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novanitas · 4 years ago

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There are Other Ways to Fall in Love

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31806577

- Warnings: Zhongli is manipulative? suggestive content?

- The work was written with the mindset of a female reader but no pronouns were used so any reader may enjoy~

Falling in love was supposed to be love at first sight, and for you, it was. Falling in love was supposed to be magical, every moment filled with bliss. Falling in love was supposed to be finding that one person in your life and staying with them forever, no change in heart. Falling in love was that way for you. But were you really falling in love?

They say the devil hides in plain sight, where he is easily seen and the star of the show. They say the devil can be as sweet as honey to the right person or as cold and cunning as the winters of Snezhnaya. They say the devil draws people in and traps them with their dashing looks and silver tongue. They say love is a game. Your heart the pawn.

Falling out of love was never a thought to you. You never imagined that if you did find that one love at first sight that you would find yourself tired of your lover's presence and wondering what went astray. You heard in the whispers of the wind that falling out of love was like falling out of a tree, swift and painful, knocking the air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping for breath. For you falling out of love was that, but it was so much more. Falling out of love was painful in the way that the love in your partner's eyes turned to something darker. Falling out of love was breathless for you in the way that you were swept off your feet by someone completely unexpected.

Love is like that of a summer storm coming in unannounced and ripping everything you knew to pieces, everything you knew to be true apart, and that is precisely what Childe did to your heart.

Zhongli was elegant, classy, breathtaking, and one hell of a man to look at. His golden eyes caught yours the second he waltzed through the room, his long coat chasing behind him. Slender legs making his gait seem as if he were from another world. His cologne engulfed every room he stepped in as if it were taking claim to the area, taking claim to your heart—a casanova in disguise.

At first, when your relationship began with Zhongli, you were stunned. How could someone of such stature be interested in you? How could the man you fell head over heels from the second he walked in the room even glance your way?

The devil is cunning, and so was Zhongli. He knew too much of everything. He knew just what to say to make any person come undone. He appealed to all your senses, and you found him intoxicating. He was like a drug you can't get out of your vein.

He came in swiftly and stole your heart, but he took so much more.

You stole away the pride that you once had in yourself. He ripped away your dignity. Zhongli slowly took everything that was you away.

You didn't notice it at first, the way that after he came into your life that everything seemed to falter. Money seemed to dissipate into thin air. Time seemed to be consumed by him. Family and friend's faces seemed never to be around anymore. Life seemed to be closing in on you, or was it Zhongli's hands around your life choking everything else out.

"Y/N," his voice purred in your ear. You stood there, still as the heat of his breath lapped against your ear. "Let's go out. For,"

Zhongli seemed to pause as if testing the waters as if testing to see how far he could push you.

You bit your lip, not daring to lift your head to meet his gaze, to meet his flaming eyes.

"Lunch," he said, placing his hand on the small of your back.

Your heart raced at his touch, flames on his fingertips, fear in your veins.

You, in fact, did not want to go out for lunch because you had no mora, and Zhongli always made you pay for the meal. You, at times, have had to pay for meals and other expenses with questionable means.

Zhongli stepped forward and walked around you, dragging his hand along your body as he went. You shuddered as he stopped behind you, placing his head on your shoulder, his lips grazing your ear.

"You know you don't have a choice in the matter. Why don't you just say yes to me?" His voice was a low growl, an inhuman pitch to it.

"Of course, I'd love to go to lunch with you." The words stumbled out your mouth.

You were strong, but the Geo archon was stronger, eviler, a wicked sense about him.

"Good," Zhongli said, standing back up straight removing his hands from your body.

"Get changed. Your clothing is," he hummed to himself, "a little damaged."

A little damaged, you thought. They are more than damaged; they were charred, blackened to a crisp, barely clinging to your body as the flames ate at the threads and danced across your skin. The only thing saving you from burns adorning your body was the cryo vision you were graced with days before meeting Zhongli.

A Geo Archon using the ability of magma rocks was never a story told in Liyue folklore, but you assumed that most people that encountered it either died or were silenced by other means.

Falling in love meant staying in love even if you lost some of yourself in the process. You did love Zhongli, didn't you? Your mind would ponder over the thought often but never for too long in fear of the answer being something less than true love.

Going on dates to the Genshin Restaurant was a common occurrence for you and Zhongli. The thought of going there again made your blood run cold. But you loved Zhongli, or you thought you did, so you would go anyway. Maybe this is what love was? Perhaps love was giving yourself up for someone else. So you changed your clothes and stood proudly by his side and made your presence known to the people of Liyue once again.

Entering the restaurant, Zhongli's fingers trailed down your arm, leaving traces of golden dust on your skin, sparkling as the light hit it. You were timid, but you held your head high because this love at first had turned to be so much more. Ningguang waved a slight hand at you both as Zhongli elegantly weaved his way to the usual booth the two of you occupied. Ningguang, the owner, so graciously allowed "Zhongli" to "buy" the table permanently in exchange for something you'd rather never think of again. You shuddered at the thought, but your attention was snapped back to Zhongli as his searing hot hand pressed into your back, guiding you into the chair.

The two of you sat quietly, making idle conversation, waiting for the waiter to approach the table. Your heart froze as Ganyu sauntered over to Zhongli. In his eyes were flames, full of lust and want. You bit your tongue, holding back the feeling that you weren't good enough even after giving yourself over to him.

The devil finds in people their weaknesses, and he breaks in, destroying everything with the drop of a match.

"What will you be eating today, Mr. Zhongli?' Ganyu asked pen and paper in hand.

Zhongli looked at Ganyu head to toe and hummed.

"You," he said, pausing a little too long, "suggest something to me."

Ganyu's face flushed red "The um slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup is rather delightful. Only men with such a particular taste know how to appreciate it."

Zhongli looked at Ganyu, studying her before nodding his head.

"And for them?" Ganyu asked Zhongli, throwing you a glance.

Zhongli stirred in his seat, leaning forward placing his elbows on the table. He stared you in the eyes.

"Hmmm, what do you deserve?" He asked aloud.

"Water, and" he flipped his wrists, "whatever you're planning on throwing out."

Your face flushed pink, embarrassed once again by Zhongli's treatment of you.

He always treated you less than him, like you were a dog picked up off the streets, meant to eat table scraps and to be beaten.

You looked around, hoping that no one noticed, hoping that no one saw again how the amazing Geo Archon treated you.

How embarrassing was it to be treated like this by someone who was supposed to love you? But Zhongli did love you, just in other ways, right?

Childe stood off in the corner watching the scene he had witnessed too many times, and his heart ached and raged burned within him. He felt his water swords beginning to materialize in his hands, and he left. He tore out the restaurant and down the streets of Liyue, looking for something to take his anger out on. He soon found himself on the outskirts of Liyue, looking towards Mondstadt, a trail of blood behind him. Was the blood his, or was it the blood of the treasure hoarders and hilichurls, or was it both? Childe heaved in a deep breath and turned around, slowly walking back to Liyue, blood rolling off his hands.

"If that bastard." Childe started to say, war raging inside him. "If he touches Y/N again and I see him treat them like that again, I will not hold back anymore. I swear."

And a few days later, the time came where Childe did not hold back. You were seated in the usual booth of the Genshin Restaurant, eyes bloodshot and clothes charred at the edges. Zhongli was across from you, but his eyes were somewhere else, following the waitress around the tables.

"Excuse me," Childe could hear Zhongli say from the corner he placed himself in. His eyes trained on Zhongli watched as Zhongli stood up and waltzed over to the waitress and whispered something in her ear, his hand lingering on her hip before slowly falling away. Zhongli made his way to the bathrooms, the waitress not far behind.

Childe stood up from his seat and took the opportunity that presented itself to him. He strolled over to the table you sat at and grasped the chair before taking a seat across from you.

Your eyes shot up with surprise at the harbinger sitting in front of you.

You admitted to yourself at that moment that you had noticed Childe before, that you had stolen glimpses of him while Zhongli was infatuated with the waiting staff. You didn't fall for Childe instantly as you did with Zhongli, but your heart began to yearn for him whenever his presence was no longer in the restaurant or the streets you walked. You began to find comfort in knowing that his eyes seemed to find you in a crowd even though the two of you didn't know more than each other's names.

"I see you need some company, comrade," Childe said, a smile playing on his lips.

You smiled at him with a genuine smile, and Childe's eyes lit up.

You didn't know it, but in all these months that Childe has seen you, this was the first time he had seen a smile on your lips.

It was as if the atmosphere had lightened up as the sky did when a storm had passed.

"I would love no other company than yours." You said, truthfully. Silently you wished that Childe could save you from the devil's trap that you had so carelessly fallen into.

At fourteen, Childe fell into the abyss, and at (your age or 18+), you had fallen into the devil's snares.

"Well, you're in luck," Childe smirked. "I so happen to be free. Care for a meal?"

"I," you sighed, "have no mora. Zhongli, he-"

"I never said I would let you pay. When you're with me," Childe cheesily gestured to himself, "You will never pay anything. So order what you want, the most expensive dish. I'll buy it or this entire restaurant all for you."

"I just," your voice was small, "thank you. I'll have 'A Prize Catch' and an Apple Cider Vinegar then."

Childe sat there shocked, "You want 'A Prize Catch?'"

"If that's too much, then," you began.

"No, no. It's just that's my favorite dish, and I have never known anyone else to like it." Childe's eyes sparkled as he spoke.

Childe raised his hand above his head and waited for someone to notice. A waiter soon made his way over, and Childe placed the order, two servings of "A Prize Catch" and two Apple Cider Vinegars, one with light ice.

The two of you sat there in the quiet corner of Genshin Restaurant and ate the food as the conversation flowed between you.

Halfway through the meal, Zhongli finally made his appearance again, his hair slightly ruffled and his clothing half undone. His eyes turned to stone the second his eyes laid on Childe's silhouette.

"Y/N" Zhongli's voice shook the entire restaurant, an ice formed in your veins. Fear grasped your heart.

"Y/N, don't look at him, okay. Look at me." Childe said, his voice soft but strong, caring.

You lifted your eyes from the table and looked at Childe, his eyes a dark blue, determination swimming just beneath the surface.

"Don't answer him. I'll take care of this." Childe said, pushing himself up from the table.

"Childe," his name slipped from your lips.

"It's okay," Childe said, reassuring your beating heart.

And so it was okay because, in that short amount of time you spent with Childe, you realized that everything you knew about falling in love was wrong. You learned that there are other ways to fall in love and that love, at first sight, is just that, love of the eyes, not a love of the heart. You found that falling out of love was painful, but it is even more painful to stay in a relationship that wasn't there. You learned that the devil could be anyone and not just those that look the part.

In the end, Childe paid for your lunch that day, and he paid for it in the coming days after that. Childe crashed your date, but more importantly, he crashed into your heart.

Love is like that of a summer storm coming in unannounced, pouring water to the earth, and drowning out all the things that don't belong. Childe was the storm, you the earth, and Zhongli the thing that didn't belong.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x childe #genshin x zhongli #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #childe x reader #childe x y/n #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #childe #zhongli #genshin impact fatui #liyue #ganyu #ningguang #childe x you #zhongli x you #one beta reader that hates me so we die like i do in co-op

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mianmiansimp · 4 years ago

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mdzs au: the one with wen xu (pt 1)

>>wwx has his bisexual epiphany much sooner in life bc Reasons

>>so when he starts crushing on lwj Immediately at cr, he knows it too

>>anyway: sometime pre-cloud recesses, wx and wwx cross paths and wwx is being his usual mischievous self

>>he's very dramatic and flirty and running around on roofs

>>wx is like Hey You're Cute but doesn't catch his name

>>wwx is oblivious so he didn't know who wx was lol

>>they cross paths a few more times

>>wwx just knows wx as 'that one gongzi i see sometimes'

>>then cr happens and they meet again when wwx is heading back to cr with his alcohol

>>wx is like my how charming

>>the next morning the wens show up and wc pisses everyone off

>>and then wwx is telling him off and wc gets pissed and tries to fight wwx while also insulting his status

>>and jc is like EXCUSE YOU and draws his sword bc i'm a sucker for protective jc and will throw in as much yunmeng shuangjie as i want

>>but then wx shows up and tells off wc (bc of wwx) and tells everyone to calm down

>>wx learns wwx's name, wwx learns who 'that one gongzi i see sometimes' is, only one of them is happy with the revelation

>>wx is being weird and oily to everyone and the lans begrudgingly accept the 'apology'

>>wx is publicly weird to wwx, wwx is publicly uncomfy, jc is publicly offended and pissed and defensive and also has an inkling of where wx's head is at

>>cue jc aggressively glaring at wens and shielding wwx from them

>>nhs, who's more aware of what's happening than anyone else bc nhs, helps

>>doesn't stop wwx from adopting wn as a bestie but wn is a kitten so it's ok

>>cr arc is largely the same, wangxian shenanigans, yunmeng shuangjie shenanigans, alcohol shenanigans, you know the drill

>>except for two major things

>>one - wwx has been crushing on lwj since day one but he Knows it

>>and he gets sad sometimes when lwj rejects him

>>so jc is not only angry at the wens but he's angry at lwj's audacity too

>>lwj, who hasn't a clue about anything:

>>two - wx sometimes shows up randomly to 'check up'

>>he isn't, he just drops by to make wwx uncomfy via unsolicited gifts and flirting

>>jc usually passive aggressively intervenes

>>or nhs makes some excuse that is usually 'jc wants to see you'

>>there's an incident during a wx visit where wwx panics bc he really doesn't want to deal with him

>>and essentially bolts from the vicinity and runs right into lwj

>>lwj almost starts telling off wwx but he sees quite clearly that wwx is Not Ok

>>and then they hear wx approaching and wwx basically begs lwj to Get Him Out

>>lwj dislikes wx far more than he dislikes acknowledging his affections for wwx

>>so they quickly run into and hide in a room

>>cue bonding moment where lwj and wwx have a Talk and lwj says they're friends for the first time

>>and then immediately goes silent bc wwx is looking at him with complete adoration and he has to force himself not to kiss him lol

>>this is also the point where lwj has it confirmed that wwx very much does not like wx's presence

>>which is how lwj joins the defend wwx against wx's advances club

>>jc isn't happy about it bc wwx is mooning for lwj still but he lets it slide

>>wn actually joined the club accidentally and discretely

>>jc's like why couldn't wwx get This wen to crush on him i like him so much better???

>>lwj vinegar moment + flustered wn who just thinks wwx is really cool and nice

>>wq catches wind of what's going on and is worried about wn's involvement

>>but also greatly dislikes wx and doesn't want some random innocent boy to suffer

>>which is how she too accidentally joins the club

>>mianmian joins too but loudly bc she's friends with wwx and lwj and also wx sucks

>>jzx is friends with mianmian so he gets dragged in

>>and he might be an arrogant prat atm but he's not a bad guy and wx's behavior is very despicable

>>jzx has some um Revelations about himself and his family

>>and accidentally becomes an honorary member of the club

>>they're all kinda friends now, it truly sucks, thinks jzx with a small smile

>>xuanli engagement is not broken/salvaged much earlier on bc of this whole

thing

>>anyway that's how all the major sects' youth became so closely entwined

>>lqr was very proud that his lectures enacted firm inter sect relationships

>>lxc is just egging on wangxian while also becoming an honorary member of the club

>>waterborne abyss and stuff still happens

>>jc is even angrier at the wens and straight up completely hides wwx the next time wx comes around so he doesn't even catch a glimpse

>>wx is not happy, especially when lwj is silently passive aggressive the whole time

>>cr study ends, there's this whole lingering wangxian moment when they say their goodbyes

>>wwx and lwj are close now but also lwj can sort of admit it instead of shoving it under years of repression and gay panic

>>lwj agrees to visit at lotus pier and wwx looks so enamored that jc gags and drags him away

>>mianmian snickers and pokes lwj in jest, who actually pokes her back

>>lxc is so proud, his brother has Friends

>>wx is a bit more careful around lotus pier, but he does visit once

>>jfm greets him and is very polite but yzy is very blunt and pissed

>>jc upon getting home had immediately spilled all the info on the wx thing

>>yzy doesn't like wwx but she hates the main wen and wx was being vv disrespectful

>>so she kinda tells wx that wwx isn't here (not a lie, he's on a nighthunt) and that he can go jump a cliff now thanks

>>wx is rather irritated when he leaves

>>comes back again on a later date, but this is the day that the cr friends are all hanging out

>>which isn't really an issue bc wwx is a social butterfly, it's part of what wx likes about him, obviously he has friends

>>but he sees the way wwx looks at lwj, and happens upon a moment where they're alone

>>he is Not Happy

>>in the meanwhile the cr friends are all chilling together and making fun of jzx flustering around jyl and eating lotus pods and whatever

>>yzy for once is like not overcome with irrational rage at wwx's presence bc he did something right for once in her eyes

>>so wwx gets some peace of mind at lotus pier

>>madam jin is also very delighted at the xuanli progress and approves wwx for enacting it

>>no one outside of jiangs + cr know why exactly xuanli are doing so well

>>so madam jin assumes wwx just kinda did some wingman stuff and doesn't know about the wx thing

>>anyway, wangxian is progressing quite nicely, and jc is all the more miserable for it

>>jzx kinda doesn't care lol, the rest of the club are delighted by the entertainment, yzy is further not angry at wwx bc wangxian engagement = lan-jiang alliance = advantageous

>>fast forward and we're at the discussion conference

>>jc is scowlier than usual and is literally holding wwx's hand the whole time

>>and wwx is like bro ty and ily but also this is a bit much

>>jc eventually lets go of his hand but he is never more than a few inches away from wwx's side

>>the state of wangxian at this time means we have wangxian blatantly and publicly mooning and everyone's like :eyes:

>>wx is not happy, shows up and immediately starts seeking out wwx, everyone is uncomfy

>>jc at one point grabs wwx and shoves him into the middle of all the jiang disciples

>>kinda doing that zebra camouflage thing but with jiang disciples lol

>>whenever it looks like wx is gonna ask him about wwx he crosses his arms and scowls severely

>>wx takes his seat very unhappily and the discussion conference proceeds as normal ig

>>but the friends are all taking part in the hunt together

>>wwx and lwj have a lil competition for who snags the most shots

>>lots of flirting during the competition, much to jzx and jc's chagrin

>>wn is just :pleading_face: the whole time but he does excellently and gives everyone a run for their money

>>the wc thing goes a lil differently in that wc is more incensed about wwx's existence bc he knows wx likes wwx

>>targets wwx, it backfired bc of lwj, wc leaves in a huff

>>lwj closely attaches himself to wwx after that, jc is pissed bc that's 2 wens who are making problems about wwx

>>the ribbon incident goes a lil differently

>>it happens after the competition, in front of all the sects

>>wx basically

goes oh your ribbon is crooked and fixes it gently and smiles at lwj and lwj says nothing, just quietly nods and thanks him

>>lqr approaches qi deviation, the sects are shocked, wwx is oblivious, lwj is smug, lxc and the friends are all metaphorically eating popcorn, wx is mad, wrh doesn't care, wq is worried bc wx

>>wx actually corners wwx at one point during a banquet when wwx's alone

>>interestingly, it's jzx who steps in to save the day

>>wwx doesn't need saving tbh but there's sociopolitics to consider + he's a lil scared of wx's persistence tbh

>>and he has a crisis bc on the one hand wwx can just run his mouth and hope for the best except he realizes that wx Likes when he runs his mouth

>>so yea jzx steps in and says something about jyl and wwx is like ahaha duty calls again and yeets

>>jzx just says compliments about jyl as they walk back to the jiang under the pretense of wanting to discuss the engagement

>>wwx reluctantly decides he's ok

>>the jiang keep a firm grip on wwx for the rest of the conference after that

>>jyl uses the shijie card to her advantage to get away with dragging wwx with her everywhere

>>the conference ends and wwx is relieved

>>oh btw wwx placed first by a small margin, lwj and wn following, then jc and jzx tied

>>so the sects are leaving and ofc wwx has to say goodbye to lwj

>>and lwj is like what is your request bc you won

>>and wwx is almost like kiss me but then he Doesn't ok

>>so instead wwx is like lemme think of something interesting :wink: to cover his pining

>>and lwj says mn and Smiles at him and wwx melts on the spot

>>wx catches the interaction and is very unhappy

>>fast forward to the burning of cr

>>there's a reason why wx did it personally, and targeted lwj especially

>>fast forward a bit again, wwx is a lil mopey bc his letter from lwj should've come a few days ago

>>they're pining pen pals bc ofc they are smh :rolling_eyes:

>>at this point, news of cr's destruction hasn't spread to lotus pier yet

>>jc is annoyed and yeets him into the lake and makes him swim off the pining

>>cue yunmeng jiang lake shenanigans

>>and then mf wx shows up to personally deliver the invitation to the wen indoctrination

>>jfm and yzy simply Do Not acknowledge wwx's existence at lotus pier in front of him

>>it's a very tense but quick conversation

>>and then wx leaves and hears wwx and heads in the direction of the latter's voice

>>he gets to the lake to see the jiang disciple swimming in the lake, but no wwx

>>bc jyl knew he had come and quickly run over to the lake to warn and hide wwx

>>jc perched himself on a roof to watch wx and let them know when he was gone

>>that meal they had in cql? yea it goes differently this time around

>>it's mostly yzy hissing at the wens and also having a conundrum over whether or not wwx should go

>>jc votes no, wwx votes shut up jc i'm coming with you

>>jfm concedes, jc is irate, wwx and jc go to the indoctrination

>>but jc makes wwx promise to not ever leave his side

>>and wwx is like that's kinda the whole point?? but ok

>>and then ofc that whole opening scene at nightless city happens

>>what with them standing around and then bam an injured lwj

>>ft the cr friends being all fhkjhkjsghk (/neg) internally

>>except wwx, he's very open about his concern

>>wc shows up, spends half the time glaring at wwx

>>he was supposed to be make it hell for lwj

>>but quite frankly he'd be happy if lwj snatched wwx

>>he very much dislikes his brother's infatuation with wwx

>>so yea it's roughly the same, those first few days

>>except wn secretly visits the disciples

>>slips snacks, gives info, exchanges messages between them, and treats lwj

>>wq finds out, scolds him, and then does the same, mostly treatment

>>and then the dungeon day comes

>>by which i mean that day wwx ended up in the dungeons with the dog thing

>>it goes the same as usual, except wc is particularly harsh, and is focused on wwx

>>so it happens sooner, and only wwx is involved

>>spends the night with the wolf thing, wn comes, yk the drill

>>except he knocks out at one point and wx gets him

>>and he wakes up

in a room and wq and wn are treating him

>>he's quickly given a coded warning

>>and then wx comes

>>wc had been forced out of leading the indoctrination and someone relatively competent is in his place

>>wx doesn't really let wwx go back tho

>>just makes wwx stay with him and basically invades his privacy and harasses him

>>for like. quite some time.

