#|Bleats and Curtsy| | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsdappleagain · 2 years ago

Text

two weeks late? what do you mean? ...haha.

sorry i have excuses okay? I moved houses in that time and then got sick. like i said, lateness is becoming my brand i guess

anyways this week (last week) it is time for

The Opera in the Outback Caper!!

notes as always under the cut!

player's australian accent is hilarious

CRIKEY! AUSTRALIA'S ONE BEEEEEEEEEEG CUNTRY

bro the writers were researching australia and they saw carmen the opera and their eyes shot out of their heads like looney toons

according to wikipedia if this episode had gone like the opera carmen would have stabbed a bitch to death and then sung about fucking somebody all night from prison. but yeah carmen would have also ended up stabbed to death in the end so....leaning towards the bad omen scale

that fifteen person orchestra is really pulling its weight damn

can you imagine being gray in this episode he has literally no idea what the fuck is going on wheeze

this is totally way later in the episode but wait a minute if the vile device fried all the soundboards how the hell did the rest of the opera keep going

its gra-YUHM

that surprised pikachu face jdsghdjhga

god fuck i hate that he flirts with her im getting it out of the way right now so i don't harp on it later but i do not like it

SOMEBODY THAT YOU USED TO KNOWW BUT YOU DIDNT THAVE TO C (gets crackle rodded to death)

Gray Ham says enjoy the show and carmen walks like a penguin her ankles go WAY up

i love love love watching the progression of carmen's faith in vile go from her mostly playful, almost dismissive air in the start to realizing just how dangerous this all is and i think it starts RIGHT HERE, realizing that theyve killed crackle's memories of her and VILE

mentally i am the guy dressed as a soldier who is staring straight ahead and singing with one blank smile on his face

something about that swing and how carmen's coattails move is just mwah

carmen stays there for literally no reason how did you not see le chevre coming over to kick you in the back girl

that subliminal messaging device falling was sooo on key 🫦

so nitpicky but that opera singer is NOT opening her mouth enough literally watch any video of an opera singer their mouths are going twice that wide

the way she just plucks it from his hand is so funny

i love this fight btw. its so dynamic but its SILENT. and the entire fight is based around the need to not draw attention to themselves and disrupt the performance. very cool fight

like yeah the flips and the way they pull on each other's clothing and jump and use the bars and stuff super cool

literally the second time le chevre has done that exact same thing girly

that landing HAD to hurt SO BAD are you kidding

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHATS GOOD FOR ME

THATS MY O P I N I O N

also love how carmen goes in slow motion before this but the music doesnt thats hilarious

wouldnt it have been funny if as carmen the singer was singing her high note carmen the thief fell on her

love the standing ovation and curtsy for the uh. fourth song of the opera

player was in record mode because he secretly loves opera and wanted to record the live performance of his favorite habanera

HUAN HONK HUNK HONK HA HION HA HONK he does bleat like a goat

THE DEAR BOY COMMENT WAS SO BASED NOT YOUR DEAR BOY

i find it very hard to believe that le chevre is so flippant about the mindwiping thing seeing as dr bellum is potentially setting him up for the exact same circumstances today in fighting carmen lmao

i love when characters on screens look at things from the perspective of the. screen

"remix" its just you dr bellum

carmen: haha quip player: oh girl u fucked up girl

love Carmen's thought process of being completely unaffected by the thing that got blasted directly in her face just because she wasn't the target

player does the most

i love doctor denim jeans she seems like such a nice enthusiastic person

look at her shes so excited

what was carmen standing up there looking for anyway

pls player didnt even know it was gray but he knew. he was just like ffs carmen not the silver jambon

love how carmen is pinpointing his orders from vile as the problem and not. his willingness and ability to kill her

he's got good hearing wow

sparky is actually australian slang for an electrician. good to know. shocked crackle didnt name himself Sparky

love how crackles tone changes from joking to that dramatic "year of my life" speech i dont remember if they used that for flashbacks or trailers or what but its for something lol

"electrician" gray you sit at the desk and press buttons as far as we can tell dude

"yeah stranger go online and find some random guy to take you into the australian outback <3 my experience couldnt help you avoid a potentially bad situation there at all."

shes like four feet away and he's screaming lmaoo

it is just her name, honey maid

"the outback- may sound like somewhere you would take a man to shoot him but we have to save that for next season!"

mad respect for them primarily referring to it as uluru so it sticks that way and not the more colonialized name of ayers rock, which was given to it by, surprise surprise, a brit

its a miracle the car didnt break down in the outback after player told her to be careful in the harsh terrain. literally two episode ago he was like "be careful of altitude sickness!!" and then she died

god the music and animation in this episode are gorgeous though arent they?

miro is the most patient man on the planet

ivy being so fed up with him wheeze

carmen being polite and excusing herself from the conversation! never thought i'd see the day lol

i love miro he's just like what. what do you mean. who are you guys and he's right

for sure the only tourist in the car

where did carmen get those hot little pink glasses and coats did they mug a couple workers or what

ivy and zack's sibling dynamic forever

she is for sure like five feet from that door and should not be running for as long as she is while talking to player she is a split second away from crashing into the wall

pls the rocket is so close to the facilities it would take the buildings out

GET HER ASS ZACK AND IVY NO MUSIC IN THE WORKPLACE

anyone else love the animation when ivy's waving the id badge at mom jeans denim

zack's little salute ive never noticed that before

yeah your new interns. the most conspicuous american twenty year olds we can find who apparently blend in with every situation, including fashion week in milan

who voices bell bottom jeans because her australian accent is sketch is it sharon. it sounds a little like bellum

IT IS SHARON ok sorry queen your australian accent is not great </3

is there a "where in space is carmen sandiego" where zack and ivy go to an alien planet because i havent watched any of the 90s show but. that feels like it would happen

was player directing her through that or did carmen just randomly learn to hack too

love the single button to launch a whole rocket its so funny

brancusi jeans: that was the day i decided the laboratory is no place for opera speakers: opera in the laboratory skinny jeans: wow this is the best thing that has ever happened to me

i wonder if that cart wheel was 3d

ivy expertly tied that woman up great job ivy. ig she learned from boston lol. interesting tho- that is how carmen tied them up, and i wonder if carmen taught them

uh oh spaghettio

again cs color theory <3 with the button going green when vile's plan starts to work

also love how zack was just like "SHIT CARMEN SPONTANEOUSLY TURNED EVIL THAT SUCKS"

the rocket launched in less that 3 minutes! btw it will take more than 4 until we get to the final countdown. and we will cut down much of the space in between but its totally less than three ok

love the way ivy smashes through that door

wheeze the control panel at the top of the tower

zack's got the best australian accent out of all the terrible australian accents in this show. he could be on bluey

zack's cold chuckle before he tells el topo that the dingoes are mauling his boyfriend is priceless its so funny

adore the clear shock and horror in carmen's voice when she realizes what she's done. good gina moment thank you for a moment gina. oh nevermind that what have i done was sad and limp :(

AGAIN THE ANIMATION THIS EP. LIKE IVY CLIMBING THAT LADDER? MWAH

le chevre said grrr. WHAT? OUGH!

"let go" yes le chevre that is something she would do while you're dangling her a thousand feet above the ground

pls my video started buffering and it just went "OUT OF MY WA-" and then the screen went black ivy killed it

love ivy shes such a girlboss

still not sure btw how top and bottom arent recognizing the boston kids its. what the third, fourth time?

that little thing le chevre does i think must be a vile taught thing, which is interesting. he hooks his arms under hers and holds her there that way. i say that because in the s2 opener episode el topo does the exact same thing to carmen

the gays are so funny i love them

ivy comes very close to dying a horrible death this episode lol

"i've got you."

drops her

she did not have to slide down the rocket like that but thank god she did. hot of her. love that her hair came down and her glasses came off for maximum hotness she booked it over here you can tell

miro!!!

the two gays are literally just >:( >:(

shit my pants joke

everyone laugh

player is literally that friend trying to get his bff not to get back in that toxic relationship GIRL HE TRIED TO KILL YOU LIKE. A WEEK AGO HE AINT WORTH THE FRESH START BROTHERLY RELATIONSHIP

i do like gina's voice acting here though. she does sound like she's actually. feeling things

god the shots in this show are so pretty

look at that. art

even the light changing from green to red once she decides to blow him off. yes yes yes yes the red represents safety and certainty and as soon as that green light turns not only does it physically block her from crossing over to him just like she's mentally decided not to put it puts any question of vile completely out of the question

insert that tumblr post about wanting to make eye contact with someone from across a street and then disappear behind a bus here bc i can't find it

HOW IS SHE WALKING IN THAT DIRECTION THATS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THE BUS TRICK SHE JUST DID

woohoo carmen leading herself to believe that the only way she can keep people safe is to avoid them. im sure this wont come into play in any future searches for more familial figures of carmen's

i like all the human and animal remains in maelstrom's office. cool of him tbh

they wanted to say "bring me the head" so bad

anyway PAPER STAR! TRANSITION SENTENCE TO NEXT EP! i love next ep paper star is so cool. also beginnings of julethief. look, i have a transition sentence too.

next week is actually two days ago on saturday but thats okay ill hopefully get it done sometime this week, so i can be on time for being late this saturday. hope you liked this ep's notes <3

#cs weekly #carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego weekly #rip this was done last night but i couldnt post it #csweekly

38 notes · View notes

the-empress-7 · 2 years ago

Note

You know she is mad and upset when Omid and her stans start bitching about Andrew so I think it's safe to say she expected much better from this series and throwing a fit rn. I wonder if it's the backlash over her Kate hug comment..or the curtsy..or the "privacy" anger..or just the fact everyone find her boring and fake lol that triggered her and made Omid posting. I'm sure they are reading all the comments and asking netflix to delete them as we speak or just scrolling through SM is enough...too many ppl see through her and that's her number #1 problen

LOL is Omid bleating about Andrew now? That means Meghan is big mad, it's always her last ditch way of trying to shift the blame.

31 notes · View notes

oflostinfound · 1 year ago

Note

"Thank you so much for the invite, Eath. And for the dress, Hax." Roe did a little curtsy, immediately feeling silly after. "I, uh, appreciate it."

@deercursed

|| 🔷 ||: ❝ Of course! You're always welcome to the parties Roe! ❞

As another person who understood the need to do a surprised bleat every once in awhile, and the fact that she had crashed on the cabin's couch a time or two, how could Eath not invite her?

|| 🔷 ||: ❝ You look wonderful! I see Hax outdid themself again. They, uh, they're currently at home watching Taygete. They had an... incident earlier this week and they didn't want to risk seeing the ocean theme and having it mess with them right now. But they told me to say hello, and to tell them how you looked in the dress- and you look amazing! ❞

#deercursed #💚 || ask answered #💚 || anon #🔷 || ic post #🐚 || summer ball #eath's summer ball

2 notes · View notes

agooberscast · 3 years ago

Note

Barbara is a good sheeper.

The sheepy-lady bleats in surprise at the sudden stranger and compliment, but soon is all blush and bashful.

"Mmmph, th-thank yooooou. I try my best, ehehe~?" She sort of curtsies as best she can. She's sort of heavy, even to herself, so she can't bend down all the way or she risks falling over.

#barbara #anonymous #truth

1 note · View note

curiosity-killed · 5 years ago

Note

9 and 10, shiro ship or voltron ship of your choice :D

trope mash-up prompts

this is pure silliness tbh

9 & 10 — Dance AU + Airport/Travel AU with Shallureith

A twelve-hour layover on paper didn’t seem that bad. They were all together so they could take turns taking naps, and there was a nice reprieve in being stuck in an airport. It was like a break from reality, an excuse to eat doughnuts cross-legged on the floor and watch Netflix at 3 PM. Or at least that’s what Allura kept telling herself. By hour nine, though, it was becoming apparent that her theory didn’t work so well off paper.

Shiro was working through his series of physical therapy stretches, less because he actually needed to and more because he’d finished the book he was reading. Keith, meanwhile, had been pacing for the last fifteen minutes because he’d sat still for a grand total of thirty. Propping herself up from where she’d been laying back on the floor, Allura huffed out an exhale and eyed the both of them. As if following some unspoken cue, Keith paused in his pacing to meet her eye, and Shiro lifted an eyebrow in question.

