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ransomedrogue · 3 years

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Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

well... this was taking forever so just gonna leave it here and say it’s done? as always, it ended up longer than intended, then I wasn’t going to include all the scenes then I thought well it’s all written anyhow so, may as well...

1.18

It seemed like ages until the scene was secure and documented; there was so much to deal with between the dead art thief and his house full of stolen treasures.

As usual, Weller was running the show so Jane had little to do except keep an eye on the irritating criminal who had gotten them all involved in the unlikely scheme. Which was enough of a task in itself, as Rich had started jabbering again, once he'd gotten over the shock of seeing the damaged painting.

"That was a pretty slick move you guys pulled off back there, even if it did almost destroy a priceless piece of art," he commented.

"All that silent communication, interpreting body language, talking with the eyes stuff, if you will. That is 100% my jam."

"Especially in the heat of the moment, with lives on the line. You two must have worked together a long time to read each other that well."

Jane flashed Rich the fiercest glare she could manage, while simultaneously checking around to see if Allie was within earshot. Although she knew he was just trying to rile them all up by getting underneath their skin, it was hard not to feel tense whenever he opened his mouth.

Even when she kind of liked what he was saying.

Jane shook her head mentally as she felt her stomach swim with conflicted emotions. She wanted what was best for Kurt, and Allie seemed to be a perfect fit. No matter how much it hurt to see another woman in his life, she knew it couldn't be her place. Not with everything she was hiding from him; all that she really was.

And yet she hadn't entirely hated Rich's commentary, said just loudly enough that she and Allie could overhear him at the doorway.

Tell me again why you're with Allie? When Jane's the one you look to first whenever anything goes wrong, or goes right for that matter?

Weller hadn't even denied it, and that was another thing altogether.

"You realize you do it too, right?"

Jane snapped out of her reverie and turned her head back towards Rich, doing her best to appear uninterested in whatever he was about to say.

"You're always watching him, checking in. Like he's your responsibility."

"I mean, I get it. You're like partners and all. That intense bond between cops, that's actually one of my fetishes, unlikely as it might seem…"

"Shut up, Rich," Jane growled, unwilling to let him go any further into his thought.

Of course she didn't bother to tell him that they weren't partners in any sense of the word and had not been working together for long at all. Especially not when they'd first encountered the mouthy criminal, when they'd supposedly had so much chemistry.

It was true though. No matter how much she'd tried to shrug it off, she'd felt it. The way he touched her; even back then. It had seemed so easy, and right. Just like how they did look to each other first, whenever something happened.

She'd never even questioned it, the way in which she and Weller worked so perfectly in sync. It had just always been the way between them, even way back at the start when he'd trusted in her abilities more than she did.

"Okay, okay, sorry, I just thought it'd be a good chance to put it out there, seeing as how you're definitely not pining over Stubbles, and we have some chemistry too. I mean not like the way it is between you two of course. But if he's not willing to see what he has, then…"

"Rich!"

Allie was walking by and gave him a solid death stare before closing her eyes tiredly and striding away. Jane exhaled irritably in Rich's ear, hoping it would at least keep him quiet until the Marshal was out of earshot again.

"She looks like she has a headache," Rich mused. "She should probably get that checked out; you should see the studies on concussions coming out these days. I mean I'd be pretty worried if my girlfriend got knocked out like that."

Jane frowned, both in concern at Allie's head and at Rich's implication. Weller had checked on Allie right away, as soon as he could. But then she thought about the conversation that had followed, where Allie had said she was seeing two of him.

At the time Jane had just assumed it was mostly a joke, a way to shrug off the injury. It was something she would do herself, in an attempt to throw off Weller's overprotectiveness.

But then Kurt had taken Allie at her word and had gotten right back to work. He hadn't even demanded that she get checked out by a doctor, or tried to tell her to rest while he dealt with the scene.

Jane couldn't help but remember all the times she'd been forced into the medical room by him, after taking much smaller hits than the one that had left Allie unconscious. Maybe Weller just felt he couldn't tell Allie what to do because she worked for another agency and wasn't under his command. And yet she knew that wasn't it.

"I'm sure Allie's fine," Jane said, scowling in an attempt to deter any more comments.

Rich nodded sagely, as if agreeing with her. But of course he still didn't shut up.

"I'm sure she is," he mused. "I mean, Weller's her man and he doesn't seem worried at all."

Of course both Weller and Allie came within hearing range at that moment, making Jane close her eyes in dismay. No matter what she did, Rich's non-stop commentary wouldn't stop.

"I'm sure he'd be just the same if you were showing obvious signs of brain trauma."

Jane groaned inwardly as Kurt stepped closer and frowned at Rich's words, before turning towards her and looking into her eyes carefully.

"Did you take a hit I didn't see?" he asked.

"No, I'm fine," Jane sighed. "He's just going on about nothing again."

But of course Rich nudged her with his elbow and raised his eyebrows suggestively as Allie stepped up beside them. And still Kurt's eyes remained on Jane for a long pause before finally accepting that she really was okay.

"Let's get back to the NYO," Weller finally said, sounding annoyed at the situation in general.

"We need to figure out what to do about the damaged painting"

Jane exhaled in relief, glad to get away from the irritation of babysitting Rich. He seemed determined to screw with their heads, and their hearts. And, despite the little twinge of joy she got from hearing the mouthy criminal go on about how she and Kurt should be together, Jane knew that it was wrong. She hated the idea of breaking up Weller's relationship, especially because Oscar had tasked her with just that. Kurt deserved to have someone that was as great as Allie seemed to be; someone who could make him happy.

She had to find a way to tell him.

Even if it ended up being as awkward as it played out in her head.

###

Allie Knight walked out of the conference room at the NYO, fuming on so many levels. Getting played by Rich Dotcom after agreeing to his wild scheme and dealing with his 'insightful' comments all day was already making her a little crazy. And then there was Kurt.

He'd been pissing her off since that morning. The worst part was he was completely oblivious to it; had no idea he'd done anything wrong.

Which in turn made her even more mad. And maybe a little bit sad.

It had been going so well, or so she had thought. He'd even invited her to meet his dad, an unbelievable occurrence in more than one way.

But you knew, Allie told herself. You asked and he answered.

What's the deal between you and Jane?

That is not what this is about.

But obviously it was, even if he somehow couldn't see it.

She couldn't even be pissed off at Jane, who seemed to be doing everything she could to stay out of their relationship. Surprisingly, Allie actually kind of liked the other woman, despite her obvious effect on Kurt.

But the way he looked at her and acted around her. That wasn't the Kurt Weller Allie knew. That was some other man, full of emotion and a softness she didn't recognize at all.

Their relationship was still mostly based on mental and physical release; which was why the invitation to family dinner had seemed like a big step. But even though she'd come over and met his dad, Allie had always had the sense that she'd never really know all of him. Weller would always be that guy with her; good-hearted and fun but emotionally guarded. Yet it was obvious that he wasn't like that with Jane.

She could feel him walking out of the room just behind her and knew it was time to make a choice. He'd shown his hand, with far too many tells.

When she'd walked in on them that morning, it wasn't so much that Jane was hugging him. It was that Kurt had let himself be so emotionally vulnerable in front of her; crying while letting himself be held. And it had been pretty clear that they would have been there for awhile if she hadn't interrupted.

If she'd hugged him, of course he would have accepted it too. But a little stiffly and definitely with dry eyes; as if trying not to take too much comfort from it. He would have been her Kurt, so desperate to remain in control of his feelings that he buried them deep and pretended they weren't there.

Allie sighed, knowing what she had to do and yet still a little reluctant to let go. It had already been a shit day, right from that awkward moment in the locker room onwards. Goddamned Rich and his stupid escapades and his never-ending spiel of comments.

She was pissed at herself for letting him win, both in his plot and in his head games. But Allie had to admit he'd really only vocalized what had been itching at her the entire time. Kurt did look to Jane first, and worry about her more than anyone else. It was impossible not to see when around them.

"All right, so we gonna wash the day away with some nice scotch?" Weller asked.

Allie turned and swallowed back the last of her regret.

"I think I'm gonna pass," she replied.

"Why?" Kurt asked, reaching out for her.

"Hang on."

Allie sighed internally as she stopped and faced him. He really had no idea.

"Because of what Rich said on the roof?" Weller asked.

"He was just trying to throw us all off balance."

"It's not about what he said, all right. It's about what I saw," Allie retorted, feeling all of her annoyance ball up in her throat.

"And what'd you see?"

Did he really not understand how it looked from the outside? Especially to the people who knew him the best. Or even to the criminal who'd only met them twice.

"That there's something between you and Jane, okay?" Allie stated.

"I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you know what it is. But don't make me feel crazy by pretending it's not there."

To his credit, Weller didn't try and argue. Just stood there dumbstruck as Allie declared that she needed some space and strode off before the sadness kicked in.

Walking away, she felt both lighter and heavier all at once.

Even if he didn't know it, she'd confirmed that day what she'd always suspected - that she'd never have all of his heart. It was entirely possible he was lying to himself about how he felt; she knew those Kurt Weller walls and his ability to burrow behind them. But she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

So she wasn't going to let him hide behind her anymore, use her as a way to avoid the truth that they all could see. He was in love with Jane and couldn't keep his eyes off of her. Even if he couldn't admit it to himself.

It stung a little but not as much as Allie thought. Every step forward in their relationship had been a struggle, and now she understood why. Seeing him with Jane was like being around a different man.

Now it was just time for both of them to accept it and move on.

###

"I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you know what it is. But don't make me feel crazy by pretending it's not there."

He hadn't denied it because she was right of course. Well, and also because he'd been a bit stunned; somehow hadn't seen it coming at all. Even after dealing Rich's comments all day, Weller thought Allie's skin would have been thicker. But then her words sank in and he forced himself to actually look at his behaviour.

What Kurt realized was he'd been doing his best to pretend that none of it existed. All the ways Jane made him feel, every time he looked to her first. After he'd declared her off limits in his own mind, he'd tried so hard to treat her the same as everyone else. And obviously failed miserably at it, as pointed out by the annoyingly observant Rich Dotcom.

So Weller hadn't examined what it was, or put words to it. But, then again, it wasn't like he didn't know. Jane made him feel things that were entirely new, all the time. The emotions he'd gone through in the relatively short while that she'd been in his life were so intense, sometimes he was completely overwhelmed by them.

Kurt watched Allie walk away, feeling bad about the situation in various ways. He thought he'd been successfully avoiding the mistakes of the past with her. But he knew she was right too. He wasn't being honest with himself or with her.

Weller walked down the hall in a daze, angry and sad and everything in between. They'd gotten played by a smart-mouthed crook and then he'd gotten dumped. Oh, and his dad was dying.

He really needed that scotch.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His neck tingled at the sound of her voice and his head snapped up to meet concerned eyes.

"Fine," Weller deflected, feeling his heart rate start to amp up. She'd caused him so much stress that day and yet none of it was her fault at all.

"Um, I'm sorry about today," Jane said, a bit timidly. "I wish he would have just shut up."

He shook his head, having had the same thought the entire mission. He would have given anything to close the whole thing down and send the mouthy criminal back to maximum security. But he also couldn't get Rich's words out of his head.

"Tell me again why you're not with Jane?"

"Some would say it means that you're more worried/excited about her."

"Life's too short, Jane. Follow your heart. Tell Weller how you feel."

Now though, the irritation at having a criminal comment far too astutely on his love life had mostly seeped out. But that meant Kurt was just left standing there with the obvious truth in Rich's words still ringing in his mind; all while Jane was standing in front of him looking too worried for his liking.

How did she feel?

And why did his heart thump even harder just at the thought?

"He was just trying to mess with us," Weller said. "Don't worry about it."

"None of this is your fault."

Jane's expression lost a little of that guilty edge, and she offered him a small smile, as if she was trying her best to believe him.

He wanted to deflect her attention from that line of thought, trying to put it out of his own head too. Searching for another topic to focus on, his mind traitorously turned back to that morning, where he'd broken down in front of her and found himself crying in her arms.

The comfort he'd found within them had been immediate and somehow familiar; even though he normally felt awkward accepting hugs. Even now he was somehow okay with how much emotion he'd shown her and how soothing it had felt to be held by her.

He wanted that comfort right now too, for her to hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Of course he didn't give in to that inclination but it gave him an inspiration; a way to distract both of them from the day they'd just had.

"Hey, I'm about to head to the hospital to see my dad. Do you want to come?"

Jane's eyes lit up at the idea, like she was so happy to be able to do something for him. And Weller couldn't deny how it felt in his chest, seeing a shy hopeful grin tug at her lips as she nodded eagerly.

He hated that Rich was right. He did look to her first.

And it seemed like the entire world already knew why.

###

The entire day had been so incredibly awkward. Yet slipping her hand into his and tucking their fingers together felt so normal and comforting. And when Weller returned her tentative squeeze with a more forceful one, Jane finally remembered to breathe.

For a long moment they just stood there silently, and Jane could see that Kurt was doing his best to contain his emotions but they continued to spill out. He'd been so thankful to her for visiting his dad, which felt good in a way. But then there was the lie.

She felt so guilty. And yet, the little lie had made him so happy. The look on his face when she said she'd remembered. It broke her heart.

So there she was, standing there with his hand in hers, wishing she never had to let go. That he could be hers.

Tell Weller how you feel.

There was so much she wanted to tell him that she couldn't. Especially now, when he was with Allie and his dad was dying. What would she tell him anyways? That she had plotted all this, planted herself in his life and had known it for weeks now but not told him. Oh and I'm in love with you, that too.

She'd tried to tell him just the opposite, in the most awkward way she could come up with. She still cringed thinking about it.

So Jane just stayed silent until Kurt let go and started to set up an emotional wall.

"I should take you home," he said, staring at his feet.

"You can stay, I can make my own way back," she said, sensing he was on the verge of something he didn't want to share.

"No, I don't want…" he stammered.

"It's hard to be here alone and he's going to be out for awhile now."

She wanted to reach for him again but held back. He wasn't hers, she had to remember that.

"Okay, let's go then," Jane said.

Weller was distant, a little lost looking on the way back to the car. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he wanted to talk about it.

He isn't yours she reminded herself again. He had someone to talk to if he needed to.

And yet when they sat in the car and he was still so quiet, it was all she could do not to physically reach for him. He kept glancing over but didn't say anything, and she couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite.

When they got to her safe house, he insisted on seeing her in even though she told him it wasn't necessary. At the door, she turned and he was giving her an undefinable look.

"Are you going to be okay?"

Weller turned his head quickly, wearing that same sad frown that made him look so vulnerable. But then he reshaped his features, attempting a small smile but not quite succeeding.

"Yeah, it's just been a long day, and not a very good one," he muttered.

"I know… I'm sorry," she started, feeling the need to apologize for everything going so wrong at the penthouse party.

"No, you did everything you could," he said. "We should have never let him set any of this up."

He shook his head and looked so weary.

"It's just been hard. I messed it all up. I should… I need… "

Weller sputtered a bit, losing his words again. And just the same as that morning, Jane instinctively reached for him, wrapping her arms around him.

He was shuddering a little and she pulled him close, wishing she really could tell him how she felt. Instead, she was just offering him some comfort, for whatever his unspoken need might be.

After awhile she realized he was crying into her shoulder, at about the same time he came to that realization as well.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to…"

"Shhh, it's okay," she soothed. "You can let it out, I won't tell anyone."

He laughed against her, then cried some more. And Jane had to admit she wanted nothing else than to keep on holding him, telling him everything was alright.

So for that moment at least, she did.

I love you Kurt Weller, she thought. And I want to hold onto you forever.

That's what Rich would want me to say.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this

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about-faces · 4 years

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The director Joel Schumacher has passed away, and everyone's reactions have boiled down to two topics: 1.) "He was the guy who made the bad Batman films," and 2.) "Hey, he did lots of great films besides the bad Batman films!"

Thing is... I get it. I remember being a teenage comic fan in the 90's. Not just any comics: especially Batman! But ESPECIALLY Bart especially Two-Face. I remember how "Joel Schumacher" was a name that could invoke white-hot rage in myself and everyone in the fandom. He was our modern equivalent of Dr. Fredrick Wertham, the boogyman who had (far as we were concerned) single-handedly destroyed the mainstream credibility of superheroes.

Look at that picture, and try to imagine that this was the face so loathed and mocked by Batman fanboys in the 90′s.

Never mind that Schumacher didn't WRITE the Batman films. The main credit for that goes to Akiva Goldsman, who has gone on to win an Oscar and continues to find A-list success despite ruining other geek properties like Jonah Hex and Dark Tower. Never mind that Schumacher was at the mercy of producers who wanted the movies to be nothing more than merchandise machines and toy commercials. No, Schumacher was the only name associated with the films, and he was cast at the villain.

The fact that he was openly gay played no small part in making him an easy target.

One year after the disastrous release of the infamous Batman & Robin, the beloved fan-favorite cartoon Batman: The Animated Series (then rebranded as The New Batman Adventures on the WB network) produced an episode that featured a pointed jab at Schumacher. The episode was titled "Legends of the Dark Knight," a reworking of a classic 70's Batman tale where a group of kids share their own ideas of what the mysterious Batman is really like.

Halfway through the episode, the kids are overheard by another kid, who shares his own ideas about Batman. The kid, whose name is Joel, has long dirty-blond hair, and works in front of a store which bear the sign "Shoemaker," despite clearly being a department store. He waxes dreamily about the reasons he loves Batman: "All those muscles, the tight rubber armor and that flashy car. I heard it can drive up walls!"

This last line--a reference to a silly bit in Batman Forever--he says as he flamboyantly tosses a pink fur stole around his neck. To drive home the joke, one of the kids dismisses, "Yeah, sure, Joel."

At the time, it seemed like a cathartic joke for us REAL Batman fans. Now, it's clearly just cheap and gross. Instead of any actual criticism about the films, Joel Schumacher was just seen--even if just subconsciously--as the fruit who ruined Batman.

Over time, the hatred for Schumacher lessened. Starting with Blade, X-Men, and Spider-Man, on through to Batman Begins, Iron Man, and onward, superhero movies became huge mainstream successes, with greater fidelity to the source material than most adaptations we saw up to the time that Schumacher "killed" the superhero movie. There was no point in hating him anymore, if there ever was (again, Goldsman more deserves that ire, if you're gonna be angry about anyone. Why does he still get work?! WHY IS HE NOW WRITING FOR STAR TREK?!?!).

But even still, especially among Millennial and Gen-X fans, Schumacher is still--at best--considered a low point for fandom. Even though the same generations have come to appreciate and love some of his other films, such as The Lost Boys, Phone Booth, and the chillingly-prescient Falling Down, there's still this need for people to dismiss the Batman films as embarrassments that are best forgotten in favor of Schumacher's better films. And if they're to be remembered at all, it's to trash them all over again in a tone suggesting that the films are objectively, irredeemably bad.

Except they're not. Oh sure, if you go in looking for a grim and gritty capital-M "Mature" take on Batman, of course you'll hate them, just like you probably also hate the Adam West Batman show. Remember, that show also used to be hated by decades of Batman fans because of how it didn't take the comics seriously.

... except it did. The show was VERY faithful to the Batman comics of the 50's, which often out-weirded and out-sillied its TV counterpart. If anything, the show made some of those stories even more entertaining with camp value and jokes that added different levels of enjoyment to the adults watching. Comic fans resented how Batman became a pop culture joke, and increasingly fought against anything that was colorful and campy (which makes me wonder if this might also be related to latent homophobia). Whether or not they admitted/realized it, the Batman fans of the 70's and 80's carried a chip on their shoulder about a show that DARED to make Batman FUN.

And really... how is that any different than Schumacher's two films?

You don't have to agree, but I think Schumacher's films are fun. I think Batman Forever is highly entertaining, that Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carrey are bringing their hammy A-games as much respected actors like Burgess Meredith and Caesar Romero brought to their roles. Same goes for Arnold and especially Uma in Batman and Robin. They KNOW what movies they're in, and they're all having a blast.

(How many of us remember the exact line Eddie says at this moment? I bet you probably do too, which should tell you something about how memorable this movie is)

Now, BF and particularly B&A are by no means GOOD movies, but you can't tell me that you couldn't have a blast putting the latter on at a party and riffing it with friends. It's not a pretentious, ponderous, self-serious slog like, say, the shit Zack Snyder cranked out (apologies to the one or two cool Snyder fans here, I just find his films interminable). Even besides the many things I could say to defend Schumacher's Batman films (that's a whole other essay), you can't say they were boring. They were entertaining, even if on a level of making fun of the film, and that is NOT as easy as it looks.

Let me put it to you this way: Batman Forever has, objectively, one of the worst takes on Two-Face I've ever seen. He's one-note, he's kind of a rehash of Nicholson's Joker, he gets completely overshadowed by the Riddler, he gets killed by Batman in a way that completely betrays the whole “DON’T KILL HARVEY” arc with Robin, and worst of all, he CHEATS on the coin toss. That alone would be enough for me to condemn this depiction in any other Two-Face story.

And yet, even I--the most passionate, opinionated, and picky Two-Face fan you will EVER know--still have a soft spot for Tommy Lee Jones' take on ol' Harv. He’s just too fun, too flamboyant, too damn extra not to love. If only all bad takes on Two-Face could be this fun!

But that’s the thing: it’s not because the script was good. Oh god no. I've read the script, and if it were put on the page like a comic, I would have hated it just like any other bad Two-Face comic. I have to imagine that, as director, Joel Schumacher deserves the bulk of the credit for pushing the restrained and laconic Tommy Lee Jones into that oversized performance, and making it a delight to watch despite everything it does wrong.

I'm rare for my generation to have learned how to stop worrying and love Schumacher's Batman. But the younger generation, the up-and-coming Gen-Zs getting into Batman, don't share the same grudges we did. There's a genuine, shame-free enjoyment of those films among The Kids, many of whom are LGBTQA+, who love the jokes, the silliness, the camp, the Freeze puns, the swag of Uma Thurman, and the homoerotic subtext between Two-Face and the Riddler. Maybe it's just a reaction to so much GRIM, SERIOUS shit that DC and their fanboys are trying desperately to push even today.

But comics--especially Batman--have a long history of colorful, stupid, fun shit. Schumacher's films carried on in that tradition, and they should be appreciated on their own merits by those of us who aren't limited by narrow ideas of what Batman "should" be, and who still remember how to have fun.

Schumacher's Batman films should no longer be seen as embarrassments. They didn't ruin superheroes. They didn't ruin Batman. They didn't even ruin Two-Face. Nor should they be disregarded in favor of Falling Down, like losers in a respectability competition. They're fun. They're entertaining. And they didn't pretend to be anything else.

And if you still think they're bad... I mean, objectively, you're not wrong! But be mindful of the reasons WHY you think they're bad, because on another subjective level, you may not be right either. And it's certainly not worth holding a geek-grudge over after twenty-five years.

#batman forever #batman ampersand robin #long post #homophobia #slur

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ipuckwithhockey · 4 years

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I’d Rather Rescue Myself - Travis Konecny

a/n: Did I write this based on the Cheetah Girls hit, Cinderella? bc I did. no I didn’t. I don’t think this will surprise anyone but this is kind of angsty and dramatic, but I think it’s cute in the end. Let me know what you think :)

Warnings: Single mom, cursing, drinking, angst, a little bit of anxiety, I think that’s it

——

When I was just a little girl, my momma used to tuck me into bed

She read me a story

It always was about a Princess in distress and how a guy would save her

End up with the glory

Your mom was a hopeless romantic. She fell hard and fast for the men that came in and out of her life. She wasn’t running around being reckless or anything, she just loved being in love. She loved the honeymoon phase and she loved the idea of finding her prince charming.

Your dad left when you were just a baby, but your mom didn’t harbor on the loss. That was another thing about your mom— she was an undying optimist. She said that her relationship with your father wasn’t meant to be, and that her real prince charming was somewhere out there waiting to find her.

You actually believed all the elaborate bedtime stories she told you for a while. You thought you too would find your prince charming who would sweep you off your feet and rescue you from the harsh realities of your average Philadelphia life.

Your mom did eventually find Steve, a real-estate broker, that made her very happy. You liked Steve. He was nice and had a good job, and really did care for your mom. They’ve been married almost two years now, and you’ve never seen your mom happier. Maybe she was right, her prince charming was waiting out there for her, except he wasn’t in a castle or riding a horse into the sunset, he was just trying to decide which slice and bake cookies he should get for his open house. That’s how they met. In the freezer section of the grocery. Your mom helped him decide on one pack of sugar and one pack of chocolate chip, they exchanged numbers, and the rest is history.

Then one day I realized the fairy tale life wasn't for me

I don't wanna be like Cinderella

Sittin' in a dark old dusty cellar

Waiting for somebody, to come and set me free

You really tried to be optimistic. You would put yourself out there, go on dates, and even had a couple serious relationships throughout college. There was just one problem— they never worked out. You were always left heartbroken. So your senior year of college you decided that you had had enough.

