shed himself of his clothes and had climbed into the bath, and Jaskier lept to join him. Geralt’s clothes had been discarded in a somewhat organized fashion--they were at least all in one pile--but Jaskier’s garments trailed their way to the bath.

Geralt breathed out a laugh as Jaskier slid into the tub, straddling Geralt’s thighs.

“Who invited you?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with mirth.

“You did. It was written across your face,” Jaskier answered.

He began washing Geralt, but in a lazy, slow way. Really, his attention was more on feeling Geralt’s body than strictly getting him clean, but judging by the way Geralt sighed and leaned into Jaskier’s hands, he didn’t seem to mind. Jaskier had only just barely started to move on to actual soap when Geralt’s hands started to roam.

“I’m meant to be washing you, Geralt,” Jaskier admonished as Geralt’s fingers trailed intently up Jaskier’s thighs. He gasped as, in response, Geralt pressed his thumbs into Jaskier’s inner thighs, dragging them deliciously toward Jaskier’s groin, only to pull away at the last second.

“So wash me,” Geralt answered, his grin so big his sharp canines showed.

It was difficult to wash Geralt when he was so insistent on being a menace but, somehow, Jaskier prevailed with as little stuttering as he could. It became more difficult, though, as Geralt’s insistent hands looped around Jaskier’s body, rubbing determined circles into the swell of Jaskier’s ass until he finally moved close enough to spread him open.

Jaskier groaned, his hands stilling over Geralt’s chest as he doused Geralt’s flesh with water, trying to dispel the soap. Geralt’s eyebrow raised, and Jaskier had to resist hard not to kiss that smug look off his face.

“Problem?” Geralt asked, just as a finger began rubbing light circles over Jaskier’s hole.

Jaskier moaned, but shook his head. “N-no, no problem here,” he answered, though his lips remained parted and his breath grew more ragged. He was determined to finish his task, however, no matter how much Geralt wanted to tease him. And if he spilled a little too much water over Geralt’s face as he attempted to wet the witcher’s hair, well, that was only an occupational hazard.

“Dick,” Geralt growled, though the sound held considerably less bite as Jaskier heard a bottle of oil open behind him.

Jaskier’s thighs tensed in anticipation as he massaged Geralt’s scalp. Geralt’s first finger was insistent upon him, pressing inside with very little resistance, as Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s hair, spreading the lather. As Geralt continued to fuck Jaskier slowly, thoroughly, every drag of his finger against him pressing deeper, Jaskier leaned forward, until he was supporting himself by his forearms pressed against Geralt’s shoulders. Still he washed Geralt’s hair, being perhaps a bit more exhaustive to the task than strictly necessary, but if it bothered Geralt, he did not speak it, only added more fingers, opening Jaskier up more for him.

Jaskier’s breath was coming out in noisy little puffs, just barely more substantial than whimpers, and he pressed his open mouth against Geralt’s shoulder.

“I thought you were washing my hair?” the smug bastard chided, and Jaskier could hear his smile.

Jaskier’s hands went back to work, now he carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair in the water. “I’m trying. You need to--ah--t-tilt your head back.”

Geralt obeyed him, and Jaskier set to work. He whined as Geralt removed his fingers from inside him, but then Geralt was pressing him forward with firm hands behind his thighs, and the way their hard cocks slid together briefly had Jaskier’s head falling forward, a moan wracking through his body. His job was forgotten, momentarily, as Geralt’s cock pressed against his entrance, and Jaskier pressed into it before the hand Geralt had kept on his thigh pressed him back up.

“You have a task, lark,” Geralt said, and Jaskier’s answering whine was breathy and weak.

Geralt didn’t move until Jaskier lifted his hands and returned to washing the soap out of Geralt’s hair. Even then, the pace he set was torturously slow, almost as if he wanted Jaskier to feel every inch, filling him up. And, Gods, wasn’t that a thought that had his breaths punching out of him.

By the time Jaskier was fully seated on Geralt’s cock, Geralt’s hair was clean. Still, he carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair, but now it was appreciative, loving, rather than filled with purpose. He pressed his mouth into Geralt’s shoulder, babbling at him, talking too fast for either one of them to really understand it, but likely some recognition would make its way through his hazy brain hours later.

When Geralt finally started to move, to fuck up into Jaskier, Jaskier was already overwhelmed in the best of ways. He lifted his head to speak into Geralt’s ear, though most of what came out of his mouth was “Geralt” and “please” and “more” and “yes” rather than actual coherent sentences. If Geralt minded, he didn’t say anything, only let his breath warm Jaskier’s shoulder as he sunk his teeth just over the bone.

His climax came to him slowly, and then all at once. Jaskier jumped straight from digging his nails into Geralt’s chest to desperately grabbing at Geralt’s hair just to have something to hold onto. Jaskier lifted his hips and pressed down in tandem with Geralt’s thrusts, taking him deeper each time, until Geralt was fucking hard against that spot inside Jaskier every time. He went from breathy whimpers and soft begging to loud, passionate moans, begging Geralt, though what he was begging for, neither one of them truly knew.

Geralt’s fingers dug into the back of Jaskier’s thigh, helping Jaskier keep the pace, and his free hand tugged on Jaskier’s cock, pulling him once, twice, three times, until Jaskier finished with Geralt’s name on his tongue and Geralt, biting hard enough to leave a bruise, came inside him only a few thrusts later.

Geralt’s hips slowed, but he didn’t stop fucking into Jaskier until Jaskier’s body fell limp against Geralt’s. Jaskier’s fingers threaded their way through Geralt’s hair again, reveling in the soft, silky locks just as much as he was reveling in his witcher.

They didn’t move again until the water had gone cold, and even then, it was only because Jaskier started shivering. Geralt tried to bundle Jaskier up, concern knitting his eyebrows, but Jaskier waved him off, instead toweling off the witcher, much to Geralt’s chagrin. Jaskier would not be fussed over, not now, not when it was so clearly Geralt’s turn. Jaskier didn’t let Geralt bundle Jaskier into his arms until they were warmly tucked into bed, the fire in the hearth letting off a faint light that illuminated Geralt beautifully.

“Lark?” Jaskier questioned, a playful smile at his lips.

Geralt laughed into Jaskier’s neck, his shoulders lifting abashedly. “You wanted a nickname, didn’t you?”

Jaskier hummed, considering this. “Technically, I believe it’s more like a pet name, darling.” Geralt let out a breath and Jaskier held back a laugh. “I love it.”

Geralt pulled away from Jaskier, lifting himself up on one arm and considering Jaskier. “It suits you,” he said, trailing the back of his fingers along Jaskier’s cheekbone. “My lark.”

Jaskier let his eyes flutter closed as Geralt caressed him. “My heart,” he mumbled in return.

And it was only fitting, only fair. Because Jaskier had given Geralt his own a long, long time ago.

#the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier #gerlion #gerlion fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x dandelion #dandelion x geralt #my writing #reblogs would be like real chill if you don't mind #so more people can see it y'know #thanks for reading mwa

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firefield · 3 years

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David Bowie - Reality (2003)

“The thing, probably, that keeps me writing is this awful feeling that there are no absolutes. That there is no truth. That we are, as I’ve been thinking for so many years now, fully in the swirl of chaos theory.” DB, 2003

I always learn new things about David Bowie whenever I listen through his complete discography chronologically, and this run through is no different. As I get close to the end here, I’m reminded how much less I know about these later works, due simply to the fact that they have existed for a much shorter time, and my experience with them is more limited. “Reality” rocks more than I realized on release day, especially coming off the heels of “Heathen” with all its layers and mystery and subtleties. An empty house afforded the opportunity to really crank this one up, a vinyl pass, and CD pass, and finally the 5.1 surround sound edition - and yeah - DB said he wanted a simpler sound, and wanted a record that could be translated into a live show easily and effectively and he got that in spades.