>>wwx also meets wrh a few times and it is. not fun.

>>wrh makes thinly veiled threats about war and attacking lotus pier and stuff

>>and wx reveals he was the one who requested and took charge of cr burning

>>and wwx is angry at wx but then wx gets angry and snaps threats

>>and wwx quiets and realizes wx is relentless

>>and that his connections are putting ppl he cares about at risk

>>it all kinda piles up and wx's insistence gets to his head

>>and then the bell scene (which started all this) happens

>>it might seem kinda ooc this whole thing but like

>>sexual trauma is very different from standard child abuse/classic asian toxicity

>>and you have to consider wwx's position as he has to put up with wx's everything

>>am i projecting? probably, but my au my choices

>>so the bell scene begins with all the heirs and their entourages gathered at that. place

>>idk what it's called but that place from cql where wc was lecturing

>>wc's substitute indoctrinator is like so. y'all can go home now. here's your swords.

>>and everyone's like omg????? but also cr friends are like ok where's wwx :upside_down:

>>and it's a very complicated moment

>>and then they give suibian to jc

>>and he almost kills someone bc he thinks they killed wwx

>>and then they're like no he's alive he just won't need that :upside_down:

>>jc is like WHAT does that even MEAN

>>and it's about to be a whole thing but then wwx shows up

>>and it's all ok for half a second

>>bc yes he's here but he is very obviously not ok

>>and it Shows, wwx is doing such a bad job hiding how not ok he is

>>cr friends are like. what did they do. who am i killing.

>>so now we enter - The Bell Exchange

>>wwx comes forward and (very poorly) tries to lighten the mood and tease jc and is like aw did you miss me

>>jc who was very much terrified is just like yes ofc come here Now let's go home

>>and wwx has this look on his face that's summed up as love and affection but also deep apology and secrecy

>>he slowly goes to jc and his hands are shaky as he takes off his bell and grabs jc's hands to give it to him

>>and wwx is very vague about it he's just like i won't be going back it's ok you're all free to go now i'm making sure of it go back home be safe

>>and jc is having the nth meltdown rn bc wwx what did you do

>>nhs has an idea of the gist, and all the c friends are very concerned

>>and then wen xu shows up and wwx does this silent flinch but in his bones and straightens up

>>and wx is mocking the others and stuff and then wraps an arm around a very uncomfortable wwx and is like

>>"you should be grateful to my fiance for his generous nature"

>>wwx is very obviously not having a good time and is not ok with this

>>he looks like he's going to launch himself from a cliff (hehehe) to avoid this

>>everyone is silent for a minute as they realize what happened

>>a lot of the disciples here were at cr indoctrination

>>so they know at least somewhat of wx's pursual of wwx and the unrequited feelings

>>and it becomes obvious that wwx exchanged something - his freedom, hand in marriage, etc - to set all the disciples free

>>jc draws sandu and is about to go for wx's head bc how Dare he

>>but wwx stops him and tells him very firmly but desperately to not try anything, just go, tell shijie i'm sorry, it'll be ok

>>lwj does that death grip on his sword, 2 seconds away from taking wx's head himself

>>jzx is having lots of feelings about this and a lot aren't nice

>>especially with the weird sort of parallels as far as betrothals

>>also he kinda likes wwx?? they're kinda friends?? and they're brother-in-laws to be anyway

>>and even despite all that, the whole situation just Sucks and jzx is kinda an airhead but he's actually pretty noble

>>mianmian is

like So offended and enraged on behalf of everyone she's ready to throw hands

>>nhs is half horrified for his friend and half cold rage and plotting

>>what really worsens the situations is just how bad wwx is taking it

>>bc he always covers up his pain and worries, and very well at that

>>the fact that he can barely even fake a smile now, and has resolved to outright desperate pleading, not even teasing anyone, says a Lot about how bad things were while he was gone

>>they have suspicions about what wx might have done to wwx while they were alone

>>tl;dr: cr friends kinda have an idea of what wx has done and really want him dead

>>but wwx is forcing them out, and eventually they all do leave, miserably

>>they don't know what had happened for them to be let go with their swords and without consequences

>>and they don't want wwx suffering for their (not really helpful atm) stubbornness

>>jc is stiff and clenching his jaw the entire way home, trying to figure out ways to get wwx out

>>lwj is drowning in his emotions as he goes back to the burnt cr

>>mianmian, jzx, nhs are having very complicated thought processes about everything

>>nhs actually goes with lwj to cr first, to make sure he doesn't do anything dumb and to be a friend

>>drops him off, and eventually heads out after a few days (lqr is appraised of the situation)

>>and lo and behold, he happens to find lxc on his way home, and brings big bro lan back to cr

[ main . ao3 ]

#this got out of hand #yunmeng shuangjie #wangxian #wen xu x wei wuxian #mdzs #mdzs au #mo dao zu shi #mo dao zu shi au #cql #cql au #the untamed #the untamed au #not!fics

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bagadew · 4 years ago

Text

The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band (Part 1)

Last Time: With a little help from Susato, the lady in pink, we discovered that Miss Brett poisoned Dr Wilson with Curare, a fast acting poison that’s only effective when introduced into the blood stream. In a last ditch attempt to avoid justice, Miss Brett destroyed the evidence right in front of the court, but fortunately my man Hosonaga was on hand with new evidence he’d taken from the crime scene, meaning that all we had to do was catch the thief of a rare golden coin, and tie Miss Brett up with her own words! At last I (Ryunosuke) was acquitted!

...only to find out in the lobby that Miss Brett has managed to privilege her way out of any consequences and was gone like smoke in the wind. (Also Kazuma used his sword in a way I found very hot, and I think I’ve accidentally doomed him to death or moral corruption.)

I’m 90% sure The Speckled Band is a Sherlock Holmes case, and I’m 49% sure it’s one of the ones I’ve read. I’m guessing this is where we’ll meet The Great Himbo Detective Herlock Sholmes then!

Well I guess that answers that then.

(And yes, I have read this one)

HERLOCK!

And he’s voiced by Professor Layton maybe???

Ooh, this seems like a Study in Scarlet, are we doing a Study in Scarlet guys?

Herlock has a magic gun!?!

Also I’m not digging this Japanese scripture and talk of it being penned by ‘the victim himself’. Kazuma what did I tell you about leaving my sight?

Wait... I could have sworn I just saw Hosonaga dressed as a sailor...

Oh balls, am I about to be accused of murder again?

Honestly I can’t take you anywhere Ryunosuke

Well Ryunosuke, you remember how you went to a lovely restaurant and got arrested for a murder you didn’t commit?

Well, it’s just like that but substitute restaurant for ship.

Also I’m not liking how little I’ve seen of Kazuma...

Ryunosuke we really need to have a talk about you just saying what people want to hear.

ITS FUCKING KAZUMA ISN’T IT?!

Nononononononono

I knew this was coming, you knew this was coming, Ace Attorney law dictated it was coming as soon as it set Kazuma up as both my mentor and best friend.

But even so, I thought they were just empty threats! I didn’t think they’d actually follow through! Or that we might at least enjoy Herlock Sholmes ad his magic gun together first.

I realise I’m stalling here, but maybe if I just don’t click I’ll not have to see his body.

Sailor Man, I understand that you’re very upset, we all are, but I need you to understand that I’m grieving here.

The man I love took one look at the morally compromised shits I’m normally into and decided he’d rather die than join them! And yes I know I’m still stalling and not taking this as seriously as I should because I still don’t believe it!

See, me and Ryunosuke are on the same page!

I didn’t Susato, but the problem is that you and I have only just met and I’m not very convincing!

Kazuma you legend! I refuse to believe you are dead until I see your corpse.

Now Ryunosuke’s all: I can’t believe they tossed your case around that much. I thought I was going to die.

And Kazuma’s telling me he’s just amazed I fitted inside his trunk in the first place.

Kazuma you can’t be gone! Who else will condescendingly tell me to go to France and ask rather than translate a French label for me?

Now Kazuma’s telling me (Ryunosuke) that I’m going to have to live in his cabin for the next 50 days.

Also we’ve got to keep this from Susato because we’re breaking the law and Kazuma doesn’t want us to take her down with us.

Lol, every day I get shoved into the wardrobe by an uncaring Kazuma!

Oh, that’s what the message said!

God knows what the steward thought Kazuma was keeping in his wardrobe though

See Ryunosuke, this is why we think before we speak.

I don’t envy the real killer when Susato gets hold of them.

From what I can find out it’s a locked room mystery, and the cause of death is still undetermined, so I’m guessing something like poison then rather than an obvious thing, like being stabbed with his big sword.

On one hand, I really hope it wasn’t something like Curare, because I don’t want Kazuma to have gone out like that, but on the other hand poison would explain why the killer didn’t need to be in the room when he died and why Kazuma didn’t strike them down with said big sword.

Ok, so Kazuma, legend that he was, got up every day at the crack of dawn to do sword training. And Susato, who I’m begging to suspect is incredibly hardcore, go up before him so she could go and wait for him outside.

Now that’s interesting.

The two of them seem like they were pretty close, so there’s a good chance it’s just that she’s so familiar with Kazuma’s habits that she can tell the second something’s off, or it could be that there’s some other reason we need to work out.

If that’s correct that means Kazuma was killed in the small hours of the morning.

You know up ‘til now I’ve been assuming Ryunosuke was knocked out or something, and that’s why he was unconscious in the wardrobe, but now I’m starting to think he might have just been sleeping in there.

:((

Wait why’d Kazuma write in Russian?

Like I’d buy that he might know it, but I don’t buy that’s it’s what he’d write in in his finger moments.

Well that proves my innocence then, all we need to do is get some witnesses to verify the ‘go to France and ask’ moment from the last case

Oh ok, I didn’t manage to screenshot it, but it seems that I (Ryunosuke) didn’t put myself in the wardrobe. That’s very odd.

I can see a vent up there, so maybe someone gassed us and then got in while we were asleep and set up the crime scene.

Kazuma said I should come, next question

Ryunosuke, with some of the words that come out of your mouth I don’t think you should be throwing stones.

Love?

Apparently not.

This is going to be something ominous isn’t it...

I’m starting to feel like Kazuma knew he’d never see England.

Kazuma how many toes did you tread on?

Oh fucking hell!

You can’t die and be heading down a dark moral path, that’s not fair!

Yeah, I want to know that too.

So my poison/drugging theory seems to be holding up. Apparently Kazuma bought me something to eat, I climbed into the hiding wardrobe, and then it’s lights out from there.

Given that I didn’t wake up when Kazuma was killed I’m going to say that also back that theory up. Even if it was silent I feel like Ryunosuke would have woken up if someone was going round the cabin knocking ink bottles over and killing Kazuma.

No, don’t blame yourself Ryunosuke!

It’s my fault really, if I was going to find Kazuma hot I should have made sure I could manifest inside my switch and protect him!

Ah, of course! Isn’t her dad a professor of pathology? And she seems like the sort of person who picks things up pretty quickly!

In other words, if this is a poisoning, she could be the perfect person to be partnered up with.

:(((

Susato is fully prepared to kick our ass if we try and leave, and as the woman who got up before Kazuma, I think we should listen to her.

:(((((

I say we team up as an investigative duo and catch this bastard!

Yeah!

SHE FUCKED US UP!!!

Susato didn’t come here to play! Especially when we might have killed Kazuma!

(Editors note: this isn’t a bad screenshot, Susato genuinely made Ryunosuke’s vision go blurry)

I know we need to investigate, but my god this woman’s got a fist to match her convictions.

You know when I first met Susato I was a bit afraid she was going to be the inverse of Maya to the point of being meek and shy.

Now I see what a fool I was.

Susato might be prepared to politely follow the rules, but woe betide you if you break them.

She’s even named it!

Again I know this is bad for us but GO SUSATO!

(God damn it you can’t all be my favourite characters)

Her own special martial arts form Ryunosuke!

And just like that she regathers her composure and carries on as if nothing had happened!

I like how she’s still just standing over me.

Ok Ryunosuke let’s go!

(Seriously though we don’t want her as an enemy)

Ah of course, Kazuma stuck the seal on the wardrobe, and the fact Herlock Sholmes (the himbo detective) had to pull it off means I didn’t leave!

No one respects poor Ryunosuke...

So it seems that Susato doesn’t believe we’re innocent just yet, but as we’ve presented the possibility of doubt before her she will let us investigate this room.

Given the buck wild nature of the last trial she was involved in, I honestly can’t blame her for not ruling this possibility out. After all if this was something a witness in a trial had said I’d be thinking the same thing.

Susato’s going to be watching us to make sure we don’t disturb the crime scene, which again is fair.

I’ve got to say, I’m really digging Susato’s cautiously suspicious and sensible nature. It feels like a good counterbalance to Ryunosuke’s beautiful but naïve outlook on life.

I bet if Susato had stowed away onboard a ship you wouldn’t catch her immediately confessing as soon as a sailor started to press her.

Who am I kidding, Susato would never have got into this situation in the first place.

*sob*

Ok so far we’ve got:

A) Half a pink kimono fastener on the floor next to a brick red mark

B) One disturbed table, with the remains of our roast chicken dinner on the floor

C) The terrible knowledge that Kazuma spent his last night on earth hungry because he didn’t like chicken

D) Kazuma’s precious katana, that he loved dearly and that he’d apparently managed to persuade the government to let him bring to the UK.

Oh yeah, drive the knife in why don’t you game!

Why do I feel like Ryunosuke’s about to get roasted?

There we go.

(It’s what Kazuma would have wanted)

DON’T JUST GO WITH IT RYUNOSUKE!

Back to investigating, we’ve got a ransacked shelf, and Kazuma’s London diary.

Just, you know, to rip my heart out...

It looks like the final entry’s incomplete, which means Kazuma was probably writing it when the incident happened. Unfortunately Susato is violently insistent that we respect the Kazuma’s private thoughts after his death, so we can’t read it.

We’ve got the inky Russian(?) on the floor which none of us can either recognize, nor read (including me)

(Sorry to any Russians reading this by the way, I can only assume you’re screaming that this isn’t Russian, but I’m just going by what the Great Himbo Detective said in the cut scene.)

Ok, so the sailor who’s been guarding us got very flustered when we asked if everything was normal last night, meaning that either he’s been skiving off, or everything was in fact not normal last night.

Oh sweet, it seems that Ryunosuke and Susato both read detective novels, and while we’ve shot down the possibility of using the needle and thread trick to unbolt the door from the outside (side note: I must remember to try that later), I feel like both they, and the player who immediately started trying to rattle off facts about Curare, have had a bonding moment.

Ok, I think that’s this half of the room done, let’s go and check out that vent I saw earlier.

So the vent connects to the room next door. That means if the grate could be moved we have a way in and out of our crime scene!

HERLOCK SHOLMES!!!

I mean, he’s quite hard to miss Ryunosuke

(I think Ryunosuke might have an Apollo complex short)

Understatement of the century

Her and me both Ryunosuke, it’s The Great Himbo Detective!!!

WE’RE TALKING TO HIM!

AND HE’S BLANKING US!!!

Herlock Sholmes I understand that you’re in a critical point of your investigation, but you need to understand that Ryunosuke, Susato and I are sad and need to see your magic gun.

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS!!!

IT’S LIKE HE HEARD ME!!!

OH GREAT HIMBO DETECTIVE CHEER ME WITH YOUR WITH YOUR ECCENTRIC ACTS THAT ARE RELATABLE TO MY AUTISTIC ASS!!!

OMFG HE’S SO INCREDIBLY WRONG!!!

I hope this is the way all of his deductions go from now on.

Also I’m sorry Russia and the Russian language, I should not have believed what the man, who on reflection was sold to me as the great himbo detective, said.

Susato’s buying it!

Susato look into my eyes and tell me Ryunosuke could ever make it as a soldier.

No, please do!

And the bullet flies a mile wide!

I’m still upset about Kazuma, but I’m somehow also having the time of my life

SUSATO YOU KNOW I’M FROM JAPAN!!!

SHE TOOK ME OUT!!!

AND MY GOD AM I HERE FOR IT!!!

Ryunosuke’s finally snapped!

What I find amazing is that the Sherlock Holmes Herlock Sholmes stories clearly exist, basically unchanged in this world. So either Dr Watson Wilson was either lying through his teeth to spare his friend’s feelings, or he is the stopped clock is right twice a day person who Herlock actually hit the nail on the head for, and therefore he believed everything that was said.

‘On rout to foreign climates’ that’s how ships work Herlock!

Exactly!

I’ll say one thing for Herlock though, you can’t beat him down!

How am I both Ryunosuke and Susato in this scene?

Yeah Naruhodo-san! I thought you read detective stories!

Quick Susato! Get him to sign a copy!

Um... has no one told him yet...

I’m also curious about the fact that he still believes Dr Wilson’s in London. Either there are two Dr Wilson’s, or something weird is going on here.

Look at his hat Ryunosuke, it contains all the information you need

He got his own name wrong!

Hosonaga, I don’t know if you can hear from wherever you are on this ship dressed as a sailor, but there is a fight and you are rapidly losing!

(Also to be fair to Herlock, as someone who’s been playing a lot of Hitman recently, looking inside the wardrobe already means he’s doing a lot better than literally every character in that game.)

Ok so it was Russian then and I no longer have to apologies!

Do you think Herlock has ever been to Russia?

Ok Mr ‘is this cow a cat?’

:(((((((

HERLOCK THAT LOOKS NOTHING LIKE ME!!!

Ok everyone, we’re also on the lookout for a missing Russian Ballerina along with Kazuma’s killer. I don’t know how, but I wouldn’t have been told about her if she wasn’t relevant

I can’t believe we’ve finally found the vindictive part of Ryunosuke’s beautiful personality!

We’re finally reading Kazuma’s diary!

Oh fuck, Kazuma was bitten by an adder

Wait, if that was the case why didn’t he dispatch it with his big sword? We’ve seen him do precision work before, so that can’t be it.

Either way, I think we really need to talk to the person in the room next to mine.

Also: Herlock Sholmes gets seasick!

Did she just break my cuffs?

My mistake she’s just showing some tough love to get me to buck up!

Let’s go team!

HOSONAGA!!!

“What are you doing here?” “I think that should be my line” This feels like that meme of the two Spidermen pointing at each other

I wouldn’t be so sure Susato. Hosonaga seems a lot like me, a bunch of disabilities held together by sheer force of will.

He still has a job!

(Or his superiors are just trying to send him as far away from Japan as they can)

HELL YEAH HOSONAGA, LETS PUNCH THE RULES UNTIL THEY SQUEAK!