You were done feeling sorry for yourself. You were smart and driven and didn’t need a man to rescue you. You had a great internship that would hopefully turn into a job after graduation and you were the top of your class. You weren’t going to let another boy come in and distract you from your goals. So you swore off boys. It’s not that you didn’t want to find someone eventually, you just didn’t have the time or energy to bother with them now. This was time to focus on you.

That year you met Travis Konecny and his band of brothers from the Philadelphia Flyers. Your roommate, Katie, had hooked up with Joel Farabee a couple of times but they ultimately decided they were better off as just fiends. You and Travis became quick friends. You had a similar sense of humor and even though he was the worlds biggest, dumbest redneck, you had a soft spot for the kid. He was busy with hockey and didn’t have time for a relationship, and so he understood why you didn’t want one either.

Soon started the movie nights and casual hang outs. You even started to teach him how to cook. You would admit that he was very handsome (when he showered and properly groomed himself), but you were just friends. It was never anything else. Neither of you wanted it to be anything else.

You both had had other hookups and occasionally a date, and you would laugh together over how bad they were afterward, saying “see, this is why i don’t need a relationship.”

That was almost two years ago. You did end up graduating at the top of your class, and the internship did turn into an amazing job. You worked hard and were hopefully in line for a big promotion at the end of the month.

You lived on your own now, but Katie just lived a block away. Shortly after her and Joel decided to remain friends she met Chris. He was a great guy and they recently moved in together. You were really happy for Katie and all of your friends who had found great guys to settle down with. You were only 23 but it seemed like most of your friends had found their match, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you.

It’s not that you wanted to get hitched and have a baby right this second, you were still very young, but the thought of having a caring boyfriend to come home to was something you just couldn’t get out of your head lately.

Someday, I'm gonna find someone who wants my soul, heart and mind

Who's not afraid to show that he loves me

Somebody who will understand I'm happy just the way I am

Don't need nobody taking care of me

Now you found yourself on Travis’ couch ranting about how all of your college friends were taking their boyfriends to Katie’s birthday party this weekend. Again, you were happy for them, you really were! But you didn’t want to be the only single one there. It was one thing to get a sad look from your mom when she asked you if you were seeing anyone, it was another thing to get sad looks from about a dozen of your friends. You knew they just wanted you to find someone who made you happy, but you hadn’t yet, and there wasn’t anything that could change that.

“I just wish I could find someone who wants me for me, you know? Someone who gets that my career is just as important as his, and who understands that when I say I don’t want anything to eat I actually do, I’m just too hard headed to admit it!” You were ranting on about the perfect guy, and all Travis could think was that he was that guy.

He would show up at your door out of the blue because he knew the “work’s been busy, just gonna go home and get some stuff done” reply to his hang out invitation actually meant “I’ve never been as stressed as I am right now, and haven’t eaten in 12 hours, and I could really use a hug.” He was always there for you, and you were always there for him. People didn’t always understand your relationship, and last year when Travis started dating a girl, she became so jealous of your friendship. Eventually, Travis ended it when she asked him to choose between her or you. There really wasn’t any contest. He would choose you every time. That was when he realized he had some serious feelings for you. Travis wasn’t good with feelings, and as much as he wanted to tell you he loved you, he didn’t want to mess with your friendship. It was too important to him, and up until recently you had been pretty dedicated to your no relationship lifestyle.

So instead of telling you how much he loved you and how he was the guy who valued your career and goals just as much as his own, he just offered to go with you to the party in question, “Well I’ll go with you. I like your friends, and then I’ll also get the sad looks because I too am single and lonely, so you won’t be alone.”

You laugh, Travis was right, you would probably have a good time if was there. You always have a good time when he’s around, and your friends like him too. They know you’re just friends but they never hesitate to give you a hard time about how you’ll end up together one day. You know he’s not into you like that, but that doesn’t stop you from wondering what it would be like to one day call him yours.

“Hello???? Is anyone home?” He’s waving his hands in front of you after you zoned out thinking about how great it would be to come home to him after a long day at work,

“Oh yeah, sorry, that would actually be great. You don’t have to, I know I’ve been annoying lately with all the work talk and complaining about relationshi-“

“Don’t worry about it. The party will be fun, we haven’t been out together in forever. And I know you’re stressed, even though you shouldn’t be. There’s no way you’re not getting that promotion. That doucheface, Jack is barely smart enough to do his current job, there’s no way they would give him the promotion over you.”

“His name is Jake, but yes he is a doucheface and even though I may be more qualified, he has been at the company longer than me so there’s a good chance he’ll get it just based on that.”

“You worry too much. You’re gonna get it, and we’re all gonna celebrate when you do.”

I can slay, my own dragon

I can dream, my own dreams

My knight in shining armor is me

So now it was Friday night, and you found yourself next to Travis in a crowded bar that Katie had picked for her birthday celebration. You had had the longest week known to man, and all you really wanted to do was sleep. But alas, you were here and trying to have a good time.

Travis had been great the whole night, socializing with your friends, make his stupid jokes, and getting you drinks. You really did appreciate him coming, but something just felt off. He has always been a touchy guy but it seemed like he had his arm around you more than usual tonight, and when he talked to your friends he would say “we” when referring to the two of you. It felt too domestic, and if felt too claustrophobic.

Even his praises when the group asked about your work annoyed you. You didn’t know if you were just on edge from work or if Travis’ overstepping was really getting to you.

You needed a minute to yourself so excused yourself to get another drink.

“Sit down, I got it,” Travis stands to get you another drink, and that’s when you start to lose it. In the back of your mind you know he’s just being nice, but you’re already seeing red and nothing can stop you now.

“I am perfectly capable of getting my own drink, and I really don’t need a man to babysit me all night, so you can sit down, and I’ll get it for myself.”

You turn and head for the door of the bar, not caring that your friends, and Travis, are all staring at you completely taken aback by what just came flying out of your mouth. You make it outside, needing a minute in the cold winter air, before Travis catches up to you.

“What the hell is going on? Did I do something?”

“Travis. I really appreciate you trying to ‘take care of me’ of whatever it is you’re trying to do, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it a long time, there’s no reason why I can’t continue to do so.”

You’re being mean now. You know it, but it’s not stopping you. You can’t help but push him away because it feels easier to just deny the feelings you know you have. The hurt in Travis’ eyes almost makes you take it all back, but you know that if you push him enough he’ll be just as stubborn and mad as you, and then you can fight it out instead of actually talking about what’s going on. So you continue, knowing that what you’re going to say will just piss him off,

“You’re not my boyfriend, and I didn’t ask you to act like it. If you want a girl to parade around in front of people, go find someone else, because I’m not your girl. You just need to back off, ok?”

“I’m not trying to control you, or ‘parade you around’ I have no clue why you think I’d even want that,” He puts up big air quotes when he throws your words back at you,

“I just know how stressed you are and how you don’t ever see your friends because your whole life is your fucking job. I just wanted to make this night fun and relaxing for you. And I’m sorry if I’m proud of you for being so successful, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I am the guy? The guy who wants you for you. The guy who respects your career just as much as his own. The guy who knows that even though you’re standing here pissed as hell, it’s only because you know you have feelings for me too?”

He’s practically yelling and a couple people have definitely taken notice. And maybe he’s right, but your hard head and stubbornness would never let you admit it, so you just decide to walk away.

You leave him standing there outside of a bar that still holds all of your closest friends, and you know that you may have just thrown away your prince charming, but you can’t go back. It would be too much, so you walk home and cry yourself to sleep that night.

I will be there for him just as strong as he, will be there for me

When I give myself then it has got to be, an equal thing

I don't wanna be like Cinderella

Sittin' in a dark old dusty cellar

Waiting for somebody, to come and set me free

You got the promotion. You got it and the only person you wanted to tell was Travis. It’s been weeks since that night you left him outside the bar. He texted and called a few times, eventually he stopped. You thought he might show up at your place but he never did. You tried to be mad at him. You tried to blame him for your friendship falling apart. You also knew that he was right. About everything.

You thought back to all the times you had been there for each other. You thought back to all of the long talks on the phone while he was away for the summers, every time he hyped you up before a big presentation at work, and all the times you waited at his door after what you knew had been a tough game.

You always had each others backs. You didn’t have to ask for it, you just knew that when you fell, the other one would be there to pick you up. You didn’t have to guess. You always knew what he was feeling and you knew how to fix it. He was the same way with you. And yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to just pick up the phone and call. Maybe it was because you knew he would be on the other end waiting to take you back in the blink of an eye. You knew he’d forgive you for everything and you knew he would love you forever, but you were still scared to admit that maybe you did need him. You felt like it would be an admission of failure that you couldn’t do this on your own.

You didn’t need him to take care of you or to slay a dragon to save you, you just needed HIM. You needed his companionship, his love, and his affection, all of the things that he was so willing to give you, but that you still couldn’t accept.

I don't wanna be like Snow White

waiting for a handsome prince

to come and save me on a horse of white

Unless we're riding side by side

It’s been over a month now, and you haven’t so much as spoken a word to Travis. You had filled Katie in the day after her party, apologizing for leaving without saying goodbye. She tried to comfort you, but you didn’t want to talk about it. You were going to be fine without him. He was just a friend after all. But now Katie was getting fed up. She was tired of watching you mope around town acting like everything was fine, when she knew damn well that you were just too stubborn to admit that you loved Travis too.

“Ok. You seriously need to suck it up buttercup.” Katie came full force through the threshold of your apartment with two bottles of wine and a bag of take out. You were all for a girls night, but you were right when you had concerns of it turning into a “lets talk about your feelings night.”

“You’re losing it. Like I love you, but as your friend I can no longer support this moping around.”

“I have told you over and over again, that I am fine. I got my promotion and I’m doing great at work!” You try to convince her that you’re doing ok, and that you don’t read every shitty article written about the flyers as an attempt to satisfy your Travis craves.

“If you’re oh so fine, then why do you still watch every flyers game? Why are you drinking his favorite wine all the time? And why the fuck are you wearing his clothes???”

You didn’t even remember that you had put on an old hoodie of his this morning until just now. He used to let you borrow the old 67’s hoodie when you were at his place, eventually you just took it home with you, and it’s been your favorite ever since. You wore it now more than ever, but would never admit it was because you missed him.

“It’s just comfortable ok?” But you knew she wasn’t buying it, you knew you were going to have to talk about it at some point.

“...I just feel like if I admit that I need him, it would be like admitting that I can’t take care of myself, that I can’t do this on my own.”

“Babe, it’s not about needing someone to take care of you, it’s just about loving someone and letting them love you back. Travis of all people knows that you are perfectly capable of fending for yourself. I think that’s probably something he loves about you. He knows you. And I know for a fact that he’s waiting for you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because he calls me…”

“Wh-what?” Why would Travis bother to call Katie?

“Because he’s worried about you, but he knows that if he suffocates you, you’ll just keep pushing him away. He’s called me regularly for a few weeks now. He just wants to know how you are... But he didn’t want me to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel like he was going behind your back. He loves you. And he’s just waiting for you to come back to him. He’s an idiot, but somehow he’s managed to figure you out.”

He loves you. Travis loves you.

You love him.

You love each other.

He never wanted to take anything from you.

He just wanted your love.

He wanted to give you his love.

It’s like you’re discovering words for the first time, and you know you that you can’t just let this go. You know that you don’t want to keep living your life if you’re not sharing it with him, side by side.

You look over at Katie who knows you’re finally coming to terms with all of this,

“I think I have to go”

“Go get him babe!”

You order an uber and grab your shoes before heading out the door. The ride to Travis’ has never felt longer. You start to question yourself but it’s too late, you know what you have to do. You walk into his building and make your way up to his floor on the elevator. You pace back and forth for a while outside of his apartment, but you tell yourself it’s now or never, and knock on the door. It’s not even 20 seconds later that he’s opening the door,

“Hey, I knew you’d come back.”

For some reason you thought he might still be mad, and he might just slam the door in your face or yell at you, but he’s not. He’s smiling and is reaching out to pull you into his apartment and into a hug. You let him and it’s like you’ve never felt more relief. The weight of the past month is instantly lifted. You feel like you can breathe again. And then the tears start to fall.

“Hey, don’t cry. It’s ok.” He’s consoling you and you’ve never felt worse. He was always right there and you just about threw it all away because you were too stubborn. You both muster out some sorry’s and you’re not even sure how long you’ve been standing there in each others arms. You’re perfectly content just staying there, but eventually he pulls back to look at you.

He wipes away at your tear stained face and looks you right in the eyes,

“I love you. And I never ever want to make you feel like you’re anything less than the amazing, strong, smart, beautiful, independent woman that you are... I just want you to let me love you.”

“Okay... but only on one condition…”

Travis just looks questionably back at you,

“That you let me love you back”

Travis doesn’t even bother with words, because he knows the only thing left to do is kiss you. So he leans into you, and you lean into him, and it’s like everything in the world is right again. Riding into the sunset may have been a fairytale, but true loves kiss was definitely a reality. You were right too, you didn’t need a prince to save you, you needed to save yourself. It just turned out that saving yourself was letting the man of your dreams love you back.

#travis konecny #travis konecny imagine #travis konecny fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #philadelphia flyers #flyers #hockey one shot #nhl one shot

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years

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Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted - Number 10

Welcome back to Gotham’s 31 Most Wanted! Each day of January, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Batman Villains of all time! We’ve officially reached the Top 10! Today’s villain shall forever be remembered as “The Man Who Broke the Bat.” Number 10 is…Bane.

This mysterious malefactor made a name for himself in the seminal arc “Knightfall”: for all five of you who don’t know, in that storyline, Bane organized a massive breakout from Arkham Asylum, and when Batman was at his weakest – exhausted and worn down after the battles he’d engaged in with so many villains in a very short timespan – he ambushed the Dark Knight and, after a grueling brawl, snapped his spine clean in half (as shown in the image chosen above). This moment cemented Bane’s reputation, personality, and in some ways almost did its job too well. Why do I say this? Well, on the one hand, Bane is definitely a great villain, when he’s done well: in the comics, he has a backstory that is equal parts sympathetic and disturbing, and he’s not without his redeeming qualities. He’s a fiend, make no mistake, but there’s a certain sense of nobility to him; given his rough beginnings, he has come to feel that compassion and other “soft” emotions are a basic weakness, but he has also come to value loyalty and a certain strange sense of honor – the honor of the battlefield. He plans things out like a military strategist; the chances are good that he could have beaten Batman at his peak, but Bane wasn’t stupid. He wanted to break the Bat, but he didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. Some have claimed that his motive was cowardly or self-defeating, but to me, it actually makes total sense: keep in mind, Batman has faced demons, ghosts, ancient deities, shapeshifters, extraterrestrials, and much, much more. Even with his trademark “Super Steroid,” Venom, at his disposal, the chances are good he could have easily defeated Bane if the man HADN’T decided to lower the Dark Knight’s resolve. To him, it was about evening the odds and ensuring a more likely victory…a victory he thus achieved. In war, you want to weaken your enemies as much as you can before you face them, no matter the odds; that has proven to be a good strategy in history time and again. All this makes Bane a solid antagonist: he’s a physical, mental, and – post-back-breaking – emotional threat. It’s basically the perfect combination! But the problem is that he suffers from a sort of kinder version of “The Hush Effect.” Remember how I said near the start of this countdown, regarding the villain Hush, that he was really a character I felt only worked for the one debut story, and everything after that just hasn’t worked right? I feel SORT OF the same way about Bane. After Knightfall’s arc and its aftermath, Bane’s stories have never really felt nearly as strong. Now, true, all villains will have that one story where they will work great and many will argue nothing after that can top it – Joker has “The Killing Joke,” for example – but they still have lots of great material that really dives into them in new ways and can continue to create fascinating new tales. With Bane, so much after Knightfall felt like (and still feels like) him just popping up to remind us, “Hey! I’m a thing!” However, with that said, not EVERYTHING has been that way; Bane has had a few decidedly decent stories in the comics, including a pretty darn good miniseries all his own, and I’m never unhappy to see this guy. I don’t feel he’s overrated the way I feel Hush is, I just feel sometimes people use him just because…well…he’s available, if that makes sense. But with that in mind, when the writers of comics and other media alike get it right, they DEFINITELY get it right, and you can have a lot of fun with Bane with his set traits and trademarks. Whether he’s playing support to another villain or working as the main antagonist proper, he definitely has a lot of muscle to him (in more ways than one), and hopefully people will continue to find ways to utilize the power of this rogue in the future. The countdown continues tomorrow, where I’ll be covering my 9th Favorite Batman Villain. HINT: He’s a Threat of Global Proportions.

#gotham's 31 most wanted #january advent calendar #new year's countdown #batman villains #batman #dc #comics #supervillains #villains #best #favorites #bane

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jadienjaystoriesandart · 4 years

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*Laces fingers together with a smirk* Soooo, lots of people do Sanders Sides Halloween stuff, right? Well here’s my AU on this. Based kind of the Goosebumps movie, in that it’s about characters coming out of books, but it doesn’t follow the same plot except getting characters into the books again. You’ll see.

The Forevermore Night! (Forevermore AU.)

this AU mostly is a reader insert, would make it a choose your own adventure but I’m bad at those.

So, characters and plot, won’t spoil too much for plot but here’s the basics.

PLOT: You are an average college student getting by for another Halloween alone as usual watching scary movies, scrolling through Tumblr, and maybe going by yourself to a haunted house. That is until a package from your dear friend overseas comes in, it was your late/early birthday gift. Inside the box you find a series of books that your friend thinks you’d really like.

The Forevermore Series.

Supposedly it’s about different types of creatures who each haunt the reader in a choose your own adventure style. Seems pretty fun. And looks like there are 7 in total, perfect for a night of Halloween in your house.

The books normally come individually, but your friend got them in a bulk in one giant book. They always did know you. Halloween comes tomorrow as you settle down to get a headstart in reading. However, upon opening the book a ringing fills your ears and you’re out cold.

Upon waking the book in blank, and the seven characters turns out are very alive and seeking to cause mischief and find themselves a new host.

Now you and the writers of the books, Joan and Talyn, have to round of the characters and get them back into the story before you become their next host and may or may not cause the world to be plunged into the world of the Forevermore. With you as the King/Queen leader as a puppet for the creations.

However, something it’s quiet right, these people don’t act like book tales but rather real people. And Joan and Talyn refuses to answer any questions about how or why they are alive. Just that they were put into the books for a reason. There is more questions than answers, and you aren’t sure who your trust or who is telling the truth.

Because if they were put into the books, that would mean they used to be real people. But if that’s true... then why were they put into the books in the first place? And why are they so afraid that a man named Thomas got out?

CHARACTERS

Patton Hart aka The Doll Maker - Ever been afraid of dolls as a kid? Yeah here’s a reason why to be afraid. Each doll is made with special care and crafted by hand when made by the Hart Family. Made from all sorts of materials and made to look however you please. With such life likeness it’s easy to see why they are famous and so expensive. Patton loves each and every one of the kiddos he crafts, making sure only to have the best. Even if that means plunking the eyes from a naughty child to use for the perfect child. Or making a bad kid suffer so that the good kid can gain such soft skin. Naughty children should know better, but his kiddos are always well behaved. And always make the family happy. Parents deserve good children, the world does too. And who is going to miss such bad children anyway? Certainly not him or their parents, not when they have their perfect kid. And besides, bad kids make perfect parts for his little kiddos. As for teenagers and young adults, well Patton still has use for them, some parts are useable, but he always does need extra hands around the workshop. After all, it isn’t hard to rework the brain, and they are always so much nicer once he’s done. Yes, he love his kiddos, of all ages.

Roman Prince aka The Happy Ending - Every fairytale deserves their prince, their knight in shining armor, their hero. Such is Roman’s story, ‘The Happily Ever After’, the tale of a knight who saves princes and princesses, by basically kidnapping and enslaving them to his kingdom. The princesses bring much to his land, brave souls looking to rescue them, and the princes are pretty things to look at, which Roman loves. He is their hero, he saved them all and brought them to a place where they will always be happy. There is no time here, no pain here, no need for trivial mortal things. They are forever here, forever young and happy. Roman is such a nice knight to them, but some do need to be punished, he hates having to harm the ones he saves. But they need to know the outside world is horrible, here they are safe with him. With his powers to create whatever he wants, snap thing into existence, he’s very powerful. Prince of the Forevermore with his brother and previous king. He always is looking to add to his collection of pretty things. That or a good fight, which ever comes first.

Logan Adams aka The Mad Scientist - What would the world be without ethics on testing and creating? Well Logan is a good example of what happens when you throw our morals and feelings. Logan has made far advancements in the scientific field, if it wasn’t for the fact he likes to trap people for testing his newest creations. Logan is passive about life, being he found a way to make himself immortal he tends to disregard those who aren’t. Honestly mortality is just so stupid, when your life is condensed into a century at most. You have to play games to escape his traps, and use logic should he ask you do anything. To him, it’s all a game, he’s only interested in the end result. But he does enjoy a challenge, and if you can outsmart him, color him impress. He may even offer up a golden liquid to you as a reward. After all there aren’t many who can outsmart him.

Virgil Spider aka The Welcome Home Party - Remember that haunted house you were always afraid of? That always seemed like no one lived there. Then one day you gather up the courage to peak inside and see if it is haunted or abandoned. As you walk in the house seems lively, the hallway lit up in a nice warm glow. And you turn to see someone coming down the stairs. It’s your older brother, Virgil. Right, this is your house. You’ve lived here since you were a kid with your big brother. He’s happy your home asking what took you so long. What ever did take you so long? You can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. Your big brother is always better than most other peoples brothers. Virgil always knows how you feel, and always does his best to make you happy. He gives the best kinds of hugs, and only ever opens up to you. You love your big brother after all, and he loves you too. Virgil loves all of his family, he loves to hold you, love the way you smell, the way your blood tastes on his tongue. You always seem to get weaker and sleepier each time Virgil holds you. Maybe you should rest for a bit, Virgil says he’ll keep watch, so no monsters come. You can trust him, he’s family. So what if he’s part spider, he’d never hurt you.

Remus Prince aka The Slimy Monster - There is a reason these books are rated for young adults. And it’s not just the gore and such, it’s when you read Book 5, that’s when it’s becomes clear. Remus is a slimy monster with eight tentacle like appendages. He lives in a camp for young adults in the lake, and the stories told of him are meant to keep campers out of the lakes at dark. Not that it always works, as most college students think they know everything. So when allured out to the water by the sweet sound of a siren, they don’t think twice. Guess that’s why so many go missing. Remus loves his trinkets and toys, he loves to drown them when they loose their usefulness. And he also loves the sounds they make when he does use them. By this point he’ll have enough children to make his species the dominate ones. Life is great for this sea monster, and it’s about to get even better.

Janus Silver aka The Great Magician - Everyone loves to watch magic shows right? Loves to get their palms read, the cards look at, and their futures unfold. Some people also love to go see hypnotists and see if they really can use a pocket watch to put them under. Ofcourse there is the risk factor and you have to sign a form to make sure you can go in. No one ever reads them anyway, just sums up your a willing participant. Called up to the stage by a handsome man that wears a half mask, taking your hands in warm gloved ones. Leading you to sit down, and just to relax. You do funny things on stage under his guide and such, unable to stop yourself. But not that you want to. Suddenly you find each time after you wake up in strange places. You start to lose hours of time, unable to recall what you were doing. Your mind is no longer your own, you respond to commands on the snap of gloved fingers. You obey, that’s all there is too it. And soon, your mindless, you’re his doll, his puppet, you do as he says. You’ll believe whatever you tells you, his little sleeper agent. What’s his goals, honestly no one knows, the two faced snake only speaks in riddles and lies. We can only hope he just likes to have people under his control and that there isn’t a deeper plan. Such as pure anarchy, or even starting the purge. Who knows what’s going through his mind. Moral of the story, always read the fine print.

Thomas Sanders aka The King and The Host - Not much is known about him, his story is still in the making. He’s locked far within the pages, but that’s what they want you to think. You’ve seen him alot, he’s in each of their stories. Even if you don’t know it. Put together the pages, it makes his story of what happened to him. That’s what he wants you to do after all, help him out. He’s been trapped for years, they trapped him with them. It was an accident, he swears. Question you should ask is... do you trust him?

Want to know more, I take asks! :D

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elletromil · 4 years

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elle’s self rec list

So I did one of those about two years ago and I decided why not do another one! Some fics from the old one will probably be repeated here, but who cares, it’s my list, I get to make the rules :D

There's Something About Us - T, Hartwin, Merlin/Roxy, Percilot, AU, Words: 49,369

Roxy had her eyes closed, twirling her drum sticks expertly but unnecessarily between beats, unbothered by the strands of brown hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail. Merlin had shuffled closer to her drumset, as he often did, his feet keeping her rhythm, eyes closed as if in concentration. Percival was half hunched over his keyboard, looking at the crowd without seeing it, his voice having taken that far-away edge that only added to the ethereal of their song.

Without shame, he started swaying to their music, letting it wash over everything else so that only their harmony stayed.

In which Eggsy, Roxy, Merlin and Percival are a famous alien music band, Harry is a hero of the Galactic Patrol and Valentine and Gazelle are evil humans.