“We could play a card game,” she offered. Canting his head, Shiro seemed to consider it, but Keith’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Despite being the one to offer it, Allura sympathized; her legs itched with restless energy, a need to move, and not just sit and occupy her mind. “I have an idea,” Shiro said, “but uh…it’s dumb.” Naturally, that seemed to pique Keith’s curiosity, and he inched closer. Allura stifled her laughter but inclined her head. “I’m okay with dumb,” she said. “It’s midnight and we’ve run out of snacks.” Their backpacks got stashed under the seats, and within five minutes, they were on the moving sidewalk. Shiro, as the one with the idea, got to lead, and Allura had to fight back giggles as he directed them into plies. It was the same combination he always fell into when he was warming up or teaching a class on the fly, and they were synchronized as they sunk into a grand plié in fifth. At the end of the track, Keith took over and they move onto fondus on the one rolling the opposite way.The airport was quiet by now, but the few people who passed by paused and squinted at them a moment before hurrying on their way. A couple of the younger ones stopped long enough to take a picture or video, grinning as they turned away to carry on to their gate.They skipped some steps, trading tendus and degages for pas de cheval and piqués. Anything that didn’t work well on moving rubber tracks while they were wearing tennis shoes was thrown off; this was just for fun, after all, not a real class. They stretched with ankles resting on the railing, and developped on an angle to keep from blocking the one or two other passengers trying to get one way or the other.Jumps were skipped for safety reasons, as well as turns, but that didn’t stop them from going into lifts like they’d had a whole class to warm up. Shiro pressed her up over his head like they were standing on steady ground, and she couldn’t help a grin breaking over her lips that was half nerves and half delight. There was always something exhilarating about big lifts, about soaring through the air with the floor eight feet below. She could hear the announcement as a plane deboarded, and a new rush of passengers started trickling through the terminal. Oh no, she thought, holding in some cross between a giggle and groan as she held up her arabesque. They’d started this as a silly distraction while the terminal was occupied only by sleeping passengers, but now they were getting something like a crowd. People stopped, first just a couple, then a whole cluster along the railing.As Shiro stepped carefully from the track and settled her on her feet, there was a round of muted applause — not too loud, as if mindful of those still sleeping on the floor and across the bench seats. “Maybe we should call that enough,” she said.Before Shiro could answer, though, there was a burst of startled laughter and applause, more raucous than before, and looking over, she covered her mouth with her hand. Keith had unfolded into a handstand, body perfectly perpendicular as he trundled down the moving walkway. Shiro bleated out a strangled laugh as Keith shifted to full splits, still inverted, completely ignoring the couple who now rode behind him and stared blearily at his antics.“Shall we?” Shiro asked, grinning, and offering out his hand.“Will you be my Romeo?” she replied.It had been their last performance this season, and the pas de deux was still fresh in her mind and body. Shiro broke into a grin at the challenge and accepted immediately. Onstage, the process of getting into the lift was simple, graceful; on the walkway, it was a little more utilitarian. Shiro knelt, reaching up his arm, and Allura laid out on his shoulders in the same motion. He took a step onto the walkway as he rose, in time for her to extend her leg to the ceiling and let her arm drape down across his chest.“Holy shit,” someone gasped in their little audience, and Allura grinned. Shiro turned in a tight circle rather than the usual steps and swung her legs down so that she hovered as if en pointe in thin air, chest arched to the sky. Lifting her back up, he braced himself for the second developpe, higher this time so she nearly unfurled into the splits still draped over his shoulders. He stepped onto firm ground, settling her lightly on her feet, and the crowd broke into a round of true applause. Laughing, Allura dipped in a curtsy, extending the hoodie around her waist like a skirt.“Now that’s just cheating,” Keith laughed, coming up behind them. “How’m I supposed to top it?”“Well, you could always lift me,” Shiro replied, jostling Keith’s elbow with his.Catching the light in Keith’s eyes, Allura laughed.��You two figure that out, I’ll buy some time with our audience,” she said.Trading classical for modern, she stepped onto the walkway to toss her leg up into a full tilt, fingers placed delicately under her chin. She’d been hired for a music video over the summer, her first big commercial contract, and as she pivoted into an illusion, leg fanning in a great circle behind her, she heard a murmur of recognition.“Hey, wait,” someone started as popped a hip and flicked her long white braid over her shoulder, “she was in Leon!”She shot a wink in the general direction of the speaker and, as the walkway rolled to an end, dropped into an inverted cabriole before springing up and into a messy pirouette. Carpet and sneakers didn’t make for a good turning combination, but she got a whistle as she stepped out of it, laughing.On the other end of the walkway, Keith and Shiro were already starting, and she stole glances as she hurried down the length back to their starting point. It wasn’t that different from peeking from the wings during a crossover, only she was usually in a skirt and stage makeup for that rather than her worn-in leggings and airport-bathroom face wash.The prep into this one was deceptively simple: Keith crouched as Shiro tossed his weight onto his shoulder, flopping like a particularly bulky sack. There was a smattering of confused laughter, as if the audience thought they’d traded dance for a farce, and Allura grinned. She knew this step, remembered this piece. It was an older one — a pas de deux about the homoeroticism of trench warfare created by a guest artist on Keith and Shiro back when they were still students. The lift was, admittedly, a little more effective with the achingly intimate cello solo that normally accompanied it, but she could already feel anticipation tingling under her skin at what came next.From his limp drape over Keith’s shoulder, Shiro straightened up into a handstand, arms tight around Keith’s waist and feet pointed to the ceiling. The laughter shifted into quiet gasps. Keith’s hands hooked around the back of Shiro’s thighs, guiding them in a motion almost like an upside-down cartwheel. As his legs came around, though, Shiro didn’t neatly step off but froze, body perpendicular to the ground. Keith’s wiry arms shifted, lean muscle straining under his t-shirt. A few steps from the end of the walkway, Allura froze. That lift was supposed to swing around, Shiro rotating across Keith’s waist — but there were glass walls cutting their path off. Swinging him forward was bound to leave Shiro with a concussion and knock both of them on their asses on the walkway. Her hands tightened, involuntary, with worry.As she watched, Keith bent, shifting so that Shiro was nearly diagonal to the ground as his legs came around, slicing a breath above the rail. She gasped, startled despite herself by the fluidity as the two of them shifted, reoriented the choreography and brought Shiro neatly into an inversion before stepping off to a chorus of whooping and claps from their transient audience. Looking out over the little crowd, she could spot half a dozen cellphones lifted up, filming, and she held back a laugh. Coran was going to have a fit.A boarding call came over the PA as Keith and Shiro reached her, both breathing a little hard, and the crowd started to disband. Drawing her bottom lip in under her teeth, Allura rested her hands on her hips.“I think it’s time for our finale,” she declared.“That didn’t count?” Shiro breathed out, laughing.“Nah,” she said. “Hey, remember that character class we took with Nikola Kaminski?”Shiro’s eyebrows rose, but Keith’s lips turned up in a grin, and he started nodding before he even replied.“Oh hell yes.”She wouldn’t have been able to do it with Shiro, not with their height difference, but Keith was the same height as her if she didn’t wax down her hair. They took the walkway grinning, two steps apart and bouncing slightly in rhythm with each other. The dispersing crowd paused, lingering to see what was going on, and Shiro stalled with the first steps of Nutcracker’s Russian. Allura laughed, shoulders shaking, but gave Keith a firm nod as they approached the center of the walkway. He took one chasse, throwing himself up into her arms. She heaved, pushing off with her thighs, and flipped him up so one leg extended to the sky. Suspended there for a moment, he flicked one hand up to salute the audience before she swung him back down and they pranced off their impromptu stage. Despite the hour, their tiny crowd burst into cheers and applause. They’d accumulated more than she’d realized during the mini performance, and Allura laughed as they took bows from either end of the walkway. Drawn away at last either by boarding calls or by the sense of the performance ending, the crowd trickled away and Keith and Allura wandered down to where Shiro waited for them. Her heart raced under her t-shirt, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and endorphins. Keith’s cheeks were as pink as hers felt, and Shiro’s bangs stuck to his forehead. Reaching up, she combed them back, and he laughed.“Well, that is a new stage for me,” he remarked.“Your dumb idea was pretty great,” Keith said, looping an arm around Shiro’s waist. Shiro grinned, and Allura pressed a kiss to his cheek before tangling her fingers with Keith’s. “I honestly thought you two were going to get concussions doing that Huntsman lift,” she admitted as they turned back to their waiting bags. Keith shrugged his near shoulder, as if unbothered. “Keith had me,” Shiro said. “I wasn’t worried. Did you hear them during your Leon solo?” Laughing, Allura dropped into her seat, twisting around to drape her legs over Keith’s lap. Now that the adrenaline was starting to fade, she was finally almost sleepy. “I wondered if anyone would recognize it,” she admitted, leaning her head against her hand. “Too bad you didn’t have the costume,” Keith remarked, dropping his arm over her shins. Shiro snorted and Allura reached over to pinch his arm. The costume in question had been little more than a white bralette and shorts — and an entire bucket of red and black paint. Keith only grinned, unrepentant. “Next time I do a bikini dance, you guys are doing it shirtless,” she declared.

Glancing over to meet Shiro’s eye, Keith lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. “Deal,” he said. “I assume that’s our first summer layoff project,” Shiro agreed. Allura laughed, settling more fully into her seat. The metal arm rest pressed into her back persistently, but if she leaned in toward Keith and shifted most her weight into the pleather back, it wasn’t so bad. “Perfect,” she said, eyes slipping shut. “You two come up with some choreography and I’ll run final edits.” Already sleepiness curled around her, lulling her off. Distantly, she could hear a quiet chuckle and feel the gentle warmth of Keith giving her leg a light squeeze. The last thing she heard as she drifted off was Shiro: “Sweet dreams, Princess.”

#voltron #voltron ficlet #shallureith #dance au #shiro #allura #keith #voltron fic #my writing #ask games #this is such nonsense but was fun ty!!#machidielontheway #asked & answered

13 notes · View notes

victoodles · 5 years ago

Text

Venatrix (Chapter 1)

I just wanted an excuse to write a hunting story since my gal is a hunter ✨ find and follow on AO3!

“Has anyone seen-“

“She’s out talkin’ to Pearson,” Karen already has the answer to Arthur’s painfully obvious question. He tries to hide his flush behind the collar of his coat, hoping to deflect blame to the cold. It fools no one. Karen rolls her eyes dramatically while Mary-Beth and Tilly poorly attempt to muffle their giggles.

While Arthur has taken it upon himself to ensure the safety of all his fellow gang members, it’s no secret why he spends a majority of his time looking after you. Their teasing is vehemently ignored by the gruff outlaw to the best of his abilities. He briskly takes his leave with a tip of his hat before venturing out into the bitter chill Colter “graciously” provides them.

To say it’s been miserable would be an understatement. Lives were lost, and the spirits of the Van der Linde gang were fractured. Arthur wasn’t sure how to even begin rebuilding their faith; he believed his hands were only capable of destruction and bloodshed. But he could at least provide them with the basic necessities in the meantime: shelter, safety, and full bellies.

Arthur sees you at Pearson’s ramshackle “kitchen” with Charles. As he approaches he can practically feel the agitation radiating off you. Your brow is furrowed, arms crossed sternly over your chest with your bow slung over your shoulder.

“Listen, I just don’t think it’s a good idea sendin’ you out there alone.”

“And why is that, Mister Pearson?” You bite back, tone icier than the howling mountain winds. Pearson falters and looks to Charles for assistance in quelling your ire. He finds no such assistance.

“Now that we have Charles with us, there’s no need for a lady such as yourself to-”

“Might I remind you Mister Pearson, that this lady has been providing meat for your pot for well over six years now.” Your voice is even, calm, but your displeasure is greatly apparent.

“And I will continue to provide for the aforementioned pot as to see we all do not go hungry! Especially because Charles is currently suffering from an injury. Now,” you take a step closer. Pearson flinches in response.

“Is that a problem, Mister Pearson?” It’s posed as a question, but there’s a threat hidden among the syllables. Arthur doesn't think he's ever seen you so...fierce. He quickly finds he quite likes that side of you.

“I-I…” he nervously sputters, unable to meet your firm gaze. Charles continue to watch the spectacle unfold, mildly entertained, until Arthur finally decides to intervene. While watching Pearson continue to pour oil on an already raging fire is amusing, he can’t have the entire camp burning down on his watch.

“Well it certainly is nice know somebody can shut you up, Pearson,” Arthur laughs, clapping a hand on Charles’ shoulder before nodding his greeting to you. “My lady.” His presence seems to alleviate some of your tension, shoulders relaxing and eyes softening. You smile for the first time all morning.

At him of all people. It has a familiar heat rushing to his face, again, like some pathetic lovelorn boy. He mentally reprimands himself for acting needlessly foolish.

“Mister Morgan,” you greet him gently. You open your mouth to pursue a thought but Pearson has taken quite a liking to enraging you as he interjects.

“Arthur! Maybe you can talk some sense into this girl,” Pearson barks, rudely pointing at you. You scoff in defiance but Arthur cuts you off before the two of you can start up again. You don’t seem to mind as much when he interrupts you.

“Now, I think the lady has more sense than the three of us combined. And that ain’t sayin’ much, considerin’ you are included in that.” Arthur jabs at Pearson, pleasantly relieved when he's momentarily rendered speechless. The peace doesn’t last very long.

“It’ll be more beneficial if you and Charles do the huntin’ today. Y’know, two brutes such as yer’selves could bring back twice as much than the little lady could all by her lonesome.” Pearson tries his best to explain without angering you yet again. It doesn’t work.

This time Charles speaks up, hoping his logic can make it through Pearson’s overly thick skull. “As previously explained,” he holds up his bandaged hand, “my burns are too severe to be of any use. I can barely hold a bow, let alone draw one.”

“I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if we let her do the hunting in my stead. She is more than capable,” Charles turns to you with a small grin, “I’m more upset I won’t be able to join her this time.”

His praise has you stunned; such high regards from another accomplished hunter? You feel as if you yourself single-handedly hung the moon.

Many had doubted you, and the more stubborn folk had completely disregarded your ability simply because of your gender. Charles knows the feeling all too well, spat on and tossed aside, albeit it for different reasons. It’s gratifying to know that others recognize your capabilities as a huntress despite appearances.

Another smile is playing on Arthur’s lips at how overjoyed you look.

“I’ll go with her,” Arthur states, garnering the attention of both you and Pearson. “That way we’ll be able to bring back ‘twice as much’,” he mocks the cook’s hoarse voice and you try to stifle a snicker. Pearson throws his hands up, clearly outmatched and defeated with the lot of you.

“Fine! So long as we don’t starve, I don’t care anymore!” He promptly shoos the three of you out so he can enjoy the company of a lady called whiskey. At least he won’t find any ridicule at the bottom of a bottle.