(Also your superiors are definitely trying to ship you out)

Oh...

That would explain Kazuma’s whole vibe.

Although something about this feels wrong. No disrespect to Hosonaga, but as determined as he is he doesn’t exactly have the physical prowess you’d associate with stopping an assassination. I know I haven’t exactly seen him at work yet, but something about this feels like he was set up to fail.

Now the thing is, that while he can cut it as a waiter, Hosonaga isn’t exactly built to fit in among sailors. It’s not going to take a genius therefore, to work out who Kazuma’s guard is, especially if he’s been around Kazuma from dawn till dusk. That’s probably why his killer had to kill him in his cabin, and it’s also why they probably drugged his food (which means they didn’t know him enough to know he didn’t like chicken)

:(((((((((((((

On the plus side though, it looks as though Hosonaga believes in my innocence.

Come on Hosonaga, remember when you bought Miss Brett to us!

Hell yeah Hosonaga!

Hosonaga heard my call! He heard that he was losing his place as my second favourite character and came back swinging!!!

Determination Ryunosuke!

Also probably hacking up a lot of blood, that does wonders to unnerve people in my experience

Now, I should present Kazuma’s diary here... but...

Yes, everything is as it should be...

He’s digging it!

Oh no he took it as an insult!

Sorry Ryunosuke, that’s the crime scene thief’s now

Ok let’s do this properly then

Yeah boy!

LETS DO THIS TEAM!!!

Ryunosuke, do you remember nothing about this man?

Hosonaga didn’t come here to play!

Ok, we’re moving on out (except not right now because I’ve still got a couple of things to look at before we go)

I think Ryunosuke might be a bad influence on Susato...

Also I feel like I’ve pegged Susato wrong regarding the rules. Susato’s just very good at keeping up the appearance of following them.

Come to think of it, the fact she’s a judicial assistant, despite women apparently not being allowed in the Japanese court other than to testify should have clued me in.

Susato Mikotoba: Breaking the rules in front of you, but in a way you don’t notice

(Also the bell pull’s not working, but I think we all expected that)

Susato I’ve been living in a cupboard!

Don’t pity me!

Ok, so I’m not quite sure when Ryunosuke and I started thinking as one, but we’ve all agreed it’s happening now

Ryunosuke do not get caught in the mousetrap!

Susato can see right through me (Ryunosuke)

Umm...

This is the Phoenix Maya dynamic inverted, and I am living for it.

Susato: Now this is an emergency button, it’s very important you do NOT press it!

Ryunosuke: *lunges for the trigger*

It feels amazing being the wayward partner!

Our rout into cabin 2’s blocked by approximately 1 ton of sailor, so for now Susato and I will have to dick around avenge Kazuma out here in the corridor.

It seems that last night’s log is mostly blank, so I’m guessing I was right about the sailor on duty skiving off.

Hmm, so the person in the next cabin’s probably quite important then. Given what just happened with Miss Brett that’s not a good sign.

And it seems like I’m not allowed to visit whoever it is without an invitation... which might prove tricky given as how there in there and I’m out here

Ah good, a Western Gentleman, that’s just what we need!

Hmmmmm

These guys left their post for a while didn’t they?

Either that or there’s something (or someone) they’re keeping off the records.

This might be a bit of a wide shot, but that mousetrap makes me wonder if the crew has some sort of secret pet squirrelled away somewhere. It doesn’t entirely add up what with them putting traps down, but with everyone in Ace Attorney having something to hide it’s all I can think of now.

Bif Strogenov’s left to report to the captain, nows our window to violate some privacy!

HERLOCK SHOLMES!!!

Shot down!

Herlock that thing’s tiny, I don’t think anyone’s in there!

It moved!

Guess I’m eating my words!

Herlock???

Ok, we’re not allowed to look inside the case, or indeed anything, but fortunately we have HERLOCK SHOLMES THE GREAT HIMBO DETECTIVE!!!

Deduce away Herlock!

Herlock... are you about to tell this man that he’s also the Russian Assasin? Are you going to do this round the whole ship until you get it right?

Wait this is working!?!

Herlock Sholmes is Susato’s one blind spot and Ryunosuke’s one point of clarity

CHOOCHOO!!!

THIS IS AMAZING!

He’s not entirely right though...

(Editors note: I completely managed to miss capturing 90% of the ? icons)

I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!

HERLOCK LOOK AT THIS MAN’S NOSE, LOOK AT MY FACE! NOW LOOK AT THE MAN IN THE PORTRAIT!

However, the newspaper in his pocket and the little ! icon seems to suggest there’s some connection there.

(Editors note: I also managed to miss every ! icon)

And there is a crime being committed, but it’s not to do with the case.

Yeah, it probably just contains one of those pets we’re not supposed to have.

So... a baby?

So do a lot of people Susato

Ok, so The Great Himbo Detective is actually really good at making observations, it’s just how he applies them that’s shit.

I wonder if this is what Dr Wilson did for their partnership, but he just cut out the bits where he said things like: Herlock these people have completely different faces, maybe there’s a different reason they’ve got the paper?

Ryunosuke normally: The fact Hosonaga’s working in this restaurant clearly means he’s struggling financially!

Ryunosuke around Herlock: You can’t just say the first guess that pops into your head!

HERLOCK BUSTED US OUT!!!

(Ok he’s also the reason we were in handcuffs, but still)

Olay!

What! Noooooo!

‘Course Correction: Hold it Mr Sholmes!’ What a title!

Important news just in: Ryunosuke can’t grow a beard

A part of me says that he was about to use the sheers to cut up that paper, but there are obviously other copies around the ship, so unless he’s planning a sheers rampage that can’t be right.

Hello!

Wait a second... with that reaction to the paper... is there a Russian Ballerina in there?

WE DID THE HERLOCK SHOLMES COOL SPIN AND CLICK!!!

Also look at Ryunosuke’s little cocky smirk!

He’s really getting into this!

And I couldn’t be more proud!

We’re tag teaming it!

Herlock I swear to god if you tell me she’s that assassin

WHAT DID I JUST SAY!

(Editors note: Got that one!)

I sure am Susato!

Keep telling yourself that Ryunosuke, we can all see the truth

Ah, so the nose was fake too

That makes a lot more sense now!

Well she did disappear with a priceless tiara

He said, rubbing his hand in glee

This is definitely the start of a beautiful friendship!

Damn straight I do!

Bingo

For some reason I pictured it as being pink though, I don’t know why

Anyway so, while Nikolina does need money it seems that she didn’t steal the tiara. Apparently it was given to her as a present.

Also Nikolina is only 15, and has run away by herself for reasons currently unknown. I’m starting to get the feeling that the crew (or at least the two we’ve met) might have been looking out for her.

Oh yeah, the moving travel case!

Given the rules regarding pets, I wonder if that’s what’s in there? It would explain the attitude of the sailors we met.

Is it the Russian Revolutionary Herlock? You have to tell us if it is...

He’s learning!

Yep, she’s looking at the pet rule sign, now show me the pet!

Whoooooooo!

Yeah, I’m pretty sure the guys on the door were covering for her (and probably her pet too)

Hmm, so Nikolina’s running from someone, so she decided to disguise herself to be safe and has been a jumble of nerve ever since.

Can I see...

Bless you Nikolina, but you’re not the best at keeping secrets. I’m pretty sure the crew have collectively decided to just look the other way and let the traumatised 15 year old have her pet.

HE CUFFED ME AGIAN!!!

I wonder if Nikolina’s beloved pet’s a snake?

Can I just...

Fine...

No, everyone must see my badge!

HA!

Ok now let’s go back to actually playing the game!

So, because she’s a jumble of nerves, Nikolina hasn’t been noticing much about what’s been happening around her. However I think she’d have probably noticed signs of danger, like loud noises, so I’m a little curious as to why she didn’t pick up on the sound of the tableware being sent to the floor.

From what I can gather about her ‘never dancing again’ whatever happened probably has something to do with the ballet.

Either that or she’s worried about being linked with her old life if she goes back on the scene under another name.

That’s a good point actually, while people are funny and I can get her wanting a memento of her life, that’s an incredibly distinctive memento to have.

It must have some sort of emotional significance, I think she said it was given to her by an Earl, so maybe her father?

Hmm, that’s a pretty distinctive thing to try and pawn Nikolina.

Yikes! So the Novavich Ballet’s got really unethical working conditions. (Which probably shouldn’t be too much of a shock given the time period.) Now I understand why Nikolina’s so keen to never put herself in that situation again.

Yeah, I thought that was the case.

Huh?

Oh yeah... that is odd

Ah, so that’s why everyone was so on edge!

Right...

(I feel like this would carry more weight if we hadn’t just been flashing our badge at anyone who looks our way)

Now onto the most important question:

HERLOCK NO!

Susato is me (but personally I’m hoping for a kitten)

Ok Genius, what sort of animal is it?

I’ll eat your funky hat if that’s true Herlock

Important information 2: Never trust Herlock with a pet

Please let it be that we were Kazuma’s pet

Wait no, I’m an idiot. I’m obviously supposed to ask about the speckled band

Wow she changed quick!

She’s leaving to talk to the captain, is this our chance to meet her friend!?!

Booooo, we’ve been chucked out!!!

#tgaa spoilers #tgaa #the great ace attorney #the adventure of the unbreakable speckled band #ryunosuke naruhodo #kazuma asougi #susato mikotoba #satoru hosonaga #nikolina pavlova #i will avenge your death kazuma #also i will see that animal #this is a long one by the way lads #i might break the investigation parts into daily sections of progress #because these screenshots took forever to transfer from my phone

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haphazardlyparked · 4 years ago

Text

the war AU, part 2

the part where it’s not actually a war, and i clearly know nothing about politics but i sure do a lot of BSing. :)))

---

Hikaj couldn't help but compare the double-edged sword he held with the woman who wielded it: High Lady Masara, a knight of the cultish order that half-ruled Amir, from what Hikaj had learned so far of the surprisingly secretive order. The sword itself was light and well-balanced, with unfamiliar runes etched down its length that had Hikaj’s best warmage tearing his hair out. It all reminded Hikaj of the first time he had met the high lady.

She had visited Kas years ago, with one of her king's councilors, and they had both been unfailingly polite. Duke Inarim, High Lady Masara, and their whole, modest entourage. Hikaj knew, because his spymaster had complained that the Amirran servants had answered all of his questions happily, or happily misunderstood them—and his veiled offers of bribes for real information.

At the formal dinners they attended, the high lady said little, but was always polite, and Hikaj had heard her laugh often enough. It had been enough to make him wonder if she knew something incriminating about every person she crossed paths with. Admittedly, he had been a little high-strung those days. Torral was the kind to be happy doing a job competently, but Hikaj's other dear uncle had liked the regency a bit too well. Hikaj had walked a fine line, trying to appear non-threatening while still presenting himself as a future ruler full of potential that his vassal kings and dukes could put their weight behind. It had made him very suspicious about every interaction around him.

But then they had danced, and Hikaj had started to see that High Lady Masara didn't laugh at anyone in particular, but at all the little parts of his court he hardly saw anymore. From the tiny carved woodland creatures that flitted through the ballroom's ceiling to the tendency to change glasses for each new drink at dinner, she had taken delight in the novelty of his court--not laughed at its secrets. She had seemed to know very little about Kas, actually.

Now, with the weight of Masara's strange sword in his hands, Hikaj was back to thinking that maybe it was the secrets. When he had recognized High Lady Masara in the knight he'd been told had charged his advance company alone, he felt a little bit like laughing himself. At himself.

They'd gone riding during the Amirran visit, in a large party that scattered into small groups and wended their collective way through the manicured Forests of the Empress-Mother. The ever-changing groups of courtiers flitting here and there again centered around a string of nobles who preferred the most sedate of paces. High Lady Masara had been one of those riders, hesitant in her sidesaddle, good-naturedly laughing at her own inexperience with a shifting tide of the Kassan court. Hikaj decided she simple hadn't had many chances to ride before.

Now, he wondered what kind of rider the knight Masara was. How many more things in Amir were mysteries to him?

***

Hikaj crossed his camp back to the bespelled tent, Masara's sword and scabbard in his hands and a nervous energy quickening his step. He should have let Qemaile go and poke the bear, he was the mage, after all - but Hikaj honestly wasn't sure if Lady Arlis would send poor Qemaile into a uselessly towering rage, or leave him crying and still unhelpful. Hikaj needed his mage, as temperamental as the man was, so he went to the tent himself.

It was guarded, but the flap was tied open for light, breaking the net of spellcloth. They had stopped burning the slightly caustic incense and started opening the tent after the high lady and her squire had each given an oath not to flee. Hikaj had made sure his healers looked after the high lady, too. While Lady Arlis had surrendered with barely a scratch on her, one of Masara's arm was broken and a spear had gone through - luckily enough, the healers told Hikaj - mostly skin and muscle where arm and shoulder met. It was declared to be healing as expected, and it had not seemed to trouble Masara too much on the (admittedly slow) ride back to Amir's capital city.

The ride had taken a week because of the hilly country, which turned large companies of men into slow, winding targets on the narrow roads, but Hikaj had taken the risk. He had also left a rear guard behind, to keep Amir's forces penned up in the blasted mountainous Foothills as a guarantee.

Now the spelled tent - and the bulk of the imperial soldiers - were all camped outside Amirasa's outer walls. At the Sascrin knights' request, the tent's opening faced the city that rose up on a high hill, topped by a sprawling palace that overlooked the cliffs and the sea on one side, and Amirasa on the other.

Hikaj blocked their view of it when he ducked into the tent.

He could tell they'd been looking because Lady Arlis had the intent, stormy look on, the one that seeing his blue-cloaked guards on the walls always provoked. She was leaning forward in her chair, her elbows on her knees, and she reminded Hikaj of a wildcat about to pounce. Masara, of course, was calmly collected by her side. But was she also angry behind that calm? Or was she hiding something else?

Or maybe he was reading too much into what was just polite civility. It didn't help that Masara's attention--but not her expression--shifted as soon as she saw what Hikaj was carrying. Arlis didn't see--she straightened and jerked her head to the side so that Hikaj couldn't see her face when she noticed him. Struggling to control her anger, probably.

She was able to mirror Masara's calm for abut half a second, and then her eyes narrowed suspiciously on Masara's sword.

"Oh, let me guess," the squire immediately snapped. “You have questions.”

Hikaj tried a smile. "There must be something you can speak about," he said, already conciliatory in his preamble. Part of him regretted already starting on the back foot, but the rest of him was focused on High Lady Masara's sudden smile.

She didn't say anything.

"Why should we spill secrets to the emperor we're at war with?" the young and very vocal Lady Arlis demanded.

For a fourteen year old, she was shockingly forceful. But then, she was an ambush-laying, sword-wielding fourteen year old. It didn't help that every time she opened her mouth, the high lady—who was an ambush-laying and sword-wielding noblewoman herself—would nod in agreement, and then cycle through a wide variety of polite looks.

Hikaj opted for what he hoped was the safest answer: technicalities.

"In the purest sense of common accord, we are not at war, because neither your king nor I have declared it,” he corrected Lady Arlis. “I suppose we could call it… armed conflict?”

Arlis gasped with deep offense. “Or more accurately, invasion or attempted conquest!”

Masara turned her steady gaze on Hikaj, and then stoked young Arlis's fire.

“You are correct Imperial General, technically," she said, turning her gracious concession into an elongated but. "Yet I fear my king has been a little busy fleeing your unprovoked… armed conflict... to make war declarations just yet.”

Lady Arlis leapt on that. "Yes! We'll see what the king says once - once he has a chance!" she told Hikaj, furious in her enthusiasm.

Hikaj was a general who knew when to retreat. He didn't quite try to hide Masara's sword and scabbard--there was nowhere to put it--but he lowered his hands and made it clear he wasn’t going to ask any questions about it. Of course Masara would want her weapon back--knights everywhere felt the same about that, Hikaj suspected, no matter how peculiar otherwise they were to him--but Qemaile wanted to study it more, and frankly, Hikaj worried it might scare some of the men if he returned it to her.

That problem for later.

Changing topics, Hikaj did his best not to get kicked out of the tent by the furious silences which had driven him from it before.

"Instead of declarations of war,” he said, in his best diplomatically soothing voice, “would you not prefer peace?"

Masara's neutral expression seemed to consider that, but Arlis frowned deeply.

“We had peace before you came,” the squire eventually said.

Hikaj looked at Masara when he answered. “Did you?”

She met his gaze, but for once, she was the one who looked away first. “Whatever we had,” she mused, “it was certainly not bloodshed from Amirasa to the Foothills.”

Hikaj bit back the dozen different things he wanted to say. He had weighed the risks and made his agreements before the first Kassan soldier set foot in Amir, and even if he was starting to re-evaulate those decisions, now was not the time to throw any plan away. Revealing any inopportune might weaken his leverages in Amir, and no matter how unfortunate this campaign was turning out to be, he did need this kingdom as a bulwark against Lapur.

So he winced and said, "No, it was not, you are correct. But I do believe smaller conflict is justified to avoid greater perils."

"For Kas, perhaps," Masara countered.

"Not just for Kas," Hikaj maintained, though he didn't mention Lapur specifically. He knew Masara would already be thinking of Amir’s other large, imperial neighbor; who west of the sea of sands didn’t? “Regardless of how it began - would you not like the chance to end it?"

That made Arlis scowl, though Masara smiled and dryly observed, “I am sure the terms would be so wonderfully generous."

Hikaj suppressed a shrug. "That is what negotiations would determine, I suppose."

Masara didn't answer, but her unchanging, humorless smile seemed to say, What treaties ever went well for the ones who were forced to the table by a greater military power? Even Arlis didn't say anything, though the naked outrage in her glare made it clear what she thought of this kind of coercion.

"How could we trust an agreement with you?" Masara asked finally. “We have no foundation for trust yet.” She paused, purposeful and considering, then added, before Hikaj could fumble for an answer, “Though we could work on that.”

Hikaj felt weakly grateful for the opening Masara left him. “What would you suggest?”

Arlis bristled again, probably ready to demand that the Kassans leave Amir immediately, but High Lady Masara said, “Something small, to start,” as though she were thinking aloud. “An easy trade. You could answer a question for me, perhaps, and I could answer one for you… or I could give you a demonstration with my sword.”

She didn’t look at the scabbard while she suggested the little deal. Hikaj met her dark, careful eyes, and told himself her offer was probably not a threat, and he definitely did not feel a sudden, thrilling swoop in his chest.

“All right,” he said.

Arlis scoffed and then muttered, just loud enough for Hikaj to hear, “I’ll demonstrate the Lady’s Peace for them.”

That was definitely a threat.

• • •

After whatever Lady Arlis had claimed to have done and Hikaj’s healers’ work, Masara's wounds all looked as though she'd had months to heal, not a little over a week. Her right arm was still in a sling though, so she held her sword in her left hand. She still wore the knee-length blue tunic that the healers had found for her too, as well as her gray knight’s cloak. But whereas her presence usually filled the small spellcloth tent, out in the open, she suddenly looked small and alone. Just one injured woman with a sword, facing off against a dozen archers.

That was probably what Hikaj's men had thought, right before Masara had charged them. He tried not to fall into the same trap when the high lady turned to him, smiled, and raised the tip of her sword with the ease of long familiarity.

“Shall I begin?” she asked.

“No!” Qemaile insisted from where he stood at Hikaj's side. He hopped from one foot to the other in his excitement, and from somewhere in his robes little bells started jingling. “You must explain what spell you plan to use! Incantation! Materials! Something?"

Masara laughed. Not at Qemaile, per se, but Qemaile retorted just the same, guestring out at Masara and her sword. "I want to know what I'm looking for!”

"You will see it," Masara assured him. It didn't really assuage Qemaile’s defensiveness, but she didn’t give him time to argue more. "Please, Imperial General, when you are ready, count to ten and then give the order to shoot."

She turned back to face the archers, who stood some hundred meters off.

Hikaj raised his hand and began to count. Before he'd even finished saying the first number, Masara's sword leapt into action, the tip of a blade tracing a large shape in the air before her. By the time Hikaj got to six, Masara's blade began to glow, first a small point of bright light, one of the etched runes turning to silver light that began to grow, sliding along the blade like liquid before it reflected into a bright arc of light that flashed, and then settled into a faint shimmer in the air. Hikaj reached ten, and lowered his hand. Twelve bowstrings twanged.

Fear flashed hot through Hikaj as the arrows whistled through the air--this was mad--but then all twelve shots slammed against the abruptly solid silver light, metal tips lighting in an incandescent spark before the wooden shafts splintered. Half-melted arrowheads and wood fell to the ground, and High Lady Masara lowered the sword.

