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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 10 months

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A DC X DP #18

You want a taste of my brain? Okay, it's yours anyway.

Imagine dis…

This time I get inspiration from an A03 fic, and some of its parts just stuck with me and now I’m writing about it, if some of you want to read it go for it. If you are asking for the name don’t ask, I am not going to sell my soul to the devil to find it in my ever-growing history. If you do manage to find it, kudos to them.

TELL ME I AM GETTING DESPERATE OVER HERE

Credits to them as well. Also, as you’ve noticed I decided to post less, now it is due to a good old lack of inspiration. So, don’t go getting your hopes up on this one.

…

Ever since Danny Phantom had become the Ghost King he repeatedly entered the reincarnation cycle willingly to retain his morals when he was human. He still retained his ability to stay in the middle of life and death. But when he as the High King of the Infinite Realms gained immortality he found himself losing his ideals and values, he began forgetting. With Clockwork’s insistence, every few hundred years he would become human to experience a lifetime. Sometimes he would go another round in the same dimension, but only when he needed to finish an unfinished business.

Sometimes he is lucky sometimes he is not.

Sometimes he would be born into a loving family with either as the only child or him having siblings. He has experienced the life of royalty as the heir prince. He experienced the life of a knight who was known for his skills with the sword. He was born into a normal family which made him second guesses his every choice due to his lack of normality in his life. He was also born into some wild dimensions that of which could look like it came from a book. From wizards and sci-fi worlds, he never had the time to sit and be an extra.

But there were also times he was born far too unlucky.

He was born in a salve ridden society, a parent who were core members of a rebellion so when his current parents died, he was expected to be like his parents. Born in a society where the rich trample the poor and he was forced into early child labor as expected in society to work at a very young age. Born where he and the people around him had never seen peace in a war-consumed country, a war that separated his family from each other not knowing whether one is alive or not, leaving only him and his siblings to stay alive. Being abandoned by a pair of druggies for his parents left alone inside a dumpster and died in the middle of the night, looking through the dimension he saw that some homeless people found his body and reported it to the authorities leaving his parents in jail while some prisoners seem to leave them at the near bottom of the hierarchy in prison.

…

It seems this time he was born in an assassin cult this time he wasn’t alone. A twin, an older sibling that was with him in the womb and both came into the world together. The moment he laid his eyes on his grandfather he can already tell that he is a major fruit loop from the way he both look at both of them.

His name is too formal for his liking, Dylan Al Ghul, he already convinced Damian to call him Danny when it was just the two of them. Danny tries to downplay his abilities both ghost and human seeing that his grandfather is too power-hungry to the point of misusing ectoplasm that is corrupted but still ectoplasm to achieve some sort of immortality, he tried to give Damian a childhood in the form of showing him the stars whenever he could sneak him outside. He saw the absolute worship and awe Damian would give to their mother and their grandfather whenever they visit or supervised their training, Danny didn’t care for their approval nor their presence but seeing his brother seem to at awe and do anything to please the two made his heart shatter, his older brother never needed to prove anyone something.

Danny has repeatedly shown his disdain for the two most powerful people in the organization yet it is a miracle he still lives. It is because he is a spare, a spare yes not the heir but a useful spare one, twins one who specialized in stealth and espionage a twin who is a perfect copy of Damian aside from his eyes mirroring their supposed father. Both Talia and Ra seem to make it their life mission to drill his only purpose in his head, it may have never worked due to his adult mind but he pretended it would be as to not raise any suspicion.

…

The day Deathstroke attacked not only he dared to kill the demon head but also choose to kill the chosen heir, by removing an eye and some of his organs as a form of slow torture but also killing him as he made the organs unable to go back to their owner’s body.

Danny couldn’t look away from his bloodied brother, Talia slowly approached him from behind and put her hands on his shoulder, and whispered some honeyed words on how his role as the spare will be fulfilled at a much earlier date and promptly injected with a sleeping drug.

…

Danny was already awake when he noticed the cold metal bed behind him the lack of clothes as well the number of doctors seemingly in a rush to prepare for a last-minute surgery. He saw the unconscious form of Damian on the other side and suddenly heard the loud ticking noise of a grandfather’s clock.

It seems that it was meant to be, Danny thought as an image of Clockwork flashed in his mind.

He fell back asleep knowing that Damian lost an eye, kidney, a lung, some ribs as well an ungodly amount of blood, possibly more. Danny knew that this vessel of his wouldn’t survive at the sheer need and he already felt that he would not leave the room alive. So, he took one last peek at the sleeping Damian and promptly closed his eyes, the moment he opened his eyes once again he was back in his chambers in the Infinite Realms clutching his left eye in his face whilst looking at the mirror as he felt his eye be the first one to be removed.

It seems this time he died months before he and his brother celebrated their 10th birthday.

…

Damian woke up with a pounding headache being the assassin he is he immediately looked around seeing that his last memory is being tortured by Deathstroke.

He immediately took notice of his loose clothing and tried to walk towards the door but his knees immediately gave out. As he tries to gain his bearings, he noticed a scar right in the middle of his chest, it couldn’t be from the time when he was captured by Deathstroke as he noticed that this scar is too clean, too sterilized as if someone had just come out of a surgery type of scar. As he tries to loosen his shirt to take a better look at his scar when he noticed a mirror facing his way and noticed his eyes, instead of his usual pair of emerald eyes he was greeted with an emerald eye of his own and his brother’s icy blue eye in his left eye.

Damian remembered that Deathstroke took out his eye, as according to him it reminded him of the Demon head, and decided to promptly pull it out with his bare hands.

Dread began to fill his very being and tried to go and look for his brother but deep down he already knew what happened to him after all, he is the heir while his brother his beloved younger brother is just a spare.

…

When Damian had met his father’s wards most of them commented on his heterochromia eyes and promptly greeted back with his sword in their faces.

The rest grumbled that Damian couldn’t take a tease or two, but immediately chased the demon brat as he chases each and one of them with the intent to kill.

Damian couldn’t tell them; another son was hidden from Bruce. Another son he had failed, another son who died before they could even meet him.

From the first few interactions he had with his father when he first met him, he knew where his brother’s bleeding heart came from.

Sometimes he could still see him, Dyl- no Danny, every time he looks in the mirror. The constant reminder that his brother was seen by the league as nothing but a spare. Whatever love he had for his mother disappeared the moment he laid his sight at his brother’s eye embedded in his supposed empty eye socket.

The constant reminder that shows every time he looks at the mirror and the scar in the middle of his chest, Danny’s organs that were used on him to ensure his survival while Danny was left behind.

…

He was 14 years old when he went wide-eyed at the stranger across him and his brothers in a heavily populated area.

A teen looks exactly like him with a medical eyepatch on his left eye as he sits in a wheelchair chatting idly with an older man.

Damian heavily thought of a clone, did Talia, not mother never mother, make another clone after him after weeks of silence?

Damian still remembered the first time he encountered a clone with blue eyes, his running theory is that due to his new organs have bonded with him thus creating a batch of clones with blue eyes. Timothy had spoken up that since babies have a 50/50 chance of inheriting the colored eyes of either parent made a new branch of clones.

Damian was already planning on disposing of the supposed clone when the said clone suddenly laughed exposing his neck that have a feign white line across indicating a scar. But that scar made Damian double guess, all clones he encountered are scarred free thus leaving him to have no trouble disposing of each and one of them but the existence of the scar he barely caught is something both brothers swore secrecy to it.

The laugh oh god, his laugh, only his brother laughs like that, Damian thought mournfully.

As he tries to look the other way, he suddenly faced the same doctor who was the assistant doctor that foresees his surgery years ago. He may have distanced himself from the League after he had fulfilled his debt but it was no mistaking that it was the same doctor that operated him that time.

A chemist they said, an insufficient man who is more cowardly than any other man yet his talent in poisons made him quite a gem in the League.

A clone who had broke out of their collective mind control? Possible, but why this clone? What made this look alike so special that this man dared to leave the League?

…

Robin began to follow the two, the other bats thought that he had a new case on his lap that requires recon. They didn’t question Robin’s new behavior as they have seen him do the same actions when he landed himself a case or when he was following a lead. Yet they couldn’t shake the feeling that something is not right, whether it is the fact that Robin refused any assistance or just the fact they have no idea what kind of case Robin is working on.

They should have listened to their guts then maybe they wouldn’t be surprised at the bat screen, showing a maternal and paternal match to a picture of a blue-eyed black-haired kid with a medical eyepatch on his left eye looking like Damian in a good day.

…

Danny was doing some paperwork when a flying thought passed by him about his last reincarnation. All memories from his adventures when he got reincarnated are usually put behind the back of his hand yet worries about the well-being of his brother made him distracted, and kept close a special one-way mirror to monitor his baby brother.

Danny felt nostalgic at the family drama and chaos that he can’t help but cackle at each interaction Damian has with their father’s adopted children and wards. He found himself majorly of his time watching for hours and hours, he can’t help but wish he was there. As if he was summoned Clockwork appeared in front of him and told him to go back, which confuses Danny since it was Clockwork who implemented that he cannot go back to the same dimension/ world if his body is too far gone to be revived by him, yet Clockwork told him to give someone named Alfred his regards and vanished. Looking bewildered at his mentor/ grandfather he tried to sense his vessel with little to no hope seeing that the League has his body, but surprises himself when he felt his own body submerged in a portion of the Lazarus pit.

…

Going back, he was greeted by an assistant doctor that used to be in the League due to his ancestor’s debt. He explained that he cannot in good conscience do what he was instructed to after the operation, stole his body, and submerged it in an undiscovered pit due to its small size, enough to dump a child not enough for a grown adult.

After an initial check-up, both he and the doctor discovered that the mini Lazarus pit regenerated all of his organs except his eye seeing that it was his entire body submerged excluding his head. The assistant doc theorized that those organs of his may be weaker since they were generated from nothing, Danny in all his eldritch glory as well as being the most powerful being across the Infinite Realms played his part perfectly of a now disabled child.

After all who would accuse this disabled child putting the daughter of the Demon Head in an endless nightmare by his command to Fright Knight? Who would accuse that innocent blue eye of his that he had killed any assassin in their tail ever since he and his now temporary guardian began exploring the world? Who would accuse an adorable child that he was the one who had put the Joker in a definite MIA? Who would accuse this child who smiles like the sun despite his setbacks be the one who tortured Deathstroke to the brink of insanity? Danny is pretty sure his temporary guardian knew of his secret endeavors but remained quiet due to his habit when he was in the League or just to prevent any grayer hairs from growing in.

…

Now if only his brother stopped moping around the building across their apartment complex and just come inside, he made his infamous fudge to share with his brother. His brother didn’t have to drag the rest of the bat brigade in watching him across the building, he even made extra fudge, if only they could just go through the front door instead of rescuing him first in every rogue attack and pretend, they don’t him. Well, if they are playing a game then count him in to win. But for some reason all of them made a face of being constipated whenever they talk to him, Danny is so sure he used clean ingredients to make his fudge…

God dammit just enter the front door like a normal person, better yet tell Batman to stop looking at him as if he died! Those windows are not paying to fix themselves each time one of them decided to stop dropping and roll every other night!

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #ghost king danny #batfam #danny fenton #op danny #damian wayne

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arcadian-vampire · 2 years

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Oracle and Ravio's Terraria Playthrough!

aka another long-ass post full of screenshots, wahoo

@ravio-the-cabinet-man and I beat the Moon Lord yesterday, the first time ever for both of us! So while we decide what we wanna do next (aside from playing with Rice), I'm finally gonna share screenshots of the things we've built. This is a medium world if I remember right, on Journey mode (bc we just like to goof around), and it's named 'Quack', thanks to Ravio's habit of naming things different animal noises

Up first, our house! Its name is Jeremiah, bc I asked Ravio what we should call it, and he immediately suggested that. The basement originally was the same length as the house above it, but as we got more and more items and more and more crafting stations, we had to expand, lol.

We made sure a lot of these rooms were vaild housing, so that whenever new npcs arrived, they'd come to our main house until we found a new home for them. The Tax Collector and Golfer still live with us, bc I never got around to building places for them (and it's nice to have the Tax Collector nearby, even if I feel bad abt having npcs pay rent).

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To the left of that is Ravio's lil greenhouse, bc he's in charge of potion-making, and a heart-shaped pond. The greenhouse has a name as well, but I can only remember the last part of it, which is '-Jeremiah's Lover'. The buildings are gay

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Further to the left is a lil arena where we go for events like Solar Eclipses. Pretty much all of our banners are hung here lksdjf;al

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Continuing on further left, we've got a fishing dock! One of many around our world. It's pretty close to the Event Arena, so monsters get stuck under the dock. a Lot

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Left some more, we've got the snow biome, where the Goblin Tinkerer, Mechanic, Steampunker, and Cyborg all live, ft. banners from the Celestial Pillar monsters bc one of the pillars always spawns nearby

We shimmered most of our npcs btw- the minute we found the Aether biome, we went ham dunking everything in the water (including Ravio)

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Past that, is our desert ghost town (desert-ed town?). It HAD been the home of our Nurse, Arms Dealer, and Dye Trader, but when we defeated the Wall of Flesh the corruption spawned here :/ We tried purifying it, but the npcs still refused to move back in, so we ended up building them a new place on the other side of the world

Instead of just leaving it or tearing it down, we turned the old desert settlement into a ghost town, full of holes, cobwebs, and gravestones that say things like 'RIP Twitter'. Just for funsies

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A ways past that, we have the Dungeon, an arena built in front of it, and our underground 'temple'/palace deal so we could put a pylon here. One of the Celestial Pillars spawns above the arena, so that's neat

Unfortunately I tried to make this arena look interesting, but the way I did it, it kind of gives me a headache if I run through it too fast, rip. It has been So easy to trigger migraines lately, I have to be careful even reforging items too fast, bc the flashing colors get to me. But anyway

This was built quite a while after the arena, and I had a LOT of fun with it. The Tavernkeep, Demolitionist, and Clothier live here. The pylon is just off-screen to the left, at the bottom of the stairs. The elevator on the right just leads to the entrance of the arena above

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Left again, we've got some Corruption we purified, along with a tunnel we dug around the Glowing Mushroom biome juuust in case we missed any Corruption

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The Glowing Mushroom biome, built over the remains of an old patch of Corruption. I'd done a big mushroom in my own single-player world, but it ended up really stiff, so I tried to improve on that here.

The inside of the cap is sorta unfinished but shh don't worry abt it, there were other projects that needed to be done

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The left ocean got turned into a quick arena that we used for the Pumpkin Moon and Martian Madness events, and Duke Fishron (a boss we died to so, so, SO many times before I realized I'd had the difficulty turned up to 'expert' like a goof)

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Zooming back to the center of the world, we've got a fishing pond to the right of our beloved house Jeremiah, and a small graveyard at the initial spawn point. The graves are dedicated to our first guide who died to summon the Wall of Flesh, our second guide who was accidentally murdered when Ravio's minions killed a demon over lava in the Underworld (followed by shrieks of panic when Ravio had to face WoF alone, pff), and the six (6) npcs that were slaughtered when we fought the Empress of Light during the day- we didn't realize just how far her attacks could reach, and they're all one-hit-KOs during the day... Pretty sure everyone living in the Hallow Tower died (skill issue. get good)

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Next to the graves is an unfinished house I built for the Guide, the Merchant, and a slime pet or two. At the time I took this screenshot, the Nerd Slime was dead :( Daytime EoL again, smh

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To the right, over a hill and a hellevator, is the Hallow! It initially spawned in the Jungle (SIGH) so I bought some seeds to spread it into the forest a bit, though I never ended up planting trees and making it pretty. We've got two dorky lil 'arenas' where we fight EoL bc we're stupid <3 She's the only boss fight we do repeatedly for fun, but we never bothered to build a proper arena for it. Spending any time in the Hallow? Fuck building, we're fighting EoL

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One of my very favorite builds, the unfinished Hallow Tower... full of random doors in the walls, because the Pylon is inside the tower, and a Celestial Pillar always spawns Right Outside (or, on the very fucking top of the tower, unfortunately), so we kept getting trapped in the tower with a ton of monsters harassing us </3 The Party Girl, Princess, and Wizard all live here, with a pet rabbit and the Cool Slime. They die all the time.

