#and he always improvises his lines usually saying way more than we agreed (us playing one guy at the same time and all)

[shittywriterbrain]

was a mistake to declare the character i'm playing my specialest little boy because everyone in my drama class gets his characterisation wrong and i'm always so close to biting someone's arms off

[fandomdancer]

The Dance

In the year 2169, you are a senior in high school. You've been best friends with the same two young men since grade school. One of them is your date to the senior dance. The other is the class loner: Eobard Thawne. When your date make a suddenly unexpected move, you find yourself feeling like the perfect night is ruined. But then Eobard shows up...

Word Count: 3,754 words

Rating: T, but may be M

Pairings: OC/Reader, Eobard/Reader

A/N: First attempt at a reader-insert fic. Special thanks to @darlingpetao3 @yetanotherwells @wellsaddict and @hawk-lee for listening to me freak out about this, inspiring me, and giving me the courage to actually post it. I hope it's interesting and fun for you to read.

This is Mattobard's version of Thawne, since it takes place during his teenage years.

This fic was inspired by this song (which is the featured waltz in the story). 'Pride and Penance', from World of Warcraft: Shadowlands.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cZtBflZHIcQ

_________________________________________________________

The moment you step into the darkened dance hall, you feel as though you have been transported back in time. In fact, you can’t help but wonder if the organizers of this year’s spring formal are utilizing some of Rip Hunter’s famous Time Couriers to literally open a door to the past. Everything around is, at minimum, dated back a hundred years ago, from the DJ setting up digital playlists to the black-light-illuminated chairs seated around tables littered with drinks, plates of food, and what looks like games. The music right now is from the early 2000s, but you expect the songs to range through decades, possibly even centuries over the course of the night. Multicolored lights hang from the ceiling, giving the place an overall ‘club’ look, accentuated by the powerful underlighting at the bar.

The temperature increases as you enter on your date’s arm, the exertion from the dancing and milling bodies heating up the air in the room. The dance started only thirty minutes ago, but the excitement in the room is palpable, and kids are wasting no time yelling ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’ as they toss back nonalcoholic drinks. One table is already full of kids engaged in what looks like an intense card game with multicolored discs sprayed across the table in front of them.

Catching the fever of the room, you cast a huge grin up at your date, a handsome young man you’ve known since grade school. The two of you are dressed perhaps a little fancy for the event, with him in a fine, high-collared suit befitting a 20th century aristocrat and you in a deep red 1940s princess ballgown. Overdressing is okay: the two of you were expecting a slightly more ‘ballroom’ shindig, not this ‘21st century club’ event, and upon looking around you can see that other members of your class had similar ideas, wearing everything from 1800s Victorian gowns to military uniforms.

“They did a good job,” your date says. “Though one would think they could have come up with a more original theme name than ‘Blast to the Past’.”

“Don’t cheesy titles comprise part of the charm of last century?” you ask as the two of you move towards the obligatory picture arena. “Wasn’t stating the obvious considered not only funny, but…what was the word…a meemee?”

“Meme. One word, one syllable. And yes. Memes were a rather popular form of communication in the early 21st century, though I guess they started well before that.” Your date eyes the line and the picture-taking arena before them. “Is that….a phone booth?”

You are both intrigued as you watch a couple go into the booth, pulling a curtain shut and separating them from the outside world. Their feet are obvious as they scrabble into various positions, each one punctuated by a bright flash ands lots of giggling. The couple emerges, looking flushed and full of smiles, and watch as two thin strips of plastic emerged from the wall of the booth. The two grab the plastic strips and look at them, giggling as they walk away.

“It’s a photo booth.”

The voice right beside you and your date startles you, and you quickly look over to see one of the chaperones for the event, Ms. Steinway, a few feet away. The young teacher looks stunning in a green floor-length gown, her blonde hair floating ethereally around her shoulders. She gestures. “You go in, and you have five pictures taken of you in quick succession. There’s usually only three to four seconds between each photo so people often planned ahead what they would do ahead of time. You can make faces, or be serious…whatever you would like!”

“Thank you, Ms. Steinway,” you say before looking back to your date. “Well. I guess we have about a minute to come up with five different poses.”

“Why don’t we improvise? We’re both good thinkers on our feet.”

The tension and pressure of racing to beat a timed photo session is appealing to you, probably a side effect of all the time you've been spending lately with your other friend, Eobard Thawne. He has a strong taste for competition and it’s been rubbing off on you in the years you’ve known him.

The sudden thought of Thawne makes you skim the room, wondering if the class loner has actually shown up to tonight’s dance. You’re pretty sure he’s not here; this isn’t his type of thing at all. It’s certainly why you didn’t ask him to be your date. It’s also the only reason why you didn’t ask him to be your date. Eobard Thawne’s proud, handsome figure and strikingly keen intellect has drawn many a girl’s attention over the years, including yours, and you’ve made a concentrated effort to ignore it. But lately, you’ve noticed that he seems to be hovering near you much more often. And he got into a fistfight with your date a few weeks ago…you never did quite figure out what had caused that argument…

Seeing him here tonight would definitely open a lot of doors, however. Perhaps you would be brave enough to ask him for a single dance. He can be a truly arrogant ass but he has always been at least civil to you…probably because the two of you have also known each other since grade school.

Your date pushes you forward and you realize that, as usual, thoughts of Eobard have distracted you for several seconds. It is your turn in the photo booth.

The booth is small and simple, with a little touch screen that simply says ‘go’. A quick glance over the screen shows that presets are in place, with no way to change them. It is a little aggravating to not be able to customize the photos but you suppose that’s to get the line of kids moving quickly. With a quick glance at your date, the two of you reach out and tap the ‘go’ button together.

The very first thing he does is kiss you. It’s so fast and so intense that you don’t even have time to react. Suddenly his mouth is open and wet and moving on yours and his hand is in your carefully-crafted hairstyle and you are shocked beyond words because of all the poses you had considered in this run of pictures, your longtime friend kissing you was not one of them. You’ve suspected he felt this way about you and there was no doubt in your mind that he would be an excellent romantic partner, but you hadn’t really…thought about him like that. In fact, the only person you really thought about like that was…Eobard.

He finally pulls back and looks quickly at the camera, grinning widely. Your brain is fuzzed and rolling with several unfinished sentences and questions, but some little part of you keeps control and turns to smile bright and beautiful at the screen. The two of you make silly faces next, and as you are setting up for what you think is the next picture, the screen goes dark. You realize in shock that he used three of the five pictures to kiss you. Feeling frustrated and cheated, you get out of the booth, pasting a smile on your face so as not to appear angry to the line of kids waiting outside. You’ll have plenty of time to discuss his choices later.

The pictures print out and they’re definitely difficult to look at. The first one shows your obvious surprise, but the second two are worse, showcasing your desperate attempt to keep control of what is happening by grabbing at his face and responding to his kiss. It was not your best decision, but you feel like it was your only choice at the moment – and that realization makes you furious.

The two of you head to an unoccupied table, and the moment you set down the photos you whirl on your date, your insides twisted in knots and your throat almost sealed shut from the force of your anger. “What the hell?”

“What?”

It’s even hotter in this room with your anger charging you up. You are pretty sure your face is the color of your dress. “You kissed me.”

He smiles. “Of course I did. What did you think we were going to do in there?”

Your mouth drops open. “Make faces and smile! When did kissing appear on the list of things to do tonight?”

His brow furrows. “When you agreed to be my date. Come now, you can’t possibly miss all the signs I’ve given you. You know me better than that.”

His self-entitled arrogance sets your teeth on edge and you clutch the table so hard you’re amazed it doesn’t bend. “I’ve known you for almost all of my life and you have never been so rude as to just kiss someone without making sure it’s all right with them! You wait for that kind of invitation! You don’t blindside her during a timed picture taking session!”

“Spontaneity has never been your thing, and I respect that,” he begins to say.

You cut him off. “Clearly not or these wouldn’t exist!” You wave the pictures at him before slamming them down onto the table. You don’t know what you’re angrier about now; being forced into this situation before you felt ready, his seeming blindness to how the whole situation played out, or the fact that you feel like what should have been a beautiful moment is ruined and you are never going to get it back.

A waltz begins to play, the very song the two of you were hoping would be the focus of the evening, and he reaches a hand out to you. “You’re right. I made a terrible mistake. I thought it would be fun and I assumed you would be all right with it. I am sorry. I truly am. We will go have the pictures retaken. But will you dance with me? This sounds like a beautiful waltz and I don’t want to have ruined the night by making a terrible decision right at the beginning.”

He sounds sincere but you don’t answer him at first. Your mind is still awash with anger and betrayal and a sudden desire to be anywhere but in this room right now. You don’t want to just forgive him for doing this to you. But you also don’t want the night to be ruined, and right now the song playing sounds like it could be a wonderful dance and you aren’t sure how many more will be played with the selection of music likely being offered. Reluctantly, you slip your hand into his.

“We aren’t done with this conversation,” you state firmly.

“Of course not.” He twirls you gently. “But this song fits you and I want to see you dancing to it.”

You don’t know the name of the song, but it has a haunting melody to it, almost ghostlike with sliding violins. Waltzes always have a kind of built-in grace to them, a slippery seduction meant to make it easy to move to. But this piece has an additionally dramatic vocalist that elevates the rhythm to something royal and aristocratic. You can almost imagine the two of you (and the couples that are joining you on the floor) dancing in the hall of an ancient, grand mansion while a dark storm swirls outside the floor-to-ceiling windows and the dry fingers of tree branches curl menacingly in shadows on the floor, trapping the dancers’ feet in their grip.

“Pardon me.”

The familiar voice snaps you out of the daydream you are drifting into, and you rock slowly back and forth in your date’s arms as you realize Eobard is standing in front of you two. Your breath catches and your heart rate picks up instantly as you look at him. He looks as though he has stepped straight out of your daydream: a young lord trapped in a dying manor, cloaked in high-collared black and red with the light shimmering blindingly on his short blond hair. Even more shocking is the dramatic flair he has added to the outfit: a full-length black cape fastened at his neck with a ruby. He is too beautiful to touch and yet your hands…and other, sweeter, deeper parts of you…ache as you stare at him.

His eyes sweep over you and you think you see his jaw clench slightly before he speaks again. “May I cut in?”

“You’re in our way, Bardo,” your date growls, all softness and politeness gone from his voice.

“I wasn’t addressing you,” Eobard responds to him but doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Your throat is growing dry from the simple intensity of his gaze. “I was addressing your partner." He nods to you. "May I cut in?”

You finally register what he is asking, and the thrill that races through you makes you shiver. You had thought you might have the courage to ask him to dance if you had seen him here, but him asking you is completely unexpected. Saying no to him might prevent him from asking again, but saying yes would probably send the wrong message to your date.

Then again, your date certainly sent you the wrong message when he forced you to kiss him in the photo booth.

It’s a very simple question with a very simple answer.

“I would be honored,” you reply, trying to sound as cool and proper as possible. As you pull away from your date, you feel his hands clench briefly on you. You quickly look up at him, seeing the betrayal in his eyes. At first you feel smug, but then you remind yourself that he did apologize. You give him your best comforting smile. “We’ll continue this later,” you say to him, making his expression soften just a little. But the look he gives Eobard is poisonous.

Eobard’s expression doesn’t change. Instead, he unfastens the cape from around his neck and whips it dramatically off, draping it unceremoniously on your date’s still-outstretched arms. “Would you be so kind as to place this on a nearby chair?”

Redness floods your date’s face, and you start to open your mouth to scold Eobard for his rudeness, but his hands grip you firmly and he spins you away into the dancing crowd before you can say a word. Your feet scrabble as you try to keep up, and you have a feeling he’s trying to get you as far away from your date as fast as possible. Focusing on your movements, you catch his rhythm and begin to move in time with him, gaining control over yourself while still permitting him to lead. You’re angry enough now that you’re tempted to just walk out the door after this dance. When did your two best friends turn into such boys? They’re acting like you’re a prize in a competition and while that might be flattering, it’s making you feel a bit like an object and not like the lady you want to be tonight.

“You dance well,” Eobard compliments.

You roll your eyes. “You dragged me out here and I just got my balance back. Don’t patronize me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he answers. “I mean what I say. I saw you trying to dance with your date over there. He was trying. You were succeeding.”

You snort and sigh. “I wish the two of you would tell me why you both seem to have lost your minds lately.”

Eobard tilts his head. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Your heart pounds and you know what you hope the answer is, but coming right out and saying it feels like a such a terrible risk. Eobard’s emotional difficulties make him dangerous sometimes, the wrong word or look pushing him away for days at a time. You are not going to ruin this night, this dance, this moment that has been playing in your dreams.

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t have brought it up,” you say, trying to put an innocent look on your face. You aren’t sure if it works or not, but the hard look in Eobard’s eyes softens somewhat, and he guides you around the floor. Looking up at him, you surrender your mind to the daydream, milking this moment for all it is worth. The seductive waltz paints the image of a great hall, decadent in its decay, the memory of opulence just as romantic as the opulence itself. And Eobard, cold and proud and throat-achingly beautiful, spins you around it, commanding your body with his touch, and commanding your mind with his eyes.

“Your friend and I,” he says in a low voice, “are both seeking your approval.”

Dear God, he actually said it. You’re almost dizzy with excitement as you frantically think of how to navigate the next few sentences. Honesty is going to be key. “You have a funny way of showing it. First that fistfight a few weeks ago and now tonight he just kisses me out of the blue and then you drag me off like I belong to you or something…”

“He did what?” Eobard stops the two of you cold, and you blink, looking up at his grey eyes, watching in surprise as they turn stormy and dark. His pale face begins to flush as he gazes down at you. You can’t tell if what you’re seeing is anger or not, but as his eyebrows draw together you feel your insides flutter. It’s more than just anger. It’s jealousy.

Eobard is jealous.

The realization makes your throat close and you swallow several times as adrenaline floods your veins. The possibilities open up in your mind, and you suddenly realize that while both men are, in fact, treating you like a prize, you are still the one in control.

“He kissed me for our photo,” you say carefully, letting the frustration and hurt show on your face. “I didn’t know he was going to.”

Eobard looks at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching, and his face continuing to grow red. His hands tighten on your waist and hand, and a strange excitement blooms in your chest. Eobard Thawne, so aloof and elitist, suffering from the simple emotion of jealousy. And jealousy related to you, because he’s seeking your approval. Despite the heat of the moment, you find yourself fighting a smile.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks tightly.

You know the truth and you know what saying it will mean. But right now, you are unable to lie to him, captivated by the thrill of his reaction and the intoxicating crescendo building around you.

“No.”

Eobard’s chin lifts and a smug satisfaction fills his eyes as the music crescendos loudly. With a climactic crash of drums, he decisively pushes you out into a firm spin, and then brings you back in, his hand slipping to the small of your back and holding you flush against his body. And for one fiery, fierce moment, you realize that you can feel him, dear God, all of him, pressed possessively against you, and a weakness makes your knees wobble and your mouth go dry as you stare into his eyes, only inches away, and realize what he is silently saying to you.

Then the two of you are moving again as he takes everything up another notch, whirling you both within the crowd as though you have all the space in the world. The music pounds with your steps, pulsing inside of you, the melody a full-throated cry from the whole orchestra, igniting adrenaline and fire within you. Your mouth falls open to gasp for air as your eyes drift closed. You don’t need to see, only to feel the clutch of his hands and the heat of his body and the light pressure on your waist as he leads you.

And then, in one powerful beat, the music stops. Eobard pushes you backwards into a dramatic dip, holding you up while your hands claw at him. You can’t see the ecstasy on your face but a few gasps from the people around you suggest that the two of you may be in a very compromising position. You don’t care. Your body is shaking and tingling. You feel sweat dampening your skin, and the heat…you’re drowning in it. But you don’t want to move. You don’t want it to be over. Most of all, you don’t want his hands leaving you. Ever.

Your breath comes in heavy gasps as he draws you up to your feet. He steadies you, and your eyes finally drift open. The sight before you makes you shiver again. Eobard is breathing just as hard as you are, and has the same slightly dazed expression on his face that you are feeling. You vaguely realize that while you were trying to keep your balance you gripped his hair and shirt because both of them are bunched and mussed. But neither of you can look away from the other for several seconds.

Finally, he is the first one to move. He gently straightens his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. He brings his heels together and reaches for your hand. He bows, lifting your hand to his lips and placing a chaste kiss on the back of it.