This one is my longest fic to date and quite frankly, I am insanely proud of it. It’s heavily based on the Interstella 5555 movie Daft Punk did for their Discovery album, but you don’t need to be familiar with it to read this. It took me four years to finish this and probably closer to five years to write it all since I started writing a while before I started posted it. But oh man, am I proud of this story.

Of Flowers, Thunderstorm and Tranquility - M, Hartwin, AU, Words: 9,702

The fresh snow crinkles satisfyingly under his feet as Harry slowly makes his rounds of his part of the Forest. He is seconds away from humming when a whimpering sound from a bush nearby gives him pause.

Harry carefully makes his way towards the sound, on his guard. He gasps in surprise when he parts the foliage. He doesn’t know what he expected, but one thing is certain, it wasn’t the unconscious Summer Child curled up around himself.

This one is quite probably the one I will forever think as my masterpiece. The idea pounced on me and wouldn’t let me go until I had written it all. It is also on of the very few stories I ever wrote that goes higher than a T rating.

of flowers and fireflies - cowritten by @insanereddragon - M, Merwin, AU, Words: 43,882

“You're trying to tell me that you're my dog?”

“Well, yes. Though I’d rather you say familiar if you don’t mind.”

“That’s… That’s impossible. The spell didn’t work.”

Eggsy is a familiar. For many human lifetimes, familiars live waiting for a call from one of the populations magic users. During their time of waiting, they seek out magical sanctuaries for their kind. Eggsy and Lee are on their way to one such place when tragedy strikes, and only Eggsy makes it to his new home at the Hart estate sanctuary.

Merlin is a magic user. After the death of his family, Merlin is taken in by the Hart family on their estate. It’s there, growing up beside Harry, that he first learns of his magical abilities and struggles with growing up without the support of a magical family.

Even though their paths cross while growing up on the estate, it isn’t until many years later when Merlin performs a summoning for a familiar that they connect. A friendship grows to something more while the two learn to navigate their newly formed bond.

So there are two reasons why I absolutely love this story/verse. The first one is that I got to write it with Red. Back then when we decided that ‘hey, we only need 10k for a mini bang, let’s do this, 5k each will be a walk in the park’ we were just starting our friendship. Fastforward a few years later and I can’t envision my life with Red in it. Also we were very dumb and both have no chill because the easy 10k mini-bang we thought this story would be ended up being a 43k proper big bang

Only love can hurt like this - T, Eggsy/Tilde, Hartwin, Eggsy/Harry/Tilde, Words: 8,001

He’s not stupid, his life isn’t a fairy tale, he’s not going to marry the princess now that he’s saved the world. Heck, if his life was a fairy tale, he would rather be the princess marrying the Knight.

Harry is dead, Eggsy has picked up his mantle as a spy and Tilde doing her job as a princess and helping to lead her country in the trying times after V-Day. But even busy as they are, Tilde and Eggsy both kept in contact and what develops between them is more than simple friendship.

All in all, life isn't that bad.

Except Harry isn't as dead as they all thought he was.

I started writing this before the sequel was out and my only regret is that the movie treated Tilde’s character do terribly. There are so many different ways they could have handled it so that Tilde would still end up being Eggsy’s motivation for really wanting the antidote and well... They really didn’t go that way, did they? Anyone, concerning Tilde, I am mostly in fanon-land where it concerns her or whatever @solrosan comes up with because Rosa is an amazing writer and one of the very few I will accept angst from. But I digress. Consider this as a fix-it that instead of ignoring Tilde completely, goes the route I prefer when I see love triangle and transforms the situation into a healthy triad. Because I can.

I Get a Little Bit… - G, Merlahad, Ghenghis Khan video AU, Words: 6,062

Merlin is putting his two children to bed when his phone starts ringing with a too familiar alert. He curses under his breath, thankful that Roxy is already fast asleep and won’t reprimand him on his language.

Or the Genghis Khan Merlahad au everyone wanted but nobody was writing.

The summary is pretty self-explanatory here I think.

Nous n’avons rien à faire, rien que d’être heureux - T, Merlahad, Merhartwin, AU, Words: 5,982

“Harry, Merlin, I present you the first gift of my courtship. It is my intent, if you accept, to show you that I can not only provide for you a home and protection, but cherish you.”

Harry and Merlin have been in a relationship for decades. Many a siren have proposed them over the years, but Eggsy is the first one they're willing to give a chance.

And Eggsy isn't about to let it go to waste.

So I was insanely lucky during the last reverse-bang and managed to lay claim on a couple of @paxdracona artwork (I love Pax and all of her art too, it’s so inspiring and wonderful and gorgeous and yeah, go stare at it you won’t regret it). This story is what I came up with for it and I must say I am quite proud of it. Who doesn’t love a good courting fic after all?

Don’t be scared of what you don’t already know - G, Hartwin, AU, Words: 14,601

“I wouldn’t mind the company for one more day.” Harry smiles sheepishly and Eggsy spies a glimmer of something raw in his warm brown eye.

It’s all he needed to be convinced. It’s not really selfish if he suspects Harry is just lonely as he is, right?

“Okay, yeah. I can totally wait another day.”

After he's been chased out of his commune by his dick stepfather, a surprisingly kind dragon invites Eggsy to stay at his place for the night. Or well, it's supposed to be just for one night, but Harry doesn't seem to mind when Eggsy's stay keeps getting longer and longer.

That’s one of the other reverse-bang I wrote and the other artwork I got to claim from @paxdracona which made me insanely happy at the time because well, I had already written a few ficlets about her dragon!Harry and magpie!Eggsy and I really wanted to write a longer one.

Room for Three (Not Only You and Me) - G, Merhartwin, Words: 6,797

The first time it happens Merlin honestly doesn’t know.

Though, in Merlin’s defense there is nothing indicating that this is any different than usual.

Wherein Merlin date-crashes Harry and Eggsy’s dates without realising it at first. Except, when Merlin tries to give them some space, they don’t seem to be happy about it.

Writing oblivious characters is always fun especially when you wouldn’t expect this character to be so clueless most of the time. Also, well this is the fic that made me meet Red so of course Imma forever recs this.

Stay - T, Hartwin, Words: 2,765

They nearly walk by without seeing the other, the only reason they do in the end is because Eggsy has to suddenly sidestep a wandering child and would have tripped on his own feet if it wasn’t for the hand shooting out and righting him at the last moment.

He turns around to thank the stranger only to realise that a stranger the man is not, even if he’s barely recognizable from the last memory he has of him.

After Poppygeddon, Eggsy stayed a Kingsman agent but Harry decided it was time for him to retire. Which also meant going halfway across the world and cutting all ties with his previous life. They never thought they would meet again.

Of course they do.

I wrote this as a gift to @honey-bee-britt and while the series is still not completed, it can still be read as a stand-alone. I am so proud of this one fic too. It’s some of my best work I think.

If I only could make a deal with God - T, Hartwin, Words: 5,089

He's not even sure he wants to be a part of Kingsman anymore. The Knights might accept him now that he's saved the world from Valentine's madness, but there's only one position to fill. And he doesn't know how to feel about taking up Galahad’s mantle. Not sure how he feels about replacing Harry.

The night after Harry has been killed by Valentine and Eggsy has saved the world from the madman, a familiar fox appears to him and leads him to the Underworld.

If luck is on his side, Eggsy might just sway the God of Death into returning Harry's soul to the living.

Who wants a Hartwin retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice legend? Because this is what it is. Because this is me and of course I will write as many mythology au or fics with mythology references that I possibly can.

#hartwin #merhartwin #percilot #hartwinde #tilwin #roxy/merlin #kingsman #harry hart #eggsy unwin #roxy morton #merlin #percival #lancelot #tilde #long post #self recs

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sidhewrites · 5 years

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World Building. 1600 Words. Summaries of a few folk tales from around the world of Coriander of Cresce. I definitely want to add more though, so if anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to send them my way. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about.

Cresce

The Maiden and the Knight, or Silent Little Poppy: Poppy is a young scullery maid who wanted to escape her miserable life while the Knight is a young man who isn’t named and got tired of being always on the move so they swapped places. Poppy fights in tournaments and learns to fight and becomes a soldier of the realm while the knight learns to clean and cook and they write letters of their adventures and fell in love and married.

Horrid Mungora and Rotten Lobetta: Two ugly witch wives who live in a forest and raise pigsies and play pranks on travellers, but usually get it turned back on them in some way and sometimes die at the end of the tale. There’s a BUNCH of stories about them.

One about them idk trying to lure kids in to eat them, but end up getting so involved with the luring kids that they step in their own snare trap and are left to hang by their toes above their own cauldron of stew.

One where they argue so long about what to save first in case something goes wrong that when something DOES go wrong (A boulder falls from the cliffside) it crushes them and everything they love.

Trying to steal horses from a farmer but then they end up getting all the flies that were bothering the horses instead.

Lavender the Shoemaker: An old woman who had no children and lost her husband at a young age, and was plagued by pigsies. She lured them all into one place with a bunch of shiny buckles, then trapped them each within a shoe that became enchanted and cured the bunions and sores of anyone who bought it from her.

Lady Hollyoak’s Crown of Leaves: A story from cresce taking place in Gaelgallah. A young elfin woman who travelled the world and collected leaves from every part of the world and put them together into a crown and idk something about how curiosity is a good trait but taking things from their natural habitat is bad so don’t take things that don’t belong to you kids, maybe the kingdom was plagued by pigsies whose leaves were stolen for Holloak’s crown. And she ends up returning each and every leaf and returning home in shame.

Felice the Bold: A young woman who could speak with wolves and refused to wear clothes and cut off her hair and ran away from home because no-one could love a girl like that but she didn’t want to be loved anyway. She became the leader of a pack of wolves and defended a forest from soldiers who wanted to cut it down.

Horace: A horse in the wrong place at the wrong time and got magicked into a human by a local witch. Through a series of misadventures, he ended up becoming king. It was written to make fun of King Horace, a notoriously inept king from a few hundred years ago.

The Ugly Shoes: One day a cobbler makes just the ugliest pair of shoes. I can’t remember WHAT they looked like. They’re just disgusting and she gets kicked out of her house for it. So she wanders the countryside and they follow her everywhere she goes, just looking for someone brave enough to put them on their feet but nobody ever does. Legend has it they’re still wandering to this day. Alternate ending: But legend has it that they did find someone and that that person has the world’s ugliest feet. And oh? It just so happens I DO remember what they look like -- and then you’d describe the shoes of whoever you’re talking to, or describe your own shoes as a practical joke.

Ninoom

Old Iskender: an ancient king who rejected the throne and arranged marriage and politics and left to sail the world instead, learned to speak with merfolk, and supposedly created some of the first maps of the world beyond the sea. Talking about how just because someone trained for a position all their life doesn’t mean it’s their passion and let people figure out what they want to do with their lives because not all talents and passions and people are the same. (Everyone is a genius but judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree and all that).

The name for sea foam in Ninoomi comes from the same language as the word beard because it’s said he sailed the sea so much he became a part of it and the waves are his beard or some such and he grew a long white beard.

Six Gold Rings: A king had six fingers and had a ring on each finger. He married a Seer who he mistreated and who he forced to tell him the future, and made bets on horse races and trades and everything but he got worse and worse to the point where he couldn’t be convinced he could be wrong ever. He usually said “I bet one of my six fingers that X will/won’t happen,” and usually it did so the person he bet would have to give him all the gold in their home or w/e. BUt then the seer said he was going to fall ill and lose all his gold so he sent the seer into the desert and made his own bets without them and ultimately lost all but his thumb and was thrown into the desert where he met the seer who had joined a nomadic group. They said he could join them if he agreed to a wager that it would rain that night, and if he won he could join them. So he said “I wager my thumb that it will not rain tonight” because it hadn’t rained in a hundred years but the seer told them earlier it was, and he lost his thumb and was left to wander the desert forever. This is the start of the phrase “You gonna bet your fingers on that?” or “Let’s bet six fingers” or other variations, meaning you’re doing something stupid and you ought to know better or your hubris will be your downfall.

Nashoth

Kate the Meek: a REAL dwarven toymaker, a young woman who didn’t speak but was very good at woodwork and stuffed animals. She was considered odd because usually it’s clay and stone carving, but hey. And so the dwarven prince who was like 5 would not stop crying and it went on for months so the queen said “hey. Whoever can make this kid can join the household” so kate shows up and the baby says he can’t play w stone toys bc they keep hurting his hands so she gives him wooden toys and dolls he immediately brightens up. Then the queen is like hey try that on the princex who’s been morose for months bc someone broke their heart so kate shows up and listens to what they have to say and the two of them fall in love and she makes lots of dolls and becomes queen the end

Beard Pigsies: A children’s song that talks about a dwarf who didn’t brush or wash their beard and got crumbs in it. Pigsies took up residence and he got so weighed down he couldn’t do anything and starved to death. Keep your beards clean kids or else BAD things will happen to you.

The Candlemaker: A dwarf who became so obsessed with their craft and making the Perfect Candle they did nothing but make candles to the point where they ignored their spouse and family and children and worked through holidays and everything. Finally, they did what they thought was the perfect candle, and took it out to show everyone, only to find they had missed the ceremonies and weddings of all their children, their spouse had divorced and remarried, and no-one liked them anymore. Be friendly with everyone kids. Its ok to not be perfect, because life is more important.

Wedding Wine: Literally that one story where two people got married and tradition said pour your best wine into the vat for celebrating and this one family decided that they’d just give water bc who would notice one bit of water among wine. But then when it was the wedding day and it came time to break out the wine it was only water and as it turns out everyone did the same thing the family did. A drop in a bucket goes a long way kids, don’t do nothing just because you assume other people are gonna pick up your slack.

Gaelgallah

The Stars are Whispering: It’s in old elfish and everyone who doesn’t speak the language thinks it’s a reverential, almost spiritual song based on the tune alone, but actually it’s all these puns about how the stars are huge gossips so don’t do anything bad at night because the stars are gonna tell EVERYONE. It goes on for 57 verses and chronicles various stupid things people have done and the shame that came upon them. It’s a game among elf kids to see who can memorize the most verses at once, and people make up their own verses as well. Popular for teaching old elfish grammar and pronunciation as well.

Probably like half of all elf travelling songs are pun based.

One verses is about a guy who licked a metal fence in winter. Come morning everyone came out to laugh at his sorry ass.

Another guy was practising his music in a field at night. HIs pants ripped and now everyone knows him as underpants mcgoo

Tag List: @madammuffins@aurisadventure@purpleshadows1989@fearlings-lament@maitretmaitresse@jewishdragon@mlmerry-wlwinter@kered555@vaxildab @blueroseguardian

Send a message to be added/removed from this tag list. Like my writing? Buy me a virtual coffee to support it!

#writeblr #coriander #coriander: world building

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coffin-of-eternal-darkness · 6 years

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Thank you for over 3000 followers

I reached 3000 followers a while ago and even though I didn’t do anything for my other milestones, I thought I should make a post about this one (though I couldn’t think of anything special). After all, 3000 is most likely the highest I will get and it really is an amazing number, considering I’m not doing anything special XD Kinda fitting too. In NnT everything started 3000 years ago, and for my blog everything started 3000 followers ago XD I’m not sure how many people from the old days even follow me anymore, but, thank you all. It’s been some amazing years!

As for what I’ll do… Well, my friend @maybeishouldwait helped me with some question prompts, so it’ll sort of be like an interview? I hope at least some of you are interested. So, let’s start!

1. Let's start with an easy one: how did you discover NNT, and what drew you to it?

I’ve recently answered an ask with a similar question but here we go! It was a complete coincidence. I wasn’t necessarily searching for something. I randomly browsed a manga reading site, probably looking foe updates and the title somehow caught my attention so I clicked on it. I didn’t take it seriously at first, the first chapter really didn’t impress me at all, and I only continued because I thought it was funny. It’s no secret I fell in love with the series but it still baffled me how fast it went from “Lol, this is funny and stupid” to “BEIRHJ I LOVE THIS SO MUCH” in a matter of a only few chapters XD Everything was such a new experience to me. The characters weren’t the usual stereotypes, they were actually deep and interesting. The story took a while to become interesting, at first it was more about just… gathering these super powerful knights and it was so cool to see what kind of crazy character the next one would be. I also loved how I could never see anything coming. Even now that we know what kind of series this is, there are still plottwists like Hawk’s eyes being the portal to purgatory or Cath’s whole appearance that just… could not be predicted and I really love that surprise effect when something unbelievable happens. So I love the characters and the surprises but I also love the story, or rather how it’s told. For the first… 70 or so chapters to me it felt like with every chapter it just got even BETTER than before. I still had a few of those moments in the Commandment saga, just, scenes that blew me away and made me think “Wow, I wonder how much better this series can get”. I think it also was around chapter 70 that I created my blog. And more than anything I think I love the tragedies. It’s hearbreaking but heartwarming at the same time somehow. Not many of you probably know this but my first NnT OTP was actually Banlaine and I cried so much when I read their backstory. I loved how deeply in love they were to the point of sacrificing themselves for the other. Both had to deal with a large chunk of loneliness in their lives and for both of them the other was their salvation. Every time Ban was saying anything about Elaine in the main series I was both crying and cheering for him. By now everything is a tragedy and while I wish there were a few more lighthearted scenes for… personal salvation… I like that and crying about all those characters and CARING for their happiness really helped me get into this series I think.

2. How has your blog changed since it started?

Well, apart from the fact that is has grown popular… I actually think I’ve burned out a but. I write a lot less text posts than before. I had an awful amount of (stupid) theories back in the old days and also an awful amount of free time somehow. Now I feel like I don’t think about theories that often anymore, let alone post them. Part of that is that I’m busy with work and other hobbies, but partly that’s because the series has gotten so long and it’s becoming harder and harder to remember details, especially from the newer chapters. I really want to reread the series but I never get around to do that anymore. I also think that back in the days I more or less posted just anything I found or thought was cool, while nowadays I’m always wondering what I could do. I still try to keep it up but it’s becoming harder and harder. Oh, there’s also a lot more follower interaction too!

3. What are some of your favorite blogs or sites for NNT stuff?

As for sites, I usually only check the official ones, like the official HP or the official Twitter account. As for blogs… I don’t really follow a lot of people since I look through the tag almost on a daily basis anyway. Of course there’s @spoilerkingjuliane, she’s a must follow XD I can also highly recommend @maybeishouldwait since she’s an awesome writer. I always enjoy @nostalgicbookworms gifs a lot and @sdsmangacaps is my go-to account for manga caps. There are a lot more blogs that I really like, there are tons of really good artists on Tumblr and Twitter but since I’m not actually following a lot of them and I fear I’ll forget a few I’d rather not mention them directly and hope they know I appreciate them. The most obvious Twitter account is yuka_sai0127 btw, but there are a lot of others.

4. What advice would you give to someone wanting to make their blog as successful as yours?

Tbh I have no idea how I even got so popular in the first place XD I started on a whim and thought I’d lose motivation immediately and nobody would follow me anyway. But before I knew it I had almost 100 followers in a matter of a few days. Maybe it was my obsession? I also quickly befriended the other popular NnT blogs, that probably helped too. I think it depends on what kind of blog you have, but I think the most important thing is frequent updates and high quality. I also think blogs should have a good balance between your own content and reblogs. There are blogs that live only through reblogs and that’s fine but I think it’s harder to be “interesting” when you don’t have your own content. Try to find something only you can do and do it. @spoilerkingjuliane for example is good at finding info and she is immensely popular because of that. I will forever be slightly jealous of her because I will never reach that level XD”

5. What's the best part of running your blog? What's something you wish was different?

The best part without a doubt is how much it involves me into the fandom. I’m more or less forced to see all kinds of fandom posts and while that’s sometimes stressing me out, I also see a lot of amazing content and being able to share those posts with so many people makes me really happy. Running this blog also helped me boost my own confidence. As I mentioned earlier at the beginning I thought nobody would be interested in my blog anyway and I’d give up right away. But I gained followers quickly and it showed me that yes, I might not be as boring as always I think I am. It showed me that I can do things if I just try. On the downside though, running a popular blog puts a lot of pressure on you, and I constantly feel like I have to do something, have to go through the tag, have to make SOME content somehow. And even when you’re stressed you can’t just take it out on people after all so the stress piles up. That’s probably my own responsibility and not the blog itself that is doing that, but I still wish I could take it more easy.

6. How did you learn Japanese? Did you find it difficult?

Well, it wasn’t easy at least. I started learning Japanese twice, once I gave up quickly because the book I used was a horrible starter and after that I learned the basic grammar and a few words through a magazine crash course. Learning specific words was easier than to learn all hiragana and katakana on their own and since I also knew the basic grammar it made it easier to learn and understand whole sentences. Still, I’m an extremely lazy human being and even though I’ve been learning Japanese for almost half of my life now I very rarely actively studied. Most of the time I would try (and fail) to read manga in Japanese and pick up new words and grammar here and there. But through switching between actually learning and trying to read manga I got better. Once I was at a certain level I bothered a ton of random japanese people too in order to befriend and speak japanese with them, which also helped. I think the most major step in my learning career was getting obsessed with Tales of Vesperia a few years ago tho. I was at a comparatively high Japanese level back then already but playing a game of THAT length completely in japanese was a challenge. I learned a stupid amount of new words and grammar and ways of talking through that game and it probably helped that it was just an amazing game that remains to be my favorite. I’ve also translated a few manga chapters back then that really got me practicing and I also worked at an Udon restaurant with (except for me) 100% japanese staff. And as is the case with all languages… Talking with real people is always the best practice. Then of course my year working in japan gave me the final boost. I still have a ton to learn and I’m nowhere near really GOOD but I like to think my japanese is pretty decent at least.

7. What do you see for the future of your blog?

It won’t be all too long anymore til the manga ends and when that happens there won’t be any theories or reviews to write anymore… There will still be an S3 and possible an S4 and maybe more anime projects. But it will be harder to update the blog with original content. Eventually it will most likely turn into a reblog only blog. But I hope I will have some more time and motivation to actually reread the manga, complete my NnT encyclopedia and update the blog with interesting stuff I find in between. I really want to keep this blog up for a few more years!

No matter how it will turn out though, I’m happy I came so far. I made a whole bunch of good friends during this time and had a lot of fun. To my friends and followers (silent or not): Thank you so much for your support!

#personal #follower celebration #kinda #man i really hope someone is actually interested in this #i feel kinda bad not doing something more flashy #like drawing a huge picture #or doing requests or whatever

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punishandenslavesuckers · 7 years

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She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She'll never have any peace now. (ao3)

(chapter 1)

Their first bit of weirdness occurs just before dawn four days later.

Zelda’s been awake for a few hours (as per routine), stoking the fire back to life and unpacking breakfast accoutrements when Draga tenses suddenly. He’s on the other side of the campfire, scanning the trees when his lazy crouch takes on a sudden predatory purposefulness. His eyes widen, his breathing going soft. To her horror – he’s looking over her shoulder at Link’s sleeping cot. Frightened, Zelda spins to look for whatever danger he’s surely spotted – Yiga, Bokokin, something else?! – but… no, Link is dozing peacefully. He’s curled up on his cot, head pillowed on his arm, face serene as sunshine, cheekbones hazarded charmingly by small blonde flyaways.

There are, however, three Koroks crowded by his head.

Now, Koroks are gentle little things: Small bi-pedal creatures, doll-like and doll-sized, with bodies like flexible wood and strange little leaf-masks affixed to their faces. They’re all twittering, a soft rattling sound, like seeds in an empty husk but… musical and fae. They appear to be engrossed in the activity of piling leaves and flowers on Link’s head for their amusement which, in context, is adorable… but from Draga’s perspective is a bunch of fucking devilry and a likely motive for decapitation.

Zelda just barely lunges across the camp to latch onto his elbow.

“No!” she whisper-screams, yanking at his enormous bicep. “No! They’re harmless!”

“What?” Draga hisses.

He raises his arm, standing so her feet leave the ground. She hangs gamely on.

“They’re forest spirits!” She swings a foot ineffectively at Draga’s giant flank. “Link is friends with them! Don’t!”

Draga looks appalled. The Koroks, oblivious to their mortal shenanigans, are twittering and tapping Link gently with sap-soft twigs and flower stems, unaware of the awkward aborted murder wrestling match by the campfire. Link stirs slowly, blinking and humming in a lazy, comfortably way as he opens his eyes. He rolls over and registers the trio of weird little leaf-faces peering down at him. This must be familiar territory for him because he chuckles and rubs his face with one hand, brushing flower petals and leaves from his hair. There’s baby’s breath braided into part of his ponytail. The Koroks twee in delight, hopping from foot to nubby foot.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, picking flowers from his bangs.

“Hello, Mr. Hero!” one of them enthuses. “We saw you and Ms. Princess and Mr. Scary passing through. You have flowers in your hair now! You look silly!”

“I look great,” he yawns, stretching like a cat and sitting up.

It’s about then he catches sight of his travel partners in the middle of an angry swing-dance and frowns at Zelda who still has two arms around Draga’s elbow and a boot braced against Draga’s thigh.