“A pleasure as always, Mister Pearson,” you grouse, giving him a mocking curtsy before turning on your heels. You always tried to remain cordial, ladylike, but stubborn mules like Pearson thrived on testing your patience it seemed.

Arthur however seems to enjoy when you throw your manners to the wind, chuckling to himself. He sounds nice when he laughs, you think.

Perhaps you should be thanking Pearson, sincerely this time.

After all, his bleating did grace you with the rare (and exciting) opportunity to hunt with Mister Morgan himself.

You smile to yourself, hoping your giddiness goes unnoticed.

Arthur notices. And suddenly the Colter mountains don't feel too cold anymore.

#vic's fics!#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader

100 notes · View notes

catchester · 5 years ago

Text

12 Days of Christmas

Title: Ten Lords a Leaping

Authors: @evieplease and @catchester

Which character: Actor!Tom and OFC Rocky

Genre: Humour/Explicit

Fic Summary: Tom and Rocky spend their first Christmas as a couple and Rocky meets Tom’s Mum for the first time. Expect 12 gifts, too much boozy, bad puns and lots of fun!

Rating: Mature

Previous Chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138390/chapters/40304798

Chapter 13 - 10 Lords a Leaping

Knowing that the Ten Lords a Leaping was looming, I’d spent ages wracking my brain to come up with something for Tom’s Tenth Day of Christmas present. Why did I ever agree to this mad scheme? But after his Nine Ladies Dancing I needed to raise the bar. Wait. Oh dear. If I couldn’t get Lords to Leap, maybe Tom and I could do the Leaping? From barre to bar? There are loads of pubs with Lords and Royalty in their names in the greater London metropolitan area!

An hour with google maps and Bob’s yer uncle! I had a list of pubs and a walking map. There were some really terrible pub names out there! I mean, The Royal Flush? Really? They’d better have excellent plumbing!

However, I found the best, most wonderful name of all. The Queen’s Scepter!! I can’t even think of it without laughing out loud! Though it sounds like it ought to be the name of a sex shoppe where one can buy really quality dildoes.

I arranged our pub ‘leaping’ so that all our stops were within walking distance. We’ll take a cab to the first one, because it’s The Queen’s Scepter, (snicker!) which was farthest away, walk from pub to pub, and take a cab back from the last one, as we’ll probably be legless by then.

I checked I had all my ‘leaping’ gear. I needed to be comfortable and warm for a long day in and out of doors. I wore the red wool peacoat that Tom had given me for Christmas of course, a rather deep cut v-neck black jumper, and my good jeans, the ones that cup my arse just right. I bounced on the toes of my old comfy black trainers, eager to get to our adventures.

A beaming Tom met me on the stoop, pulling me indoors, wrapping his arms around me and bending me back to kiss me as if he hadn’t kissed me in months, instead of just this morning.

Naturally, I gave as good as I got, my tongue dancing with his, my hands in his hair and my leg winding around his thigh. Finally he let me up for air and grinned down at me.

“Now will you tell me what you have planned for today?”

I grinned slyly back. The only clue I’d given him was to wear comfortable shoes. He’d taken it a little far, if you ask me, he looked more like he was going hiking, but that wax jacket with a hoodie underneath did suit him, and he was in those lovely old, soft, black jeans so I wasn't about to ask him to change! I kind of liked the tan Caterpillar boots, they gave his posh image a working man’s edge, which oddly suited him. I realised I’d been staring at him for longer than was perhaps appropriate.

“Um, right.” I surreptitiously checked for drool in the guise of fixing my lipstick. That might have been more suave if it hadn’t been lip balm.

“This was a tricky one! I mean, short of setting Parliament on fire, where the hell am I going to get Ten Lords a Leaping?! And anyway the lazy sods aren’t even in session!” I waved my arms about in exasperation.

Tom looked faintly alarmed. “Well, not to mention that it is Christmas, and you’re not Guy Fawkes, after all!”

“And aren’t you glad I’m not!” I wriggled my bum and batted my eyelashes at him, just to remind him how lucky he is. “So, while I wouldn’t mind doing something that would shift that lot off their arses, I can hardly wait to see what you’ve laid on for Eleven Pipers Piping, and I don’t want to be languishing at Her Majesty’s pleasure for it! Plus, your Nine Ladies Dancing was so brilliant! I needed to raise the barre, so to speak… And anyway, they say that ten out of Ten Lords proof-er drinking in the daytime!”

Tom glanced out the window at the chilly, grey day. “So we’re going to a pub...?” He frowned. “What does that have to do with Lords a Leaping?”

I crossed my arms and shook my head in mock disapproval at his slowness.

“Well, I figured that if the lazy bastards won’t leap to it, it’ll have to be our job! And there are loads of pubs named after Lords and other Royalty, so we’re going on a Ten Lords Pub Leaping!”

Tom choked “Good Lord! That’s…so bad, it’s actually good!”

“Why thank you,” I curtsied. “So you approve, then?”

“Certainly! It sounds marvelous fun!”

“Well, I’m glad I won’t have to gin up any excitement, because I’ve been tankering with the list of pubs and maps all morning!”

“And will we have to order particular drinks at each of these noble establishments?”

“Nah. Let’s just play it by beer.”

“ Well, you’ve done an excellent job, as far as I can see.”

“It’s ale in a days work!”

Pulling up to the Queen’s Sceptre, Tom stepped from the cab onto the kerb and gallantly offered me a hand out. I stifled a snicker. If my Posh Idiot wants to treat me like a grand lady, am I going to object?

Besides, his hand was warm when I slid my cold fingers into his palm, and when he tugged me onto my feet he met me with a kiss. I shivered in the cool damp air and he bundled me into the pub.

The Queen’s Sceptre was a traditional olde worlde pub with dark beams overhead and a quiet fire in the fireplace, immediately warming us.

Tom helped me off with my coat. “Thank you again for my pretty wool coat, Tom.” I stroked the sleeve. Tom smiled, pleased. “It’s totally baa-aa-d-ass!”

Now he groaned and rolled his eyes. “You know, when I was shopping for your gift, I had a conversation with myself…” he trailed off expectantly. Ok, I’ll play.

“Oh yes? Do tell!” I raised an enquiring eyebrow.

“It’s a coat, I said to myself. What could possibly go wrong with a coat, I asked myself. I totally forgot to check for puns!”

I stood on my toes and kissed the end of his nose. “Now you know! It’s good to learn something new each day, right? You should write it up as a life-hack!”

“What, and give some runny nosed kid online the opportunity to say ‘Ok, boomer’ to me? I think snot.” Tom raised an offended eyebrow and I snickered. I’d like to see some kid try to get away with calling Tom old!

After we ordered our drinks at the bar, I plopped down on the bench and looked around the scarred old place. There were cracks in the plaster, probably left over from the London bombings during the war. The rough wood floor had probably never been polished, the tabletops were gouged and scratched, and the mullioned windows were filled with wavy, bubbled old glass. There were only a couple of other drinkers there. But the place was perfect. It carried the rich, warm, smell of good ale, and the scent of the logs burning on the fire.

“Your sheep impersonation needs some work, by the way,” he told me. “That ‘baa’ sound needs to come from the throat,” he rubbed his hand suggestively along his throat, tracing a finger around his adam’s apple. “You need to practice until you can literally feel the vibration and-”

I stared at him, my mouth falling open. Was he seriously trying to give me an acting lesson here to improve my sheep bleating?? I’m supposed to be the weird one in this relationship, not him!

“Then with a little-” he stopped and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry... your face!” he said between guffaws.

I could feel my blush rising but hopefully he’d think it was still from the cold outside. He’d got me, but there was no way I was going to admit that!

Fortunately the barman interrupted for our drinks order. I went for a lager, and Tom asked for a glass of wine, whee aren’t we adventurous?

Soon we were sitting at a table in the window of the nearly empty pub, looking out at the grey day.

“I have to say, I’m impressed by your choice of a pub crawl,” Tom grinned at me over his wine, his eyes twinkling merrily. “This ought to be interesting, since you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Can too!” I drew myself up indignantly.

“Darling,” he drawled, “you were three sheets to the wind the first time you met my mother! Your first words to her were, if I remember correctly, to stumble over calling her ‘Mum’, ‘Hiddleston’ and ‘Mrs. Posh Idiot’! You were squiffy!

“How long are you going to bludgeon me with that one for?” I teased. “But, that’s fair,” I nodded judiciously. “Of course I’d had nearly half a bottle of scotch on my own, and it was all your fault!”

“My fault?! How was you turning up trolleyed my fault?”

“She was your mother!”

Tom blinked, confused. “Well yes, she was. I mean, she still is.” He shook his head. “What’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, I’d never have got drunk in front of your mother if you hadn’t insisted on introducing me! It stands to riesling.”

“You’re treading a vine line, there.” He snorted and looked skeptical, but he had to concede my logic. Reluctantly.

“Now let’s have a look at this list of Lordly pubs of yours.”

I pulled the list and map from my bag and set them in front of Tom with a flourish:

The Queens Sceptre

Sir Vesa’s

The Lord Lucan

The Royal Flush

The Barons Bollocks

The Duchess and Tipple

Down for the Count

The Bloody Queen Mary

The Earls Whiskers

The Laird of Scotch

The Princes Licker

The Rummy Lord

The Fresh Prince

The Dukes Drunk Ducks

The Kings Cocktail

Tom ran a finger down the list and laughed. “You’ve got fifteen pubs listed here, love, not ten!

“Hey, it’s not my fault that London publicans have an over fondness for kissing Royal arse!” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, some of them are too far away for our walking programme. I only included the ten in walking distance of each other. Check the map. See?”

Tom flipped the list over and looked at our proposed ‘leaping’ route.

Tom laughed, pointing at The Prince’s Licker.

“Is that really what it’s called? The Prince’s Licker??”

I grinned. “Well no, it’s spelled Liquor. But I like my spelling better, as in ‘Candy is dandy, but lick-her is quicker to her heart’!”

Tom pulled me closer and nuzzled behind my ear. “It certainly is with you.”

I nuzzled back. “And you have a very good licker…” I trailed off suggestively.

Tom promptly licked a broad, very wet stripe up my cheek as I squealed and ducked away. “Guess I deserved that,” I said ruefully, scrubbing at my face with the sleeve of my jumper. Tom innocently drank from his glass, returning his attention to the list.

“The Lord Lucan.” he mused. “Isn't he the one who murdered his nanny, tried to murder his wife, and then disappeared, never to be seen again?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. The macabre nature of the pub’s namesake had played a little into my choice. “You order your drinks at the bar, then they hide them and you have to find them before you can drink.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” I laughed. “But it is said that only 50% of customers are ever seen again.”

He wasn't falling for it this time, no matter how deadpan my delivery.

“And the staff all carry pokers to bludgeon rude customers?” he suggested.

“Not far off,” I grinned and explained. “They stage murder mystery nights once a month, so if we like it here, we could try one sometime.”

“That sounds perfectly gruesome. We should go some evening.”

“I’ll check their schedule.” I promised. “You can’t get near it at Halloween, but it should be ok at any other time of the year.”

Tom looked back at our list. He grimaced at the next one.

“The Royal Flush? What is that?”

“I know, right? I couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a pub, a gambling hell, or a shop that sells gold toilets!“

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t have high hops for a pub that has the word Flush right in its name.”

“Yeah, I think urine trouble if they can’t come up with a better name for a pub! It’s out of our walking zone, so we’re spared that one, anyway. What about the next one?”

“The Barons Bollocks?” Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “Did you spell that one wrong as well?”

I laughed. “Maybe? It used to be called the Barons Bullock, but some wag went and painted over the original letters on the sign. Every time the landlord fixed it, someone would come round and change it back. Eventually the landlord just gave up and left it that way. I hear their drinks are strong enough to put hair on your chest, and further south!”

“But darling, I like your chest just the way it is!” Tom traced a finger along the neckline of my jumper.

I glanced down. Oops. There was a bit too much of the girls on display for the public. I gave my jumper a tug and Tom sat back looking disappointed.

“Too bad.” I consoled him in mock sorrow. “But I wouldn’t want to get a chest cold.”

“Or a cold chest, I suppose.” Tom brightened and nuzzled my ear. “But I’d be happy to warm them up for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said dryly. I shook the pub list at him to get his attention off my boobs.

“The Duchess and Tipple is supposed to have quite a good wine cellar. And they have 2 for 1 House wine at happy hour!”

“Well, that’s an offer we decant refuse!

We finished our drinks at the Queen’s Sceptre and pulled on our coats. I grabbed Tom’s hand, tugging him out the door.

“Come on, Sir Vesa’s is only hops, skip and a jump from here!” I did my best to hop, skip and jump, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.

“Come on!” I urged Tom, who was laughing as he watched me. “Live a little!”

“How far is this pub?” he asked.

“According to the map, we’re only a quarter of a mile away.” I gave him my best side eye. “Yeah, you’re probably too old to skip for that long.”

His eyes narrowed. I was going to pay for that quip later. I couldn't wait!

“Fine.”

And so we ended up going this weird sort of flailing hop scotch dance down the pavement. Do you know how hard it is to hop, skip, and jump while laughing and dodging other, more sedate walkers? For a miracle nobody grumbled at our cavorting like ninnies, some even laughed and joined us for a hop or two! It must be the season.

Laughing and breathless from leaping about playing silly buggers down the pavement, I saw my chance. A narrow space between buildings was dark, a street light shining faintly through at the end of the gap, showing that the space was deserted. It was just the thing!

I tugged his hand and pulled him into the dark, turning and slinging my arm around his neck, reaching up on my toes to lick my way into his mouth.