“Thank you,” he says, “for the lovely dance. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I need some air.”

You nod slowly. “I…think I do too.”

Something sparks in his eyes, and he offers you his arm. You consider taking it, but the sensation that sweeps through you as you realize what the implications are stop you. You are awash in powerful emotions now, enough to know that if you go with him, you’re going to do something you want…

….oh do you want….

….but on impulse, caught up in the moment.

You know you need to gather yourself. The night has only just begun.

“I will see you back in here,” you reply, offering a polite curtsey. It isn’t a blatant rejection, just more of a ‘not now’. Eobard seems to understand and his withdraws his hand before turning and striding for the door.

You head for a different exit, catching a glimpse of your date just as you leave the room. His face is a thunderstorm, and you feel a slight chill that cuts through the hazy fog of your mind.

The night has only just begun, and you have a feeling it’s going to be a long one.

[happyandticklish]

Behave

Notes: For the anon request. The request was slightly vague, so I tried to improvise a little. I hope you like the result! ^^

Summary: Shizuo has a habit of picking Izaya up whenever he tries to stir up trouble, to mischievous results. 

Causing general mayhem and disaster was one of Izaya’s favorite activities, and Ikebukuro was one of his favorite cities to do so in. The chance of bumping into some kind of natural disaster was almost inevitable, and on the rare occasion of peace among the streets, Izaya was always willing to stir something up himself. Sometimes this something could be the beginnings of a gang war. And sometimes it was merely messing with small children.

Life was full of surprises that way.

“And just what do we have here?” Izaya inquired, folding his hands in front of himself as he stopped before a group of children gathered on the park asphalt. There were three of them, a young girl with a box of chalk clutched protectively to her chest, and two boys, who had previously been drawing out an outline for hop-scotch, who both looked to be about a year or so older than her.

The first boy glanced up at his comment, shooting him a suspicious glance. “Playing a game,” he answered stiffly, clearly waiting for the man to say anything in the negative about it.

“So I can see,” Izaya agreed, surveying the scene before them. “Hop-scotch… I remember playing that game as a kid. How do the rules work again?”

“Well—” the girl started hesitantly, but before she could say anything more, Izaya had begun hopping from one foot to the next over the squares provided. He wobbled a bit as he went, all with an assured smile. For his finale, he jumped forward with both feet, landing on the discarded pieces of chalk and cracking two of them easily.

“Hey!” the girl cried, eyes widening. “I just got those!”

“Oh!” Izaya clucked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips as he surveyed his work. “Well that will never do. I guess we’ll just have to break the other ones to match. Would you terribly mind handing over that box?”

The girl hid the box quickly behind her back, which wasn’t the smartest of defensive moves but it was all she had. The second boy appeared to be taking in the scene cautiously, clearly not wanting to get himself involved. The first one however, took an angry step forward, glaring up at him.

“Leave her alone!” he protested, portraying a level of bravado he didn’t feel. “Or I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll… what?” Izaya inquired, leaning down to face him with a devastating smirk. “No, continue, I’m truly curious—what exactly could you do?”

The boy stammered over his words, trying to think of any kind of witty reply but coming up blank.

“Leave the kid alone.”

Izaya sprang up, whirling around at the sound of the telltale voice. “Shizu-chan~! So nice of you to drop by. Decided to enjoy the spring day as well?”

One hand shoved carelessly in his pocket, Shizuo Heiwajima stood bathed in the gentle lamplight of the sun, surveying the scene casually. In place of his usual angry scowl, however, there was a bored, almost dismissive look on his face, as though dealing with Izaya’s shit simply wasn’t worth his time. Instead of answering, he stalked over to the other with quick, forceful steps, until they were inches away.

Izaya staggered back a little, taken by surprise by the direct approach. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Shizuo had leaned down, grabbing Izaya around the waist, and hauled him over his shoulder. Izaya squawked in an undignified manner, gripping onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt for support.

Shizuo kicked the broken pieces of chalk back over to the children with a grunted, “here”, before turning around and heading off in the opposite direction, Izaya in tow.

By this point a burning crimson had begun to overtake Izaya’s features, and he could see the faces of the children from his vantage point, all of whom seemed delighted to see him in the embarrassing position. “You know, you can’t simply pick me up whenever you feel like it,” he huffed, reaching back in an attempt to swat at the back of the other’s head.

“Oh?” Shizuo easily avoided him as Izaya struggled to maneuver his arm in the right position. “And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, parroting Izaya’s earlier words.

Izaya narrowed his eyes. He kicked one of his legs out, aiming to get a direct hit at his stomach. Unfortunately, legs do not generally go in that direction and he primarily ending up flailing around a lot and sometimes hitting the other’s arm in the process. This was not troublesome all on its own (Shizuo had definitely endured far worse from the flea), but it did prompt an idea. The next time one of Izaya’s legs came too near his face, he grabbed it with his other hand, gripping his fingers into the denim protecting the backs of his thighs.

Izaya let out a strangled noise, managing to somehow disguise it as a cough at the last moment. Shizuo’s hand remained on his thigh, his fingers gently tapping where they curled around his leg. Izaya’s breath caught in his throat as he realized suddenly how very, very fucked he was.

“S-Shizuo,” he said, trying as desperately as he could to keep his growing panic out of his voice. “I really think you should let me down now.”

“What’s wrong?” Shizuo asked calmly, his fingers tapping out a rhythm of doom against his jeans, each and every one causing Izaya to twitch against his will. “You sound suddenly concerned. Is something bothering you?”

“Shizuo, not again,” Izaya gritted out. Memories were flooding back to him of a week ago, causing butterflies to excite uninvited in his stomach. “If you think you can simply pick me up like a common stray and t—” he broke off, pressing his lips together into a firm, irritated line.

“And what?” Shizuo questioned, tossing a teasing glance back at him. Amusement danced in his eyes, and never had Izaya wished to punch him more than in that moment. “What exactly is it that I can’t do?”

“I believe you know perfectly well what I mean,” Izaya replied with a sickeningly pleasant smile. “After all, seeing as it has for some reason become one of your favorite activities to do to me, I dearly hope you know what it is.”

“And I would hope you know what it is, considering you appear to love it so much,” Shizuo shot back, pinching the back of his thigh suddenly.

“I w—shit!” Izaya lurched forward, his body’s instinctual response to save himself from the sensation. His arms flailed wildly, searching for a handhold, and eventually clinging onto the back of Shizuo’s shirt. Shizuo stiffened, trying to ignore the strangely pleasant shudder that ran down his spine as Izaya’s fingers brushed his back. He shook it off, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

Shizuo outlined a path of small pinches down the back of Izaya’s thigh, making the man jerk and squirm with each one, though he managed to stifle any noises this time. Once he had gotten Izaya properly ramped up, he removed his hand entirely, giving the other a momentary reprieve.

Izaya exhaled slowly, glad for the break. After a moment of nothing happening however, he threw a confused glance back at the other. “Are you done t—ahAHAHAHA, ohohoho shIHIHIHIHihihit!”

Izaya burst into wild, uncontrolled laughter as Shizuo suddenly dug his fingers into his thigh, pressing into just the right pressure points to make the other go positively mad. His hand came back instinctively to try to rip Shizuo’s hand away from the spot, but his current position prevented him from doing so. The sudden, intensive tickling caused a hysteria that weakened Izaya instantly, his eyes crinkling up into a series of wild giggles and shrieks, a euphoria he didn’t often allow himself to feel lighting up in his chest. His legs kicked out with reckless abandon, but nothing he attempted saved himself from the relentless attack.

Just as suddenly as he had initiated it, Shizuo stopped, allowing his hand to merely rest on the other’s leg. Izaya wheezed helplessly, burying his face in the back of the other’s shirt. His skin tingled with phantoms of the earlier attack.

“I’m sorry, you were going to say something?” Shizuo asked innocently.

Izaya weakly lifted his head, shooting back a venomous glare. “You utter ahahAHAHASSHOLE, nohohoho, nOHOHOT AHAHAhagain!”

Izaya fell back into hysterics as Shizuo once again started up with his thighs. It was a testament to Shizuo’s skill that he was able to keep a firm hold on Izaya whilst torturing him, all the while continuing to stroll through the streets as though nothing was happening. By this point, people had started to stare, dumbfounded by the sight of a grown man thrashing and howling with laughter, hoisted like a misbehaving child over another man’s shoulder.

“S-Shihihihizuo!” Izaya squawked, pounding his fist against the other’s back. “StahAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Sure,” Shizuo agreed, smirking as his fingers found a particularly unfortunate spot that had Izaya screeching. “Just say, ‘Shizuo is superior to me in every way’. You can do that, can’t you?”

“F-FuhuhUHUHUCK YOHOhohou!”

Shizuo clucked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m afraid that’s not it. Want to try again?”

Izaya tried. He really did. He used every ounce of self-control he had to try to either bear the sensations wracking his body or to somehow escape from Shizuo’s hold. But the embarrassing position combined with the results of a death spot being targeted in such an effective manner eventually did him in and he cracked.

“OhOHOHOKAY! OHOHohohohokay!” Izaya cried, frantic giggles interspersing his words. “S-Shihihizuo ihihis—ahAHAHAha, nohohoho wahahait—Shihihizuo—gahAHAHA! Gihihive mehehehe ahahahaha seHEHEHEHehecond!”

Shizuo reluctantly complied, momentarily stilling his hand. Izaya panted heavily, attempting to get any amount of air back. Once he’d finally regained enough breath to speak any semblance of coherent words, he raised his head and grinned back at the other. “Shizuo is… a fool for thinking I’d ever say anything inherently false as that. Sorry, try again next time.”

Shizuo’s confident smirk quickly transformed into an irritated scowl. “You little—” Instantly there were hands at his thighs again, only this time he attacked the other one which had thus far received no attention from their little game. Izaya let out an honest-to-god squeak, unprepared for the switch. He pulled at Shizuo’s shirt, needing a handhold as he faced the unbearable sensations. As he did so, however, he noticed the way his tugging had ridden Shizuo’s shirt up slightly, revealing the bare skin of his lower back and hips.

Izaya was struck with a sudden idea.

Shizuo flinched as he felt two hands grab onto his hips, fingers curling into the skin in a manner that was unmistakably ticklish. His hand faltered on Izaya’s thigh as his lips tugged into a reluctant grin, a couple growled giggles escaping him.

“I-Izaya,” he threatened, still holding onto Izaya but doing little else besides that. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“Why?” Izaya teased, scratching his hips once more and feeling the man shudder beneath him. “Feeling a bit nervous now that the situations have reversed?”

“I’ll drop you,” Shizuo threatened.

“I’m not worried,” Izaya dismissed, clearly having fun with the sudden power dynamic. “Haven’t you heard? Cats always land on their feet.”

“Mind if I test that theory?”

“Now, now, no need to be grumpy.” Izaya squeezed his hips again and Shizuo choked on a stifled giggle. “I get it. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. It’s fine, really. I’ll just be using it to my advantage now, is all.”

“L-Like hell you are!” Shizuo stammered, attempting to pull Izaya off his shoulders. Izaya yelped, grabbing onto Shizuo’s hips for support, causing the man to stumble forwards, releasing him in one go. With a startled cry, Izaya tumbled off his shoulders, and Shizuo jerked around, just managing to catch him by the arm as he hit the ground. It wasn’t a complete save (and Izaya would be complaining about being sore for days after), but it did prevent him from slamming into the concrete.

Izaya stared up at Shizuo, panting a little, his gaze focused on the place where Shizuo still gripped his arm. With a cough, Shizuo quickly released him, straightening up. “Are you…” he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. “Okay?”

Izaya blinked, at a momentary loss for what to say, before his usual smirk returned to him. “Of course I’m okay, dear Shizu-chan. More than okay, at that.” He clambered to his feet, dusting off his jeans and trying not to focus on how his tailbone ached from slamming into the ground. “Because now I know your weakness, locked away in my brain for all eternity. But don’t worry—I’ll only use it against you as often as you’ve used mine against me. Now if you don’t mind, I really have some important business to be attending to, and must take my leave. Farewell, my dear brute.”

He saluted the other mockingly, whirling on his heel and quickly walking away. Shizuo’s frown of confusion as he watched him go quickly transformed into one of irritation. “You bastard, get back here!” he exclaimed, taking chase after him. “Who said you get to have the last word, huh?”

Izaya laughed merrily as he sprinted ahead, the two quickly disappearing into the chaos of the city. No matter what happened, nothing ever really changed between the two. One info broker, one bodyguard, locked together in continuous battle.

And as Izaya rounded the next corner sharply, his smirk turning into something almost giddy from the chase, he found he didn’t really mind if it meant he could hold the beast’s attention for even a moment longer.

[doorsclosingslowly]

They've Made of Our Bodies a Bleeding Stair

Jesper and Kaz try to retrieve Inej from Ketterdam without being recognized and murdered—and without Kaz getting ransomed back to Ravka as the the wayward Sun Summoner.

11k | Sun Summoner Kaz AU pt. 2 | Jesper/Kaz, Inej, past Kaz/Darkling content note: non-linear narrative, explicit sex, roleplay of past rape

“I want you to be him.”

“Of course,” Jesper replies. Then, articulately, once his brain’s caught up, “Uh. What?”

“The Darkling.” Kaz has turned his face away. He’s looking at the ramshackle marriage bed that takes up the bulk of this room he’s lured Jesper into. He unerringly picked the right closed door, too; he skipped the squeaky floorboards, as if he knew the exact layout of this—but it’s Kaz. He knows everything, even some dilapidated house in the Kerch countryside. The bed was probably a masterpiece of craftsmanship, when it was carved from some dark wood, a thousand years ago or whatever. The way it looks, it must’ve been old already when the previous owners of this farmhouse got it, and from the state of the house, they abandoned this place decades ago. Quite a lot of the furniture’s missing, either sold off when the place was left or stolen afterwards, but that bed was too worthless already.

The mattress is still there too. Probably fucking teeming with moth larvae and maggots and their combined accumulated shit, so it doesn’t bode too well for Jesper, how forcefully Kaz is staring at it.

“Please say it doesn’t involve the bed.”

“You said yes,” Kaz rasps, which is all the information Jesper needs to start gagging. Fake-gagging, for now, but if he sees even one wriggly little worm he’ll…

Bed. Darkling. That still doesn’t really… Want you to be him—oh—

“Yes, Jesper.” And how the hell with his ramrod tense back still turned towards Jesper—Jesper, who’s done nothing at all, hasn’t said anything except to register his displeasure at the idea of bathing in insect faeces and their squirming little manufacturers!—how the hell Kaz has realized that Jesper’s figured out what he probably means—it must be a confidence trick. Kaz likes those. But how—yeah, it’s not the point, but trying to understand whatever magic Kaz is using on him right now is much, much better for Jesper’s sanity than dwelling on the fact that Kaz might just have insinuated that he wants Jesper to pretend to be the Darkling, specifically the Darkling from that time he told Jesper about back in the Little Palace, the time he threw up after. The time he thought he could suppress his discomfort with touch long enough to seduce the Darkling into a partnership—seduce seduce, which means he wants—to flirt with Jesper? To sleep with Jesper? Is he actually saying he—

Oh. There’s a cracked mirror on the wall above the bed. That’s how Kaz saw his face.

Jesper would chalk the hallucination up to a hangover, but he’s not even drunk. Neither is Kaz, unless this old ruin of a farmhouse they broke into this morning is hiding barrels of wine the local youth haven’t made off with yet. Also, if he was hallucinating Kaz propositioning him he would—well, Jesper at least hopes he’d have enough self-respect not to make himself a stand-in for the man who bought and imprisoned Kaz for two years, controlled him by using his fears and modifying his body and cutting him off from every other person in the whole court, taking every single object he could have used to protect himself, and whatever those weird spines in Kaz’ chest are he’s probably responsible for them too. Jesper would not, actually, like the first and probably only time he’s allowed to kiss Kaz to be some kind of revenge-by-proxy thing where he recites the Darkling’s lines while Kaz swallows back bile, and then Kaz beats him up. Or murders him. It’s pathetic, but Jesper always imagined that kiss a little sweeter. Kissing over Haskell’s corpse. Kissing over the Darkling’s corpse. Kissing over the corpse of some other piece of shit who’s stupid enough to try using Kaz as their possession.

“Just warning you, I don’t have the costume or the script, so don’t expect something worthy of the Komedie Brute,” is what Jesper says instead.