Link says nothing, just kind of looks at them and the look says, “…?”

“What the devil are those things?!” Draga snaps, pointing at the Koroks.

Link stares. “You can see them?”

Draga looks annoyed and swings Zelda back to the ground. “Of course we see them. Explain them.”

“They’re forest spirits,” he says slowly, surprise writ in every word. Link helps one of the Koroks climb over his knee, letting them roll into his lap with a tiny ‘oof’ of effort. “The Koroks are children of the forest gods, keepers of green things, family to the Deku Tree.” He clears his throat a little, unused to the prolonged use but hands too occupied for sign. “They’re everywhere, but most people can’t see them…”

A second Korok has invited itself to Link’s lap so there are two of them on his knee now while the third wanders around his sleeping cot. Zelda catches herself exchanging a quick look with Draga – eyebrows up, intrigued, but… wanting for more information. The air has a soft musicality now, a floral scent. There are small mouths of color blooming in the grass where Link’s sitting, tiny coiled ferns unwinding green fronds beneath his palm. Everything the Koroks touch slowly buds and sprouts in their presence. Link seems… strangely at-home in the soft riot of greenery.

The third Korok toddles toward Zelda with a daisy in hand. Zelda kneels to take it. She knows Koroks by sight but… never had the occasion to speak with one directly.

“Thank you, little one. Are you Link’s friend?”

“Yes,” beams the Korok. He or she has a high, child’s voice. Hollow somehow, fluting. “We’ve been helping Mr. Hero. We made a leaf bed hotel and a mushroom mart and, uh, a gen-er-al store.” They seem particularly proud of that last bit. “We asked him to live with us forever now that’s he’s done saving the world.” They whistle sadly. “But he said ‘no’ and the Deku Tree said ‘no’.” They brighten up. “So, will you live in the forest with us, Ms. Princess? It’ll be so fun! We promise!”

Link has a sharp warning look on his face.

Zelda maintains her warm tone. “I’m afraid not. Link and I are very busy.”

“Aw, okay.” The Korok leans to look at Draga. “What about Mr. Scary? He’s big, but he’s very pretty like you, Ms. Princess. Do you think he would like to live in the forest with us?”

“What,” Draga says dangerously

“I don’t think so,” Zelda cuts in. “He’s helping us and he lives in the desert so I don’t think that would work.”

“Awww, but he can see us! Can’t any of you play with us?”

“No.” Link picks one of the Koroks up and sets them on their feet, tone slightly admonishing. “Ask Hestu. Go home.”

“Okaaaay.”

The trio seems to take that as their cue to go. The first two simply turn and dash into the trees, popping out of existence with a whisper of grass and a whorl of petals. The third one takes special care to tuck a small blue flower in Link’s hand and pat his elbow fondly before waddling toward the trees. They stop a moment to wave.

“See you later Mr. Hero! Ms. Princess! Mr. Scary!”

Link waves back. Zelda waves back. Draga glares. Zelda swats him in the arm so he kind of… vaguely raises a hand.

And then they’re all gone.

Link stands up, swiping leaves off his shirt. “Sorry.” He clears his throat and finger-combs his hair a little. “I didn’t know you could… see them.”

Draga folds his arms and kind of roams nearer, inspecting the newly bloomed plants and some of the vines in Link’s hair which appear to still be actively blooming even without the presence of the forest fae. He eyes the tree line, then with a pragmatic mien reaches over and tugs a difficult twine of fern from Link’s bangs. The smaller swordsman scowls and rubs his scalp. Zelda joins them and promptly hooks a finger under Link’s chin, turning his face toward her so she can look him over. He lets her do it, blinking curiously.

“Fairy lights,” she murmurs.

Link tugs his chin away. “Huh?”

“In your eyes. Did you know you get them after looking at fairies and spirits?” She watches the faint glow, there in his retinas like the shine from the eyes of an animal. Makes the familiar geography of his face… alien but not unknowable. She shrugs. “It’s not harmful, just… some people can take it as a curse if you come back into a village before it wears off. Others view it as good luck to meet the little people.”

Draga tilts his head. “You two see spirits so easily?”

Zelda glances at Link who seems hushed.

“Yes, though I admit, Link is quicker to it than I.” She lifts her chin a little. “It’s only recently I’ve managed the sight.”

“In my culture,” says Draga, “those who see spirits are more inclined to madness. It’s one several signs that portent possession or spiritual corruption.” Then he seems to realize what he just said to them and clears his throat. “Ah, but that is in my culture and we do not have the sorts of… little flower spirits that gift daisies and such.” He’s still holding the bit of fern he pulled from Link’s hair, looking at it with a kind of muted thoughtfulness. “The spirits of the desert are angrier by far.”

Zelda frowns. “Draga, you’ve never seen spirits before?”

“No. This is… a new development for me.”

Zelda can tell, though he hides it fairly well, that the notion troubles him somewhat. “Hmm, well, that’s not too unusual,” she says, adopting a high, almost pedantic tone. She gestures, like she’s conducting a tiny classroom, earning herself a confused stare from Draga. “You see, Koroks hide themselves all over the realm. Old tales say if you could find one, they would gift you things – seeds, mushrooms, that kind of thing. Unlike skull-children who are tricksters by nature, Koroks tend to be helpful but you have to find them to get their aid. So, because of your connection to the arcane, I’m sure you would have seen Hylian forest spirits before, except they were hiding. Therefore, it’s nothing strange. No need to take it as… uh, a sign or anything. Very common in this realm, actually.”

If Draga is comforted by this notion, he doesn’t show it. He just asks, “Why did they call you, ‘Princess’?”

She almost freezes. Almost.

“One of Link’s jokes,” she says, recruiting him to her lie by instinct. She can feel him side-eye her immediately. “They call him ‘hero’ because he helps people. That’s all. Forest spirits are funny that way and, really, its best if they don’t get too familiar with your real name.”

“Interesting,” Draga says.

“There are other kinds of spirits,” Link cuts in, surprising her.

Draga and Zelda look at him.

Link smiles. There’s something wolfish in it, fanged and friendly. He’s looking at Draga like he knows it’s for him when he says, “I could show you dragons sometime.”

She catches Link and Draga squaring off a few days later.

Finding the Lynel is taking longer than expected, so this not entirely unexpected, but that doesn’t mean it’s not stupid.

She walks into the clearing just in time to stop them from launching at one another. Link, who moved quicker, skids to a stop and, no joke, tries to hide the blade that seals evil behind his back. Zelda just gives Link a look. It’s her ‘stop-showing-off-you-have-a-magic-sword-you-cheater’ look and he sheathes the divine blade and stands there, arms crossed in an attitude of minding his own business. Draga does not put away what appears to be a Goron-smithed broadsword the size of Link’s entire body – more a machete than a scimitar, squared off with a sharp cross section rather than pointed. He’s got it braced against his shoulder, unapologetic.

“Just sparring,” he insists in his careful Hylian.

“Right,” Zelda says, “the night before we reach the Lynel den. Beat the snot out of each other later.”

Link looks sidelong at Draga.

“I saw that. Don’t even think about it. I’m not healing you if you get clobbered. Either of you.”

Draga shrugs. “Fine. Later.” He looks at Link. “And I am not scared of your tricks.”

Link grins, sees Zelda glaring, and stops grinning.

“Reckless,” she says.

Draga heads back toward camp, calling over his shoulder: “You will both tell me what forged that blade one day.”

Zelda glares at Link more intensely, waiting until Draga is out of earshot, then swats his arm. “Why are you so brazen with that? You draw too much attention.”

“You said we’re not hiding,” Link says, surprising her somewhat. If he’s talking, then he was likely previously warmed to it. He shrugs, “So what if Draga knows?”

“He thinks I’m some road witch, Link. It’s not the same thing.”

“I think more people should know who you are.”

“I know what you think, but it will just cause trouble.”

He sighs. “But you saved them.”

“You saved them.”

He looks away, uncomfortable.

“See, you don’t like it either, when I lay it all at your feet.” And when he doesn’t answer, Zelda regrets her tone a little. “I only mean… neither of us did it on our own. I don’t feel it’s fair to ask people for their loyalty based on a mess we couldn’t prevent one hundred years ago.”

“No one thinks like that,” he murmurs.

“When they talk about a myth they don’t, but a real person? Asking for allegiance? Asking for… I don’t know, taxes and governmental reform? They will change their tone. I can’t do that, Link. Please stop asking me to. You of all people.”

His expression loses its edges. She knew it would.

“Okay.”

“Does he pray at every alter?”

It’s raining. The summer heat makes a swelter out of the downpour, turning the road into a muddy soup. Zelda glances at Draga who, seated astride his massive horse and cloaked in his large rain-wicking black cloak, looks precisely like a mountain god of some kind. He’s got his hood up, so she can’t see his face, just the soft neutral set of his mouth, head turned toward the side of the road. Link is on the side of road, kneeling by a trio of round wind-worn forest shrines. They are very old. Carved like short, benevolent toads with shallow bowls at their feet filled with small tokens – food, ribbon, flowers, sticks of doused incense. Link’s placed a whole apple at the feet of the third empty shine and presently has one hand on the statue’s smooth stone forehead. His head is bowed. Rain drips from the edge of his hood.

Zelda sighs and tugs her horse around a little bit. “Yes, mostly.”

Draga eyes her. “You don’t?”

“Those are shrines to the forest and mountain gods,” she says, as if that explains it.

“So?”

“It’s not praying exactly. More like bartering for luck. A good habit for travelers and the like, but… fae are capricious. I don’t much bother with it.”

Draga’s looking at her now so she can see him frowning.

She laughs. “What?”

“That sounded a little judgmental.”

She stops laughing. “What? I… that’s not how I meant it.”

“You said these are shrines to mountain and forest gods.” Draga arches a brow, clearly gauging her response. “If Link is offering to them, then he must believe…”

Zelda cuts him off. “It’s not about belief, Draga. I believe. My own power is… divinely sourced. We spoke to Koroks just days ago. Trust me, I believe, so I have no criticisms of Link.” She sighs, a little too hard, shaking her head. “I just don’t do that as much anymore. I prayed plenty when I was younger.”

Draga’s frown turns to curiosity. “Ah, you reject the gods then.”

She turns a bit red, furtively glancing in Link’s direction, but he’s still engaged in the small road-side ritual.

“I do not reject them I just… I don’t have as casual a rapport with the spirits as Link does.” A beat of inadequate silence follows. “It’s just easier for him,” she blurts. “That’s all.”

Draga nods. “Ah. I see.”

“Please don’t mention it. I’m just… it’s silly.”

“Don’t mind me, little sister. All of my gods are gods of war.” Draga swaps to Gerudo, gently kicking his horse into a trot. “None of my prayers are kind.”

Then he’s gone, already moved past her before she can respond. The rain’s letting up though and Link’s on his feet, heading back to join them. Zelda can hear Draga singing to himself in the distance – deep, lazy notes that boom and carry back to her as he rides on. Link mounts up next to her, intrigued and looks at her through the rain, clearly asking her to translate.

“It’s an old language,” Zelda says. “The song appeals to Din – the tri-goddess aspect of war, earth, and regeneration. She who honors great works and holds all graves in her palm. Din of fire and change. Mother of all treasure.” She glances at Link. “It’s a prayer for power in the face of your enemies.”

He shrugs. “Lynels are pretty tough.”

Zelda looks at him. “Link, can I ask you what you think of him?” She jerks her chin. “Draga, I mean. Do you… do you feel comfortable with him?”

Link gives her surprised look. “Yes.” He signs quickly, ‘Did he say something to you?’

“No! No, nothing like that! I like him. I… I do actually.” She exhales. “It’s nice, having another person with us. I just wanted to make sure you felt the same. I know I kind of invited him along without discussing it. That’s my fault. I just… get excited and he’s traveling on Pilgrimage and his area of study is ancient ruins and the Gerudo culture is even more ancient than the Sheikah technology we ourselves are investigating. It just seemed to make sense and since he'll need to return home in the next six months it just…”

She’s babbling. Great. Link knows all this. He’s giving her that look.

She sighs. “You know, you can tell me at any time if I’m making you uncomfortable. We’re partners now.”

Link gives her a lopsided smile. ‘I know.’

“I’m just… making sure. We don’t have a lot of practice at this.”

Link frowns, then signs, ‘Practice? At what?’

“At this.” She gestures to the plains of grass around them, the overcast skies, the muddy road. “We don’t have a destiny anymore.” She pulls her hood down so he can see her eyes. “I’ve never been without a destiny, you know. And I suppose for all my… my training, all my prayer, all my study… I never imagined just this: just a road and anywhere in the world to go in it.” She inhales, then exhales but the exhalation is relief. “There were times that I thought I would be fighting forever. For a thousand years. For ten thousand years.” She can feel Link’s worry without seeing it. “I’m just… I don’t know what to do with all this…”

“Are you happy?”

She looks up, surprised.

Link’s just looking at her with one of those earnest neutral faces he does.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you happy?” he repeats.

“Didn’t I say that?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m happy,” she says. Then, because it didn’t sound right, “I am very happy.”

Link tilts his head, then signs, ‘Me too.’

The rain stops a few minutes later and Draga circles back to admonish their slowness, but Zelda keeps thinking about Link’s hand forming the simple reciprocation sign, me too. She is happy. He is happy. Me too. She’s gripping the reins too tightly. She is happy. She is free. Time is linear. She can see the ruins of a house overgrown with moss and wisteria by the side of the road – the is roof collapsed in, the walls knocked down, stones flung across the field in such a way that she knows this house was not simply abandoned but obliterated. Her nails dig into her palms.

She is happy.

Now, Link’s sarcasm aside, Lynels are pretty tough.

Not tough enough to actually warrant the intercession of the gods. (At least, in Zelda’s opinion.) But when the sword ignites in Link’s grip, it's clear to Zelda that they are dealing with something else entirely. Even at the distance she can smell the rot, putrid and chemical. The Lynel wasn’t hard to find once they caught its trail but now, wounded, it’s begun to seize from the inside, twitching and spasming like something is clawing out from the musculature. She thinks she knows what’s coming. Link, seeing the blade’s new tell-tale shine, must know as well.

Besides her, Draga flinches forward. His hand goes to the long sword in the grass beside him but Zelda seizes his arm at the elbow, yanking him back down with her. They are hunkered in the tree line on the hill above the clearing. Draga looks sharply at her.

“There is something wrong with that Lynel,” he snaps, starting to stand again.

Once more, Zelda yanks him down. “Do not get in Link’s way.”

“Did you not hear me?”

“I heard you. Trust him. Trust me.”

And that’s when the Lynel charges. It roars and fire erupts from its lion-head jaws. It screams blue flame in a cyclone of silver heat as it bears down, forcing Link into a full body dive-roll, just barely missing the spine-crushing gallop of hooves and the sweep of terrible flame. He does not miss its attempt to cleave him in half with a sword, however.

The strike only glances, but the shield on his arm shrieks and buckles, hooking on the blade and throwing Link into a rag-doll roll.

He comes up immediately, glares at the twisted metal, then hurls it off his arm and takes the blade in a reckless a two-fisted grip. Blood runs from a small gash in his arm, dripping in the grass. Zelda can’t explain how, but there’s an awareness of the wound in her own blood, making her entire body ache. Her teeth hurt. Her palms burn. She stays where she is, watching, waiting. Draga is cursing softly, through his teeth, but he holds position.

The Lynel’s coming back around, it’s breath expended, but the blade in its monstrous grip swallows the light around it. She can feel ancient deaths in the metal. The beast charges Link, mad with corruption. The grass dies where it runs.

“Don’t let it touch you,” she whispers.

Link closes his eyes.

The long grass ripples and time itself… bends. Zelda feels it ebb, like a tide moving in time to Link’s breathing and the sword becomes a burning edge of molecular blue in his hand. He opens his eyes. Then the world snaps forward. Link snaps forward. The blade finds the bloody home a dozen times in the chimera’s ribs and two of its thick equine legs end suddenly in spraying stumps. Link skids to a stop ten meters beyond the beast, swinging through the final blow that throws blood into the trees and buffets the canopy. The monster, mortally mauled behind him, staggers blind.

“Thank goodness,” Zelda whispers at the exact moment Draga hisses, “Yes!”

Link swings his sword down, once, whipping off the last of the blood, then turns to watch the Lynel fall.

It hits the ground dead. On impact, it splits open along the seam Link put in its belly, meat putrefying instantly, liquifying off the bones. The ground steams where it touches, then begins to eat through the dirt like acid. It shouldn’t do that. Link covers his nose and mouth with one hand and backs away. As he does, the beast’s entire skull torques suddenly on a spine twisting like a cobra to face him. Its jaw dislocates and in final retching burst it vomits a wide-spray of calamitous oil, a geyser of it so wide that Link’s fast-twitch flinch isn’t enough to get clear – a ribbon of liquid douses his off-arm from shoulder to wrist.

Zelda feels the scream before Link manages it.

He drops the sword and hits his knees holding the infected limb away from his body as the oil eats through his shirt, then the mail beneath, and finally into the minor protection wards Zelda put directly into his skin. By the sound of it – the wards are not holding.

Zelda’s already sprinting down the hill, hands golden and glowing.

“Draga! Don’t breathe it in!” she shouts, launching herself from the tree line, over a log, directly into the fumes. She races through the poison, her skin shelled in sunlight and the miasma catches fire like a chemical reaction. The world becomes flame. “I’ll clear it! Help Link!”

She finds the corpse in the inferno. It’s burning a hole into the ground and that hole wells full of black ooze, bio-organic, like rotten blood. It has a pulse. Sinews in the liquid taking on an internal glow and, within the fleshy pond, a single slitted yellow eye blinks open, swivels, then fixes directly on her. Zelda does not hesitate. She plunges her hand directly into the organ and rips it from the wound like a weed by the root and when it writhes in her fist she puts fire through its core. She atomizes it and ignites the rest.

When she’s done, there’s nothing but a scorched pit. In her fist – a crushed husk, hissing as it dies.

“Just… stop,” she whispers. She crushes it. “Just…”

“ZELDA!”

Draga’s shout snaps her out of it. She pivots and sees it: the second silver Lynel – Had it always been there? Waiting? Had she missed it? A monster the size of shed, holding a two-handed broadsword? – bearing down on her with a stallion’s gallop. The flesh is peeling from its skull, blighted fumes pouring from its jaws and glowing in its throat. It’s thirty meters away. Twenty. She raises one hand. Ten meters. Gold gathers in her palm…

Something hits her from the side.

“Wha-!”

It’s over before she can fully register, an arm around her waist, the controlled impact and suddenly she’s rolling in the grass, Draga kneeling over her like a roof over a house. Then he’s gone. For a breathless second, she can’t process what’s happening. She rolls on her stomach, turning and there through the smoke: Draga stepping through the fumes, one arm over his nose and mouth, one hand gripping the massive blade on his shoulder. The Lynel, lungs heaving with oil and flame, is retching poison and circling.

“Draga! Draga, no!”

The Lynel charges. Draga breaks into a run, winding up the sword. The Lynel raises its blade –

Draga’s broadsword slams home in the monster’s belly – faster than she can see and with more force than she can conceive – cleaves through muscle and bone, blows through the spine to send an eruption of blood and viscera into the clearing. The lower half of the monster runs on for about three steps, then falls. The top half folds into the grass. Draga turns, the dull edge of the blade dripping black into the grass. She thinks, for a moment, his eyes glow in the dark -- lit internally like a coal in a dark hearth. Zelda levers up on one arm. Her heart is in her throat. He steps toward her. Why is that familiar?

“Zelda,” he says, “are you injured?”

“I’m fine. I –”

Something darts out of the long grass, past Draga, lunges up and – “Link?!” – slams the divine blade half to the hilt in the ground. Draga jerks back, stunned, as Link reels back from his target: a thrashing writhe of limbs in the grass. His left arm’s black, tacky, rigored into a right-angle and shaking. Draga drops his sword and catches Link at the waist when he starts to fall. Zelda stands up in time to see what it was Link killed – the second lynel’s autonomous upper torso, still switching, claws raking the earth with killing intent as the ribcage dissolves. It had been, she suspects, crawling toward Draga for a final blow.

“Good eye,” Draga says softly.

Link manages to grimace a smile, then just grimaces as his knees go out.

“Zelda!”

“I’m here!”

Link’s curled in the grass, fighting not to clutch the poisonous arm. She can hear him growling in agony, panting. He’s fumbling for a fairy tonic in his belt. Draga is already pouring an entire water canteen over his blistered arm to no effect, washing rusted armor flakes off in chunks. He grabs the bottle from Link’s hip, uncorks it with his teeth and dumps it on his arm, partially pinning him chest-down as he does it. Understandable. The liquid steams on contact and Link howls.

“Sorry, little brother.” Draga speaks through his teeth, holding the smaller swordsman down while he finishes. Link just shoves his forehead into the grass, choking, his other hand clawing the dirt until his fingers pull up mud. Again, Draga says, “I’m sorry.” Then, “Zelda, can you purify this? It’s blight. If we don’t…”

“I know.” Zelda hits her knees next to Link. “We’ve seen this stuff before. Link? Can you hear me?”

He moans and nods. She catches a glimpse of his eyes behind his hair.

“Okay. I’m going to do it. Ready?”

He makes a noise that might be ‘no’ but she can’t wait. She grabs his arm at the shoulder just above the infection and at the wrist just below, then then drags her hands down his arm from both directions, gripping tight so her fists meet in the middle of his elbow. Link doesn’t scream – somehow it’s worse, because his entire throat and face works like he is screaming but the sound isn’t coming up. Her palms sizzle like a hot pan, cauterizing every inch of skin. Draga, kneeling over him, just watches Zelda’s hands – the light off her fingers taking all the shadows from his face.

She finishes and wipes her hands off on her trousers.

“Stupid,” she murmurs. She kneels and takes Link’s face in her hands, wiping dirt and grass from his sweaty forehead. “Link? Hey. Are you alright?”

“Ow,” he says, not opening his eyes.

She exhales loudly and pats his cheek. “You’re okay.”

He opens his eyes and reiterates, “Ow,” with some offense.

“I know for a fact you used to do this stuff solo. It’s much better with a partner, yes?”

Link sits up, rubbing his newly healed arm, still pink with regeneration. “Thanks,” he says, first to her, then to Draga who’s looking at the two of them like he’s just realizes they’re insane. Link clears his throat. “She’s right. It’s not that bad.”

“Your entire arm could have rotted to the marrow and fallen off,” Draga says tonelessly.

Link nervously flexes his hand. “But it didn’t.”

Draga looks at Zelda. “Blighted monsters don’t concern you?”

“Well it concerns us, but we have the tools to deal with it.” And when Draga keeps giving her this terribly irritated look, she adds, “Honestly, we’ve had much worse. And blighted creatures are much rarer as the last of Calamity’s hold wanes in this world. As I said before, we specialize in this kind of work. It’s really not that impressive, you know, I just –”

Draga literally puts his hand over her mouth.

“I believe you." He drops his hand. "Stop explaining.” He looks at Link. “Can you walk?”

Link nods, pushing himself to his feet and rotating his shoulder like it’s just stiff rather thans touched by Malice. He sighs, then signs something in Zelda’s general direction about needing another shirt. Zelda, warily, gauges Draga’s reaction. The huge Gerudo can’t seem to decide if he’s more angry with them than impressed and seems to be taking Link’s lackadaisical approach to almost dying as a personal offense.

��You’re both mad,” he says.

Link heaves the biggest most unconcerned shrug that is physically possible and grabs the divine blade from the grass. While he sheathes it, Draga moves so he’s standing over him, glaring down from his mountainous height. Link just hooks his thumbs in his belt and leans back to maintain eye contact. Standing like this, there is a certain dynamic opposition – Link small and pale where Draga is massive and dark. Zelda feels something, an unidentifiable jolt of de-ja-vu.

“That blade,” Draga says, “cut through the corruption like nothing. Split the darkness apart.” He leans down slightly. “If you were less of an incorrigible fool, I would accuse you of being the Hylian Champion.”

“There is nothing in the history books,” says Link, “to suggest he wasn’t a fool.”

Which is the longest sentence he’s said in a while and of course it would be a self-deprecating insinuation to him being a 100-year-old legend. Zelda drops her face into one hand and drags it all the way down. Draga’s glaring at the both of them now. It’s possible Link’s chattiness is directly tied to a post-regenerative high, but he seems pretty pleased with himself so she doubts it. Draga looks at the sword, then at her, then back at Link. He starts to open his mouth.

Zelda holds up two hands. “Wait. Draga…”

“You’re them. You’re the Princess. The one that fought Calamity one hundred years ago and that’s the sword that seals the darkness.”

“That’s absurd,” Zelda starts to say.

“Eh,” Link says, wobbling his hand to indicate only moderate absurdity.

Zelda hits him in the shoulder.

Draga is not distracted. “Link does not seem to have a problem admitting it. Why do you?”

“It just… look, you don’t quite understand. It’s complicated.”

“Your circumstances are complicated. Your identity is not. Are you Zelda Bosphoramus or not?”