Fingers ran over my cheek and down my neck, moving around my nape to dig into my hair and return the favour.

Tom braced himself with a hand on the bricks beside my head, brushing his lips teasingly across mine, but I wasn’t having it. I wanted his body against mine, and wrapped my hands in his jacket, pulling to grind against him. Tom chuckled into my mouth.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…”

The warm wool of my coat cushioned me against the frigid brick wall at my back, but I could still feel the chill seeping through. It was bloody cold out there! Tom, however, was warming my front nicely, his body pressing into mine as he took over the kiss, heating me up from the inside. I wanted to put my hands in his hair, but my damned gloves…

Tom lifted his head, searching my face for something. I was about to pull him down for another kiss just to see if he really could make me burst into flames, when he startled and his head whipped toward the entrance of our dark little niche.

I’d been so lost in his kisses that I hadn’t even noticed the chattering and noise of passersby until that moment. A loud burst of laughter echoed around us as a group of men walked past, joking and pushing each other as they passed only a couple of meters from us.

Tom took a step back with a shake of his head and a regretful sigh. Yeah, that place was too public, and I didn’t fancy getting caught doing Tom Hiddleston in a dark alley! I’m not into exhibitionism anyway, and the reminder that we were nearly in public cooled me right off.

I shrugged and grinned ruefully at Tom, standing on my toes for a quick brushing kiss over his lips.

“Baby, it’s cold outside…” I sang. Tom chuckled.

“Then let us repair to somewhere warmer. Perhaps to yon public house?” Tom made a grand sweeping gesture and offered me his arm with a bow.

“Delighted, good Sir!” I laughingly tucked my hand in his elbow and he drew me back onto the busy pavement, nonchalantly merging us into the bustling foot traffic without a ripple. We were only a couple of doors from our destination.

Sir Vesa’s turned out to be surprisingly posh, with menus at the tables and waitstaff to take your order. My tummy rumbled. I immediately determined that I hadn’t had enough chips in my life.

“Oh look! I pointed at the drinks menu. They have Budweiser on tap! I’ve never had any, have you?

Tom made an adorable moue of disgust. “I have. Listen to me well when I tell you, Bud you’d be wieser to choose something else.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like watered down goat piss!” Tom muttered quietly.

I choked. Eugh! I flipped the menu over, glancing down the list. “Oh, do they have that here?” i feigned innocence.

Tom looked at the menu over my shoulder, pretending to be serious. “Doesn’t look like it. Nope, no goat’s piss. Only the Budweiser.”

“You mean they don’t have real goat’s piss on offer, they only have the artificial stuff in a Budweiser can?? Well, all I can say is that’s a bitter pils to swallow!” I made my most outraged face and looked ‘round for the barman.

Tom slid an arm over my shoulders, holding me firmly in my seat, obviously not trusting me not to leap up and give the barman a piece of my mind on his lack of authentic goat’s piss. Wise man, our Tom.

“Now darling, you mustn’t harass the barman over his stock. You wouldn’t want to booze his ego, would you?”

“Who said anything about egos?” I eyed the man behind the bar. “He looks a stout young man, but I bet I could take ‘im…”

“Darling, I forbid you to take the poor man anywhere!! I’ll nip this in the bud!” And then Tom used his patented distraction technique, snogging me until I forgot what I was saying.

“Mmmm.” I blinked my eyes open and tried to stop my knees wobbling. Well, that was… refreshing. “Um. What was I saying?”

“We were perusing the menu,” Tom said with a sly smile, and I turned my attention back to the menu in my hand. Luckily while page one was the tried and not-so-true international brands, page two made this beer bar worth the visit. Of course the cervesa pun didn’t hurt, either! I don’t think you could have kept us out once we heard that name.

The various beers were described like a posh wine menu that had been turned into beer porn.

For example, Vienna Pale was described as “Based on the classic Vienna Lager style (though technically an ale), and annoyer of a certain type of beer geek, Vienna Pale is a sweet, malty drinking pint, with plenty of Saaz, Citra and Cascade dry-hopping to keep things interesting”.

I giggled over the menu. It might have been a little pretentious, if someone hadn’t come along and dirtied up the prose, but what the hell.

In the end, I chose a Pilot Bucks Peach, of which the menu said ‘Pilot is a Leith microbrewery that specialises in kick-arse brews. Lovingly handcrafted by braw men in kilts, it’ll lay you out with a smile on your face!’

Apparently it came in flavours! I didn’t fancy the mochachino flavoured one, which seemed more like a breakfast beer, if there is such a thing, but the Buck’s Peach sounded good.

Tom opted for one called, with devastating originality, An IPA.

I knew that meant an India Pale Ale. It was described as “An interpretation of the challenge ‘Create a New Scotland IPA’. A mix of malted oats and barley, then dry hopped both during active fermentation, then once fermentation is complete. A juicy, orgasmic starburst of a beer.”

“Tom, you know that it’s just beer, right? I mean it’s a bit much to expect the earth to move from a beer..” I cautioned him, shaking my head at the over-the-top description.

Tom’s lips twitched.. “But I have such high hops for it!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I hope it moves you to cheers!” I patted his hand. “If the earth doesn’t move, I’ll move it for you when we get home, dear.”

The beer turned out to be pretty good, but nowhere good enough to move anyone’s earth. Eh, the chips were much better, golden crisp on the outside, lovely, hot, and mealy in the center. With lashings of salt and malt vinegar they were the orgasmic item on the menu!

Tom took the last chip on my plate as I was swallowing the last of my Bucks Peach, which was a good lager, but not peachy at all. My other hand came down on his wrist, pinning it to the table. I carefully set my glass down and narrowed my eyes at him.

The fucker gave me those big puppy dog eyes and I lost all desire to fight him for it. I let go his wrist and gently took the chip from him, brushing his lips tantalizingly with it.

Tom delicately took it between his teeth and nibbled it down to my fingertips, licking the last of the salt away.

I sighed. “The sacrifries I make for you…” and shook my head. Tom chuckled.

“Darling, I always pay my debts.” His hand slid around to the nape of my neck and he leaned in to take my lips in a searing kiss that I felt all the way down to my toes.

“That’s only the down payment, you’ll get the balance when we get home,” he murmured against my lips. I tried not to whimper too loudly when he sat up.

“Right. Get off your heineken, it’s time to go. What’s next?” Suddenly Tom is all business. I blinked, and after a moment to gather myself, got the list from my bag.

“It says here The Lairds Scotch. And it’s only three doors down.”

A quick dash into the cold and we were there.

Tom took my coat, and when he came back I nodded at the bar, turning innocent eyes up at him.

“If you ask the barman to help you find the good scotch does that make him your spirit-guide?”

“Dear god, I hope so,” he groaned. “I’m going to need all the spiritual help I can get after that clanker!”

“Oh look,” I pointed to an upright piano next to the opposite wall to change the subject. I could just imagine people having a sing-song around it in the old days. “You should give us a tune,” I cajoled as we stepped up to the bar.

Tom ordered a Laphroig, but I couldn’t face any more scotch after my last go round. I asked for a G&T.

“It doesn't look like it’s been tuned since the war,” Tom deflected.

“They play it every Sat’de,” an elderly gentleman at the next table interrupted. “Owner’s son is studying music and he or one o’ ‘is friends play for us every weekend.” He nodded judiciously. “They’re not bad.”

Tom did not look thrilled by this news, but I’d seen his eyes linger longingly on the old piano.

“There you go,” I smiled smugly as I sipped my G and T.

“If I’m playing, you’re singing,” he challenged.

Ooh! Things just got interesting. Well, whatever my reluctance to be caught singing in public, if he wanted this, then I would give it to him. But I’d make him work for it!

“Is that right?”

“Of course, the only song I know is Little Drummer Boy,” he said as if that settled it. Bloody hell, I hate that song!

“No,” I shook my head. “There will be no pa-rum-pa-pums! Besides,” I sassed, “Drummers are the twelfth day of Christmas! And I definitely remember your Mum saying something about how you’d regale them with Christmas carols every year until you left for Uni!”

“My darling,” He affected a world weary air. “Do you have any idea how long ago university was for me?”

“Sure, grandpa,” I teased. “But you don’t play something for that many years and just forget it.”

I polished off my G&T, and went to order another from the barman. I’d need more booze to get me up to the piano. Either I sing better when I’ve had a good belt, or I only think I do. But it’s all in the mind, right? Let’s hear is for Dutch Courage!

I brought another scotch for Tom as well, even though he doesn’t actually need any Dutch Courage to perform. He’s in his element. But fair is fair, right? If I need to get tipsy to sing in public, well, he’s just going to have to keep up!

“I’ll tell you one I do remember.” The twinkle in his eye had an evil slant.

“Hmm?” I was cautious. God knows what he’d come up with

“I’ll be Home for Christmas.”

I smiled smugly. He thought he’d stump me? Ha! I know that song. By heart, even. I love that old tune. Dad had a bunch of old LP’s, and an honest-to-god turntable, and he loved to play the old songs at Christmas time. His favourites, and mine as well, were Nat King Cole, and Bing Crosby.

But I decided to be difficult. Anyway, if he thinks I don’t know the tune, he’s in for a surprise! And there’s nothing I like better than surprising Tom.

“Sorry, I don’t know the lyrics.”

“And you say I’m the old one,” He laughed. “Google them on your phone, you numpty!” Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head despairingly.

Yeah, I was sort of hoping he wouldn’t think of that. What the hell, I’d made him work hard enough for it. I relented. Besides, he has to pay for that ‘numpty’ crack!

“Bring it.” I tossed my hair behind my back and straightened my jumper, giving it a little tug downward to distract him.

It’s a song written from the perspective of a soldier in World War II, to his girl back home.”

His eyes closed and I could see him relax, his shoulders went down and his head fell forward, drawing a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. His long fingers carefully picked out the tune as if reminding himself how it went.

His fingers danced over the keys as he launched into the slow, romantic song. It did have a world war two vibe to it. I swear he could have been one of those old fashioned crooners as he began to sing in his smooth baritone. I shouldn’t have been surprised, he’s an amazing mimic, and I saw I Saw the Light.

“I'll be home for Christmas...You can plan on me… Please have snow, and mistletoe...and presents by the tree…”

Tom lifted his chin at me, commanding me to sing with him. I smiled and purposely set my mobile down on the piano, joining in with my alto voice.

“Christmas Eve will find you...Where the love light gleams...I'll be home for Christmas...If only in my dreams…”

The old gent and his friends, as well as the barman joined in and sang the rest with us. They clapped when we’d finished, encouraging Tom to play more.

One of the old gents waved his pint glass at us. “Can you give us Oh Holy Night, lad?

Tom nodded. “If you don’t mind the odd stumble, I might just manage it, “ Tom said modestly. Then he launched into the old church music, the old men singing along with us. Dad had always dragged us to Christmas services, so I was able to keep up.

Where I didn’t remember the verse, I sipped at my G&T and enjoyed the men’s voices winding together. They weren’t half bad! Everybody clapped happily at the end, egging Tom on to play another.

Tom laughingly agreed, sliding me a sly challenging look. He was a picture, his face flushed with exhilaration and happiness. It’s a good look on him. And it melts my knickers!

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” There went that challenging eyebrow. I wrinkled my nose at him and joined in.

“Jack Frost nipping at your toes...Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...And folks dressed up like Eskimos…”

The old gents were silent, not knowing the lyrics, I suppose. So we gave them a duet. Dad would have been proud.

When we’d finished and the last lingering note faded the gents applauded and called compliments, offering us another round, which we both declined. But we gave them Auld Lang Syne for an encore, and they all joined in. Tom laughingly refused requests for more.

“I’d better get back to my date, or there won’t be any kisses for me tonight!” he kidded. “And she’s ever so much better looking than you lot! Thanks for letting me play your piano!”

I tend to forget that Tom is such a born performer until moments like that. Watching him perform for an audience is like watching a rose bloom on fast forward; all that is hidden quietly away burst into full colour, and everyone nearby just basks in it.

When we went to finish our drinks back at our table, I slid into his lap, nuzzling his hair and wrapping my arms around him wordlessly. He is so precious to me, and I’m not making a Lord of the Rings joke.

At the Duchess and Tipple Tom made me drink a big glass of water after I called it the Duchess and Nipple, and couldn’t stop giggling. We agreed it was time for dinner.

“How about the Dukes Drunk Ducks? That’s not too far from here.”

“The what?”

“Dukes Drunk Ducks. It’s an old legend. It used to be called The Dukes Duck. One day the landlady came down to find all her ducks dead. Being a practical sort, she shrugged and put duck on the menu for that night. But as she was preparing them to cook, they woke up! Apparently they were only drunk and passed out after drinking from a leaking barrel of ale, not dead, and the name kind of stuck.”

“Yeah, okay, they sound like ducks I’d want to know.”

“I haven't been there for a few years but they used to do good food too.”

I checked my watch. “We do need something to soak up the alcohol,” I agreed. That and the mile long walk there should help sober us up enough to finish the crawl, I mean ‘Leap’, without being totally blotto. A good night out is no fun if you can’t remember it the next day!

“We’d best have a pee before we leave,” Tom cautioned.

“Good idea.” Yeah, a mile long walk with crossed legs didn't sound like much fun.

***

The Drunk Duck took its name and theme very seriously. Every wall was adorned with pictures of ducks, including duck portraits of ducks in Victorian clothing, some in military uniforms with high ranking titles.

Mr Firequacker, Sir Quacks a Lot, and Admiral Moby Duck were among my favorite names, although the fanged duck in a black cape titled Count Quackula topped my fav list.

“I’m surprised they don’t have duck a l'orange,” I said.