"The arrow guard," Lady Arlis said into the silence, after the silver light faded away and Masara's sword was nothing but etched metal again. "It is one of the first things we learn."

“But I didn’t see the spell,” Qemaile wailed.

Hikaj was still staring at Masara. She had shifted the sword to her broken arm, and was holding it awkwardly in the sling so she could use her left hand to wipe sweat off her forehead, or maybe to brush her dark curls out of her face. He imagined her thundering down a narrow path through the Foothills, wreathed in silver spouting from her sword and staring down his men, and he felt a shiver in his spine.

“Figure it out, Qemaile,” Hikaj said. “I want that spell.”

“But my lord, it’s not a spell!”

• • •

In the tent (after Qemaile has asked his hundredth question and Masara had managed her ninety-somethingth evasive reply) the high lady shifted in her chair to turn a flat, expressionless look on Hikaj. It was just the three of them again, and an empty chair, but Masara didn’t even glance at Lady Arlis. The squire, for once, seemed just as unsure of what Masara would say as Hikaj.

“Imperial General,” the high lady said finally. “Who betrayed us?" She asked the question without preamble, firm and direct. Arlis closed her eyes and looked away. Was she surprised?

Hikaj himself was taken aback. Not was there a traitor, but who. How had Masara known? Had she known all along? If she’d known, that would change Hikaj’s understanding of what had gone wrong so far.

“I cannot build a foundation of trust alone, Imperial General.” The quiet, matter-of-fact tone was belied by the intensity of Masara’s brown eyes. She had said they could start with a small trade, an exchange of trust, but Hikaj suddenly realized this question was important to her. Maybe she’d been waiting for a chance to ask this whole time.

“No, of course not,” he agreed. He tried not to hesitate. Maybe the arrow guard had not been such a little demonstration, either. “It was the prince,” Hikaj said. “It was your cousin, Prince Panam.”

Masara closed her eyes, and then nodded once, shortly.

"I thought so," she said, and it was a quiet exhalation that seemed to take the strength out of her. She leaned back in her camp chair and bowed her head.

The silence was too loud; not even Arlis raised her voice to accuse Hikaj of lying. When he looked to the squire, he was shocked to see she had tears in her eyes.

“The High Priest, too?” she asked, her voice a thick whisper. Hikaj thought she was talking about the assassination that had drawn Kas into Amir, at Prince Panam’s invitation. Hikaj had had nothing to do with it, despite Arlis’s most heated accusations, but he had known the prince must have.

Masara didn’t raise her head when she replied. “It would seem so. Our own armed conflict, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” Hikaj found himself saying, feeling awkward and intrusive. “I’ll--I’ll leave you now. Have a good night.”

Then he rose from the campaign chair, flinched as the unstable thing folded loudly in on itself, and fled the tent.

#writing #masara #hikaj #the war au #i love aus #maybe 2021 will just be AUs #but tbh that woudl not be very different from most of the last few years lol #self indulgent 2021

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ansu-gurleht · 6 years ago

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rules: what does your character keep on their person? bold for always, italic for sometimes. then, tag some mutuals!

tagging: @nerevar-shid-and-fard @orsinium @devilsworddante @ptsilenthill @sheobaby @ anybody else who wants to do this, i’m bad at this lol. [tagged by @akulorkhan. the edit-tag worked buddy!]

Ku-vastei

➳ BAG

➳ WEAPONS

➳ APPAREL

➳ HEALTH + MAGIC

➳ STEALTH

➳ TOOLS

➳ PROVISIONS

➳ PERSONAL

anything bold, (in parantheses), AND italicized is stuff i’ve personally added to this for clarification purposes. feel free to get rid of them if i tag you!

b/c i want to, im going to elaborate on this under the cut:

she has a backpack wrapped in a bandolier of potions, most homemade. the inside of the bag is....kind of a mess. she just throws things in and has to dig around when she needs something. (not fun when she needs the knife or needle. but that’s what restoration magic’s for, right? there’s no tetanus in nirn, right?) she keeps the shovel (more of a trowel really, mostly used for muck-ing about, hehe) fastened to her bag as well. on top she keeps her guar-hide sleeping bag, wrapped in kresh fiber.

on her hip she (currently) has a sparks-enchanted glass dagger she nabbed off the corpse of one of her first morag tong writs. she thinks. she doesn’t exactly remember where she got it, but she probably killed someone for it, and love it very much.

her primary weapon, however, is a conjured daedric spear. it’s very powerful, and she loves it. just a wave of her claws and it’s hers, ready to stab.

she wears minimal medium armor, just enough to conceal under her robes. right now, it’s an orcish cuirass and bonemold pauldrons. she has a scarf now, but only after having to brave the ashen wastes of molag amur for mage’s guild business, and then winding up almsivi-intervention-ing to ald-ruhn, where there was a helpful ash-scarf merchant. she brings it with her everywhere on this stupid island now. she’s got a belt just to secure her robes a bit, and a few magic rings.

one of those is the ring of khajiiti, which she got from doing a quest for mephala that she didn’t know she was doing, who it was for, or why. first guy she talks to in the morag tong base when she finds it says “go poison this guy’s food and don’t ask why.” so she did it without asking why, and when she came back, the morag tong guy said “mephala wants to talk to you now” and then she gave ku a magic ring. really nice magic ring, too.

as i said, her backback’s potion bandolier is chock full of useful little brews. restore health, magicka, fatigue, some cure blight disease, some dispel, levitation, etc. anything she might need that she might not (reliably) be able to cast a spell for. (she knows a levitate spell, but it’s really, really hard. she has one shot for it to work, and if it doesn’t, she’s out of magicka.)

she carries a mortar and pestle for on-the-go alchemy, and a lot of herbs and ingredients. she’s very disorganized, but at least she tries to keep those ingredients separated in pouches so as to avoid accidental reactions. she also keeps some of the marshmerrow + saltrice poultice she learned to make from her naheesh so long ago, for those times she doesn’t want to cast a spell or drink a health potion. if you apply it to a wound and wrap it up, it’ll heal, slowly but reliably.

she wants to get into enchanting, and so carries around a fair amount of petty soul gems, and a few lesser ones, and she knows a basic soul trap spell. but she’s constantly cursing herself because she always forgets to cast it, and ends up just killing the thing. she’s got a loose kwama forager, rat, cliffracer soul here and there, but she decided recently to stop carrying them around, because hist knows when she’ll actually use them for anything. still, she keeps some empty gems on her, just in case.

ku taught herself how to pick locks and disable minor traps long ago, when sneaking around the plantation to get or spread information, or to unlock armories to arm her revolt. now that she’s more magically inclined, she knows an ondusi’s spell, but always tries to pick it first, to try and keep the skill fresh.

she keeps a piece of charcoal to keep up with her journal and update her maps. even in her late 40s, she’s not completely literate, having been first a slave, then a revolutionary, then a prisoner. but she can read well enough to get by, and can even write in cyrodiilic enough to keep as detailed a journal as she can. (unfortunately, despite her ability to read cyrodiilic, it doesn’t do her much good in vvardenfell, since a lot of things seem to be written in daedric.)

she keeps needle and thread to sew up any damage to her robes, and to close particularly egregious wounds to maximize the effectiveness of healing magic done on them. she has a knife for utility purposes, generally gathering/processing ingredients such as plants or hides, as well as anything she doesn’t want to dirty her precious glass dagger for. and she keeps some kindling and corkbulb to start fires to keep her warm during the cold nights.

she always carries food and a slaughterfish-gut water bag whenever she’s on a trip for business. usually she eats salted slaughterfish, mudcrab meat, saltrice porridge, and scuttle. she also never turns down any tasty bugs she comes across. she boils her water (and cooks her porridge) in a small cast iron pot, and has a similarly sized pan for grilling meat. she keeps some sujamma on her, not for recreation, but in case she ever needs a bit of a pick-me-up.

as a child, she spent a lot of time with her khajiit friends, who always seemed to have a way to occasionally get a hold of moon sugar, despite the harsh punishment if a slave was caught with it. as a result, ku developed something of a sweet tooth, and occasionally like to treat herself to some.

she also carries extra food and water, just in case she ever runs into a situation where she needs to escort a slave to safety.

her money never seems to exceed about 3000 drakes, mostly due to having to bribe so many people for information, since she’s not always so good with words. now that she’s got a semi-stable job with the morag tong, though, this might change soon. and if she ever gets around to selling some of the junk she’s got holed away.

she keeps the journal and map she obtained from arille’s tradehouse in seyda neen in a front-pocket of her backpack, and tucks any books she finds interesting in her travels in the bottom of her backpack. currently, she is carrying one regularly: "a pilgrim’s path,” just in case she is close by to one of the shrines, or forgets what offering to leave.

she carries her sadrith mora hospitality papers, as well as her current morag tong writs, in a separate pocket from her journal and map. she’s also been collecting these strange, glowing, singing plants she keeps finding along the water with no discernible alchemical uses. she’s shown them to other alchemists, as well, but none of them knew anything about it. some, however, told her there was an alchemist in caldera who studies these plants. she has yet to visit caldera, though.

around her neck she carries a sentimental comfort item: a fire-proof twig from a hist tree (given to her by her naheesh, it is a small fragment of a branch that fell from a hist tree) bound tightly to a small pearl ku’s mother once found in the soil at the bottom of a marshmerrow paddy. both of these women are now long dead, lost either before or during her revolt. they’re all ku has left of them, and constant reminders of the futility of her actions as a young adult.

#tes #tesblr #teslore #argonian #morrowind #nerevarine #akulorkhan #nerevar-shid-and-fard #orsinium #devilsworddante #ptsilenthill #sheobaby

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 6 years ago

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The Black Swan

Chapter 2

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5225

Chapter: 2/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon and Penelope go on their adventure, and Simon finds something he didn't expect.

Read on AO3

———————————————

Simon had elevated sneaking out his castle to an art form. He did it for the first time when he was only eleven, just a week after he moved in. He’d left his favourite red ball behind and he wanted it back. It had never occured to Simon to ask permission to leave. He’d never asked before, because no one was ever watching him closely enough to be concerned. But when he tried to walk out the front door, the guards had stopped him. Then David yelled at him for an hour.

“You’re a prince now, Simon. For God’s sake, you can’t just leave when you like!” he’d said.

“Why not?” A young, ignorant, eleven year old Simon had replied.

“Because you're too damn important to get hurt! I can’t have you dying just after I’ve acquired you!”

Penelope thought David was cruel and considered Simon his property. Simon reminded her that David still took him in when everyone else was too afraid. He was overprotective, not evil. But Simon wasn't a child anymore, and he wanted to explore. He still felt a bit guilty. David was just trying to keep him safe. Simon would be fine though. The King didn't need to worry.

Simon secured his sword to his back, his knife to his belt, and threw on the heavy black wool cloak. In the dark, he’d look like a shadow, or a mysterious hero. Either would work. He threw the long rope out his bedroom window. It was the perfect length, measured out exactly over the years. Simon repelled down the stone wall with ease. He hit the ground with zero noise. Then he was off.

He jumped over the moat with only a bit of magic, but still launched himself too forcefully and he almost fell on his face as he landed. With only a stumble, he was running across the great lawn at breakneck speed. Through the Wavering Wood and across the downtown he went until he reached the Bunce house. Penny’s room was on the third floor. Simon wasn’t only a skilled window-escaper, but a damn good climber as well. He shimmied up the support pole and tapped on the third floor glass. The double windows sung open, revealing an annoyed Penelope.

“You can’t throw a pebble at my window? Or knock on the front door like a normal person?” she hissed.

“Okay. 1: Your mum would actually kill me if I woke her up at this time. 2: Pebbles wouldn’t make enough sound for you to hear. And 3:” He kept an arm around the pole and leaned out, stretching out so his cloak flapped in the wind. He liked to be grand sometimes. “This is much more fun.”

Penny rolled her eyes with a smile. “Weirdo. Meet me outside in a second.”

Simon saluted. “Will do!”

Penny shut her window and Simon jumped to the ground. He use his magic to cushion his fall a bit, cloak flapping up. His feet still stung from the impact but he wasn’t injured. That was the best he could hope for with his magic.

She emerged from the front, dressed in her own black cloak. Her big purple ring glowed slightly in the dark. A mischievous grin was pulled across her face. As much as she mocked Simon’s desire to explore, she loved it too. She liked being a great hero as well. The two of them pretended all the time when they were small. And now, here they were again. Penelope and Simon, fearless adventurers, off into the Forbidden Lands

Simon took her hand. “Ready?”

Penny squeezed once. “Absolutely.”

The pair ran off towards the east. The houses became sparser and sparser, fading from metropolis to wild nature. More trees, thicker grass, wilder plants. Simon and Penny’s boots cracked the twigs and crushed the foliage. They ran and ran, until they reach their destination. Simon screeched to a halt. His blue eyes were wide.

“Wow,” he gasped. “It’s just, wow.”

“Yeah, that’s an apt description,” Penny chuckled.

The ancient trees towered over them. They were like old giants, arms made from twisting branches, bodies of cracking bark, and feets of thick twining roots. The setting sun shone through the small spaces between them. Glowing oranges and fiery reds seep out to illuminate the mossy ground. It wasn’t dark, but it was dark enough to be a tad frightening. Just enough to make Simon’s excited heart race.

He tugged Penelope towards the Forbidden Lands. “Let’s go.”

They entered cautiously, still hand in hand. Their steps were incredibly loud in the darkening silence. Simon observed everything around him. It was all interesting. Tree trunks and vines and strange flowers of every colour. Simon’s pulse was beating like a rabbit’s. Anything could happen here. A monster could leap out from a dark corner. He’d battle it with his sword and emerge triumphant. Or a path that lead to another world, filled with magic. He and Penny would be sent on a great quest that would end with them winning riches and adoration. It was all so exciting to think about.

“This is incredible,” Penny whispered. “There’s so much here.”

“I know, right?” Simon giggled with a smile. “Why does have to David forbid it?”

“Because he’s a control freak?”

Simon sighed heavily. “Not right now, please, Pen. Let’s just explore.”

Penny squeezed his hand. “Alright.”

The pair of them went deeper and deeper in. The sun was getting lower, and the branch canopy thicker. Simon lost sight of where they came in. There didn’t seem to be any exit anymore. But they didn’t stop. Deeper they trekked. Further into unknown. Every time there was a bump, Simon nearly grabbed his sword and Penelope’s ring finger twitched. But they still didn’t stop.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, Simon’s eye was caught by a dim purple glow. It was coming from the twilight, but from the ground. He stopped suddenly. Penny ran right into him.

“Ow,” she grunted, “what the fuck, Si?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“What’s what?”

Simon pointed to the glowing. “That.”

Penelope stopped rubbing her aching nose to follow Simon’s finger. She gasped very loudly in the relative quiet. Loud enough to make Simon worried.

“What’s wrong?�� he said.

She dropped to her knees and started digging through the thick foliage. The glowing got brighter and brighter until Penny stopped. She squealed with excitement.

“Pen, what’s-

She looked at him with a huge grin. Simon had never seen her so elated. “Hyacinthinus candentius!” Simon was very confused, and his expression conveyed that clearly. “Glowing violets!” Still confused. Penelope sighed and shook her head. “They’re a special kind of flower that glows at night time. It’s incredibly rare. I’ve only read about it in my potion making books. Oh, I need to get a few samples. Can I borrow your knife?”

Simon sighed and handed over his dagger. Penny carefully started cutting at the plant. Simon had to keep himself from groaning. At least an hour in the forbidden lands, and the most interesting thing they’d found was a glowing flower. What a let down. He lazily walked forward a bit, head tilted upwards. There was a slight gap in the tree covering, just enough to see the sky. It was glowing deep purple too, minutes away from night time. Thin clouds rolled over him. Birds flying in a V shape flew close to the ground.

Wait, what was that?

Simon squinted, trying to see better. The birds were white with long graceful necks. Swans, that was the name. But at the head of the V, the swan was completely black. It’s feather’s were dark as pens ink. Simon had never seen anything like it before. There was another thing too. Something shiny, glinting in the low light, hanging off the black swan’s neck. Was that...a necklace? Since when did birds wear jewellery? The hell?

“Hey Pen, I’m gonna look at something,” Simon whispered. Penny didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure she heard him but he kept going anyway.

He followed the strange bird as best he could, what with the trees obscuring most of the sky. Whatever glimpse he got, he took, ducking and weaving between trees to keep pace with them. They got lower, closer to the forest. Simon saw it was definitely a necklace. A bird wearing a necklace. It was so dumb and weird, but it was something. And it definitely intrigued him more than glowing flower. The flock got closer and closer, going faster and faster. Simon had to run to keep up. They suddenly dived straight down.

“Where the fuck are the-”

And then Simon fell.

He fell, and fell, and fell a bit farther just for good measure. He curled in on himself and covered his head. The whole world spun as he tumbled over dirt and tree roots and rocks. Until he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

“Ow,” Simon whined, rubbing his aching, well, everything. It all hurt. It was a bad fall. Without his magic probably instinctively protecting him, he’d be much worse off. Slowly, he raised his head and his eyes focused on his surroundings.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

It was...beautiful. Simon had landed in some sort of huge basin, collapsed just behind a bush. The land curved down into a bowl shape, surrounded by thick trees to hide its existence. The tall edges were covered in old vines interspersed with roots and rocks. Like someone had scooped the ground out a thousand years ago and nature grew around it. Thick grass was at the edge, where Simon landed, and just to his left was a very small wooden cottage. It couldn’t fit more than one or two people. Floating lights dimly illuminated the area. They looked like the ones Penelope would use when she was up late studying at school. Right in the centre of all this was a shining blue lake, where the swans were floating. Including the black necklace wearing one.

The bird was still a bit far away, but Simon could certainly get a better look. It really was very strange looking. Every feather was impossibly dark as night, contrasting it’s bright white companions. It still had the same characteristically graceful neck and head with a long orange bill as them though. But Simon was most stunned but it’s eyes. Swans were supposed to have beady black eyes, and the white ones did. But the black swan’s eyes were strange. They had white parts, like a human’s, and grey irises. Not just grey though. It was dark green and dark blue mixed together. Like the deep sea.

“What the fuck are you?” Simon asked, more himself than the bird.

Suddenly, the blue water started glowing under the black swan. It bubbled and churned beneath the bird like it was boiling. Simon was beyond confused.

“Wha-”

The swan started growing larger, nearly tripling in size in mere seconds. It stretched its majestic wings up towards the sky. And then they weren’t wings. They were strong human arms, with two very human hands and ten very human fingers. The swan’s body absorbed the dark feathers and stretched up and out, quickly becoming a muscled back with smooth reddish gold skin. Paddling webbed feet shifted and grew into long legs with toes touching the lake floor. Finally, it’s bill shrank, it’s head grew, until everything about the swan had transformed from bird to distinctly human.

The water stopped glowing and bubbling. The strange young man had a lean build, night black hair, and a thin silver chain around his neck. He turned his head to the side, letting Simon glimpse his angular, elegant face and slightly crooked long nose. Most importantly, Simon saw his eyes. Dark green mixed with dark blue. Deep sea water.

He was a gorgeous man, who just a minute ago had been a black swan. And was now completely naked.

Simon had to suppress a very frightened and surprised squeak.

The swan- The boy- The Swan Boy let out a long sigh. He stretched his arms up as far as he could, then rolled his head side to side and rubbed his neck. With two hands, he pushed his incredibly long wavy hair further out of his face. It reached the middle of his back in a slightly tangled mess. Frankly, it looked like he hadn’t gotten in a haircut in years. But he was tall and muscular, with swirling grey eyes and incredible cheekbones. Tangled hair didn’t diminish those at all.

Swan Boy waded through the lake towards the shore near the cottage. Sitting at its doorstep was a pile of folded clothes. He quickly threw on the long white shirt and grey trousers, tying a thin rope around his waist. It was a simple Watford peasant’s outfit, familiar to Simon from his own childhood. Swan Boy used up a fat red ribbon to tie his long hair back with a perfect bow. He finally looked decent. And Simon couldn’t hide any longer.

With shaky legs, Simon stood up from behind his bush. Swan Boy didn’t notice. Simon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. What could he say? What do you say to a man who was just a swan? Well, you could at least say hello.

“Um,” Simon said meekly, “hi.”

Swan Boy’s head whipped around so fast his ponytail almost hit him in the face. His grey eyes were wide and filled with so many emotions. Fear, panic, shock, everything Simon should’ve expected. He stumbled away, bracing his hand against the cottage wall.

“Who...who the fuck are you?!” he asked. His accent was rough, but had a slightly posh undertone. Simon couldn’t place where he was from.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking at the ground. “Uh, I sorta fell down here, following you. Well, swan you. But then the lake glowed and-” He met Swan Boy’s scared eyes. “You were just a swan.”