She maintains a panic for a half second then gives it up. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Excellent. And him? He’s the same chosen knight or he’s a successor who’s found the sword?”

“Same guy,” Link says, shrugging again.

“That’s…” Draga sighs and palms the back of his neck in one giant hand. “Never mind. Tell me your story when we’re back at camp. No.” He points at Zelda, silencing the beginning of another explanation. He waits, making sure she’s done, then, “Now... we’re going to eat and congratulate ourselves on this victory. I am going to drink. Then you can tell me your impossible story, you tiny, mad, Hylians.”

Zelda feels something unwind in her chest. Like a breath she’s been holding.

“I suppose…” she says, glancing at Link, “it would be nice to tell someone. The whole story. Just this once.”

Link always wakes up last and the next morning is no different.

Zelda and Draga stoke the fire quietly while he dozes, eating fruit and bread from their provisions and eyeing each other. Sunlight bleeds through the canopy, riddling the ground in yellow patchwork and Zelda watches the colors move across the roots and thin grass beneath the boughs. The silence holds, among other things, the entirety of the one-hundred-year campaign against the Calamity, the failed assault before that, the assembly of the Champions, her role as goddess-blood princess and Link the soul-bound hero. A history summarized to its most basic painful components and laid out in order.

“I can heat some water,” Zelda says, breaking the silence finally. “If you would like some tea, I mean, or… whatever you prefer…”

“Thank you, but don’t trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“I would rather we just… sit for a moment.”

Presently, she cannot imagine a worse option. She eats a bite of apple, staring into the fire, as if it will offer up a topic of conversation that isn’t blurting at him, again, the very essential need for his secrecy and silence on this topic while Link is unconscious and unable to level looks of disappointment at her. Draga’s not looking at her. He’s pondering the canopy, eyes visibly working through some private process while she sits here, sweating, a knot in her belly that she can’t quite explain.

“Did you know,” says Draga suddenly, “that any child born to a Gerudo woman will always be Gerudo, no matter the ethnicity of their father?”

Zelda blinks.

Draga is still looking at the canopy.

“I… I did know that, actually. Gerudo blood is stronger than any other. Closer to the goddess than any other or so they say.”

“Except maybe you,” says Draga, looking at her.

When she looks away, he goes on. “They say Din carved the first Gerudo from the red earth, seven of them in her likeness.” Draga pulls a piece of bread from the day-old loaf in his hands. The soft brown inside splits warm and steaming as though fresh from an oven and he goes on. “When the goddess saw the good she had done, she carved an eighth heroine and to this sister she gifted magic. She made her most like a god – taking many forms, possessing power and sight.”

Zelda sneezes and rubs her nose on her sleeve to relieve the sudden itchiness. Draga tosses her the rest of the warm loaf, which cools quickly in her palm.

“I confess,” Zelda says, “I have never heard of the Eighth Heroine.”

“Because she was hated by her sisters,” Draga says. He’s looking into the fire now, the glow of it putting warm light into his skin. “She was forgotten. Erased from history. Her children live on in every Gerudo child born with magic in their blood but the cost lives in every daughter who dies in fear, having never mastered it.” He continues to look into the fire when he says, "I lost two sisters to that fear. Their deaths... are why I'm out here."

"Why are you telling me?" Zelda murmurs.

Draga looks up at her. “You and your knight… you know that being closer to the gods is dangerous. Hylia’s Gift… it’s not really a gift.”

Zelda closes her eyes. “If it was a real gift it would not cost us so much."

Draga waits.

“I am still… I am so angry,” she says. “Even now, a century later, I blame the Goddess for not answering my call, for not… just giving me the strength I needed when I needed it in time to save the people I loved.” She shakes her head. “Why did we have to lose so much? Why did we have to give one-hundred years just to survive what we could have defeated?” She’s crushing the bread in her fist, speaking softly, but through locked jaw. “Link says the people would love me if I revealed myself. I do not believe that.”

Draga leans forward a little, his eyes on her, and says, in Gerudo, “I wasn’t there one-hundred years ago, so I don’t much care for details but know this: You are a warrior, little sister. You more than any. The girl who fought for one-hundred years and if the world knew what you did, they should be grateful to follow you into anything.” He leans back and switches to Hylian. “Be it peace or war, I say that you have earned that if you want it.”

Zelda rubs her eyes. “You sound like Link.”

“I happen to agree with Link.”

“Heh, do you want to know something strange?”

He snorts, pulling a small knife from his pocket. “What about you two isn’t strange?” He picks up an apple and begins to cut wedges from it. “But tell me. What is strange?”

“Link trusts you,” Zelda says. “He trusted you. Instantly even, and that’s strange. He seems trusting, but he’s not. If he gives you his back, it’s only because he’s confident he can kill you if you try to betray him.”

Draga’s eyebrows arch significantly.

“But this is different!” She pauses. “It sounds silly, but he gave you a horse.”

“And that’s significant.”

“For Link? Yes. And it’s probably apparent to you, but I don’t trust people with my secrets but you… it’s… like you knew them anyway so it was no effort to tell you. So tell me this, Draga: How many people of your home tribe know you by your new name?”

Draga looks up from the apple he’s cutting. She does not flinch from his stare – cool and green and fathoms deep. Eventually, he says, “I have a cousin, very young but close to me. She is the only one who knows that I will return under a new name to declare my practice. I don’t know why I told you that I have the gift. I’ve never told anyone outside my family.” He shakes his head, once. "I thought I was being... sentimental. But now, knowing what you are, it could be something else."

“Then we agree, there is something odd about our meeting,” Zelda says. “We acknowledge it together?”

“Yes. It’s strange. Agreed.”

There’s a beat, the two of them staring at one another across the fire, the dappled sunlight shifting lazily across their shoulders.

“I’m going to pack up,” Zelda says, standing up a little too quickly.

Draga eyes her, like he might not let her change tack so easily. Then, after a moment, says, “Does Link always oversleep or…?”

“Yes. Always.”

go to part 3

#botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #legend of zelda breath of the wild #link #zelda #ganondorf #zelda/link/ganon #kinda #I guess #platonic until its not #no one told them about how fast #that cycle restarts #because Demise is a fucking asshole #these kids are so messed up

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alsywalsy · 7 years

Text

RCIJ - A Strange Deal

This is my RCIJ gift for @glindatthegood! Your prompt sparked a different story that ground to an unfortunate halt, so this strange little piece came into being in the last few weeks. I hope you enjoy!

Prompt - Belle has magic.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

The name was foreign on her tongue – difficult to pronounce but she was sure that she had it right. She glanced around her bed chambers and spoke the name again.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

She felt stupid calling out a random name into the darkness of her rooms. If her maids knew what she was doing.. If her Father knew. She stifled a laugh as she thought of the look that would appear on his face. He would be horrified but just that slightest bit impressed that his darling girl had done something so incredibly stupid. But she refused to think of it as stupid. This was the best plan for her future, so long as he agreed.

“Rumplestiltskin.”

The name left her lips a third time and within one short second the candles in her room were extinguished. A sudden cold gust wrapped around her, causing her to jump and snap closed the book that had been resting in her lap. She wasn’t easily spooked but she hadn’t expected being plunged into darkness.

She couldn’t see or hear a thing, but she could feel another presence in the room with her. Something was shifting near her door – it had to be him.

“I know that I called you here but the least you could do is leave me with some light.” She could have sworn she heard a snicker behind her as she started to fumble for matches to light the candle at her bedside. She carefully weaved her way through piles of books and lit the candle, taking it to relight the others in the room.

“And what if I don’t want any light in here?”

The voice was high pitched and ended with a giggle, almost like she imagined an imp or a mischievous pixie might sound. The being snapped their fingers and she was plunged into darkness once more.

“Really?!” She sighed, exasperated.

“Really, dearie. Perhaps I prefer the darkness..” She reached out for the matches again then jumped suddenly when the voice sounded right beside her ear. “The light is terribly boring.”

The candles all burst into life around her, making her jump just a little bit. The one in her hand remained dead but she could now see around her again. The being that must have been so close just a moment ago had once again retreated to the darkness near her door.

“Are you going to hide like some kind of shadow or are you willing to come out and speak to me like a normal person?” The figure let out another one of those giggles.

“Who says I am normal? What do your little books say about me?”

Belle looked around at the pile of books on her floor. Well, just one of the many piles of books. The castle had a library but she usually ended up just keeping books in her rooms when she had finished reading them. At this point she might actually have more books in her rooms than in the library. The small pile on the floor was all that she had managed to gather with references to the ancient creature referred to as the Dark One. One book had mentioned a name with which to call for him if you wished to make a deal.

“That you are an ancient evil entity who makes deals with the desperate, usually to their detriment.” Most tales had spoken of how barbaric he was but she wasn’t convinced that the tales were entirely true. To her, they mainly seemed like fiction written by those who wished to spread terror.

Rumplestiltskin giggled in the darkness and she heard him clap his hands. “Sounds about right.”

“Even if that is so.. step out so I can see you?”

For a moment she was concerned that this silly little argument would continue to go back and forth, but suddenly, he appeared.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she had been expecting, but a slim man who was only a few inches taller than her was probably low on the list of possibilities. She had never seen a man like him, however. His skin almost sparkled in the flickering candlelight and his eyes were large and dark. His nails were black and his teeth rotten. But he was a man – not a creature.

“That’s better.”

Disappointment flickered across his face and she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe he had hoped to intimidate her but she hadn’t so much as flinched at the sight of him.

“What is it that you want, dearie? My time can always be better spent elsewhere, you know.” The Dark One lifted one finger and waved it from side to side, almost telling her off like she were a child who had done something wrong.

“I want to be your apprentice.”

For a moment there was silence; the room so still that one could hear a pin drop. Then the Dark One seemed to gather his wits and giggled that strange titter of his. “I don’t take apprentices and certainly not princesses.”

“I am no princess, let’s get that straight. I am a Lady and it is a title that I do not want. I want nothing that comes with it, either. No stuffy balls, no political intrigue, no arranged marriage..”

“Aaaaaah.” Rumplestiltskin turned on his heel and started to wander around her room. “So that is why you called me here. You do not wish to fulfil the marriage contract that your parents put in place. It’s a very common problem.”

“Father.”

“What?” He looked at her in confusion.

“My Father arranged the marriage. My Mother would never have done such a thing to me. I mean, he thinks he is doing his best but Gaston is.. Well.” She shrugged her shoulders, assuming that he would have an idea of what to expect if he was often called by upset women trying to escape from their betrotheds.

“Not exactly a virtuous knight from the tales?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “Men rarely are. Those stories are just stories. But my point stands – I don’t take on apprentices. Teaching someone magic is hardly an easy task. It can take years, perhaps even decades..”

“I know magic.”

“What?” She seemed to have caught him off guard again.

“I know magic. I can’t control it, believe me, I’ve tried.. but I have magic.”

She couldn’t put a name on the look he was giving her, but she had an inkling that he might be considering her. Maybe he was wondering just what he could get out of her for such a favour. The books stated that he took horrible things – often children.

“All right, then, I shall make you an offer. I shall teach you how to control your magic..” He swayed back and forth on his feet then leant close, invading her personal space. “And you let me torment this Gaston of yours.”

She took a step back, surprised. “What? Is that all?”

“Yes. That is all. Take it or leave It, dearie..” With a flourish and a bow, a scroll suddenly appeared in his hands. In the other he held out a quill.

“You won’t hurt him?”

“Not directly. We can torment him together if it pleases you.”

If getting her freedom just meant pranking Gaston for a while then surely it was the best plan? She couldn’t see any downside.. in fact, it could be quite fun. She took the scroll from his hands and turned to sit at the desk.

“I will let you know my decision once I have read the small print.”

“Read the..”

“Does nobody ever read your contracts?” She lit the candle on her desk and glanced over at him. He was watching her as though she had grown another head.

“Well.. no.”

“Then be quiet and let me be the first.”

To her immense surprise, the Dark One fell quiet. She could still hear him wandering around her room and occasionally opening and closing a book. But she was able to read every word on the contract and was pleased to see that Gaston would not be harmed. He might be horrible but he didn’t deserve to be harmed with these little tricks.

“All right.. here.” She signed the contract and stood up, holding it out. “I agree to your terms. You are allowed to play tricks or pranks on Gaston for the next month and then I shall go with you to your castle.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

He grinned and clapped his hands. “Perfect. Will you be joining me in these little antics or shall you simply be an ‘innocent bystander’?”

The contract vanished from her hands. “We shall see.”

“I like you, dearie.”

“Belle.” She corrected. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle it is. I shall see you soon.” Rumplestiltskin vanished from her rooms with one last high pitched giggle.

“What an odd little man..”

---

It was a week before the Dark One returned to the castle. She had been wondering how long it would take him to appear and had almost lost belief that the whole exchange had even happened. Perhaps she had imagined it all, or even dreamt it if she had fallen asleep on her pile of books. But it had been far too real to be a dream. Then she caught her first sign of his presence.

Gaston had insisted on taking her for a walk and her Father had insisted that she just give him a chance. It was difficult to say no to her Papa so she had agreed, no matter how grudgingly.

Walking alongside Gaston was always an interesting experience. The oaf did his best to pay attention to her as though he were truly interested, but they would usually pass some pretty young thing that would fawn all over him and take his attention. He would often chat up another girl on his route around with her.

It didn’t take long for the opportunity to arise.. a young blonde had sauntered up to the pair and rested a hand on Gaston’s shoulder. They had only been talking for thirty seconds before Gaston’s breeches suddenly hit the dirt.

“What?!”

“Oh!”

Belle jumped back and quickly stifled her laughter behind both hands. The girl had backed up a step or two and was staring in shock at Gaston’s off white underwear. The man himself was trying his best to pull his breeches back up but every time he grabbed the waistband and tugged, the breeches stayed tight to his ankles.

Magic.. she could recognise the feeling of it. It had a sort of aura, not visible but almost a soft and gentle breeze that was unnatural. She couldn’t see Rumplestiltskin but she was sure that she could hear that high pitched giggle almost on the wind.

“What on earth is this sorcery?!”

Those who were passing and happened upon the scene were laughing at the oaf’s misfortune. Gaston’s cheeks were quickly turning red and he eventually gave up trying to pull them back up and instead began shuffling back to the castle, covering himself as best he can.

The laughing crowd followed him back to the castle, leaving Belle standing alone with an open smile. It had been nice to see Gaston humiliated for a moment.

“You can come out now. I know you are around here somewhere.”

She felt his presence at her shoulder all of a sudden. “Careful, dearie.. People might think you are crazy – talking to yourself.”

“I feel like I am a little crazy for even having called you in the first place. But that little show was rather worth it.”

Rumplestiltskin clapped his hands and stepped forward to stand before her. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Will the magic wear off?”

“Hmmm..” The small man shrugged and grinned. “In an hour or two.”

Belle found herself joining him in his laughter. She was glad that nobody was around to see them, such an odd pair.

“Do you fancy joining in the fun next time?”

“I can’t control my magic.. and I am not exactly crafty in tormenting others.”

“Pish posh, ‘tormenting others’, as you put it, is easy! You just need to know what would affect them the most. Like your ‘knight’ for instance. He values his appearance and imagery above all else. Take away all that and you have won! Fairly simple, hmm?” Rumplestiltskin was looking at her with those mossy green eyes, most likely off-putting for all of those who encountered him. But they didn’t put her off. She found his delight almost endearing.

“You make it sound so, yes.”

“Fun too..” He gently poked her in the ribs as he twirled around her and pointed over her shoulder at the door Gaston had disappeared through. “Why don’t you ask him to try again, maybe go for a ride on horseback?”

“I won’t allow you to hurt a horse, Rumplestiltskin.”

He scoffed near her ear and wandered off a few steps. “There’s no fun in that. I have a few ideas that may or may not leave your dear knight covered in bruises and a few scrapes.”

Belle didn’t like causing people any pain. She was a good person and felt in unnecessary to be violent.. but Gaston did deserve some comeuppance for the way he treated her and other women. It would only be a few scrapes and bruises after all.

“Only if you promise that nobody would get hurt.. Horse included.” She rolled her eyes at the look on his face. “Seriously injured.”

“Promise!” The little imp man grinned and clapped his hands. “Tomorrow. Take him out tomorrow, around the lake. I shall come and say hi – he will love it.”

“Oh, I am sure he will.”

She knew that he had vanished without looking around. She could feel the touch of the smoke he summoned when he vanished from sight. She had been left completely alone in the courtyard.. there was no sense in wasting a lovely day.

She took a moment to grab a book then went out to enjoy her walk all on her own. And it was glorious.

---

Over the next few weeks Rumplestiltskin made several appearances. All sorts of trouble seemed to be following Gaston everywhere he went. Things would break, things would fall down, even once the large man managed to drop his sword when practising and the weapon snapped cleanly in half. It was also a terrible shame that the blacksmith just somehow couldn’t manage to reforge the blade, meaning that the knight would have to work with a standard blade for the time being.

Nobody ever saw the Dark One but Belle knew that every single event was his doing. She could feel his presence and would often see him after it had quietened down. He was almost always lurking in the shadows or amongst the masses, hidden by darkness or a hood. She could always see his grin.

His sense of humour always managed to make her laugh. He had been true to his word – nobody had been hurt. Gaston had so far experienced some bruising and one minor scratch as a result of his horse spooking and taking him for a short drag around the banks of the lake. The horse had been soothed immediately after Gaston was freed. Belle had seen that her new friend had a fondness for animals.

Nearly three months since she had first called Rumplestiltskin, Belle was beginning to wonder when her end of the strange deal would be fulfilled and she could leave. She would miss her Papa but the date of her wedding day was beginning to loom on the horizon. She hoped it wouldn’t be much longer.

The library was her second home, after her own bed chambers. She liked to lose herself amongst the stacks and the stories of heroes, wizards and dragons. It was her escape from daily life and she hated being interrupted.

“How is it that I always find you in here?”

She didn’t need to look up from her book to know who had entered her private domain. She would no longer be able to read but she feigned continuing anyway. “Because I like it here, Gaston. Please don’t interrupt.”

“Oh, come on, Belle. Books are useless! You won’t be needing them once we are married. You will be able to spend all your time taking care of our kids.”

It wasn’t the first time that Gaston had mentioned ‘their’ children. She had gotten bored of telling him it would never happen; it was easier to just ignore the comments entirely. She tried her best to start reading again in the vain hopes that he would go away. Instead, a huge meaty hand took the book away from her.

“Gaston! I am trying to read.” She pulled the book back but knew it was useless to try and continued.

“Talking is much more interesting.”

She rolled her eyes and rounded the man to put her book down on the small table near the shelf. She was about to speak again when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A flicker of movement. Rumplestiltskin.

Gaston leant his weight against the nearest bookshelf and Belle was worried it might fall over for a moment. The knight seemed oblivious to his precarious position and far more interested in talking about himself. As always.

“As you know, our wedding is nearly two months away now.. and I thought it would be a good idea to talk about our life once we are man and wife.”

Gaston ran a hand over his perfectly styled hair and Belle fought the urge to ruffle it just to annoy him. Almost as though he were reading her mind, Gaston’s hair started to stand on end. Gently, so that the man himself wouldn’t notice, but he soon looked more like a hedgehog than the perfectly groomed man he strived to be.

She had to stifle a laugh behind her hand, blue eyes flickering around the room to try and find the trickster.

“What?” Gaston frowned and looked over his shoulder. Seeing nothing, he turned back to her and took a step back. “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

She huffed a sigh and walked away. “No, Gaston, I am not going to throw up. But I might throw a book at you if you don’t go away. It seems that you are so insistent I won’t be able to read once we are married so why don’t you let me enjoy my hobby whilst I still have it?”

Gaston looked like a kicked puppy dog. A massive, hideous, misogynistic baboon of a puppy dog. But she stood firm and folded her arms over her chest. Then his face changed. A sly grin spread across his face and he took a couple of steps towards her. She frowned as she found herself quickly backed up against the small table. Her hands scrambled for something to hold onto, something to hit him with if he decided to get too.. friendly. She wrapped her fingers around the heaviest book.

“Who wants to read when there are far more fun things to be doing?”

She tightened her grip on the book, ready to swing it at a moment’s notice. For now he was just being creepy. Creepy she could deal with. “Leave me alone, Gaston. I won’t ask you again.”

“Oh, come on. I know you don’t want me to go away.”

She sighed and put the book down, instead planting both hands on his chest and shoving him away from her. He was awfully heavy but she managed to get him off her just for a moment. It would have been long enough to run away had she been given the chance.

The moment Gaston stepped away from her; the bookshelf beside them began to rock and suddenly fell. Directly on top of Gaston.

Both of them cried out as the heavy shelf came crashing down on his shoulder, half clipping him and forcing him to the ground. Books spilled everywhere as Belle clambered half onto the table to get out of the way.

“What?!” Gaston was shouting now, doing his best to push the bookshelf up enough to slide out. His lip was split and blood was dribbling down his chin, but she didn’t see any other injuries.

“I- I don’t know what happened!”

She hopped off the table to help him as best she could, holding up the shelf for the last moment. Gaston struggled to his feet and winced when he moved his right arm. “I swear, I must be cursed! Things keep happening and it is not natural!”

Belle blanched at his words. She suddenly remembered Rumple’s presence earlier on. It must have been his doing, though she couldn’t see him for once. Perhaps he had realised that he had really messed up this time.

“You should go and get seen by the doctor, he will help with your pain. I will find some men to clean up the books.”

She frowned when he kicked at a few books on his way out. “Stupid things.”

Belle waited two minutes after Gaston left before she called out. She wanted to make sure that he was gone before she had an argument with the Dark One in her bloody library.

“You had better explain yourself right now, Rumplestiltskin, because you promised me that you wouldn’t hurt anybody! You could have killed him and even me!”

There was a shuffling in the far corner, as though a five year old was being told off and was uncomfortable under his Mother’s wrath.

“I know you are in here so don’t you dare hide me from me.”

“He was intimidating you..” The voice was a lot quieter than she was used to from the imp.

“I could have handled myself. I can handle you, can’t I?”

“I would never try to do that to you.”

He was still hiding and it was starting to annoy her. “Rumplestiltskin, come out here. Please?”

The sorcerer stepped out from between two stacks and looked at the books at her feet. In an instant the shelf had righted itself and all the books magically slotted themselves back into place. Just a glance told her that they were all in the correct places again.

“You could have really hurt him. I don’t care what he was doing..”

“He shouldn’t have done that. I just..”

She smiled slightly and stepped up closer to him. She acted in the moment and gently kissed his cheek. “You were trying to protect me, I know that.. Thank you.”

When she stepped away she nearly laughed at the stunned look on his face. He was staring over her shoulder with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open. She gently patted his cheek to wake him up.

“Rumple.. promise me something?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you take me on as your apprentice now?”

She didn’t want to have to face Gaston again. She didn’t want to have to deal with any more stomach churning dread when she thought of her impending wedding. She just wanted to be free.

“It’s forever.. remember?”

His voice sounded so much more human than any other time he had spoken to her before. The sound brought a warm smile to her face.

“I remember. And I agree.”

“Then yes. Let’s go from here.”

#rcij 2017 #rcij #rumbelle christmas in july #glindatthegood

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doublehex · 7 years

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A Song for Dragons: Chapter 12 - Red and White

Read on Chaos Inferred

Read on AO3

A preview can be found below the cut!

THE SHE-WOLF OF WINTERFELL

Arya snorted. “You can fish?”

Aegon must have been offended, because he reeled back like he was slapped. “Of course I can fish. What makes you think I can’t?”

Because you are a Targaryen, and I could never see Aegon the Conqueror with a rod. “I don’t see you with a straw hat, Your Grace.” She shouldn’t be jesting with him, she knew. But Arya couldn’t see a better way out of the situation. “Don’t you have to spend hours to get a catch? Unless you want the sun to peel the flesh from your bones.”

Aegon had a smirk on her face, and Arya didn’t like that one bit. “There are these things called trees, Lady Stark. Perhaps you have seen a few of them?”

She could feel the sailors’ eyes on her now. Aegon smiled at her, in a way not so unlike how Sansa or Jeyne would smile. They were no laughs, not like Winterfell, but she just knew there were grins behind her back. “Of course I know what trees are. There is a godswood in Winterfell. Even the Red Keep has a godswood. Don’t tell me you are ignorant of that, Your Grace?”

Pink flushed to the Targaryen’s cheeks, and Arya could see how he chewed on his teeth as he searched for an answer. “I was only jesting.”

“As was I,” she smiled. She felt Nymeria rub against her in approval, and the ticklish fur almost made her giggle. They had been at the sea for weeks now, and the black ruins of Valyria were behind them. Arya remembered the dread that crawled through her when she first saw it. She could not even get Nymeria to leave their cabin. But Arya could not even see fallen Valyria on the horizon, not anymore, and now there was only the deep blue sea.

She should be irritated by Aegon, but it was a welcome change. So long as Valyria was in sight, Aegon had been quiet and solemn. He would always be staring at the ruins in silence. But now he seemed as bright as the sky, as if just the sight of Valyria drained whatever joy there was in the world.