“You don’t kill your namesake,” Tom said with mock shock, clutching his chest.

“I don’t care how much I like this place, I am not giving up crispy duck pancakes with hoisin sauce. Not even if I can never look another duck in the eye again.”

Tom Laughed as the waiter set our plates in front of us, wished us bon appetit, and bustled off. I smiled at Tom over my Shepherds Pie and he smiled fondly back, and we both took a bite.

“It’s pretty good stuff, this.” I scooped a bit more onto the back of my fork.

“Not as good as yours, though.”

“Well, cheers!” I lifted my glass of wine and tilted my glass to him.

“Mm. Pudding was even better, as I recall.” Tom purred, sending shivers down my spine. My brow furrowed. I didn’t remember any pudding.

“What pudding ? We drank beer and watched Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen destroy some poor sod’s house!”

Tom wiped his mouth with his serviette and grinned wickedly.

“Oh yes! I distinctly remember I had a couple of lovely frozen bombes with cherries on top.” Tom’s eyes fell to the v-neck of my jumper, and I felt my face warm.

“Uh huh. Icy what you did there.”

We each nursed only one glass of wine during the meal, but we ordered water too and stayed for desert. I was feeling almost sober as we left, but I could do with the walk to the next bar to help the food digest.

“Where to?” Tom asked as we stepped out the door.

“Oh, um…” I felt my pockets but couldn’t find the list. “The Bloody Bits of Barons or something?”

“Do you mean The Barron’s Bollocks?”

“That’s the one. But I think my name is better.”

“Definitely more memorable, darling,” Tom piped up. “And rather bloodthirsty. If I ever become a publican I shall definitely call my establishment The Baron’s Bollocks.” He discretely hid a belch behind his hand.

God, I adored that cut glass accent of his. He could say absolutely ridiculous things like that and still sound like a sexy toff. It wasn't fair! I was about 50% sure I was drooling by now, and I’m absolutely certain that my mascara has migrated south since I put it on before we left. Tom meanwhile just had that sexy, tousled look about him. All he needs is some lipstick. Which I was happy to provide! I grabbed his chin and snogged him hard. Leaning back, I surveyed him. Damn, that shade looks as good on him as it does on me.

I eventually found my list in a pocket I was sure I’d checked three times already.

I slipped my arm through Tom’s and leaned my head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly as we strolled along.

“You seem happy.” Tom noted.

“Mmm,” I wrapped my other arm around his too.

“If I’d known feeding you was all it took to tame the beast, I’d have tried it months ago,” he laughed.

The idea of having been tamed made me giggle. Okay, maybe I wasn't quite as sober as I felt, but I was feeling very happy right now, even if I was freezing my metaphorical bollocks off.

“Feeding’s not the only thing that tames me,” I purred, but the effect was rather ruined when I slipped on a patch of ice. Luckily Tom was there to catch me up. I might have hammed it up a bit.

“We still have three more pubs to get to!” Tom groaned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up

“No, two more!” I corrected.

“Three!”

“Look, mister, this is my day and if you keep arguing, it’ll be four.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. We’d been arguing about whether it was Ten or Eleven Lords a Leaping all evening. Tom liked the alliteration, the drunk posh idiot. Alliteration! I ask you!

“But, that’s brewtal! I’m sure-”

“Five.”

“Alright! Okay, you win! Please don't make me go to five more pubs! We’ll be drunk as Lords until Easter!”

“Now see how much easier it is when you agree with me?” I smiled my victory and batted my eyelashes.

“Well the alliteration is still better with Eleven Lords a Leaping,” he grumbled, “but if you make us go to 13 pubs neither of us will be having much fun after! So, what’s it going to be?

“Fine, we can skip the Duke of Marlborough. Never liked his ciggies anyway.” I drew a rather drunken line through the name, and Tom took it from me, stuffing it in his pocket.

Tom grinned, pleased to have won. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh yes you will!! What’s next?” I patted my pockets again. Wait. Now Tom had my list as well! But he had an excellent memory. Well, he did when he wasn't drunk. I reached for his pocket to retrieve the list of pubs, but he wasn’t having it. After tussling with him for a minute I gave up and tried for a stern expression.

“Hang on, this is my game! I make the rules.” I tilted my head, thinking hard. “It is my game, right?”

Tom snickered into his pint of cider. “You, my darling, are drunk.”

“You wouldn't exactly pass a breathalyser either, buddy! Better still, I’d like to see you do those American tests, where you walk heel to toe and touch your finger to your nose!” I swayed as I made my point. What was it again?

“I’d rather touch your nose,” Tom smouldered as he leaned in close, his nose inches from mine.

I shook my head as if shaking off a stupor. “Hey, no fair using The Smoulder to distract me!” I paused, trying to puzzle out where I was going with this. “Um, what were you distracting me from, anyway?”

“Hell if I know.”

“My good sir, you are snockered!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Not!”

“Too!”

“That’s the way to do it,” the barman said with a chuckle as he wiped down the neighbouring table.

“Sorry?” Tom asked.

“Am not, are too?” he imitated them. “I thought you were doing pantomime. ‘Tis the season, right?”

“‘That’s the way to do it’ is Punch and Judy,” I corrected him.

“Oh no it isn’t,” the barman teased.

“Oh yes it is!”

“This could go on for a while and I need to pee.” Tom drained the rest of his cider before he stood up and headed for the toilets. “Behave yourself!” he shot over his shoulder as he ambled away.

“Right, onward to the next bacchanalia! The Bloody Queen Mary was it?”

I pulled the list from my pocket and unfolded it. “Yes.”

We staggered out into the cold night air. I breathed deeply, letting it sober me up a little.

Not that I was roaring drunk. Not quite. Not yet. This next one was our second to last pub of the night though, and we were only having one each. Two more couldn't hurt too much, right?

Down for the Count was our final pub of the night and I held up my glass of sherry and giggled. I was definitely getting tiddly. And naughty. “Here’s to every Tom’s Dick and Sherry!”

“That, my dear, was a toastament to bad puns! And who’s this Sherry bird, anyway?” Tom squinted at me. “You aren’t setting up a threesome are you?”

“No fear,” I snickered, “I don’t think Tom’s dick would be up to the job after all this!” I waved my glass around, spilling it over the rim.

Tom grinned. “Apparently Sherry is sloshed as well!”

I snickered and made a small noise of annoyance at the sherry trailing down my wrist, glancing around for something to wipe it off, but there were only glasses and coasters on the small table.

Tom tisked, taking my glass from me and lifting my hand to his mouth. “May I?” The fucking smoulder was back.

“Be my guest.” My voice had gone all breathy, and I swallowed hard as his tongue came out and delicately licked the trickle of sherry from my wrist to my fingers.

Hot blue eyes stared into mine as he sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one to clean the sticky sherry from my fingers.

I breathed out hard, squirming in my seat to ease the need building below as he left a kiss in my palm.

“Mmm. Sherry tastes sweet, but you taste sweeter…”

“I’ll call us a cab,”

It started to snow on our way home in the cab, just light flurries at first, and then big, fat flakes drifting down out of the sky just as we were climbing out of the cab in front of Tom’s.

The cab left, and Tom wrapped his arms around me, turning my back to his front, and setting his cheek next to mine. We stood on his top step, tranquilly watching the snow fall , peacefully muffling the city noises all around us, listening to each other’s breathing as it fogged in the cold air.

Tom was warm at my back and I leaned against him, wrapping my own arms over his, and just simply enjoying the quiet moments.

Eventually I realised that I needed to pee. With that came the awareness that my feet were freezing in their trainers, and a headache was beginning to bloom behind my eyes.

I turned my head back and up, kissing Tom’s cool lips for a long luxurious moment.

I whispered in his ear, “I really need to pee.”

He didn’t laugh, he simply nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket and let us in. Tom took my coat as I kicked my trainers off and padded through the dark house to the loo.

I gasped when I flipped the switch, light stabbing through my eyes and waking my incipient headache. I quickly flipped the light off, deciding that there were some things that I was perfectly capable of doing in the dark.

I did what I needed to do and had a quick wash before I opened the door and found Tom leaning on the wall opposite, with two bottles of water and a bottle of paracetamol crooked in his elbow against his chest.

He took my hand and quietly drew me up the stairs, undressed me, and sat me on the bed. Setting down his burden, he twisted the cap off a bottle of cold water and handed it to me, quickly doing the same for himself.

“One more drink, darling. What shall we drink to?”

“Don’t know, don’t care!”

“That’s good enough!”

He tapped his water bottle against mine and we both drank thirstily. I moaned at the cool liquid sliding down my throat, it felt so good.

“Nothing like copious amounts of alcohol to dry you out.” Tom set his half empty bottle down and opened the paracetamol, tapping two out on his palm and offering them to me.

I’m nobody’s fool, I took the damn pills even though I detest swallowing them. If I didn’t I knew I’d be sorry in the morning.

I fell back on the bed with a groan. Tom settled me under the blankets, chuckling and ignoring my uncoordinated attempt to do it. I gave up and let him man handle me because I really was tired.

Stripping off as he made his way a little carefully into the ensuite, I listened drowsily to the homey sound of Tom humming to himself as he did whatever. I think it might have been a bit of the Nutcracker. My eyes were drifting shut on the slightly swaying bed, feeling warm and sleepy.

Tom lifted the blankets and slid in next to me, wrapping around me and dropping a kiss below my ear.

I woke some time before dawn with Tom’s warm body spooned around me from behind, and my bloody phone ringing far too loudly.

14 notes · View notes

silverandarsenic-hcs · 5 years ago

Note

Papa3- I decided on Cinderella. The scenario of him being at the ball & greeting people, then spotting his s/o across the room & being more intrigued by her appearance then everyone else’s & going for them instead of the others in the room. After that it would lead to the “So this is love” scene.You may add more to it if you like cause I’m not sure where this one can stop (Ex: From the lost slipper to 3 finally finding her?) Also I think fic will work for this & the next ones if that’s alright?

I am so sorry this has been in our inbox since we made this account, they just got lost after a while and life happens and we got so busy and didn’t have time to sit down and write this. but i actually enjoyed it so damn much so the Disney AU’s for Papa I, II, and Copia will be coming (hopefully) VERY soon.

Also I only did to Cinderella running away at Midnight so I hope that’s alright. Maybe If I’m bored one day Ill add to it, but I REALLY hope you like what I did with it.

Papa Emeritus III Cinderella AU coming up:

The evening was growing more dull and tiresome by the second. The youngest Emeritus brother stood with his arms at his sides in the center of the room, seven grand thrones behind him, and hundreds of people standing in the ballroom in front of him. Each of his brothers, and their wives, his father, and Sister Imperator sat behind him, he though, looking just as displeased as he. It was tradition, you see, for the castle to hold balls in search of a suitor for the young prince. His eldest brother had already completed his necessary rein, and with the second brother nearly finishing his, it was time that the youngest prince found himself a bride. He tugged at the bottoms of his crisp white suit jacket nervously. Waiting made him nervous. Boredom made him nervous. This was the second time the castle had hosted such an event to find him a suitable partner, and he’d met hundreds of women, but none of them caught his eye. None of them quite had that special spark he was looking for. His father, the long since retired Nihil, thought he was being too picky, but Emeritus The Third always thought it best that love was something to fall into the laps of those who were not looking, rather than something to be caught by it’s tail in the grasps of whoever was the fastest. He thought, if a small perfect seed of interest could happen to drop into his life - if just the smallest dose of fairy dust could be poured into his dinner wine which he drank upon meeting eyes with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen - that his relationship would have a much better chance than one forced upon him by bloodline. He didn’t want to catch love. He wanted to be caught by it. “Miss Augustina Du Bois, the daughter of General Pierre Du Bois.” The announcer called from the side of the room, from the lengthy parchment scroll in his hand. The woman by this name parted from the crowd and proceeded down the red carpet towards the young prince, pink ballgown swaying around her feet with every step she took, and the large purple sash tied around her waist into a bow at the back casting an interesting shadow on the floors. He hair ebony hair tied neatly around the back of her head with ribbon, a very curled strands hanging down at the nap. Her eyes matched the color of her hair, her lips and cheeks the color of her dress.

“My lord.” The Augustina woman picked up the sides of her dress and crossed one foot in front of the other as she curtsied, keeping her eyes trained on that of the prince as she lowered herself to the ground and back up. The prince wore a polite smile as he bowed to the woman.

“A pleasure to meet you. Have a wonderful evening.” His voice was low and soft. He had repeated this action too many times, with too many strangers, for it to mean anything to him anymore. Behind him, his father sighed to Sister Imperator.

“The boy isn’t cooperating.” The woman placed her hand over that of the old man’s gently. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t wish to find a bride. There must be at least one woman in this room who would make a suitable mother.�� The old man bleated.

“They’ll hear you, Papa. He will find a bride, I trust it.” The woman replaced the strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear, and adjusted her position in her throne. She wondered briefly if anyone else’s bottoms were beginning to grow roots into their chairs. The Agustina woman returned to her place in the crowd as the announcer called the next. The old man dumped his face into his hands, barely able to continue with the charade if his son wasn’t going to at least play the part.

“Sisters Anastasia Tremaine, and Drizella Tremaine, daughters of Lady Tremaine.” Two woman emerged from the crowd, the first in pink, and the second in green. The trampled down the carpet towards the prince, each stepping on each others gowns and slyly pushing each other out of the way, vying for the prince’s attention before even reaching his presence. The prince sighed out loud and looked to the sky, his eyes merely falling on the ceilings of the ballroom so high he found nothing but darkness. Please lord, may these proceedings be over soon, the prince prayed in his mind. The Tremaine women stopped before the prince, both picking up their dresses a bit to far, and curtsying just a little too low as they glared up at him.