As with all his post-80’s work, and especially his post-heart attack material, “Reality” embraces the darker and more cynical side of DB’s many characters - from the irony of the album title with album art portraying a very cartoony space-man Bowie looking about as unreal and non-Reality as possible and still be recognizable - to DB’s insistence that he made a “positive!” record despite themes of aging and death, loneliness and anonymity, geopolitical strife, day-in-day-out mundanity and the creeping threat of urbanization to nature. Regarding the subject matter of Reality he told Interview Magazine, “This is probably a period when, more than any other time, the idea that our absolutes are disintegrating is manifest in real terms. Truths that we always thought we could stand by are crumbling before our eyes. It really is quite traumatic.”

I read quotes like that and I think, for a guy that is largely known for (and criticized for) his ability to synthesize the past and his surroundings into something entirely David-Bowieingly unique, he certainly shows skill at synthesizing the future as well. Beyond things like financial chicanery like Bowie Bonds and the impact of the internet on the creation and distribution of music, Bowie often hit at the very essence of what unites as well as divides.

The seeds of this malleablity of truth that DB describes had been planted in my country during the civil rights movement and the tragedy of the Vietnam War, but began to flower and bloom after the 9/11 event - affecting Bowie’s home turf and his family profoundly. Heathen is prescient, Reality is a little angry about things. DB took time to specifically say what Reality was not: it was not an angry album, it was not a response to 9/11, it was not his “New York Album” - but then he’d spend just as much time gently walking back those claims, almost wondering aloud if it was, in fact, all of those things and more. He speaks around this time about how naturally writing music came to him. Unforced, calmly. I think this “flow” is why you can glean so many little contradictions about Reality and it’s intentions and meaning. He’s letting it happen, not dictating the plot; the tensions of that city and that moment in time allowed to mold and shape the work. Polar opposite to the Heathen recording environment at Allaire Studios in the Catskill Mountains, Reality was recorded in the cramped Studio B of Philip Glass’s Looking Glass Studios in NYC and both those disparate studio choices impact their respective products acutely.

Reality is Bowie’s most “hands-on” record since Diamond Dogs, employing all his multi-instrumentalist abilities, and it’s also one of his most thoroughly demoed. Most all of Reality was demoed out in Studio B by DB and Tony Visconti playing all the instruments, with Mario McNulty (the same engineer DB would later trust with the posthumous reimagining/re-recording of Never Let Me Down) as studio assistant. According to Tony, he had a feeling that many of these “demo tracks” would not ever actually be re-recorded, so they were laid down at a useable fidelity. Consequently, much of the demo material survived on the final album. The band brought in for final overdubs was chosen with the live show in mind specifically. This was a smaller, tighter unit of BowieLive veterans and by all accounts recording was smooth and productive.

New Killer Star opens the record, and is also Reality’s debut single (that contained one of his more surprising B-sides, Sigue Sigue Sputnik’s ‘Love Missle F1-11’) and is a spectacular Earl Slick led hazy, woozy guitar statement.

This is followed by The Modern Lovers - Pablo Picasso - recorded in 1972 but delayed until their 1976 debut. This track mimics the space occupied by the Pixies cover Cactus - the second track on Heathen - DB pulling tracks from his past that he enjoys and placing them where they give the record momentum. Quite a different interpretation if you have heard the original - DB took liberties with both the lyric and the arrangement and it’s a cool little track.

Never Get Old follows and addresses the common theme of time and aging in DB compositions…. (Cygnet Committee, Time, Hearts Filthy Lesson, Changes, Fantastic Voyage, and many more) and the composition itself references much of his past in Space Oddities countdown, the elongated guitar strands of Heroes, bits of melody from Crack City, the four-walls-closing-in sense of Low and some of Hunky Dory’s ominous moments. A pounding live favorite.

…and seamlessly right into The Loneliest Guy. Anyone who saw the Reality Tour knows the captivating power of this piece, and it’s honesty and fragility was one of a few reasons why I thought this would be DB’s final album.

Looking For Water. Man, I *love* this song. It’s one of my favorite vocal performances on Reality and would certainly end up on my list of “underrated DB songs” were I compelled to make one. I like repetition in music, and it’s hypnotic and mantra-esque qualities - and this is one that always gets a significant volume boost.

She’ll Drive The Big Car - a supercool stab of Bowie sash and swagger, and a killer vocal performance, masking some seriously sad lyrics. Bowie manages to sound defiant, tired, funky, deferential, sexy and soulful all in the course of a single song. He’s such an effortlessly great singer, that’s it’s easy to become so accustomed to it that you almost miss it. It’s just “him.”

The exceedingly sweet “Days” fits nicely with all of Realities reflections, and has for me become a song I pay much more attention to since we lost the man to cancer.

Fall Dog Bombs The Moon is one of DB’s most overtly political songs, and was apparently written very quickly - under a half and hour - and directly addresses the Iraq War and the profiteering involved. Relatively bleak with murky lyrics, it’s a interesting and unique DB composition.

Try Some, Buy Some is just beautiful and I think one of Bowie’s most interesting and genuinely heart-felt covers (along with Waterloo Sunset, also from these sessions.) The inspiration to do this song comes directly from the 1971 Ronnie Spector version and the impact it had on him personally. DB seems to be absolutely sincere when he claimed that he had completely forgotten that it was a George Harrison composition until he sat down to work on the album credits.

Next up is the sizzling rocker Reality that has one foot in Tin Machine and one foot in The Next Day. Love Earl’s guitar sound here. Like New Killer Star, the guitar layers in this one sound amazing on the 5.1 surround mix.

Ahh yeah. Another in an amazing number of fantastic Bowie album closers. I’ve made it a point in my life to quit ranking art into “good/better/best/sucks categories and hierarchies and see art as an experience, not a competition. My friends know this about me, and consequently tease me and attempt to prod me into breaking this creed. Under unrelenting pressure to name a “favorite David Bowie track” I named Bring Me The Disco King.

I could give many reasons why this would be the one…. The repetition I mentioned earlier, here found in Matt Chamberlain’s drum loop (interestingly snagged from ‘When The Boys Come Marching Home,’) the overwhelming sense I had when I first heard it that this was DB’s final record, the sense that the threat of jazz that had always pounded on David’s door in his chord structures and harmonies had finally broken down the door… the very tangible sense that this was a composition that had already had a long life but stayed tucked into the shadows by its unsatisfied creator, only to be given life and light on this great album after it had been stripped down to almost nothing - simplicity being the sought after key to its finally being allowed to soar. If it’s not already obvious, I think this song is magnificent. Literally. The fact that David knew it was deep inside there, he just had to mine it out over the course of a decade or so is extraordinary.

Couple of thoughts about a track that didn’t fit well on Reality but made it to bonus/B-sides…

How cool is his cover of The Kinks Waterloo Sunset? In the years after his death, when I feel that loss in my heart, it’s Waterloo Sunset I turn up to 11 and allow it to yank me back out of that murk.

“People so busy

makes me feel dizzy

but I don’t feel afraid

as long as I gaze on Waterloo Sunset

I am in paradise.”