Kaz’ eyebrow quirks. “You’re acted before, haven’t you? Improvised. You can flirt your way into anything. That was the main reason I kept you around.”

“You kept me around because I’m gorgeous, funny, and an incredible shot. I just play myself, if it’s seduction! Why would I improve upon perfection?”

“This isn’t seduction. He’s already locked me in the Little Palace for months at this point. Two escape attempts have failed. This is… speeding up the process,” Kaz says, nonchalantly enough it makes Jesper want to puke.

Which won’t help anything. He’s already agreed. And Kaz doesn’t care about moral objections, only practical ones. “I need more info. I haven’t actually met the Darkling.”

“You’ve met powerful men. You’ve met men who believe their righteous cause entitles them. You’ve met men mired in greed and vengeance—you’ve met me.”

“I like you.”

“Pretend you don’t, then. You used to complain about me in the Slat—of course I know, I knew everything that went on in the Dregs. You hated the way I seemed to know everything, and held it over you—so does he. You disliked my single-minded focus, the way you all seemed like pawns to me, my mockery. The way I held myself as something far superior to you. That’s a start.” Kaz limps a slow quarter circle around Jesper, and his dark eyes are burning with loathing. Jesper would hold him if he could. “You’re not asking why?”

“Uh, now that you mention—”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

Jesper sighs. Of course. He’s never expected anything else. Then he stands up straight, assuming his best the stick in my ass is so long it’s knocked the word fun from my brain pose that hopefully may pass for authoritative and slimes out, “What business, Mr Brekker?”

“Sun Summoner. Or Sunshine. He figured out Brekker’s a fake name on the first day.”

“Kaz Brekker’s a fake name?!” Jesper should have seen that coming, really… what does he even know about Kaz Brekker, truly? Except—

“It’s a name. It’s real enough. It’s feared. It’s mine.” Kaz’s eyes travel over the cobwebbed wall of the farmhouse bedroom, as if he was searching for the next lie to spin. Except that isn’t one of Kaz’ tells—Jesper’s seen him bamboozle and convince marks of the most stupid tales, and when Kaz wants them to believe him, he looks earnest. Young, depending on the role he plays, old, eager, stupid or wise. He doesn’t bother lying to Dregs, or rather: he doesn’t bother convincing them, usually. All his words are backed by the brutality of his cane. Who could be stupid enough to question even his weirdest utterances. “It just happens not to be one I was born with.”

“So what you’re saying is, the Darkling’s just not Kerch enough to get you?” Jesper grins. “Ketterdam, really—you know, I always really liked that about the Barrel, that healthy dose of ‘You are who you want and we don’t give a fuck to correct you.’ Anyway. Got it. You’re Kaz Brekker, but he’s a dick. Mr Sunbeam, what brings you into my office this evening?”

“The fete, Aleks.” Kaz shrugs off his coat, and then the purple kefta, too. He holds out the kefta in front of him, like he’s expecting Jesper to put it on. Well. That’s as good a start as any, and so Jesper turns and lets Kaz dress him into the robe he never wanted to wear.

“Then he says, ‘You must be nervous. After all, there are few gatherings in the Ketterdam slums that involve such spectacle.’” Kaz has sanded down his rasp somewhat, sounding almost smooth and seductive. He goes into a spiel of the Ravkan court and the inferiority of the Barrel that thankfully, he carries all by himself. Jesper wouldn’t even know what to say, except ‘Stop talking shit about the Barrel, you prick’ and that’s not exactly in character.

Kaz’ eyes periodically dart down to Jesper’s hands, and he realizes he’s fidgeting with the hem of the kefta’s sleeves. He stops.

“I am ready,” Kas says in his normal voice. His normal talking to a mark voice. “I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.” He stands up straight. Equally on both his legs. He winces. He’s not holding his cane, Jesper realizes. He’s not wearing his gloves. “I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.”

“Uh… great. We’ll be great together. Do great things. Better partners than enemies. Some of those rumours even freaked me out, you know—that kid with the wind-up toy in his throat—”

“Think before you speak, Jesper,” Kaz hisses. “Never let me lead. Never give me control. Every word is a cue to corral your prey where you want it—whether a compliment or a barely-there hidden threat.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes.” Kaz meets Jesper’s eyes. The tense mask of his face breaks into a smirk. “To be honest, I find the subtle craft of manipulation is wasted on you. You’ll obey anyway. Let’s go back to the start, and focus.”

Jesper shrugs off the kefta again and then lets Kaz dress him, again. He does his best imitation of Kaz, of that early Kaz before Jesper learned how he takes his coffee and before he saw the brutal twist of his face, that one time when the Dime Lions had Jesper on his knees and shoved a gun in his mouth. He plays the imperious tactician in his office who told his goons to drag Jesper up four flights of stairs with a bag over his head, ready to be shot for his debts, and then sold him on the one thing that gave his life meaning.

He insults Dirtyhands’ father and mother to his face, and gets really into it, too: Ketterdam’s full of idiots who’d miss the love of their life because they were busy trying to pry cobblestones off the streets to sell for half a sausage, and the harbour’s so filthy even the fish won’t fuck in it—keeping the brothels in good fish-ness, haha. Because the fish rent rooms so they don’t get fishy sex diseases from the water. Do fish get diseases from sex?

“Kill me now,” Kaz moans, and that one’s probably deserved.

“Anyway, my Sun Summoner, I’m sure you’ll perform well,” Jesper says with just the tiniest hint of slime.

“I am ready. I realized what this demonstration represents—that I belong to something greater. It is as you said—we can offer Grisha and Ravkans hope. We. Together.”

Jesper moves slowly, idly: not caging him in against the bed yet but definitely implying he can and will.

“I am ready to stand by your side. We should be partners. The Sun and the Dark.” Kaz swallows. “‘That means a lot to me. You mean a lot,’ is what you say now.”

How come the Darkling’s not constantly slipping on his own slimy slime trail?

“That means a lot to me.” Jesper gives Kaz a deep, smouldering look. The pockmarks on his cheeks. The jumping muscle in his jaw. The hint of a pained grimace from standing unaided. The boyish grin when he’s totally fucked over another gang boss and gets to gloat. The vicious hatred when someone touches his Crows. Licking powdered sugar off his gloves. “You mean a lot.”

And that’s it. The way Kaz looks at him—this is when the Darkling makes his move.

“I have been waiting for you for so long,” Jesper purrs smarmily, closing his eyes, moving in for the kiss, and—Kaz isn’t there anymore.

It was a single step backwards, because Kaz has hit the edge of the bed already, face blotched with humiliation, and the way he looks at Jesper is—angry is the least terrible interpretation. If he backs out now, Kaz is going to kill him for pitying him or catering to a weakness that honestly—how is not wanting this weak? But Kaz is Kaz, and Jesper’s just Jesper, and—

“Focus,” Kaz hisses. “You own Ravka. You will own the Sun, too. You have waited for this triumph—take it.”

“Why don’t we take this to the—” fuck you, Brekker, for making me say this— “bed, then? Take off your clothes. Don’t be scared.”

That’s a good dig. The kind of insult that looks super caring, unless you know Kaz enough to understand he sees any crack in his image as a dangerous failure. Jesper’s getting the hang of this malicious flirting thing, finally. When this is over, he’ll need to scrub the slime off himself twice.

Kaz looks at Jesper while he disrobes. At him, Jesper hopes against hope, at the real person he’s roped into his worst scheme yet with a goal that’s still totally obscure; at Jesper and not the asshole he’s imagining in his place. Kaz’ eyes trace his cheeks, dance over his shaved head, catch on the lips.

Jesper takes off his boots and gun belt, and the kefta. He undoes the fly of his trousers, pulls his dick out, and stops. He glares at Kaz, daring him to object to the attempt at making this slightly less miserable—Jesper’s the Darkling, he’s in charge, so Kaz can fuck off with his masochism. He’s done undressing. He’s not taking off his shirt or trousers. That layer of cloth stays on.

But Kaz doesn’t object. He stands up straight, naked, brittle, wincing, and then glancing away he mutters, “Ignore the antlers. He hadn’t done that yet.”

Fucking Darkling.

The antlers stick out of Kaz’ collarbones, uneven tines of—possession, mutilation, and Jesper’s eyes catch on a tiny set of grooves on the left one. The scabbed-over cuts underneath. The bruise from the gunshot. And even despite that horror, Kaz has a nice chest. Serious muscle, a street map of scars and a smattering of dark hairs—it feels weirdly improper to stare at him, so Jesper’s eyes dance down to his knobbly left knee and the softly twisted right thigh with its knots of scars, up to the face where he’s biting his harsh pretty mouth, and down again. His dick is nice, fat but not too long, rooted in a tangle of dark curls.

It’s utterly limp.

It’s pathetic, how much that hurts. Of course he isn’t into this. Of course he doesn’t find Jesper remotely attractive. Of course this is just some weird masochistic proxy powerplay for him, some attempt to prove he’s stronger now and can bear it or whatever the fuck, and Jesper’s just the sad stupid body he’s using to enact it.

And of course not even that is enough to make Jesper bow out. Kaz asked.

“Do you want me to suck you off first? Get you in the mood, even a little?” It’s not just for Kaz, that offer, though the whole thing will probably be less painful and awkward if he manages to coax out some arousal. It’s not for younger Jesper, who fantasized about being ordered to blow his boss as penance more often than he likes to admit. No, this is so Jesper can bury his face in Kaz’ pubic hair for a minute. And cry.

Kaz raises an eyebrow. He sounds arch and ice cold when he asks, “Jesper, do you think the Darkling would suck my dick?”

“He should have. Saints, what an asshole,” Jesper shoots back before he can think. “You need a better class of lovers.”

“By which you’re of course implying that you are much better than Aleksander Morozova, the General Kirigan, the Black Heretic, eternal Conqueror and crowned Emperor of Greater Ravka, Salvation to Grishadom, Master of the Fold and He who chained the Sun, et cetera and so fucking on and so fucking forth the Darkling himself?”

“Given I just offered you a blowjob without bringing useless power shit into it, yes.”

“Wrong data, incoherent formula. Correct answer.” Kaz’ grin is crooked. Inordinately fond, and Jesper would have settled for no longer desperately hiding terror but this is—

Yeah.

“I’m going to try to make this roleplay as realistic as I can, but I don’t know if I can forget enough about how to have sex to sink to the Darkling’s level. Also, you don’t happen to have the address of that Grisha Tailor who mutilated you back there? I need them to make my dick look weird. Corkscrew, maybe. Some warts. It’s probably green. I’d peg him for advanced neurological syphilis but I am about to sleep with you, so— ”

“Did you know, Jesper, that the Darkling always wears a gag when he has sex?”

“Shutting up now, boss.”

“Don’t shut up,” Kaz replies instantly. Very, very instantly. “Just keep your disparagements somewhat plausible. And… rare.”

Only to jolt me back, he’s asking. “Got it. So I guess I’m supposed to loom over you a little? How close do you want me?”

“I’ll need to—” Kaz turns around and bends over to root around in the pockets of his coat, and it’s even weirder, worse, looking at his ass when Jesper knows Kaz doesn’t like him back. Kaz tosses over a tiny bottle. Oil. “Give that to me. Tell me to prepare myself.”

“Just saying it once more, boss. You don’t have to go through with—”

“Stop thinking about the Kaz Brekker you know,” Kaz hisses. “Stop anticipating my reactions. Stop caring. You are the Darkling. You have been waiting for the Sun Summoner for decades. You’ve formed your picture of them. This delinquent flinching little rat you bought doesn’t quite fit, not his limp, not his fear of touch, not his pathetic need to assert himself, but, well… you have time. He’ll learn how to make himself fit into the space you provide him. He’ll become your Sun Summoner.”

“Have I told you yet that I’m going to kill that piece of shit?”

“You’ve mentioned it, once or twice. In the last hour.”

Jesper bares his teeth: a grin, but not. A promise. “Good. I’ll hold his mouth open while you stuff him full of black powder and set him on fire.”

“Stop stalling, Jesper. That won’t make it any easier.”

That won’t make it not have happened.

“If you’re sure this will help.”

Kaz nods.

“Lie down on the bed, then. Is there a—no, no pillows here, roll up the coat and slide it under your hips.” Jesper turns his face away, listening to the timid, stuttering squelches of Kaz stretching his asshole. Jesper doesn’t know what would be worse: if, after everything, he can’t get it up… or if he can.

Well. He’ll have to. His dick will just have to obey the dictates of the situation, just as Kaz’ body was made into the Sun Summoner. He’s young. He’s still looking at Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, naked, who asked Jesper to sleep with him, and that’ll have to be enough. They’ve gotten this far. They’ll force their way through. That’s how you do it. That’s how you gamble. How you lose big. Kaz might have once tried to explain to him something about sunk costs and throwing good money after bad, but Jesper ignored him that night and lost a hundred and twenty kruge to Specht, and he’s never looked back.

“Okay, Mr Sunshine. Let’s consummate our fucking partnership,” he grinds out when Kaz has gone quiet, takes the bottle to slick up his own uncooperative dick, and carefully, he climbs on top of Kaz. The clothes were a good decision: Kaz barely flinches when he kneels in-between his legs and pulls the sleeve over his hand to carefully guide his right knee to rest on Jesper’s thigh.

Kaz is staring up at his face, breathing, just breathing. The antlers in his collarbone frame his bright face—brighter than the candles should allow, like maybe—and his focus is rigid and he’s breathing, breathing quickly—

“Is this teaching you anything yet?”

“Not really,” Kaz rasps, after too long. “Or—I think—maybe it was—” he glances at Jesper’s pathetic, unhappy limp dick. His face twists. “I thought you were into me.”

This is— “I love you. Kaz Brekker, whoever you are. I don’t give a fuck about this Sun Summoner bullshit. I love you. I love you,” because this is—Jesper can’t do this. He can’t. His elbows are locked: he can’t drop his body any lower. He can't go lower than this. “I love you,” until it’s finally over. “I love you. I love you.”

☼

“And I’m telling you again, I don’t know what he does Tuesday evenings,” Jesper hisses.

“You were still with the Dregs, three months ago!” Kaz is wiping his cane clean. It didn’t even really get dirty—they mostly used kitchen knives to do the deed, and in the case of a maidservant who unwisely came to work in the middle of the night, a bullet that Jesper’s already collected and reshaped into something functional, because he might not get to buy new ones. Desperation. Frugality. The Kerch are rubbing off on him. It’s good, though. The fact he’s cleaning the wood is all the confirmation Jesper will likely ever get that Kaz does like the new cane Jesper made him from a cute straight rowan sapling, reinforced with the metal scavenged from all but the most essential buttons on their hodgepodge of clothes. At least there’s one thing of Jesper’s he values. “How can you not know the behavioural patterns of your boss? Are you that brainless?”

“No-one knew what he was up to! He barely came by the Slat. He wasn’t that interested in us.”

“You worked for Per Haskell, Jesper; you worked for that man for years—for nearly as many as I did, when you ran off to Ravka—and now you attempt to convince me you barely know his name?” Kaz still doesn’t look quite as harsh as he used to, or maybe that’s just Jesper hankering for their past. Well, he didn’t used to explain his plans to Jesper as if he was an imbecile—but then, he didn’t used to need Jesper. He had more stooges back then. Now, he only has one. Ally. Friend.

If it’s as weird for him, though, as it is for Jesper being back in Ketterdam after he didn’t die on his revenge suicide plot and the city didn’t, either—well, he might still get murdered for stealing the Sun Summoner or skipping out on debts or something completely unrelated, and Ketterdam’s… well, she’s weathering having her ruling class torn apart twice in short order, once by the Darkling’s conquest and now, by the slow collapse of the Darkling’s overstretched realm after he’s lost his saint/weapon/doll.

The Barrel’s fine—as glary and miserable as it ever was, anyway, but though Kaz would probably insist most of the Mercher’s Council had their hands in gang business one way or the other, their reach was indirect, mediated and secretive enough for the chaos tearing up the Geldstraat not to trickle down as quickly into the slums. And anyway, the involvement of the merchers only ever made life worse for most people. The plight of the rich can only be a blessing.

Right now, they’re inside a nice place in the Zelver district. Close enough to power to feel the death throes, and even disregarding the political manoeuvring and debris and panic everywhere, just looking at the house from the outside made Kaz twitchy, somehow.

His energy almost matched Jesper’s trigger finger.

It’s Haskell’s house, so that unease makes sense.