“My lord.” Their voices broke from their mouths in perfect synchronicity, a whining, almost painful sound from each of them.

“A pleasure to meet you. Have a wonderful evening.”

“I give up. Even I couldn’t expect the boy to find an appropriate suitor among these… women.” The old man grumbled, just quite enough for his companion to hear him.

“I tried to tell you, Nihil, this would not be like it was with your first two sons. The first and second Emeritus sons know very well the proceedings of this event, and prepared themselves adequately. The young prince has always been… different. Difficult. And we can’t expect this to be any different. I’m sure you had the entire scene planned out in your head.” She did her best to remain as still as possible so on-lookers wouldn’t notice that they were talking so much. Just as the prince began to bow to the two Tremaine women before him, he stopped, something twinkling in the distance just between the two women catching his eye. He stands tall, paying no matter to the expectant look in the sister’s eyes. A woman, just beyond the crowd, soft blue tones twinkling in what small amount of light could reach her under the tall balcony surrounding him. She stood, placing her hand over her eyes in attempt to block out the blinding light of the ballroom, in search of where she was supposed to be. Immediately the prince pushed between the Tremaine women, strutting quickly down the red carpet towards her. Where did she come from? What is her name? Father is going to have my head for this, but I must know her, the prince thought as he rushed towards her. With every step he took he caught a better look at her. Soft blonde hair in a high french twist on the back of her head, with a blue ribbon separating the twist from the bangs she had swept so gently behind her ear. Blue sleeves dripping from her shoulders and down her arms, just barely meeting the thin silk gloves reaching from her fingertips. She gasped, the tightly bound corset around her torso barely leaving room for breath. The prince eyes her up and down. From her waist, the long skirt of her gown draped over her legs, swishing perfectly with every small movement she made. She’s beautiful. Radiant. I have to know her, the prince thought again. He placed his hands at his sides, bowing to the mystery woman, who curtsied gracefully in return.

“My lord.” The woman’s voice broke softly. He was sure the simple sound of her speaking was so sweet he smelled roses. She was too captivated to feel embarrassed about stumbling around the castle looking for the ballroom.

“Please, my lady, will you accompany me for a dance.” The young prince held out his gloved hand to the woman, bowing his head but unwilling to tear his gaze from her bright blue eyes.

“It would be an honor.” She felt herself say with a small smile, taking his hand gently.

“The waltz, now, the waltz, the lights!” The old man whispered as loud as he could to the band, desperate to prove Sister Imperator wrong. And desperate to avoid sitting through another terrible event such as this. The prince lead the mysterious woman to the center of the ballroom, taking her hand firmly and wrapping his other around her tight waist. She was beginning to think she’d faint, but she stood strong, and placed her free hand on the shoulder of the prince. The music swelled around the pair as the began the steps, the prince leading the woman slowly as they moved. He wished he’d had something to say to her, or something to tell her, or even something to ask her, but he was far too entranced to care if she thought he’d gone mute. He thought better of even trying his usual tricks, that always won him at least a kiss with the other maidens of the surrounding town. No. She’s special. If I speak I’ll ruin things. I’ll just be silent, he thought. When she remained equally silent, he knew he’d made the right call.

“See to it they’re not disturbed.” The old man waved off a servant as he and the others stood from their thrones. Their work was done for the night. As the old man, Sister Imperator, and the eldest Emeritus son and his wife strode back to their chambers, the middle son decided to stick around and see if he and his partner couldn’t make a nice evening out of it. Besides, he thought it best he keep an eye on his younger brother, just in case he needed help in the lady department.

“Who is she?” The Tremaine sisters gawked at the mystery girl as she and the prince twirled gracefully in the spotlight.

“Do we know her?” Anastasia answered.

“Well the prince certainly seems to.” Drizella snarled, jealous of any women the prince dare give his attention to but her. “But I know I’ve never seen her…”

“Nor have I. But she certainly is-” Lady Tremaine stopped herself as she squinted closely across the room at the mystery girl. “Wait… there is something familiar about her…” The prince cared not in which direction they were dancing, or how far out of the ballroom they had gone, only that he was able to continue looking at the women, and touching her, and simply basking in the glory of her beauty. So this is it. This is love. This is the sweet miracle of love that did fall into my lap just as I’d planned - no fairy dust needed. They danced all the way outside, and only ceased for but a second to ascend the staircase to the courtyard, and continue their movements. I could do this forever, Cinderella thought warmly. He’s beautiful. He’s charming. His soft brown eyes, and beautiful pale skin. He’s so wonderful. And he’s an incredible dancer. They swirled around each other and danced melodically, though the music had long since disappeared, until the reached the end of the courtyard of the castle, where a small bridge ran over a thin river.

“I think I’ll grow tired if we dance much longer.” The prince smiled softly, instead, taking her hand and leading her up to the pinnacle of the bridge where sat a small white bench. The woman smiled in return, but was admittedly disappointed.

“Alright. Me too.” She glanced over the side of the bridge into the water as the surface glistened in the hazy moonlight. The prince simply stared at her, attempting to memorize the way the water reflected in her shining eyes. When she finally looked up at him, a small smile crept onto his lips. This is moment. This is it, he thought to himself hopefully. He placed his hand on top of her delicate fingers, his eyes flickering down to her blushed pink lips and back up to her gentle eyes. She moved the same, her vision trailing to his perfectly sculpted lips, and jaw, and back up to meet his gaze. This is it, she thought. And just as they began to lean in and close the gap between them, a loud bell sounded through the courtyard. Cinderella’s heart dropped. Oh my. “It’s midnight.” She stands quickly, backing away from the prince.

“So it is, but why-”

“I must go. Goodbye!” She swallows the lump in her throat as she picks up her skirt and rushes back towards the castle.

“But wait! I never got your name!” The prince calls after her, but still she runs. How will I ever find you?

- Judith

#Au #ask #drabble #judith #a #papa III #papa emeritus iii #Cinderella #cinderella au #request #papa nihil #papa ii #papa i #papa emiritus ii #papa emeritus i #ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band

16 notes · View notes

frost-feathers · 5 years ago

Text

a huntress’ lament

“Hey, Endymion?”

“Hmph?”

“What was it like when you completed your Hunt?”

“Fantastic. Like a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders. Now I don’t have to worry about anything ever again. Why? You getting close to completing yours?”

“Caithe told me about a stag that has been seen close by recently... She thinks it’s the same one from my Dream.”

“That’s perfect. We’ll be known as the fastest podtwins to complete their Wyld Hunts!”

“Yeah but... what do I do once it’s complete? Where do I go from there?”

“Who knows. But I don’t think it’s as scary as others make it out to be. Relax, we’ll be fine as long as we’re together.”

---

Her feet barely make a sound against the soft earth as she runs. She moves like a gazelle, weaving through the underbrush like she has known these trails all her life. She is only a week old, but she is already one of the best hunters in the Grove. She leaves no tracks, runs so fast one can blink and miss her. During the night when she is most alive, she appears more as a mint-colored mist than a sylvari.

Her prey is here; she knows it. The stag’s footprints stand out against the rich mud. Into the cave. That’s where he went.

She tracks it swiftly, stopping every so often to check for hoof prints or signs of the stag again. Born only a week ago and she is already this close to completing her Wyld Hunt. Find the white stag, the Dream had whispered to her, protect it. It is in danger. She knows this animal is something magical, something connected to the Dream. For it to fall in the wrong hands would mean disaster.

Risen block her path; she slips by them with ease. No undead can catch up to her speed. They are minor, insignificant obstacles on her hunt. The air hums with magic. the stag must be close-

“Is someone there? Please help me!”

Her ears flick as the voice interrupts her concentration. It sounded to the left. Another sylvari, in pain. The stag can wait a little longer.

The Risen that also heard the cry for help trudge toward the sound, ready to silence whatever is still living. The huntress spurs into action. She readies her shot with her bow, one eye closed and arrow right up against her cheek. She lets it fly, and the explosive fire reduces all the Risen to ash. The wounded sylvari stares in shock at the damage done by a single arrow, and then looks up as she hurries to him.

“Well done, sapling!” He exclaims in awe. “Well done, indeed!”

“Be at ease,” she reassures as she kneels next to him, “You’re safe now. Are you wounded?”

It’s then she notices him clutching his side, which oozes bright golden sap between his fingers. She tuts and asks him to move his hands. Placing her own over the wound, she closes her eyes and meditates. Soft light begins to glow, and then a flash. The wound is sealed and healthy again.

“Thank you, sapling. I’ve never seen someone so skilled in battle and healing at such a young age.” He takes her hand when she offers to help him up. “But I must hurry. There is a white stag I am pursuing and if I let it escape, the consequences will be...dire.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Curious, I too am pursuing the white stag I saw in my Dream.”

“Then we should hunt it together. It may mean more luck. I am Gavin, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bows to her, tilting his head up to give her a charming, charismatic smile.

Her cheeks burn with bashfulness, glow flaring for just a moment. She dips into a curtsy. “I am Crescentia. The pleasure is all mine.”

---

“You found it already?”

“Yes, and a kind friend is going to help me because he wants the stag too!”

“That... Gavin fellow?”

“Yes, that’s him. He’s very nice, and he really admires my skill as a guardian. He thinks I could be a magnificent Warden if I train with him after-”

“Cress, I don’t really trust that guy...”

“Wh... What do you mean?”

“Yeah, he’s sweet and all, but he also seems really... shady. Giving you all those compliments and advice, it feels weird...”

“You don’t know him as well as I do, though. He isn’t-”

“I’m just saying be careful around him, alright? I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I think I can decide who I like and hang out with for myself, thank you.”

“Oh c’mon, Cress- Cress? Crescentia!!”

---

A quick look at the top of the watchtower points them in the direction of the white stag. It feels good to finally have someone who matches her pace, who moves just as swiftly through the vines and brambles. Panther and jaguar they are, chasing down their prey as it races along ahead of them. They just need to tire it out; once it’s too weak to run any longer, they can bring it back to the Grove and its power will help strengthen the Dream.

Their breathing is synced as they cut down Risen that dare try to challenge them. A perfect pair, able to communicate without words, the strongest of equals. Together, they’re unstoppable in their quest.

Crescentia thinks about how well Gavin mirrors her compared to Endymion. Almost like he was her podtwin instead of that lazy fern back in the Grove.

The stag is cornered, too weary to continue on. Gavin marches up to it proudly. It rears back away from his hand, and looks to Crescentia as if pleading to keep him away from it.

“Excellent work, Valiant,” Gavin praises, stroking its neck even as it shudders, “But now I must leave. And I will be taking the white stag with me.” There’s a new look in his eyes that causes Crescentia to back up a few feet. A new... evil. “You're welcome to come, of course. Your skills as a hunter would be an asset to the court.”

“The court?” Crescentia gasps. “All this time... you’ve been working with them They almost killed my brother! I could never-”

He moves toward her and she moves back. There’s a brief flash of pain across his features but he smothers it under hope. A flash of movement and suddenly he’s holding both her hands in his own. “Your skills are wasted following Ventari’s Tablet. Come with me, Crescentia, and you can realize your full potential! You said it yourself earlier. Your brother only holds you back, just like the teachings of an old dead centaur and a human.”

“No, Gavin, I will not go with you!” She shouts and yanks her hands out of his grip. “The Nightmare Court is evil and I will not join it!”

It takes a moment for her words to register. His eyes flicker down, the smile slowly dying on his face to be replace with a frown. He looks like he wants to reach for her again, hand clenching and unclenching before he forces it to his side. His brows draw together and he turns his back to her, shoulders hunched. “Ah, that's a pity. A loyal friend, and now a debased death... It grieves me greatly to turn predatory into prey, Valiant, but I cannot have you interfere.”

She feels the sting before she even registers what’s going on. The nightmare hound’s claws cleave right through the armor she wears and rake bright gold gashes into her back. She screams and falls forward, face first into shallow waters. Her vision blurs but she can still make out Gavin’s boots slowly approaching her. Kneeling down, he takes her chin in between his fingers and forces her to look up at him. She wants to spit in his face but her head keeps spinning like a top.

“Such a waste of talent... Farewell, dear Crescentia.”

Her eyes flutter closed as he and his nightmare hounds lead the stag away.

---

“I’m gonna rip that stupid excuse of a beard off his stupid face!!”

“Endymion- Valiant Endymion, stop right now!”

“No, Firstborn, that crusty bastard tried to kill my sister! I should’ve taken him out when I had the chance-”

“You can’t just barge into a Nightmare Court camp all by yourself. You know this!”

“Watch me!”

“Endymion, please, we need to go about this carefully. I know a place where we can get disguises, find out the location of Crescentia’s stag. Then we can bring it back and she will complete her Wyld Hunt.”

“Ughhhhhh, fine! But I get to rub it in Gavin’s face when we do.”

---

She awakens to the sounds of a fight in the Grove. The Grove. That shouldn’t be possible, courtiers could never-

Pulling the sheet off her torso, she sits up and swings her legs over the side. Her back stings but she ignores the pain as she sneaks closer to the entrance.

Sure enough, courtiers battle against the wardens as the citizens run screaming. Caithe stands in front of the stag protectively as it bleats and jumps back on its hind legs. Endymion charges at the sylvari that looks to be the leader. A pale blue woman who fights viciously, using every dirty trick in the book to win. Luckily, Endymion has had his fair share of cheating courtiers.