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elyvorg · 3 years

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Wandersong character rambles 3 of 3: Audrey

Wandersong is so incredibly good that I need to get all my Thoughts about it off my chest by writing a series of rambles analysing its three most important characters. Here’s the final one at last! There will be spoilers, obviously. Plus, this’ll probably be kind of hard to follow anyway for people who haven’t played the game. Go play Wandersong! You won’t regret it.

1 of 3: Kiwi (the bard)

2 of 3: Miriam

The bombshell

Encountering Audrey at the end of Act 3 was a huge, earth-shattering reveal for Kiwi. “Oh, hey, you thought you were chosen by Eya’s messenger as the hero who’ll save the world? No, actually you’re not the chosen hero at all; you’re nobody. Here’s the real chosen Hero: look at how cool and badass and swordy she is, exactly like a proper hero, not like some silly bard like you. And also? Your attempt to save the world was almost certainly never going to work anyway, and you should have just given up from the start.” Ouch. No wonder they moped around for half an act after that, with how badly they’d been wanting to be a hero and make a difference.

But that same moment would also have been an equally horrifying reveal from Audrey’s perspective. “Oh, hey, you thought you were chosen by Eyala as the hero who’ll save the world? No, actually, turns out she chose you to end it. Also, here’s this other person, some random nobody bard, whom Eyala also seems suspiciously friendly with – and apparently, they’ve at least been trying to save the world, unlike you.”

The thing is, Audrey’s grim task of ending the world is still necessary. The Overseers’ corruption is inevitable and cannot be reversed, only temporarily slowed. The world’s inhabitants would be stuck in a living hell for eternity if something wasn’t done – and the only thing that can be done (aside from the Earthsong, which has never worked) is to end this universe and start a fresh one. The “Hero” essentially exists to put the universe out of its misery once things inevitably begin to fall apart.

So, the problem with Audrey isn’t that she’s trying to end the world, because somebody literally has to, and that unfortunate somebody is her. The problem really lies more with how she responds to the part where having this task means she’s been arbitrarily designated “the Hero”.

This part’s kind of Eyala’s fault. A “hero” is not quite what you’d think to call someone with the job of giving the world and swift and painless end – but it’s pretty understandable given the circumstances. Way, way back in the very earliest cycles, the original few chosen people must have been extremely reluctant to carry out their task. How many cycles do you want to bet it took before Eyala started giving her chosen world-destroying warrior the title of “the Hero”? It’d be much easier to convince them to do it if she framed it like it was totally a good thing, including lying to them – or at least being very deliberately vague – about what killing Overseers even meant until the last one.

The only issue with this is the inevitable fallout when the “Hero” learns that they’re not really being a hero and saving the world at all. And since Audrey ended up learning this fact far sooner than she was meant to, this fallout is much more spectacular than it probably usually is. Especially because she seems to be a lot more desperate to be a hero than most Heroes probably usually are.

(I know the game doesn’t consistently capitalise the word “Hero” as referring to Audrey’s role, but I’m going to, because there’s a very pointed distinction between that and the normal definition of the word “hero”.)

End the world to be the Hero

When Audrey asks Eyala a little later, after killing the Queen of Winds, why she wasn’t told about the whole ending-the-world thing sooner, Eyala explains that it’s usually difficult for “normies” to understand why this needs to be done. That “normie” comment in particular really seems to get under Audrey’s skin – the idea that, despite having chosen her as the one and only Hero, Eyala nonetheless still sees her as a normal person. Heroes aren’t supposed to be normal people. Audrey’s not supposed to be normal. And apparently, the thing that makes Eyala assume that about her is the idea that she’d be freaked out over ending the world, huh?

But no, of course Audrey’s got to be more than just some normie. So she pretends to be super chill with it all (even though she definitely isn’t), with a cool, casual, “may as well be me, right?”. Eyala responds with “That’s why you’re the Hero!”, further cementing the idea in Audrey’s head that the Hero is supposed to be eerily chill with ending the world. By the way Eyala’s talking about it, if they weren’t, they wouldn’t be the Hero.

(In reality, this is probably never the case. That’s precisely why Eyala doesn’t usually like to tell them until the end! But that’s not how Audrey ends up seeing things.)

As a result, the next few times Kiwi and Miriam meet Audrey and interact with her, she appears to have settled into a sort of inherently contradictory doublethink in order to cope with what she has to do and make herself okay with it.

On the one hand, whenever possible, Audrey will act as if the fact that the world is ending has nothing to do with her actions. She calls her meeting with the king of Rulle to get the Overseer song “important saving-the-world business”, which is totally what she’s doing as the Hero, right. Kiwi and Miriam are the only other people in the world who know it isn’t, but that doesn’t stop her trying to frame it that way to them. She also frequently talks about how she needs to kill the Overseers to stop them corrupting the real world, and yet it turns out that things become at least equally corrupted once they’re dead anyway. Audrey even has the audacity to complain to Kiwi and Miriam that the spirit world is collapsing because three Overseers are dead, in a way that sounds like she’s blaming it on them. But, hm, I wonder whose fault that really is.

Yet at the same time, when she actually has to think about the fact that she’s ending the world, Audrey will be absolutely adamant that this is definitely what she has to do and wants to do and she’s completely okay with it.

Her justifications of this don’t even make any sense. She just clings to the circular logic of “I’m the Hero who has to destroy the world, that’s just how this works, I’m sure of it because I’m the Hero, and the Hero knows how this works.” She refuses to entertain any premise that involves her maybe not being the Hero, and she keeps repeating the words “that’s just how it works” to avoid thinking about the part where she doesn’t like how this works.

If she doesn’t end the world, she’s not the Hero. If she’s not making the right choice here, she might not be the Hero. If she’s freaked out and way out of her depth and isn’t even sure what the right choice to make is, then she’s definitely not the Hero. But no, she has to be the Hero, so she’s obviously making the right choice and obviously things happening this way is Just How It Works. The Hero knows best, and she’s the Hero, end of discussion.

As Audrey eventually more or less admits to Kiwi, albeit only when they’re trapped in a cave with no apparent hope of a way out, the reason she felt she had to hide all of her doubts about this is because otherwise, Eyala might think she’s not the Hero. She’s terrified that Eyala could revoke her Hero status and take away her power if she shows any kind of weakness in front of her.

Unfortunately, though all of Audrey’s desperate justifications to herself originated mostly for the sake of keeping up her façade in front of Eyala, they’ve become so ingrained that they’re still very much there even after she’s told Eyala to leave her alone. (It probably doesn’t help that, even aside from what Eyala appears to think, Audrey herself seems the type to personally agree with the idea that heroes need to be perfect and unflappable or else they’re not really heroes. That’s definitely how it works, right.)

There is a hilariously blatant contradiction between the way Audrey claims that she got rid of Eyala for telling her what to do all the time because “real heroes should think for themselves”, and yet she’s clinging to ending the world as what she has to do without actually truly considering whether it’s really what she wants to do. She says she’s not Eyala’s puppet, but she’s continuing to do precisely the thing that does just make her Eyala’s (or, like, destiny’s) puppet rather than having any agency of her own.

Kiwi even tries to point out to her that now that she’s ditched Eyala, she really can choose not to end the world. But Audrey’s having none of it. Obviously she has totally “considered all the angles” and come to a very rational conclusion here and isn’t just saying that so that she doesn’t have to actually think about it.