Haskell’s expensive secret new house far outside the Barrel that they’re despoiling now. They looked as out of place in the beautiful Zelver district as any Barrel rats, with their heads shorn close to the bone so they’ll look different enough to not get recognized and faces wiped with dirt, dressed in a melange of Ravkan clothes they haven’t found a chance to replace yet and tawdry Barrel flash for everything else.

Kaz was wearing two coats when he entered the house, an old rose and amber paisley trench that even Jesper admitted is hideous, though now it’s splattered with blood that actually really ties the colour scheme together. Still gross though, and luckily slung over the chair. Along with the purple kefta Kaz hid underneath, the one he still hasn’t given back. Or burned, which is what they did to the other Ravkan overcoats. On the streets his two coats bulked up his frame so much he looked like a kid that Jesper’s never met, dressed up to play a gangster’s role. He looked nothing like the Sun Summoner anymore, and only somewhat like Jesper’s imagined baby Dirtyhands crawling out straight from the harbour, fifty kilos sopping wet and ready to kill a man and feast on his entrails.

Now, he’s stripped down to a ruffled red shirt over a green undershirt—he conspicuously shunned the yellow one next to it on the washing line—and light blue pinstripe trousers. The shirt is a little large in the shoulders, and he’s cuffed the trousers. They stole everything from a cottage on the edge of Ketterdam. Not quite Barrel flash, but almost—alike in style but with better fabric, something a town edge kid probably bought to look like a cool gangster. Or something Jesper would have bought to look special for a very special date. If he squints, he can almost imagine—it’s the morning after, and—

Ever since the Little Palace the idea of Kaz naked has totally lost its lustre. The idea of his muscular but scrawny, scarred chest, his wiry tattooed arms, his ambiguously demonic hands—it’s all overlaid now with a flimsy ugly sleeveless yellow paper taffeta gown. With normal hands, kept bare as humiliation.

But maybe—maybe they sat together, not on a log in a forest but on a sofa this time, and then in the morning Kaz was cold and he stole all of Jesper’s clothes to wear over his own. That’s much better. (Maybe he just wanted Jesper naked all day…)

Jesper won’t let the Darkling steal his fantasies, too. They’re—

Ouch. Fucking ouch.

Jesper really shouldn’t have added tiny spiky worms to the side of the cane, but Kaz’ indignation was just too funny.

“Let me make this clear—” Kaz rasps, once he’s regained Jesper’s full attention. Half-full. ‘Like he’s plundered Jesper’s wardrobe’ is still such a good look on him. “We are both hunted. Neither of us can afford to be caught outside on the streets of Ketterdam and let whoever saw us live. If we’re going to make Haskell’s house our temporary base of operations, we need to make his death as inconspicuous as possible. We cannot safely anticipate which of his visitors to eliminate and which to fool unless we know whether they, in turn, may be missed.”

“Well,” Jesper mutters. “Mitki might come by. If the neighbours don’t chase him off.”

Kaz raises a single, dirt-encrusted eyebrow.

“Mitki’s the newest lieutenant. Might have made it this—”

“Not Anika? I can understand why a flake like you didn’t rise in the Dregs ranks, but she—”

“Ambush. Dime Lions, five weeks after you disappeared.”

“Rotty?”

“Slit throat. Still no clue who did it.”

“Specht? Pim? Neeta? Big Bol?”

“Razorgulls, knife, last year. Bullet to the head, same day. Hellgate. Hellgate.”

“Muzzen? Ruk? Keeg?”

“Another ‘Gull stabbing, just before I left. Hellgate, again. Keeg just disappeared, though. Might still be alive somewhere over the True Sea, if he’s clever. Not that he was, he’s probably floating, poor sod.” Jesper shrugs. After a while, it just gets too much: the beginning of the Dregs’ end is seared into his brain, but there aren’t enough synapses for the tenth—or fiftieth—dead friend to hurt as much. “There’s a reason why I didn’t think twice about running when I lost those fifty thousand. Like I said, boss, it’s been a shitshow since you left. Haskell never wanted for new ones, since he got his kids fresh off the street, but he just stopped giving any shit whatsoever, and since you weren’t there to pick up the slack… well, I can see why he didn’t care, now.”

Jesper spares a bitter look for the mountain of kruge next to Haskell’s foot, the mountain he offered Kaz as soon as he saw him, long before Kaz even tried to hack off both his hands and feet with a dull meat cleaver. Long before Kaz had to settle for cutting down to the bone and then wrenching Haskell’s extremities from their sockets by sheer force of hatred, while Jesper puked into the kitchen sink. The mountain he’d never have amassed as the boss of a gang as shambolic as the last years of the Dregs.

The mountain that’s going to pay off Inej’s indenture tomorrow.

Haskell allowed her to rot there. It’s only fair he pays for her freedom with his life.

“Everyone we could use is gone. And you…” Kaz tips Jesper’s chin up with his cane. The world shimmies a little. “You, of all the old Dregs, survived.”

Jesper shrugs again. This is too much to confess to Kaz, of all cruel bastards, probably far too much, but—they’re sitting in the living room of Jesper’s former boss, the man who sold Kaz out to the Darkling and used the prize money to live in luxury, while letting his gang die on increasingly pointless ill-planned errands. The other end of the table is still flecked and puddled with slow-drying blood—not to mention the corpse, or corpse-pieces, laying there—but over here, they have a bottle of expensive whisky they found in a cabinet and they’re trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.

“I didn’t take it too well, when you and Inej just disappeared, and then my friends kept dying. Might have gone on a couple of benders. Might have lost some games. Might have lost some fights. Might have had some sexual encounters with people who turned out to be massive creeps. Consequently, I may not have been technically around to be asked to go on some of these errands, or perhaps I just didn’t notice because I was drunk.”

“Jesper.” Kaz doesn’t even sound surprised. Wow. Thanks for having faith in me, boss.

It’s not really that humiliating, though, now he’s said it out loud. He spent two years making bad decisions and occasionally braiding Inej’s hair. Kaz spent that time getting turned into a doll. Who can say what’s worse? He takes another deep gulp and grins. “You know me, boss. I need some external structure in life. I really need a commandeering asshole dragging me into his schemes to be my best self.”

“And yet, you outwitted the Darkling.”

“That wasn’t difficult, to be fair. Tell them I’m Grisha, search the Little Palace, shoot Kaz Brekker in the head, get executed…” Jesper trails off. When the silence grows teeth, he takes a pull of whisky that’s so desperate it makes him cough, but Kaz is still letting him stew.

They don’t really need to talk about it, though. No value in going over what happened in the Little Palace. No value in discussing anything. Everything is fine now. Yes, Jesper did want to kill Kaz. Yes, he’ll die for Kaz.

And they both know why.

Kaz steals the bottle. It’s incredible, actually, Jesper was just holding it—well, maybe he’s a little more drunk than he thought, but Kaz would probably like being complimented on his pickpocketing. “I didn’t even see you steal that bottle,” Jesper says.

“I’d be angry you’re drunk,” Kaz rasps. “But you’ve been completely useless at all stages of the current plan so far. And the previous one, by your planning—I always forget, in my amazement at what you accomplished, that you failed.”

He says that, but his cheeks are flushed pink with alcohol. His pupils are wide when he looks at Jesper. He raises the bottle to his lips and tips his head back, swallowing what should have easily been ten more swigs of whisky. Thieving bastard.

☼

When Jesper awakes on Haskell’s second softest chaise longue in the receiving room—neither of them was particularly eager to climb into Haskell’s bed, and, in Jesper’s case, not particularly still able to walk up the stairs either—his mouth is dry, his bladder full and the light is poking his brain even through closed curtains and eyelids. And Kaz—he searches the whole house after finishing his business, but yes, it’s true—Kaz is gone.

So are his cane and his current Barrel flash coat and the kefta, which means Kaz is probably safe. Well. As safe as the escaped Sun Summoner can be. Not kidnapped, at least. More alive than anyone stupid enough to cross Kaz’ path.

He’s taken Haskell’s kruge, and left a note.

In Kaz’ sharp hand, the note reads, “STAY.”

It’s underlined three times, and on the back side Kaz has written, “or you will die,” which to be fair is pretty ambiguous.

‘Die’ as in, ‘I mistrust your competence and assume you’ll get yourself killed if you move a finger?’ Or as in, ‘I’m warning you I won’t go out of my way to save you?’ Perhaps it’s a straightforward ‘Disobey and I am going to personally murder you and piss on your corpse?’ All are very real possibilities, knowing Kaz.

To really understand the message, Jesper needs to get into Kaz’ mood when he woke up—hungover, but how much? Enough he hates the entire world, or so much he hates Jesper more? Also, his current way of thinking. Jesper’s usefulness. A point in favour is the fact that Jesper saved him from a fate worse than death, but on the other hand, Jesper forgot to extract a deal from him and Kaz is so Kerch it hurts, which means he’s pared down solidarity and reciprocity and love into exchange, into deals, and all Jesper’s offering are the first three. They shared a bottle of whisky next to the corpse of their old boss, though, and in general Kaz looked like he was having fun more than once on their dirty, miserable long trek out of Ravka. Way more fun than he had in the majestic Little Palace. Also, Jesper’s incredibly likeable. He’s beautiful and funny and stupidly in love with Kaz without asking anything in return, so really it only makes sense that Kaz has finally succumbed to his charm.

(He dug his hand into Jesper’s hair, that night on the fallen tree and twice afterwards, but—maybe that was only to make Jesper squirm.)

Well, he enjoyed Jesper’s company while they fled from Ravka to Ketterdam, at least. That’s the crux of it.

So why would Kaz anticipate that Jesper might want to run anywhere? There’s a well-stocked kitchen here. A far more sensible assumption would be that Jesper might want to make some waffles or go on a morning jog. No, not that one. Enjoy a lavish breakfast. Have a bath, perhaps, after spending two weeks crawling through the Ravkan forest and the Shu countryside and stowed in the belly of a wine cargo ship and then countryside again, this time Kerch. Jesper’s feet hurt just thinking about it, and that Kaz managed to get here, even at the half-speed they settled on, speaks to—well, the same bull-headed masochism as always, but the fact he still refused to even consider stealing a cart or horse or approach any larger settlement before Ketterdam means he must be even more terrified of the Darkling than Jesper can imagine. He refused to leave any trace whatsoever. (And yet he’s back in Ketterdam, the one city in the world he was connected to before the Little Palace, because…?)

Ketterdam is the only city, village, collection of buildings and people they’ve been to for weeks, which means it’s the first chance Jesper has to gamble, but—even he knows not to stake anything on the possibility there’s someone left in the Barrel who doesn’t know about Jesper Fahey, he who owes Pekka Rollins fifty thousand kruge and just skipped town, kill immediately with extreme prejudice.

Well, Rollins is dead now—the only gang boss courageous or aggrieved or hungry enough to try and covertly resist the Darkling, go figure—but whoever’s head Lion now probably won’t even let Jesper try to spin an argument about how he really owes that money to ‘Pekka Rollins’ Dime Lions’, not any successor organizations. No such luck, and anyway, people stupid enough to bounce on their debts are fair game to any gang in the Barrel. They don’t cooperate on much, not even for mutual benefit, but murdering dishonest gamblers? That’s a team sport.

Jesper’s last recklessly suicidal plan worked out fantastic, so maybe he should find a card table. His luck’s turned. He could win millions.

Which Kaz definitely would anticipate, and warn him away from. Kaz is a buzzkill. Just because Jesper’s going to get murdered on sight in the Barrel…

Because Jesper’s gonna get murdered on sight in the Barrel.

If Kaz wants to rebuild his status in the Barrel, there’s no bigger liability than Jesper. And Kaz wants to, surely. He worked his way up inside the Dregs carefully and diligently, spent more time than anyone sane would inside a tiny attic office adding up numbers, and sucked up to an utter piece of shit like Haskell, just so he could one day become a Barrel boss. And now, to rise again, he has to cut off the dead weight.

Which means Jesper.

That’s why he left.

It’s not even a betrayal. They don’t have an agreement for life after reaching Ketterdam, let alone one that says Jesper can follow him forever and ever just like in the good old days. Inej—but Inej’s actually useful to a new Barrel boss, as soon as her indenture’s paid. Jesper’s the weak link here. Jesper’s screwed.

Which doesn’t mean he won’t go down fighting. He knows the way to the Menagerie—the quickest way, the scenic route, the paths least commonly trafficked by Pigeons and the ones usually avoided by staadwatch or gangsters. He knows Kaz well enough to guess which one he’s taken. If he hasn’t woken too late—and by the sun’s position, it’s still early in the morning—then he has a chance to pass Kaz off and… insult him? Beg? Cry? Sell his father’s soul for a position in the new Dregs? Maybe he’ll just have to wear a Komedie Brute mask for the rest of his life and it’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out later.

Jesper draws his shoulders up to his ears while he scurries through empty alleyways, the collar of his fancy pseudo-Barrel flash coat turned up. He’s almost glad that Kaz made him go hatless and shaved bald—thoroughly unstylish and un-Jesper enough he might survive the morning—but there are drawbacks to the disguise in the damp chill.

Also, the disguise isn’t good enough. After some minutes, Jesper notices that some clusters of metal stay at roughly the same distance to him. Eight clusters of—round, small, definitely mostly kruge with a few Ravkan coins thrown in. Thirteen guns. A rifle. Two of the coin clusters are fairly close together and move in unison. Jesper’s dealing with seven shadows, then.

That’s—a lot.

Jesper’s had a little more training being a Durast now, but what he could really use now is combat training. He hasn’t even been in a battle in over a month, unless you count handing Kaz knives while he carves up Per Haskell, and since Jesper had to puke right after, you probably shouldn’t. He’s fought rabbits. Jesper’s sure fought some rabbits in Ravka. Two deer, too.

He could probably escape his pursuers. It would take time, though, time Jesper doesn’t have when Kaz is leaving him behind without a word. He’ll just have to kill them quickly.

At least there’s one of his favourite surveillance detection routes nearby. One of the rare aboveground tunnels in Ketterdam, not used by Pigeons for obvious reasons of creepiness and also because it just leads to a big courtyard behind a factory: a courtyard that’s easy to escape, when you know the gate’s lock is broken. Kaz showed it to him, just weeks after Jesper got recruited, after the second time the ‘Gulls got the drop on him and beat him to a pulp. In the courtyard, he made Jesper shoot some sparrows and some pigeons to prove his worth. Not crows, though, and for a year Jesper believed that detail was just thrown in to test whether Jesper would obey nonsensical orders. It’s still a plausible explanation.

He’ll just have to ask Kaz, after he begs him for a role in the new Dregs. After he kills these seven pursuers.

If.

He catches the first man off-guard and blows his head off when he exits the tunnel, but after that, it’s a stand-off. Jesper, hiding behind a massive wood barrel for cover, against six men ducked into the mouth of the tunnel.

Jesper manages to pick off another man by firing into the tunnel and blindly redirecting the bullet into the first nook, but the second attempt at using that trick doesn’t hit anything, and neither does the third. He has eight bullets left now, and five enemies. Even Jesper can tell that’s bad odds.

Retreating across the courtyard, though—the first few meters are fine, there are enough wine barrels and he can just dash from one to another, slightly nudging bullets off their course so none hit him.

Those guys have far too many bullets left, though, by the time Jesper’s forty meters away from the gate. Forty meters without cover. His pursuers aren’t bad shots either—likely Dime Lions, because there’s no way a Liddy would ever get so close that Jesper has to redirect their bullet—and they’re cautious enough that only two of them are crouched behind that barrel next to the tunnel, now, while the rest are still hidden inside.

This might get a little tough—but if Jesper starts manipulating bullets more obviously, will that information travel to the Little Palace? They know the Sun Summoner escaped with a Fabrikator. Is he painting a target on Kaz’ back?

Is he—

Bloodcurdling screams and groans, and Jesper’s too far away to hear any thwacks but his senses have expanded and he knows that metal coating intimately. Knows that cane.

Kaz emerges from the tunnel opening, Inej behind him, and—

Boom.

The Dime Lion’s shot him.

Right in the chest, and Kaz stumbles, falls to his knees.

Keels over.

Jesper shoots wildly while he runs over, whirling the bullets around the barrel that the Dime Lions are hiding behind—two left, Kaz wouldn’t have let any of the ones in the tunnel escape—desperate to hit something or at least keep them distracted and scared long enough to get there, or for—Inej’s pulling Kaz back by his coat, and she’s still wearing a sheer Menagerie dress, she probably doesn’t have any knives to protect—nothing’s hit yet, nothing’s hit, and all Jesper’s bullets are in the air whizzing around but he’s not hitting anything and Kaz is down and Kaz—

Kaz pushes himself to his knees, and then he stands up.