Perhaps it did. Everyone had heard of the stories. Valyria was consumed by fire and ash, its beaches were formed from soot and bone, and dark things prowled on those nightly shores. She didn’t need Old Nan to fill her with terrors of Valyria. The distant sight of the desolation was enough.

She had the advantage now, she could see that by the way Aegon was twiddling with his thumbs. Bran would do much the same, whenever Father was lecturing him. But Bran was only ten and three when he fell, while Aegon is a man grown. “If you can fish, where is your rod?”

“Come now, Lady Stark. Leave the Prince be. Wolves don’t play with their dead.” Arya turned to see tall Rolly Duckfield striding towards them. The man had hair and beard just as red as Sansa’s, but his eyes were a cool brown. The man was an impressive height; he would have been the tallest man Arya had ever seen were it not for the Hound. “Egg, I trained you at arms, did I not?”

“That you did, Ser.”

“So why is your tongue so blunt?”

Aegon had smiled at that. “You taught me to be quick on my feet, not on my wits, Ser.”

Rolly scratched at his beard…and adjusted his feet as the ship was rocked by the waves. “I suppose so. Poor teacher I am.”

Aegon wouldn’t let that go. He leaned against a large and sturdy barrel, his face spread in a wide smile. “Not so poor as to make a sword out of me. Not so poor as to be knighted for the honor. I still remember the squawks from all the ducks when Jon made you a knight.”

“Aye,” Rolly said in a gruff tone, “that is how it happened. Maybe I’m surrounded by men with poor sense.”

Gods, they should kiss and get it over with. “What do you need, Ser?” That came off more harsh than she meant, but she had a horrid time sleeping the night before. And the night before that, and the one before that one too. The ship rocked all the way past the Smoking Sea, and no matter how many pillows she laid on her head or how she turned, a good rest was forever beyond her grasp.

“The Captain-General wanted words, Arya Stark.” Gone was the bright smile of the man that was made a knight in a field of ducks. He sounded as sour and orderly as any man in the Company.

Aegon scrunched his brows. “What does Toyne want with her?” Offended that he wants me and not you, Prince?

Duckfield shrugged at that. “I am just a knight, Majesty. I take orders, not give them.” Rolly must not have been a knight for very long, or seen how knights in Westeros treated the smallfolk, to think like that. Aegon declared he would come, but the knight insisted that Myles Toyne wanted only Arya. Aegon bristled at that, which amused Arya plenty.

The quarters that should have been reserved for the captain of the Kaevo Yarephos were granted to the Captain-General. Arya wondered what the ship’s captain, the pot-bellied Summer Islander Nazabar Xaqo, would have decorated his quarters with. Whatever he would have done, Myles Toyne would not have approved, for he had turned the spacious room into a chamber for war. A large red oak table was nestled in the heart of the room, with maps and scrolls and candles spread across it. Arya could spot a selection of weapons – broadswords and twin-headed axes – leaning against a wall.

Myles Toyne hovered over his desk. It was only her entering that drew his eyes from the map. “Come in, Stark. That will be all, Ser.” With a nod and a smile, the knight turned on his feet and closed the door behind him. “I suppose you don’t drink. You are only…what, four and ten?”

“Seven and ten,” she lied. She was six and ten in truth, just about a full woman grown. She already had her first moon blood long before King Robert rode into Winterfell. “I drank when King Robert visited.” That was not a lie. Father and Mother allowed her and Sansa and Robb one cup, and only one. Robb treated every sip as if it was the most precious gift in the world, and he kept on glaring at Jon who, far down the hall seated among the squires and servants, was allowed to drink to his heart’s content. The memory brought a smile to her face.

“Well I am no king, but you can have a cup all the same. Would you prefer the white of Lys or the red of Tyrosh?”

“What’s the difference?”

“A world. I’ll give you the red.” The Captain-General walked over to a shelf and unstrapped a flask filled with the crimson drink. It was decorated with silver spirals. He filled two glasses and handed one to Arya. “Far sweeter than the white, which is more of an acquired taste I’ve found.”

Arya sniffed the wine. It did smell of raspberries. She would ride through the patches in the fields that surrounded Winterfell, laughing all the while Jon or Robb would yell back in their chase. “Acquired by whom?”

“By those that have gold pouring out of every hole in their bodies.” Arya took a sip, and the sweetness rolled in like waves over the tongue. She sucked on her lips before drinking some more. She took in more that time. “I suppose I should keep my cache of red hidden from you?”

She narrowed her eyes at Toyne. “I’m no thief.” She remembered the dead soldiers that she had found on the Kingsorad. That wasn’t stealing. They were dead, and you can’t steal from the dead unless they are in crypts. “I would at least tell you I’m going to take something.”

He leaned back into his chair. “Then won’t I try to hide whatever it is you plan on taking?”

“Of course,” she smiled. “That makes it fun. Sansa would always wonder where all her combs would go and…” She shouldn’t be talking of home, not here, not now, not with the Golden Company, and sure as hells not with Myles Toyne.

“Go on,” the old man insisted, in a soft tone that Arya had never heard from him before.

“No,” she said stubbornly. She put the glass on the table. The drink is making me talk. “It’s stupid.”

“Most here wouldn’t agree.” Myles Toyne shifted in his seat. The chair groaned under his bulky frame. He was dressed in a light shirt that was not tied up, and Arya could see the dark hair that curled up his chest. “You had a home. For them, it is just an idea.”

“What do you want, Myles?” She had enough philosophy from Aegon to last a few lifetimes.

“Just to talk,” he said, and somehow Arya believed him. “Whenever we spoke, it was always in front of my men, or my captains. You see me as the Captain-General. I thought it best we get to know each other, since we both need the other so desperately. More wine?”

She shook her head. “You’re being too kind, Blackheart.”

He snorted. “Blackheart. ‘Tis just a name, the one piece of inheritance I got from my family line. Put fears in the soft hearts of my men, which works just fine for me. Make them scared of me, make them think I am hard and cruel.”

“And the truth?”

Myles Toyne took a sip. The red wine stirred in the glass. “Firm but fair. That is my rule as Captain-General of the Company. Won’t cut a man’s hand off unless he tries to steal from us. He’ll get lashed if he breaks line, but only as much as he earns. It is no easy thing, to keep sellswords disciplined.”

That surprised her. Even as far as Westeros, the tales of the Golden Company spoke of their hard discipline and iron resolve. “I thought the Golden Company was made of surer stuff.”

“Men are men at the end of the day, and not all of us are born to the sons of exiles. Some just want to make their way under our banner. We are very wealthy, as you’ve seen, and not because of our forefathers. House Toyne has left no cache of riches for myself, I promise you that. The wealth we wear on our persons are earned from being the most discipline company in Essos.” He smiled in a grin made of gaps and crooked teeth. “That is one thing I can be proud of.”

“And what else do you have to be proud of?” She drank from the cup.

His eyes glimmered. “That I will be the first son of Toyne to step on Westeros in many years.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“Just as sure as you are of finding your bastard brother.” His lips spread into a small wrinkle of a smile. “We will find them, Arya Stark.”

Arya chewed on her lip. “Why do you want that, Myles Toyne? Wouldn’t it be better if my brother was…”

“Dead? Killed by Khal Drogo, wasted away by disease, or some other cruel fate that would leave Daenerys alone in her grief?” His voice was hard, and he seemed every bit the Blackheart. “We are not evil men. It would be easier, yes, but not better.” The Captain-General brought the glass to his lips and drank deep. “Aegon would not wish that either.”

“What makes you so sure of what Aegon wants? He wants to take Daenerys away from my brother. He would probably dance if my brother is…dead.” The word sounded as bitter as poison on her lips. The thought made her sick. She grabbed the glass so quickly that wine spilled, and she drank it down with such abandon that more of it slipped past her chin than down into her mouth. She angrily wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Myles was silent until Arya forced the glass onto the table. The table cloth was stained pink. “Don’t presume to know of what the boy wants, Stark. He has supped on grief as well.”

“Of course,” she said under a heavy breath. “His sister and mother. His father.”

“It is no easy thing, to have the burden that he carries. He was just a babe when it happened. Ask him to describe his mother, and you won’t have an answer.” His large fingers curled around the glass. “He has learned of death. Trust me; he would not wish your brother’s death on you.” Myles turned away from her, stared out the glass window. The seas were calm, but even then the Kaevo Yarephos moaned. His thumb rolled over the silver spirals of the glass. “The boy is more like his father than he thinks. More than even Connington thinks.”

He is the son of Rhaegar, the man that abducted Lady Lyanna and raped her. Arya knew she had no choice but to remain with the Company. But Myles was a fool if he thought that anyone like Rhaegar Targaryen would be a good man. Rhaegar had abducted and raped Aunt Lyanna. Everyone knew that. If Aegon was anything like his father, if he was a threat to Jon or anyone else, Arya would kill him.

That was a promise.

Something must have been written on her face, for Myles Toyne gave her a hard look. “Lady Stark,” he said in a graveled tone, “I want to say something that should not reach Aegon’s ears.”

“Why me? Isn’t Jon Connington your right-hand man?”

He nodded. “In many ways, yes. But Jon is close to the boy. Protective, as he should be. Aegon was placed under Connington’s care, and Jon was…he was close to Prince Rhaegar. On matters concerning that boy, Jon cannot be trusted.”

“But I can? Is that what you are saying?”

Myles Toyne gave a gruff nod. “You won’t cheer for his death, but you would not oppose to seeing Aegon on the Iron Throne. If he died, you would not grieve for him.”

“And are you any different? If I died, would you shed a tear?”

“A tear, aye.” Myles Toyne paused for a moment, his fingers circled around base of his cup. “You were quite desperate to be on those cogs we sent out to scout Astapor.” The Seaward Spear. Arya had howled at Myles Toyne, Connington, Aegon, any that would have allowed her to step onto the deck of that cog. None listened. They had sailed half a moon before the rest of the Golden Company’s fleet, and no word from them since.

But that had not seemed so strange to Arya. The seas…at times, it went on without end. How long could it take for ships to sail the sea and return? “I still do.”

The Captain-General looked at her with narrow eyes. “Do you? Those ships are lost, Arya Stark.”

“How are you so certain?”

“A man knows,” he said. His fingers tapped against the wood at a frustrated pace. “I have been a man of the Company for many years. You were not even conceived in the womb of your lady mother when I was elected as Captain-General. In this line of work, one begins to know when an investment has been wasted. The ships are lost, Arya Stark, and so would you if you were on them.”

Somehow in that moment, Myles Toyne reminded her of Mother. Her lectures lasted for hours. “Do you have a point, Myles Toyne? Or do you want to see how well a girl of the North can hold her wine?”

That forced a smile from him. His teeth were cracked and crooked. “You have a bold mouth, did anyone tell you a that?”

“A few.”

“Did anyone tell you that it will get you in trouble?”

“More than a few. Wine?”

He chuckled as he leaned across the table and filled her cup. “I could spare another ship. We cannot be blind. A blind army is a dead army, and I can’t imagine an armada is much different.”

That sounded like something Father would say. “Then send another ship.”

“With you on it, is that what you are saying?”

“We are moving too slowly.”

“We are being cautious. The entire Company rests on the success of this mission.”

“But Daenerys could die. Jon could die!” Arya had not realized she had sprung to her feet until she heard the sound of her chair tumbling behind her. “What is the point of all this, if they are dead?” Father’s head was held up by Ser Ilyn Payne, and the crowd has cheered. Arya closed her eyes. A wolf does not cry. The Starks are brave.

She heard the uneven taps of Toyne’s fingers. The gentle groans of the ship moaned around her. “It is dangerous what you want to do.”

“But I want to do it,” she said. She looked at the Captain-General, as sure as Robb would in the face of his enemies. “You know I have to. One ship is faster than a fleet. I escaped King’s Landing on my own. I made it to Myr all by myself, survived there on my own with no one to guide me.”

“If I lose you, that is a blow to our cause. Aegon needs the North. You and your brother are the key.”

“Then you won’t lose me,” she said. “Besides, you told me you would only shed a tear if I died.”

Myles Toyne turned his head from her. “Aye, that’s true. Aegon would scream bloody awful, and Connington would call me a fool for letting you slip through our fingers like that. The domain of your family is too important, Arya Stark. But Daenerys Targaryen is even more so. Aegon coming to her rescue may not be enough. Her brother and the Company has a…history.”

Arya scrunched her nose. “What kind of history?”

“Viserys came to us in Tyr, to hire our services. We refused him.”

“Why? You’re serving Aegon now.”

“Precisely. That’s why we refused Viserys Targaryen. We would see Rhaegar’s son on the Iron Throne, not his brother. Besides, even then I could see that the boy was…” He took in a breath. “He was the Mad King’s son, not Rhaegar’s brother.”

“Mad,” Arya said. “Just like his father?”

The Captain-General nodded. “Just like his father. Daenerys will not be too pleased to see us. She needs encouragement.”

Arya put the glass down. She didn’t want to break it. Her fingers tightened into a fist. “And I’m the encouragement? Jon’s sister will speak to Daenerys, and see that she aligns with you?”

Myles Toyne looked uncomfortable. Arya had never seen the man be anything but stone. “Yes,” he said in half a whisper. “I want to be honest with you, Arya Stark. Hiding our intentions won’t help us.”

“Then do better than that. Put me on a ship. Let me part of the scouting party. I could speak—“

“No,” he said.

“You can’t—“

Myles Toyne rose. His leaned on the table, his fists pressed into the wood. “I can’t, you say. I am the Captain-General of this company. I command here, Arya Stark. I don’t know what that means to you Northmen, but that has meaning here. This company is the only reason your brother has even a slither of a chance of making out of this with his life. When you approach Daenerys Targaryen, it will be under the banner of the Golden Company. The golden skull of all the Captain-Generals that came before me will be watching as you persuade your brother to align Daenerys Targaryen with our cause. And when that happens, your family is safe. You will not be part of the new scouting party. I place too much value on your life.”

Arya could feel something hot burn through her blood. “And if I refuse? If I say that you are Daenerys’ enemy, and she needs to oppose with every will she possesses?”

The eyes of the Blackheart were a dim blue, like a storm about to brew over Winterfell. “Do not test me on that, Arya Stark. So long as you sail with my company, you will obey my commands. I have killed girls younger than you. I have heard the death rattles of children. Do not test me.”

#a song for dragons #jonerys #robbaery #asoiaf #fanfic

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captainehren · 7 years

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List of anime that influenced me

While watching CDawgVA talk about the anime that influenced him, I got to thinking of what has influenced me. I’m older than many fans now, so what I grew up with isn’t what everyone else grew up with.

1) Sailor Moon

This show was the first real anime show I ever watched, though I had watched “anime” when I was younger in Voltron and Akira. However, they didn’t have nearly as strong an impact on me as Sailor Moon. I heard about it from one of my friends, and she was the kind of overly obsessed fantard that makes you cringe when you think of anime fans, but that came a bit later. I was in 6th grade and she told me I should try watching Sailor Moon in the morning. So I did.

I was instantly hooked. The girly clothes, the magic, the romance, the daring and mysterious Tuxedo Mask... I was in love! And so I got as many Sailor Moon things as I could get my little hands on. I got the small dolls, I also managed to get a hold of an Artemis plush that got ruined, and a big Sailor Venus doll. I really, really wanted a Tuxedo Mask doll, because good God he was pretty, but I could never find him.

Over the years, I frequented anime stores, or Japanimation as we called it. I got a couple of Sailor Moon CDs, one of which was an import from Japan. I got a couple of imported manga from Japan that I could never read. And when the manga started being translated by Mixx Entertainment, I got the Mixx Manga magazine, which was kind of like Shoujo Beat or Shonen Jump except they smashed both the Shonen manga in with the Shoujo manga. I think I sold my copies to Half-Price ages ago because I needed whatever money they were willing to give me for it. And when I saw that Mixx was finally putting out the manga volumes for $10, I got my grandma to buy them for me. I was in high school when they were coming out then.

I learned to draw anime style by copying Sailor Moon’s style. My first attempts were awful, but I kept trying. I had a Sailor Moon character of Sailor Neptune way before I ever knew about the outer senshi showing up later in the series. (she was Serena’s sister and showed up to take Tuxedo Mask.) And later in 6th grade, my too obsessive friend not only claimed she had written a script for a Sailor Moon play that I was to play Sailor Jupiter in, but that, over the phone, she claimed she was turning into Sailor Moon when she looked into the mirror. And that she was having adventures in the mirror while talking to me on the phone. As I said: too obsessed.

Needless to say, Sailor Moon is one of my staples. It broke my heart when I had to sell my old Mixx manga Sailor Moon volumes and the newer ones that I had collected so that I could get some money. It’s okay. One day I will get them again.

2) Tenchi Muyo! or Tenchi Universe

I had not watched a lot of anime after Sailor Moon. There just wasn’t a lot that interested me and no real way of watching it unless I convinced my grandma to pay for it. I think I was in high school when Tenchi Muyo! showed up on Cartoon Network. I know I was thrilled to learn that Cartoon Network was airing Sailor Moon, so I was still in Sailor Moon mode. Whenever it showed up, I was hooked. I got on that train and careened right off the cliff. I love this stupid show, but the manga is soooooooo much funnier. Oh so much! This is where a lot of my old humor came into play when drawing my Harry Potter fancomics in high school, as well as the numerous comics that I started, but dropped when I got bored with them. (Attention span of a gnat.) It became more fun to just tease the shit out of my friends who wanted to know how the stories ended, but were sorely disappointed when I didn’t bother with them.

When I started writing out my super long and stupid Harry Potter fanfictions, it was a few years after high school. Before then, I was drawing them in high school when I wasn’t doing homework. And lo and behold, I’d copy the page layouts from Tenchi Muyo! and Oh! My Goddess, but only Tenchi Muyo! got a lot of interest from me. It might have helped that Tenchi Muyo!’s humor is pretty on par with Monty Python and other such British comedies I had grown up on, so it wasn’t a huge stretch to start picking up on how to draw some of its humor.

3) Fullmetal Alchemist

If you’re a long time fan of mine, then you know that this was bound to show up. FMA was one of those animes that I had no idea about until I randomly caught it on Cartoon Network when I was staying over at my great grandpa’s house. I was with my grandma and we were taking care of her dad--my great grandpa--who was suffering from dementia among other problems. The rest of the family took turns taking care of him and accompanying him on trips so that he was never left alone for too long. He had a problem of ending up in trouble and never bothering to ask for help when he couldn’t get back up. Now, I knew about a few more anime at this time, because I had anime loving friends in high school and out of high school who knew of stuff to suggest to me. I’d watch it on Cartoon Network and be somewhat interested in it. I watched Cowboy Beebop, Trigun, Outlaw Star (which has one of the best anime closing themes I’ve ever heard omg)... I can’t remember anything else at the moment.

I turned on the TV and found cartoon network was playing its late night anime block and watched FMA. And never looked back. Now, while my love of FMA is not as apparent as my love of Sailor Moon, it’s still there. I made my own Edward and Alphonse Elric dolls, for crying out loud! I would get the manga and I loved the art style so much I started trying to incorporate it into my own a little, much the way it happened with Sailor Moon and Tenchi Muyo. I would sit and listen to the soundtracks I would get from one of my friends. I have a signed picture of Vic Mignogna that I have stored away in a nice, safe place. I’m a fan. And it still stays with me to this day. I spent so much time playing with Harry Potter and FMA with one of my friends that we blended them together.

Yeah. That’s right. My Mini-Erik series shows this bizarre shit in there and i will always be proud of how insane we got with it.

4) Princess Tutu

This one sounds goofy, and it is a little goofy, but it is so much deeper than you can possibly imagine. if you love magical girl stories as well as ballet, then you will love this. I love this. I LOVE THIS. This seriously came about when I found out that we had an anime channel. Back when my mom had a premium package for the cable, I could get free anime series to watch. I watched Pretear on there and a few other things, but what I took to the strongest was Princess Tutu. And trying to get my mom to sit and watch it with me because I know she will enjoy it if she gives it a chance was ridiculous. For some reason, she can’t handle anything where the characters have high pitched voices. She equates it to children’s voices and she can’t stand that. Not only that, but she, to this day, equates animated shit to cartoons for children. As I said, it’s fucking ridiculous to get her to watch this thing and enjoy it even though I know for a fact it has everything I know she will enjoy if she just stopped being a dumbass about it.

So this one has forever inflicted itself upon me. I still want to come up with a knight and princess like Fakir and Ahiru, but that will come when it comes. In the mean time, it will never leave me. Ever. I will always recommend it.

5) Fate/Stay Night (Fate series)

If you’re a long time fan of mine, you also know of my obsession with this series. It will never leave. NEVER. It always calls me back! Just like FMA, Princess Tutu, Tenchi, Sailor Moon, and a few others! But I think the most inspiring thing about the series is not so much the story, but the characters. Namely the heroes. See, I had a book I had taken from my great grandpa’s house upon his death. Actually, I had a lot of books that I had accumulated after his death, and all of them were mythology based. I staked a claim on those faster than you can blink. I have a Welsh Mythology book, an Irish mythology book, and two Scandinavian folk tale books that I got from his house. Well, I had read through the Irish one and enjoyed the Cattle Raid of Cooley and Cuchulainn, but it didn’t stick in my head. It was Fate’s Lancer that shoved that bastard right into my brain and he made a home there. I had always been a huge fan of King Arthur, and seeing a female King Arthur kinda weirded me out at first, but I liked the idea so much that I kept it for my own versions of King Arthur.

“The Dark Queen”, “The King’s Hound”, and “Hound of the Dark Earth” all came from utilizing the images of the characters of Lancer Cu and Saber Arthur, but using them in my own way. So even now I’m still playing with these stories, and it has everything to do with fate/Stay Night being a huge influence on me.

6) Axis Powers: Hetalia

Oh, Hetalia. We have a love/hate relationship, you and I. I love you to pieces, but your fans tend to be fucking psychotic and/or stupid. Or at least the ones I always encounter minus one of my besties. My bestie Alex introduced me to Hetalia and I keep coming back to it while she’s kind of stopped caring. I always come back to things I enjoy, such as Harry Potter, Narnia, Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, yadda yadda.

I instantly fell in love with America and continue to this day. I also fell in love with England, and later France, Germany, Spain, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, China, Russia, Lithuania, and Japan. To this day, I have characters that are at least in some part influenced by the characters of Hetalia. My character Jimmy Stark was influenced by America, my character Bastian Wylde came from England, same with Fabian Santiago from Spain. I think even Darius Lis came from my usual portrayals of Lithuania in roleplays. How these came about was from a lot of role playing with Alex in various stories, including,but not limited to, Twilight and Harry Potter. We always paired Alex’s version of India with England, so in Twilight they became vampire lovers and in Harry Potter they were students. And then we used India in The Witch’s Son/Phantom of the Opera type shenanigans back when I was just trying to figure out how to make The Witch’s Son work.

However, I stayed far from the fandom outside of making overly dramatic fanfictions of a dumb parody cartoon. I know I had at least two Mexican idiots try to tell me that the Texas Revolution was America stealing Texas from Mexico instead of Mexico being an abusive dickwad and Texas raising a shotgun to his face and saying “No More.” Or that Palestine would have never picked on a young Israel, even though Palestine, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and a number of other places around Israel all declared war on Israel for simply existing. Israel won its independence in fire and blood, and then kept on surviving every single time these same nations never learned their lesson and declared they would “drive the Jews into the sea” ie kill them all. Or that America was never a conservative nation. However, they’re small fry in comparison to the bizarre fantards on gaiaonline. Had at least one of them molest my America and then, when I played such a thing straight and had America scream “BAD TOUCH! I NEED AN ADULT!” they started screeching about “straight helatians” being impossible and “straight hetalians” in their fandom. Like... dude? Seriously? The boys liking Hungary’s tits and ass don’t connect with you anywhere?

7) Hellsing

This one is more for two characters, specifically Alucard and Anderson. I played Alucard for years and then finally wanted to incorporate him in something without like... actually doing Alucard. If you know me, you know what I’m referring to. Anderson, however, kind of more just... visually influenced another character that has absolutely zero to do with him... though I suppose you could make the connection because they’re both priests that murder. The image in my head was more of the scarecrow variety, though, with Anderson’s long arms being more lanky, as well as his body. So perhaps a little of Batman’s Scarecrow fell in there somewhere, too.

8) Fushigi Yuugi

I literally only heard about this when I was... I think high school and then got out and ran into it later because of my bestie Amanda. This one is one of the lesser influences, but I suppose it still counts because some of it still lingers with me today.

9) Ouran High School Host Club

A silly manga and a silly anime that makes the Captain a super happy person. This influenced more because of the stereotype characters in the same way Hetalia did. I’ve been noodling with the idea of romances surrounding similar types, including twins with a chick. We’ll see where that goes... if it goes anywhere.