“So nice to see you again, Sariel! Love the hair, by the way- I think the asymmetry of the pine cone scales really compliments your ghastliness. I really did a good job on that!” He taunts as their blades interlock. “Terribly sorry about stealing back the stag but you know, my sister saw it first. And finders keepers as the humans say!”

“Without that disguise, you look very familiar...” Sariel growls. “You’re that obnoxious sapling that took out Bercilak, aren’t you?”

“Wow! I’m that famous in the Court already! Do you have a bounty on my head? How does my headshot look on the wanted poster? I really hope you didn’t mess up my hair!” He shoves against her blade with the last word, causing her to stumble back.

“After all, it’s so much better than yours.” He adds with a wink that causes her to shriek with rage.

Crescentia has to get out there and fight; she can’t just stand by and watch. Her eyes dart around the courtyard until she spies a scepter scepter and focus on top of a mushroom table. Weaving through enemy and ally alike, she grasps the scepter in one hand and the focus in the other. It’s not a bow, but she did practice with these the first week she was born.

Just as she turns to join the fight, there’s a shrill shriek she’d recognize anywhere behind her.

Endymion is on his back. Sariel must have pulled some dirty trick because there’s no way he’d end up on the ground that fast. He looks dazed, holding his head in his hand before looking up at the figure that shadows him. Crescentia shouts her brother’s name and rushes to intervene, but another voice booms over the fight.

“Sariel, enough!”

The courtier freezes just before she brings her sword down on the fallen Endymion. It hangs suspended in the air, like she’s still debating on whether or not to defy the higher-up’s orders and just do away with the nuisance. Eventually she sighs, letting the sword drop and all but dragging herself back to where the one who shouted is.

Gavin looks furious as Sariel strides up to him. “Where's your honor? We aren't cutthroats or animals. We kill when needed, when we can use that bloodshed to grow a garden.”

Sariel locks her fingers behind her head and snorts. His glow flares indignantly.

“Leave, now. Meditate on this, and should you fail to learn, I'll kill you myself!”

The younger courtier rolls her eyes, sauntering her way out of the courtyard with her lackeys following closely behind. Before she fully leaves, she tosses one last hateful glance at Caithe and yells, “This isn't over, Caithe! One day I'll kill you, no matter what the Grand Duchess says!”

Caithe does not respond. Once she is a safe distance away, Gavin walks forward. He’s wearing new armor, plant-based like Crescentia’s own instead of the plain chain-mail from before. Cress hates how sincerely apologetic he looks. “I’m so glad you’re safe, my friend. I apologize for Sariel's behavior. She's young. She hasn't learned to temper power with wisdom.”

“Obviously,” Cress mutters as Endymion moves protectively to her side. “But what does it matter? The Nightmare Court is evil regardless of power or wisdom. You two are the same.”

He looks genuinely hurt at her statement. “You wound me, Crescentia. I am nothing like Sariel. She is an honorless craven, ready to strike down your brother without remorse, and I have been your friend. We were a perfect pair when we hunted the stag. An unstoppable force when working together.

“The court doesn't seek to destroy either the sylvari or the Pale Tree. We're trying to free you from the influence of Ventari's Tablet. Think of how much more you could do-”

“That’s enough, Gavin,” Caithe says. “You’ll get nowhere spouting your propaganda in the center of the Grove.”

His jaw clenches but he says no more. The air is tense around the four individuals. Crescentia glares hotly at Gavin, knuckles white gripping the scepter. Endymion stands protectively in front of her, waiting for Gavin to try something. Caithe holds the anxious stag back, one knife drawn. And Gavin glances between each of them, assessing the best course of action.

“Let me prove it to you.” He says. “Duel me, sapling. I’ll show you that what the Nightmare Court is trying to do is for the greater good.”

“Good? Good?” Endymion cackles as he crosses his arms. “You’re called the Nightmare Court, for Ventari’s sake, not the Sunshine and Rainbows Court! Nothing you lot do will ever be GOOD.”

“What are the terms?” Cress asks, and her brother looks back at her in shock.

Gavin grins. “If you win, I will accept whatever punishment you choose. But if I win, I’ll take both the stag and you back to the Court.”

“Deal.”

“Cress, are you insane?!” Endymion shrieks, “You’re still injured. He’s gonna mop the floor with you!”

“For once, I agree with your brother.” Caithe says. “This won’t end in your favor, Valiant.”

Crescentia does not reply as she walks forward. The group of onlookers that had gathered form a line as their barriers, and whispers fly in the air. There’s a sudden hush as both duelists ready their weapons. A scuff of the foot, a roll of the shoulders. Confidence radiates off of Gavin. Crescentia just grits her teeth and holds the scepter tighter.

He rushes at her with surprising speed. Cress throws her hands up and summons a shield that his mace clatters uselessly against. In a blur of movement, she lobs a glowing orb at his chest as he stumbles back. He deflects it with his shield and presses the attack again.

“Excellent, Crescentia -- but I am not yet overthrown.” He grunts when he swipes at her again.

She backs up onto the spiral walkway, taunting him to follow her. The two sylvari are locked into a dangerous dance, equally matched on the battlefield like they are on the hunt. Dodging and weaving through attacks, it seems like neither can hit the other. Bystanders watch with baited breath as they climb further and further up the spiral.

“Your skills are as keen as your honor, Valiant.” he compliments. Cress ignores it and throws an orb at him again. Her wounds scream in protest as she ducks away from his mace, and he notices the flicker of pain in her eyes. His shield slams into her chest and it knocks the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, she messily draws a symbol on the ground that summons misty strikes from above. Gavin raises the shield above his head but the attacks still bring him to his kneels. Once she regains her breath, she attacks again. Yet she’s starting to wear down, and that little bit of information doesn’t escape Gavin’s notice.

He attacks with renewed vigor, leaving no room for Crescentia to block. A scrape on her arm, a knee into her stomach. She’s barely holding up by the time they reach the top of the spiral. Gavin manages to kick her legs out from her after a quick shield bash. She lands on her back hard, a wheeze of pain escaping her lips. Pain, so much pain throbs down her spine. She can’t get up.

Gavin stands over her, victorious. He sheathes his mace and reaches out to grab Crescentia’s wrist. “Now I can finally show you the true nature of the court. Don’t worry. I think you’ll like-”

A figure leaps in front of Crescentia and slices through Gavin’s outstretched hand. Through blackened vision, Crescentia recognizes the unmistakable green of her brother’s armor.

“You’re cheating!” Gavin shouts in anger, clutching the hand that now bleeds golden sap.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you saying “Duel me, sapling.” And Crescentia isn’t the only sapling here at the moment.” Endymion shifts in his stance. “So put up your weapon and fight ME.”

Gavin lets out a battle cry and rams into him with his shield. He tanks the hit and retaliates with a flurry of swipes. The courtier has no time to react before he slams the greatsword down on his shield, shattering it in two. He dodges around him as he fumbles for the mace he had sheathed, and Endymion takes his time walking to him.

The Valiant laughs watching him stumble and panic. But the sound ignites a deep anger in Gavin’s chest. One symbol will cripple that Valiant for good. One symbol, just draw it then I can take Crescentia and the stag back, just DRAW-

White hot pain bursts along his spine and he screams. Endymion’s eyes widen as he falls forward, the armor on his back charred and smoking. Behind him, Crescentia still holds the scepter up. Her petals are askew and she’s breathing heavily, but the fear on her face turns to relief as she lowers her weapon again.

Gavin coughs, the wound far too deep to be repairable. Sap bubbles from the places where the armor has been burned down to the skin. He manages to look back at Crescentia, and although she expects hatred, there is only pride in his eyes. “Well done, valiant Crescentia.” A wheeze. “I am beaten. I will be remembered...in the Dream.”

With one last exhale, the life leaves Gavin.

Tears begin to form in Crescentia’s eyes, and she covers her mouth to stifle the sobs. Endymion is immediately by her side, pulling her to him so that she can cry on his shoulder. Why? Why is she crying for a man who tried to turn a beautiful creature of hope into one of despair? Who tried to drag her down with him?

“I’m sorry...” She blubbers. “I’m so sorry, Endy, I should’ve listen-”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he hushes. “I was making assumptions and you had every right to be mad at me. It’s not your fault he actually turned out to be a dick.”

She just continues to sob, clinging to her podtwin. Wardens begin putting the body on a stretcher, to be buried beneath the Pale Tree’s boughs. She watches them take him away through one eye, but something brushing against her hair draws her attention away.

The stag gently nuzzles the side of her head, and she laughs softly. Pulling away from Endymion, she holds the stag’s muzzle in her hands and scratches under his chin. His deep brown eyes glimmer with gratitude, and he sniffs around her face. Something brushes against her mind, a quiet whisper entering her thoughts.

“Thank you.”

She looks up at the stag in shock, and she can see in his eyes that it was him. He bows his head deeply, nose almost touching the ground. Joy warming her chest, she stands up and curtsies back to him. The stag trots away without another word, no doubt heading to the the Omphalos Chamber.

Crescentia turns back to Endymion. But it isn’t just Endymion behind her. Caithe stands a little behind him, arms crossed but Cress swears that is a genuine smile on her face. The onlookers from before are clamoring to thank her, dozens of voices cheering her name. Every face is alight with joy, and it’s almost enough to bring her to tears again.

Even though she had to sacrifice a dear friend, she still has this. A growing community of Valiants and Wardens, just waiting to get to know the White Stag’s hero. A quiet but admirable mentor, who now has aided both twins in their time of need. And a brother who loved her, who threw himself in harm’s way to help her the first moment she looked like she was losing.

There is no fear of the unknown, terror of the future ahead now that she has completed her Wyld Hunt. Just the happiness and warmth of this moment, of the sight of her growing family.

#gw2 #gw2 fanfiction #tyriaslibrary #tyriaslibraryevent #this took wayyyyy longer than it should have

13 notes · View notes

snughuz · 4 years ago

Text

Piers Morgan article copied. No pictures

PIERS MORGAN: Meghan and Harry's nauseating two-hour Oprah whine-athon was a disgraceful diatribe of cynical race-baiting propaganda designed to damage the Queen as her husband lies in hospital - and destroy the Monarchy

By PIERS MORGAN FOR MAILONLINE

PUBLISHED: 07:33 EST, 8 March 2021 | UPDATED: 07:47 EST, 8 March 2021

Sickening.

Shameful.

Self-pitying.

Salacious.

Scandalous.

Sanctimonious.

Spectacularly self-serving.

Those were just my initial thoughts after ten minutes of the Oprah whine-athon with Meghan and Harry, and while restricting myself to only using words beginning with the letter 's'.

By the time I'd finished the whole two-hour orgy of pious, self-indulgent, score-settling twaddle, the steam was erupting out of my ears like an exploding geyser, and my lexicon of rageful epithets extended to the full range of the alphabet.

Never have I watched a more repulsively disingenuous interview.

Nor one more horrendously hypocritical or contradictory.

Here we had the Duke and Duchess of Privacy flinging out the filthy family laundry for the delectation of tens of millions of people all over the world, whilst simultaneously bleating about press intrusion.

They moaned about the terrible pain of their royal titles but were also outraged their son Archie wasn't allowed to be a Prince.

They told of their constant trauma from nasty newspaper stories, but repeatedly insisted they never read any of them.

They claimed they were forced to sign gazillion-dollar deals with Netflix and Spotify because Prince Charles cut off their allowance, despite Harry inheriting millions from his late mother Princess Diana and having his entire life bankrolled by the Royal Family.

And so, it went nauseatingly on.

In the middle of a pandemic that has already taken over 2.5 million lives, a staggeringly rich and entitled couple living in a $14 million sun-kissed California mansion wanted us all to know that THEY are the real victims around here.

Meghan even compared her former life living in a palace to the crippling freedom-robbing existence of coronavirus lockdowns, which must have sounded so empathetic to large families living at the top of tower blocks with three kids they're trying to home-school and no job to pay for food.

'I couldn't even meet my friends for lunch!' wailed the Duchess of Delusion, who flew to New York for a $500,000 baby shower with all her new-found celebrity pals, then flew back to London like any good eco-warrior on George Clooney's carbon footprint guzzling private jet.

But amid all the relatively trivial gossipy stuff emerged some incredibly damaging bombshells deliberately detonated to do maximum damage to the British Royal Family and the Monarchy.

First, Meghan claimed to have been left suicidal by the pressure of being a Princess and had her requests for help rejected by the cold, heartless Palace.

We weren't told who did the rejecting, or why she couldn't seek her own therapy or treatment if that's what she felt she needed. After all, her husband has spent years talking about mental health and has close connections with all the major mental health charities.

Instead, we're left to believe the Palace spurned a pregnant suicidal woman in her hour of desperate need.

But that wasn't even the most explosive revelation.

No, that came when Meghan told Oprah that a member of the Royal Family had queried what colour her baby would be during a conversation with Harry.

In fact, she said there were several conversations, whereas he said there was only one.

But neither of them would name the offending Royal.

Harry said he would never reveal the name.

So, we're now left to view all the Royals as racists.

Nor were we given any details of exactly what was said, or in what context it was said.

Would an older senior Royal innocently asking Harry what skin colour his baby might have, given that Meghan's mother is black and her father white, constitute racism?

It would if there was any derogatory tone to the question, or any suggestion that it would be a problem how dark the child's skin was. But we don't know the answers to those vital questions, because having let off the racism bomb, the Sussexes won't say any more.

I find that cowardly.

And the racism charge got worse.

Meghan followed up by asserting, without providing any evidence, that the Royal Family decided to change the rules specifically to prevent her son Archie from being a Prince, because of his skin colour.

Again, no name was given for the appalling racist at the Palace responsible for such a disgusting discriminatory decision.