I ended up having to fill the uppermost roof with grass + spray it with Hallow solution so the top half of the tower would still count as being in the Hallow, because it's just so tall, lol

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Past the Hallowed part of the jungle is. probably the funniest bit of our world. I um. made a BIG fancy arena specifically for the Old One's Army event. Went all Extra with it, made it real grand. And we've left the jungle npcs in one of those wooden apartment buildings ;jflaskdjf;a;

Even on Journey mode with two players, the Old One's Army was DIFFICULT omg. I'm not sure I want to try it on my own

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Through another small forest, we've got the non-Corrupted desert! Full of Celestial Pillar banners, because this is another spot a Pillar always spawns. Our Dye Trader likes to sit on the balcony and watch fire rain from the sky. Remarkably, he hasn't died yet

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And finally, we've got the right ocean, where the Angler, Stylist, and Pirate all live! This was another pretty early build

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And that's it for now! We're for sure gonna continue goofing off here, and start a new world with new characters at some point- potentially in Classic mode, depending on if I can work out how to make a proper server to reduce lag, lol

#pikaposts #pikaplays terraria #i've been very autistic abt terraria lately can u tell #'if you Have to read some of the wiki it's bad game design' oh but it's So Good for my autism brain. the spreadsheet potential... <3 <3 <3 #it's been a really nice thing to distract me from [waves hands vaguely at my body] too. and a nice break from doing art #mindlessly placing blocks or whacking enemies w ridiculous weapons is great. semi-productive dissociation. wahoo

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klaus-is-the-real-number-1 · 4 years

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The House of the Rising Sun (Number 5 x reader)

A/N: This is an unfinished fic ive had in my drafts for well over a year,, enjoy? based of s1

Crime rates had never been higher, gangs ravaging the city any opportunity they got dealing class A narcotics and carrying out random acts of violence. No one leaves their houses at night, as soon as the sun sets the streets would empty and complete anomie would take place. One ‘gang’ were set above the rest, they were practically the equivalent of the mafia, all dressed in a smartly pressed uniform and operating throughout the entire city, the Umbrella Academy. Rumour has it they all had ‘powers’ of some sort, making them the most powerful gang, even if they didn’t have their ‘powers’ they would still be in the lead having very high levels of violence between them.

The Umbrella Academy all had nicknames, a mere murmur of the said names would send people running like scared dogs, tails between their legs. The most feared of the Umbrella Academy was The Boy, just as him name suggested he was the one no one knew anything about, yes there was rumours but never any solid facts. The Boy had apparently travelled to the future, has a kill count of hundreds and can appear in a flash of blue from thin air, but these are just mad rumours that drift round town.

Dusk set upon the city but you didn’t notice, too busy finishing bouquets in your shop. You ran a small florists on the outskirts of the town, you never caused any trouble and had never stayed late until today. You glanced out the window and gasped, looking at the pitch black sky, feeling your heart rate increase at the thought of walking four blocks in the gang ridden town. As quickly as you could you close the shop, making sure the doors were locked and the solid metal shutters were firmly shut. You leave by the back door, locking it and closing the shutter yet again, not leaving your small life source of a shop to the vengeance of raging gangs who carry out pointless crimes.

Shadows hid your small frame as you quickly walked home, defenceless, hoping to miss anyone out at the late hours of the night. Unfortunately, luck was not playing on your side, from the shadows you could make out a group of lads making their way threateningly down the street. All you could do is pray that you wouldn’t get spotted in the dark shadows.

“Well what do we have here?” You quickened your pace somehow thinking that you could move away from them but you were wrong. You were surrounded like you were feeding bread to a flock of seagulls, if the seagulls were feral and had rabies it would mirror how afraid you were at that moment.

“Sorry!” Is all you were able to squeak out as you were roughly pulled out from the safeness of the dark into the centre of the group, your bag getting ripped off your back. Your frozen, watching them go through the contents of your bad, dumping out all your papers and pens that you had in your bag until finally finding your purse. “Please don’t it’s all I have.”

As soon as the words left your mouth you were on the ground, a numbing pain shooting through the side of your head, you could see heavy droplets of blood hit the floor as your nose bled from the impact. Another sharp impact landed against your ribs as a sob wracked through your shaking body, unable to comprehend how quickly the events had escalated, all you could do now is wait for the next impact but it never came.

“Hey, assholes!” The voice was crisp and sharp, dripping with confidence and authority. “Pick on someone your own size.”

Coins fell to the floor as the gang dropped your bag and your purse and ran, you couldn’t even look up, the thought of someone more threatening than an entire group sent shivers down your hurt body. You didn’t hear footsteps, all you saw from your peripheral vision a blue light and a dark figure. The rustling sound of papers cut through the silent street and the harsh zip of your bag startled you.

“You need to see someone about that.” You look up and were met with none other than The Boy, the most questioned of the Umbrella Academy, dressed in a smart uniform, domino mask securely covering his identity. His fingertips lightly brushed the side of your head, causing you to flinch away. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He said unconvincingly, emotions hidden by the mask.

He held your now packed bag out to you, you lifted yourself off the floor, wincing as you did so. You cautiously took your bag from The Boys hand, holding it loosely in your hand. Taking a step, you stumble, your side collapsing in on it’s self, The Boy caught you, putting his arm around your waist to steady you.

“Here, let me help you home, where do you live?” In your shattered state you told him, and in a blink of blue you were at your door. You messily fumble with your keys as your shaking hands roughly push your door open, dropping your bag into your small apartment.

“Thank you.” The mask clad boy stood before you, hands in his shorts pockets.

“It’s okay,” You couldn’t see his eyes but you knew they were scanning over your body. “Make sure to get your injuries checked over, they got you pretty hard y/n.” Then he was gone.

You lock your door and double check your windows, securing them before limping over to your bathroom, looking at your beaten form in the mirror. Red marks spread over your face and the side of your body, bruising already starting to form, blood stained your white patterned shirt with a now ruined name tag, the thought of work taking over your thoughts, well not all of your thoughts. The Boy was also on your thoughts, his cold emotionless face, half covered by a domino mask, contrasted with the softness of his words, the caring nature of his touch. He’s a crime lord, a dangerous man, yet he showed kindness to you.

Five was angry, he was angry with himself that he didn’t get there quick enough to stop them hurting y/n. She was the only pure thing left in the city and they went for her, defenceless. Five would’ve killed them on the spot if he didn’t want to hurt y/n any more than she already was. He wasn’t actively going out of his way to find y/n, she was sunshine in a grey and broken world.

“Five,” He hadn’t even finished teleporting into his room before Luther started speaking. “We’re not meant to be out on the streets. What were you doing?” Luther’s big frame towered over Five, attempting to threaten him.

“I was out doing what were meant to be doing, keeping our authority through the streets. Haven’t you heard that they’ve been saying we’re weak.” Five snarled at his brother prompting Luther to sigh then walk out. It wasn’t always like this, they could’ve been heroes but Mr Hargreeves only saw the darkness and the powers within them, he made them the best at being the worst and for some it was the end of the line.

An aching agony wracked through your fragile body as your head pounded like a thousand drummers sounding the beating retreat. You hoped a shower would ease any of the pain, warm water running over all of your bruises, the side of your body looking like a black and blue watercolour along your ribs. Your work clothes were just casual, simple, it was one of the upsides of owning your own business. However, you did have an apron, it had different flowers embroidered on it and a simple name tag. A name tag now covered in blood.

Quiet music softly played in the background of your flower shop, you swept the floor in time to the music, swaying your hips as you did so. Heading back to the storage room, you heard the bell to the shop chime, a welcoming noise.

“Hey, how can I help?” The man seemed startled, looking up at the arrangement of bouquets and flashing a quick smile.

“I’d like some flowers for my mom,” He almost hesitated with his words, a soft peach colour present on his cheeks. “I saw your shop yesterday and couldn’t remember the last time anyone had got her any.”

“Awe, that’s super sweet, have any of the bouquets caught your fancy or does she have a flower preference?” The boy in front of you was about the same age as you, maybe older, he had sharp features but they were even out by the softness of his eyes.

He thought for a moment, searching the deepest parts of his brain. “Lilies, she likes lilies.” You smile at his words before looking round your small, compacted shop for any pre-made bouquets.

“We don’t have any made up right now but if you come back,” You look at the clock, thinking about a convenient time for him to come back. “In about 2 hours I’ll have one made up for you?” You give him a sweet smile as he nods. “Great! If you want you can leave your name and number so I can text you when its done.”

You watch him messily write his details on a post it note. Peeling it off the block, you stick it to your notice board, looking at his name as you did so. Five. “I’ll send you a text once your bouquets done!”

“Ok, thank you,” He hesitated as he strained to read your name tag. “Y/n.”

“No problem, Five.” You see a small smile break out on his face as he left the shop. The rest of your day dragged as a slow drip of customers drifted in and out of the shop. You made a large bouquet of different types of lilies for Five, taking extra care to arrange them in the prettiest way you could, making it extra special for his mom.

You admire your handy work, loving when you get special orders being able to be as creative as you want. You send a text to Five saying that he can drop in any time from now until closing to pick them up, you get an almost instant response sending his thanks.

Shouting echoed down the street, sharp crashing of glass cutting through the air. Smoke drifted like ghosts down the street as screams echoed down the road of people coughing, spluttering grasping for breath. Peering out your shop window you saw them again, the lads from the night before, petrol bombs in hand ready to throw. You had to consider you options, quick, close the shutters quickly and run out the back or just run out and risk that they recognise you.

Quickly, you pulled the shutters down as you hear the unruly lads shouting get louder, you think your safe but then you remember the window upstairs, wide open, vulnerable. Taking two steps at a time but you were halfway to the window and heard a ‘get the flower shop’.

A flame like a rabid hare shot past you, shattering on the ground followed by another, hitting the window dead on surrounding you in flame, no escape in a smoke filling room. Smoke licked the walls as smoke danced in your lungs, making you feel lightheaded, blurring you vision. The floor burnt as you dropped to your knees, trying to take in any remaining oxygen, begging for your eyes not to close.

As Five walked back to the flower shop only to be met with shouting, screaming and sirens, noticing the smoke in the air he quickened his pace, only to break out into a sprint at the sight of the small flower shop in flames. He couldn’t see y/n out in the street in front of the shop, in a blind panic he blipped into the shop, looking round and seeing smoke pouring down the stairs, dread filling his body. In a blink of an eye he was in the burning room, finding y/n unconscious on the floor, he grabbed her body and as quickly as he could in the haze of the smoke.

He flashed to the academy, roughly shaking y/n shoulder. “Y/n,” He checked she was still breathing. “y/n please. Wake up. Mom!” Grace came round the corner, watching her son frantically shake an unconscious body.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Grace’s calming voice did nothing to sooth the panicking boy, she looked at the girls flame licked skin. “Take her to the medical room, Five.” Without another word Five had flashed upstairs, Grace beginning jogging up the stairs wrapping her medical apron around her as she did.

You gasp awake, proceeding to cough up whatever smoke settled in your lungs. You didn’t recognise the room around you, it didn’t look like any normal hospital, or even a hospital at all. Panicking at the foreign surroundings you drag yourself out of the bed, body screaming out at the heat in your arms and palms from the fire, the fire, your shop. Before even having time to comprehend the series of unfortunate events that led you up to this point, a woman walked in, sending heaving 1950/60��s vibe.

“Hello dear, I’m Grace.” Grace had a soft voice but it didn’t sound quite right, it sounded almost robotic, not human.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” You pushed past her and hope to find a way out of the large eerie house you were in. Panic mode overtook your whole body as you tried to find any way out, footsteps echoing behind you as Grace tried to catch up with you but you saw the front door and ran for it.

“My dear, you can’t go yet!” But you had already ran out the door, it being left wide open behind you, sprinting down the street probably looking like a madman but in that moment it didn’t matter to you, you had to get out.

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #number 5 #number five #five hargreeves x reader #number 5 x reader #number five x reader #number five imagine #number five oneshot #number 5 imagine #five hargreeves imagine #this is so old and unfinished but al post it anyways

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squirmymochi · 4 years

Text

Hello again! This story was commissioned by a lovely repeat customer and I got permission to post it for y’all to enjoy. Hope you like it!

***

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Connor chants along with the other boys as Jack downs the rest of his beer, his throat working up and down as he drinks. His sweat glistens slightly against his skin, catching the mid-morning light as he tips his head back to finish the last few drops before gasping in a breath of air and crushing the empty can in his hands.

“Yeah!” Will cheers from the passenger’s seat, laughing goofily. “Didn’t think you could actually do it!”

“Did he finish?” Henry asks, taking his eyes off the road for a couple of seconds to glance backwards at Jack. Connor doesn’t really mind--they haven’t seen another car in at least five minutes, and the expanse of road ahead of them is as straight as an arrow and smooth like glass.

The four of them are on a road trip, having finished their third year of college together a couple of short weeks ago, and in order to save money on gas they’d decided to pile into Henry’s old four-person car instead of taking two separate vehicles. It’s a little bit cramped, and very hot with their combined body temperatures warming up the small space, but luckily enough, Jack had the foresight to fill one of their mini coolers with sodas and beer, squeezing it between his and Connor’s feet in the backseat.

Connor’s pretty sure he’d have already died of heatstroke if it weren’t for Jack’s smart thinking. His smarts are one of the few things Connor admires about him--As the brain of the group, Jack always has the solution for any problem, and he’s kind enough not to judge, either. Before Connor came out to Henry and Will, the two of them had found a gay porn magazine stashed beneath his dorm room bed, and all it had taken was a panicked look towards Jack for his friend to jump to his defense with an excuse about art majors and the human figure.

Connor is pretty sure that’s the moment he fell for Jack. (Fell hard.)

Unfortunately, his crush (which has since spiraled into something much more) is just about the one problem Jack can’t fix for him. Connor’s three closest friends may know that he plays for the other team now, but that doesn’t mean they share the sentiment at all. He’s spent a lot of time trying to convince himself otherwise, but he always circles back around to Jack being straight.

That doesn’t mean he can’t admire his friend from afar, though, and admire he does. Like now, for instance, as Jack lets out a long sigh and wipes the sweat from his brow with the hand still holding his beer can, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Damn, that was good,” he says, his voice low and smooth, turning to glance at Connor. “You’d better catch up, man. That was my second.”

“I’m almost done,” Connor retorts, lifting his own can to his lips. “Not everyone can swallow the whole can in one go.”

Jack lets out a huff of a laugh as Connor takes a few gulps of his second beer of the day, enjoying the crisp coldness of the drink as it trickles down his throat. “Weak,” Will jeers with a snort, turning back around in his seat to watch the open road. Connor narrows his eyes playfully at him, continuing to enjoy his beer.

“Hey, pass me a soda, would you?” Henry asks, taking one hand off the wheel and waving it in the direction of the cooler. “I don’t care what kind.”

“I got it,” Jack says, flipping the lid of the cooler and fishing out a can of ginger ale. “Must suck to have to stay sober this whole drive.”

“Whatever,” Will scoffs. “At least we won’t have to piss an hour more into the drive.”

“Caffeine is a diuretic, too, idiot,” Henry laughs, reaching back to take the offered can of soda. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ve got all the time in the world to get to the site. As long as we check in before dark, we can stop as many times as we want.”

Connor quietly takes another sip of his beer, sinking down in his seat an inch. He’s gotten pretty good at casually talking about needing to piss with his friends--they are boys in their early twenties, after all, it’s bound to come up occasionally--but it’s still weird for him to do knowing that he enjoys it more than the rest of them do. Having a piss holding fetish is probably his closest kept secret now that he’s out, and he’s sworn to himself that he’ll never tell another soul as long as he lives, but he still gets a little extra sweaty and nervous when one of his friends brings up their need.

Still, he can’t help but let his mind wander, watching as Jack fishes out another can of cheap, cold beer, leaving it unopened in his fist. How many beers is Jack going to have before he calls it done? How long will the other two wait before pulling off to a rest stop? The image of Jack squirming from side to side, shifting his hips and grinding down against the seat below him desperately, brings a whole new flush to Connor’s face, and he snaps his eyes forward automatically, as if he’s been caught.

“Better get drinking, Conn,” Will says with a grin, nodding towards Connor’s unfinished second beer. “Looks like Jack’s getting ready to down another one.”

“Since when is this a competition?” Connor retorts, though he automatically raises his can to his lips anyway. “Last I checked we were on our way to a campsite, not to die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Three or four beers won’t hurt you, anway,” Jack replies with a shrug, reaching up to press the still unopened can to his cheek. His skin squishes against it, and Connor can’t help but replace the can with a pillow, the sunlight from the window becoming early morning light in his imagination. God, he thinks, I need to get this whole crush situation under control.

“Ugh, my legs are totally numb,” Will complains, thunking his fist against his right leg for emphasis. “Henry, your car was not designed for people my size.”