Maybe if Kiwi had had a chance to try and get through to Audrey sooner, they’d have made more headway. But at this point, Audrey’s spent several acts desperately justifying everything to herself while not being able to talk to anyone about how she really feels about all this, and all those built-up insistences and defence mechanisms have become nigh-unbreakable.

Audrey already knows she’s lying the moment she makes the promise not to end the world, and really she’s planning to break that promise as soon as she manages to get her sword back. In her mind, ending the world is a necessary part of her being the important chosen Hero. She’s spent so long focused on that by now that the thought of betraying some silly little bard’s silly little “promise” sure as hell isn’t going to make her throw it all away.

Despite Kiwi having fervently told her that she should be trying to find another way, as she’s trying to kill the final Overseer and end it all in Act 7, Audrey’s still clinging to her task like her life depends on it. She can’t ignore what she’s really doing any more, not now that the end of everything is right here – but instead, it seems like she might have twisted things around in her head and found a way to make herself okay with it anyway. It’s the whole entire universe, right? And she’s going to be the one to end it, the one who was chosen to end it. It might not be a good thing, but it’s a huge thing – the most important thing there has ever been. If nothing else will, this will make her matter.

Who’s the real hero here?

The thing is, when Audrey claimed that she ditched Eyala because Eyala was manipulative and kept telling her what to do, that wasn’t actually quite it. Audrey was the one who lied. As Eyala informs Kiwi later, the real thing she said to Audrey that set her off was something like, “hey, maybe you should let the bard get the Earthsong pieces before you kill each Overseer”. Seems a reasonable suggestion – let the world maybe be saved after all! – but Audrey couldn’t accept that. That’s because what she really heard from it is: maybe you should let that bard be the real hero instead of you.

Audrey’s other, bigger problem is the fact that she absolutely cannot stand that thought. She never, ever admits it, even when they’re trapped in the cave and she’s being more honest than usual about some things, but she is absolutely, blatantly 1000% jealous of Kiwi for being a better hero than she is and taking the spotlight away from her.

There’s a few little hints to this even before the big conversation in Act 6. In Xiatian, though Audrey ends up obligated to let Kiwi and Miriam join her in meeting the king, she makes a point that they’re her “flunkies” and outright refuses to let you walk ahead of her. She can’t stand the thought of Kiwi coming across as more important than she is. And then there’s that scene on the boat to Mohabumi, where Audrey’s attempt to get Kiwi and Miriam in trouble accidentally ends up making them seem cooler than her. She awkwardly leaves without another word, regretting everything.

You can even pick up on the fact that Audrey’s lying about why she got rid of Eyala in that conversation in the cave, before we hear it from Eyala herself. Audrey claims Eyala told her, apparently word-for-word, “the Earthsong is totally made up, and it’ll never ever work” – but this doesn’t even make sense. If the Earthsong is made up and doesn’t exist in the first place, then there is no “it” to potentially work or not work. The two statements contradict each other. Audrey is quite clearly bullshitting this whole claim and saying what she wishes Eyala had said, because she so desperately wants Kiwi’s quest to be futile. (Well, she’s either lying to herself here, or she’s lying to try to convince Kiwi to actually give up. Or, most likely, a bit of both.)

Not only that, but Audrey completely contradicts her insistence of “Eyala just told you what you wanted to hear” moments later when she makes it a point to clarify that, wait, Eyala actually explicitly told Kiwi they’re not the Hero? Kiwi confirms this, and then goes off on a big sad vent about feeling useless and wishing Audrey would do the right thing with her power, which goes completely over Audrey’s head because she’s so stuck on the they’re not actually the real chosen Hero after all, thank Eya, it’s still me.

(Audrey does give a brief “Really?” as Kiwi admits to being jealous of her, which is probably mostly about “wait really, you’re not the Hero?” but could also partly be a very heavily-suppressed “wait, you’re jealous of me?” Why would the obviously more heroic one here have any reason to be jealous of her?)

(I also love how blatantly she’s lying when she claims she doesn’t care if Kiwi thinks she’s the Hero or not. “It’s totally inconsequential,” yep. Hearing the person who’s actually been saving the world point out how unheroic her choices are is kinda getting to her, it seems.)

When the bugs show up to rescue them and Kiwi realises that they’re the one with the power to decide what happens here, saying that they could leave her here and go save the world right now, Audrey is Not Happy. “Don’t do that! That won’t…” Won’t what, Audrey? They’re going to save the world. Isn’t that a good thing? Doesn’t it ultimately not really matter if you get left behind in a cave so long as the world doesn’t end?

But no. She can’t allow that. She fakes her promise to Kiwi with the full intention of breaking it not only because she’s convinced herself she can’t not end the world, but also because she can’t afford to let Kiwi save it.

(It’s unclear precisely how the Earthsong was meant to work: whether, once assembled, it could have been sung at any time to fix the universe, or whether, like the Wandersong, it still needed to be sung after the last Overseer had been killed. If the latter is true, then Audrey could still have got to feel important by carrying out her task of ending the world while also letting it be saved. But it was never just about that.)

In Act 7, as Kiwi confronts her with the truth that Eyala never lied to or manipulated her, Audrey doesn’t even bother trying to deny it. Instead, she just frames it as “even Eyala turned on me”, and “she was WRONG”. She’s still utterly refusing to admit that maybe Eyala actually had a point about letting Kiwi try and save the world before she ends it – and she definitely won’t admit that perhaps Eyala really thought Kiwi was the better hero, despite who she officially chose.

After the fake-out first time she “kills” the Dream King (before the boss fight starts), Audrey declares, “I win!”. Like that’d ever have been her winning anything. It’s almost like the fate of the entire universe has twisted into a competition to her, to prove that she’s definitely more of a hero than them, that those two losers can’t make any kind of difference at all.

A bad way to be jealous

I love that this game’s three lead characters, who all want to be heroes in some way, are all jealous of at least one of the others for seeming more heroic than them. The big contrast is in how they deal with that jealousy.

Kiwi is so precious and non-malicious about it; they literally admit to it in the same breath as they remark that Audrey must be really special to be able to use the sword. Despite having grumbled a lot in the beginning, Miriam also manages to remain non-malicious about hers in the long run, admitting to being jealous of Kiwi at the same time as she admits that Kiwi inspires her to be like that too.

But Audrey? Not so much.

Those times she shot both Kiwi and later Miriam with her lightning-sword for no good reason were absolutely done out of jealousy. Audrey shot Kiwi right after learning that she’s really ending the world and Kiwi’s been trying to save it; it can’t have been anything but her lashing out in a heated moment of jealous anger at them for being better than her. (Sure, they were rushing at her – but she started charging her sword before they began to do that. And also, what was Kiwi ever going to do to her anyway? Angrily sing in her face?)

The time she shot Miriam was probably also a similar thing. Miriam had just been a hero to those two fairies by helping them escape – how dare she be more heroic than Audrey! And, no, Audrey’s The Hero Totally Knows Best excuse that Miriam shouldn’t have let the fairies out of the spirit world is simply a load of crap; the fairies are not corrupt or dangerous, and the spirit world was about to collapse anyway. (Not that shooting Miriam would have been justified even if that had been a genuine mistake; if someone makes a mistake, you don’t fix it by hurting them.)

It’s not Audrey’s fault that she’s feeling jealous of them, just like it isn’t for Kiwi and Miriam with their jealousy. Nobody can control feeling that way. But what Audrey can control is the way she acts as a result of her jealousy – and she chooses to act like a violent bully and use the fact that she’s the Hero to tell herself she’s in the right. That’s, uh… not a very heroic look for you there, Audrey.