He’s breathing hard, and in the ugly rose/amber/bloodstain trench there’s a hole above his heart, sooty and burnt, but he’s still alive, Kaz is alive, he’s—

“What are you?” a Dime Lion gasps. Jesper’s finally got a bead on her. He sinks three bullets into her head.

“I just killed…” The other one is less lucky, and Jesper only manages to hit his stomach before he runs out of airborne bullets. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.

“I crawled out of the harbour before. I’ll do it again,” Kaz rasps, and before the Dime Lion manages more than “Dirty—” a wet squelch informs Jesper of his demise.

That’s all of them.

“Kaz, you—” Inej’s much quicker at Kaz’ side, but he moves away before she can touch him to check his injury. Moves quickly enough he’s probably not on death’s door. He is a good actor, though. She looks at Jesper, and he’s about to join her in begging Kaz to get some medical aid, at least, but then Kaz shrugs off the ruined trench coat.

“Those kefta aren’t entirely useless,” Kaz rasps, grinning like an amused fucking asshole who almost gave Jesper a heart attack.

And then, Inej wraps herself around Jesper.

“You’re alive! I was terrified,” she shouts against his chest, slapping his back and grabbing as if she can’t decide whether to kill Jesper or never let go. “I thought you got yourself killed! You just disappeared, no word, I thought—”

“I may have lost a game where the stake was fifty thousand kruge?”

“You—Jes—” Inej squeezes him harder. “I told you to stop. I’d rather have you, with me, than have you die trying to pay me off.”

“I almost won! But there was no chance I’d get out of it, without indenturing myself, and—it all worked out, didn’t it? You’re free! Which reminds me…” Jesper takes off his own coat—blue and green and purple wave patterns, very fancy, a bit on the small side for him—and lays it onto Inej’s shoulders. It suits her, too—it drowns her a little, sure, but the way the coat reaches down to her ankles looks regal, and anyway, Kaz is a good sewer. He’ll fix this. “Can’t have you catching a cold.”

Before she can reply—tell him again she wasn’t worth risking his life and freedom in every card game he could for two years, when she definitely is, she’s Inej, he’ll do anything for her—he runs away and searches the dead Dime Lions for a new coat for himself, all their money, the rifle, and picks up the used bullets too. Knowing Kaz, he’ll want them to leave this place soon, and Jesper can’t very well try to convince his boss he needs to keep his sharpshooter around when he has no bullets left.

Speaking of—Jesper saunters over to Kaz when he’s done. With his most careless grin, he says, “I want my goodbye kiss before you ditch me.”

“I left you a note,” Kaz rasps. “I should have remembered you can’t read.”

Which as good as counts as a promise that Kaz didn’t intend to leave him behind: that, and the adrenaline of an easy gunfight has Jesper grinning widely. This is the life he wanted. The life he yearned for during the last two miserable years. The Crows are back, baby. He asks, “What now, boss?”

“We leave. Before anyone comes to investigate those gunshots.”

“Novyi Zem?”

“No,” Kaz rasps, just as Inej says, “They’ll let us drown.”

“They what?”

“Move.” Kaz starts limping past the factory, and then doubles back one street over—in the general direction away from the sea. Jesper and Inej quickly flank him. “I went to the Fifth Harbour before I paid off Inej’s indenture. It’s near empty. Old man there said no boats go to Novyi Zem or Eames Chin right now, and no boats come back. Because nothing gets unloaded. Kerch ships can’t dock there. They all get stranded at sea.”

“People started running when Ravka cut us off from the continent,” Inej mutters. “Before the invasion. And now the Darkling’s gone, the Kerch Grisha are either running or dead.”

“Too many refugees, apparently. Something about culture and scroungers and economic migrants. Novya Zem’s closed its ports to Kerch.”

“But I’m Zemeni—”

“You’re just a person. Those borders don’t exist to help you. The harbour watch don’t exist for you, the government doesn’t exist for you—if there’s a choice between cementing their power and your life, every bureaucrat worth their salt will choose the former.”

Jesper wants to argue, but actually, he’d trust Kaz over Novyi Zem a million times. Kaz saved his life when Ketterdam and Kerch would have swallowed him whole. Novyi Zem isn’t any different. “So we’re stuck in Ketterdam, then, where I’ll get shot on sight and you’ll easily get tracked by the Darkling. I only remember one safehouse that’s still uncompromised, as of last month anyway, unless you think we should go back to Haskell’s, boss?”

“Inej,” Kaz rasps. “That shop over there. Buy us a cart. We’re going to Lij.”

“What’s in Lij, boss? Why Lij? Where is Lij, anyway?”

But Kaz doesn’t answer him. Even aboard the cart, directing their new donkey with a seemingly perfect grasp of the roads leading to a small southern Kerch town none of them have ever been to, he refuses to elaborate. He looks tense, though. Jesper reshapes his many new bullets while he walks alongside. If there’s a fight waiting for them in Lij, they’re going to win.

☼

Kaz paces the length of the room. Window, door, window, door—there’s not much space beside the marriage bed, and the air draft of his passing caresses Jesper’s shorn head.

He’s put back together now, dressed in his socks and his boots and his underpants and his trousers and his gloves, though his torso’s only covered by the open purple kefta. Despite the cane, he limps more heavily than before he trekked for weeks through the Ravkan forest. He’s not fully recovered yet, if he’ll ever be.

Jesper’s on the floor. He climbed off the bed—off Kaz, after he ruined Kaz’ stupid get proxy-raped by the proxy-Darkling again plan. He said what he said, and the silence that followed was all the answer he’ll get, and then he sat down on the floor. It’s as good a place to wait as any. Probably more hygienic than the bed, anyway. He watched Kaz dress, until he almost looked like the Barrel lieutenant they both wish he was still allowed to be, and now he’s watching Kaz Brekker Dirtyhands the Sun Summoner pace holes in the old dusty floor of an abandoned farmhouse an hour’s walk outside of the small Kerch town of Lij.

He’s not getting murdered, though. Not for what he almost did. Not for what he said. That’s as good as this was ever going to go.

“It was worse this time.” Kaz directs his rasp towards the floor. He doesn’t stop moving. “I froze. Why was it—it was you. I knew you were—you’d never—with you it should have been more tolerable. Not worse.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.” Jesper still can’t decide whether he should be ashamed that he was too squeamish to go through with it. Kaz doesn’t seem as angry as he could be, that Jesper totally fucked up this whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. Not the mocking disappointment he doles out at Jesper’s predictable failures—gambling, distractibility, lateness, no impulse control and so on—and not the seething hatred when Jesper does something he hasn’t anticipated.

“I turned it over and over in my mind. For a year. What I did wrong. How I could have turned this to my advantage. How to excise this weakness. I thought I’d found—but there’s nothing.”

Jesper would offer to brutally desecrate the Darkling’s corpse again, but it clearly doesn’t help. Kaz won’t let this go. Never mind that he was a teenage thief imprisoned in a palace. Never mind it was him against the whole entourage of the most powerful Grisha. The man who crowned himself Emperor.

Sometimes you’re just fucked. And there’s nothing you can do. Life isn’t fair.

“There is a way to beat him,” Kaz hisses. “And I will find it.”

“You did. Sort of.”

“What—”

Jesper grins a shark-grin. “You’re not in Ravka now, are you?”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why doesn’t it? No, boss, listen—he didn’t beat you alone, either, right? He had his Tailor making you into a doll. His Fabrikators locking your cage. His soldiers. Hell, Haskell selling you out—so really, it’s your victory that I found you.” Now that Jesper’s trying to explain his gut reaction, it just seems more and more logical. “Why can’t you have your own gang? You practically rescued yourself. You took a look at a boy who’d have gotten shot in a few weeks because he couldn’t pay is debts and he couldn’t stop fucking gambling—you had me dragged up to your office. You took that chance. You saved my life so I could save yours. That’s… planning ahead. Planning years ahead. Well done.”

Kaz finally, finally stops pacing. He sinks into the mattress just slightly to the right of Jesper, so he can sprawl out his legs without making contact. He looks at Jesper, but he’s silent, and his face isn’t giving anything away.

At first, that makes it feel like he’s actually listening. Actually considering what Jesper told him, and agreeing. Kaz is a quick thinker, though. He doesn’t need this long to realize that Jesper’s correct, which means he’s coming up with counterarguments—arguments why actually, he’s still weak or whatever and needs to force himself—and Jesper really, really can’t watch him do this to himself again. Why this, anyway? Why is this the weakness he fixated on?

“Why is that creep so obsessed with making you touch people, anyway?”

“Because it’s easy. Necessary. Even a child does it. Touch is what makes us human, and the Sun Summoner is human, whatever lies he tells himself,” Kaz recites. His eyes are bright. Wet.

“Bullshit. You terrorized the Barrel for years and it didn’t matter at all that you never touched anyone. It was just you. It didn’t even really sink in for me, that you don’t touch people, until I saw the way he dressed you up, how miserable you were.” That’s probably a good place to leave it, but Jesper’s livid. Jesper could mince and mangle fifty Darklings with the pure force of his loathing, and there’s not even a single one around here. That energy has to go somewhere. “You’re trying to tell me the Ravkan fucking palace couldn’t change protocol a little and adapt? If it never mattered in the Barrel, it never mattered at all. He just picked something. If you’d been allergic to shellfish, that’s the only food he would have served you, and he would have said you’re weak for your windpipe swelling up. He wasn’t able control you because touch made you weak. When you’re in control, it doesn’t matter. Because you fucking kill whoever touches you. You don’t bow to them. They bow to you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Jesper, though. He just stares down at him, with his eyes still wide and still wet. He mutters, “You’ve turned quite opinionated in my absence, Jesper.”

“In your presence. I’m quoting your words back to you—sort of, it was about the cane, and I’ve forgotten half of it. But you were right. You were always right.” Jesper laughs. “See? Now you’re teaching yourself through time and space! Your masterplan is incredibly fucking elaborate!”

“My—I’m not falling for it.” Kaz is grinning, though. “If I agree now—by this time tomorrow you’ll have done something incredibly stupid and you’ll throw the whole Everything I do is your triumph because you saved me thing in my face. I’m not responsible for your awful jokes!”

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jesper wails, “My plan! My ingenious plan! Foiled by the dastardly Dirtyhands, oh no!”

Kaz laughs at him. Kaz laughs, and laughs, and Jesper joins him.

It takes a while before Kaz stops, gasping for breath. No-one in Ravka’s ever told a good joke, Jesper decides, because he’s made way funnier jokes before that Kaz didn’t even chuckle at, but gift horses and mouths and so on. Colour’s returned to Kaz’ face: his cheeks are blotchy and red, even after his breathing’s evened out. Kaz mumbles, “You know, that’s exactly how I imagined it.”

What? Oh. Jesper’s sprawled on the floor, leaning back on his elbows, his shirt pulled out of his trousers—his trousers, which are open, and he still hasn’t tucked away his dick. He forgot. There were more far important things to do, and now… well, he probably looks more debauched than Kaz in his purple kefta, with just his prick exposed to the chilly night-time Kerch air while he lounges on the ground. He ghosts a finger over it.

“Do you want me to—do you want to watch, boss?”

“I’d—” Kaz swallows. “Saints.”

Jesper turns a little, so Kaz can get a better view. He doesn’t undress, in case that’s an integral part of the fantasy, just gently trails his fingers down his still-limp dick—though it’s definitely waking up now—and looks up at Kaz.

Kaz doesn’t meet his eyes anymore, but that’s fine: more than fine, when he’s alternately looking at Jesper’s cock and at Jesper’s lips. Jesper darts out his tongue, and Kaz’ pupils blow even wider. Jesper licks down his palm and starts jerking off in earnest. “Hey, boss,” Jesper mutters, and when the head jerks up Jesper blows him a tiny kiss.

“What do you think about?” Kaz rasps.

“I just look at you. That’s enough. I like your face.” The tiny quirk of his lips, the way his eyes dart back down. “What are you thinking about, boss?”

“I didn’t expect you to enjoy this as much.”

“Seriously, boss, I know you’re not that stupid. How many times—”

“Not me,” Kaz mumbles. He gestures obscurely at the room. Jesper. The wall. The floor. The floor again. “This. It’s—not proper. Demeaning.”

“I wasn’t feeling demeaned until you started talking—”

“I was going to make you my right hand, once I took over the Dregs. Not my whore—”

“You were?” slips out, small and breathless, before Jesper remembers that this is for Kaz. This for him to enjoy. The warmth expanding in Jesper’s ribcage can wait. “There’s nothing bad about this. You like it. I like it. I don’t see anyone else in this room, and even if—a very clever guy once told me that you don’t bow to the world. You make the world bow to you.”

☼

It’s scratching that wakes Jesper. Scratching like the sharpening of a knife, quick, impatient, desperate—but it’s Kaz who’s on watch right now, Kaz who found this shallow cave they’re spending the night in, and Kaz wouldn’t let any danger come this close unnoticed. Unfought. Kaz wouldn’t just leave Jesper to his fate—would he?

He wouldn’t. At least not yet.

Kaz is sitting at the mouth of the cave. The moon drenches his matted dirty hair in its white glory, his handmade trousers, his naked wiry chest. His chest which he hasn’t bared for a second since Jesper gave him the kefta, even pulling off the Sun Summoner chemise that they tore into threads while still wrapped up in both of his coats: but now he’s half-naked, head bending down to look at those tines sticking out of his clavicle. Those antlers, those keratinized tumours, those bone cancers. Whatever those mutations are, he wants them gone.

In the right hand, he’s holding the knife that Jesper made from buttons so they could cut the blanket into trouser-shapes. In the left hand, he’s holding one of the protrusions growing from his body.

And then, he starts hacking again.

Viciously, helplessly, like a sick rabbit mutated into its own trap. He misses, once, and the knife sinks into his collarbone: but silently he tears it out again and cuts at the cancerous bone, and the knife’s sharp but the only dents that Jesper can see are tiny, glowing, lighting up the knife that’s flecked with his own blood.

☼

Jesper stirs the potato chunks. Thankfully, the old hearth still works, at least after he and Inej fed it with firewood they brought from the market, and so he’s cooking potatoes in butter and water. He mashes them up with some heavy wooden implement he found in a cabinet, once they’re soft enough—he washed it of course; he doesn’t want to eat moth shit—and then Inej passes him a wooden board of carrots in neat small identical pieces. Show-off. Jesper loves her so fucking much.

“Careful, don’t let it burn,” she says, twirling her knife, and Jesper—well, he meant to stir the pot of what’s apparently becoming stamppot. He did. He didn’t mean to think of how he’ll get Inej and Kaz out of Ravka—

And that’s when Kaz limps into the kitchen. He wasn’t still asleep when Inej and Jesper went into town to get some food—as if the Bastard of the Barrel ever sleeps in, even when he’s far from his titular Barrel—but he begged off the trip. He told them to say they’re working for Johannus Rietveld, if they’re asked, who’s apparently inherited this farm, but—they weren’t asked a thing, anyway, and who knows what Kaz did in the meantime. Who knows what weird cover identity he’s cooked up that they haven’t yet had to invoke. And whether it’s weirder than the one Jesper just created.

Jesper gives him a tender little smile. “Had a good morning?”

“No.”

“Because of last—”

But Kaz can read Jesper at least as well as he can read himself. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he rasps. “You’re the least terrifying person I’ve ever met.” Which probably means Yes, I’m rattled, but I won’t take it out on you. Too much.

“Thanks, darling.” And obeying Inej’s sharp elbow, he goes back to stirring the potato mash, and the slices of rookworst smoked sausage she’s dumped into another pan as well. “We decided Inej needs a proper homecooked meal, now she’s free, and we both haven’t eaten anything worth eating for ages, either.”

“You cook?”

“I grew up with my Da. It was either him or me. We traded off, if you want to know, and I’m pretty good apart from when it mysteriously turns into charcoal. And we didn’t find any Zemeni spices in the Lij market—this isn’t Ketterdam, and this old trader I talked to, she said it’s because maritime traffic to Novyi Zem is down to trickles at this point there’s a real dearth of spices, she couldn’t get them at any reasonable price—”

“Don’t burn the stamppot,” Inej orders.

“Anyway, we found a recipe tacked to the wall behind the oven, so that’s what I’m making now. Something super Kerch. Stamppot—you’ve ever eaten it?”