“Jack is taller than you, and he’s not complaining,” Connor replies, almost too quickly. Jack flashes him a small smile, his face pink from the cold of his beer.

“Do you want to pull over for a little bit?” Henry asks. “I can keep an eye out for exits if you want to walk around for a little bit.”

“Ah, maybe in a few,” Will says. “We’re barely even halfway there, and it feels like we’ve been driving forever. Might as well tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Might as well,” Jack agrees, stretching his long legs apart in the confined space of the backseat. His left leg rubs up against the cooler, pushing it into Connor’s leg.

“Hey, Connor, would you grab me a coke?” Will asks, reaching back blindly. “It’s too fucking hot out today.”

“Sure,” Connor agrees as he pulls the shiny red can out of the cooler. The ice water on his hand sends a shiver down his spine, but it isn’t unwelcome at all.

“Will, why don’t you put on some music?” Henry suggests as Will accepts the coke. “I bet everyone’s tired of hearing you talk, anyway.”

“Shut up, man, people love my voice!” Will replies with a laugh, smacking Henry’s arm with the back of his hand before reaching for the aux cord and plugging it into his phone.

Connor settles back with his beer, taking a couple of long swigs as the sound of Will’s music hums through the rest of the car. He can’t help but glance over at Jack, finding his friend once again staring out the window, golden light filtering through his hair and sparkling off his skin.

Jack turns, catching Connor in the act, and raises a brow at him questioningly. “You need something?” he asks, not in an unkind way.

“Ah, I was just…” Connor struggles to come up with an excuse, eyes darting around the car and landing on the unopened can of beer in Jack’s hand. “I was just wondering if you were gonna drink that,” he finishes weakly, eyes darting back up to Jack’s face.

“Hm? Oh.” Jack reaches down to crank the tab on the can, lifting it halfway to his lips. “I spaced out there for a second, totally forgot about it. But hey, wouldn’t want it to get all warm, right?”

“Right,” Connor agrees with a weak chuckle. Jack smiles warmly at him before lifting the can to his mouth, taking a few long pulls as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

Connor tears his eyes away, forcing himself to look out his own window at the flat expanse of land that passes by. No more staring for the rest of the trip, he decides, frowning at himself in the reflection of the glass. You’re giving too much away already. Just… be cool, alright?

You can definitely do that.

***

“Connor, you’re falling behind,” Jack says in between sips of his fourth (yes, fourth) beer. “You barely started your third, and I’m already almost done with this one!”

“You’re a lot bigger of a person than I am, jerk,” Connor retorts, taking in another mouthful of beer and swallowing it automatically. He’s not even thirsty anymore, but the alcohol seems to have done its job in loosening him up--he keeps laughing at nothing, and he’s somehow caught the competitive spirit that Will and Jack had slipped into since they started drinking.

“Excuses, excuses,” Jack chuckles, shaking his head with a smile. “Come on, I bet you can finish it all at once if you try hard enough.”

“I wouldn’t say try hard is in Connor’s vocabulary,” Will snorts.

“Hey!” Connor protests, moving his free hand to smack the back of Will’s car seat, giggling when Will throws a fake glare back at him. “I’ll finish it right now, just watch.”

“Before you do, is it alright if we pull over here?” Henry asks. “I gotta take a leak, and I don’t want you spilling all over my car when I’m driving. You’re loose enough already.”

Jack snorts, covering his hand with his mouth to hide his laughter, so Connor reaches out again to smack his arm away. “If you’re gonna laugh at me, at least do it where I can see it,” he says with a grin.

“Okay, we’re pulling over,” Henry decides as he changes lanes, drifting towards a small rest station off the side of the road. “I really don’t want to wait anymore, and my legs feel like shit, too.”

“Same here,” Will agrees, stretching his arms over his head. “How many hours we got left, anyway?”

“Three or four,” Henry says. “I’m glad we got the site so cheap, but couldn’t it have been closer to campus?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Jack replies with a shrug. Henry maneuvers the car down the narrow entrance road, scanning the area until he finds a free parking spot.

“Ah, finally!” Will sighs, hand on the door handle before Henry can even finish pulling in. “I feel like we’ve been in here forever. I should not have drank that much soda.”

“Are you two coming?” Henry asks, turning around in his seat. “Like I said, we’ve still got a while to go before we get there.”

Connor looks over at Jack uncertainly, then down at his own beer. He hasn’t been to the bathroom since he woke up this morning, and he does feel a bit of a need to go if he’s being honest. He likes holding, but he’s not sure if he would enjoy it around his three closest friends, even if they don’t know about his piss kink.

Before he can answer, Jack chooses for him. “I’ll stay here,” he decides, holding up his beer. “I wanna finish this one before you guys get back, and I have to see Connor chug that entire can. That is, if he can.”

“Of course I can!” Connor says automatically, lifting the almost full container in the air for emphasis. “I’ll prove it to you.”

“You two are crazy if you plan on going the whole ride without pissing,” Will says with a laugh. “But it’s your funeral.”

“We’ll be quick,” Henry promises, pulling himself out of the car and closing the door, leaving Connor alone with Jack.

“Well?” Jack prompts, tapping his beer against Connor’s where it hangs midair. “Bottom’s up! First to finish gets to pick the music for the next hour.”

“You’re on!” Connor laughs, lifting his can to his mouth and tipping his head back. The beer is cold and fresh on his tongue, and it pools in his mouth almost too fast for him to swallow. He drinks as fast as he can, ignoring the telling signals from his bladder and throwing his common sense out the window. He’s gotten pretty good at holding ever since he started exploring his kink, and he’s sure he’ll be able to last until the next rest stop, especially since Jack drank a whole can more than he did in the same amount of time. Surely it won’t be long until they pull off the highway once again.

And until they do, he gets to imagine Jack squirming around in his seat, trying to contain four cans of beer as subtly as he can, his face growing red from effort and embarrassment. And if that isn’t a good reason to pass up a bathroom break himself, he doesn’t know what is.

***

An hour later finds Connor shifting his weight from side to side in his seat, his hands pressed to the seat cushion on either side of his legs, trying as hard as he can to think about something other than the pressure between his hips. He knows from nights of careful research that it should take about two hours for a drink to go through him, which means everything after the second can of beer hasn’t even hit him yet, and it’s that thought that both scares him and turns him on a little.

He’s never held around his friends before, and he’s only ever held in public when he had sure access to a bathroom. It’s weird, knowing how bad he has to pee--maybe a six out of ten and quickly approaching an eight--and not knowing when he’ll be able to let it go.

On the other hand, he’s pretty sure that Jack is getting desperate too, and it’s honestly even hotter than he ever imagined it would be. Jack’s legs are spread open a little bit, completely still, and he’s slouching down in his seat, one hand tensed on his thigh, the other alternating between playing with his hair and drumming against the car door. He’s quiet--they all are at this point in the drive, letting the music Connor had selected earlier fill the empty space, but Jack is the kind of quiet that means he’s concentrating really hard on something.

Connor would bet good money that the thing he’s concentrating on is his full bladder.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure that Jack hasn’t gone to the bathroom since they all woke up this morning, either. The four of them made their way down from the house they’d stayed over at together after getting ready for the day and eating a quick meal, and then they’d hit the road shortly after that. That means that Jack must be feeling as full as Connor is, if not more so.

He side-eyes his friend as Jack shifts in his seat, squirming ever so slightly, his hips lifting off the seat for just a second before landing again. He’s clearly trying to be subtle about it, but he’s not doing a very good job, at least from Connor’s perspective. He watches with interest as Jack continues to move around, first hooking one ankle under the other, then sitting straight up and shifting his weight to his right side, leaning heavily against the car door. At least he seems too distracted with his need to notice Connor watching him.

Surely he’ll ask to pull over at a rest stop soon, Connor thinks, glancing away from the show for a second to check for road signs. It’s been a while since the last rest stop was advertised, and they’d passed that one almost fifteen minutes ago, so there must be another one coming up soon.

He’s distracted by a soft grunt from his right--his eyes snap back to Jack, whose face is scrunched up in a grimace. His legs move to squeeze against one another as he hunches over slightly, the hand on his thigh twitching towards his crotch for just a second before settling back once again. He must be pretty full, Connor thinks, if he’s wanting to grab his dick already.

Once again, the thought of Jack squirming around with his hands clutching his penis makes its way into Connor’s head. He feels his face turn red and whips his head forward too quickly to escape notice, but he doesn’t dare turn back around. What would Jack say if he knew what Connor was thinking?

He keeps his eyes trained on the back of Henry’s seat, willing the blush off of his face, but when he feels a buzz in his pocket he has to clamp his legs together to avoid a leak. His bladder throbs inside of him, all but forgotten, and now it’s his turn to grimace as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Strangely enough, it’s a text from Jack of all people. Connor recognizes the little profile picture he’d drawn for Jack--the one his friend had insisted on using--before he even reads the name. Nervously, he glances up at Jack and finds him gazing back already, eyes flickering down to the screen meaningfully.

Connor looks back down, taking a moment to un-glue his legs from each other before he opens the text. A simple U ok? stares back at him. Confused, he looks back up at Jack; his friend motions to his face in a general wave, then makes a “spooked” motion with his hands.

I’m good, Connor replies, then quickly types out the first excuse that comes to mind. Just kind of have to pee is all.

When he gets the courage to look up, Jack is already typing out an answer, and a few seconds later his phone vibrates again.

Dude, me too. I’ve had to go for ages

Why haven’t you said anything? Connor writes back. I’m sure they would have stopped for you.

Don’t say anything! Jack answers. We can’t let them know we have to piss. They’ll make so much fun of us for skipping the last break

Connor’s eyes go wide, and he almost answers out loud from surprise. What are we supposed to do, then? he asks, immediately looking over at Jack. His crush grimaces once again, hunching over in his seat and re-crossing his ankles.

We’ve just got to hold it until one of them decides to pull over on their own, he says, and Connor feels his heart stop in his chest. The others only went to the bathroom an hour ago, and they’ve still got two or three more to go until they make it to the campsite. Is Jack planning on holding it the whole time? He’s already moving around quite a bit, knocking his knees together and constantly changing positions, and his forehead is shiny with sweat that Connor’s sure isn’t just from the heat.

Are you sure you can wait that long? he asks, throwing caution to the wind. He can always play his own interest off for sympathy, and besides, Jack seems pretty open to talking about it.

Of course I can! Jack replies seconds later. Obviously I’d go if I could, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold it.

Connor bites his lip, typing out the next message on his phone. You don’t seem so sure about that, he ends up saying, looking up just in time to catch Jack pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. It’s not the frantic grabbing and squirming that Connor always ends up imagining, but it’s still beyond hot and it has him once again following his reckless side.

I’m 22, not some kid, Jack writes, throwing a hand out to lightly punch Connor in the side. I bet you’re just trying to get ME to ask them to pull over for you.

No way! Connor replies, forcing his legs apart further as if to prove his point. His bladder gives off a dull throb in protest, reminding him that now is no time to let pride get in the way, but the kinkier side of his brain has fully taken over at this point and there’s no stopping it now. I could hold it the whole way there if I needed to. Besides, you’re the one squirming around here!

The last part earns him another gentle jab in the side, but Connor still tenses as the flesh near his bladder is squished. Despite what he’d said, he isn’t completely sure that he’d be able to last all the way to the campsite. His six out of ten is quickly becoming a seven, and the third beer still hasn’t hit him. He’s glad for all those late-night holds when his roommates were out, but he knows no amount of practice can keep him from wetting himself ever again. Still, there’s no way he’ll be the one to cave in and ask for a bathroom, not when he can distract himself from his own desperation with Jack’s the whole way there.

His phone vibrates in his hand once again, and he draws his attention from his bladder to focus on the conversation instead. Jack has written I bet you wish you were squirming like me with a “;)” at the end of the sentence--the last part makes his mouth dry, which in turn gives him an idea.

I bet you can’t fit another drop in you, you’re so full, he writes, sending it before he even realizes how kinky it sounds. When he looks up to check, he’s met with an inquisitive stare, a raised eyebrow.

What are you getting at? Jack sends back a moment later. Connor tries not to grin as he gestures towards the cooler meaningfully, then makes a drinking motion with his hand. He tries not to get too excited at the momentary flicker of doubt in Jack’s eyes--maybe he really is too full to drink--but it’s gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Fine,” Jack mouths at him, his eyebrows drawing together as he flips the lid of the cooler, much to Connor’s surprise. He lets out a quiet hiss as his hand meets the frigid water and half-melted ice, but after a few seconds of fishing he manages to pull out a can of cola. Connor watches with delight as his friend cracks the top of the can and takes a few long drinks, shivering in between gulps of soda, his other hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Jack finishes drinking with a soft, heavy sigh, then turns his gaze to Connor, holding the cola can out to him. Connor frowns, confused, until Jack leans forward even more, swishing the remaining soda around inside the can. His eyebrows are raised once again, challenging Connor to say no.

Connor pretends to glare back, acting like this little dare of theirs isn’t one of the most exciting things that’s happened to him all week. He accepts the can, shivering both from the leftover droplets of ice water and from Jack’s hand brushing against his, lifting it to his lips and chugging the rest of the soda as quickly as he can. It feels like a little over half the can, but he doesn’t really mind--after all, Jack had drank an entire beer more than he had at first, and it can’t be that hard to convince him to down another.

He grits his teeth together as he drinks, pressing his thighs together and shifting around in his seat as the cold soda makes its way down his throat. Only two or three more hours, he reminds himself, and then I can pee. Maybe I’ll even be lucky enough to go right next to Jack. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

He looks back down at his phone, where a new text waits on the homescreen. Good luck, tough guy! it reads, followed by You’ll need it >:)

Connor’s pretty sure he’s already maxed out on luck today, but he keeps that thought to himself.

***

“Hey, look at that!” Henry says, waving his phone in the general direction of the backseat. “We’re ahead of schedule. Should be there in an hour if we don’t hit traffic and don’t make any more stops.”

“G-Great,” Connor grits out, barely even glancing at the phone screen. He’s much too focused on his bladder, which has been screaming at him to empty it for the past forty-five minutes. He knows he’s held more for longer many times before, but for some reason it feels like he’s the fullest he can possibly get. Every few seconds his bladder throbs under his seatbelt, hours worth of piss begging to be let out. He wouldn’t have ever dared getting this desperate in a public place before, and if it were just him who needed to go he would have swallowed his pride and asked for a rest stop ages ago.

But one look at Jack has him clenching his muscles and steeling his resolve. Jack, whose face is currently stained bright red, who can’t keep still for five seconds without breathing so heavily it sounds like he’d just run a mile. Right now he’s got his hips lifted as far away from the seat as his seatbelt will let him, his hands in fists braced on either side of his body. He’s so clearly desperate for the bathroom, and yet both of their states seem to have gone unnoticed by both Henry and Will.

He watches as Jack changes positions once again, letting his ass fall back down to the seat below him and bringing his knees close together, shimmying back and forth as he bites at his lip like he’s just walked out of a PornHub video. All of a sudden he gasps, his hands flying to his crotch and pressing down, one knee hooking over the other one. Connor feels his own face heat up as he tries to keep his libido in check, though the image does end up stiffening his dick enough to stave off the next wave of his own desperation.

He figures that he can get away with pretty much anything so long as the boys in the front seats don’t notice, so he takes the opportunity to pinch the tip of his half-hard cock, sighing in relief as he does. God, he’s really desperate--the pressure in his bladder is now one of the only things on his mind. He can barely even tell which song is playing through the car’s speakers now; only that its gentle vibrations are not making his situation any easier.

Maybe he should have thought ahead, been smart about it instead of taking Jack’s soda challenge. Maybe the whole “alcohol is a diuretic” thing does hold more truth to it than he’d thought. Either way, the only thing keeping him from beginning to leak is his semi and the thought that Jack is even more frantic than he is.

He hears a quiet “Oh, oh God,” from his right and glances over, surprised to see that he can see the faint outline of Jack’s penis where he’s gripping it through his pants. There’s no wet spot yet, but it looks like it won’t be long now before he begins to leak in earnest.

A wicked idea enters Connor’s head, one that he can’t resist even though his logical side tells him it’s an absolutely horrible idea. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and types out a quick text, chewing on his lip for a couple of seconds before he decides fuck it and hits send.

C: You ready to give up and ask for a stop yet or what?

His eyes flicker over to Jack, waiting for the far-away cell towers to deliver his message. Seconds later, Jack lets out a high, soft moan, hunching over and shifting his hips from side to side as he squeezes at his cock. It’s probably both the hottest thing Connor has ever seen and heard.