There’s also some more signs of her tendency to put other people down to make herself feel better when she and Kiwi are escaping the cave. When she talks about Miriam, Audrey casually complains about Miriam’s personality like she expects Kiwi to agree with her. She secretly looks up to Kiwi and wants them to like her, not that she’d ever admit it, so she tries to gain favour with them by talking bad about someone she considers to be beneath both of them. That’s also the kind of thing a bully would do.

Naturally, Kiwi is having none of that crap and calls her out on it immediately, making it clear that they care about Miriam a lot more than her and refusing to let her forget the part where she hurt Miriam. It is so adorably Kiwi that they only vent how mad they are about her acting like a bully despite being the “Hero” when they’re thinking about how she hurt their friend. It is also very heartbreakingly Kiwi that they never even think to bring up the time that Audrey hurt them in exactly the same way with absolutely zero attempt at justification. (Their suffering doesn’t matter, right?)

In fairness to Audrey, this angry rant of Kiwi’s does get her to apologise for hurting Miriam and realise that that was not very heroic of her. But the way she explains her apology as “I’m doing my best to be the Hero and do the right thing” suggests that she’s mostly spurred to apologise because hurting someone makes her less of a hero. There’s still no particular indication that she simply genuinely feels bad for hurting someone, Hero or not.

Why care about people?

See, Audrey’s desire to be a hero appears to be largely self-serving, out of a desire for her talents to be admired and appreciated by others, not out of genuine desire to help other people regardless of what it means for her. She just doesn’t seem to have that selfless instinct that’s exactly the thing that makes Kiwi such a naturally good hero even when they don’t believe they can be.

When Kiwi is trying to explain to her why they were kind to the bugs, Audrey is really bad at grasping it. She gets stuck on “How did you even know they would help you?”, completely not getting that that’s not the point and that Kiwi was kind to them simply because everyone deserves kindness. Apparently she is thoroughly unused to the idea of doing something for others without expecting anything in return.

This is also illustrated by the part in Xiatian where she makes Kiwi and Miriam go buy a potion for her in exchange for meeting the king. She never outright needed the potion for anything; it’s just that it didn’t even cross her mind to help them without making them do at least something for her as payment. And it seems Miriam was correct in her assessment that really Audrey did this as an excuse to not have to help them, entirely on the basis that they didn’t help her first. Like nobody could possibly ever expect her – the Hero – to just, you know… do something nice for someone?

Also, in the bugs conversation: “Can you imagine how that feels?” “What, to step on bugs?” It does not cross her mind that Kiwi was obviously asking her to see things from the bugs’ perspective until they clarify. She’s just really unpracticed at caring about others.

Audrey explains to Kiwi that she was always strong and smart and pretty, but that none of those things made anybody care about her. Really, it’s fair enough that they wouldn’t, because those are pretty much just talents, things you have, rather than choices you make about the kind of person you are. But Audrey seems to feel like people should have automatically liked her just for those superficial reasons, rather than for anything about the way she acts. And since nobody actually did care about her for those talents of hers, things she was probably born with, she seemed to feel that there was nothing else she could do to change that. (At least, not until she happened to become the Hero overnight and suddenly her talents were awesome enough that people did care.)

But that’s not really how it works at all. That one crying dude who gets a dog in Chismest says something surprisingly profound in the ending: that while you can’t control whether other people care about you, you can control whether you care about other people, and this tends to naturally lead to people beginning to care about you, too. It seems like this is precisely the thing that Audrey never realised.

When Kiwi asks to be sure that, wait, really, nobody cared about her?, she just casually says, “Why would they?” like it’s perfectly normal. Having learned that being smart and pretty are not actually things that automatically make her liked, she doesn’t expect anyone to extend basic compassion and empathy to her anyway. And, in turn, she sees no point in extending any of that to anybody else, either.

Considering that Audrey felt nobody cared about her prior to her being the Hero, you’d think she’d have had an easier time relating to the bugs feeling small and insignificant, like Kiwi can. But… apparently not? Perhaps becoming the Hero simply went to her head and shifted her view of herself so much that she can no longer even consciously remember what it was like to feel unimportant. Or, perhaps more likely: she was just so used to the thought that nobody should care about anybody without a good reason that the bugs’ situation never crossed her mind as being something that she in particular should relate to.

It’s honestly kind of messed-up and sad that Audrey is like this. After Kiwi explains to her why kindness is important using the example of the bugs, the only comment she has is, “You’re so… simple.” Like she’s still just convinced somehow that their kindness-centring worldview is naïve and wrong. Why is she so sure about this? What kind of childhood did she have to make her grow up thinking this is how the world worked?

…I wish we knew. Or, at least, that we had enough hints to piece it together. I talked a bit in both the Kiwi and Miriam posts about the way their childhoods and awkward family situations explain a lot about how their issues came to be. And in Kiwi’s case, they didn’t even need to ever talk about it themselves for it to be possible to figure it out. So even though Audrey is definitely also someone who wouldn’t want to open up about this, I wish there had been clues anyway.

And there could have been! We don’t even know which of the regions of the game Audrey grew up in; not a single thing (at least, as far as I’ve noticed) indicates where she came from prior to showing up one day as the Hero. But what if one of the regions had had little hints that this is Audrey’s childhood home, something that could help explain why she grew up believing that nobody could ever care about another person without getting something out of it in return?

As it is, it’s so easy to just want to write Audrey off as A Bad Person… but nobody’s born that way. It would be so disappointing if that was just it. No matter how much I enjoy all of her hero issues and delightful obvious hypocrisy and appreciate her as a character, when this is all I can find after digging to the bottom, it’s unfortunately hard for me to like her as a person. And I really wanted to! I wish I could have truly felt whatever messed-up past made her tragically see the world this way, and cared about her as a result of that.

But it’s hard to fully care about a character who’s acting like kind of a self-absorbed dick for a reason that isn’t ever quite explained. It’s a small shame in an otherwise wonderful game, and an otherwise really interesting character!

“That’s not enough”

Another parallel I love about the three “heroes” of this story (using that word loosely in Audrey’s case) is that none of them like to admit to their weaknesses very much. Kiwi is an example of how not admitting weakness can be for the sake of helping others; Miriam is an example of how it can simply be because admitting weakness in and of itself is scary. And Audrey is an example of how not admitting weakness can be entirely self-preserving.

She just didn’t want to not be the Hero. She felt like she had to pretend she was perfect and unbothered by ending the world, because if she didn’t, Eyala might take her powers away and force her back to the way she was beforehand, when she felt small and weak… and normal. (What a strange thing to be afraid of being! Miriam at least would have really loved to be just normal, and a lot of her arc was about coming to terms with the fact that she never will be.) Whatever it was in Audrey’s past that messed her up like this, it’s something she’s really scared of going back to, so much so that she clings to being the true “Hero” who ends the world despite everything.

And Kiwi seemed to get this! Their absolutely lovely final speech to her, reassuring her that she’s special and amazing and really deserved to be chosen as the Hero but doesn’t need to end the world to prove any of that to be true, was something I genuinely thought was going to get through to her. It sounded like exactly what Audrey had always needed and secretly desperately wanted to hear. Her expression seemed like she was actually considering it and being swayed by it, too.

…Yet, somehow, that’s not enough. Despite everything, Audrey ends the world anyway, before Kiwi gets the last Earthsong piece, leaving no chance for saving it as far as she knows.