Kaz makes a sound that’s deeply indecipherable. Jesper can’t even tell whether it’s mournful or happy.

“Anyway, we’re almost done. Spinach now, please—Inej made me stick to the recipe, you know—and then the fried sausage and some salt and… you’ll stay with us for lunch, right, even if it isn’t royal Little Palace fare?”

“We ate unseasoned burnt rabbits in the forest,” Kaz replies curtly. He’s gotten over whatever strange emotion took hold of him, then.

“Yeowtch, they were awful. Why didn’t you remind me to take them off the fire. I know how to smuggle us into Novyi Zem,” Jesper says, carrying the deep pot over to their chosen clean bit of floor. Next to the windowsill, so Kaz can sit down with a little less discomfort—the house has been cleaned out apart from the marriage bed, really, and making Kaz go in there now… Making Inej go in there now, when it’s where last night he and Kaz had sex… And it’s not like they were loud, but who knows what Inej read into them pacing around each other for an hour. This is much less awkward. Besides, Jesper’s recently had some great experiences with floors.

Inej doesn’t stop playing with her knife, even after she balances her stamppot served on woodboard on her knees and digs in with her slightly bent spoon. She hasn’t set it down all morning, even carried it into town when they went looking for something to eat, and while she’s been supervising Jesper’s cooking—making sure he’s reading the recipe, keeping him on-track, bickering with him over unclear or illegible instructions—she’s been twirling it around her fingers. A truly remarkable feat, given that it’s the piece of shit knife that Jesper cobbled together from coat buttons, and he didn’t know what he was doing at all except that it should probably be sharp. Inej really needs to talk him through the finer points of balance if she wants him to overhaul the thing.

“They’re not letting in any more refugees from Kerch, you said,” Jesper starts setting up the explanation for his ingenious plan, while he passes over Kaz’ portion and another spoon he dug out from the bottom of a cabinet and small-scienced back into shape.

“The rich Kerch started running first, when the Darkling advanced. Anyone who’d ever had a Grisha indenture… They probably got in. They had the money. As for the rest… well, we’ve all heard of what happened in Fjerda, unless we’re Jesper and too busy drinking and playing Makker’s Wheel—”

“Hey! I was trying to pay off your indenture,” Jesper complains, while nibbling on his surprisingly decent if underspiced potato mash. “I’m Zemeni. They’ll let me in.”

Kaz still hasn’t touched his food. He hasn’t put it away either though, hand cradling the board instead of throwing it at Jesper. Maybe it’s because he’s too curious about the plan. Jesper should have waited, but he was too excited, and now Kaz is frowning as he replies, “So you keep saying. How does that help us? I assume you wouldn’t leave the two of us behind, after all that trouble you took.”

It feels good, to hear him say that. Almost good enough to forgive that Kaz doesn’t like his lunch. “That’s where my plan comes in. I’ve finally figured it out. If we’re married—”

“We can’t marry each other,” Kaz rasps. Before Jesper gets too sad about that, he continues, “In case you haven’t yet learned to count, we’re three people now.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve been thinking it over for so long. But divorce exists, you know so I was thinking that our story should be—and I’ll write to Da, but I thought you should probably agree first—I married one of you and then fell in love with the other but I still loved both, so I was trying to—”

Inej coughs. Laughs. Yeah, she’s definitely laughing at him, and then she says, “You’re going to tell your father about your marriage in a letter—your multiple marriages, because not only did you get married without inviting him, you already traded in your wife for a younger, prettier model. You lothario!”

“If you think that Kaz—actually, are you younger than Inej?”

Kaz, spoon in mouth, glares down at him.

“I’m trying to save our lives here. I’d appreciate some cooperation! And Da will forgive me, when he sees how happy I am with my new bonebreaking gangster wife and my old knife-twirling gangster wife who I had to divorce for petty bureaucratic reasons. Do you like it?”

Another spoonful of stamppot disappears into Kaz’ mouth. His eyes are closed while he chews, and then he looks away. His voice is hoarser than normal when he mumbles, “It tastes exactly the way I—it’s good.”

“Better than unseasoned rabbit charcoal. Anyway, it might throw the Darkling off our scent some more, if we disguise Kaz as a woman—and don’t be sexist. Women come in all shapes and sizes, no-one’s going to suspect a thing. Also we’re from Ketterdam. If any woman like Kaz can marry anywhere, it’s here. It’ll be a scandal, if they refuse to honour our marriage. Letting a few poors drown outside Zemeni borders, sure, but breaking the mutual recognition of administrative documents?”

Jesper is actually pretty proud of his reasoning here. That makes it even more annoying when Kaz rasps, “No-one will ever believe I’m your wife. I can’t even touch you.”

“No-one’s going to believe I love you? Are you sure?” Jesper flutters his eyes up at Kaz.

“He has a point, Jesper. You won’t be the first desperate refugee forging a marriage to leave.” Inej twirls her knife again. “You’ll need to act the part.”

“We’ll just tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to be touched, and if they have a follow-up question, they’d better direct it to the barrel of my gun. I’m not letting anybody non-consensually grope my beloved Kerch wife. Never again. Not over my dead body.”

“Won’t they think it’s weird if Kaz—sorry, your beautiful Kerch wife doesn’t let you touch him?”

“I don’t care. I told you. Let the world bow to us. I love my ingenious, vicious Kerch wife, completely independent of any physical contact we may or may not ever have. I respect my stubborn loyal deadpan Kerch wife far too much to cross those boundaries just for social custom. Also, my sweet murderous Kerch wife has a mean right hook.”

“Thankyou for the demonstration of your acting skills,” Kaz rasps drily, scratching his spoon on his serving board for the last flecks of stamppot. “We’re not going to Novyi Zem, though. There are more amplifiers than just the Stag he forced into me, and we’re going to find the rest. I’m going to tear apart every miserable molecule in the Darkling’s body, cell by fucking cell.”

“And you just let me keep talking?”

“It was entertaining.” Kaz licks his spoon, and then the board. Any second now, Jesper will tell him there’s more left in the pot. “Write your Da. We’ll keep your plan as a backup, in case everything goes horribly wrong. You’ll need a ring, though, to make it official,” and Kaz starts rooting through the kefta pockets.

Jesper can’t breathe. Is Kaz really…? He can’t breathe until he looks at Kaz’ stretched-out, gloved hand, and—

“How the fuck did you steal that one?! I was just wearing it!”

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 3 - Bodega

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, is it a date?, 2.7k

WARNINGS: cancer mention, lines in Spanish will have translations in the tags

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes me these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2

Alex followed the gentle clack-clack-clack of the wheels eagerly, watching as Willie glided this way and that through the street. He shoved down the thought that his walk was only going to be a short one. After a few blocks, Willie slowed to a stop outside a bodega and waited for Alex to catch up before going inside.

“Hola, ese!” The guy behind the counter called as they entered.

Willie nodded and raised his eyebrows at him in greeting, lifting off his helmet and leaning his board against the wall of the counter. Immediately, an orange striped cat hopped up onto the surface with an excited little ‘prrrrp?’ and approached so Willie could pet him.

“Hey, Sheldon,” he said, massaging behind the cat’s ears as it rubbed its head aggressively against his shirt. Then, Sheldon sniffed Alex’s sleeve in curiosity as he stood timidly amid the unfamiliar.

“He’s friendly,” Willie assured. “Unless you’re allergic,” he added cautiously.

Alex smiled as he took the cat’s face in his hands, rubbing the sweet spots on his neck.

“No, good thing I’m not.” Sheldon was already purring, the sound soothing Alex’s slight shakiness. Willie smoothed the fur along his back.

“Have you been good today?” he asked in a baby voice.”You been treating Escobar right?” The cat meowed and rubbed against Willie’s chest.

“He caught two mice this morning,” The man, whom Alex assumed was Escobar, said. He was trying to wipe what looked like grease on his hands. “He’s happy because I gave him sardines.”

“Thanks, man,” Willie told him. “By the way, this is Alex.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alex said, realizing his hands had been gripping his fanny pack anxiously and loosening them.

“Good to meet you, Alex,” Escobar offered his wrist to shake, his hand being dirty. Alex shook it awkwardly and then Sheldon pushed his way in between and rubbed his head against his hand. Willie laughed.

“He seems to really like you,” he said.

“All I did was pet him,” Alex replied.

“Well, if Willie likes someone, the cat usually does, too,” Escobar informed him.

Alex smiled, unsure what to say to that.

“Que pasó con tu mano?” Escobar directed to Willie in concern, looking pointedly at his hand.

Willie only laughed and lifted the hand in question.

“Scrapes everyday,” was all he had to say.

The man only shook his head as he moved to put away the rag he’d been wiping his hands on.

“Te tienes que cuidarte mejor,” he said as he came back to the counter. “So what are we eating today?”

“We’ll see,” Willie said. He turned to Alex. “Do you want anything?”

He blinked, flustered.

“Are you - are you sure?” The words it’s not a date, it’s not a date, began repeating in his head incessantly. Right? A guy can buy another guy he just met food...after inviting him to follow him...on his way to get food….

“Yeah, I’ve got you covered,” Willie told him, moving over to a part of the counter where a sandwich menu was posted on top of it. Alex felt a bass drum going in his chest and tapped his toe to mimic it, hoping he could play it off as just taking time to decide.

“Take your time, amigos, I gotta wash my hands real quick,” Escobar said before disappearing.

“I don’t understand most of what he says,” Willie murmured so only Alex could hear. “But I get the general idea.”

He could only smirk in response. Perusing the menu, Alex quickly made a selection, still hesitant about accepting Willie’s offer. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around the bodega. He’d been to a few around L.A. but they all had their differences. This one was rather spacious, with some tables set up outside, and of course the sandwiches were an uncommon feature.

“So,” Willie started, grabbing his attention. “Do you often follow strangers through the city?”

Alex exhaled nervously, only then realizing what he’d just done.

“No,” he shook his head. Willie leaned on the counter, smirking. “No, this is kind of a first. Why, do you get followed a lot?”

Willie only bit his lip and shook his head. They chuckled together for a moment.

“I just come here every day during my lunch break,” Willie explained. “To check on Sheldon. Figured if you were game, you’d come.”

Alex looked at him in confusion.

“You explained none of that back there; you just nodded.”

“And yet….” Willie said, gesturing toward him. The unspoken truth hovered between them so potently Alex expected to receive a static shock.

“So...is Sheldon your cat?” he asked to diffuse the tension. Sheldon perked up at the sound of his name and pattered over to them.

“Yeah,” Willie responded as if he’d been distracted by his thoughts for a second. “I found him a few months ago and he was just really sick and weak and I couldn’t leave him like that, so Escobar was nice to let me keep him here since I can’t have him with me.”

“Why can’t you - ” Alex began before Escobar came back through, rubbing his newly cleaned hands.

“Okay, primos, we ready?” he asked.

“Yep!” Willie said, flashing a look to Alex that he’d answer him later. “Just the usual for me. You know what you want, Alex?”

“The, uh, chicken panini,” he said quickly. He glanced over at Willie again and got a tiny nod that yes, he was fine to get a sandwich. As Escobar got to work making them, they went over to the tables outside and sat down.

“I figured I could thank you a little bit, considering the generous tip I got this morning,” Willie said.

Alex swallowed, remembering how hard he had to convince the boys to leave a good deal of money so Willie could get into the show in the evening. It wasn’t until Bobby had made up something about getting more fans that got Luke and Reggie to agree. In retrospect, the count of bold decisions he was making that day was record-breaking.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to return a favor,” he said. “But I do appreciate the sandwich.” He felt Sheldon rub against his leg.and smiled as he looked down. “You weren’t kidding when you said he was friendly. This is the happiest cat I’ve ever met.”

Willie nodded. “He’s changed so much since we found him.”

He paused and just looked at Alex for a moment. 

“You don’t relax much, huh?” he wondered aloud in a soft manner.

Alex looked down at his hands once again keeping a death grip on the strap of his fanny pack, released them, and put them down in his lap.

“No better time to start than now, right?” he said, taking in a couple deep breaths. He couldn’t help it. One look at Willie made him feel like time fell from orbit - whatever that meant. His hands still needed something to do though, so he pulled out his drumsticks again and lightly tapped on the edge of the table. Willie bobbed his head to the rhythm, scrunching his nose.

After a few minutes, they heard Escobar call out and they went to collect their sandwiches. Willie glanced at the clock above them and grabbed his board.

“I don’t know how, but it’s already almost time to head back,” he said.

Alex hadn’t figured him to care about punctuality, but took his sandwich from Escobar, ready to follow Willie back toward the hotel. There was no chance he would find his way back alone. Escobar wagged a finger for him to come closer. Nervously, Alex leaned toward the counter.

“Tú tienes cara de fresa,” he said, to which Alex only blinked cluelessly. “Pero me caes bien.” The man simply nodded, smiling slightly. Alex looked between him and Willie, neither of them offering a translation.

“Th...thanks,” he stuttered. He leaned down and scratched Sheldon’s head to bid adieu.

“I’ll be back later for Sheldon,” Willie told Escobar as they exited.

Before Willie mounted his board, he got a few good bites into his sandwich. They had gotten about half a block away before Alex dared to ask.

“Do you have any clue what he said to me?”

“I think it was a compliment,” Willie said, mouth slightly full of food.

They continued back toward the hotel, eating their sandwiches as Alex simply ruminated over everything that had just transpired. Willie glanced over occasionally, always with a smile, and clearly travelling slower than he had before so he didn’t leave Alex too far behind. As they finally approached their destination, Willie dismounted his board for a moment.

“Hey,” he said, the soft tone Alex had heard earlier coming back. “Thanks for going with me. It was nice.”

Alex smiled, momentarily losing his entire working vocabulary to giddiness.

“No problem,” he said finally. “See you around?”

Willie nodded.

“See you around.”

Back at the Pearl, the band was set up for their sound check. Luke was an uncontained mass of energy at this point - kissing his rabbit’s foot countless times, swinging his arm tie around to see how far a distance he could hit people from, and his hands rarely leaving his guitar. Alex had a feeling it was only going to get worse the second he saw Julie. They all assembled on the stage and took up their instruments, waiting for the sound tech to instruct them.

“Okay, Reggie, give us a line,” was heard from the booth. Reggie improvised a bass lick on the spot for about thirty seconds, which was far more than the sound guys needed. It was a wicked line, though, and Alex couldn’t blame him for riding it out. He could see Luke and Bobby raising their eyebrows, hoping they could play with it later.

The techs guided them through the instruments one by one, then microphones, and then prepared for them to play together. This was the first time they were all playing with earpieces to hear everything properly and it was certainly an exciting change. Alex could hear them almost as if he were listening to their own demo and he couldn’t describe the feeling.

On cue, Luke played the opening riff to Now or Never and the energy immediately flowed as they all joined him.

“Take off, last stop, count down till we blast open the top…”

Nothing like getting to play to take the edge off of everything. He’d started the day early and thought there would be nothing more nerve-wracking than getting on this stage. Sure, he knew he could do it, but the pressure to somehow gain the support of hundreds more people in one go had been mounting on him the last few days. Fans who came to him after shows and told him that he made a difference to them? That he was something more than just an awkward teen who was bullied for being gay and having nut allergies? It was surreal. Alex wanted to keep reality close most of the time. Making music was the exception where he was happy to escape.

They finished the song, and as Alex swept his hair out of his eyes he saw a figure stand up from sitting in the middle of the empty venue, clapping their hands.

“You guys, that was phenomenal!” Julie Molina was saying, making her way onto the stage.

“Julie!” all of the guys cried out, nearly in unison. Luke was already bounding over as she made her way up to the stage. Reggie and Bobby lifted the straps off their guitars and followed suit as Alex casually brought up the rear.

“Hey guys,” Julie said, returning all of their high-fives and fist bumps. “I’m so excited for tonight, we’re going to have a good show.”

“I’m ready for us to blow everybody away,” Luke said enthusiastically. Alex, Reggie and Bobby exchanged knowing looks but refrained from commenting. Julie probably thought he was talking about the band. Luke probably thought the same, funnily enough.

“I have my own sound check to do, but it’ll be good to hang with you guys until the show opens,” she told them.

“Can we stick around and watch?” Luke asked.

Julie shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, go ahead!”

“Sweet!” Reggie said, already taking a seat. Bobby settled down next to him while Alex took the seat behind them.