Jack glances over at him, reaching for his phone when he notices the one in Connor’s hand. He doesn’t seem very ashamed of holding himself, which only adds fuel to the fire that is Connor’s terrible idea.

It takes a minute for Jack to type out his response with one hand, his other glued to his groin with no sign of moving any time soon.

J: Jesus Christ, I feel like I’m about to pop

J: But there’s no way in hell I’m asking them to pull over for me!

Connor fights the grin that wants to pop up on his face, though it quickly turns strained as a wave of need hits him. He presses his thighs together and points his toes as he types as quickly as he can, then drops a hand down to hold himself. At least his desperation will serve as a good distraction if his plan goes awry.

C: Are you sure about that?

C: You’re holding your dick so much I’m tempted to offer to help you with it

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jack reads the text. His friend’s eyes go wide for a split second, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone, and he’s typing away once again.

J: At least buy a guy dinner first, jeez

Connor feels his heartbeat stutter as he reads the response, his mouth dropping open a bit as he white-knuckles his phone, both from shock and the need to squeeze something to make the pressure inside him go away. Before he can even begin to think of what to respond, a huge wave of desperation overtakes him and he lets the phone slip out of his grip, gasping as his hands fly to his crotch to stop the impending flood. He’s at a nine out of ten now, easy--he can feel the piss at the tip of his cock, fighting as hard as it can to escape.

He risks opening one eye and glancing to his right, wondering how Jack will react to his desperation. Will he be grossed out if he notices that Connor is half hard still? Will he kindly pretend not to notice at all?

He’s surprised when his eyes focus enough to notice the expression on Jack’s face. He looks flushed, almost flustered… And more than anything, he looks intrigued.

“Wow,” Jack mouths at him, somewhere between impressed and teasing. Connor shoots a weak smile at him as he circles the base of his dick with his hands, squeezing with all his might. Luckily neither of the boys in the front has noticed anything yet, but it’s still both terrifying and exciting to be this desperate in their presence.

Connor winces as he lets go with one hand, reaching down to grab his phone. He’s definitely pushing his luck, but that look that Jack had given him… It’s not the kind of look that passes between friends. It’s his turn to type with one hand, and he’s shaking ever so slightly on top of that, but at last he manages to type out another text and hit send.

C: Enjoying the show?

Seconds later, he received a reply:

J: I’d give it a perfect review if I could let go of my dick long enough to type it out

J: Are you regretting that last soda btw?

C: Nah, I could hold for longer if I wanted to

C: Not that I have a choice

J: You’re lying, I can tell!

J: I’m bigger than you and even I feel like I’m gonna wet myself any second now

C: That sounds like a you problem

J: I bet you have to go just as bad as me

C: Is it the desperation talking or were you always this delusional?

J: Oh shut up

J: If you don’t have to go, I bet you won’t mind grabbing another soda, right?

C: What if I say I’m not thirsty anymore?

J: Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to drink it

J: I just wanna see the look on your face when your hand hits that ice cold cooler water

Connor stares down at his phone, a slow smile spreading over his face. Intentionally or not, Jack is playing right into the almost exhibisionistic fantasy he’s had for a while, both of his friend teasing him while he’s full of piss and of him torturing a desperate Jack right back. As carefully as he can, he sets his phone on the middle seat and reaches over to flip the lid of the cooler, staring into the slightly sloshing water with a mixture of dread and excitement. He can feel Jack’s eyes on him as he reaches in slowly, his fingers barely brushing the surface of the water.

Better to get it over with, Connor figures, and with that he dives in, submerging his whole hand in the ice water. He lets out a choked-off moan as his bladder convulses, trying in anguish to expel the hours and hours worth of urine. He grabs the first thing he can feel--a can of off-brand lemon lime soda nobody had bothered to drink yet--and yanks his hand out, dropping the can onto the floor of the car and shoving his hand back down onto his crotch.

It’s a bad idea all around. The water that had clung to his hand soaks into his jeans and through his underwear, brushing cool moisture across his sensitive penis as he clutches himself. “Ah, oh,” he hisses, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he moves his hips wildly back and forth, trying to keep the ocean of piss inside of him. It takes almost thirty seconds for the effect of the water to wear off on him, and it’s the closest he’s come to leaking since he’d last wet himself.

At the very least, he notes once he has himself back under control, Jack doesn’t seem to be faring much better. He’s constantly squirming, grinding his hips down into the car seat and letting out short, airy pants as he grabs at his dick, switching from hand to hand and occasionally using both. Every time he has to stifle a moan or a sigh, Connor’s cock gets a little bit harder, which in turn helps him hold it.

Jack doesn’t reach for his phone to text anymore, but he does glance over at Connor every few seconds, like he’s checking to make sure Connor isn’t watching. (Or like he’s making sure Connor is watching--it’s such unfamiliar territory that Connor can’t tell in the slightest.) It doesn’t matter, because either way Connor can’t bear to take his eyes off the show before him. It’s like every one of his fantasies of Jack wriggling around, drops of yellow staining the plush white bed under him, only this is even better because it’s real.

Jack is actually desperate in front of him, and better yet he’s flirting with him over it.

Connor’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud sigh from the front seat. He immediately pulls his hands out of his crotch, cringing at the lack of pressure and squeezing his thighs together to make up for it. He glances up in the direction of the sigh, which sounded like it came from Will’s part of the car.

“Something wrong?” Henry asks from the driver’s seat, reaching to lower the music.

“I’ve gotta piss again,” Will explains, crossing his arms over his head. “Guess I shouldn’t have had that last soda.”

“You want to pull over somewhere?” Henry offers, waving with one hand at the side of the road. “If it’s an emergency we can stop here, and if not we can always keep an eye out for a real rest stop.”

Connor’s eyes go wide, and he side-glances at Jack, who seems to have the same thought as him.

If Will asks to stop at a restroom, the game will be over.

Connor tries not to let the disappointment show on his face, though he knows the cons outweigh the pros for him. Sure, he’d get to pee at last and he wouldn’t be in danger of wetting himself around his best friends anymore, but he’d also lose the opportunity to see Jack slowly lose control, spurting hot leaks of piss into his jeans as he moans and squirms like crazy, trying his best to hold it in… In Connor’s mind, that image is priceless, worth more than any shred of dignity he might have left.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Will says with a wave of his hand, and Connor barely stops himself from breathing a massive sigh of relief. (Not relief relief, but still.) Unless Jack decides to speak up, it looks like his fantasy come true is back on track.

“What about you two?” Henry asks, his eyes flickering to the rear-view mirror, and Connor thanks the stars that he’s been able to keep his hand away from his groin for so long. “You haven’t gone since we got on the road, right? Do you want to pull over somewhere?”

“God, I totally forgot!” Will exclaims. “You guys must be pissing your pants back there.”

“Haha…” Connor trails off awkwardly, shifting his weight to his other side and pressing his knees into each other. “I mean, not yet.”

“What about you, Jack?” Will asks almost tauntingly. “You ready to admit you were an idiot for not going before?”

“I’m not admitting anything,” Jack says with a strained laugh, finding the strength somewhere to kick the back of Will’s seat.

“Oh, come on! You must be bursting back there!”

“Well, yeah…” Jack and Connor glance at each other at the same time, and something like mischief catches in Jack’s eye as they do. “I kinda feel like I’m about to explode,” he admits slyly, never breaking eye contact.

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Maybe it was all those beers… How many did I drink, four?”

“And half a soda,” Connor grits out, his dick throbbing both from arousal and desperation. He checks the rear view mirror and slowly slips a hand into his crotch once he’s sure Henry’s not looking. “You must be really full, huh?”

“Of course,” Jack agrees. “Although you can’t be much better off. You had almost as much to drink as I did, and it’s been hours since you last let go, hasn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah,” Connor manages to reply, heat flaring up in his cheeks. His dick feels rock hard under his hand, but he can’t stop kneading at it, both from his intense desperation and his need for friction. “Oh,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut for a second as the mix of arousal and need sends his brain into overdrive.

“I really don’t mind pulling over if it’s that bad,” Henry offers, but Jack answers for him.

“We’re f-fine, Henry,” he says in a less-than-convincing voice. “Don’t worry about us, just get to the c-campsite.”

“You gonna last the next twenty minutes, Connor?” Henry asks, glancing back in the rear view mirror again. This time Connor doesn’t bother taking his hands away from his crotch, hoping that his friend isn’t able to see how erect he is from the front seat.

“I’ll, mmh, be fine,” he says breathily, eyes practically rolling back in his head. His dick is so incredibly sensitive to every brush of his hand, to the point where he doesn’t know if he’d rather piss or jack off more. He looks over to see that Jack is doubled over once, again, one leg crossed over the other with his hands trapped in between them, putting as much pressure on his dick as he possibly can. His face is just as flushed (bad, bad choice of words) as Connor knows his is, and when he opens his eyes to meet Connor’s, his pupils are blown wide.

“If you say so,” Henry says with a shrug, speeding up as he passes the first car in minutes. “I’ll be honest, I was kind of hoping you’d ask to pull over. All this talk about pissing is making me need to go, too.”

“If those two can hold it for six and a half hours, I’m sure you and I can make it the rest of the trip without a bathroom break,” Will reasons. Connor’s eyes widen as he hears the number--six and a half hours?! No, it’s been more than that--it’s closer to seven or eight hours, considering neither of them peed after that first trip to the bathroom in the morning.

“Still, it’s not like it’s comfortable,” Henry says with a sigh.

“Oh, I know,” Jack says, his voice carrying an undertone of… mischief? Excitement? “I’m… not comfortable either.”

Through his haze of need, Connor notices that Jack isn’t just grabbing himself anymore, but moving his hand in small, open-palmed circles. Is he hard? he wonders, mouth dropping open a bit. Is Jack… getting off on this, too?

“Hey, try not to think about waterfalls,” Will pipes up, gleeful. “Or rainstorms, or whitewater rafting…”

Connor shudders, the very mention of all that gushing, gurgling, free-flowing water sending unwelcome images of toilets and showers to his brain. “God,” he hisses, knocking his knees together and bucking his hips in the air. Once again, he feels someone’s gaze locked onto him, and he doesn’t even need to check to know that it’s Jack who’s looking.

“Knock it off,” Henry cuts in, though there’s no bite behind his words. “The last thing I need is those two causing a flood of their own in the back of my car. I just had this thing cleaned a couple of months ago!”

“Oh, did you?” Will teases. “I couldn’t tell.”

A flood, huh? Connor thinks to himself, staring down at where the band of his jeans cuts into his bloated, distended bladder. I bet together the two of us could cover the whole floor of the car in piss, and then some. Jesus Christ, I have to go!

“Ten minutes,” Henry tells them as he pulls off the main road, onto an unfortunately bumpy dirt path.

Connor swears he can feel each tiny bit of gravel that they drive over, the bumps echoing throughout his bladder as he holds on for dear life. He hears Jack panting from his right and opens one eye to see that his friend is folded in half, both hands buried deep between his legs as he lets his hair fall into his face, chewing on his lip. He must be close to bursting, he realizes, noting the couple of beads of sweat dripping down his face.

As much as he’d love to watch Jack lose control and wet himself, soaking his jeans and the seat below him with hot urine, he’s pretty sure pissing himself in front of his friends isn’t something that Jack would be into, even if he is having fun holding. And it looks like they’ve only got a couple of minutes until one of them starts to leak, or even lets go completely.

“H-Hey, Henry,” he stammers, letting go of his penis with one hand to tap Henry on the shoulder. “We’re not, ah, um, we’re not so far away from the campsite, right?”

“Um, I guess so,” Henry says, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s like a seven minute drive, maybe a fifteen minute walk?”

“Could you let me and Ja-ack out here?” Connor asks, hoping the excitement doesn’t come through in his voice. “I d-don’t know about him, but I feel like I’m gonna pop, mmh! Any second now.”

“Please,” Jack gasps, lifting his head for just long enough for Connor to catch a hint of panic on his face. “I can’t hold it all the way to the, hahh, to the campsite!”

“Yeah, sure!” Henry slows the car to a stop, and Jack is out the door before Connor has even unfastened his seatbelt. “Just follow the trail to Campsite L, and text me if you get lost, okay?”

“We will!” Connor promises, pushing the door open and setting his foot on the dirt path. Immediately gravity increases on his bladder and he lets out a loud, strangled moan as he dances in place, trying to keep himself dry. “Bye!” he yells, hobbling off to the side of the road after Jack, who’s already a good few feet ahead, still holding onto his cock for dear life.

Every step he takes is absolute torture--the pressure inside of him is enough to drive him crazy, and yet he’s still horny as hell despite the circumstances. “J-Jack, ahh, wait up!” he calls as he hears the car start behind him. “Jack!”

“Hurry up!” Jack calls without looking back, stomping his feet in place. “I seriously feel like I’m about to piss myself, Connor, it’s so bad. Ohh, I need to go!”

The two boys stumble through the forest, going as fast as they can without losing control completely, though it isn’t long before they start to leak. Connor makes it maybe fifteen steps from where he’d left the car before his bladder decides it’s had enough and contracts harshly, trying to override his control. He gasps in shock as a stream of piss jets out of his dick, wetting his pants from the crotch to the inside of the knee within three seconds, before he finally manages to cut off the flow.

Jack seems to be at the same stage in his desperation, because seconds later Connor hears a loud “Oh my God!” followed by the telltale splatter of urine against the ground. The sound is torturous to Connor’s ears, though he decides it’s worth it when he looks up and sees Jack bent over with his hands jammed between his legs, piss dripping out from between his fingers.

“How f-far do we have to go?” he asks from his hunched-over place a couple of feet ahead.

“We’ve gotta, haah, get away from the road,” Connor grits out, his bladder pounding inside of him, demanding he give it back the release he’d stolen from it. “C-Can’t have any cars seeing us when we… go…”

“Fine,” Jack agrees, reaching out to push himself forward on one of the nearer trees and stumbling a little as he goes. “You know,” he continues, looking back over his shoulder at Connor, “under different circumstances I don’t t-think I’d mind as much.”

“Ah… Yeah?” Connor adjusts the hand on his stiff, saturated dick and moans lightly as the fabric of his jeans rubs him just right. “What do you--mmm--what do you mean?”

“I think, oh, that you know what I mean,” Jack pants, breaking eye contact to squeeze his eyes shut against another flood of desperation. “God, I think my bladder’s in danger of p-popping right now.”

“Me too,” Connor agrees, glancing down at himself. Wow. His bladder isn’t the only bulge that’s noticeable--he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been this hard in years, and that’s including the few boyfriends he’d had in the past. He wonders if he would have already wet himself without the help of his boner, or if it’s his years of holding that are keeping the entirety of the Caspian Sea inside of him.

It feels like hours pass as the two of them stumble deeper into the forest, trying their best to contain the beer and soda inside of them for just a little bit longer. And yet when Connor works up the nerve to look over his shoulder (and the self restraint to look away from Jack, who’s currently hopping in place with one leg hooked over the other) he can still see the road through the bushes.

“I t-think this is it for me,” Jack moans, his breath fluttering. “I’ve, ah, never had to go this bad before!”

“Wait!” Connor pants, lifting one hand from his crotch to hold out towards Jack. “Over th-there!”

He moves his arm to point towards a deep seclusion in the woods, just out of sight of the road. “Just hold on, nngh, a little longer!”

“I… I don’t know if I can,” Jack admits, looking back at Connor with red cheeks and watery eyes. Connor can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds, taking in his messy hair and parted lips, his legs that are pressed so tightly together, and his hands, which are gripping the base of an obviously erect penis…

Oh.

So Connor was right before, and it hadn’t just been wishful thinking. Jack is getting some pleasure from holding it in, whether he meant to or not. And now here they are, together alone in the middle of a forest, both desperate to pee and totally aroused at the same time...

“Come on…” Connor says, drawing his eyes back up to meet Jack’s. “I- I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jack’s eyes widen once again, and he glances down at Connor’s crotch, where his piss-stained jeans are clearly tented in the front. Connor’s face heats up, but he doesn’t move to hide it at all. There’s no way he’s misread the situation--the evidence is right there in front of him, after all. And all those looks they’d given each other on the ride over, the flirty texts they’d sent each other… It can’t just be a coincidence, or a misunderstanding.

“O… Okay,” Jack says, his eyes wide as he turns to hobble towards the secluded area. Every few steps a couple of drops of urine make their way through his fingers, leaving tiny circles in the ground below him, but Connor knows that those tiny little leaks aren’t giving him any relief at all. His underwear rubs against him as he moves, and he shudders at the soft friction and the wetness of it all.