The reason, as far as I can see it, is that while Kiwi’s speech solved Audrey’s first issue of clinging to ending the world to feel like she’s “hero” enough, it didn’t remotely solve the second issue – namely the thought that Kiwi is more of a hero than her. If anything, it made that issue worse.

There Kiwi was, reaching out to her, being all kind and understanding and heroic, in that wonderful people-oriented way they have. If Audrey had accepted their speech, accepted that Kiwi has helped her, she’d already be accepting that they’re the better hero, before even getting into the part where they’re the one who can really save the world. She simply couldn’t bring herself to let any of that be true.

And Kiwi couldn’t actually address this half of the issue in their speech, because they didn’t even know about it. Why would they? There’s no way they would ever conceive of the idea that someone as cool and talented as Audrey could ever think that an ordinary, unimportant little bard like them was actually an even better hero than her. That never even crossed their mind for their whole adventure. So of course they didn’t bring it up while trying to help her.

But still, even if Kiwi had been aware of that and talked about that too… would it have helped? Or would Audrey hearing that from the person she’s jealous of have just rubbed everything in and made it worse? – look at just how perfect and heroic and humble that damn bard is that they can even recognise and forgive and try to help her with this. Perhaps it was a lost cause from the beginning, simply because the only person who’d ever have tried to reach out to Audrey and help her was the very root of the problem.

Or maybe it wasn’t? Things might have turned out differently if Audrey had happened to have a chance to properly talk with Kiwi earlier, in a different context where they weren’t enemies. Kiwi could have talked her out of ending the world before she’d had all that time to build up her insistent justifications that she simply has to. And more importantly, she’d have had more time to come to see Kiwi as a friend who cares about her and wants to help her feel like a real hero, rather than just someone who’s infuriatingly effortlessly better than her at everything she wants to be. (Just like Miriam came to do!) Maybe with that, her jealousy wouldn’t have mattered so much.

Audrey’s fate

The other big question is: where is Audrey now? She’s nowhere to be seen in the credits.

One option is that she’s still here, just lying low somewhere and no longer drawing attention to herself. One kid in Xiatian, who assumes Audrey’s the one who saved the world, comments that she must have wanted to live like a normal person and admires how humble that is of her. And, well, maybe he’s right. Maybe Audrey not being around any more is a sign that she’s finally learned humility, and she’s not going to try and take undeserved credit for saving the world when that wasn’t actually her doing.

But, really? I’m not sure I believe she’d be able to do that. She killed the Dream King in the first place, without letting Kiwi get the last Earthsong piece, because she still adamantly refused to let Kiwi take the spotlight from her no matter what. Those were absolutely the actions of somebody who’d then try to take the credit for saving the world when she didn’t deserve it. Everyone would have believed her, too! Nobody except Audrey, Kiwi and Miriam knew that the Hero’s job wasn’t actually to save the world.

If there was ever a moment for Audrey to learn humility and accept that the fate of the world is more important than her ego, it would have been that moment when Kiwi reached out to her. Nothing that happened afterwards seems like it would have been enough to change her mind, given that absolutely everything beforehand hadn’t managed to do it.

So, the other option as to what happened to Audrey instead? She’s gone. She didn’t make it into the new universe. She was the one person who didn’t join in with the Wandersong, and therefore the new world that was being created didn’t have her in it.

Consider the moment the world ended from Audrey’s perspective. She kills the Dream King and watches everything fall apart and tells herself she’s won. She’s beaten that silly little not-so-heroic bard. Everything’s been building up to this; in a twisted, desperately-justified way, this is meant to be her moment of glory. But then out of nowhere, she hears a voice, singing, soon joined by hundreds of other voices singing along. It’s that bard again, saving the world anyway, even though she was supposed to have just made it literally impossible for them to do that. They’re being the real hero of the hour after all, despite everything. Not her.

I think it’s very within Audrey’s character to have refused to join in the Wandersong out of bitter, jealous spite, despite knowing full well that she was throwing away her only chance to make it through this alive.

I read an account from the game devs saying that they originally tried putting in a scene with Audrey ambiguously falling to her probable death as everything crumbles after she kills the Dream King. But then they decided to leave it out, because even aside from the fact that it was kinda unclear what was happening, it felt too much like Audrey was being punished for her actions. I pretty much agree with that call; doing something like that would make it feel like Audrey was being punished because she killed the Dream King. That’s rather unfair when that’s literally what she was supposed to do in the first place.

Her real problem wasn’t that she killed the last Overseer in itself, but that she did so without giving Kiwi a chance to complete the Earthsong and save the world. So it feels more narratively appropriate that, if Audrey did in fact end up dooming herself out of existence, she did so as a direct result of her utter refusal to accept that somebody else could ever be more of a hero than her.

#wandersong #audrey redheart #the bard #eyala #character analysis #ramble #when your hero issues prevent you from actually being a hero

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musette22 · 4 years

Text

Dancing Queens

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Words: 3.3k

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Outsiders POV

A/N: So I was writing an Evanstan AU and then I got one of those pesky ideas and I wrote a different Evanstan fic in an afternoon. I don’t why my brain does what it does sometimes 🤷🏻‍♀️ Anyway, this is just something super self-indulgent and fun because I just LOVE to think of all the different ways in which Chris and Seb could’ve have gotten together (or could get together in the future), and also I love meddling friends and a tad of voyeurism. So yeah. Hope you enjoy this, and the Evanstan AU should be with you soon, too! ❤️❤️

Read on AO3

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Twenty-two months.

It's been twenty-two months since Chris met Sebastian, and Sebastian met Chris, and the two of them fell arse over teakettle for each other. Since then, these absolute fools have been driving Hayley up the wall with their mooning, constantly making goo-goo eyes, laughing too loudly at each other’s jokes, desperately dating one pretty girl after another, only for things to fizzle out again and again because, obviously, their hearts aren’t in it. Their hearts, very clearly, belong to each other. Everyone with eyes can see that.

Well. Everyone with eyes, except for Chris and Sebastian themselves, it seems.

Tonight’s no different. The club where the wrap party for Captain America: The Winter Soldier is held is thrumming with life: people everywhere, some casually dressed, some in outfits that make Hayley, who’s not opposed to showing a bit of cleavage herself and who certainly isn’t religious, feel the urge to run to the nearest church to find a confessional booth. Lights are strobing, music is booming, liquor is flowing. Normally, Hayley would be dancing on a table at this point, or trying to get Sam Jackson to do an impromptu striptease, or doing belly shots off Hemsworth’s quite frankly spectacular abs.

Tonight, though, she’s on a mission. A mission seemingly impossible, but when Hayley sets her mind to something, she won’t rest until she succeeds. For a long time, she figured that Chris and Sebastian would simply sort themselves out at some point. No two people flirt that obviously and constantly with each other without it ever turning into either an awkward one night stand or a marriage. But clearly, neither of these things has occurred yet, or else these two pillocks would’ve stopped making such pathetic heart eyes at each other by now. It’s getting a little ridiculous.

Something needs to be done, and it seems Hayley is the one who needs to do it. Well, ultimately, it’s Chris and Sebastian who need to do it – do it lots and lots of times, preferably – but she’s accepted that she’s going to have to help them get there.

Right now, Chris – beer in hand – is telling Anthony some story that involves wildly waving his hands around and almost sloshing his beer all over himself, while Sebastian looks at him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, laughing so hard he needs to hold on to Anthony for support. Truly, he couldn’t look any more smitten if he tried. Meanwhile, Anthony is looking between Chris and Sebastian with an expression of amused exasperation. Hayley feels for him. She’s been in his position plenty of times herself.