His grey eyes went even wider, hand on the wall tightening. “No I wasn’t,” he said quickly.

They stared at each other, frozen and gazes locked for awhile. Simon blinked in utter confusion. His head slowly tilted to the side.

“Y-Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I just saw you though...”

“You don’t know what you saw.”

“Yeah I do!” Simon stepped forward with hands on his hips. “You were a black swan sitting on the lake. Then the lake glowed and you turned into,” Simon gestured wildly at him, “you!”

Swan Boy took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, “you can’t know. You can’t be here. No one’s supposed to be here. If he sees-”

There was a rumbling in the near distance. Swan Boy’s hands fell down. His face looked even more fearful than before. Even his hands were shaking. He looked at the sound, then Simon, the sound, then Simon again. The cogs were obviously turning in his brain. It reminded Simon of Penelope when she was thinking.

“Get in the house,” Swan Boy muttered.

“What?” Simon replied dumbly.

He rolled his eyes, then stomped over to the door and pulled it open with quite a bit of anger. “Get in here. Stay out of sight. Do not come out until he leaves.”

“Until who leaves?”

The rumbling got closer. Swan Boy pointed frantically at the entrance. “Just get in if you don’t want to die!”

That got Simon’s attention. He didn’t even know this strange Swan Boy, but he also really didn’t want to die. And going into a cottage wouldn’t kill him right?

“Okay, okay,” Simon said, running in the door.

It was as simple inside as outside. Nothing more than a single room with a tiny fireplace, a cot, a pine blanket box, and a couple stacks of books. It reminded Simon of his room at the orphanage. Sparse to the point of poverty, not simple comfort.

Swan Boy pushed him further in. He jabbed a bony finger at Simon’s face, mouth pulled into a scowl. “Lay down, hide under the window. Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even breathe.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “But I have to breathe. To survive and stuff.”

“Ugh, right, of course,” he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I mean, just don’t make any noise.”

“O-Okay.”

“Now!”

“Okay, fine!” Simon flopped down to his stomach, pressed up against the wall under the sole tiny window. He glared up Swan Boy. “This good enough?.”

Swan Boy glared right back. His eyes were daggers. “Just be quiet.”

He closed the door quietly, but Simon was sure he’d have slammed it if he could.

The thundering had gotten incredibly loud. Like a storm right on the doorstep. Simon had to grit his teeth and cover his ears. But then there was a deafening clap, followed by silence. Simon slowly released lowered his hands. The conversation was already half started.

“No, I have not left, Sir. There’s no point,” Swan Boy said. His voice was steady, but smaller than before.

“I’m only asking to be safe. You’ve tried before,” another person replied. He sounded deep, gravelly, almost inhuman. It had to be magically altered. No real person sounded like that.

“That was years ago,” he muttered. There was suddenly a loud thunder clap.

“Do not speak to me like that!” The strange person boomed so loud it shook the cottage.

A pause, then Swan Boy cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“You damn well better be sorry. Don’t forget, you’re only alive by my allowance.” The person took a deep breath. “Now, do you require anything new? Food? Books?”

“I find my own food, but I could always use more books.”

“Fine.”

There was another pause. Simon’s curiosity got the better of him. He lifted his head slightly, just to peak out the window. Swan Boy was standing near the lake. In front of him was a hooded figure, face completely obscured. Simon guessed from his build that he was a man, but it could only be a guess. The cloak was simple grey wool with no markings whatsoever. This man didn’t look that intimidating, just mysterious, but Swan Boy had his arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was calm but his entire body spelled afraid.

Cloaked Figure reached out towards Swan Boy. He flinched but didn’t back away. Figure grabbed his ponytail, clutching it in his black gloved hand. Swan Boy winced.

“Your hair has gotten too long,” he said with grave disapprovement, his fake voice only enhancing the intimidation. “It must be cut.”

“Understood,” Swan Boy said.

Figure reach inside his cloak. He moved so fast Simon could barely register what happened. In a flash, Swan Boy’s ponytail was sliced off just above the ribbon. His raven hair fell into an uneven curtain around his face, long in the front and far shorter in the back. Instead of throwing the hair away, the Figure put it inside his coat. Must not like to litter, Simon thought.

“Much better,” Figure said. “I’ll bring you more books in three days time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Swan Boy said quietly.

“Have a good night, Basil.”

“Good night, Sir.”

The thundering started again. Smoke formed under Figure’s feet. It quickly encased his entire body, making him indistinguishable from a storm cloud. He rose up and out of the lake. Swan Boy, or Basil possibly, watched him go. Soon, he sighed, tension quickly leaving his body. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand over his face. He picked up a piece of black hair, rolling it between his fingers as he looked at it sadly. Simon didn’t like his face sad. It seemed wrong for someone so pretty to be so forlorn.

Swan Boy/Basil strolled over to the lake. A white swan waded close to the shore. He sat next to it and petted it’s head. The bird nuzzled against him, and though Simon could only see a corner of his face, he swore there was the hint of a smile

Simon finally got up from the floor and left the cottage. Like approaching a wild animal, he cautiously stepped towards the other boy, stopping a few feet behind him.

“Your name is Basil?” he asked.

Maybe-Basil jolted, making his swan friend honk and flap its wings. He whipped around to face Simon with a shocked expression. “Good God,” he panted. “I forgot you were here.”

“Sorry. So, is your name Basil?”

He turned away, keeping his back to Simon. “None of your business.”

Simon huffed. “Fine, be like that, Swan Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

“You won’t tell me your name. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“You’re not supposed to call me anything, you’re supposed to leave.”

Simon huffed again, crossing his arms. “You’re not very nice.”

“Gold star for the observation,” he snapped. “Now go.”

“Wish I could just go, mate, but I told you, I fell by accident. I have no clue how to get out. Could you point me to exit?��

He whipped his head again. His mouth was turned into deep scowl and his eyes were filled fire. Simon swore the air itself was heating up. “Do you think I’d still be here if there was one?!”

Shit, Simon thought, bad Simon, watch your words. “S-Sorry, that was really rude, so sorry.”

Swan Boy scoffed and looked away again. The guilt sat horribly in Simon’s stomach. He barely knew this man, but he hated seeing anyone upset, especially when it was his own fault. Cautiously, he sat near the other boy. Not too close to make him uncomfortable, but enough to show he wasn’t afraid.

“My name is Simon, by the way,” he said quietly. He didn’t mention the Crown Prince part. He preferred being just Simon if he could.

Swan Boy-or-Basil didn’t respond for awhile. Simon tried to occupy himself by watching the lights, watching the swans, but he was naturally restless. His fingers drummed on his knee, foot jittering up and down. He usually didn’t mind silence. But this was so tense, so precarious. It made his heart thump far too hard.

“Baz,” Swan Boy whispered.

“What?” Simon replied like the idiot he knew he was.

“Basil is my full name,” he said a bit louder. “But I prefer Baz. It’s shorter, easier to say.”

Simon looked over, and Basil, or Baz he supposed, was petting the white swan again, body curled in on itself. His face tried to look neutral, but he was biting at his lip. He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Simon but not too far. He didn’t seem used to sitting near someone. Simon was pretty sure he wasn’t used to people in general.

“Okay,” he said cheerily. “Hi, Baz. Nice to meet you.”

He offered his hand like David taught him, to be polite. Baz jerked away. He seemed more shocked than afraid. But still, it wasn’t a good reaction. Simon started lowering his arm, but then Baz cautiously reached forward as well. Slowly, with massive amounts of unsureness from both, their hands met. Baz’s palms were incredibly rough. His skin was somehow more callused than rough-and-tumble Simon’s. Though eight years of palace living had smoothed his out a bit. Baz shook once then pulled away very quickly. He immediately went back to petting his swan. And silence reigned like a tyrannical king for a long time

“So,” Simon let the vowel drag out slowly, “you live here?”

Baz scoffed. “Obviously.”

“It’s really nice.”

“You don’t have to pretend you like it,” Baz muttered, focusing intensely on his pet.

Simon gave him a confused look. “I’m not pretending. It’s very pretty here. The lights, the lake, everything.”

Baz didn’t say anything. He scratched under his bird’s bill and stroked it’s wing. He obviously had great affection for this animal. Simon leaned closer.

“Is that one your brother or sister?” he asked. “Or your Mum or Dad or something?”

Simon had never seen someone whip their head around so fast. Baz’s expression was dizzying array of confusion, frustration, and anger. Simon had seen it before; every time he asked a question so stupid that David couldn’t believe he’d let the words out of his mouth.

“What the fuck!?” Baz spat. “No! No, of course not. Where the fuck did you get that?!”

Simon shifted nervously and scratched his neck. He stared at the ground intently. “I-I don’t know. That swan seems to really like you and you were just a swan like ten minutes ago. And I guess I want to know if you’re a guy who turns into a swan or a swan who turns into a guy. But I’m bad at making my words...work right.” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

He didn’t look up. He could feel the shame bubbling in his gut. This was an old situation. Him saying something dumb without meaning to, getting yelled at for it and absolutely deserving it. Nine years and the habit was still unbroken. Simon was still an idiot.

“I’m a human first,” Baz said quietly. “Swan second.”

Simon lifted his head slowly. When he looked at Baz, the other boy surprisingly wasn’t angry, not like David was. He didn’t look happy either, because Simon wasn’t sure his pretty pouty face was capable of that. He was just calm, maybe even understanding.

The prince nodded. “Okay, cool.”

They went silent. Simon was afraid to ask a dumb question again, so he focused on kicking clumps of dirt into the lake. He had little idea of how to act in normal social situation. And this was far, far beyond normal.

“Did you actually just fall down here?” Baz asked.

Simon rubbed his neck. “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“Just, tripped into a ten foot hole in the ground?”

“Yes...”

Baz scoffed. “You’re a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Simon chuckled in an effort to cover up his embarrassment. “That’s what everyone says.”

He sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. “Well, you should probably find a way to get out of here.” He paused for a moment, focusing on his swan friend. “You can,” he whispered, so quiet Simon barely heard it.

Simon’s eyes flicked over. Baz’s face was stone, making him look even more like a statue than his bone structure did. Simon’s mind went back to what he heard, when Baz was talking to the hooded man. “No, I have not left, Sir. There is no point.”

“Oh, okay,” Simon stuttered. “I’ll find a way.”

He almost asked if Baz wanted to come with him. But he quickly shut his mouth. From the cold, tense look on his face, Baz truly couldn’t leave, and it caused him far too much pain.

Simon walked up to the sloping wall. It really was ten feet tall. Thick tree roots dove in and out of the dirt like sea serpents in the ocean. Possible foot holds, he thought, but covered in moss. He placed a hand on the wood, feeling slippery moss. Simon needed something to hold onto. Something steady...

He unsheathed his longsword. It wasn’t his favourite weapon, but it was useful. Simon gripped it tight, and thrust the blade right into the dirt. He held onto the hilt as he swung his feet up on the tree root. He slipped and slid but didn’t fall. He wrapped his free arm around another root. Simon removed the sword, then plunged it into a higher, and hoisted himself onto the next foot hold he had. It worked! Simon giggled quietly to himself. Penny would be proud of his ingenuity.

Simon turned his head back towards the lake. Baz’s head whipped around, facing the water, but he had quite obviously been looking at Simon. His face was hidden by the veil of black hair. Simon wondered what his expression was. He hoped Baz wasn’t sad, but that was unlikely. He didn’t seem the happy kind. Which was sad in it’s own way.

“B-Bye,” Simon said weakly.

Baz didn’t even acknowledge his farewell. He petted his swan and sat at his lake. Simon’s departure had no seeming effect on him. Which didn’t hurt Simon’s stupid vulnerable feelings, not at all.

The prince scaled the wall, hoisted himself up and up and up, until he almost reached the top. The edge was right there. Simon got his hand on it, about to get out. He turn his head slightly. Baz was smaller now, but he was still there, sitting by the lake. A seemingly constant fixture, unable to move forward, to change. Simon wondered how long he’d been one in this lake.

“Simon?! Simon, where are you?”

Penny’s voice triggered an automatic response in Simon. He threw himself over the edge, onto the proper ground. His legs were weak from climbing, but he stood tall with an arm on the tree.

“I’m here Penny!” He yelled into the endless dark.

Rapid footsteps got closer and closer. Simon watched a familiar figure emerge from the trees and immediately slam into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Penny crushed him in her arms.

“Hi, Pen,” he chuckled. “Worried about me?”

Penny pulled back, and promptly smacked her best friend over the head. “What the hell, Si?! You just vanished! Dear God, if you died, Davy would’ve gone ballistic, Watford wouldn’t have an heir, and I-I-” She sniffled and wiped her nose. Simon couldn’t see her face that well, but he could guess she was crying a bit. She hugged him tightly again. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, arsehole.”

Simon squeezed her tight, reassuring for both him and her. “I’m sorry, Penny. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

“Damn right.” She pulled back, glaring with confusion. “Where the hell were you anyway?”

“Oh I was just over-” Simon turned around, pointing at the the grotto. But there was no grotto. No lake or swans or floating lights. Only more darkness and trees. “It...was right there...” he whispered.

“What was right there?”

Just a magical lake where a black swan who’s actually a boy lives. Y’know, the usual, Simon thought, but he didn’t dare say. Baz barely tolerated Simon seeing him by accident. He probably wouldn’t appreciate another person knowing he was there. And really, Simon wasn’t sure Penny would believe him. Simon wouldn’t believe it he hadn’t actually seen it himself five minutes ago. Maybe he should just explain it later...

“Uh, a really cool big rock,” he said. “I swear I just saw it. Had all these cool markings and shit. I must’ve gotten turned around.”

Penny sighed with utter exasperation. “Yeah, I can believe that. You get lost turning left. So stop wandering off!”

She poked his chest hard enough to make him stumble. Simon chuckled, grabbing her hand. “Will do, Penny. Maybe we should get out of here. I’m a bit adventured out.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s head home.”

They walked hand in hand back towards the forest edge. But Simon tired to commit landmarks to memory. A gnarled root, a strange flower, in case he needed to remember where he was. In case he ever had the chance to come back.

———————————————

AN: So some of you, or let's be honest, most of you, have probably already figured out what's going on. If so, I kindly ask for you to please not spoil it for those who haven't in the comments. Thanks :) I know it's obvious, but I hope you guys instead enjoy watching the characters learn, grow, make connections, and figure out what's going on for themselves. We may know but they obviously don’t know just yet. Just you wait though :D Until next time friends!

#carry on #snowbaz #cobb 2018 #carry on big bang #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #fantasy au #the black swan #mysnowbazfanfic

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bluemoonbright · 3 years ago

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Loud shrieks draw her attention from her mending to the trees lining the perimeter of the field where she and the rest of her clan have spent the past ten spring and summer seasons. The tamp of little boots on loamy soil are the only warning she receives before five children burst through the forest edge. The little girls speedily throw themselves in their mothers’ arms near the ever-burning bonfire, giggling, as the boys whoop and tumble into the pile of sleeping dogs purportedly guarding the livestock. Her son, six years old and independent enough now that she allows him to frolic with the older children, is not among them. She hands the battered chainmail to her assistant over the thick butcher block table they’d bought from the ailing smith several miles downhill, and dusts her trousers free of metal chips and dust.

“Your boy never minds the time, does he?” The young woman tsks over the warped steel circles. “Can’t imagine the other children would know where he is, given he’s prone to lagging behind.”

“I’m sure he’s nearby. I’ve always told him to keep to the edges or follow the creek, if he wished to go deeper.”

“And if he’s his father’s son, then he’s sure to heed your words.” Her assistant laughs, likely recalling those renowned courtship squabbles with fondness, despite how young she would have been then. “Go; I’ll keep the fires.”

Ebba clips her sword belt to her hips before departing, tilting her head in greeting to a passing warrior as she sets out to where the children had exited the forest. It takes twenty minutes before she catches a flash of the faded pink ribbon she’d used to bind her son’s long brown hair earlier in the morn. Drawing closer, she discovers that it had been tied to a low branch of a spindly, dying tree, and underneath this little flag sits her son, cross-legged and focused intensely on something nearby, an open notebook resting on his knee and graphite pen in his hand. His long ears twitch at the approach of heavy footfalls, and he swivels, jumping up and knocking his notebook to the forest floor. “Mama.”

“It’s thoughtful of you to mark where you are, for me to come find you,” Ebba says drily. Her son flushes, retrieving his book and shoving his pen into the pocket of his shorts.

“I thought it would help,” he says, “I kept up with Freja and Lukas and them ‘til the end, up and down the creek, when I found these. Look.”

He points to a ruffling swath of oyster mushrooms which have overtaken the base of the thick hardwood tree two feet away, nestled between patches of fuzzy moss and lichen. In the shafts of light bleeding through the forest canopy, deposits of white particulates are visible amidst the roughened wood underneath the shelf. “Spores, dear,” she intuits, knowing her son has seen the mushrooms themselves on the kitchen cutting board. With a soft tug, she unravels the ribbon from the branch. Ebba beckons her boy to tilt his head, so that she may gather the loose hair into a braid.

“When the temperature and the humidity are right, mushrooms release them into the air, so the wind takes them further away and so animals may gather them in their fur as they travel These have dropped to land right on the tree without the help of the wind,” she murmurs, tying a simple knot and tossing the completed braid over his shoulder.

“Like tree pollen. It makes me sneeze.” Her son nods, pulling at the strands tight on his scalp.

“In a way; male plants and parts produce and release pollen to fertilize the female plants or parts in the area—we are able to grow fruits and vegetables because of plant pollination. Mushrooms don’t have male or female anatomy. The spores of the oyster mushroom are released from the gills, and from these spores, mycelia forms, that eventually produce mushrooms to spread more spores, if the conditions are right.” She pulls a dagger from her belt, and slices a cap from the shelves to present the underside for him to study, which he does with two fingers clamping his nose shut. Ebba laughs, and his brow wrinkles. She sets the mushroom cap on the ground and wipes her hands on the threadbare handkerchief she pulls from her apron pockets.

“It is good to be careful, but it’s alright. You won’t be harmed by this one moment of study. So long as you are not exposed for long periods of time, the spores will not irritate your lungs. What do you think? Are mushrooms interesting?”

“Yes. Are mycelia like roots?” He takes a fallen twig to poke at the fine gills. “As the roots grow from the seed pods we plant, mycelia grows from a spore?”

“A singular spore will germinate some growths, called hyphae, but the contributions of many germinating spores form a network which is called mycelia underneath the ground, and within dead trees. Mycelia may spread to connect and cover whole forests, like the one we stand in; trees and our crops and bugs in the ground pull nutrients from mycelium, which benefits us as well, in the food cycle, because we eat what trees produce, and the fruits and vegetables of our seasonal crops.”

The sharp end of the twig is pushed deeper into the gills, piercing the meat of the cap. “How, mama?”

Her son drops the stick when she clucks her tongue and gestures for them to troop back to their summer home. She draws an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close as they walk, fond of his curiosity. “Alexander, so full of questions. Someday I won’t have answers to everything,” she teases. He rolls his eyes and pouts when she tugs at his braid. “Fortunately, I knew an expert who loved to study mushrooms and their ilk. She told me, when plants and animals die in the natural world, spores may land on them, like those that generated the mushrooms on the dead tree. The spores grow hyphae and form mycelia, which breaks down the dead matter into things it can eat until nothing remains, releasing phosphorus and nitrogen and good plant food to the trees roots. The little bugs that live underground eat mycelium off the roots; bigger and bigger bugs eat those smaller ones that came before it, the birds we raise eat those large bugs, and we eat the birds.”

As she spoke of the cycle to which all the living must contribute, she catches the uneven drum of rough-bitten nails on the soft leather cover of the notebook held to his chest. They step over a fallen log in their path and she allows him to poke about the interface of bark and soil to search for more evidence of mushrooms, until the sky darkens with the passing of gray clouds, and she bids him once more to follow her back home. Slowly, not a minute into the brisk pace, he says, “And when we die, like Grandmother, and we are buried in the ground, we’ll become food for mushrooms, too? And we’ll be gone?”

He’s too smart. She stops their trajectory, and peers down at her son’s face, which has gone somber and uncertain in his contemplation. “Yes. It is not ignoble, to become one with the earth again. Death severs our conscious connection to the world around us, but we still linger in different forms under the ground and atop the soil. Listen,” Ebba says, crouching so she may look up into Alexander’s wide eyes. “When we die, all the particles that make us who we are, the mycelium shall loosen apart. All the things that had become us, they go into the air and the wind and the trees and the earth and all the living things. We’ll never truly vanish; I swear to you. I promise on my honor. No matter how far apart we are laid to rest, the dust shall carry you back to me. With every puff of breeze and drop of running water and catch of fur against the greenery, it shall be inevitable. We are connected wonderfully and beautifully this way. Don’t cry now.”