“Ah… O-Oh…” Jack sighs, pausing at the entrance to the clearing to dance in place. “Thank God we’re finally h-here…”

Before Connor knows what’s going on or has a chance to look away, Jack is scrambling at his zipper and pulling it down, reaching into his underwear to pull out his dick and leaking the tiniest bit along the way.

Wow, Connor thinks, his eyes going wide as he takes in his friend’s length. He can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about that kind of stuff before, but he’d never imagined Jack’s cock to look as insanely appealing as it does. It’s still stiff, too, and a little red, and for some reason Jack hasn’t actually started pissing yet…

Before he can stop himself, Connor takes a step forward, his own dick hard and straining against the confines of his jeans. Jack looks up, still not peeing, an almost hopeful expression on his face.

“C-Can I…” Connor stops mid-sentence to shift his weight to his other side, shimmying his thighs together as his bladder throbs inside of him. He’s never needed to pee so explosively bad before, and yet his need is the last thing on his mind at a time like this.

“Yeah,” Jack breathes, turning his whole body to face Connor. Hesitantly, Connor reaches out, brushing his fingers along the side of Jack’s dick and inhaling sharply as it twitches in interest. Jack makes a nngh sound, his breath stuttering as Connor continues to lightly touch him.

“I’ve never done this before,” he breathes, looking up at Connor unsurely. “What am I supposed to…”

“Do you want to try?” Connor asks, taking his free hand away to gesture at his lower half. Jack hesitates a second longer, then nods, watching hungrily as Connor lets go of his aching dick to unzip his fly. He considers pulling himself out, but instead goes for Jack’s hand, guiding it to the front of his jeans and letting Jack maneuver his way inside. His knuckles brush against the very bottom of Connor’s bladder and he shudders, eyes fluttering shut as Jack finally reaches deep enough and pulls his penis out.

“Oh…” he moans as Jack strokes him once, unsurely, then again with a bit more pressure. “That’s good…”

He forces his eyes open and reaches out once again, taking Jack’s leaking cock in his hand and twisting his wrist as he strokes, over and over again. Jack is making tiny little sounds, breathing shallowly and whining every time a bit of urine gushes out of him. Some of it splashes onto Connor’s lower leg, but he could care less at this point.

Jack may not have much experience jacking other guys off, but he’s sure as hell not doing a bad job of it. Maybe he mastrubates a lot, Connor thinks, the idea making him even harder as it enters his mind. Only it’s different now--he doesn’t have to fantasize, with the real deal right in front of him, on him. Every inch of his skin is so, so sensitive thanks to the overfilled capacity of his bladder, and Jack’s hand on him is practically sending him into overdrive.

“Ah, ah!” he exclaims as his bladder pangs harshly, forcing a short jet of piss to spurt out of his dick. He glances down, noticing that it had shot straight onto the leg of Jack’s pants and is dripping onto his hiking boots.

“Good?” Jack asks, pausing his ministrations, and Connor can’t help but thrust into his hand to get more friction.

“Don’t stop now,” he urges, taking a step closer until he can feel Jack’s labored breath on his cheek.

“Oh God,” Jack hisses as Connor speeds up his strokes, pausing briefly to drag his thumb over the tip, his fingers stroking the underside. “Oh God, Connor!”

His name sounds so delicious coming from Jack’s mouth that he practically comes right there and then. But right before he loses himself completely, his bladder contracts harshly, and he has to press his thighs together and shift his hips from side to side to keep from losing it all.

“Ah… haah… I still have to go so bad,” he whispers as a few stray drops fall from his cock, teasing him with the thought of release.

“Me too,” Jack agrees, his hand shaking as it pumps up and down on Connor’s dick. “But… I think it m-makes it better, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Connor groans. His legs feel weak under him, and he swears he can feel every cell in his body.

The sound of hushed moans and cries fills the seclusion, occasionally broken by a gush of hot piss hitting the forest floor. Connor knows he’s leaked enough to fill a whole can of soda on his own, and yet he still feels as desperate as ever--but at this point he’s too hard to lose control completely. Still, each stroke of Jack’s hand on his rock hard dick brings him closer to orgasm, and by the looks of things Jack feels the same. His penis is dribbling piss and precome, warm and sticky in Connor’s hand.

Time to bring him over the edge, Connor thinks, increasing his hand’s speed and making sure to pay attention to the tip every couple of seconds, smearing the leaked liquid around like some kind of lube. “Come on, Jack,” he huffs, eyes flickering between Jack’s dick and his face. “Come for me.”

That’s all it takes to send Jack to orgasm--his friend lets out a cry of pleasure as sticky white come squirts out of him, landing just to the left of Connor’s shoe. The ejaculate is immediately followed by an uncontrolled spurt of piss, followed by another, and suddenly Jack is gushing onto the ground with force, hours and hours worth of liquid finally exiting his body.

It’s that sight alone that sends Connor over the edge--he comes harder than he ever thinks he has before, his vision blurring and whiting out as Jack’s hand slips off his penis. He feels almost dizzy as his orgasm racks through him, shaking his body from fingertip to fingertip. His come lands in the rapidly growing puddle at Jack’s feet, sinking to the bottom of the urine like a feather in the air.

“Jesus,” Connor breathes, taking a deep breath in, but his bladder squeezes in protest, reminding him that he’s still far from empty. He makes a quick grab for his penis, but he’s too slow to prevent the line of urine from marking itself along the thighs of Jack’s pants in a splatter pattern.

He barely has time to notice before he’s pissing full force onto the ground, his urine mixing with Jack’s and creating a puddle beneath their shoes. And God, if that orgasm hit him hard, then finally being able to release all that liquid, those cans of beer and soda and water from the morning… It’s almost better. His stream is so powerful, thundering against the ground with force, and he can’t help but moan as his bladder finally deflates, letting go of the ocean inside of it.

The two of them piss in silence for almost a minute and a half, the sound of splattering echoing in Connor’s ears even as his stream tapers off. He doesn’t even bother tucking himself away, taking a few seconds to catch his breath and regain his bearings. His head is spinning from the events of the day, and he feels bone tired and jelly-like at the same time, but realistically he knows that they have to get back to the campsite before their friends come looking for them.

He opens his eyes, surveying the damage. Both his and Jack’s pants are soaked in several places, and he can already smell the piss drying on their hands and clothes. “Jack,” he says, tapping Jack on the shoulder several times. “We can’t go back like this?”

“Huh?” Jack opens his eyes, looking down at himself until he snaps out of his haze. “Oh, shit! What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know… Did you bring a jacket with you or anything?”

“I was kind of preoccupied,” Jack laughs nervously. “Hey, didn’t Henry say we were gonna be camping near a lake?”

Connor squints, wracking his brain for memories from earlier in the day. “Yeah, he did. Do you think we should-”

“Have a little swim before we get back and help the others unpack?” Jack finishes for him. “It couldn’t hurt to be a little late, right?”

“Right…” Connor trails off, picking at a wet spot on his jeans. “Hey, Jack… You aren’t weirded out or anything, are you? I didn’t do anything too far, right?”

“What? Oh, no!” Jack reaches out to touch Connor’s arm, meeting his gaze with a small smile. “It was great, Connor. What are you worrying about?”

“I just… I didn’t know you liked guys,” Connor admits, somewhat embarrassed. “If I’d known, I…”

“I didn’t know either,” Jack tells him, rubbing his arm gently. “But… I liked it. I liked today, even if it wasn’t the most conventional.”

“I liked today, too,” Connor says, his face heating up as Jack moves his hand into Connor’s own. Jack smiles at him kindly, squeezing once.

“Come on, then,” he says, tugging Connor towards the road. “Let’s go get cleaned up, before the others wonder where we’re at.”

“...Alright,” Connor agrees, smiling back softly. “Let’s go.”

#omorashi #male omorashi #omorashi fanfic #omocute #omorashi story #op #fanfic #male desperation

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devourer--of--books · 3 years

Text

Some time ago (and by “some time” I mean a long ass time, oops) Kate (@pumpkinpaperweight) posted an analysis of gold rush by Taylor Swift tracing parallels to Agatha, which this post is clearly inspired by.

(Go check that one out after you finish reading this post, it’s really good.)

Ever since, I’ve had an entire tagatha x taylor playlist/unfinished post that I don’t think will ever see the light because I’m too lazy to actually finish it. But now I have some spare time and I noticed that,,,, invisible string wasn’t on it.

And that's cause, well, despite the obvious gold fingerglow motif which is very tagatha … you already read the title of the post. It’s more like my own version of of what I would have had happen post-otk (will my epilogue version ever see the light, I wonder) than anything else, but this is my account, in which I am correct all the time and accept no criticism so,,,,

Green was the color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial Park

I used to think I would meet somebody there

Basically, these first two lines are about how Sophie’s egocentrism isolated her and kept her from making genuine connections with people from very early on, until she becomes friends with Agatha and even after that.

Okay, so have you guys ever seen those tiktoks that are like ‘13-year-old me, in black jeans and sneakers, at the beach, reading a book mYstERioUsLy so that when Harry Styles showed up he’d know I’m dIfFeRenT'?

This is the energy I get here.

Like, Sophie in the start of book one doing all those ‘good deeds’ so set herself apart in the eyes of the school master hoping that he’d bring her to the school where she would meet *drumroll* The One.

Most of us have, at some point (I hope, otherwise it was just me and that would be so embarassing), tried and failed to channel that main-character-energy to manifest ourselves into a story much more interesting than whatever is going on in your life at the moment. I feel like at the very core, that’s sort of what Sophie was trying to do? It’s a very juvenile feeling and shows just how little Sophie knew about love overall. Love as it is in fairytale books, as opposed to as it actually is.

She thought herself as above everyone else and thought she was entitled to true, unconditional love, which ended up holding her back and isolating her from everyone in the town, save for Agatha, give or take.

This mindset is what really keeps her from seeing Tedros (and Agatha, and everyone else) as people, rather than characters in her story, and actually connecting with them on a non-superficial level.

Teal was the color of your shirt when you were 16 at the yogurt shop

You used to work at to make a little money

I don’t think this part needs much explaining?

On surface level, Nicola canonically started working at her father’s pub at a very young age to help with family expenses.

If you think about it a little more and contrast it with the previous line, though, it highlights the differences between Sophie and Nicola:

Nic works to help her family, learning responsibility and duty, while Sophie barely ever did anything for her father, both out of vanity (and a superiority complex) and out of spite (which is honestly undeserved all the way up to book 3, when Stefan let Callis die and fucking tried to blame Agatha for returning without Sophie and then guilt-tripped her into going to save her, after which he was dead to me lol). Sophie grew with a princess-like mindset, despite being just slightly better off than Nic, given all the villagers save from Callis and Agatha (due to them being outcasts) seem to have a similar income (with the exception of the beggar which I don’t understand and am probably overthinking about, but honestly, it’s a impossible to leave town and people die on the mill all the time, there's no college or whatever, did none of these assholes offer the beggar a job- I’m getting carried away), while Nicola has to shoulder most of the responsibilities due to her dad being sick.

Also, given the *misogyny* I’d be surprised if Nic didn’t have to do all the housework, as the only girl in her house.

I doubt that the uniform of the pub was teal and given the book timeline she wouldn’t have been 16 in any instances in which Sophie and her met in Gavaldon, but I digress.

Time

Curious time

Gave me no compasses

Gave me no signs

Were there clues I didn't see?

Also kinda self-explanatory in a way?

On one interpretation, it takes Sophie an awful long time to mature and grow into an okay person. She lashed out after Tedros’ rejection because her desire was, when you get down to it, to be loved, even though she didn't understand what love was or how to go about it. She was already loved both by Agatha and by her father but she couldn't see it because the idea of love (romantic, loud, grand-gesture) was so embedded into her, but the clues to it were there all along.

On another, you could argue that Nicola also did not see this coming at all, specially if you consider canon!Nicola rather than fanon!Nicola (why would you, but okay, ignore my Hunter post, go on, stomp on my feelings). Nicola, whose purpose in TCY was to be the new hort-love-interest no one asked for, ending up with her *gag* love-rival? Unexpected, iconic, never done before (never actually done in canon), amazing, mind-blowin-

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA

You ate at my favorite spot for dinner

Bad Blood was a smash hit on Taylor’s career, playing on the radio non-stop during the 1989 era, arguably her peak in terms of mainstream pop and radio plays.

The Tale of Sophie and Agatha was the equivalent in this context, as it was all the rage in Gavaldon after book 3; Sophie’s persona as the Dean Of Evil is solidified and everyone in The Woods knows who she is and read her tale, including Nicola (who already knew who she was, but now had a another version of her to compare to the version she already knew, which hm, did not favour Sophie either way).

I think it’s kind of fascinating how parasocial relationships work in the context of SGE because like, the storian is there as an omniscient narrator, but it doesn’t write everything. Like, does it just expose what the people in the tale feel and think only if it suits the plot or do the tales look just like the SGE books, in some sort of fourth wall break or is it like an actual children’s fairytale, where you just get told actions and have to sort of assume motivations? How does that affect public opinion? I don’t think most people would be too keen on stanning Sophie after reading The Tale Of Sophie and Agatha (cause damn, Sophie does a lot of questionable shit there) but canonically, they do, despite her being the villain, which is something I have opinions on (do I ever not have opinions on things?).

Like, sure there would be Nevers stanning her, but honestly, if they read the tale, wouldn't they be more likely to stan Hester or even Agatha? Cause Sophie almost got both Evers and Nevers killed, doomed everyone in The Woods for a guy, and was overall a horrible person with no regard for actual Good or Evil as balanced things? Isn’t this why The Coven sided with Agatha, like, I don’t get it- Is it stanning out of fear? Cause that’s the only sort of explanation I have, specially for people in Gavaldon, but that’s something I’ll go deeper into in another time.

Anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if Nic’s first class at SGE was about The Tale Of Sophie and Agatha, given she was originally placed in Evil, due to Dovey and Sophie’s bet, and Evil’s school curriculum was under Sophie’s control, so if you think those classes were anything other than the Sophie-Show, you are wrong.

Now, on to headcanon territory, wouldn’t it be poetic if during her first lunch Nic sat at that tree in the middle of the clearing where Agatha and Sophie used to sit? Not only for ship reasons, but the tree is right in the center, which could relate to how Nic was supposed to be half/half?

Bold was the waitress on our three-year trip getting lunch down by the Lakes

She said I looked like an American singer

It’s a real shame that I don’t remember most of TCY. (But is it really?)

This is kinda of my own personal interpretation of what the OTK epilogue should have been like (and so, it's kind of a spoiler for my ever unfinished rewrite sksnsksn).

Imagine if, instead of that horrid school wedding (kill me now, please), they actually held the respective funerals for all the people lost in the Camelot power-struggle (I’ll take a school funeral, but don’t come at me with school weddings or I’ll lose my shit).

Tedros and Agatha, poor traumatized children, are on their way back to Camelot to try and get stuff back under control and do royal things. Sophie is pretty much on her own, with the remaining faculty of the school, as well as the new kids (yeah, Hort’s staying dead, boo hoo, I’m not sorry sbfhbsdb). Nicola will be returning home to Gavaldon soon, since the school schedule is already messed up beyond repair and everyone is taking some time off anyway. She was only staying there until christmas originally, so might as well.

Public opinion on the main trio is kinda weird at the moment:

Tagatha suffered a coup, then a while laterTedros killed the brother of his usurper, whom had been more popular than him, and well, they do tell people that Japeth killed Rhian, but it’s not like they have receipts? Like, there’s no way to fact check that. They could very well have killed Rhian, we, as bystanders, wouldn’t know? You can bet rumors like these don’t just go away.

And Sophie?

Well, I think public opinion on Sophie was already fear-based rather than coming from a place of admiration for her acts. People aren’t sure of her alliances anymore, and don’t really know how to behave around her so they mainly avoid her. Now that Dovey and Hort are dead and everyone else is resuming their quests, she’ll be pretty much on her own to deal with the aftermatch, which is not only sad, but also probably not healthy. She considers staying with Agatha, but she doesn’t want to add more scandal to the Camelot situation.

So she decides to go back to Gavaldon. Not permanently tho. Just to visit her father and take some time off to decide who could balance her well enough to be appointed as Dean Of Good.

She'd choose Agatha, but you know, Agatha is kinda busy. Plus, it'd be good to see her father. Watching most of your parental figures drop like flies really puts things into perspective and maybe (just maybe) there's still something to salvage there.