Right, then. To the rescue. Downing what’s left of her glass of red, Hayley puts the empty glass down on the nearest table and starts making her way through the throng towards where the guys are stationed.

“Hello, boys,” she greets them, doing a little twirl followed by a tah-dah gesture. “Missed me?”

She’s hailed enthusiastically, hugs all round and another twirl under Anthony’s raised right arm, before everyone starts clinking their drinks together again like inebriated people tend to do.

“Where’s your drink?” Chris shouts, louder than the volume of the music warrants, when he notices she’s not holding a glass for him to clink.

He’s clearly tipsy, if not a little drunk, all expansive gestures and slightly slurred words. Chris is always handsome and wonderful, but Hayley finds that he’s rarely as charming as when he’s had a bit to drink. The alcohol lowers his already low inhibitions further, rendering him even more affectionate and handsy than he usually is. Though he’d never be handsy in a pervy way. Mostly, Chris just wants to be close to people, preferably by enveloping them in a bear hug that will unfailingly last for longer than is strictly appropriate. The man loves to cuddle. That’s why it always pains Hayley to watch him struggle not to throw himself at Sebastian every time he gets a little tipsy. Somehow, despite the beer taking away almost all of his filter and sense of personal boundaries, he always retains a proper distance from Sebastian. At most, he lets their arms brush one too many times, or he reaches out to squeeze Sebastian’s shoulder when he laughs. But it’s not enough. It’s glaringly obvious how desperately Chris wants to be closer. He’s practically gagging for it, and it’s getting to the point where Hayley herself feels parched just from being around that much thirstiness.

Sebastian is only a little better. He’s more skilled at hiding his true emotions, better at pretending he likes Chris a normal amount, especially in professional settings. But more often than not, he does eventually slip up. He’ll giggle like a school boy with a crush at something Chris says, start to blush when Chris praises his acting skills, gaze at him adoringly when Chris is regaling everyone with some bonkers anecdote or other.

Quite frankly, it’s nothing short of a miracle that these boys haven’t figured out how they feel about each other yet, because Hayley’s sure pretty much everyone else has. It’s an open secret, if you will.

In response to his question, Hayley leans up to kiss Chris’s bearded cheek. “I don’t want a drink, I want to dance!”

Grabbing Chris’s free hand, she tugs him along behind her. “Come on, Christopher, show a girl what those hips can do.”

Mackie wolf whistles, taking the beer that Chris hastily hands him as he follows Hayley onto the dance floor.

Chris rises to the challenge as she knew he would. That boy has a competitive streak a mile wide – he reminds her of herself in that regard. It’s one reason why they would never work, even if they seem compatible at first glance. Way too similar.

Almost instantly, Chris’s hands drop to her waist, firmly settling on the curve of her hips while she starts to move them. They don’t go easy – that’s not the point of this, after all. Hayley winds her arms around Chris’s neck and presses herself up against him. Chris is a fantastic mover, even when he’s drunk, and dancing with him certainly isn’t a hardship. Still, Hayley can’t enjoy it the way she normally would, because her mind is elsewhere.

It’s a few meters to her right, in fact, where Sebastian, clad in dark skinny jeans and a white, v-neck shirt that’s almost see-through, is leaning against the wall. Watching them.

Oh god, the poor sod looks miserable already. He’s trying to hide it, of course, smiling through the pain, but the way he starts worrying his lower lip a few minutes in, averting his eyes only for them to dart back to their undulating hips, as if he’s compelled to make himself suffer… It’s clear as can be that Sebastian’s jealous to the point where he would probably quite like to strangle her, even if he also adores her.

Hayley dances with Chris a little while longer, just until the second song turns into the third, and then she figures she’s done enough. She pushes away from Chris, slapping him playfully on the chest.

“Good effort, my love,” she decides, before she cocks her head and adds, “But I think I’d like to dance with Sebastian, now. I’m keen to find out if I can tease out that pretty blush of his, what do you say?”

Chris’s eyes widen a fraction, but she doesn’t wait for a reply, instead turning on her heel and striding back towards Anthony and Sebastian.

“Alright, handsome,” she says, taking Sebastian by the hand. “You’re up.”

Sebastian splutters something about how he doesn’t really dance, but Hayley ignores him, pulling him along behind her. She knows Sebastian’s just sulking, because she’s seen him bust some serious (if not particularly graceful) moves over the years. He dances, alright. Granted, he isn’t as good of a dancer as Chris, but he’s light on his feet and he holds his booze better than Chris does.

Pressing in close immediately, she rests her hands on his biceps as his settle automatically on her waist. For a moment before she starts to move, she looks up at him, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Hey, cheer up, grumpy cat.” She goes cross eyed. “Dance with me. Let’s show these Yanks how us European kids do it, eh?”

That gets Sebastian smiling again, that lovely, gorgeous smile of his that’s melting hearts all over the planet, if her friends who are more up to date on the latest celebrity gossip are to be believed. Hayley herself isn’t immune to it either, but while Sebastian certainly has his sassy side, deep down, he’s just too sweet for her. She’d bulldozer all over him, and they both know it. They’re much better as friends.

It’s fun, dancing with Sebastian, especially once he starts to really get into it. They make a striking pair, Hayley’s pretty sure. Two winsome brunettes, spinning and grinding on the dance floor, are sure to turn more than a few heads.

And sure enough, when Hayley darts a look over Sebastian’s shoulder towards the wall, Christopher Robert Evans is practically salivating. He’s staring at them so intently he’s nearly crushing his long-forgotten beer bottle between his hands, eyes so dark they almost seem black in the dim lighting. The seams of his too-tight, black t-shirt are straining with how tensely he's holding himself, and what’s more, Hayley is pretty sure things are beginning to stir inside those washed jeans of his.

She giggles, hiding her face in Sebastian’s neck.

“What’s so funny?” Sebastian sounds a bit bemused.

“Oh, just… men are stupid.”

“Hey,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it.

Hayley pulls back enough to look at him, placatingly patting his cheek. “It’s alright, love, at least you’re pretty.”

Predictably, Sebastian rolls his eyes in a poor attempt to hide the way the comment makes him blush. Good lord, the man has the biggest praise kink she’s ever seen in her life. Yet another reason why he and Chris are perfect for each other; Hayley’s pretty sure Chris would never shut up given the chance to praise Sebastian freely. Already, Chris can’t seem to help but call him sweet and talented and amazing every time he’s asked even the simplest question about his co-star.

Hayley deliberately steers them back towards the others a little, enough to make sure Chris can hear her when she calls out to him, “Oi, Christopher, do me a favour and come here for a second, will you?”

Chris starts, shaking himself out of his reverie. “What, me?”

“Yes, you.” Hayley clicks her fingers. “Come one, chop chop.”

Believing this to be his cue to leave, Sebastian lets go of her, trying to step back, but Hayley just grabs him tighter. “Oh no, I’m not done with you yet, pretty boy.”

“But-” Sebastian says, but Hayley shushes him with a finger to his lips.

“Sshhh. Trust me, okay?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion, but he doesn’t pull away. Hmm. Hayley always suspected he’d be good at following orders. She turns a bit, grabbing a handful of Chris’s shirt and pulling him closer, slotting him in behind her.

“Come on, boys,” she challenges, tilting her head up to look at each of them in turn. “Grant this old lady her dying wish of getting to dance with two handsome men at once, won’t you?”

“I’m a year older than you,” Chris protests – the big lug.