With trembling fingers, he swipes at the tears gathering under his eyes. “It’s scary.”

“It is,” she acknowledges. “I’m scared, too. But it shouldn’t stop us from living and loving as we do now.” She draws him into an embrace, and his hands clasp tight to the fabric of her shirt, and she thinks of white lace and broken swaths of interlocked steel rings, of lady death and her fruitful dust. The susurrus of rain driving through leafed branches in the distance draws closer, and she hopes darkly that her boy would bury her, rather than she bury him in this awful, tumultuous world. She will die, and her boy will die, and their remains will be taken up by thin gossamer clouds stretching miles upon miles of the breadth and depth of these green lands.

She wants to say, you will never be alone. We who came before you and those you shall teach in your twilight years—we are one in death and dust. She scoops her arms underneath her son’s body and carries him home.

#technoblade #we'll miss you #pardon me for using his real name #i wanted to write something to honor him and his impact and how he would never leave us

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 7 years ago

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"You should stay with him tonight," Thomas whispered in James's ear.

James pulled back. "Oh? And where will you be?"

"In our bed, sleeping peacefully, I should think."

James gave him a long look. "You could join us, you know."

"No," Thomas said, kissing behind James's ear. "Not yet. He's not...there yet."

"But you are?" James held Thomas's head in his hands.

More summarized summary: Germs and pining. Snippetfic, silverflint/flinthamilton/silverflinthamilton. Angst, humor.

(snippet is over at AO3 too but like every other thing I’ve tried to post today anywhere on earth, the AO3 share function isn’t working correctly. wow this year! just keeps going.)

The knife clattering to the table punctuated the end of the paragraph Thomas was reading, and he sat his book aside.

"Carrots fighting back," he asked, "or are we about to be invaded?"

James was squinting out the window like he'd expected it to be sunny and fair instead of falling dark now for at least two solid hours. His posture was that of a man about to pick up the knife and charge at whatever attacker might kick down the door.

Of course it would be Silver arriving home for the evening. They hadn't seen him since the day before yesterday. He'd come home late and so had they. The sounds of him getting ready and leaving in the morning had been proof of his being alive and Thomas hadn't thought to worry. Before, anyway.

"What the hell happened to you?" James said the instant Silver had breached the doorway.

Silver paused in removing his outer garments only enough to throw him a puzzled glance. "Nothing?"

Thomas was puzzled as well, likely for different reasons.

James strode over and grasped Silver's shoulders, patting him down as Silver tried to finish unwinding his scarf. "Are you hurt somewhere else?"

The banked panic in James's tone would have amused Thomas if it hadn't been so plaintive.

Silver, for his part, continued to look baffled -- but also strangely younger than the last time Thomas had seen him.

"I'm not hurt at all," Silver said, shaking off James's grip. "Have you gone mad?"

"What the fuck happened to your beard?" James demanded. And then he hiccupped, as if hearing how histrionic his question had been.

Thomas took a sip of scotch and tried not to laugh out loud.

"I shaved it off two days ago," Silver said. He had hold of James's hands, to keep them otherwise off his body. "Well, the razor slipped, actually, while I was trying to trim one side, and my attempt to, um, even up the other side didn't really work, so anyway, it was just easier, in the end, to shave all of it off and start over."

James took back one hand to rub a thumb over the little scab low on Silver's right cheek. Thomas held his breath, watching the way that smallest of touches made Silver go utterly still, his eyes on James's as if they were negotiating the next salvo in some long-standing argument. Or: something else entirely.

Thomas could not quite believe how different the lack of beard -- well, the old beard of two days ago -- made Silver appear. Silver was young, younger than Thomas had realized; young with so little effort. It made Thomas feel desperately old, for reasons he could not begin to understand, while inversely the sight of James's hand cupping Silver's now only slightly rough jaw just made Thomas feel warm, like someone had snuck in and built roaring fires in every room, had lit three dozen candles in the kitchen alone.

James's voice was now tempered with something like wonder. "It's been a long time," he said to Silver, "since I have actually seen your face." He smiled, as though at some joke he and Silver shared.

Silver breathed out a small laugh. He still seemed a little confused, but game. "Well. It's been here the whole time." He broke the eye contact with James to wave at Thomas. "Good evening, Mr. Hamilton."

His eyes were exceptionally blue, Thomas thought. But he'd known that already, hadn't he?

"Good evening, Mr. Silver. Nice to see you."

James spent the rest of the evening glancing at Silver with barely concealed lust that far outpaced anything the lively debate over card games should have caused. (Thomas was officially on the record as finding lanterloo stupid.) Silver didn't mind James's attention, Thomas could tell. But within Silver's return glances were also an odd sort of timidity that ought to have been out of place by this stage in his relationship with James. Silver, Thomas deduced, was good at pretending, and in the absence of the need to do that he was being forced to confront the continual fact of someone's genuine desire. Thomas almost wanted to tease him about it.

That was not all Thomas increasingly wanted.

"You should stay with him tonight," Thomas whispered in James's ear.

James pulled back. "Oh? And where will you be?"

"In our bed, sleeping peacefully, I should think."

James gave him a long look. "You could join us, you know."

"No," Thomas said, kissing behind James's ear. "Not yet. He's not...there yet."

"But you are?" James held Thomas's head in his hands.

Well, Lord Hamilton, are you? In the corner of the kitchen Silver was putting away bowls and trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. Thomas felt a surge of affection for him.

"Soon," he told James. He picked up his papers and pen and bottle of ink. "Goodnight, Mr. Silver," he said on the way out.

"Goodnight, Mr. Hamilton," Silver called back.

From the hall Thomas could see James take Silver's hand, could see Silver's mouth just before James kissed it.

Soon, Thomas thought again, and closed the door.

James snuck in an hour or two before dawn and climbed in bed rumpled and positively glowing.

Thomas rolled over and grinned at him. "Exhausted, love?" James gave a noncommittal hum and rubbed his hand up under Thomas's nightshirt. "Ah. Would you like to be?"

James smiled, very wickedly.

The next evening, as occasionally occurred, Thomas and Silver's paths crossed in town and they made the walk home together.

"You returned to this godforsaken wasteland on purpose?"

When Silver spoke, his words echoed, both literally and with incredulousness. His disbelief was warranted, Thomas thought; the weather had turned brutal in the last hour, and the two of them were picking their way to the house on a path half snowed and half iced over, against wind cutting down through the trees like a sword wielded by an angry, clumsy giant.

"I missed the long hours of English sunlight," Thomas said, as though musing on it, and took pleasure in the sputtered laugh Silver made.

(What had he missed? Miranda, James. Mornings of woolen fog and tea served in delicate china; fat, inquisitive robins perched on branches, who would quirk their small heads from side to side if he whistled at them from an open window; the corner of the garden behind his father's house, where the cabbage rose bushes crowded out the cobblestone path; his sister Pene, and the way she jabbed -- not dabbed -- at her watercolors when enraged with one tutor or another, which had been most of the time. Debates with guests who raised their voices to argue for or against his points, sloshing wine out of exquisite long-stemmed glasses. The bustle on London streets, and the quiet in his old study where he had once gone to his knees and made James blush and swear and relent. The festive scent of plum pottage served by the old cook, Fiona; Fiona herself, and the jolly way she used to bang her wooden spoon on the lip of the iron pot, barely missing his fingers as he tried to sneak a bit of beef. He missed polished wooden floors, candles trimmed by servants, fussy hors d'oeuvres. He missed his life sometimes, and sometimes hated that he missed it, because much of it had been bought with more blood than he could ever atone for.)

An icicle from a tree branch stabbed itself into the snow piled to Thomas's left. At the same moment Silver slipped, and steadied himself by bringing Thomas to a fast halt with a hand like a vise around Thomas's elbow, which hurt. It would be worse if one or both of them fell: this logic led Thomas to put an arm around Silver's waist and haul him toward the house. By the time they were at the doorstep the idea had proven to be a regrettable one, since Silver was making a truly indescribable noise, his crutch was dragging the ground like a claw, and Thomas was exhausted.

"You sound like a mangy cat my grandfather once tried to bathe," James commented, upon opening the door for them.

Thomas pushed Silver at him, and slammed the door shut with a satisfying whump. "He is heavier than a cat."

Silver started, "I didn't ask--"

"Shall I put you back?" Thomas discovered there was no way to take off his coat and scarf without a spray of melting ice pellets flying from his body. Most of them hit Silver, which was gratifying.

James had stepped away, leaving Silver propped against the kitchen table, where he had enough balance to take off his own coat in as violent a manner as possible. Snow pelted Thomas as though he had not succeeded in closing the door.

"No biting," James called out from wherever in the house he had taken himself off to, the scoundrel.

Narrowing his eyes at Silver, Thomas advanced slowly. Silver did not cower; he pushed himself up to full height, everything about his expression a dare. Thomas took a second to be impressed, since he held no illusions about what Silver was capable of if threatened. Thomas wondered if Silver would be shocked at what Thomas was capable of -- he doubted it. They had seemed from the beginning to recognize something about each other, voiced or not; they were not men to be trifled with.

The lump of snow that had coagulated in a fold of Thomas's scarf created such a perfect weapon he was almost sorry to destroy it by crushing it on top of Silver's head, and the rules of genteel behavior should probably have dictated he not afterwards try to dash away. Nevertheless. Live for the moment, that was one of Thomas's mottos in his new life.

Possibly Silver had more experience putting such things into practice. He was far more talented with that crutch than Thomas had anticipated. The crutch did wind up under the table, but so did Thomas. Somehow. He'd lost a few seconds of comprehension in the descent. By the time James wandered back into the room Silver had sat down in the nearest chair and Thomas had regained the ability to take a full breath.

"Actually, maybe biting would have worked out better for you," James suggested.

The floor was hard against Thomas's back. When he stretched his legs out his spine seemed to crack in an agreeable way. "I was only trying to help." He reached over to unbuckle Silver's boot, on the theory that while he was down there he may as well make himself useful.

"By hitting me with a snowball?" Silver asked.

"By getting you into the house in one piece, before you caused us both to break a hip."

Silver wiggled his foot out of the boot. "Ah. Yeah." He held out a hand, and Thomas let him pull him up to a sitting position.

"Well?" Thomas said. He narrowed his eyes at Silver again.

"All right, yes." Silver scratched at his jaw. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton, for your valuable assistance traversing the inclement elements," he muttered while looking anywhere but at Thomas.

"You're welcome, Mr. Silver." Thomas used Silver's leg as leverage to stand up. His elbow was still his sorest point, so there was a valuable lesson, he supposed. Why they weren't having Silver chop wood more often was beyond him.

It was easy, possibly too easy, to brush the last remnants of snow out of Silver's hair as he passed by. Out of the corner of his eye Thomas could see James watching him -- and not smiling but wanting to smile -- and Thomas flicked the snow off his fingers with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Thomas was almost out of reach when Silver wrapped one of his freakishly strong hands around Thomas's elbow again; Silver's grip was gentler this time. If the gesture wasn't exactly an apology, it was, Thomas thought, close enough to count.

Silver kept hanging on.

"Yes?" Thomas asked.

Silver peered at him. "Do you feel well?"

Bit of a bruised ego but all in all right as a line, Thomas started to say. James was beside him with a cool hand on his forehead, and a concerned wrinkle sketched between his eyes.

"You have a fever," James said, sounding shocked.

"Oh." Thomas patted Silver's hand, then kissed James's cheek. "That might why be I'm so bloody tired." He felt heavy and irritatingly hot, as if from nowhere: one minute hale and the next hobbled.

James said, "You should rest. I could bring you a bite to eat in bed. Do not say something lewd in response."

Silver let go of Thomas, smiling as he rolled his eyes at James. "May I assist anyone?"

"Hmm," James said, before kissing Thomas's cheek in turn.

Then he and Silver set to tasks as though able to read each other's minds, a thought that might have frightened Thomas more if they had not proven in the past to be so spectacularly bad at it when it came to certain things. Thomas took himself out of the kitchen and indeed put himself in bed. He listened to their knocking around each other as they chopped food and chatted and took what was surely a brief interlude for kissing, before Silver said "SHIT," and James -- it was obviously James -- raced from one point to another and the sound of a lid being thrown on a pot rang throughout. Thomas meant to stay awake just a while longer, just to see what they might bring him for sustenance. James laughed at something, and Silver said something in response that made him laugh again.

Thomas fell asleep against the pillows.

In the morning, he woke first, his fever discarded. James was plastered to his side in large part by Silver pinning him against Thomas, and neither of them stirred a bit. For some reason, from nowhere, he remembered Miranda's hair like iron gall ink spilt across a white sheet, her eyes sharp as she recited, "'Past cure I am, now reason is past care, and frantic-mad with evermore unrest.'" He missed her, oh; he missed their life.

Slowly the knife-edge of the memory faded, such that he could think of her without cutting himself on it. James spread his hand on Thomas's stomach; Silver made a soft trill like he was being surprised in a dream. Thomas watched them wake as dawn lit up the room, James blinking and Silver stretching, the bed creaking, everything muffled and warm. What would I pay to have the past again, Thomas asked himself. Would I be able to give this -- them -- back? There were no bargains to be made.

James said, "Are you feeling better?"

"None the worse for a good night's rest," Thomas said. He kissed James's mouth, and rose to start the day.

A few days later it finally happened.

"It's none of my business," Silver said, and like most people who said that sort of thing then continued, "but I am curious. What made you return to England? Flint's not really said." He was unwrapping a wedge of Dorset blue and held it up like he'd expected it to be something else. "I can ever tell when this sort of cheese goes bad. It smells like moldy feet even when fresh."

Thomas took the second comment first, trying to recollect the rhyme. "Something, something, 'covered with scales, not weepy, white, or blind, but weighty and firm with a crusty rind.' Something like that."

Silver looked at him like he was insane.

"I vote we let James eat a piece and if he lives the cheese probably hasn't gone off," Thomas said. "We came back to England because it seemed. I don't know. Like the right place to start."

Silver crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter. "You didn't want to forge another path in the new world?"

Thomas steadied the wood he'd been stacking by the hearth. "It was never going to be as simple as all that, not for me. Not after. Well."

He rearranged a few of the logs to make the ones at the bottom a more stable foundation for the stack. What he felt about England, the colonies, what England had done; what his father had done and how he had benefited from it-- What England was continuing to do; the new world; those roughly ten years of his life struggling to stay alive, to figure out a way to wrench himself free again-- His feelings on each and every topic seemed to change five times an hour, and the harder he tried to grasp something final on the matter the more they seemed to fly through his fingers like chaff. The escape had been one thing, the journey to England something else.

He had wanted to come back because he could not stay where he was; it hadn't meant he would stay in England forever, or that he would force James to. And eventually, Thomas thought, a path would present itself. Before, he'd considered himself tenacious. Bold, perhaps. He hadn't always felt brave. He had mostly felt compelled, destined; propelled forward to progress and for progress. He had been a man who marched forward, and the world had seemed to welcome his advances.

...Until it hadn't.

There were only so many truths he believed in his marrow now. He loved James; James loved him.

"I'll confess, I haven't quite figured everything out, nor what I hope to achieve now we're in England again. It has been a mercy, of a sort, to not have to have an answer right away." He slapped wood dust from his hands. "That could change eventually; for now, this is home."

And you are part of that, Mr. Silver, Thomas didn't say.

When he looked over Silver wore a thoughtful expression. "What?" Thomas asked.

Silver shook his head. "You're." He shook his head again. "You keep not being what I expected." He said it like he knew it was an admission of something. He cleared his throat a little. "In some ways."

"Thank you?" Thomas wondered which pieces of himself appeased some prior speculation Silver had made. "It's. Mutual." Thomas chose not to elaborate on that.

Silver didn't seem to mind; he'd returned to poking at the cheese with his knife-tip. Perhaps Thomas was imagining it but something bleak seemed to have washed over Silver's face.

"When you do decide what to do with the rest of your life, you mustn't not leave if you need to," Silver said quietly.

Thomas wasn't certain he'd followed that. "I--"

"Not that you need my permission either way," Silver said. "But if you ever need to leave, to storm the palace or what-have-you, leave. He'll follow you, without question."

Without thinking, Thomas replied, "I've no preliminary plans to start an insurrection, but if we ever leave, you're coming with us."

Silver stilled. When he looked at Thomas again, Thomas looked back with as much composure as possible.

He'd meant what he said, and he hoped Silver would interpret it as a simple statement of fact instead of a threat -- although, in a way, it was the sort of promise that could be construed as less than benign. Thomas was striving to be a good person, and on the other hand he would be, if not happy, then immensely capable of denying Silver a variety of God-given freedoms if it meant James would not suffer. And James would suffer, greatly, were he parted from Silver again.

Thomas could practically hear Silver running through various scenarios in his head, fast as a hare tearing through underbrush to escape a fox. He liked that about him, that mercurial cleverness, and had to acknowledge he would be foolish to suppose he could best Silver at any number of challenges, should it come to that. Thomas was determined to leave his own naivety as far in the past as possible and perhaps a wiser man would already have plotted the means by which to secure as much of a coveted future as possible; some might implore him to never assume Silver would fit, or could be corralled, into such plans.

But Thomas could see Silver's eyes. Those were the eyes of someone terrified at the mere thought of hurting James again. You are spending too much time, Thomas told himself, looking into those eyes. A smaller voice said, James isn't the only person he's scared of hurting -- and don't be daft, of course you know the others aren't only himself and Madi.

Silver blinked slowly. He'd seen something on Thomas's face.

"To clarify, I should say James and I have no intention of absconding with you to other places of residence at this time," Thomas said, attempting to lighten the mood, "but should our circumstances change you will be given plenty of notice in which to tie up any loose ends you may have here, write to Madi -- to let her know the rebellion's rendezvous point, since you know she'll want in on that -- make arrangements for the tavern, pack up the house, that sort of thing. No bolting in the dead of night for us." Charming, Lord Hamilton; you used to be charming.

"I look forward to appreciating your courtesy on the matter," Silver said, tone very dry, "when, as you say, such a time arrives."

Thomas picked at the spine of the book he'd brought home. Samuel Hooke, the local bookbinder, had demonstrated to Thomas that morning the sewing of end bands. Thomas mostly just wanted to know how to bind books so that he could make some for his own library. Samuel, aged 85, had been a teacher and took bookbinding seriously. His wife Ina was doting and chatty. Thomas liked them both very much.

(They had no idea who he'd been, and for the time being he rather liked that too.)

"Fables?" Silver asked, sitting down with a plate of grapes.

"Folk tales." Thomas opened the cover to show off the marbled end papers.

Further conversation on the subject was disrupted by James throwing open the door. As he came in he was chomping at the air, contorting his face as though possessed by demons, and tugging at his earlobes.

"What the hell," Silver said, eyes wide.

"You sound like you're in a cave," James said. He sounded like he'd spent all day screaming, which was not, as far as Thomas knew, a regular requirement of ship building. "My stomach itches."

It was such a bizarre thing for James to say Silver gaped at him like a fish.

Thomas took the lead, standing to help James out of his coat. "Oh dear. You're sick." He brushed James's hair back from his eyes. James's forehead could've cooked an egg.

"I hate being sick," James said as Thomas walked him into the bedroom.

After undressing and leaving most of his clothes on the floor, James was taking up the entire bed by lying across it diagonally. He was also shivering and writhing like he'd had too many cups of too strong tea. He'd been increasingly pitiful as the evening progressed. Thomas, sorting out the discarded clothes, was sympathetic and entertained both. He would not, however, be able to sleep in the tiny unoccupied wedge of mattress James wasn't flailing around on. Silver was coming to a similar conclusion.

"These pillows are prickly," James said. He punched at one with a weak fist and a few downy goose feathers puffed up into the air.

Silver gave Thomas a look. James's legs were twisted up in one of the blankets. It took a deal of strength for Thomas to unwind it out from under him, and James groaned like Thomas was doing him no favors. Silver left the room just as James tried to roll over and only Thomas prevented James's skull from being split on the edge of the bedside table.

"Could you help," Thomas said as Silver returned with more blankets and pillows.

Silver let the armload fall to the floor and plucked a pillow from the pile. "This one is softer," he explained to James, taking away the hated pillow and putting the new one under James's sweaty, irritable head.

James thrashed around some more and threw off his blanket. The chattering of his teeth could clearly be heard.

"We could just smother him," Silver suggested.

"Noooo," James said, as though anyone were seriously considering it.

Thomas toed the pile of extra blankets on the floor. "What are we doing with these?"

"Thought I'd sleep in here." Silver was trying to tie his hair back with string and his hair was behaving about as well as James.

Those delinquent curls were distracting. Thomas made himself focus. "Sleep in here where?"