Not many people know she's at Gavaldon, and that's on purpose. For once, Sophie just wants to be left the fuck alone, so she just tries to lay low and not bring unnecessary attention to heself. It's so unlike her to do so that when she walks in to have lunch at Nicola's pub, no one but Nicola even recognizes her.

And if Nicola keeps her company and accompany her on walks, well, it’s no one’s business. Bonding time? Bonding time.

Time

Mystical time

Cutting me open, then healing me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

You know what these kids need after this Camelot shitstorm? Therapy, that’s what.

There’s no therapy in The Woods, so friendship will simply have to do. Please sir, let these kids heal.

Nicola was dragged to SGE while her father was sick and knew no one there personally, then got dragged again, now into a power struggle where she almost died multiple times, dated a guy, broke up with a guy and I can’t even remember what else but that sounds like a stressful time considering how close together the events from TCY are compared to TSY. What does she want to do now? Will she become a knight? Will she remain in Gavaldon? Does she have to finish school? How have Hunter and her dad been? Whatever went down with her brothers? Why was she important in the first place? Lots to reflect and self-search.

And Sophie. Oh Sophie.

Sophie fell once again for a ‘get-love-’quick’ scheme, not once, but twice! That is not something easy to look in the face and forgive yourself for.

With Rhian, it backfired by hurting everyone she loved, and after the shit Rafal pulled on her, she should have known better. But can you blame her? It’s not like the Rafal thing left her unscratched: you try being in an abusive relationship with a predator, see if you don’t get some trauma. And instead of doing the hard thing and keeping up the work she had been doing on herself she threw her progress out the window the moment Rhian said what she wanted to hear!

After that went belly-up, she at least managed to help her friends, but then later that backfired and she got brain-washed (are we gonna talk about this? disturbing much?). Then, she got fragile enough for her to attempt to find purpose in her life within Hort’s feelings for her, even if she didn’t actually reciprocate those feelings, simply because she was sure of them and they were familiar.

And later, even Hort was taken away from her.

(Probably for the best, given their attachment had been… precarious, to say the least.)

Therapy, I’m telling you.

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire

Chains around my demons

Wool to brave the seasons

One single thread of gold tied me to you

These two would be so good for one another.

I think that being alone when you’re going through something is literally the worst you can do, but when you have someone who just…. gets it, you know? They were there too. They understand. It forms a connection.

After OTK, both of them (Sophie mostly) have enough on their plates for them to go down a dark path to a horrible place. But they don’t. Cause they are here for each other and have their support system to help them.

Does that translate into late nights drinking together after the pub shuts down? Maybe. Keeping tabs on each other to make sure they’re sleeping and eating right? Yes. Keeping secrets and confessions? You got it.

And then my friends, begins the pining.

Cause, you know, they’re just gals being pals, gals being gay- wait what.

Nicola probably comes to terms with it first, but thinks Sophie is not interested in her like that (she also suspects that Sophie only sees her as Agatha’s stand-in and will drop her eventually once Agatha is no longer in such high demand.) Sophie is, in classic Sophie-fashion, neck-deep in denial, she’s not a lesbian right? she’s boy crazy, she’s not a lesbian-

Except she never felt like this with any of those boys. The only comparison she has is what she feels for Agatha, this feeling of being heard and seen and understood, but-

But Sophie doesn’t want to kiss Agatha.

And in retrospect, she never wanted to kiss anyone like this either. Tedros who, Rafal who, Rhian who, Hort who, these bitches could never.

Eventually they attend the official tagatha wedding, HELD AT THE CASTLE, as each other’s plus-ones, and well, maybe consider checking my eventual OTK-epilogue for more on this, once it eventually comes out.

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart

Now I send their babies presents

Very self-explanatory, Tedros may be Sophie’s favorite ex, but he’s still an ex and they will be killing each other if left unchecked for two long unsupervised.

Nicphie as the tagatha baby godparents. Please, YES.

I’m not gonna go into detail because children make me uncomfortable, I wish this was a joke, haha, but yes, Sophie and Nic pic the presents together and they attend the baby shower together. Are they dating, are they just married but don’t know it yet? I wonder. They're just together and no one really knows what's going on.

Gold was the color of the leaves when I showed you around Centennial Park

Hell was the journey but it brought me heaven

You know what’s funny? I didn’t tell you anything between the wedding and the baby shower. Remember how there was an opening for Dean of Good?

Yeah, too late to send in your resumes, position is already filled.

Sophie shows Nic the ropes of being Dean, or at least that’s how she’ll present it, but they’re still sort of figuring it out together. And that's okay.

They spend summers traveling around, christmas in Gavaldon, new years in Camelot and all is well. Their fingerglow colors now match. But it’s, unfortunately not gold.

Time

Wondrous time

Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies

And it's cool

Baby, with me

Yeah, it’s fucking purple.

I can’t remember if Nic has a canon fingerglow color, but I don’t really care much for canon, do I? I just really like the imagery of it, so it’s blue and pink mixed together. Because, you know I’m a symbolic bitch.

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

Anyway, I am correct, this is the post.

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 4 years

Note

for the quiet night in ask: how did Grima make his way into your heart? And why do you ship him with Eomer? I've been meaning to inquire about this for long hehe (also I love your theme! think this is the first time I see it)

I am so sorry, you’re getting an ESSAY.

I’ve been wanting to talk about my Grima feels FOR SO LONG.

HE SNAKED HIS WAY INTO MY HEART.

Um, tl;dr I have a soft spot for the bad guys who clearly have a complicated history with those they are opposing and I think Eomer/Grima have a fun opposites-attract dynamic and I love a good redemption story.

I don’t touch on literacy and Grima in this because that’s strictly the films and it’s worthy of it’s own post entirely.

I’m trying to think best how to break this all out, because it gets a bit long and rambly. I’m using both book and films for this, as a note. Since I tend to mash up different aspects of those Grima’s in my head, give the guy some eyebrows, and call it a day.

So, first off, his history. Now, we don’t really have anything to go on in canon here. All we know, in both book and film, is that Grima “was once a man of Rohan” (ROTK). In the book, Gandalf says: “This here, is a snake. To slay it [Grima] would be just. But it was not always as it is now. Once it was a man, and it did you service in its fashion.”

Grima evidently has served Rohan for some years at this point. We know that Theoden’s enchantment/possession began three years prior to TTT. In the books there is no possession. Theoden’s enchantment relies on the powers of words and their suggestions. Something Tolkien was well aware of carrying great weight and import in Anglo-Saxon culture. You tell a man he is old and infirm, he will become old and infirm.

I understand why Jackson went the possession route - explaining Anglo-Saxon engagement with galdorcraeft/witchcraft and the power of words etc. and how that influenced the development of Rohan in the span of like 7 minutes of screen time wasn’t happening. Possession works for the same purpose, but in a language the modern audience is familiar with - especially in visual mediums. Grima is circa 40 when TTT happens, same age as Boromir for reference. So, let’s say he’s been an advisor for 10/12 years at this point. He has therefore been a good servant of the king longer than he’s been a traitor.

Hence, the outreach. And, in Brad Dourif’s wonderful acting, Grima’s clear desire to go home to his king. In the book it’s more subtle. Grima chucks the palantir out the window at Orthanc and it’s stated that he wasn’t sure who he was aiming for, Saruman or Gandalf, because he couldn’t decide who he hated more.

Honestly? Legit. I would also hate the guy who reduced me to “it” pronouns. But maybe that’s my gender identity stuff playing up ;)

(Granted, in the full quote Gandalf reverts back to “he”, for context. And I’ve said this before, in another post, that it makes sense for Gandalf and as a writer, I agree with Tolkien’s decisions for that scene.)

Now, for some speculation. Not that I haven’t spilled a tonne already. MORE SPECULATION. This time bringing you long term effects of bullying and never having loving relationships modelled for you! Because LOTR, at the end of the day, is all about trauma and how maybe not to deal with it.

So - motives.

We know Saruman’s motives. Indeed, he tells them to us in FOTRK: “[to] have power, power to order all things as we will, for that good which only the Wise can see” and to achieve “the high and ultimate purpose: Knowledge, Rule, Order; all the things that we have so far striven in vain to accomplish, hindered rather than helped by our weak or idle friends.”

Great. Super straight forward. And from the man’s own mouth.

Grima’s though, always come to us second hand. In the books it’s Gandalf telling us (Gandalf can mind read, so yes, maybe he is accurate). In the films, it’s Eomer guestimating.

But Grima never actually tells us, himself, what his motives are.

(a quick aside: if some dude is shoving me up against a pole and threatening me, and I hear someone walking by, of course I’m going to look over at them and it by no means indicates my desire to shag that person. Now, of course, we know from other scenes this is the case. I’m just saying. It’s natural to look over at the person walking by while you’re being jumped by the Third Marshal of the Mark who is twice your size. anyway.)

So what are his driving forces for treason? What made him go to this point of no return then keep going even when people offered him a way back.

It is important to note that his treason required him to forswear his oath to his liege lord. I don’t know how to convey what a big deal that would have been, in modern terms. But it would have been huge. Forswearing/reneging on oaths was a massive cultural taboo in Anglo-saxon [AS] England (and general, early medieval Europe).

And, as Rohan is based on AS England (I forget if Tolkien was cagey about this. He was sometimes a dumb shit and coy about things so was like “noooo it’s not STRICTLY AS England….but it’s clearly AS England with more horses and a light dusting of vikings and the Danelaw”), we can assume it carried as much weight for them as it did for the historical people.

(Indeed, it’s implied, if not directly stated, in the text what a big deal oath breaking is. Don’t say “oath breaking” too loud or the Silmarillion fandom will come out of the woodwork)

The big takeaway: BIG DEAL TO FORSWEAR YOUR OATH.

And he did it! Which is why I don’t buy the “it was because of Eowyn and like some nice jewels.” You don’t betray your country, you don’t forswear your oath to your king, simply because you’re hot on the king’s niece and Saruman might give you a raise.

And, as a liege man to Theoden, he was part of Theoden’s household so would have eaten, worked with, lived with everyone else in the household (Eomer, until he becomes Third Marshal; Eowyn; Hama; Theoden’s guards etc.)

So, you live with these people, eat with them, drink with them, spend all your time with them, for circa 10 years then you do a bunk and betray them? Something happened. I suspect it was years and years of things happening.

Overall, I think it to be a combination of things. As is usually the case for these sorts of crimes. In this case, a nice mix of fear, desperation, greed, resentment, anger and desire.

Fear/Desperation: So, to Grima’s mind the world is ending. Why wouldn’t he think this? Hell, even the Wisest and the Fairest (i.e. wizards & elves) think it’s ending. Why wouldn’t this poor bloke from some small country nearby to Mordor not think it an existential threat to an unimaginable degree?

Grima is sat here in Rohan looking at Mordor going "oh fuck" then who are the leaders left? Denethor (slightly bonkers) and Theoden (past his prime and lacklustre, like his father and grandfather).

This is not a man with a strong moral fiber. Or...any moral fiber, let’s be real. He does not have the fortitude to stick it out through hopeless situations. And it would have been hopeless to his eyes. And those around him (see: Eomer’s do not trust to hope… Sure Saruman was a problem, but he wasn’t just talking about the white wizard).

Gandalf’s plan, which none of these people were ever wholly aware of, was a goddamn Hail Mary pass and it worked. Barely, but it did. NO ONE had reason to believe it would, though. And those are people in the know. Not someone like Grima who has no fucking clue what Gandalf et al is up to. He sees Gandalf then like … Nazgul torture him on the planes of Rohan (Unfinished Tales). He sees Gandalf then bad things happen.

Lathspell indeed.

Greed & Desire: I don’t think I need to go into these ones too much. They’re pretty self explanatory. Grima and Black Phillip hung out and the goat asked Grima if he wanted to live deliciously and Grima, like any normal person, said: um, yes please? Also, Eowyn was around being badass, beautiful and untouchable.

Resentment/Anger: Alright, more probing in the dark. I suspect, for one reason or another (and these reasons would vary depending if you’re looking at books or movies), he was someone who was always treated as other/differently, teased, picked on, isolated, overlooked, doesn’t measure up to Rohan’s military ideal of masculinity. All of which creates an underlying resentment issue.

And nothing festers quite like resentment.

On top of that, I also suspect he was always told he was a snake/untrustworthy/not worthy etc. and if you're told something enough, and you don't have anything or anyone else telling you the opposite, there is a strong chance you become that thing.

It's a chicken and egg: the face you wear to the world tells the world how to treat you; the world tells you what you are and that is how you shape your face.

THEN you add in Saruman. Who is clearly, in the text, abusive. Which, if there were any inferiority/bullied etc. issues that are informing Grima’s actions, Saruman is just going to amplify it.

“You are a traitor because you’re a snake, and you’re a snake because you’re spineless, weak, nothing more than a creature that crawls on its stomach on the ground. Snakes are bad, evil things. Which is all you’ve ever been. Barely deserving of the good treatment I give you etc.” <-- all of which is basically a summary of what Saruman has been saying to him for a few years at this point (in the book, it’s only tangentially implied in the movies).

So Grima sort of morphed himself into what he believed himself to be, fuelled by that perversity resentment causes: Oh you think I’m a snake? I’ll be the best goddamn most poisonous snake you ever did see. Just watch me.

He is trapped in this situation. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in.

Which leads me to an interesting point that I think gets lost sometimes: Narratively, he and Eowyn are similar in what they are experiencing. Isolation, being overlooked, misunderstood/misrepresented, don't fit into societal roles and expectations etc. They just go in very different directions in how they respond to it.

I think that's why, in the film, it was smart to have her give pause and listen to him because what he's saying resonates. He is, in some ways, speaking as much for himself as her. But then, of course, he's also just trying to shit disturb and make mischief so of course, at the end of the day, any sympathy he is attempting to convey is laced with poison.

I do wonder, too, if he's the first person to see her fear and her frustrations and acknowledges them out loud. Which is powerful. To have someone see you. Damn shame it's Grima. Still, Eowyn (in the film) paused and listened for a reason.

A brief aside on my idle, ill founded thoughts on gender and Rohan:

One of the reasons I think Eowyn and Grima go in diverging directions, is that Eowyn is performing masculinity, in her society's accepted interpretation of it. Masculinity, in Middle Earth, is clearly the norm. And in Rohan, it’s a very particular iteration of military-focused masculinity that is idealized (you can bet, men who killed like 10 orcs were awarded places in court above Grima who served as advisor for like ten years but hasn’t killed an orc ever).

Eowyn’s desire to live/perform this more masculine ideal caters to the subconscious thing of “Masculinity is Natural Neutral Ideal” so of course you would want to be more like A Man. Whereas Grima is the opposite, not performing masculinity according to Rohan's accepted view of it.

And gods, in Anglo-Saxon culture (therefore, Rohan’s, most likely. I see no evidence to the contrary) is that a difficult position to find yourself in. Back in AS England, being called argr, unmanly, or to be accused of ergri, unmanliness, was one of the worst insults you could throw at a man (indeed, some laws said you could kill a man in retaliation for calling you such things). I would bet my shirt that people used such insults about Grima in this world. Which is all kinds of messed up.

Now, my interest in him is my general love for a good redemption arc for the most hopeless of characters. It’s why I struggle to call Boromir’s arc, when he’s written as living, a redemption arc. Because I don’t know he has much to redeem himself for. In his own mind, sure, yes, but externally? Not in my view, at least. He has things he’s done wrong and needs to make amends for. But that’s different from redemption.

Grima, on the other hand, is one whose walk-back from evil would be a full on redemption arc. And I like it because he’s not nice, he’s not pleasant. He will never be nice or pleasant or cheerful. But learning how to love and be a good person doesn’t require niceness.

Saruman could be plenty nice. Sauron could be plenty nice. Look what they turned out to be.

And in my writing, I do hope I’m treading that line between creating an understanding of who Grima is without Kylo-Ren-ing him. Or, woobiefying him, as the old parlance was. That’s the line I’m really aiming for. I want people to not hate him. I want them to understand him. Oh, still condemn him, still judge him, disagree with him, acknowledge and know he did bad things and isn’t a nice person. But the end game is to add some understanding and nuance.

Shades of grey.

Also I’m a sucker for challenging redemptions.

Why Eomer/Grima?

Because I am an agent of chaos.

More seriously, I was never overly taken with the Grima/Eowyn approach, personally, which is obviously popular (um...within the Grima world), and closer to canon. There are some beautifully written fics and art out there for the two of them, so if you’re into that. The creators in that nook of fandom are top notch.