But, as Meghan and Harry both know, the only person who has final say over titles is the Queen.

So, in making this astonishing unproven claim, they're effectively branding Her Majesty, Harry's grandmother, a racist.

It's hard to think of a more disgraceful slur to make against a woman who has devoted her whole life to the service of her country and the Commonwealth.

The Queen is not a racist and has never been a racist.

To even suggest that she might be is disgusting.

But to do so at a time when her 99-year-old husband Prince Philip has spent the past few weeks lying seriously ill in hospital is worse than that, it's contemptible.

Nothing that Meghan Markle said in this interview surprised me.

From the moment Oprah announced her scoop, I predicted to anyone who asked me that Meghan would aggressively play the mental health and race cards to deflect from any criticism of herself and her own behaviour or accountability.

I also cynically suspect it's the reason why she chose to do such a sensational interview when she's five months pregnant. Why would any woman do that after suffering a miscarriage last year, knowing the obvious controversy, media attention, and stress it would provoke? The answer, I fear, is that she thought the pregnancy would afford her another layer of protection against the inevitable furore and criticism that would result from her trashing the Royal Family.

Having had personal experience, on a very small scale, of Meghan Markle's ruthlessness when dispensing of anyone in her life that's ceased to be of use to her, it was no great shock to see her lighting a gigantic bonfire that will surely cause irreparable damage to her husband's family.

After all, she's torched all her own family, along with her ex-husband and most of her old friends.

This was the acting performance of her life, with every word, every facial expression carefully planned and choreographed.

In fact, it it's not late, someone should nominate it for the Oscars.

I mean, this is a woman who was photographed on the railings of Buckingham Palace as a starry-eyed teenager but now wants us to believe she knew nothing about the Royals and never once Googled her handsome Prince when they met.

Given these are both obvious lies, why should we believe anything that comes out of her mouth?

'Nobody told me how to curtsy or sing the British national anthem,' wailed a 39-year-old woman, married to someone who can probably help with both.

But make no mistake, this interview will be a triumph for Meghan in America. Her narrative of a poor, vulnerable, unsuspecting bi-racial woman thrown to the wolves by a white, racist Royal Family and racist British press is already being heralded as 'courageous' and 'brave' and 'iconic' across the United States.

She's got exactly what she wants: her homeland feeling sorry for her.

And woe betide anyone who criticises Meghan, for you will be instantly lambasted as a 'racist bully' towards a woman who stands accused of subjecting her own young female Palace staff to horrendous bullying.

But what about Prince Harry, and his own homeland of Great Britain?

How on earth could he allow his wife to take down his family like this on TV, and attack and belittle the very institution held so dear by his grandmother?

He even let her chuck his brother William's wife Kate - a woman who has never once said a bad word about Meghan in public - under the bus by saying she made her cry in a row over kids' wedding dresses.

That 'space', which is how Harry framed his current fractured relationship with William, will now be the size of 1000 Grand Canyons.

And then Harry gleefully joined in the Sopranos-style whacking too, revealing incredibly intimate secrets about his father Prince Charles of the type that he would scream in fury over if they'd been revealed by the tabloid press.

He claimed Charles stopped taking his calls last January after he and Meghan quit their country and the Royal Family and cut off his massive financial allowance too. And Harry's still furious with his Dad, apparently, for letting him down.

Yet, what has Charles done wrong exactly, other than try to deal with his headstrong younger son's constant self-pitying hunger for drama?

He bankrolled Harry and Meghan for years, and even stepped in to walk her down the aisle when her father pulled out after suffering a heart attack and was disowned by his daughter (where were Oprah 'nothing's off limits' Winfrey questions about that?) - yet they now pay him back with this open back-stabbing treachery.

Harry disloyally says Charles and William are 'trapped' in the institution of the Monarchy because they are the heirs to the throne.

'They don't get to leave, and I have huge compassion for that,' he claimed.

Oh please.

He and Meghan bang on endlessly about their compassion yet show the complete opposite to their own families.

If Charles or William wanted to leave, they could do exactly what Harry's done, and what Edward VIII did when he abdicated the throne.

Any royal can 'leave'.

But only Edward and Harry actually did it, both coincidentally after falling in love with American women.

The only difference is that Edward and Wallis Simpson never spoke badly in public about the Royal Family or trashed the Monarchy.

Within hours of the Oprah interview airing, the hashtag #AbolishTheMonarchy was trending on Twitter.

That's the effect that Meghan and Harry's accusations have had with their shockingly poisonous allegations.

Ms Markle won't care about the damage she's done to an institution she clearly reviles.

But Harry should.

The fact he's so willingly taken part in such a despicable public attack on the Royal Family – HIS family - and the Monarchy is utterly shameful.

And to have caused so much extra hurt to his 94-year-old grandmother the Queen at a time when her husband lies seriously ill in hospital, is just appalling.

When it comes to mental health and having a heart, it appears Meghan and Harry only care about themselves.

Share or comment on this article: PIERS MORGAN: Meghan and Harry's nauseating two-hour Oprah whine-athon was a disgraceful diatribe.

1 note · View note

thesaltydigest · 7 years ago

Text

REVIEW: "The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue", or: Fetch me a couch, for I nearly swoon!

Title: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue

Author: Mackenzi Lee

Review by: Captain Clo

Verdict: adventures of a bisexual scoundrel unable to keep his mouth shut and pathetically in love with his biracial male best friend. I had the time of my life, would totally recommend, go read it right now! 5 stars

Trigger warning for: homophobia, slight racism, parental abuse

Sometimes you just need an adventurous, fun and queer book in your life. The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue definitely fits the bill. It can look daunting with its 500 pages, but they fly by like nobody's business. An apt summary of its plot would look more or less like this:

Dramatic escapes through Europe! Highwaymen! Pirates! Alchemy! The mysteries of Venice!

And last but not least, best friends hopelessly pining for each other.

I think the official summary of the book actually sells the book short – it's so much more than just "two friends of noble station – and a little sister – go on a Grand Tour through Europe". It's actually two friends and one sister go on a Grand Tour, the dummy of the trio enrages the Prime Minister of France, then proceeds to steal something of said Minister out of pettiness, dashes out of Versailles stark naked, and then discovers what he stole isn't just a trinket, but the key to an alchemical secret. Slightly spoilerish? I guess, but it's so much more interesting put that way.

When you read "Grand Tour" maybe you think of Mary Shelley, Percy (coincidence??) Bisshe Shelley and Lord Byron going on their disastrous romp through Europe... and A Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue is definitely not that. Unless you think of Mary Shelley as a bitter teenager snarking in disgust at her stupid male companions, and of Lord Byron as a pathetic mess trying too hard to look like a hedonist Casanova, and... well actually that kind of works, but Percy Shelley definitely wasn't a biracial violinist... with a crush on Lord Byr--- I mean, Monty... I mean I'm no expert but reliable sources told me that he was an ass! And a jerk! Percy doesn't deserve that, he's an angel.

Enter the protagonist: Henry Montague, aka Monty. He's a hot mess. A rogue, a scoundrel, a ladykiller, an unrepentant bisexual, with the good looks and the charm to get anyone he wants in his bed. Alas, he's hopelessly in love with his best friend, Percy, who is exactly the kind of level-headed, serious person who's just perfect to rein Monty in. Monty is witty, superficial and a pleasure-seeker, refusing to take anything seriously, and especially anything his father wants him to do – like being a respectable lord, studying with profit at Eton, or running a family estate, for example. Monty loathes the very idea, so what better course of action than doing every single thing his father would disapprove of?

Enter Felicity, Monty's little sister. Wicked smart and with a cutting tongue to match, she's the opposite of Monty in every way. She looks forward to the museum trips, to the scientific lectures, to the operas and the landscapes. Too bad she's a woman, and so she's not invited. Felicity loathes it, and she also loathes how Monty is so obviously unwilling to take advantage of his privilege in every way it's denied her. Felicity wants to study and to become a doctor, and she would welcome the offer to learn how to run the estates. Instead, soon she'll be shipped off to a school of good manners for young ladies, where at most she'll learn to curtsy.

Enter Percy, Monty's best friend and crush. He's the biracial son of an English member of the gentry, grudgingly accepted into the family when his father dies. He has all the things Monty doesn't have – and that he's in love with: sensitivity, artistic sense (he's a violinist and, as Monty himself notes with delight, the kind of person who loves Italian opera and can recognize an aria by its first verse), and height.

What I found most interesting about Percy is that he is actually what moves the plot along. At first, the book looks like it'll be about a hedonistic journey through Europe; but a revelation about Percy spins it in an entirely different direction – one that also challenges Monty to overcome his selfish tendencies.

I am dying to tell you what Percy's deal is because damn, I was delighted and surprised, but I can't take that away from you. Just know that it was very satisfying to see how his main problem wasn't directly linked to his race, although he does get shit for it sometimes. His relationship with Monty is the sweetest thing, but it doesn't lack thorns (read: drama), mostly because Monty is pretty clueless and it often borders on insensitive. For example, Monty always defends Percy when someone is a racist ass to him (yay!) but he doesn't see why Percy doesn't just say something witty and rude to every lord who insults him (less yay) and thinks there's really no problem, Percy is just a little darker than most, so? Which, bless him, is a very simple thing to think, and definitely not the truth. But he's also so pathetically sorry when Percy snaps at him for it, I can't really hate him.

"I could say something to your uncle."

"No."

"Why not? If he won't listen to you-"

"I know you think you're being helpful when you say things like that, and when you defend me, and I appreciate it, I really do, but please, don't. I don't need you to stand up for me – I can do that."

"But you don't-"

"You're right, sometimes I don't, because I'm not the light-skinned son of an earl so I haven't the luxury of talking back to everyone who speaks ill of me. But I don't need you to rescue me."

"I'm sorry." It comes out soft and meek, like the bleat of a lamb.

I made a very undignified noise when I first read this. Actually I just did it again.

I found the book wonderful in how it blends serious moments, scenes that tugs at the reader's heartstrings, and witty banter. On the serious side, Monty is an alcoholic, suffers from panic attacks, and although he flaunts a charming and flippant persona, he's actually consumed by self-loathing and an atavistic fear of his father. At first, it can look like Monty self-sabotaged or defied his father by getting himself kicked out of Eton, but then we learn the truth: he was kicked out because of his relationship with another boy. His relationship with Felicity is a frustrating affair where both give the worst of themselves. Monty, as mentioned, is incapable of seeing how privileged he is and how much Felicity is put down in her ambitions just because she's a woman; but Felicity has absorbed a lot of how their father treats Monty, it's hard to see her treating him like he's worthless and stupid. Every time it seems like they might get along, one or both of them revert back to old patterns, and you're just there wishing you could smack their heads together and tell them, Now love each other properly!

Then there are the moments when Monty remembers he's in love with Percy, and has the gall to get all mushy and pathetically in love like this:

"[Percy] reaches out, almost as though he can't help himself, and puts his thumb to my jawline. The tips of his fingers brush the hollow of my throat, and I feel the touch so deep I half expect that when he moves, I'll be left with an imprint there, as though I am a thing fashioned from clay in a potter's hand."

And then there's the witty banter. Everywhere. Witty banter for days. Oscar Wilde would be proud, and I'm so so happy. There's witty banter to seduce:

"She smiles, then flicks open the ivory fan hanging from her wrist and begins to work it up and down. The breeze flutters the single ringlet trailing down the back of that neck of hers that swans would envy. I have been mentally patting myself on the head for keeping my eyes on her face the whole time we've been speaking, but then the bastards betray me suddenly and dive straight down the front of her dress.

I think for a moment she may not have noticed, but then her mouth twists up and I know she's seen. But instead of slapping me or calling me a boor and storming off, she says, "My lord, would you like to see..." Telling pause. Eyelash flutter. "More or Versailles?"

"You know, I believe that I would. Though I'm short a guide."

"Perhaps you'll allow me."

"But this party seemed to be just picking up speed. I'd hate to drag you away."

"Life is filled with sacrifices."

"Am I a sacrifice?"

"One I'm happy to make."

Witty banter when Monty shows how much of a dunce he is, and how much he cannot spy on people properly:

"Helena stopped awfully short when she realized I was listening."

"Well, you were being rude."

"I wasn't being rude!"

"You were eavesdropping."

"No eaves were dropped, I was just standing about. It's their fault they weren't speaking softer."

There's witty banter almost every time he utters a word with Percy. Or utters a word, period.

"How is it that we've landed the only bear-leader for hire who's entirely opposed to the true purpose of the Tour?"

"Which is... remind me."

"Strong spirits and loose women."

"Sounds instead like it's going to be weak wine with dinner and handling yourself in your bedroom after."

"No shame in that. If the Good Lord didn't want men to play with themselves, we'd have hooks for hands. [...] Hold on, are you keen on all this cultural thing?"

"I'm not... not keen." And then he gives me a smile that I think is supposed to be apologetic but instead looks very, very keen.

"No, no, no, you have to be on my side about this! Lockwood is tyranny and oppression and all that! Don't be seduced away by his promises of poetry and symphonies and – Dear Lord, am I to be subjected to music for the entirety of out Tour?"

"Absolutely you will. And the only thing you will hate more than listening to Lockwood's selected music will be listening to me talk about said music. Sometimes I'll walk to Lockwood about music and you will hate it. You're going to have to listen to me and Lockwood using words like atonal and chromatic scale and cadenza."

"Et tu?"

Honestly, what are you even waiting for. Go buy it right now!

#the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue #lgbt books #lgbt characters #historical fiction #women authors #mackenzi lee #review #queer lit

4 notes · View notes