"On the floor."

"Really."

"I've slept rough on far worse. Imagine you may have as well." Silver managed to get most of his hair pulled back, save one missed lock. Thomas's fingers itched to tuck it behind his ear.

James had thrown an arm over his eyes like a lady swooning in a terrible theatrical.

Silver took a patient breath and knelt down beside him in what had to have been an uncomfortable position. "Do you need some water?" he asked James. "Or perhaps some opium?"

James perked up. "Do you have some opium?"

"No." Silver's mouth was a line set grim.

"No fair," James said.

Silver stood up gracefully. "He'll be fine," he told Thomas, and then set about making a pallet on the floor between the bed and the room's small hearth.

Thomas busied himself fetching mugs of water and a wet cloth for James. When he arrived back in the room Silver had completely taken away the first pillow James had tried to mangle. Whatever had happened in the three minutes Thomas was in the kitchen had resulted in an isolated snowstorm of feathers. Silver gave Thomas another look and went back to raking the feathers into a pile, which he stuffed into the remnants of the pillow, before tossing the lot under the bed to be dealt with, presumably, another time.

"Please close your eyes and try to rest," Silver said, unfolding another blanket on top of James.

Thomas laid the cool wet cloth across James's hot forehead and patted him on the chest.

"Where are you going?" James asked.

"We'll be right over here," Thomas said, hoping Silver wouldn't be surprised they'd be sharing a pallet. "Try to sleep, love." He kissed James's cheek and James nodded, eyes already slipping shut, like he'd be dreaming soon.

"Hearth side, or bed side?" Silver asked. He was lowering himself to the floor.

"No preference." Thomas waited for him to stretch out in front of the hearth before sitting down beside him.

The wooden floor was not made appreciably softer by the padding of a quilt and a blanket but it would do. Silver was right: Thomas had passed more than one night on far worse surfaces. No good reason to dwell on it, Thomas told himself. Silver laid down, curled on his side facing away from the small fire. It felt oddly rude to lie down with his back to him, so Thomas curled on his side facing Silver. That one loose lock of hair proved too tempting -- he tucked it behind Silver's ear and took his hand back right away. Silver blinked at him, sleepiness showing in shadows under his eyes, and for a few minutes everything was peaceful.

Then: "'Of the same metals they likewise make chains and fetters for their slaves.'" A grumble as James scooched around on the mattress. "Listen, Thomas, go fuck yourself."

Thomas meant to explain, in an aside, that he was not the author of or reason for James's recitation. Before he could, Silver pinched the bridge of this nose and said, "Should we expect him to critique Utopia's shortcomings all evening, do you think?"

"Short," James said. Stopped up or not, he had ears like a bat. "Silver is shorter than I am and I am shorter than Thomas." He sounded fond. Thomas couldn't tell if he knew everyone else could hear him, but what did it matter. "Tuck tuck tuck, you can tuck Silver under your chin, you can nearly put him in your pocket." James cough-laughed. "But don't forget his enormous hands, ha. Which, mmm, made much more sense once I discovered his other, mmm, endowments. Blessings from the lord, ahh." He sounded fond and delirious.

Silver had put his enormous hands over his face by this point. Thomas couldn't really blame him.

"Thomas's is also, well, whew," James murmured, as though the topic required great thoughtfulness. Mournfully: "I missed him so much when he was dead." Less mournfully: "Also his prick."

Thomas and Silver looked at one another with stoic, somber expressions.

"Why are you on the floor?" James whined, because he had apparently just noticed where they were.

Silver sat up and looked at James with an expression of truly kind tolerance. "Mr. Hamilton and I were afraid the collective weight of our gigantic cocks would prove too much for the bed frame to bear."

What was breathing? Thomas didn't know. He was too busy crying with laughter with his hands over his mouth, as if that would stopper the sound. At some point Silver joined in, and it took them both several minutes to get themselves under control; they keep looking at each other in brief lulls and unhinged mirth would burble back up again like a newly tapped spring.

"Oh my god," Thomas whispered eventually, stomach sore. He was flat on his back, trying to keep his eyes on the ceiling until he thought he could go ten seconds without laughing. Silver seemed to be taking the same measures. In his peripheral vision Thomas could see him smiling and wiping his eyes.

Thomas counted to twenty and sat up to look over at James -- he was finally asleep, thank the saints. And not particularly pretty about it either, with his mouth open, his blankets wadded up again, and the last pillow somewhere other than on the mattress. Thomas let out a long breath, before going up on his knees to move over to the bed. He took the cloth off James's head and kissed him beside his eye. Satisfied James was in no further need of attention, he crawled to the pallet and laid back down.

Silver was curled on his side again, his gaze steady and soft. Thomas pulled their blanket up over both of them and closed his eyes.

James began to sing, off-key, "'Some cut their hats, and some cut their caps in the Neather-lands; some cut their hats, and some cut their caps in the Neather-lands, for to stop the salt-water gaps, sailing in the Low-lands...'"

It wasn't singing, per se. It was more like wallowing the words around in his mouth with a random Scottish accent.

"If he sings all forty verses, I'm leaving," Silver said, without opening his eyes.

Thomas sighed.

Five or six hours later he woke with Silver tucked up under his chin. It wasn't the first time Thomas had felt evidence of -- how had James put it? Silver's endowments? -- since the beds they often slept in were, after all, not very roomy. It was unfortunately too late for Thomas to will his body not to respond in kind.

Someone dropped something in the kitchen and Silver jerked awake. He looked at Thomas for a only a second before scrambling to sit up. They blearily helped each other up off the floor. When they stumbled into the kitchen together they found James sitting there at the table healthy as a stable of horses, eating buttered brown bread and a mug of tea steaming away beside his plate. Silver ran his hands over his face while Thomas tried to stand up straight, to the absolute screaming fury of his lower back.

"You look awful," James said.

"Your fever broke," Thomas said, like it wasn't obvious.

"Yes." James nodded and chewed. "I slept strangely well."

There was a long pause.

"Kill him now or have breakfast first?" Silver asked Thomas finally.

"We'll try some of the new quince preserves," Thomas said, "before we decide."

James was fighting every instinct to be angry, and Thomas felt a swell of pride for him.

"Were you ever going to fucking grace us with your presence again, or have these last four days been your way of telling us to go and never look back?" James asked Silver.

Well. James's instincts were a work in progress. At least his tone had been mild. Thomas, as he often did, elected to not put himself in the middle, if only because he wanted to watch what would happen next.

(Also, putting away clean clothes was perhaps the only household chore Thomas liked doing. There was something comforting about a tidy drawer of freshly laundered shirts.)

Silver, for his part, did not seem ruffled, though he did seem off, somehow, and not just because he'd been like a ghost for the better part of a week, since James's one night of sickness.

"I thought the two of you might enjoy some quality alone time," Silver said. It was his scratchy voice that gave him away. That and how heavily he sat down on the edge of the bed, as though too tired to argue with James standing up.

"Are you ill?" James immediately knelt in front of Silver, frowning, reaching out to touch Silver's forehead.

"It's just a fever," Silver said, shaking him off. "We've all had fevers."

"Recently, even," Thomas said. "Apologies for that." It seemed whatever he'd brought into the house was determined to meet all residents.

Silver was wan, his eyes glittering. "Ada's also had this, and four of her five children." He waved a hand around. "Everyone's survived, don't be alarmed. We closed the tavern tonight and posted notices that we're staying closed for a few days out of an abundance of caution." He took a breath as if three whole sentences had exhausted him. "As they say."

James's hands were fidgeting; the effort he made to not touch Silver made Thomas's throat ache. "Do you need anything? Have you eaten?"

Silver shook his head. "I'm going to sleep, and no doubt will be better in the morning."

There was something in his manner Thomas could not place, something more than illness.

James had noticed too. He stood up to move to the mattress beside Silver, an arm around him as he nosed at Silver's hair. Silver was shivering. If he'd consumed anything in the last few days it had been a poor effort. Thomas felt again that pang of remorse, that while at most he had tolerated the malady for a few hours, it had intensified as it passed from him to James, and now, it seemed, from James to Silver. Finished in the bureau Thomas pulled the bedroom door shut and went to stir the fire.

Silver had his eyes closed tightly and held himself stiff, as if to blot out everything and everyone.

"John," James said very gently, "look at me."

Thomas laid the poker atop the mantel. He caught James's eye and felt almost as badly for him as for Silver. When Silver opened his eyes Thomas perceived some battle of wills, but couldn't for anything explain why it was occurring. The way Silver looked at James was so vulnerable it didn't seem a mere fever should be its origin. A creeping cold ran down Thomas's back. James had alluded to things he believed Silver might have endured long ago. Avicenna, that great thinker, believed fevers were 'kindled in the heart' -- a fine phrase, Thomas thought, and what he knew of Silver's heart was at once vast and minute. But Thomas knew longing, and fear, when he saw it.

"Do you want us to stay with you tonight?" James asked Silver.

Every second ticking by before Silver nodded seemed an eternity. He's this wary of our intentions, Thomas thought, because life has taught him to be.

And what has life taught you, Lord Hamilton? Pleated in the shadows Thomas could almost imagine any number of nightmares lurking, growing, ghouls he did not wish to confront. His wrists itched as if still bound. He thought of some of the men he'd known in the asylum, or in Savannah, their skittish eyes and resigned postures, their lonesomeness worn like a moskered cloak; how fragile they had seemed when he touched them, and when in their grasps how desperate his own release had been. It was much easier to simply refuse the past entry into this room where he was no longer being harmed, where James was alive and with him, where Silver needed them and the rest of the world could not intrude.

Silver said, "You have started wringing your hands the way Flint does. Or perhaps he learned it from you." His ruined voice was somehow tender.

It took Thomas a long moment to be able to look away from those burning blue eyes. "Come," he said to Silver and James, "it's too chilly in here to linger atop the blankets."

An hour later he wanted to kick himself for such a statement. Silver was asleep in his usual dead to the world sort of way, half curled on James, and James was sweating. Thomas knew better than to laugh about it. He sat on the mattress and laid a wet cloth on the back of Silver's neck -- just moving his hair aside Thomas could tell his fever had intensified, heat wafting off him like a sunbeam -- and another one on James's forehead.

"Thank you," James whispered, before wiping his whole face. He handed the cloth back to Thomas. "He's getting worse. Suggestions? And don't say Woodruff."

"Not sure bloodletting is required yet." Thomas laid a hand on Silver's back. Through the thin shirt Silver was eerily warm. "We could carry him outside. Or prop him up in the kitchen; without a fire burning it's almost as bad in there as being outside."

"Mr. Hamilton just wants to rub snow in my hair again," Silver rasped, pressing his face against James's chest.

"Yes, Mr. Silver," Thomas agreed. "Sounds like a plan." He kept his hand on Silver's back. "We didn't mean to wake you."

"Yes, we did," James said, moving around so that his sternum was being pierced by Silver's chin at a slightly different point than it had been. "You fell asleep mid-sentence."

"Sorry," Silver said, and then he was asleep again.

James fell asleep soon afterwards; Thomas went to the brisk kitchen with a blanket and read for another hour, returning when the words started to swim around on the pages like leeches. He tiptoed into the bedroom to find James awake again and Silver restless. Thomas took the washcloths away to rinse them. When he returned, he sat on the edge of the bed and wiped Silver's wrists and palms with a freshly wet cloth.

Silver was talking like Thomas had been there the whole time. "Everything Flint told me, there on the island. It all would have come true, you know," he murmured to Thomas. He was looking up, or back, at some invisible distance that must have been floating above the bed in whatever waking dream he was in.

What did he tell you? Thomas wanted to ask, curiosity flaring in his mind like a Roman candle, but as soon as he thought it -- and without even looking at James -- he could guess the sort of things James might have said. He wiped Silver's forehead. James sat up and brought Silver with him, such that Silver roused a little as James resettled them both. Thomas presumed James would have something to say; apparently not. Silver swayed against him like there was a tropical breeze lulling him back to sleep. James had on his determined-not-to-cry face, looking at Thomas helplessly. Thomas laid the cloth aside and moved up the mattress to sit with his back to the headboard. For lack of anything useful to do he rubbed Silver between his shoulder blades, keeping his touch light as Silver gave off a distressing amount of heat. Silver hummed, more a sigh than a note, and reached back with his left hand to clutch at Thomas's thigh.

Silver said something into James's shirt.

"Hmm?" James asked, smoothing a hand down his arm.

"A tether," Silver said. Or at least that's what it sounded like he said. There was also a yawn in there.

Thomas didn't know what tethers had to do with anything, other than the obvious fact of the three of them in the bed like drowsy links in a chain, day by day bound more tightly together by more than close proximity. Silver was looking at James with one of those lost, unfocused expressions that made Thomas feel short of breath.

"I miss her," Silver said. "But."

"I know," James replied, kissing his forehead.

"But. She knew because I told her," Silver said, as though it explained anything, "it wasn't them. The crew. But later. I didn't tell her... Because it was her, or I thought it was her. I thought. She would be enough."

He looked over at Thomas, like this was a lucid conversation they were having. "You understand," Silver said. His eyes glimmered with fever.

Thomas felt a rush of empathy for Silver strong enough to make it hard to speak. "It was James all along," he told Silver, "wasn't it?"

Silver nodded, closed his eyes, pressed his face against James.

"It what? All along what?" James said, sounding comically disoriented.

"He's loved you a very long time," Thomas said to James quietly.

"Oh," James said, before ducking his face into Silver's hair.

"He hasn't, of course, loved you as long as I have," Thomas said. "But we cannot fault him for having not met you earlier."

James gazed at Thomas. He laid his hand at the juncture of Thomas's neck and shoulder; it provided a restful weight. Tethered, Thomas thought. Silver slept against James and James was touching Thomas and Thomas kept his hand, still, on Silver's back. Thomas also kept his eyes on James, with James sweeping his thumb against his collarbone and James's dimple about to show.

"What?" Thomas whispered, almost certain he knew what James was thinking.

James kept gazing, pleased, but said nothing. Thomas had never been a good liar. There was a heartbeat beneath his palm that he already knew he would miss when he took his hand away. They stayed that way until Thomas lost track of the time, and sleep pulled them all down into its depths again.

"Are you all right?" James kneaded the back of Thomas's neck and sat down beside him at the kitchen table.

Silver's fever had broken in the last few hours. Thomas and James were letting him sleep.

"I have been thinking about the staff at my father's house," Thomas said. He threaded his fingers through James's. "They were kind to me when I was a child. They were supposed to be kind to me, of course. I was an Important Legacy." He laughed a bitter little laugh. "But do you know, I believed they loved me. Even now, even knowing what I know -- how complicated, how compromised that love might have been. They were servants, most from families of servants. It's all they had ever known or hoped to know of employment or advancement. They took care of me, not just my nursemaid or tutors, but the footmen, the maids, cooks, our butler William. The gardener and his wife Maria." He squeezed James's hand and James squeezed back, watching him as he spoke. "It was a lousy lot they drew. The house was safe, they were given the means to earn what they needed to survive, yes, but it wasn't-- None of it was theirs, and they had no real say in the matter. And yet. And yet, I believe they loved me, taught me, fed me, played with me, smiled kindly at me not because I was the eldest son of an important man, but because I was a child, an innocent child. I have never known a day when I was not loved. I knew love when I saw it, experienced it." James looked as ready to cry as Thomas felt. "I knew you loved me, that Miranda loved me; that I loved you, and her. I never once doubted either of you, all those years."

James waited a minute. He thumbed a tear out from beneath Thomas's eye. "Why have you been thinking about this?"

Thomas pictured Silver asleep in their bed, eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks. "Someone hurt him, didn't they? When he was just a child. And it shaped his whole life."

He didn't say Silver's name. He didn't need to.

Thomas sighed in an elaborate way. "And then, god help him, he met you."

"Hey," James said. But he was smiling, small and rueful. He held on to Thomas's hand.

"I'm glad we're here," Thomas said.

Silver had recovered in another few days. He moved more gingerly for a while, like his bad leg ached more than usual, and he was slow to regain an appetite. Otherwise he emerged unscathed. James fussed over him, and Thomas chose to leave them alone on the fourth afternoon, hoping that like the fever James's anxious grouchiness would burn itself out before Silver had to throttle him.

Thomas explored a patch of forest nearby, where the ice had dwindled to only a few scabby patches here and there and the ground was damp but not sloppy. He worked up a sweat hiking back up a brambly hill and scraped his arm against a pine tree trunk that had appeared from nowhere. (Pay attention, Thomas told himself.) When he was back on the road to the house he took a couple of deep breaths of cold air and felt more awake than he had in an age.

He returned home to find James thankfully in a less fretful mood and Silver looking brighter, with color in his features.

"That poor higgler Jean tells us the Adley farm is to be sold next week," Silver said in greeting.

This was news to Thomas. "Ina will be interested in that."

"She wants a farm? Isn't she's 107 years old?" James asked.

"She's a woman of a distinguished age. I believe their son-in-law may have designs on becoming a land owner," Thomas said.

"Don't we all." James kept sharpening his favorite butcher knife.

"Apparently he's done well for himself in Sussex." Thomas picked up a new purchase that was sitting on the counter. "Was our other masher inadequate?"

"I took it to the tavern and never saw it again," Silver said.

"Ah." Thomas rolled up his shirt sleeve and poked at his scrape. It looked like the sort of thing a youth would acquire falling out of a tree.

Silver and James each seemed abruptly to notice Thomas was injured. There was purpose in the way Silver picked his way over to the hutch wedged in the corner of the room. Items rattled as he searched for something; he moved a crock to a lower shelf and reached up to the back of the top shelf. A pestle rolled out and bonked him in the head. James joined him, though Thomas was certain he had no idea what Silver was looking for. Being an inch or two taller should count for something, right?

"I almost have it," Silver said, refusing to move aside as James crowded in.

"Here," James said, reaching over him.

It didn't work as well as he'd probably expected, because it knocked Silver off balance and Silver briefly stepped on James's foot with his peg.

"Could you not," Silver said between gritted teeth.

"Ow," James said.

Thomas joked, "No daylight between you."

James whipped around.

"Same cloth, same coin, same blade. I couldn't separate the two of you with a hatchet and a team of wild oxen," Thomas said, feeling uneasily like this wasn't an exaggeration.

James took a breath to respond -- maybe even to deny? -- when Silver groused, "What are you on about? Ah-ha!" He turned, a ceramic jar held out in his palm. He was smiling in triumph.

Whatever he saw on Thomas's face made his smile fade. He locked eyes with Thomas and Thomas felt his stomach lift.

"I could no more separate the two of you," Silver said, tipping his head to Thomas and then to James, "than I could pluck the sun out of the fucking sky."

Thomas blinked. "What--"

"You're his heart, Thomas," Silver said.

The words, so softly spoken, crashed over Thomas like a storm-driven wave. His eyes burned, for a moment, as he looked at Silver, looked at James; as they looked at each other and then him. Watching Silver now as Silver stared back Thomas began to smile. He bit his lip to prevent it from getting out of hand.

"Would you like some help?" Silver asked, holding up the jar.

"What is that?" Thomas asked, sitting down in the chair James had vacated.

Silver pulled another chair closer to Thomas. James poured himself a drink of rum, splashing some in two more mugs. After clunking his mug against James's Silver downed his rum in one swallow. Thomas, eyeing James, sipped his. Something had shifted, Thomas thought; they were coming to a precipice.

He turned his focus to Silver. "It's green," he said when Silver took off the jar lid. "It even smells green."

"Elder leaves," Silver said. His small grin was crooked. "Well, four parts lard and two parts suet."

"So, fat and fat," Thomas said.

"To three parts elder. Good for sprains and bruises and grievances inflicted upon one's person." Silver scooted nearer.

Thomas pushed up his bloody sleeve and bent his arm, still watching Silver.

Silver dipped his fingers in the ointment and smoothed a glob of it gently up Thomas's arm. Thomas winced and Silver mouthed, "Sorry." He ran his fingers along the scrape several times, until the salve had started to soak in. He sat back to survey his handiwork. Finding it satisfactory, he dipped his left middle finger into the jar to bring out a dab.

He scooted ever closer, until like a puzzle piece his knees and Thomas's were somewhat interlocked. With the pad of his finger he patted at something below Thomas's eye.

Thomas placed a hand on Silver's shoulder. "Didn't realize there was another scratch." The ointment stung a bit. He remembered being smacked in the face with an oak limb earlier, at the beginning of the day's walk.

"Only a little one. You likely won't go blind from it." Silver wiped his hands on his trousers and put the lid back on the jar.