10) Anything CLAMP has created

Not gonna lie... I was a huge CLAMP fiend when I got out of high school. While I don’t really give a shit about the yaoi in the stories, my interest has always been in the cute, girly, adventure, or the DESIGNS. Jesus fuck, I would kill to be able to design some of the outfits they design. I’ve never been that imaginative with clothing. The detail put into the designs made me try to do the same with my own artwork, for good or ill. And the art styles were ones I emulated, particularly from eeh... Angelic Layer and Tsubasa Chronicle. I, in fact, used to rely on the manga from Tenchi, Sailor Moon, and Tsubasa Chronicle to get ideas for page layouts and whatnot when I drew comics. I incorporated a lot of it into my drawing style and then let it relax into something else when I finally got bored with keeping up with CLAMP.

#the captain #file this under #things that people don't really care about #anime #manga #yup

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closedspeciesdrama · 7 years

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Re: The Wendigo argument, there's this instability trait which is prevalent on the internet these days. There are a lot of very unstable young men and women who try to give themselves meaning and worth by deeming themselves "gatekeepers" of either political correctness or cultural appropriation. Down to a man the ones I've seen in CS and in other communities are typically insecure to the point of near-mania and with any number of mental issues. Gatorbite and VCR are like poster boys. 1 of 2

- The best way to deal with this sort of nonsense isn’t to argue with them which is ultimately narcissistic supply and a means for them to try and show how morally “superior” they are to their victim, it’s simply best to flat out block them if needed or ignore them. Might seem harsh but I have personal issue with the way they use issues of gender and culture to bully every community they touch and to intimidate younger people with threats of dubbing them “bad people” or public defamation. 2 of 2

(1)Citing “Windigo Psychosis: the anatomy of an emic-etic confusion” an academic journal by a group of anthropologists: “When the windigo phenomenon is considered from the point of view of group sociodynamics rather than from that of individual psychodynamics, the crucial question is not what causes a person to become a cannibalistic maniac, but under what circumstances a Northern Algonkian is likely to be accused of having become a cannibalistic maniac(2)and thus run the risk of being executed as such. It is argued that those so executed were victims of triage homicide or witch hunts, events common in societies under stress.” Hell just that alone should be enough. Algonkians and other natives were straight up murdered over a mythological creature that was used against them. No one besides Algonkians are in any placeto make a CS/adopt design based on something with such a dark historical context.(3)Looking beyond Wikipedia could have easily told you this. Also, no anon, you fucking idiot, the wendigo was a thing before the term “wendigo psychosis” even existed as a culture-bound syndrome. AND IF YOU PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER… usually “culture-bound” syndromes are inherently racist and untrue.

Didn’t vcr-wolfe get called out for something too tho like if you’re gonna be the 1# sjw for everything wouldn’t it be ironic to get a call out for a shitty thing you’ve done

OH MY GOD. that post is LITERALLY a whole fucking year ago. once again vendetta anons pull shit from their ass. that character isnt even a freaking adopt, and vcr doesnt even have a species and has hardly sold maybe 3 adopts in the last 6 months? maybe if yall weren’t reaching so far into the past for some petty bs we could stay on topic for once lmao

Wait is there any proof of them being white?? I’ve I beleive I saw vcr wolfe say they’re native or smth before. But the thunderbird thing is so stupid lmao in the Wild West tm a lot of towns only had like white people because natives were driven out. I mean depending on the characters setting. Plus there’s majority of white people. Thunderbirds aren’t like a wendigo, you can say it’s name and talk about it and it wouldn’t attack just you so I don’t see a problem lmao

I think the issue here is you’re going to have people from a culture saying something is offensive, but someone else from the same culture saying that it’s not offensive and they’re glad you’re taking interest in their culture in the first place. See: Every East Asian mythology based CS out there, basically. Literally there is no right or wrong across the board, nobody “wins”, and that’s just how life is. Grey morality exists, just let people make content they enjoy ffs.

People act like VCR-WOLFE’s word is law or something. I can see being passionate about causes and all but they take the cake for extremism. People should be allowed to make a character any race to fit their preferences or just their likes, of course within being respectful. I think VCR gets some kind of high and mighty buzz by going after people, especially us evil whites.

multiple poc: hey this is offensive. yall: uhm idk that sounds fake :/. one poc: yeah it’s fake. yall, digging your claws in: YOU SEE? WE WERE RIGHT ALL ALONG! THIS ONE POC HAS VALIDATED OUR RACISM FOREVER! *pterodactyl screech*

Is vcr wolfe a serious account or is it just some random asshole that enjoys stirring up people by being the dictionary image for the social justice warrior stereotype that literally everyone hates. I have seen them be a little weiner before (cue them accusing me of misgendering them), I would take nothing they say seriously because honestly they are a joke.

Why does this Wendigo shit still come up? This is the same as the sombrero Mario crap that blew up on twitter. Quit speaking for other cultures that you don’t belong to. Native American people have expressed both support and distain for the issue. A wendigo is a monster, why is making a monster be a monster suddenly such a taboo? You can white knight the subject to death, you aren’t in the wrong but you’re certainly not in the right either. If you don’t support it then don’t.

context: the wendigo was used as a slur and label for natives/Algonquins who were mentally ill (aka called them canibals; hence “wendigo psychosis”) and was used to justify their genocide so making an adopt out of such a theme isn’t taken lightly as this has a historic context you can’t erase (source: I live in the algonquin northeast) (½)mythical creatures such as vampires and werewolves come from a ton of different cultures and generally they’ve been reinterpreted so often that it doesn’t retain its origin context. here’s another point- the Algonquin people still exist. despite the mythical creature being used against them they are more than in the right to use it how they see fit. it’s sorta like how the lgbt community took back the word “queer” while a straight person should definitely not call a gay person “a queer” (2/2)

Btw the wendigo isn’t a legend ! It’s a tale told up north and is taken very seriously. The reason people don’t want you to use it is because saying the name is suppose to make you a victim ( aa I forgot I’m sorry ) BUT I still beleive if you do your research u should be okay like just don’t make it a xD murderer monster cannibal

The thing with a wendigo character is not everyone is going to see/research the full story of them, because they’ve been big in media for awhile now. Until Dawn, Supernatural, even My Little Pony. And tbh, it’s something that while drifting away from the original intent, does bring traditional stories to the homes of others, who otherwise would never know the term, or know of the monsters. Mass media is keeping our culture alive, even as we kill it ourselves by not letting others near it.

this just in: vcr-wolfe solely dictates what can and cannot be used from cultures in character designs

VCR is mixed actually lol

VCR-wolfe is actually half mexican. So maybe don’t be fucking racist?

Can we stop the “ insulting = I’m right” thing it’s so stupid. If someone’s discussing something or DOESNT KNOW you don’t have to insult them. You look like a jerk js ( this is towards the anon in the wendigo post about wendigo-psychosis). The person was just basically saying ‘fun fact’ no need to call them a fucking idiot jeez

Mixed with what? I’ve seen this argument on another drama site. If they are mixed, they are white enough to pass as entirely white. Even then your word isn’t some divine rule on what is right & wrong. VCR constantly leans on the “I’m mentally ill” schtick, maybe they should focus on themselves for a bit & quit badgering people that want to enjoy another culture. Geez would bringing back segregation make you fuckers happy, let start DNA testing before you can draw or create a non white character.

The anon about wendigo pychosis got their panties in a twist lmao. If we can’t use anything with “” dark historical context" or “ only ____ are allowed to use this” then we all might as well sick to our own religions and make nothing but what we’re born into/practice. So if you’re native and you make a nun rabbit prepare for a ass chewing ! :( keep whining about everything you just sound like a broken record lmao you “” fucking idiot “”

Wait so if vcr-Wolfe isn’t native what say do they got in it then??? If they’re Mexican/white ??? Why don’t they step down and let real native/mixed natives speak for themselves and not have someone gatekeeping their beliefs Jesus lord I LOVE when none natives try to speak for my culture

Multi poc people: this is bad y'all: SEE ITS EVIL Multi poc: its alright do your research tho Y'all: WTF THATS BAD WHAT ABOUT OUR TOKEN FRRIENDS SAYING ITS OKAY AAAA Get your head out your ass dude there’s two sides to the shit just because people back your opinion doesn’t mean you can use your poc friends as a way to wave it around. You’re being just as bad to diss other peoples opinions FROM THE SAME GROUP lmao

i’m ndn, and personally my opinion on the entire thing is, don’t make wendigo characters for profit in general, especially if you’re not ndn. i don’t even like seeing my brothers, sisters, and two-spirited brethren do it. it’s one thing to make one for personal use, and as long as you’re not making them uwu edgy wendigo doggo that eats people uwu then.. honestly? who cares. but stop making wendigos when you know nothing about the culture, or that many tribes have different lore on it.

also the entire thing of wendigo psychosis being a thing: false. that was a term made up waaaaay after the fact. the thing is, there are multiple tribes that believe in wendigo, many have different names for it, and there’s even variations born differently like wechuge. but the fact of the matter is that most people don’t even read in or pay attention beyond the edgy cannibal shit to know that a wendigo is pretty much a skeleton made out of ice in most tribal cultures LMAO not a fucking dog

the entire purpose of people saying ‘hey if you don’t understand it, don’t make it’ is so that you don’t make a mockery of our legends, lore, culture, and history. not so you can’t have fun. it’s like me making a black character and making them stereotypical and completely shitting on it, and then doubling back with the ‘oh i made a black character so i understand black struggles’ shit like. it’s not cute when you do it to any race or culture so stop.

Why is it a crime to make Wendigo characters but when some family lines (before me, I don’t care) wouldn’t approve of the use of nordic mythos no one bats an eye at adopts that play off them, or for that matter, movies and shows that paint them in completely inaccurate ways. You can’t close the mythos of one culture & make it untouchable while saying some are fine to take from, that isn’t how it works.

VCR is mixed Mexican Navajo and saying a mixed person is basically white is just fucking ugly and racist as shit, holy shit

Nordic myth is white myth and white people are not in any danger of having their culture stamped out and then reinterpreted by their oppressors while they are punished for trying to access it, unlike, you know, Native American myth. Reverse racism isn’t real

‘nordic myth is white myth and–’ it’s still someone’s religion, so yeah actually it still stands, either all religions are sacred inherently and are off limits or none are and you can’t bitch and whine and moan and throw a social justice tantrum into that being untrue, people making shitty wendigo ocs isn’t stamping anyone’s religion out any more than marvel making a shitty version of loki is, they’re equally stupid but harmless

Except there is a huge fucking difference between open and closed religions? Nordic pagan worship is an open religion. Native folk religions are closed religions. Christianity is an open religion. The Amish are, by and large, a closed sect. Sincerely, an nordic heathen who knows full well what people can take from my belief system

“Werehyenas can’t be made into species and characters because they appropriate African culture uwu~” The hyena and werehyena have a very similar negative connotation in African folklore by you don’t see them getting so butt hurt over them being used. I get so sick and tired of people saying you can’t base a CS or Character off of a fictional monster. I guess I should toss out my Church Grim OC because that’s an insult to English and Scandinavian Folklore as it guards a place considered sacred

literally no one is saying dont ever do it theyre saying be respectful, follow the originating culture’s traditions, and dont slap a native myth on a white character because its disrespectful to the culture you supposedly like so much youre pulling from them. entitled much?

"my friend finds this thing offensive! your friend doesn't find this offensive? stop tokenising your friends, also YOUR friends are WRONG!" so native voices only count when they agree with you? maybe accept that an individual can't speak for an entire group, and that people from within the same culture can have very different ideas about what cultural appropriation even is.

Everyone yelling about wendigos when they're ignoring the fact Sincommonstitches literally made a design based off the imperial rising sun (you know- rape of Nanking?? Children and women slaughtered?) and day of the dead (mexican holiday already shit on for $$$) guardians, sold them for profit, and then bitched in a journal when they got called out how they shouldn't have to deal with this and they need their fiance to handle their pr now lmfao

Keeping all this in one post, anything new sent in will be added to this post. While it is on topic, it is far from species related.

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likeshipsonthesea · 8 years

Text

A Happy Ending

Nursey Week Day 6: Dreamer

Nursey sits on the floor of the living room, playing with Legos and trying to build the coolest castle there ever was. He considers two Legos thoughtfully, deciding eventually on a pink door over a green one.

The castle, Nursey decides, belongs to a King and a Queen. They have a son, the Prince. The King and Queen work a lot, as kings and queens usually do, which leaves the Prince to his own devices much of the time. He wanders about the cool castle excitedly, ready to find a new secret passageway or a painting willing to have a conversation (because, in the cool castle, paintings can talk).

The Prince finds a room filled with toys. So many toys that it’s overwhelming. There is a wall lined with stuffed animals, cupboards filled with action figures and shelves filled with colorful books detailing stories of unearthly adventures. The Prince runs about the room, picking up toys and playing with them for a while before moving on. He puts together a puzzle of the Eiffel Tower in France, which he’s seen himself, and then he uses dolls to act out a tale of falling in love. In the back of the room, there’s a group of people the Prince’s age, willing to play hockey with him when he asks.

When the Prince tires of playing, he attempts to find his way out of the room, but he cannot find the door he came in through. Nothing looks familiar and the Prince begins to get scared, worried that he’ll be stuck in this room forever. As cool as the toys are, he misses his parents, the King and Queen, and he doesn’t want the toys if he can’t have them, too.

Just as the Prince starts to cry, hopelessly lost, the King and Queen rush over to him, having found him in the large, cool castle.

The Queen scoops the Prince up in her arms, cooing softly. “We were so worried about you,” she says, petting his hair and holding him close. “We missed you so much.”

The King puts a hand on the Prince’s back, rubbing soothingly. “Yes, son, you are the most important thing to us and we thought we lost you.”

“What about-” the Prince sniffles, “- what about your jobs?” he asks.

“They don’t mean anything compared to you,” the Queen says.

“You are the most important thing to us,” the King says, nodding.

The Prince smiles, pressing his face into his mother’s chest, and hugs her tighter.

“Now, what would you like for dinner?” the King asks, but it doesn’t sound like the King’s booming, deep voice.

Nursey frowns, looking up at his nanny, who’s wearing an expectant look on her face.

“What?”

His nanny rolls her eyes, annoyed. “What would you like for dinner?”

Nursey blinks at her, confused. “Don’t Mommy and Daddy decide?”

“They won’t be eating it. They have to work late.”

“Oh.” Nursey looks back at his Lego castle. “Whatever’s fine,” he says. His nanny leaves, walking towards the kitchen. Nursey starts taking apart the castle.

*~*~*

The saying, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to see it, does it make a sound?” is an incredibly arrogant thought, Nursey decides halfway through his math period. Like, who says that something is only true if you’re there to witness it? Things happen even if you aren’t there. Things happen even if humans aren’t there. Humanity is not the be-all end-all of the world.

Humanity is pretty arrogant too, now that he thinks about it. They consider themselves the top of the food chain, the smartest, the best species. Just because humans don’t understand what animals are saying doesn’t mean that animals aren’t just as smart as them. It’s not unlike when people who don’t speak English are considered stupid in the eyes of bigoted only-English speaking people simply because they can’t understand what the non-English speaker is saying. Not to say that non-English speakers are animals and English speaking people are “higher” like humanity considers itself to be, just that the prejudice both experience are somewhat similar.

“Mr. Nurse?”

Nursey looks up to see the teacher, Mr. Camilleri, wearing an expectant look on his face.

“What?”

The kids around him laugh and Nursey tries to duck down further into his notes.

Mr. Cam, because he’s chill as hell, glares the rest of them into silence and re-asks, “What was your answer for number four?”

“Uh.” Nursey looks down at his paper. Number four is artfully decorated with some confusing scribbles, random lines, and a circled 42˚. “42?”

Camilleri nods, turning back to the whiteboard, where he writes down 42˚. “While that’s not the final answer, it is a pit stop on the way of getting there. Ms. Junip, could you help us get to the final answer?”

Nursey pays attention as Penelope Junip explains the rest of the problem because he knows he’ll need to understand this for the next test. When the question is over, and they move onto number five, Nursey finds that he actually got the right answer for that one, so he lets himself drift as Camilleri explains it for those who didn’t.

He wonders if numbers have relationships with each other. He feels like five would be a dick; he’s so special and everything, only fitting into numbers that end in five or zero. Ten is probably humble, a little embarrassed at five’s arrogance. Eight probably loves nine, but nine only has eyes for ten, and they’re such a perfect couple that eight always feels bad for his feelings. Six probably knows this, and takes eight and seven out when any of the three of them are feeling bad. Seven always feels out of place, so awkward and never feeling like he fits except with a select few, like six, and eight. Nursey almost laughs at himself when he finds himself identifying with the number seven.

Next period, he has English. They’re reading Romeo and Juliet, and though Nursey’s already read it, he can’t wait. English works in his mind the way that math does in Penelope Junip’s. Metaphors and similes, figurative language peppered with repetition and symbolism and allusions. It makes sense the way an equation should; everything fits. But it’s more fun than math, because he can move things around and still have it make sense. There isn’t such structure to English.

He finds this ironic, of course, because he usually loves structure, control. Any differentiation has him freaking out in a decidedly unchill manner. But it’s also perfectly understandable, he reasons. All the best things in his life are unstructured, craziness, chaos. Shitty Knight, hockey, poetry. He’s just a chaotic kind of guy.

As they move onto number six, Nursey laments his situation while also trying to figure out how in the world Camilleri got 73˚.

*~*~*

There’s a brochure in front of him. Actually, there are several brochures in front of him. There’s one for Yale, since it’s an Ivy and would get him an internship in any of the places a child of parents like his ought to get an internship. There’s two other ones of colleges in New York, Columbia and Cornell. Columbia because it’s in New York City and his guidance counselor assumed he might want to stay close to home, and Cornell, a product of his mother’s lingering hope that he will go into engineering. Harvard is there, his father’s way of pushing Nursey into law so he could go and tell his business buddies that his son is a lawyer.

In the middle of them all sits Samwell University. This one was given to him by Shitty Knight, who stopped by Andover in February for Nursey’s birthday celebration and to taunt some of his least favorite teachers with pranks. He had clapped Nursey on the back, laughing and telling him that it all starts now, with seventeen and freedom and independence.

“You’d like it,” Shitty had said, eyes earnest despite the haziness of the alcohol. “It’s-” He had shaken his head, beaming. “It’s fucking sw’awesome. Come to the hockey tour; I promise you won’t regret it.”

Nursey hadn’t regretted it. He had loved Samwell, from the hockey rink being beautiful enough to inspire sonnets to the teammates who welcomed out-of-the-norm people to the quietly outstanding libraries to the two girls he saw kissing in broad daylight like there was nothing to be afraid of. Samwell was everything he had wanted in high school and never got. Well, he got a taste of it, in the form of Shitty, but Nursey wanted a world of Shitty Knight.

God, he could never tell Shitty that. His ego, and Nursey’s tolerance of it, would explode.

He imagines himself at Samwell, surrounded by those people and those things. He could get a boyfriend- or girlfriend, he is pan, after all, but he can get a girlfriend at Andover- and flaunt him like he would deserve. He could live in the library, with books and that architecture, crying over its beauty and his sure-to-be-deadly coursework. He could spend practices and roadies and wins and losses with guys who collectively yelled at the one taddy that made a comment about that baking one’s femininity.

In his mind, Nursey sits on a couch in a frat house. It smells terrible. There’s pie.

It’s wonderful.

*~*~*

There’s a room somewhere, the place is irrelevant. In this room, there’s an unending supply of tea, all the flavors Nursey could dream of. All of his favorite books are in a pile next to the comfiest couch that was ever made. Next to that pile are all the books Nursey’s ever wanted to read. People are only allowed in the room if they’re wearing fuzzy socks and of a mind that’s ready to relax.

There are no clocks in the room, so there is no time. Nothing outside the room matters and Nursey is sitting on that couch, sipping tea, reading books, and wearing fuzzy socks.

He is not, as he was earlier led to believe, underneath the Haus dining table attempting to cram for his environmental science midterm while Bitty flutters about the kitchen, offering him pastries every once in a while. That, he’s sure, would be terrible and ridiculous in equal measures.

Of course, the illusion is shattered when Dex shoves himself under the table as well, already bustling in before he seems to realize that Nursey already occupies this space. He considers Nursey for a moment with an angry expression before muttering, “Budge over,” and settling in next to him. He pulls out a French history textbook and begins taking notes.

It’s a well-known fact that underneath the Haus dining table is an excellent spot to study. Ransom spends at least half of his break downs under here. Shitty can usually be found here before finals, naked save for a textbook artfully covering his junk. Lardo has been under here so many times to finish a piece that the bottom of the table is covered in paint splatters. They, the glorious upperclassmen, imparted this knowledge on the lowly Frogs, who use the spot when necessary.

Nursey is too stressed to argue, so he just moves over. The two of them cram for a long while. Halfway through a sentence about wind patterns, Nursey snorts to himself when he realizes that his desire for timelessness seems to have been achieved. It isn’t exactly what he meant, but no fulfilled wish ever is.

Sometime after that but before Nursey gets to the end of that chapter, Bitty pokes his head under the table, offering out a plate of something that looks delicious.

“I made meringues. You boys want one?” His studying is usually done in the form of making his textbooks unsellable after the end of a class by dirtying them with flour and the like. Dex, who doesn’t mind, bought three of them in the beginning of the semester.

“Yes, please.” Dex, who’s closer, takes the plate and puts it in between his and Nursey’s legs. They bite into them simultaneously and groan likewise.

“Fuck, Bits,” Dex moans around his own. Bitty blushes. Nursey tries not to find it attractive, but it’s a battle.

“You’re the best,” Nursey says earnestly. Bitty rolls his eyes, but his lips curve into a pleased smile.

“You boys flatter me.” He rights himself, his head disappearing, and Nursey and Dex take a break from studying to devour the meringues. There’s an odd number, so they are left with one on the plate when they’ve polished off the rest. Nursey and Dex exchange a look. Then, Dex picks it up and cleanly breaks it in half, holding one piece out to Nursey, who smiles a little, surprised.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. Dex nods. They eat they’re shared treats, eyes shining like kids who found the cookie jar hidden above the refrigerator. It’s a secret, almost, and it tastes sweet.

*~*~*

There’s cheering, overwhelmingly loud cheering. It’s cold, as it always is on the ice, but Nursey loves it like he has since he shakily skated onto the rink near his parents’ apartment in New York. Everything is sore, and the cold doesn’t help, and his under armor sticks to him all clammy and sweaty like someone’s hand he doesn’t want to be holding.

The captain is beaming, laughing as he’s tackled by the rest of the team. They won, he’s thinking, it’s in his eyes, we did it, I can’t believe we did it. The goalie is being lifted into the air, laughing as the pressure of being the only thing between a victory and sadness drifts away. The coaches are clapping each other on the back, all of the players left on the bench having joined the fray. They share conspiratorial smiles, like proud parents able to bask in a moment of Look at what they did, look at what we helped them do.

For a second, the captain is Jack, looking proud and emotional but knowing that this isn’t it, there’s more to come. The goalie is Chowder, crying a little and scrambling away when Holster and Ransom try to hand him the puck, a Frozen Four win puck. Murray and Hall have that parental look about them, the kind of look that Nursey’s never seen on his own parents, and it makes him ache, but he doesn’t mind. It’s Samwell’s bench that’s void of players; the ice is covered in red and white jerseys; it’s red and white confetti falling from the ceiling.

The next second, Nursey is walking into a locker room with twenty-two other emotional young hockey players. Jack is nowhere to be seen; Chowder is crying- Nursey got that part right; Murray and Hall are attempting to tell them all that they did a good job, but their eyes aren’t quite convincing enough. Nursey curls a hand around Dex’s shoulder, the sound of his helmet banging on the floor reverberating around in Nursey’s ears.

He imagines cheering, in the next second. Whooping and the sloshing of Gatorade as it’s dumped on Jack, Chowder, the coaches, everyone. There would probably be a Gatorade fight, when Nursey thinks about it. Everyone would be laughing. Bitty would be thinking up the pie he was going to make in celebration. Shitty would probably be naked. Dex would probably be smiling that forest fire smile of his; unrestrainable and radiating warmth.

Nursey knows he has another three years to try, to do this again, to win. But, as he sits down at his designated cubby, his eyes catch on Shitty, whose hair falls in his face, his expression closed off. He looks at Jack’s stall, empty. Nothing has changed in that stall since Jack stood up from it two hours ago and gave a speech telling them to give it their all and that he would be happy. He isn’t happy now, Nursey thinks.

“Nursey,” someone says, breaking him out of his reverie. “You’ve gotta shower.”

Nursey looks up to see Dex standing there, anger in the set of his jaw and worry in his eyes. The anger seeps out a bit, though, when he sees Nursey’s face.

“We deserved it,” Nursey says, rambling in his mind and shutting his mouth tight. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. In all the movies, all the books, the team that deserved it won. The captain who had done his best, been encouraging, had gone through so much, he would get the win, win it all. Or-or the underdog, freshman goalie who was the sweetest person anyone would ever meet and a stone-cold killer between the poles, he would get a NCAA win his first year. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“I know,” Dex says, and Nursey thinks he does.

*~*~*

A Snap sits unread on the screen of Nursey’s phone. It’s from wjp_dex and it sits unread because Nursey hasn’t finished this chapter yet. He doubts he’ll be able to finish a novel if he’s stopping every other word to look at the snapshots of his life that Dex gives him.