I always liked the drastic opposite of Grima and Eomer. As I noted above, Grima and Eowyn are two sides of the same coin. Both bitter and resentful and trapped. And that’s a lot of fun to play with, and i get it. But for me, I love a good strong contrast of personalities in my pairings. (If that uh … isn’t readily apparent.)

I think both Eomer and Grima would have a lot to teach each other and in some really interesting ways that neither would expect. I can see both getting under each other’s skin in that way where you’re sort of always thinking about them.

Grima is also someone who has had very little love in his life (I suspect he wants it, he just doesn’t know how to give or receive it). Eomer is someone who has lost a lot of people (parents, quasi-uncle for a few years there. I think it’s why he’s so controlling over Eowyn. Didn’t want to lose her). And I think there’s something in there where they could help each other grow. But I’m a sucker for some beauty to be there, in the end. Some hope.

Mostly, though, I think it boils down to their dynamic and the angst potential. Eomer is this brash, forthright, fiery third marshal of the mark who may or may not think things through. Big of heart, dumb of ass. Then there’s Grima who is quiet and reserved, cynical, critical, always has a plan or five, gets by via his wits etc. Lots of fun potential there.

#LOTR #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #grima wormtongue #rohan #eorlingas #LOTR meta #ask #reply #eomer

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miniqued-blog · 5 years

Text

Brief intro to a story

Well, this is Miniqued/Poscha again. Hmm I don't know what to start with, actually. Have no idea. Well I've written above in description, I guess, that this blog is for writing some stuff in English. Just some stuff, not a big deal, like fics or just random writing. Maybe some critical stuff, though I don't really know how to write anything critical. Let's consider this is just for myself, nothing more. I'm not really good at writing, though i like writing and most of my unfinished stories are about a fictional world and some characters in it. Worlds and storylines may vary but some main traits of characters remain unchanged. This is the first time i've tried to write in English so please don't be harsh on me. I have a lot of flaws I guess in writing. I definitely do have. Huh, but let's give it a try anyway. And when writing I like to take notes describing the reasons and emotions behind characters main motives, what actually drives them and so on. I think I will post that kind of stuff too as I will go further. Cause I kinda like it. My main story now I think is about a character named Suol. She is a young girl who has been raised in Savagoy previously having lived in Ronnia, another country. Savagoy is situated in the South of this story world while Ronnia is in the north-west side. Suol is approximately 18-19 years old when the whole story starts. She is cold, considered beautiful by others, incredulous and somehow restrained. She is a typical ronnian girl and seems a bit like a foreign body in savagoian society because of her appearance and personality. She is not outgoing and sociable as other southerners or her friends. Suol has a rather painful background, she doesn't trust others and is a little suspicious of them. When story begins she meets ronnian acquintances from her childhood days. One of them, Alvin Ronn, is trying to achieve his goals in Savagoy and lures Nario Arvi to Ronnia escaping with his girlfriend. Suol goes after them being sent by her guardians. Ilaf Arvi wants her to infiltrate Alvin's surroundings becoming his subordinates. Suol achieves it and starts sending data about his actions to Savagoy and other groups. Alvin is fully aware of it, but keeps Suol in his surrounding in order to be in control of the situation. Suol is the main narrator of the story and we see actions of others through her eyes and perception. She has some distant feelings for both Alvin and his father Ilaf Arvi who uses her in his plan. In the end she chooses the side of Alvin, but eventually left behind by him for previously lying to him. She tryes to analyze her feelings and emotions only to find out that she is empty and doesn't have any sort of will except for revenge. She manages to avenge her mother's death after which she was sent to live in Savagoy. She kills lord Lucian Ronn in a bloody fight alongside Manirela Ronn. The reason why she is a main character is her complicated path and relationships with others. She knows both savagoian and ronnian cultures and people in both societies. She belonged to neither of them at birth, but was raised in both places. She tries to avenge her mother, but is used for completely different purposes by other people. She knows very well what kind of purposes for, though she agrees to plans of Ilaf Arvi and goes to Ronnia again. After her mother's death she was bullied by ronnian kids who saw a target and a victim in her. Suol is not ravaged by injustice of the world around her, but has a goal of bringing justice. The one who is ravaged is Alvin, the opposite of hers in every aspect. Al is an antihero, hero-lover and romantic hero too. He is more callous and mature than Nario, full of hatred and cruelty, not without honor and manifestations of kindness, humanity. His initial humanity is the starting point for all his atrocities for his far-reaching goals he will do anything. Like Taniru, Nario's ex-girlfriend, he is physically attractive and handsome, has a surprisingly beautiful appearance, but is rotten from the inside, has the worst intentions and is unprincipledly cruel. He is also emotional and furious like Nario, but he is more restrained and knows how to manage his emotions for the sake of his goals. Alvin is perceptive, cunning, treacherous and clever in the implementation of his plans. He sometimes uses the most extreme methods. Callous and flawed, he is more sensual and extremely cruel with enemies, but not without sincere mercy. He understands the cold and cruel world of Ronnia and is ready to do for anything to change it. Emotions overwhelm him, but he hides them under the guise of cruelty, and when he can no longer bear them, he goes beyond rationality, obeying only his blind hatred and the bitter accumulation of injustice. Then he is emptied of all his gnawing emotions and unconsciously seeks solace from the one who saw no less than him. In contrast to the sensual attraction to Taniru, Al is looking for a spiritual comrade in Suol. He is frank with her and understands that only with her can he afford to frantically open up. He understands that he was only aware of his dark feelings of resentment and anger, and was guided only by them, by his hatred and perverted love for his father, his aversion to the true nature of Taniru and carnal attraction to her body, contempt for his own mother and inexpressible and carefully concealed love for her, which was combined with bitter regret for her unfulfilled fate and female misfortune, user-related attitude to Suol and long-standing bright feelings for her that have not faded away in him over the years from their childhood. He gives the impression of a person who has long lost hope or knows that hope never existed. Disappointed in the world, he began to do what he wanted, by any means and at any cost. And the price turns out to be what actually constituted the whole meaning of his life, and he destroyed it with his own hands, arrogantly believing that he could do without them, but then comes the quite predictable devastation. The relationship between Suol and Alvin is intertwined with past feelings, obstacles in the faces of the others around them, mutual attraction, sympathy, some sort of growing confidence and at the same time wariness. Suol tries to hide in shadows while achieving her goals, Alvin does everything blatantly and in public. In the end it's clear that they had the same goal - destroying the toxic world of Ronnia. They leave Ronnia together after having done everything to ruin it. Suol kills Lucian Ronn, the one who was actually in power, and after his death the chaos becomes uncontrollable leading to destruction. Alvin puts Ronnia in a war using cover in the face of Kaleian forces and leaves Manirela without any control while she is about to die from injuries inflicted by Suol letting her demolish the whole city. Alvin silently watches his mother die apathetic to her pleas. His cruelty is unreasonable, but he never had love for his own mother and becomes indifferent to her eventual fate. Because Manirela has never tried to love him or has never seen him as her child instead hating him for being born to the world where she wasn't loved by his father, Ilaf Arvi. Manirela was failure of a mother putting fury and rage in Alvin since birth for being nothing to his own parents. Alvin suffers from being raised loveless, he tries to attract Ilaf Arvi's attention by any means, but eventually fails facing his negligence. He thinks the roots of his father's indifference is in him, in Alvin, but soon realizes that all his attempts was worthless and he has spent so much time for nothing. He becomes just as apathetic to the world as his father and decides to leave his country behind alongside Suol, who has suffered from greater injustice than him, having been brought to Ronnia from another place by her foster mother only to be severely bullied and abused after her parent figure's death. Suol was abused and beaten by her mother, Kassien, on a regular basis and Alvin knew about it as a child. Another person standing between Suol and Alvin is Taniru who escapes with the latter only to be disappointed with the life in Ronnia. Taniru is careless, attractive and thoughtless, she is fed up with her rather tedious and not really evolving relationships with her boyfriend Nario. She sees nothing new in their bond and easily seduced by the promising intercourse with Alvin Ronn, a ronnian prince. She faces unexpected consequences from her relations with him. She and Alvin are banished from the royal palace for the latter bringing his concubine which was deeply offensive to the Ronn family members some of which were born from a concubine of the previous king. Al has no intention of marrying Taniru and soon their life together becomes marred with sin as Al finds out that Taniru is actually his half-sister. He is disgusted with this revelation but keeps her in Ronnia till he achieves want he wants. Taniru reveals afterwards that she is pregnant and situation worsens even further. She doesn't know about her being an illegitimate child of Ilaf Arvi and is jealous when Alvin leaves her behind going to the war with Suol. Taniru secretly harbours suspicions about her mothers's relationship with Ilaf Arvi and an untimely death of her father who was always jealous of her mother. She comes to not comforting conclusion that she might be Nario's and Alvin's sister torn by remorse and fear. She remembers that she was the one who involuntarily killed her father(the one she thought was her father) after he beat her mother for infidelity. The mask of a carefree, obtuse and naive person gradually fades away as she finds herself torn with fear and uncertainty of the future. She is still egocentric though, despite the fact that she is left behind by the one who only thought to use her against Nario. She tardily demands attention from Alvin who already becomes cold towards her. Taniru kills Suol after the latter tried to save her thinking that Suol is the source of her misery for she won Alvin away from her despite the fact that Alvin and Suol never really had any love affair. Alvin leaves Taniru unconcious of their incest and destroys all life forces of immortal Nario who also knew about their blood relations but kept loving her no matter what. Alvin sees that Nario is the one of the people who personally loved him but fails to understand it in time. It was as if Nario loved all of them instead of their indifferent father. Alvin fails to catch up to a person who was compassionate to him and to his fate. Who cared about him despite Alvin's hatred for him. Nario becomes a martyr Alvin didn't deserve for he has done only callous things to him. And Taniru also realizes too late that she is likely to never see Nario again before she leaves Ronnia. But she comes back to the death field to see a beaten Nario who lost everything. Alvin only then reveals that they both are her brothers. Alvin and Taniru didn't deserve Nario but he is gone now because of their egoistic actions. Suol is gone too, but Alvin brings her back to life with his abilities nearing those of a god. Taniru and Alvin are examples of how feelings of someone can be immature and utterly selfish. They never loved each other, they only needed what was represented through each other. Alvin wanted to enrage Nario by seducing his beautiful, but thoughtless girlfriend. Taniru wanted to marry a more promising party in the face of a more passionate and handsome Alvin. They both wore a mask of someone they weren't. They were liars, and the ones they tried to deceive were themselves. Opposite to them, Suol and Nario were of a much more modest opinion of themselves, sacrifacing some part of them for others. Both of them were somehow destroyed in a clash. But Alvin realizing his true feelings through the example of Nario brings her back to life as only he is able to do it. Alvin perfectly knows that he was born as a part of an experiment to see what kind of a person would be born as a result of an affair between Ronn and Arvi, Manirela and Ilaf. His parents failed to understand each other, though they did love each other, dooming Alvin to live in disgrace of being born half-breed. Taniru was somehow right suspecting infidelity just as her late father, dying from jealousy and thinking that Alvin and Suol had an affair. If they ever wanted to have an affair they just never happened to express it. Alvin knew the true nature of Suol's agenda, Ilaf Arvi's plans to distract him through her presence and her spying on him. He literally lets her do it, though he is not particularly happy about it. Alvin is aware that letting her do what she actually does will eventually benefit him. He knows very well that deep down Suol would choose him over others as it really happens when she betrays Ilaf Arvi and Manirela Ronn whom she previously worked for and helps Alvin get free. But Alvin leaves her though going to conquer the capital city on his own. Suol becomes alone and empty and goes to living in a former house of her mother, about whom Manirela told that she was very abusive towards Suol revealing that Kassien struggled all her childhood before she fled to Ronnia with lord Lucian Ronn escaping a miserable fate of an illegitimite child of an Airusu general. Her mother and father died in a war fighting for her real father. When she found out about it after their death she left her grandmother. All her childhood was spent in unterminable and constant clashes between her mother and grandma. Her mother went to the war to fight alongside her loved one and died because of it. Suol doesn't know what to do when she comes back to her ronnite district. She then sets free her former classmates from Savagoy and tells them to quit Ronnia as there will be nothing soon. She goes to Alvin in the royal palace and severely injures Manirela Ronn as she attempts to have the power back. Alvin is indifferent to his mother who failed to raise him and leaves her to the fate of the death. He and Suol disappear into oblivion, leaving ruined Ronnia behind.

#Suol #Alvin #Ronnia #Savagoy #analysis #intro #characters

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underbananamoon · 5 years

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It’s still Women’s History Month (I write this on the last day of March) although every day is a good day to remember women. I think of my mother, a gentle laughing spirit and her mother, a fragile sprite of a woman with a mischievous aura about her. I think of my birth mother too, who I met a few times before she passed and found out later she loved to tell stories about faeries and little people. My biological grandma who I met twice, an artist who grabbed my cheeks gently, the first time we met and said “I love you already.” I think of Starr, who has had to face way too much havoc and to whom I send love healing intention every day- she deserves happiness. I am often drawn to autobiographical accounts of women in particular although my fave author Augusten Burroughs has a new book due out and I am very happy to have that on pre-order. Some interesting women’s stories (artists, writers, leaders…) a few that stay with me, of the very many I’ve read:

Her beau: the well-known-died-too-young-Jackson Pollock gets the attention but Lee is fascinating!

It stays with you. As tragedy and remembrance does.

While books like this are rarely “juicy,” and words are carefully chosen, it is a fabulous insight into what shaped and directed the Obama trajectory.

What can I say? I just didn’t know autism is a broad spectrum. I didn’t know stereotypes I’d been fed were largely untrue. I was always picking up memoir in my 30s, as I still do, in an attempt to know how people tick, so to speak, to get a grasp on my own different brain. I saw the title Nobody Nowhere on a Caldor store shelf and I thought, “Sounds interesting. I don’t have autism, I mean I don’t bang my head all day…but it should be an interesting read.” This is the first book I read from an autistic POV. Page one, I said, “So that’s what I’ve got.” Epiphany. The rest is history. Errr….. herstory.

Speaking of herstory, I’m going to recommend my own book to you and while I can’t say I am a leader or a mover-shaker, I can say that it is from the heart and that the late author of Nobody Nowhere became a sister at heart friend and wrote my forward free of charge, because she offered and I was honored. Every single human being has a story. I have a mountain of books at my bedside that I step around when I rise in the morning, to prove that. And for a long time I didn’t think I even had a voice. While my voice and what I have to say is unconventional, I do have one and this little book I wrote proves that:

Oh, someone give me a kick in the writer-ass to get going on my next book! Art is something I am immersed in however. I’m planning a series of women-inspired paintings/collages of women (real, bumpy, curvy, diverse, empowered) and as such, I was looking at the extraordinary work of Goya’s women and witches, of which I’m sharing a little here…

Awestruck by olden images/sketches of woman, I had a specific search engine that brought up image drawings. I entered the search words “Old Woman” so I could inspire my own art creations with images that came up in the search results. Here’s what happened:

Bags! Bags came up when I searched old women? A derogatory outdated term for women? Interesting, because that’s the opposite of empowerment isn’t it? LOL as they say.

So, Women’s History Month has Marched by and the next theme-designated-month is….drumroll….Autism Awareness! It’s a month many dread. Fact is, we are all going to see news, TV, docu-features, articles, etc. and community happenings and all manner of things in April related to what many of us live with EVERY day of the year. Walks. Stunts. Blue lights.

I’ve read that blue was chosen for Autism Awareness Month because autism supposedly disproportionately affects males (…actually girls hide it better and fall under the radar, so is that really true?…) and we all know blue is the assigned color for males… Really though? In a 1918 Ladies Home Journal article, the following was said: “The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.” Hmmm I’m digressing. That in itself is disempowering in itself. Girls: dainty. Boys: Strong. It’s like that old Betty White quote I adore.

But I digress. While some feel that designating a month for autism awareness is a great soapbox from which to express autism related topics, others absolutely despise it and are triggered by it. Autism is no “walk in the park” for those affected, says Kim Stagliano, Washington Post.

According to the Autism Society, the initiative was created “to promote autism awareness, inclusion and self-determination for all, and assure that each person with [Autism Spectrum Disorder] is provided the opportunity to achieve the highest possible quality of life.”

On that note, here is what I’ve been up to…in part, as an instrinsically actually autistic woman: Truth is, I’m up to a lot.