He remembered when they met her it was at some battle of the bands out in Bakersfield. She’d been part of the duo Double Trouble, and her friend Flynn had gotten sick shortly before they were supposed to go on. She took the stage anyway and had the audience at her feet, and Alex had never seen Luke so entranced. At the end, they invited her to jam until they were forced to shut down at about one in the morning. Everything that had transpired in those few hours was unforgettable, and the guys agreed they would all gladly do it again.

That was a year ago. Now, with her first album out, the guys had all been stoked to get the call to open for her. Alex was pretty sure Luke had been keeping tabs on her the whole time, and he likely didn’t realize how obvious it was. There was something about the way he got very defensive when the guys occasionally suggested going back to the songs they’d gotten started with her, and how he refused to do it without her.

The four of them sat mesmerized as Julie’s fingers elicited the most heartfelt and energizing melodies from the piano. A soft, swelling joy came over Alex, and he wanted to give Julie the strongest hug when she finished. Her music was touching and he couldn’t help but need to express that to her. Peeking at the two below him, he saw Reggie clearly shedding some tears and Bobby clenching his fist because it wasn’t the right moment to wipe them away.

Suddenly one of the crew members walked onto the stage, making Julie stop playing. He muttered something to her that the boys couldn't hear. She sat straight with fear in her eyes and hurried backstage without a word. Luke turned around to look at the rest of his band and they all mirrored his concern. Slowly, they rose and headed toward the green room where they found Julie on the phone.

“Dad, what happened?” she was saying, audibly shaking.

Alex held out a hand and they all stopped in their tracks. He looked at Luke and shook his head. Whatever they were hearing, he figured she didn’t want them listening in on. Luke knit his eyebrows, and Alex could see the internal fight going on in his mind as he considered staying to comfort her or giving her space. After a moment he nodded to Alex and they pulled back into one of the dressing rooms.

None of them said a word as they waited. Alex pulled out his drumsticks and tapped them on his knees to fight off the rising anxiety in his chest. Nobody bothered looking at the clock and nobody made eye contact. Those three words they’d heard repeated on a loop in Alex’s brain, and he was sure they were in the minds of the others. That hug he had thought about giving felt both highly necessary and very inadequate, and he didn’t even know what the phone call was about.

After some time, Julie appeared in the doorway. She looked around at all of them and breathed deeply.

“My mom is in the hospital right now,” she said soberly. “She’s been in cancer treatment for a few months now and it was in remission, but it’s coming back."

Her eyes remained cast toward the floor, and each of the guys hesitated to move.

"I can't cancel tonight, but…" she began saying. Luke raised a hand to cover his face, clearly afraid of the rest of that sentence.

"I'm sorry guys, but I need some time to myself." She left, but Alex saw her face twist with pain before she was completely out of sight and he thought he felt his heart snap in two. Everyone looked at Luke as he sat at a loss for words.

Finally, Luke straightened up and a calm fierceness took over his countenance.

"We gotta make tonight the best, you guys, you hear me?"

Each of them nodded solemnly.

"Alright. We aren't legends for ourselves, tonight. We're legends for Julie."

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - day five - day seven

<3<3<3

Elide stands in the doorway of her loft apartment, empty save for the cheap furniture that was already here when she moved in.

Her slender, sloped eyes fill with tears and she folds her arms across her body, her hands gripping the opposite sweater sleeve. She doesn’t hear or sense the person walking down the hall until they’ve wrapped their arms around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head, “You good?” 

Tilting her head up, she looks into Lorcan’s dark, depthless eyes. “Kind of.” Elide leans into her fiancée and sighs shakily, her vision blurring. “I’m going to miss this place.” 

“Me too,” Lorcan says, resting her chin on top of Elide’s head. “We had our first kiss here.” 

Elide grins, “Yeah… we said our first ‘I love you’ here, too.” They’re silent for a long moment, thinking and reminiscing. Elide is the first to move. She turns in Lorcan’s arms and smiles up at her, “I think I’m ready to go now.” 

Her fiancée drops her hand to Elide’s lower back. “Ok. We have time, you know. You don’t have to rush this. I know you loved your apartment. It was your home.” 

Elide lifts onto the tips of her toes and kisses Lorcan gently, her hands looping around Lorcan’s neck. “I know.” She bumps her nose into Lorcan’s and pulls back slightly, so that they still share a breath. “But I’m ready to go. To our home.” 

A happy grin steals across Lorcan’s face and she presses her lips to Elide’s. Elide melts against her, one hand sliding to Lorcan’s cheek. Lorcan’s teeth graze over her bottom lip and she sucks Elide’s lip into her mouth, licking her tongue over the small hurt. The motion pulls a moan from Elide’s throat. 

When they pull apart, their chests rise and fall faster than usual. Elide sweetly pushes Lorcan’s hair back and steps away, bending down to pick up the last box. It has her most valued possessions, like movie ticket stubs from dates, a rock from the lake near her childhood home, a strip of photos from a photobooth. “It’s time.” 

Lorcan nods and Elide slips the key off of her keychain. She leaves it on the counter and takes Lorcan’s hand, squeezing twice. Lorcan smiles and they walk down to her truck. Elide fits the last one in the truck bed next to the others. She walks around to the passenger seat and climbs in, grinning at her fiancée. 

The dark woman’s eyes sparkle and she starts the engine, reaching over to turn Elide’s face, “I love you, Lee.” 

Elide smiles and bites her lip, “I love you too, L.” She kisses Lorcan’s palm and pulls the hand on her face down to her lap. As Lorcan begins to drive, Elide opens her window and leans towards it, letting the golden, brilliant sun shine across her face. 

The air is warm and sunshiney, coaxing a wide grin across her face. Lorcan glances over and smiles at the sight of her girl so happy. She lifts Elide’s hand and kisses her knuckles, resting their joined hands on the centre console. 

Their new bungalow is only fifteen minutes away. Lorcan parks in front of the front gate and they step out, meeting by the tailgate. 

For the next hour, they move all the boxes into the living room. Elide divides different sections that relate to the different rooms and stacks the boxes that Lorcan carries in in neat piles. When Lorcan tries to put a heavy box, labelled BEDROOM, down, Elide stops her, gasping like she’s committed some crime against humanity. “Oh my gods, Lorcan, were you even listening?! That’s the kitchen pile, bedroom stuff goes over there.” 

Lorcan arches her brow and slowly puts the box down in its correct spot. “Lee…”

Elide looks at her and sighs, “Yeah. I’m just- I want it to be perfect.” 

Lorcan snorts and slides behind Elide, sweeping her up in a tight hug. She nips at the skin beneath Elide’s ear and whispers, “It’s us, when are things ever perfect?” 

“Put me down, you big bully!” 

“Oh, now, no need to be rude,” Lorcan says, finally letting Elide free. She pivots sharply and frowns up at Lorcan, her arms angrily crossed. Lorcan steps forward and cups Elide’s face, lifting it up. She strokes her thumbs over Elide’s strong jaw, “Sweetheart.” 

“Lorcan.” 

“I think you should step back for a couple minutes, maybe eat something, drink some water.” 

“Stop trying to baby me.” 

Lorcan clicks her tongue, “I am not babying you, I’m taking care of the woman I’m marrying in three months.” She bends her head to press a series of soft kisses across Elide’s face. “I got this. Go for a drive, or something. Just get out of here.”

Elide is still frowning as she begrudgingly agrees, “Fine. You’re probably right.” She closes her eyes and sighs through her nose. When she opens her eyes, she looks up at Lorcan and nods, offering her an apologetic grin. “Thank you. For taking care of me.” Elide stands on her tiptoes and kisses the sensitive spot beneath Lorcan’s jaw. 

Lorcan rubs Elide’s back, “You’re very welcome.” For a moment, they remain frozen in their gentle moment. Elide rests her face in the hollow of Lorcan’s neck, breathing in that cedar perfume that is so familiar to her. Lorcan’s arms loosen, and Elide calmly steps back, the frown melted from her face. 

She takes Lorcan hands and presses her lips to Lorcan’s knuckles, “I’m going. I’ll get us food.” 

Lorcan grins and kisses Elide’s forehead, “Will you get me a coffee?”

“I will,” Elide promises, walking backwards towards the door after she takes the keys out of Lorcan’s pocket. Once she reaches the door, she turns and flashes Lorcan a wide grin, the freckles on her cheeks shifting, “Be back soon, babe.” 

“Yeah, not too soon,” Lorcan warns, slowly making her way to the open door. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“Love you too, hon.” Elide blows her a kiss and waves her fingers. Lorcan smiles and closes the door, breathing out a sigh of relief. With Elide gone, she can actually get things done. 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and opens the calling app. Lorcan calls the person she always calls. 

It rings for a while and Lorcan waits patiently, knowing exactly what the golden nightmare is doing. 

“Salvaterre,” Aelin purrs, “how can I help you today?” 

“Feel like distracting Lee?” 

Aelin laughs, “She still freaking out about the move?” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Lorcan leans to the side, glancing out of the living room window. She sees the truck becoming smaller and smaller. “I made her leave for food so that gives us, like… half an hour at most.” 

On the other end of the line, Aelin hums in contemplation. “Ok… I’ll see where she’s at and intercept and I’ll send the cavalry to you.” 

Lorcan watches the truck disappear around the corner. “‘t’s nice to know that you can be helpful once in a while.” 

Aelin sniffs, “I like being unpredictable. Anyhoozles,” Lorcan hates that word, “I’m off. I’ll bring her back in, what, six hours?” 

“Yep. See you then, Ash.” 

Aelin says good-bye and they both hang up. Lorcan opens Spotify and scrolls through her playlists, smiling when she sees the new one Elide has to have made. It’s title simply with the date it was created. She presses shuffle play and puts it down on the fireplace mantel. 

The first song that plays is upbeat and fast. Lorcan recognises it almost immediately and a smile pulls at her full lips. 

I can’t remember when we met because she didn’t have a top on… top on… 

I improvised a ‘lil bit - she said my references were spot on… spot on… 

Softly, Lorcan starts to sing along, “‘Can I take you for a drink?’ She said, ‘Oh god, I’ll have to think, ‘cause we’re mates it doesn’t feel right?’” 

And I said “It’s cool” and “I was messing”... 

But it’s true, yeah it’s you

You’re the one that makes me feel right…

By the time she’s listened through seven more songs, Lorcan has unpacked the kitchen boxes. She lifts her head when she hears three obnoxious voices and frowns out the window, watching her brothers walk up to the front door. 

She loves them, and they’re the closest thing to family that she has, but… they're just so irritating. 

“Ay, yo, Salvaterre! Where you at?” 

Lorcan pauses her music and walks into the living room, clicking her tongue, “Take your shoes off, you animals.” 

They all dutifully take their shoes off and stack them to the side. Fenrys bounds over, his afro bouncing. “Hey, man, how are you?” 

“I’m good,” Lorcan says, accepting the obligatory hug Fenrys traps her in. A reluctant smile appears on her face and she hugs him back, “How are you?” 

“Same old, same old,” Fenrys replies, bouncing back and looking around. “So, where do you need us, boss?” 

“Uh…” Lorcan thinks as she daps Rowan up. “I don’t know yet. The kitchen is done, so… any place, I guess.” Fenrys nods and sets off determinedly to the boxes taking up most of the living room space. 

Connall claps Lorcan’s back as he passes, “I’ll supervise.” 

“And I’ll super-supervise,” Rowan says, grinning widely when Connall and Fenrys squawk in offence. 

“Oh, I see you just let anyone in your house, huh?” 

Lorcan turns when she hears her cousin’s voice, sharing the same dry grin, “Yeah, you know Lee would kick my ass if I turned the strays away.” 

Vaughan slings his arm around her shoulders and rests his head against hers. “How’d you convince her to leave?”

“Reason. And I sent G to stall her,” Lorcan says. 

He snorts and soon they’re all unpacking boxes. Lorcan tells them to leave the bedroom and office boxes alone. The latter are Elide’s, and Lorcan knows that she’ll want to fix it just so. As for their bedroom, Lorcan wants to put it together with the woman she shares it with. 

The sun has just begun to dip beneath the horizon when they’re finally finishing up. Lorcan stares at a picture of her and Elide, wondering if she should move it elsewhere. 

“Lor? You ok?” 

She snaps her head to the side. She forgot she was alone for a moment. “Yeah, I’m ok.” Lorcan looks around, her brows raising. Everything is unpacked. It looks like their home now. She smiles a rare smile, the one where both her dimples show. “It looks… incredible, guys. Thank you, this… it meant a lot, or whatever.” Her shoulders start to bunch up, tense. Lorcan has never been comfortable with praise or affection, but she tries. Elide makes it easier. 

The boys mumble ‘You’re welcome’s, equally unused to it as she.  

Rowan’s phone dings, so he pulls it out. When he sees the text Aelin sent him, he chuckles, “Apparently Aelin cannot stall Elide any longer. They’re on their way here, be here in… ten minutes.” 

“Right, well, that’s our cue,” Connall says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’ll let you surprise your girl and stuff.” 

Unwillingly, Lorcan feels her cheeks heat. As Fenrys walks out, he catches her blush and laughs, “Aww, she’s blushing. Who knew that Hellas’ heir had feelings?” 

She reaches out and slaps him upside the head, “Yeah, keep pointing it out, Fen. We’ll see if I don’t beat your dumb ass.” 

“Easy, easy,” Vaughan says, stepping between them and gesturing for Fenrys to leave as fast as he could. “Cool it, killer. We’re just saying that it’s, you know, it’s nice to see you like this.” 

Lorcan steps back, her spitfire anger calmed. She lets a small smile show, “Thanks. It’s… it’s Elide.” Her smile grows softer and the boys laugh as they file out to their cars. Lorcan leans against the porch column, joking with them as they leave. “I’ll see you guys later.” 

She waves and walks back inside, anxiously pacing in front of the door. Her phone rings and she snatches it out of her pocket, accepting the call before she sees who it is. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” Elide says. “I’m almost home. I’m so sorry you had to do everything alone, I saw Aelin and she needed to do a bunch of things.” 

“Don’t worry about it. You had a good day, right?”

Elide sighs, “Yeah. Honestly, I’ve just been so caught up with the move and the wedding. It was nice to not think about any of it today.” 

“I’m glad,” Lorcan says. “Are you going to be home soon? I miss you.”

Her fiancée laughs, “Needy, needy. I’ll be there soon. Love you, L.”

“Love you too, princess.” Lorcan pulls the phone away from her ear and ends the call. She sits down on one of the armchairs to wait and idly takes a book off of the nearest shelf. Flipping past the first few pages, Lorcan settles in and rests her chin on her fist. 

Headlights shine through the front window and they’re nothing but a nuisance to her until she realises who it is. Lorcan puts the book back and stands, crossing to the front door. She opens the door as Elide climbs out of the truck, a bag of takeaway in her hand. She lofts it, smiling ruefully, “Will you forgive me for abandoning you today? I got you your favourite.” 

Lorcan grins as Elide walks up the stone pathway. “I might.” 

Elide steps onto the porch, “We can eat and then start unpacking the rest?” She doesn’t wait for Lorcan’s response before she walks past her and pushes the door open. “I– it’s all done. How is it all done?” 

Lorcan follows her in and looks around proudly. “I might’ve asked Aelin to stall you. And I called in the cavalry.” She tucks Elide into her side, “They really are helpful when you tell them exactly what to do.” 

Her fiancée laughs tearfully and puts their food down so she can walk around, her eyes bright. “This… this is exactly what I wanted.”

Elide spends the next half hour looking around and getting used to their new home. She pokes around the living room and the kitchen too, fawning over the seemingly thousands of potted plants they have. 

Lorcan watches with an adoring expression, completely entranced by everything Elide does. 

Spinning, Elide holds her hands out to Lorcan. “Come.” 

As always, Lorcan does as Elide tells her and stands up from the table chair she was sitting on. Lorcan takes Elide’s hands and looks down at her, one brow arched, “What is it, Lee?” Without a word, Elide starts to swing and sway. Lorcan follows warily, still unsure what Elide is trying to do. “Princess…” 

“Just dance with me, love,” Elide says.

Lorcan hums in understanding and lifts Elide’s hands to her shoulders. Hers loosely rest on Elide’s waist and Lorcan begins to dance, leading Elide around their cosy kitchen. Elide beams and presses herself forwards, her head tipped against Lorcan’s chest. Lorcan’s heart trips over itself and she bends her head to hide her smile in Elide’s dark hair. The bergamot shampoo she uses clings to the thick, rich tresses. 