When the chapter is complete, he picks up and unlocks his phone, receiving his small gift. It’s a picture of Dex, a little sunburnt, with the bay behind him. He’s wearing a backwards cap and there’s a little ginger girl with her face smashed against his, grinning with a smile that’s missing a few teeth. Dex looks so content, relaxed around the eyes and his mouth in an easy smile. It’s captioned with sadie thinks your name is weird.

Nursey takes a picture of his laptop screen and sends back your face is weird. Then he takes another one of himself and clarifies dex’s, not sadie’s. sadie’s is adorable.

Suck up, Nursey gets back with a picture of Dex sticking his tongue out and Sadie smiling smugly.

In Maine, Dex would play in the water with Sadie and Scott and all the other siblings that have names so Irish that it’s like they’re trying to prove it-like the hair wasn’t enough. Nursey would lie on the beach, a book in his hand, or maybe a journal, so he could write. He would look up every once in a while to watch them all splash around, smile, and then go back to his work. After a while, Dex would get annoyed and send one of his cutest little relatives to go get him.

They’d spend the afternoon in the water, turning to prunes and tasting salt long after they’d left the beach. They’d walk back to the Poindexter’s house and Mrs. P would yell at them the second they walked in, telling them to hose off or go find some other place to have dinner. Dex would help his younger siblings get clean of sand and then start a water fight with Nursey, like they weren’t already soaking wet.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Dex would laugh, pushing Nursey’s mop of hair out of his eyes, as it usually fell there when it was wet.

“You look like a drowned rat,” Nursey would say back, too happy to come up with some other kind of insult. Then maybe he’d lean in and feel Dex’s sunburn-warm skin against his own, maybe it would be okay, maybe they’d-

wjp_dex has sent you a Snap! Nursey’s phone says. He opens it. Dex has taken a picture of the water and asked, how’s the novel coming along?

Bit by bit, he sends back, a picture of the half-filled (he’s always been an optimist, despite his attempts at the opposite) page he’s got on his screen.

Dex sends back another picture, still of the water, and a thumbs-up emoji. Nursey smiles, and turns back to the screen.

*~*~*

They’re fighting, and Nursey kisses him to shut Dex up. Dex’s skin is flushed with anger and his cheeks are warm under Nursey’s fingertips. He keeps trying to argue under Nursey’s lips, but silences himself when Nursey tells him to shut the fuck up. He pushes Nursey back against the door of whatever room they’re in-preferably one of their dorms, since there are beds there- and shoves his thigh in between Nursey’s. Nursey groans, his head falling back, and Dex fits his mouth around the skin of Nursey’s Adam’s apple and it’s-

They’re drunk and get caught on one another as they navigate the dance floor, sticking like soda that hasn’t bene cleaned properly off a counter top, but more pleasantly than that sounds. The music works its way into their hips, their hands, and they tell themselves- Nursey tells himself- that it’s Beyoncé, it’s the alcohol, it’s the kegster, it’s not them, and continues telling himself that as he licks at the sweat forming on Dex’s collarbone. Dex groans and Nursey feels the vibration in his mouth and it’s-

They’re both tired from practice and then lectures and they’re sitting in Nursey’s dorm studying, flipping through textbooks and laptops without making a sound. Dex starts typing, as he usually does, and Nursey starts humming to counteract it, and they both get so annoyed with one another that Nursey grabs Dex’s fingers to stop the tapping and Dex attempts to press them against Nursey’s mouth to quell the noise, but he only succeeds in getting their faces closer together. Nursey stares at Dex for too, too long and then leans closer and feels Dex’s exhale of breath against his check and it’s-

And it’s funny, because in every one of Nursey’s dreams of this situation, whenever he let himself think about it, he started it. Nursey would kiss him, Nursey would lean in, Nursey would be the instigator. Maybe it was a subconscious part of himself saying that Dex would never be the one to start it, mainly because he would never feel the same way. But whatever it was, Nursey always thought of it I kiss him, he doesn’t say no, because it would be the most plausible thing his mind could handle.

That’s how he knows that he isn’t dreaming right now, because Dex kissed him first. Dex said, “Hey, Nursey?” while they were sitting in the Haus basement as Dex attempted to fix the washer for what must be close to the hundredth time. Nursey suspects that it isn’t yet the hundredth time because he’d expect more confetti and celebration when it reaches the big one-o-o. Dex was the one that leaned in, so close that Nursey’s eyes widened and his heart started racing. Dex was the one that said, “Could you hand me the Phillips head screwdriver?” Dex had been the one that put his tools on the other side of Nursey’s spot, put Nursey between the tools and the washer.

“I-I don’t know a Phillip,” Nursey had said, aiming for witty and just sounding nervous. Unchill, his mind said, and he almost laughed.

“Oh,” Dex had said, his eyes laughing and his lips smirking. “I’ll get it then,” he murmured, and leaned forward. As his hand searched for the tool, his lips touched Nursey’s and his eyes closed. Which is a really ineffective way of searching for a tool, Nursey thought, before he sighed and closed his eyes as well.

Now, Dex is the one moving his lips like waves at the shore, relentless and intoxicating. Dex is the one putting his body in between Nursey’s spread thighs, gripping his waist all sturdy and focused, like when he’s fixing things. Nursey drops his hands off the planes of Dex’s broad shoulders, his wrists bent as his fingers intertwine in the sparse hairs on the back of Dex’s neck. He let his hair get long over the summer and Nursey has dreamed about that, too.

When Dex pulls back, he smiles. He holds up what Nursey presumes to be a Phillips head screwdriver.

“Got it,” he says.

“Yeah,” Nursey breathes out, and then smiles. Dex’s little laugh is way better than any flimsy dream.

*~*~*

Nursey sits in a waiting room. His phone lights up with texts from Shitty, Chowder, Dex, and the rest of the team, but mostly the first three. Good luck, a lot of them say, you’re going to do great a couple read.

Nursey closes his eyes.

He lives in either Maine or Massachusetts. There’s a big house with lots of rooms and comfy furniture that costs a decent amount, but it’s good furniture. He and Dex fought about the price of the couch and then made up when Nursey had it delivered without telling Dex and then let Dex fuck him on it. Nursey and Dex have their own room, with a big bed piled high with pillows and the softest sheets money could buy, which Dex didn’t fight him over because he’s a diva when it comes to blankets.

Some of the other rooms are also bedrooms. A guest room, for when Shitty and Lardo stop by, and a couple pull out beds for when more than one of Dex’s siblings comes by at a time. The other bedrooms are kids’ rooms, kids who love Dex and love Nursey and know what it’s like to be loved back, know what it’s like to be more important than anything else.

One of the other rooms is a home office, where Nursey writes, sometimes. Sometimes he stays in his and Dex’s room; sometimes he stays in the kitchen. Depends on the muse, really. Nursey writes a lot, being an author and all. His books are loved, maybe not famous, but loved and cherished and a lot to the people who read them. He makes enough off of them that they can be his job and damn does he love his job.

Dex comes home with the fucking bunch of kids that they have and presses a kiss to the side of Nursey’s face. “I love you,” he says, before asking about Nursey’s day and telling the kids to go do their schoolwork. Nursey loves him too, so much, and this is their life together. A little messy- how could it not be messy with all the kids they have?- but filled with love and warmth and presence.

“Mr. Nurse?” the receptionist calls, leaning out of a partially opened door. “We’re ready for you.”

Nursey grips his manuscript tightly- they had wanted a printed copy- and takes a deep breath. He knows that it wasn’t real, but a dreamer like him can accomplish anything, right?

#nurseydex #dexnursey #nurseyweek #nursey #derek nurse #check please #angst #happy ending #i promise it's happy

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ellanainthetardis · 8 years

Note

prompt : peeta and haymitch having " the talk " like effie and katness did

This is crack but it was fun! [x]

The Hard Truth About Bananas

Cinna was his best chess opponent aboard theVictory Tour train but the stylist was nowhere near good enough for Haymitch toengage his whole attention in the game. It was a welcomed distraction though.With each new District they hit, the atmosphere on the train only grew heavier.

They wouldn’t reach Three until the followingevening, which meant they would enjoy a whole day and two nights of rest.Haymitch was relieved by the respite. The speeches had already been reviewed,he and Effie had gone over the schedules so many times he probably could havedroned them out in his sleep and theywere as ready as they could be.

The kids now…

“Your turn.” Cinna said. Haymitch glanced atthe chessboard, saw that the stylist had moved his knight exactly as he had expectedhim to, and simply advanced his piece without much thought. Cinna made a face.“Damn.”

Haymitch barely paid him any attention, toobusy observing the others.

Portia and Effie had disappeared a whileearlier to check something in the wardrobe car – which meant they probably werein the bar car, having drinks theirescort wouldn’t have allowed herself in company of the kids and sharing juicygossips. Katniss and Peeta were sitting on the couch. The boy was sketching andKatniss was watching whatever recap of the Tour they were having on TV, lookinggloomy and unhappy.

With reasons.

Everything would have been so much easier ifKatniss had been a better actress, he mused, distractedly countering Cinna’smove. Acting didn’t come so easily to him but he wasn’t bad at it. He hadpicked it up quickly enough. All victors did eventually. But Katniss… Katnisswas an atrocious liar and the more she tried to appear convincing, the worse itwas.

Every public appearance with the boy was adisaster.

He had tried to coach her. Effie had tried tocoach her. To no avail. And if Effie,who he truly believed to be the best actress he knew, couldn’t work her magicthen they were doomed.

When she put on an act, the girl looked stiff,tense and off-putting.

Now, if only she could realize she didn’t need to…

He watched as she casually placed a hand onPeeta’s thigh to catch his attention, nodding at something on the screen. Theboy’s eyes widened and he licked his lips, less interested by whatever washappening on TV than by the fingers on his leg.

“Checkmate.” he claimed. He acknowledged thestylist’s exclamations, even answered with a few friendly gibes, but hisattention was on the kids.

Katniss was done with the TV. She bent overPeeta to grab the remote, brushing her chest against his leg, probablysqueezing his thigh, bringing her face in close proximity to his lap… Any othergirl, the whole thing might have been a ploy… A not so subtle trick…

But it was Katniss and Katniss was clueless.

That was what he expected of her inpublic and she could only give it when she was unaware.

Peeta’s face was flushed and he awkwardlyshuffled to cross his legs once she had the remote and was back sittingupright. Cinna declared he was going to bed. Katniss stood up and stretched,stating she was tired too. The boy’s eyes were riveted to her waist, where skinhad briefly been visible. And, again,she was clueless.

“You’re coming?” Katniss asked.

“In a minute.” Peeta answered and, creditsneeded to be given, he sounded composed – a little out of breath, yeah, butcomposed. He waved his sketchpad. “I want to finish this.”

The girl shrugged and left with Cinna, chattingabout something or other. Haymitch stood up slowly, not quite hiding his smirk,and walked to the liquor cart in the corner. He hesitated a bit on theappropriate poison and then decided whiskey was the way to go. Whiskey hadnever betrayed him before. He poured two glasses and handed one to Peeta.

“I don’t…” the boy frowned.

“You’re old enough for that…” He nodded at theboy’s groin, eyes twinkling in amusement. “You’re old enough to drink.” Peetaawkwardly relocated his sketchpad to hide the bulge and accepted the glass.Haymitch dropped on an armchair and took a sip, if only to delay. He couldn’tput it back forever though. “We need to have a talk, you and I.”

“No, we don’t.” the boy said quickly, turning aworrying shade of red. “I’ve got brothers. I know what…”

“You know the basics. Good.” he snorted.“Wasn’t quite concerned about that. Pretty much instinct. Even an idiot canfigure it out eventually.”

Peeta brought the glass closer to his lips,hesitated, and then took a sip. He coughed so hard Haymitch had to bite down onthe inside of his cheek not to laugh. Evenworse than Finnick, he thought…

“Look, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, alright?” the boy chocked out between two coughs. “Shejust… Sometimes she does things and…”

“And you’re seventeen, yeah, I remember whatit’s like.” he mocked. “Been there, done that.”

Hell, he was forty, soon to be forty-one, andsometimes it didn’t take much to trigger him.With the right woman… A perfume, a look, a hand that casually trailed down hisarm, a smile… He banished any thought of Effie’s sassy grin from his mind –getting a boner wouldn’t help right now.

“She never notices.” Peeta mumbled, apparentlynot quite sure if it was a good or a bad thing.

Haymitch could sympathize.

“You want her to notice?” he asked, taking painto keep his voice casual despite the growl that wanted to come out. The kidswere like his own but he was conflicted on that matter. On one hand, he couldonly cheer for Peeta if he got some but, on the other, he wanted to rip apartanyone who would touch Katniss that way.

“I don’t know.” the boy admitted and tookanother sip of whiskey. He didn’t cough as long this time. “I wouldn’t… I wouldnever take advantage.”

That, he knew. If one of them was evergoing to take advantage of the other, it would be the other way around.

“You’re sleeping in her bed.” he pointed out,because he needed to.

“Nothing’s happening.” Peeta was quick toprotest. “It helps her sleep. I toldEffie…”

“I know what you told Effie.” he shrugged.“She’s not really buying it. But she’s never been the kind to sleep in a guy’sbed and do nothing if you catch my drift…”

She would killhim if that got out. But, then again, she could have tackled this herself. Payback was a bitch and heliked his salty.

Peeta made a face. “You shouldn’t talk aboutEffie like that.”

Mama’s boy, he almost accused. He swallowed thewords back. Effie was Peeta’s confidant of choice just like he was Katniss’.They both loved them but they had their favorites.

“Sure, let’s talk about what’s going to happenwhen Katniss finally figures out littlePeeta’s really happy to see her instead.” he countered, faking acheerfulness he really didn’t feel. The thought was enough to make himnauseous. Only discussing thepossibility of it was making him nauseous.

The boy had slowly been going back to a normalcolor… He flushed crimson again. “Nothing’sgoing to happen. She doesn’t notice. She’s…”

“You’re seventeen and you’re sleeping with thegirl of your dreams.” he cut him off. “You’re really going to try and bullshit me? You’ve never got a boner in bed with her? Not one little morning wood?‘Cause I’m telling you, boy, if you say no, I’m gonna drag you to see a doctoras soon as we reach Three.”

Peeta made a face and took another mouthful ofwhiskey.

It allowed Haymitch to gulp half of his glassdown in anticipation.

“Nothing’s going to happen.” the boy insistedin a small pitiful voice. “She doesn’t notice. She never does.”

“She might.” he offered, waving his glass. “Andshe might not turn you down if it happens.”

That was Katniss for you. Unpredictable.

Well… Not really. Not to him. They were too similar. Which was why he knew that, given theright circumstances, if she felt just the right amount of helplessness and ifshe was upset… She might think hooking up with Peeta to be a perfect idea.

The boy would get hurt eventually, of course,because whatever she would do at that point wouldn’t be about feelings she wasclueless about. Peeta was all aboutfeelings though.

“She won’t go for that.” Peeta scoffed, as if itwas a good joke.

“That’s the thing with women.” he taunted.“They’re a fucking mystery. Best oneslike to keep you on your toes. Never do what you bloody expect.”

And that was just as well. Predictable wasboring.

He liked a good puzzle.

He liked women who were like hurricanes.

But this wasn’t about him…

“She’s not interested.” Peeta insisted. “It’sfine. It’s my problem and…”

“If anything happens and the two of you dosomething extremely stupid, like… Say… Getting her knocked up, it becomes our problem.” he interrupted. “Mine andEffie’s. We’re too young to play grandmentor and grandescort, so…” He rummagedin his pocket until his fingers closed on the row of condoms Effie had pushedin his hands when she had learned the children were sleeping in the same room.He had been carrying them around for a few days now, not sure he wanted tomeddle. The thing was, he trusted Peeta. He wasn’t sure he trusted Katniss andher latent self-destructive tendencies. “Here. Just in case.”

He waved the shiny little packages in the air,glancing around for something that would work. His eyes stopped on the fruitsbasket on the coffee table – a fruits basket that had appeared around an hourafter Effie had tossed the condoms at him – and he leaned in to snatch abanana. Could they do more cliché? How had he ended up in that situationexactly? Nobody had ever bothered explaining anything to him. He had picked upstuff from Chaff’s tales of his wild affairs and had figured out the rest forhimself. The only direct conversationabout sex had happened when he was thirteen and his mother had decided it wastime they had a talk – a veryembarrassing, not very instructive talk.

Although Chaff had always insisted he needed touse a condom. Every time. Better safethan incredibly sorry. He hadn’t pushed it to giving him a demonstration. He had asked if Haymitch had known how to rollit on – which he had in theory – and had accepted the lie with a straight face.He had struggled the first time… But his first time had been with Alina andEight’s victor had a sound head. Together, they had figured it out.

He would like it better if Peeta didn’t haveto… figure it out in the heat of themoment.

“Please, don’t.” Peeta begged. “I can…”

“You’ve ever put one on?” he asked, lifting aneyebrow.

“No.” the boy admitted.

“That’s what I thought.” Haymitch snorted. “So,shut up and learn. I ain’t enjoying this any more than you are.”

He was tempted to make fun of the situationwith jokes but it seemed too important for the kid to know how to do thisproperly to make light of it. In the end, the demonstration with the banana wasfar more serious than he would have liked. It was a waste of condoms – and ashame too because they were flavored and those were expensive – but he was onlyhappy once Peeta had showed him, and the banana, that he could safely put oneon.

Haymitch was sure he was just as crimson as theboy was by the end of it.

“You’re the man, it’s your responsibility to make sure you’re being safe, alright?” heconcluded. “And… Look, whoever you do that with… Katniss or someone else…Protection’s hard to find in Twelve and it’s not always reliable stuff. Youneed condoms, you come to me. I’ve got a stock.” He always brought back acouple of boxes every year, boxes he never used, just to prove a point. To himself. He liked telling himself thathe might use them, that it was a choice he could make, because he wasn’t attached to anyone. “And I can get Effie to send more if it comes down to that.She doesn’t need to know who they’re for.”

Although she might have something to say about it.

Peeta nodded and then cleared his throat.“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Haymitch dismissed, waving his hand. Hefinished his glass. “Okay. Nice chat. I’m gonna…”

“Can I ask you something?” the boy said beforehe could finish that sentence. The embarrassment on the kid’s face alone toldhim he would need more booze. “How do you… How do I… I mean… How do I make sureit’s good? For the girl, I mean.”

Haymitch took a deep breath and stood up torefill his glass. He was far toosober for that conversation.

He decided to purposely forget they might be talking about Katniss. That made him feel waytoo ill.

“You know how it works, yeah?” he asked andimmediately regretted it. He wasn’t ready to have the birds and the beesconversation with that kid. He downed the glass and poured himself another one.

“Brothers, remember?” the boy joked. “Besides,there are… channels in the Village.”

Oh, yeah.He knew those channels.

The perks of being a victor was having accessto everything Capitol TV had to offer without restriction.

“Real life isn’t like porn.” he felt compelledto say, making the whiskey twirl absentmindedly in the glass. It was cliché butit was true. “You want to make it good for your girl, you make sure she’s ready. If you’re not sure,you ask. It’s never dumb to ask. Best plan, actually. You ask what she likes.And you listen. That’s how you makeyour girl happy.”

“I… ask.” Peeta repeated.

“You ask.” he confirmed.

“That sounds… easy.” the boy commented.

Haymitch snorted. “Doesn’t come easy toeveryone.” He had certainly never bothered asking before a certain someone had made it clear he better listen to what she had to say if he wanted to continue playing withher. “Whatever you do, use a condom. We’ve got enough on our plates, yeah?”

“Yes.” Peeta nodded.

“Any other pressing questions?” he winced. Theboy shook his head and Haymitch seized the perfect opportunity to flee. “Gonnahead to bed, then. ‘Night, boy.”

He grabbed a bottle and hurried to thecorridor, almost afraid Peeta would call him back with another embarrassingquestion. He was irritated by the time he reached the portion of the train withthe bedrooms and he switched tracks, walking past his door to go straight tohis escort’s.

He didn’t knock, he just barged in.

She was sitting in the middle of her bed, in alacy blue nightgown, braiding her hair. She froze mid-braid, both confused and,if he wasn’t mistaken, a little tipsy. Her eyes had that slightly glassyquality that meant she had downed one too many tequila shot.

He nudged the door shut with his foot andpointed an accusing finger at her. “Everything’s your fault.”

She rolled her eyes, resuming her braiding. “Of course, it is. When is it not, Iwonder? What am I responsible for, this time? Milk turning sour, perhaps?”

He flopped down on his back in front of her,hugging the bottle close to his chest, staring at the ceiling. “Peeta got aboner.”

She frowned, securing the braid with the hairtie around her wrist. It fell a little over her shoulder, neat and practicalrather than fancy. Strands were escaping everywhere, too curly to remaintrapped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Katniss was being Katniss, he got a boner.” hesummed up, letting his eyes trail on the blue nightgown. Not his favorite.Nothing fancy or overly sexy about it. She hadn’t been waiting for him. Thatannoyed him somehow. He had spent more nights in her room than in his own sincethe beginning of the Tour. “Not the first time too.”

“I toldyou their sleeping together couldn’t be innocent.”she triumphed, snatching the bottle away from him to place it on the floor nextto the bed.

She was the only person in Panem he allowed todo that. He wondered if she knew. He wondered if she cared.

“I had to talk to him.” he complained. “Nochoice after that, yeah?”

“Oh.” she brightened. “You finally gave him the talk, then? Can I tell the train attendants totake that fruits basket away?”

“I’m nevereating a banana again.” he vowed.

She chuckled and straddled his hips, placingboth hands on his chest to steady herself. He automatically grabbed her hips,fighting off the urge to push her away.

She wouldn’t hurt him. He trusted her.

And yet he still had to remind himself of thosefacts every time she got on top. Talk about fuckedup.

“You did well.” she hummed. “His parents certainly were not going to do it.”

“Porn might have done the trick.” he snorted“Seems like he found those special channels…”

She pursed her lips in distaste. “I do hope you told him…”

“Yeah, yeah…” he cut her off. “I did.” She wasstill wrinkling her nose and he swatted her ass a little. “Don’t play theprude… Whatever he’s watching, I’m pretty sure you’ve done worse.”

“I am notsurprised you are defending porn channels.” she huffed.

“I ain’t defending anything.” he grumbled.“When you’ve only got your hand for months, some porn isn’t unwelcomed at somepoint.”

He didn’t spend entire nights watching thatdespite what she was no doubt telling herself. He had stolen a few of herlingerie magazines, mainly magazines where shefeatured, that he liked better than those channels. When it came down toit, his imagination was usually better anyway. Porn always felt cheap, amechanical arousal. It didn’t compare to her.

“You could go out and find yourself a willingparticipant.” she ventured, her voice detached, as her fingers deftly undid thebuttons of his waistcoat.

“So Snow can dangle her over my head?” heretorted.

She pursed her lips and tugged the shirt out ofhis pants, leaving the waistcoat to hang open on either side of him. Shestarted unbuttoning his shirt. “I doubt he would dangle a one-night-stand overyour head.”

“Ain’t taking the risk.” he countered.

“Is that the only reason why you won’t takeanother lover?” she purred, pushing the shirt open. She slowly bent in two,that familiar devilish twinkle in her eye, and closed her lips on his rightnipple, poking at it with her tongue.

“Too much work.” he deadpanned.

She chuckled against his skin and he snorted,burying his fingers in her braid before she could do anything else that would,no doubt, fry his brain.

“Look…” He hesitated. “You need to talk to thegirl too, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’tdoing that and I’m pretty sure Peeta’s not the one we should be wary of. Hesays nothing’s happening, I trust him. He’s a good boy. But if Katniss gets itin her head it’s a good idea to…”

“I will.” she granted easily, propping her chinon his chest. “If you think it is best.”

“Yeah. I do.” he shrugged. “Safer that way. Idon’t think they’re going to do anything any time soon. The girl’s clueless fornow, so don’t hint about Peeta’s problems… Make it sound like you’re justconcerned about the propriety thing… But make sure she’s… You know.”

“It never hurts to be prepared.” she agreed. “Or responsible.”

“Right.” His fingers drummed on the shimmeringfabric of her nightgown and he smirked. “Besides, since I had to go through that, you do too. It’s only fair, sweetheart.”

She grinned and sat back straight, letting astrap fall off her shoulder, baring one of her breasts. She was a minx and hereally shouldn’t enjoy her tortures as much as he did.

“I see Peeta is not the only one who has anunwelcomed boner…” she teased.

“Unwelcomed?” he taunted.

Her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Should Ilet you teach me how to make it go away, Haymitch?”

He wasn’t really in the mood for role playing,even though he had no doubt she could play a credible ingénue.

“Just imagine it’s a banana, sweetheart.” hechallenged. “Put this pretty mouth to good use.”

Her lips twitched into an amused smile but shedidn’t deny him.

And she might reconcile him with bananas yet.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #victory tour #crack #teapot #coconuts friends #pep talk #the kids #the stylists

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