Hayley shrugs. “Yes, well, you know perfectly well a woman’s lifespan in Hollywood is significantly shorter than a man’s. Enough talking, now’s the time for dancing.”

She starts to move again, swaying her hips from side to side to the music and forcing them both to move with her. With her right hand, she feels behind her, finding Chris’s hand and placing it on her hip – where Sebastian’s hand is also resting. Their fingers touch, Sebastian’s left hand to Chris’s right, and Chris makes to pull away, but Hayley tightens her grip and doesn’t let him escape. Once it seems like Chris has stopped trying to resist, she switches to her left side to do the same thing, basically leaving the boys to hold hands on top of her hips.

“That’s it,” she nods approvingly. “Just follow my lead.”

Neither man says a word, both of them ostensibly focusing their attention on her, but in reality, Hayley is certain the only thing they’re aware of his how close to each other they’re dancing and where their hands are touching. She can feel the tension in both of them, feel their hearts beating fast where their chests are pressed to her back and front.

They’re not exactly dancing now, more of a slow grind that Hayley is pretty sure some of the women in their vicinity are shooting her jealous looks for, but she doesn’t give a flying fuck. All Hayley cares about in that moment is her mission, of which the crucial stage is coming up right...

Now.

In a smooth, calculated move, Hayley twists out from between Chris and Sebastian, causing them to stumble and fall forward – right into each other.

“Oh,” Sebastian blurts, hands coming up to brace himself. On Chris’s chest.

They both freeze, eyes growing wide in surprise but unable to look away; the proverbial deer in the headlights.

Before they have a chance to snap out of their shock and do something undoubtedly stupid that will endanger her entire mission, Hayley quickly grabs their shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze, effectively pushing them closer together.

“Very good, just keep dancing now. Atta boy.” And with a final pat, she’s gone.

Of course, she doesn’t go far, just stepping back far enough so that she’s out of their space but still close enough to have a clear view of what happens next.

Sebastian’s hands are still on Chris’s chest, one on each defined pectoral, while Chris’s raised hands are hovering awkwardly at the level of Sebastian’s midriff. They’re not moving, but they’re not moving away either, which Hayley counts as a tentative win. Skittishly, Sebastian averts his eyes to stare at a point somewhere over Chris’s right shoulder, and it’s all very awkward, until eventually, Chris cautiously lowers his arms, resting his hands lightly on either side of Sebastian’s waist.

At the touch, Sebastian visible exhales, as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time. In turn, Chris’s shoulders relax infinitesimally once he realizes Sebastian isn’t shoving him off. One of them, she’s not sure who, slowly starts to move again; just the slightest movement from side to side, but it’s enough to make Hayley clap her hands together in glee.

Slowly but surely, Chris and Sebastian start to sway together, finding a rhythm and sticking to it, almost perfectly in sync. They don’t speak, clearly terrified to do something that will break the spell, and it’s so ridiculously cute that Hayley has to fight the urge to squee.

While Sebastian is still studying that elusive spot on the far wall, Chris is watching Sebastian, looking completely enraptured. God, he’s so in love, it’s almost painful to watch. Hayley prays this won’t fall apart at the last minute, because Chris would be absolutely devastated and go all kicked puppy on them and that would be too much even for her to handle. Finally, her prayers are answered. It takes a while for Sebastian to gather his courage, but then he turns his head a fraction, and meets Chris’s eyes.

Hayley could swear she can feel the electricity crackling between them, can almost hear the sound of those pieces finally clicking into place. It’s quite possibly the most satisfying thing she’s ever witnessed.

The air around them changes, slows down, becomes thick and charged as they look deeply into each other’s eyes. All the while, they’re still moving together, Chris’s hands now gripping Sebastian’s waist more firmly as Sebastian’s hands slowly slide around to clutch at Chris’s shoulders. Chris pulls Sebastian’s hips forwards, flush with his own, and Hayley sees how Sebastian’s fingers dig into the meat of Chris’s shoulders. When Chris leans in a hair’s breadth, Sebastian responds in kind until their foreheads are touching, their noses bumping together, breathing the same air.

Chris murmurs something Hayley can’t make out, probably some sort of endearment, and then he's moving in, eyes closing as their lips meet for the very first time.

Hayley doesn’t even try stop the sound of pure joy that escapes her. She punches the air, whirling on the spot and almost bumping into Anthony. Anthony, who is beaming, grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” he yells, holding up his hand for Hayley to high five, which she does with feeling.

“I fucking did it!” Elated, she throws her arms around Antony’s shoulders and lets him spin her around. “Wait, wait,” she says as she’s put back on her feet again. “I need to see the rest.”

She turns back to the dance floor, just in time to see Chris lift his right hand to the side of Sebastian’s face. His big palm cradles Sebastian’s jaw as his thumb swipes almost tenderly back and forth over his cheekbone. Both of them have closed their eyes and they’ve all but stopped moving, too caught up in the kiss to have any attention to spare for dancing. Hayley can’t blame them. They’re stunning, getting lost in each other after nearly two years of helpless pining. It’s a sight she doesn’t think she’ll forget any time soon.

As she’s watching, the kiss deepens. Someone opens their mouth, the other follows suit, and suddenly there’s tongues – tongues and slick lips, hungry mouths devouring each other as if they’ve been starving for years and are finally, finally being fed.

Chris has got a tight hold of Sebastian and doesn’t look like he’s planning on letting him go anytime soon, but fortunately, Sebastian doesn’t look like he minds. In fact, he’s slowly sliding his hands down Chris’s wide back, lower and lower until they find his ass and he squeezes. Hayley can almost hear the growl Chris lets out at that, the way his fingers tighten in Sebastian’s hair, making him gasp for air.

“Whoa,” Anthony mutters next to her, “I feel like I’m seein’ some things I’m not supposed be seein’.”

Hayley’s never been a prude, far from it, but even she starts to feel a little voyeuristic. She hums. “Might be time for them to move it off the dance floor, at least.”

She wades into the crowd until she reaches the tangled mess of limbs formerly known as Chris and Sebastian, tapping them on the shoulder to try and get their attention.

“My darlings, I am ecstatic that you’ve finally come to your senses, but you might want to move this somewhere a little more private, eh?”

Neither Chris nor Sebastian really responds, which, kind of rude, but okay, she’ll let it slide just this once. Drawing the line at actually poking her nose into their business, Hayley starts to gently push at them until they finally get the hint.

“What’s – huh?” Chris finally lifts his head, giving her a dazed look.

“Just going to take you somewhere a little less public,” Hayley assures him. “See that corner over there? It has your names written all over it.”

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters, blinking out of his trance. “Yeah, come on, quick.” He takes Chris’s hand, entwining their fingers, and starts to pull him towards the designated corner.

“Okay, then,” Hayley says brightly. “I guess my job here is done. Have fun, boys. Oh, and be safe, yeah?”

With that, she lets them go, fondly watching them stumble to their destination, where they immediately resume their lip locking. And hip locking. It takes approximately five seconds before Chris is sliding a hand down Sebastian’s thigh, lifting his leg so that he can slot their groins together more effectively and grind against him while enthusiastically continuing to suck face.

Reluctantly, Hayley turns around, smiling to herself.

Mission complete.

Now, where's Anthony? She rather thinks she owes him a dance.

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#my fic #my writing #evanstan #chris evans x sebastian stan #rpf #chris evans #sebastian stan #hayley atwell #outsider POV #getting together #fluff #dirty dancing #ao3

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