Wednesday Al and I went to Manhattan with my son Silas and gf Kat to be filmed for our part in the anthology docu-film Desire, which Keri Bowers is directing on a shoestring. I destroyed a cuticle or two along the way. My nerves. They sing too loudly.

My now-son Silas had top surgery and used to be my daughter Kerry Annie and if you’ve read my book you recall a little girl who loved classical music, daredevil activities, kitties and motorcycles…. Now I have three sons. Silas and Kat bravely talk about their love story, in this film. I’m proud to be a small part of a big thing. Maybe it was easier to talk about other people’s sexuality than my own?

When we arrived (early) at the highrise where filming was taking place I saw these marvelous doors.

Al and I took a seat in the library room to wait our turn, as filming was running late. Al can get curmudgeonly when things go unexpectedly and while I am not happy with unexpected change, I often try to take the stance that it’s an adventure after all and meant this way. Al did hold it together patiently, to his credit! Our unruly dog has taught him patience!

So, waiting in the library for our turn, Al settled in to an iPhone game and I picked up Neurotribes and skimmed through for an hour. Someone had put a Post-it note inside. Steve’s book reminds me of me when I was “shiny” which is my term for newly diagnosed, and in that awestruck and happy period of newly-diagnosed-revelation. At least that was my experience. At the time I was diagnosed (1990s), I got library books (much of what is in Steve’s book) and copied and copied info that I recognize in Neurotribes as part of what I researched, into a red binder which I still have, handwritten. Truly, Steve’s book is a go-to, a culmination of autism knowledge that is a gathered place for invaluable information. Inspired! (This library had jarringly noisy glass doors…for a library one doesn’t expect to grit teeth every few minutes while someone enters through said noisy doors…)

While Keri got great shots of Al and I walking, and even kissing on the busy street, it should be noted, alas, that filming is not my forte. I have RestingFrownFace. I suppose to focus on communication (selective mutism sucks) AND my facial expression is not cohesive, one always suffers. Plus side? I got to meet members of my tribe, Keri’s assistants Mark and Michelle. Here is lovely Michelle who had a very sore foot (and a trans child in common with me). My foot wasn’t sore. 🙂

Keri wanted footage of my hometown and planned a trip to visit us on Saturday by train,(yesterday) … Unfortunately Keri and Mark got lost on the way and we are rescheduling the trip for the future. She had a rose for me but never got to deliver it. Here are she and Mark who is delightfully shiny 🙂 mugging with my rose. At least I got to see it!

Had planned to take them to one of my favorite trees when they got in by train, but Al and I decided to go to the tree anyway even if Mark and Keri weren’t there to see it in person. Here we are:

Here is a shot of the filming of my son (left) and his gf Katerina. They held hands the whole time.

I have probably shared these before, but here is a “before” of Silas and a shot of ‘she’ and I miming.

It’s warming up here in the east. 60 degrees! woohoo. I plan to get a lowBattery-refill from nature as often as I can. My low power light is blinking. I’ll leave you with some art I’ve made, old and new- most collage, some acrylic, a lot of them unfinished. Poor quality quick iPhone photos.

See Alex Trebek in her calf muscle? These collages and paintings are more vibrant in person. They came out rather dark here. Images copyright me of course.

Go see your favorite tree. If you don’t have one, find one. Find your tribe, whoever it is. Make art. Catch Pokemon. Life is short. Maybe you’ll catch a shiny like me! Did you know Pokemon Go was created by someone with Aspergers? Of course you did.

CNN article about dreading autism awareness month.

Gender, Desire, Art, Journey (not in any particular order) It's still Women's History Month (I write this on the last day of March) although every day is a good day to remember women.

#art #desireFilm #keriBowers

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chatteringbluemagpie · 7 years

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Love, Ire & Song

Summary: Working on a political radio station when you've not thought about politics since you were 15, entirely by choice I might add, hardly seems a good vocational choice. But then neither does taking on the 1-4am slot when you have work from 9 the next morning so one of the options had to be the more sensible. And so Grantaire, for the sake of Feuilly's health and sanity finds himself filling in on the ABC radio, despite not having a political bone in his body. He has been reliably informed that he has an excellent taste in music however, so he's part of the way there.

Warnings: None

Pairings: None yet

Characters: Grantaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Jehan

“Good evening folks! Or should that be good morning? It’s 2am here on ABC radio and all over the UK and you’re here with me, Grantaire. That’s a new name I hear you say, a new and complicated name. So, if that’s too much for your 2am self to handle feel free to call me R. Now that was Paul Simons ‘You can call me Al.’” “But R, you say, over the last bars, this doesn’t tell us who you are and what you’re doing here on ABC radio? Well seeing as you ask I’ll tell you. I just so happen to be the friend of your friends Feuilly and Bahorel, and I also have a chronic inability to sleep before about 4am, and, seeing as I run my own business I don’t have to be up before 12 so here I am. There is only one issue, I’m about as political as a potato, but it’s 2am, none of you care about that stuff at this time. Well, I wouldn’t. If you do give me a call and I’m sure I can rustle something up. Well, that’s the introductions over so let’s get on with the show! I’ve got a host of old classics to take you through till 4 or so, whether you’re ending your day or just starting it.” Grantaire sits back in his seat with a stretch as he starts up the next track, rather enjoying the power he has to play whatever he fancies. He’s sure he probably should have had a track list ready, but he’s had the song stuck in his head all day so he’s taking liberties. Besides, Feuilly said it was next to impossible to find anyone to fill the late slot, so he doubts he’ll get fired. There’s probably no-one listening in anyway. He’ll freely admit working on a political radio show is hardly his thing, he hasn’t been involved in politics since school, in fact he tries to actively avoid it. But Feuilly works the earlier shift in the shop, and he used to cover the post-midnight slot, which had led to lots of napping during his shift, Bahorel installing a bell and quite frankly terrifying dark circles. So when he’d eventually been persuaded to take on a different slot Grantaire had volunteered to take over – ‘but only if I’m not forced to talk politics.’ He sets to work sketching out a new tattoo design for one of his regulars while he waits for the song to end – at least he can be productive and listen to music without his neighbours complaining – but he’s only just flicked the page open when the phone next to him rings. Obviously someone is listening, he thinks as he tries to calm his heart down a little. “Hello, hello! R speaking, how can I help you fellow late-nighter? How about we start with a name.” “Hello, R… I’m Luc.” The man on the phone sounds confused, tired even, as if they’re not used to spending so much time awake. “And what brings you to our airwaves?” “I’ve been a long time listener. I heard ABC were taking on someone new so I thought I might call in to welcome you aboard.” “Oh now you didn’t need to do that, 2am is far too late for courtesy calls.” “Well, I was interested.” Luc sounds slightly put out. Grantaire grins, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I see. You’re checking up on me.” He teases. “I- I wasn’t.” The man sputters. “Relax would you, I’m teasing. It’s nice to have the company. While you’re here do you have a song request?” “U2, Sunday Bloody Sunday.” Luc says after a pause. “Coming right up.” Grantaire finds it, turning off his mic. “You know I’m not actually checking up on you right?” “Of course I do, but you’re also not a night owl by the sounds of your yawning. I must really intrigue you.” “In as much as you’re new.” “Ouch.” “I didn’t mean that like- I just wanted to see what you were like. And if you’d keep the same tone as the rest.” “Oh… Oh dear, you’ve not come hoping for politics have you?” “On a political radio show, surely not.” Luc’s voice drips in sarcasm and Grantaire has the overwhelming desire to know exactly what his expression looked like at that moment because that’s nearly Bahorel levels of sarcasm. “I’m just here to help Feuilly get some sleep, but if you can provide me with some interesting topics maybe you might draw me in.” Grantaire returns to his sketchbook, beginning to sketch out a stork, wings outstretched, neck reaching as if toward a hidden fish. “I thought you were the one presenting.” “I can’t have all the fun.” Luc snorts. “Goodnight R.”

“Hello, Hello! It’s somewhere around 3am and you’re listening to ABC Radio. This morning you’re with me, Grantaire, because my insomnia knows no bounds and won’t let me sleep until the sun’s up anyway. Seeing as I’m absolutely crap at politics no matter how much my boyfriend tries, and, let’s be honest, if you’re tuning in at this time you’re not so worried about that, we’re skipping over the ABC’s usual shtick. So settle in fellow insomniacs, and those night shift workers, or whatever other reason brings you to these radio waves, we’re in for a couple more hours of rocking tunes interspersed with some of my brilliantly witty commentary and who knows, maybe I’ll fit some late night news in there if you’re lucky. First up for our 3 o’clock session we have Suzanne Vega with Luka.”

“How was your first night on the job?” Feuilly asks as he swings into the back room at lunchtime. His colleague is scanning an image, hopefully for the woman currently trying to persuade Bahorel to dye the ends of his hair – again. She’s a regular, a hair dresser by trade and apparently right now ‘mermaids’ are all the rage, from the brief snippet he caught as he passed through. “It wasn’t half bad, I even had a caller.” “After 2? I never had any.” Feuilly folds his arms. Grantaire grins cheekily, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m pretty sure it was a regular checking in on me, don’t get too jealous. What’s the design?” “We’re adding to her space sleeve.” He gestures to the sketch, Virgo in fine dots beneath an outline of her constellation. “I think she’s putting off getting her elbow done.” “I don’t blame her. I’ve still only got the one done.” “Don’t remind me, I will do the other in your sleep one day.” His unfinished sleeve, classically themed with sweeping clouds and gods, is a bone of contention with his friend. His elbow, reserved for Atlas with his globe, remains stubbornly bare along with the back of his forearm. “You’d never be awake when I finally went to sleep.” Grantaire grins, digging through the fridge for something to eat. “That’s not something to be proud of.” Feuilly reminds him, then shakes his head as he sees what Grantaire’s discovered in his fridge hunt. “Please tell me that’s not your breakfast.” “Says Mr ‘I once had frappuccinos for breakfast for over two weeks’.” Feuilly’s mouth opens, closes again and then twists into a pouty frown. “You know I’m right.” “The difference is I learn from my mistakes.” “Hey, mine has veggies in, it’s balanced!” “You tell yourself that. I, meanwhile, have to get back to my client.” Feuilly waves the stencil at him as he vanishes through the door. Grantaire settles on one of the chairs to eat his find cold, flicking through a home magazine that Bahorel was reading yesterday. There’s only so much staring at pastel yellows and greys and ‘the next big thing’ headlines that you can manage however, and he quickly tires of an article on peonies, throwing the container in the bin and the fork in the vague direction of the sink. “You’re on call for walk ins remember.” Feuilly tells him, without even looking up, as he passes through the shop. How he knows exactly what Grantaire’s plans are he’ll never know, but he spins on his heel and continues walking backwards. “Then send Bahorel out on a recce, I’m only gonna be at Jehan’s.” Feuilly raises an eyebrow. “He won’t complain about the chance to visit.” Feuilly sighs, wiping his needle and his client relaxes just a little, her feet lowering just a tad. “Tell them they still need to get that flower coloured would you?” “Roger. Because your pedantic-ism will never let you leave something unfinished.” Feuilly doesn’t even comment, spinning back on his chair. Grantaire grins cheekily, waving as he sidles out of the door. Jehan’s their next door neighbour, though they’ve been here longer than their tattoo parlour, in fact when Grantaire was thinking of opening his own place they’d been the one who found the retail space, as well as worming in with the landlord to tell him just how good their friend was at being a tenant. Maybe not all true, but he pays rent on time so it’s not all bad. The florist is a contrast to their own shop, narrow and painted in a shade of pale teal, giving a sense of whimsy to the otherwise unassuming window. Grantaire helped with the signs, and to their credit Jehan boosts the attraction of the shop with a tier of plant pots on the pavement. The bell above the door jingles as he walks in, and god knows how Jehan can put up with that every day. Jehan glances up, realises who it is, and returns to their work. “Do I not even deserve a reaction?” “You come round every day.” Jehan points out, trimming the stem of a gerbera and tucking it into an extraordinary orange and purple bouquet. “Come in sporting a flamingo hat and I might pay more attention.” Grantaire grins cheekily and Jehan raises an eyebrow over their work. “Don’t tell me you have a stupid animal hat.” “No, alas. But I’ll bear it in mind for next time. Are you not going to ask me how last night went?” “I know how it went, you’ll have played your wonderfully bizarre collection of music and talked complete bollocks for two-“ “Three.” “Three hours. It was made for you.” They grin. “And I had a caller.” “My oh my, did you get a booty call?” Their green eyes have a wicked glint that tells him they’re smirking, one eyebrow quirked. “Hardly, I think the guy was checking I wasn’t ruining the reputation of his favourite show. Not the start of the most sexy of calls.” “Shame,” they sigh, with more melodrama than strictly needed. “You really could do with a good lay.” “I’m so glad it shows.” Grantaire replies dryly, but he knows Jehan is teasing. To be honest he’s not that bothered by his current lack of love life, sexual or otherwise. He’s always been a bit of a misnomer, being able to count the amount of times he’s actually been attracted to someone on one hand, and the amount of times that’s been actable dwindles further still. He’s always much preferred the intimacy of sexual contact to the act itself, putting him in stark contrast with his old friend. Jehan tucks a strand of mousey hair behind their ear. “Leading me to a proposition. I happen to have some rather excellent weed that’s just begging to be shared. I was thinking you, me, a bowl or two, you can finally design Bahorel’s new piece. I can write…” “Radio, remember.” “I can be quiet.” They tease. “Newbie gets high and stinks the place out on second night doesn’t really rank highly on the employee of the month list does it?” Jehan twists their lips in an exaggerated disappointed pout, looking more than a little like a five year old. “You can tour another night.” “I’d better. And you’d better go before you get Feuilly on your back. He’s more the boss than you.” “He’s actually cut out for it, I’m entirely unsure how I got on before he showed up. He wants you to go back with that flower though.” “I’m waiting on him getting good at watercolours.” Jehan says, rustling around to gather a few flowers together. “So if he hurries up with that…” “I’ll tell him.”” Jehan holds out a bouquet of red blooms. “Another?” “The ones on your counter look sad. And Bahorel will love them anyway.” “Why not deliver them yourself?” “I’m busy, and you’re a good little messenger boy. So run along.” They shoo him. “You didn’t give me a message.” Grantaire points out cheekily. “Then ask if he’s interested in being sociable tonight.” They grin, with a knowing look.

The flowers go down well, and are now sitting pride of place on their reception counter, being lovingly rearranged by Bahorel. To look at him, a rugby guy, short shaved down the side, styled beard, tattoos swirling up his arms, you wouldn’t think flower arranging would be his thing. Grantaire’s pretty sure he’d defect to Jehan’s if he could. He’s also pretty damn sure they’re screwing each other, but that’s neither here nor there. He turns his attention back to the stork he’s etching on his customer’s shoulder. He thinks the guy might be regretting such a complex, coloured in design, but he grits his teeth and keeps quiet. The tattoo parlour was his ever so slightly drunken idea, about three years ago in some fancy too expensive bar with Bahorel. He’d been working in a little place since university, perfectly lovely but he was low on the ladder, still getting mostly simple designs – wings, words, lines. It was great, but frustrating when he knew he could actually design better things, and he only got the chance when Bahorel came in for something new. So he snapped, proposed an idea to the fresh out of uni Bahorel – he studied law, not that he wanted to actually do it, so the idea of a distraction seemed perfect. A shop was found, loans taken out, gradually they decorated with rubbish found in charity shops and donations from Jehan. Feuilly came along after a year, when Grantaire was secure enough to actually think about hiring someone. He’d walked in, presented his designs and by the end of the day he was hired and Bahorel had a new tattoo. The Three Aces – renamed by Bahorel about 6 months ago in a fit of rebranding mania – is an eclectic place. Red walls, a couple of old chesterfield style sofas, more photo frames than the really have room for littering the walls, bearing old designs. Business is steady, it has off days but so does any business, the most important thing is that they keep afloat. His beanie is suddenly lifted from his head, pulling his curls with it before they’re unceremoniously dumped over his eyes. “Oi!” He whips around to find Feuilly adjusting the hat over his loosened ponytail. “I’m off.” “With my hat?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. Feuilly shrugs in return, hitching his bag back onto this shoulder. “It’s chilly outside.” “It’ll be chillier when I leave!” Grantaire protests. “You live closer.” Feuilly counters. “And the radio station is warmer than my flat. Bigger too.” He adds with a chuckle.

#Les Miserables #Grantaire #Feuilly #Bahorel #Jehan Prouvaire #Magpie Writes #Love Ire & Song #Hipster AU

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