Thomas saw it when Silver realized just how closely to Thomas he was sitting. The light cleared in Silver's eyes; his mouth parted as he inhaled. Oh, Thomas thought. Hello. He tightened his hand, then skimmed it along Silver's shoulder to slip his fingers into Silver's hair. (Oh. Yes. It was still the most luxurious hair.) Thomas leaned further into Silver, drawing their heads closer together. Silver did not pull away.

"Thank you, Mr. Silver," Thomas said, quietly thrilling at the way Silver's eyes had darkened.

Silver smiled at him without actually smiling. "You're welcome, Mr. Hamilton." He paused for a second, then brushed his mouth against Thomas's, the touch so light it could almost have been mistaken for something other than a kiss.

What Thomas returned to Silver was a kiss equally light, brief, and again perhaps someone, had they wished to, could have described it as accidental, or incidental, or merely friendly. Careful, Thomas thought. You must be careful. He kept his forehead against Silver's for a moment, letting Silver decide, and their third kiss was quick, practically chaste. But the fourth one: Thomas suddenly had Silver's head cupped in his hands and Silver was pressing ever closer, opening to Thomas on an almost silent gasp. Thomas had to close his eyes against the sweetness of it. When he slid his tongue into his mouth Silver made a quiet, wounded sound, and Thomas flushed hot as if he'd awakened on an island beneath merciless sunshine. He hadn't felt his own thirst so acutely since the moment he'd first seen James again. Silver's seemed to match Thomas's; his mouth was nearly painfully soft, his beard rough, and one of his hands was wandering lower. By the time he reached Thomas's--

"I am going into the bedroom now," James said in a loud, impatient voice.

Thomas and Silver broke apart to stare at him and pant.

James's left eyebrow said some very tawdry things. "I trust you'll both be joining me."

"Yes?" Thomas said, feeling astonishingly overheated. He mustered the courage to look at Silver.

Silver looked every ounce as bothered. He also looked unguarded, and kiss-bitten. He nodded at Thomas and then looked to James. "Yes," he said. He looked back at Thomas. "Yes."

Thomas took two seconds to say, "Oh thank fuck," before kissing him again.

#my continual struggle with technology and coherency #fic #silverflint #silverflinthamilton #black sails

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dragonydreams · 7 years ago

Text

Fic: Service with a Smile - Captain Canary

Title: Service with a Smile Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow Rating: Teen Pairings/Characters: Sara Lance/Leonard Snart Summary: Cable technician Leonard makes a house call. Timeline: AU Word Count: 2,088 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Berlanti Productions, DC Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Television. Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie for looking this over for me. Author's Note: Happy Birthday @agentmarymargaretskitz!

Or AO3

Leonard Snart - cable technician by day, master thief by night - parked the company van outside of a two family house. He grabbed his company phone from the passenger seat and logged in his arrival time after double checking that he was at the right address.

He grabbed his gear, exited, and locked the van. He looked up and down the street, taking in all of the multi-family homes that lined the tree-lined street. He might need to go for a walk after clocking off of this job, case the neighborhood a bit, he mused to himself before ringing the doorbell.

He heard feet pounding down stairs before a beautiful blonde woman in her mid-twenties yanked the door open.

"Sara Lance?" he enquired, glancing down at the work order on his phone.

"That's me," she confirmed, beaming up at him. "You're on time."

"I always try to be," Leonard said, smirking. "My name is Leonard. Want to show me the problem?"

"Yeah, follow me."

Leonard really did try to keep his eyes on the stairs instead of the perfect ass that was at eye level as he followed Sara up the stairs.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, as if she hadn't lived there long. A safe house, perhaps? It certainly looked like many of the safe houses Leonard had used over the years.

Leonard paused as they reached the living room, his eyes immediately drawn to the coffee table in front of the couch. More precisely, the dozen or so daggers lying on a cloth, along with a whetstone and a sword.

Sara soon realized that Leonard had not followed her into the room and caught where his gaze was fixed.

"Like I said, I didn't think you'd be on time," she said, by way of explanation. As if every young woman maintained a collection of blades.

Any thoughts that Leonard may have had of poking around for something to steal later faded away.

Slipping his smirk back on, Leonard drawled, "I'm sure your being alone with a complete stranger has nothing to do with it."

Sara shrugged one shoulder, dipped her head, and smiled up at him. "A girl can never be too careful."

Damn, under different circumstances - ones where an array of weapons weren't in arm's reach - Leonard would have considered flirting with Sara. Depending on how the work went, he may decide to live dangerously.

As if sensing his thoughts, Sara gestured to the muted television.

Leonard set his bag on the floor and knelt in front of the cable box. "The note said that the box can't find the internet?" Leonard asked.

"Yeah. The Wi-Fi works fine on my phone and tablet, but for some reason, the box can't find the signal. I've tried all of the steps the box says to try to connect and nothing. I've tried unplugging the router and plugging it back in, but that didn't make a difference. The cable is still working - I can watch stuff, but the guide is blank and it's not recording my shows."

"I'll take a look. Where is the router?"

Sara pointed behind the television and settled on the couch. She picked up the whetstone and began sharpening her daggers.

Leonard pulled the television stand away from the wall, grateful that technology had evolved enough for a 45" TV to no longer weigh a hundred pounds. He examined the router and agreed that it seemed to be working fine. Then he checked the company's splitter and discovered that one of the three lights wasn't on.

Turning back to Sara, who he realized had one eye on him and one on her hands, Leonard said, "One of these lights isn't on. I need to check the connection outside."

Sara nodded her acknowledgement. "I didn't lock the door when we came up. It won't lock behind you, so you can come right back in when you're done."

"Thanks," Leonard murmured and grabbed his bag to check the box outside.

~~*~~

Sara hated calling technicians. She'd much prefer to solve the problem herself than spend money to get it fixed. When she'd announced that she was moving to Central City, her father had made sure that she knew how to do basic home and car maintenance so that she wouldn't get fleeced by shady repairmen. Something she was grateful for, now.

Cleaning her daggers in front of any repairman she did have to call was a trick she'd learned at the dojo she worked at. One of the other senseis had mentioned having done the exact same thing (although for him as a joke) the last time he needed a plumber to come in. Sara took that idea to heart.

She wasn't worried that she couldn't fight off a physical attack - her years of martial arts studies negated that fear - but there were other ways strangers could be dangerous.

She'd seen that look in Leonard's eyes when he'd first set foot in the apartment. Eyes that immediately started scanning for valuables. 'Thief!' her senses had screamed. At least until he'd seen her impressive collection of daggers.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs pulled Sara out of her thoughts and she had to remind herself to relax her hold on the dagger in her hand - she knew who was coming up the stairs and he wasn't a threat. At least not yet.

"What's the verdict?" she asked as Leonard stepped into the room.

"The filter on the box outside wasn't working so I replaced it," he said. "You should be all set now." He crouched behind the TV again to examine the devices. "All green."

Sara took a moment to admire the way his tight black jeans showcased his ass in that position. She had to admit that if she had to call a technician, at least they sent someone attractive.

Setting aside the blade and whetstone, Sara stood and approached him. "Well, I guess it's good to know that I didn't call you out here for nothing. That it wasn't something I could have fixed myself."

Leonard looked up at her and Sara's breath caught. He had the most amazing eyes she'd ever seen. She cursed herself because there was no way he didn't see the desire that must now be written all over her face. His smirk confirmed it.

"No," he drawled, rising to his full height so that he now looked down at her, "this was definitely something you needed a professional to handle."

Sara unconsciously licked her bottom lip and she could feel Leonard's eyes track the movement. He was standing so close to her that she could feel the heat coming off of his body.

"I like a man who knows how to get a job done," Sara practically purred. She wasn't entirely sure what it was that she was doing. She felt like she was acting out a porno, but if that meant getting this gorgeous man into her bed, she didn't really mind living the stereotype.

Leonard took a step closer, so there was hardly any space between them. "I've never had a dissatisfied client."

Sara actually groaned at that line. "Seriously?" she asked, giggling.

"Too far?" Leonard smirked.

"Just a bit," Sara acknowledged. "Enough talking."

She lifted onto her toes; one hand reached up to grab the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet her in a hard kiss. After that first hard clash, their lips softened, if not their desperation. Leonard wrapped one arm around Sara's waist, pulling her flush against his body, his other hand sliding into her hair to help adjust the angle of their kiss.

They both moaned as their mouths finally came into perfect alignment as fire sparked between them.

Sara was all set to finish throwing caution to the wind when the downstairs down slammed open, the sound of it reverberating off the wall pulling Sara and Leonard apart.

"Sara, your door's unlocked," a woman's voice called up the stairs. "Why is your door unlocked?"

Sara groaned in frustration, resting her forehead against Leonard's chest for a moment to catch her breath.

Taking several steps back, Sara turned to meet her friend at the top of the stairs. "It's fine, Sin. I told you someone from the cable company was coming over this morning, remember? The door was unlocked so he could go out and get back in."

~~*~~

When Sara went to meet the interloper, Leonard crouched in front of the TV again, presumably to push it back into place, but mainly to give him time to recover his senses - and libido - in some semblance of privacy.

This was extremely out of character for him. He prided himself on his professionalism and reserve. What was it about this young woman that made all of his sensibilities fly out the window? Half turning to look at her talking to her short, spikey-haired friend, Leonard knew that he would do many more foolish things for another taste of Sara's lips.

Reaching into an outside pocket of his bag, Leonard pulled out one of his business cards and a pen and hastily wrote his personal cell number on the back before returning the pen to his bag.

Standing, Leonard slipped the card into a front pocket of his jeans and picked up the remote. He quickly searched for the On Demand section on the cable box, nodding in satisfaction when it connected. Something it wouldn't have done if the issue wasn't just the filter.

Interrupting the two women, Leonard asked, "Are there any other boxes you want me to check before I go?"

He saw Sara glance at the TV and realize that he was finishing running through the connection tests, this time making all the proper connections she wouldn't have gotten when she tried.

"Yeah, there's one in my bedroom," she said. Very pointedly, she added, "Sin, you can stay in here."

Leonard smirked and followed Sara down a hallway and into a sparsely decorated bedroom.

As Leonard took the remote from Sara, their fingers brushing and sending a shiver down his spine, Leonard did a quick check that he could get On Demand on this TV, too.

"Sorry that we got interrupted," Sara said. "Sin has the worst timing."

"Can't disagree with you there," Leonard drawled. "Although it's probably just as well, since I'm still on the clock."

"You never fool around on the job?" Sara asked, a teasing smile gracing her lips as her fingertips danced up his arm.

"Never," Leonard solemnly admitted, causing Sara's breath to catch.

Leonard tossed the remote on the bed and wishing he could throw Sara on there as well, settled for pressing his lips to hers once again.

After only a few moments, Leonard pulled away. "Your friend's still out there, and I'm not much for an audience. Even if I wasn't on the clock."

"I know; you're right. I just can't seem to help myself around you," Sara admitted.

Leonard pulled his business card from his pocket and handed it to Sara. "My cell number is on the back. Call me and we can pick this back up when there won't be any distractions."

"I like the sound of that," Sara agreed, pressing her body against his and leaning up for one more kiss before pulling away.

Leonard followed her back to the living room, where Sin was flipping through channels.

"The guide isn't working," she complained.

"It'll take an hour or two for the signal to fully come back," Leonard said, picking up his bag. "If it doesn't, Sara, you have my card. Don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Don't worry, I won't," Sara said.

Leonard turned and headed for the stairs, Sara following him. On the porch, he said, "I meant it, call me anytime."

"Oh, I will," Sara said, raking her eyes over his body. "I have a feeling you'll be hearing from me very soon."

"Have a good day, Sara," Leonard said.

"I already am," Sara said, smirking.

Leonard walked down the stairs, feeling Sara's eyes on him all the way to his van. He had just started the car when he heard his personal cell ping with a text.

Pulling out the phone, he glanced at the screen, then back up at the house to see Sara standing in the open doorway, her phone in her hand.

Come back when your shift ends. I'll make sure that Sin's gone and we lock the door. Keep the uniform on.

Leonard smirked as he texted back.

I'll see you at seven.

The End

#captain canary #captain canary fic #sara lance #leonard snart #legends of tomorrow fic #Birthday Present #Fic: Service with a Smile

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singledarkshade · 7 years ago

Text

Mistaken Identity

Rip Hunter is on the run from the agency he created, despite not only being right about the danger he warned them about but also helping them defeat it.

In 1941 Rory Williams is grabbed by the Time Bureau off the streets of New York while in the future, on another world, Rip meets a madman with a blue box.

Confused by the fact Rip Hunter isn't where he should be, the Doctor decides to investigate finding things and people he didn’t expect.

Part One

New York was cold.

December had brought snow and ice with biting winds that cut through the thin jacket he was wearing. Unfortunately their funds were not exactly great here in the 1940s and they had to make certain sacrifices, like warm coats for food, but they were together which was all that mattered.

Shivering while he walked back to their small apartment from the hospital he worked in, Rory Williams tried to think what to get his wife for Christmas this year. They’d been trapped in the past for three years now and, as much as they both missed home, they had made the best of it.

Rory became aware of three men walking near him. Not exactly unusual as it was New York City and there were a lot of people on the streets but they had been following him for several blocks now.

The Centurion, hidden deep in his subconscious, began to stir for the first time in years sensing danger nearby. Rory began to walk slightly faster keeping an eye on his new friends, grimacing that they followed him. Turning into an alley Rory climbed up a fire escape, tucking his body behind several plants, watching the three men look around confused that he had disappeared.

The men talked for a few moments before one tapped on the watch he was wearing and a portal opened. Rory’s eyes widened in amazement, this could be a way home. Climbing back down to the street Rory started home again, grimacing when three different men wearing identical suits appeared all pointing weapons at him.

“Mr Hunter,” the one in the centre stated, “You will surrender yourself to us.”

Rory’s right hand twitched slightly for his sword, “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“Nice try,” the man continued, “But we’re not your idiot Legends. You will surrender or we will take you back by force.”

Rory took a step back, “I have no idea who you people are so I’m going to have to decline.”

The man on the left attacked suddenly. The Centurion took over and Rory dodged, instinctively slamming his elbow into the face of the second man. Turning to run the third man appeared before him and white light filled Rory’s vision then there was nothing.

Rory’s head felt like it was going to explode when he opened his eyes. Looking around he frowned seeing the cell he was in as it meant he was definitely no longer in the 1940s. Amy was going to be pissed.

“I was surprised by how careless you were,” an older man stated sternly from outside the cell, “Being caught in the background of a photograph in a newspaper.”

Standing Rory glared at the man on the other side of the barrier, “Who the hell are you and who do you think I am?”

“This pretence of ignorance is not going to work, Rip,” the man stated sharply, “You know how escaping would sit with the board. I tried to warn you where your obsession would lead but you never listened.”

Fisting his hands to force the Centurion down Rory kept his voice steady, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. My name is Rory Williams. I have never heard of this Rip or Hunter or whoever you seem to think I am.”

The man let out a snort of laughter, “Good try but DNA doesn’t lie.”

“Apparently it does,” Rory retorted.

“I had hoped you would face everything, acknowledge the damage you did to this agency, your agency and finally make amends,” the man stated, “But it looks as though you’re still deluding yourself that you are the victim. I’m sorry, Rip but get used to these four walls.”

Turning away the man disappeared leaving Rory wondering who he’d been mistaken for and how his DNA matched the man they thought he was.

*********************************************

Three days had passed since Rory had woken up in the cell and he knew there was no way they were going to realise they’d made a mistake and let him go. This meant he had to take matters into his own hands.

Rory had grown up wanting to help people so he had chosen to be a nurse. However his IQ tests had shown he could do anything he wanted. When the Doctor had appeared in their adult lives, after being a fairytale and game for their childhoods, Rory began to read up on everything that could be connected to the man. He studied and when the Doctor had brought him onboard the TARDIS he learned all he could from the other man.

People never really saw him.

Rory had always faded into the background mostly due to the fact Amy was there. She was bright, brilliant and sparkling so no one noticed him at her side which was something he’d learned to use to his advantage over time.

They thankfully, along with his three meals, gave him books to fill his days along with the paper and a pencil he asked for. Not a pen because they seemed to think he would be able to do something with that.

They didn’t know he could do things with paper and pencil. All he needed to do was remember the origami class Amy had dragged him to then let the Centurion loose.

Rory looked up at the camera in the corner as he made some more folds on the square of paper he had in front of him. He’d spent most of the previous night sharpening the pencil while they would assume he was sleeping. It wasn’t the greatest plan in the world but right now it was all he had. He knew there was no way the Doctor would save him, considering the Time Lord thought he was trapped somewhere the TARDIS would never be able to return to.

Finished making his box Rory slipped it over the camera, using the pencil to hold it on, standing to the side waiting for the guard to appear. The moment the man stepped inside Rory released the Centurion who quickly incapacitated the guard. Creeping through the corridors Rory grimaced when alarms started to sound. He was screwed.

Taking a quick breath he allowed the Centurion to remain in control because right now being a nurse wasn’t going to help him.

Choosing a direction Rory began to run, dodging the people who came at him. He noticed a few of them were wearing the same watch thing as the men who had been following him in New York. Knocking one of his pursuers out Rory stole the device knowing he could work out how to use it once he got somewhere safe. Throwing himself round a corner and attaching it to his wrist to make it easier to carry Rory was surprised when the device suddenly activated.

“What the...” he murmured staring at the device which instantly requested an order, “Why are you letting me access you?”

He tapped the menu and found an emergency exit command. Hearing people coming towards him again Rory shrugged, “What other choice do I have?”

A portal opened beside him showing what appeared to be a bedroom, with no indication of where it was. Rory decided that, considering it was noted as emergency exit, it had to be safer for him than here. He dived through relieved when the portal closed before anyone could see where he went.

Rory sat on the ground of the room he was suddenly in taking a few deep breaths.

“You are not Captain Hunter,” a woman’s voice came from around him.

Rory let out an annoyed sigh, “Thank you. At least you believe me, whoever you are.”

“I am Gideon,” the woman stated, “I am the AI for the Waverider. Please identify yourself.”

“I’m Rory Williams,” he replied before asking interested, “You’re an AI? So you control the ship I presume I’m on?”

“I do,” Gideon replied, “Please advise how you were able to use Captain Hunter’s emergency exit protocol? It is activated on by his DNA profile only.”

Rory shrugged, “I have no idea. Everyone seems to think I am this Hunter guy. Wherever I was before, some Bureau they said something about our DNA matching.”

There was a pause before Gideon came back on.

“I will need you to come to the Medical Suite in order to confirm that,” Gideon told him, “However the crew are currently awake and I do not believe they will react well to someone who looks like Captain Hunter.”

“That makes me feel safe,” Rory sighed.

“You are safer here than you were in the Time Bureau,” Gideon assured him, “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“A little thirsty,” Rory replied.

“If you go to the cabinet beside the bed you will find some canteens of water and several protein bars,” Gideon told him, “This room is locked. None of the crew will try to enter as I have never allowed them access.”

Rory sat on the bed before he opened the cabinet finding the supplies Gideon had told him were there. He hesitated when he went to open the water.

“Can I trust you, Gideon?”

He waited for a moment before she replied, “Captain Hunter is my priority. At the moment you appear in many ways to be him. I want to examine the evidence before I decide what the next step is.”

“So I can trust you until you realise I’m definitely not your Captain?”

“I already know you are not Captain Hunter,” Gideon told him amusement in her voice, “I need evidence before I can inform the crew who will help you return to your own time. They will require proof.”

Rory took a drink before he let out a long sigh and lay back on the bed, “Brilliant.”

“I have noticed you are restless,” Gideon spoke up about two hours later.

Rory looked up at the ceiling where he guessed the cameras she used would be hidden, “Did my continual pacing give it away?”

“I can provide you with some entertainment,” Gideon told him, “If you wish?”

Rory nodded, “I could use something to read.”

“You can use the tablet on the desk to access the library,” Gideon told him, “I will provide you with books from your era if you advise when that is.”

Rory grimaced, “I was living in 1941 but I was born in 1989.”

“You are a time traveller?” Gideon asked in surprise.

“I was,” Rory nodded, “It’s a long story.”

Gideon was silent for several moments before stating, “Then this is not unusual for you.”

Rory chuckled, “This is pretty run of the mill. Finding out I grew up with my daughter as one of my best friends, now that was weird.”

“I have uploaded books and films for you from the era you are originally from,” Gideon told him, “If you feel the need then you should use the shower. You can also borrow some of Captain Hunter’s clothes.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” Rory sighed, “You have been very accommodating.”

“It is clear you have a connection to my Captain in some way,” Gideon advised, “He will want you to be safe until I am able to return you to your home.”

Rory nodded in appreciation, “All I want is to get back to my wife.”

Part Two

#fic #doctor who #rory williams #amy pond #twelfth doctor #legends of tomorrow #rip hunter #gideon

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