The only music is their soft feet padding and sliding across the colourfully tiled floor. Elide grins wildly when Lorcan spins her out. Her head tips back and the silver light of the moon washes over her ethereal face. 

Lorcan’s breath catches in her throat. She wants to be consumed by Elide. In near reverence, Lorcan cups Elide’s face. She tilts it back, slowly marking every feature. “You…”

“What,” Elide laughs, her hands squeezing Lorcan’s waist. 

“The moon looks just right right now,” Lorcan murmurs, delicately tracing the way the light slides over Elide. 

Elide’s smile turns tender and loving. She takes Lorcan’s hand and silently leads them into the backyard. They sit on the cool grass, Elide leaned against Lorcan’s chest, sitting between her legs. 

“So,” Lorcan begins, her lips brushing against the shell of Elide’s ear, “is it everything you’ve ever wanted?” 

Elide shakes her head, “No. I’ve only ever wanted one thing. And I've already got it.” 

“Oh, really? Care to tell me what it is?” 

“You,” Elide says, simply. “A life with you, a home…”

“And now we have a home.” 

“No,” she shakes her head and turns, kneeling between Lorcan’s spread legs. “Don’t you get it?” 

“Get what?” 

“That you are my home.” Elide holds Lorcan’s face in her hands like the most rare of presents, “And you always have been.”

<3<3<3

an: all i want in life. is domestic elorcan. 

@ladyverena @ladywitchling @mythicaitt @sassyhobbits @darklesmylove @julemmaes @letstakethedawn @cicada-bones @highladyofthegentry @darlinminds @nahthanks @sjmships @eyllweambassador @flamingveritas @adelzd-bookblr @somewhatdynamite @woollycat22 @firestarsandseneschals @the-regal-warrior​ @empress-ofbloodshed​

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket, SE02, Ep23

Love is in the air is the theme of this ep! All kinds of luv~ for everybody!~ kyo/tohru (main), yuki/machi(new!!), rin/haru(on going), Arisa/Kureno (dead-end?), hiro/kisa (babies to luvers...), hana/tohru/arisa (sisters love!) yuki/kakeru (friendship), momiji/tohru (cutest friendship!) kyo/haru (underrated friendship), hana/kyo/arisa (living to tease*torment* you friendship!XD), kyo/kazuma (parental love!), Haru/kisa (big brother care), yuki’s fanclub (toxic love), hana/food (OTP). What an ep!! One of a kind where you start off crying of laughter & end up crying from broken heart!

-Arisa’s second outburst:

The best thing abt this play is that you can’t tell if they’re following a script or not for the most part. XD, However, for some it IS clear when they bring in their personal feelings. Arisa was fine acting her role with improvised jokes on kyo’s expense. However, due to kyo’s refusal to meet the princess, she got angry to the point of screaming in front of the whole school & visitors? The outburst was treated seriously with climatic music, audience reaction, fellow actors surprise & narrator-san pointing out it IS personal & not scripted. But afterwards arisa is fine. Even though I’m not into love at first sight, I acknowledge it exists in fiction & in reality. No problem. But the extreme intensity of kureno/Arisa’s love is higher than everybody’s without enough basis from those two meetings they had before... Sure, she can fall in love with him, wish him to meet her.. but her outburst is too much, too painful, too heartbreaking. However if you look at her outburst as a plot device to get kureno involved once again & complicate things, bingo, you get why it was planted there. Momiji’s footage will reach him. cool. but too forced in my opinion.. everything abt their interaction is too forced, from her first outburst at his few words that got her to cry her heart out & leave the restaurant & get nearly kissed on the lips to her second outburst in front of the entire school. Arisa likes ppl who are tohru-like. The narrative hints that kureno is tohru-like. First, his clumsiness, second? being content with his unjust life? what is tohru-like abt him so far that gets arisa to scream her heart out? I’m sure we’ll see more of his tohru-like qualities. but so far, it comes across too forced for me.

-Machi SEES the real yuki:

It seems that the confirmation that any female is heading to yuki’s heart is to be bullied by yuki’s fans. lol.  Machi not seeing yuki as a prince is her unique thing. Everybody including tohru see him as a prince & put him in a pedestal. In the play yuki descended from the sky, emerged from underground, said deep lines & glowed. Yet, machi saw thro the acting. I was cheering for yuki to step in & put these toxic girls at their place. Machi can be saved by kakeru’s indirect plan, sure, but this toxic behavior has been going since ep1. tohru was saved from them by hana & arisa. Bullying is always used as a plot device in furuba & unfortunately a comedic gag (there’s an entire ep dedicated for the fanclub). Sure furuba isn’t going to fix every issue or even provide solutions. It can’t. it shouldn’t. bullying is one hell of hard issue to solve. furuba wants to use bullying for plot. no problem. but also decides to comment on it quickly? yuki & kakeru’s argument abt the proper reaction towards bullying with each one of them taking an opposite opinion while machi herself is being bullied behind them felt too philosophical & untimely. Only for all this to end with a gag. Yuki is stuck paying the consequence cuz they’re his fans?.. ok. I’d love if the entire scene didn’t involve this argument. For example, yuki finding the girls, him listening to machi’s opinion abt him, him about to step in & defend her, then kakeru makes a prank abt photo-session with yuki, unknowingly saving the situation. Cuz the whole point of the scene is for yuki to know machi is different & sees the real him! Not that I hate how things played out, it is just furuba’s treatment of the issue of bullying is always weird to me. Similar to its treatment of violence, sometimes it’s serious, sometimes it’s comedy.

-Tohru’s best visual presentation ( show-NOT-tell): YES!

I’ve complained plenty abt furuba not treating tohru with enough visual presentation when it comes to hints for her issues or thoughts. but NOT today! This ep is tohru’s heaven! Tohru was torn apart between too many things & she didn’t inner monologue abt anything, YET, the visual imagery was enough to talk in her behalf!!! They showed tohru’s reaction to arisa, they showed tohru noticing haru/rin connection, they showed tohru react to Hana’s words without showing any of her inner thoughts & it works 100%. I’m so satisfied with this kind of treatment. You can show tons of silent emotions & trust the audience to make the correct conclusions without making your character spoon feed the audience on what they’re feeling. Hana’s “ do you plan to keep on deceiving yourself, locked in the castle, until you die?” is too close for comfort! it triggered kyo to react & say exactly his reasoning behind his decision without bringing the real world “ So what if I do? Does it hurt anyone else?” Kyo is sick of believing that he’s causing harm to his loved ones (mother, father, kazuma, kyoko, tohru). He agrees to be locked till death cuz this way no one will be harmed. ONLY him. he thinks he DESERVE it for existing & causing harm to these same ppl. His response prompts tohru to forget herself & react. What did tohru say? ( you are loved? you need to live? don’t hurt yourself? ) NO. It is NOT abt kyo. it IS abt HER!!! It is the (true form ) scene again but this time symbolically with 10 times harsher consequences!!! kyo’s true form’s final scene is NOT abt kyo deciding to stay, it IS abt tohru saying what she wants. That day tohru talked abt HERSELF. “ I want to listen to your complaints cuz u listened to me”. “ I want us to stay together” By demanding things & acknowledging herself, she got kyo to come back. This time, too, she react cuz SHE wants kyo to stay. “ I wouldn’t..” It is ME. I’ll be hurt if you’re locked. it is abt ME. I need you. I want you. I’m too scared to loose you. You’ve been my true support for long time now. Don’t Leave me, too!!!. Tohru stops herself cuz tohru doesn’t allow herself to want things or even acknowledge that she is worthy of things!! Just focus on her dialogue with others “ if I’m not troubling you, it is forward of me, please allow me” she’s talking to her friends! tohru has the lowest self esteem in furuba!

-Kyo, being an expert on reading tohru, knew the rest of the line. Kyo notices she’s in love with him. but again sinners don;t deserve love! You can’t love monsters? you’ll end up hurt!! hello!! tohru bled in the true form ep. he can’t hurt her again!!! NO way!! Enough causing her pain & tears. “ I wont take anything away from you again” he said in ep, 9. So, kyo forces himself to NOT see the truth. Forces his eyes to close tight. He’s an expert on that. Last ep, his eyes were forced to open to the reality that he doesn’t really hate yuki, but hates himself. Now, you want him to un-hate himself a little & acknowledge tohru’s love? if he did, where will it lead to? they’ll both confess & live together without him telling her abt kyoko?? that’s deceit! Him telling her abt kyko? she won’t forgive him, she’ll hate him! it is better to leave with happy memories than leave after causing tohru harm. Heck! tohru forgiving him or not IS not the issue, at all. the issue is HIM. he can’t forgive himself. he’s unforgivable!

-The most tragic Foreshadowing: (Symbolism DONE Right!)

They meet after the semi-confession, things are not the same anymore! they try to awkwardly get back to normal. Kyo says “ it couldn’t be, (I won’t let my self think it)” we know why. tohru says “ I wont (let my self think it)” WHY?!!! what is the show hiding for tohru? we know kyo’s issue. it is the BEST untold issue!! but tohru? What is stopping her more than her denying herself? it gotta be convincing & deep. otherwise, the writer would ruin the best complicated emotional dilemma that she is building her climax on! I know I’ll like what’s in store for tohru. No way such writer will miss on this. This will be EPIC. The tear between them is one of furuba’s greatest visual symbolism. One image only causing enough heartache to balance & take away the laughter from the entire ep!! One image leaving you with a punch in the gut. leaving you frustrated as to “Nooooooo~ stop! get back together”. I’m not usually into romance as I’m not a romantic person, but furuba has weaved this tale of emotionally abused children with traumatic experiences & tied them together with faint romantic direction & one of the best slow burns in anime! steadily building up their romantic connection without making it forced or in your face or apparent. I still can’t pinpoint when it first happened! Well-done writer & anime team. 10/10 scene!

Side Notes:

Narrator-san is the BEST! He kept everybody in check! & did it in style!

I’d like to thank the director for bringing their A+ animators to this ep! Kyo mostly looks hot & handsome but not HD, but there’s this kyo animator that kills the kyo animation!! kyo’d have three long strands of hair on his nose & his eyes would have more light animation than the mono-light. You can TELL the eps they bring this animator on! (such as Se01,Ep5, kagura ep, etc. ) & tohru!!!! my girl was done right!!!! no weird animation, no extra small baby hands, no shoulders that start around chest area, no bangs that are drawn like they suddenly ran out of brown ink mid coloring! lol. yuki is pretty & HD in every ep & so is hana!!

Hana is the prettiest furuba character hands down! 

Let’s be honest, yuki could’ve said 1+1=2 & the school would’ve celebrated his wisdom! XD. I kinda wish he’d deliberately say sth stupid jst for the heck of it. part of breaking the perfect yuki image. XD.

The opening gag of the men ogling kisa is the most unnecessary scene in furuba, eww~ Not funny!

why is every character MUST be part of romantic couple in furuba? Even children? & they have their own mini love complications with jealousy & misunderstanding, pinning & all. lol

Kazuma. that’s it. that’s the note.

Hana was mocking fiction tropes (animosity in families, traditions pressuring youth, helpless heroine, love at first sight! XD, romance for romance, happily ever after romance, main male protagonist loving main female protg, magical beings saving the day). Best play ever!

why does it feel like kyo just came from war? XD. He was in last ep. perhaps cuz he was absent for most of the season after kagura’s ep, with cameos here & there, few lines & not much focus. But they made up for it & brought his face expressions game up! from annoyed, cat ears, love struck, teased, blushing, a white cartoon-ish cat with an orange cat inside his mouth, shirtless hot, childish jealousy for his papa, his fangs, his cat reflexes. Name it & you bet there’s a kyo face for it. XD.

Speaking of funny faces, prince yuki got one today! all thanks to machi. that’s what I call women power! XD.

What is this weird skin-colored thingi? school mascot?

I love that hiro is questioning the play. XD

momiji is back, I feel that it’s been long as I last saw him!

haru is hot. Haru is kind.

I love the small awkward tension between kyo/tohru as they met after the play, tohru’s faint sweat drops as she does her closed eyes smile & kyo’s sweat drop as he takes the food from her & talks abt shisho.

Shisho & kyo mini manga. is it published yet?

kyo & hana’s interactions are life!!!! XD.

Ayame deserves praise! costumes on point!!

Hana wins the one liners game. sorry haru, XD.

You know it is serious when kyo monologues! I used to think, it happens ONCE a season (ture form SE01,Ep24, akito confrontation, SE02,Ep,9)!! but he got one or two inner monologues lines today, if you count him repeating tohru’s line! Sh*t is going down! Will I hear more before the season ends???!! or will the honor goes to tohru?!! I can’t even imagine what’ll happen next!!!!

[daggerzine]

The Simon Provencher interview (by Tom Murphy)

Simon Provencher is perhaps best known for his frenetic and creative guitar work for the post-punk band VICTIME out of Québec. But on March 26, 2021 the musician released his debut EP Mesures via Michel Records. It is six tracks of free jazz collages that bear favorable comparison to the avant-garde compositions of Anthony Braxton as Provencher makes creative and playful use of clarinet, electric guitar, percussion and processing to convey a strong sense of mood and place while making one very aware of aspects of the environment around us we often tune out. In pairing aspects of exploratory jazz and musique concrète, Provencher has given us an album that is both soothing and keeps us grounded in the present. The composer and musician recently answered some questions we presented to him via email about the nature of his music, its inspirations and methods of crafting its elegantly evocative passages.

 Dagger Zine (Tom Murphy): Mesures will probably hit some people's ears as akin to a free jazz or spontaneous composition type of record. How did you approach putting together these songs and experimenting with sound compared with maybe how you do with VICTIME?

Simon Provencher: People wouldn’t be wrong in these assumptions at all. Mesures is a record that was written very quickly. I decided to trust my first instincts for much of the record. With VICTIME, our approach has always been more iterative. By that I mean that we’ll loop “embryonic” parts over and over again, slowly changing elements, morphing the composition until we found ourselves happy with how everything sounded together. I’m still very much into this way of writing, but Mesures was a much more immediate affair.

For me, inspiration almost always comes from timbre, usually through loads of guitar pedals. In this case though, I wanted to see what sounds and textures I could get out of the electric guitar without using any external effects or even amplification. Timbre was still my main concern, but in a more subtle way I guess. I slightly detuned the strings and experimented with resonances, chord shapes, finger placement, fingernails, etc. I also “prepared” the guitar: I jammed objects between the strings and tied sewing thread to the strings (if you pinch the thread with slightly wet fingers and slide them around, you get eerie, reverse-like effects).

Enough about me though, another big change was that this record was made remotely with two new collaborators, Elyze Venne-Deshaies (clarinet) and Olivier Fairfield (percussion). Both of them had “carte blanche” (pardon my french) to do whatever they wanted. I can’t speak much to their personal approach to improvisation, but both of them are seasoned veterans and delivered absolutely amazing performances.

 D: Some people might think of any kind of music declared experimental is a barrier to its acceptance but your album seems to me very accessible as a form of pure expression. Do you have a sense of why your songs seem so open and, as one reviewer put it, welcoming?

 S: I don’t quite know actually. I do agree that the songs have a certain softness to them that was certainly somewhat intentional. When I did the initial guitar parts, I did set out to make something conventionally “beautiful”, or at least “not harsh”. I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe what happened there, but the resonances, repetitions and patterns definitely implied a soft mood from the get go.

I guess this foundation inspired Elyze and Olivier to also play with softer tones, to approach the music with warmth and subtlety in mind. They really “got” the vibe of the music without me ever telling them anything about my intentions. A “shift” of some kind happened when the clarinet parts were added to the drums and guitars. I felt like the mood of the pieces almost completely changed (in a positive way, of course). I think there’s something to the linearity of Elyze and Olivier’s playing, in contrast with the repetitive, hypnotic guitars that gives the music a sense of wandering aimlessness which I really love.

On the audio engineering side, I did intentionally mix the songs with a certain softness in mind. We added some warm tape saturation to some of the sounds and carved out a lot of higher frequencies. On the songs with feedback and noise, Simon Labelle, who mastered the record, made it so that when the clarinets get louder, the high-frequency content ducks out of the way a little bit. This nifty little trick does help out a lot with making the noisy songs more warm and inviting too.

 D: Listening through the album I found it resonated with the albums of Anthony Braxton and Ornette Coleman. The former of which never considered his music part of jazz though he is often associated with that form of music and the latter who expanded the range, dynamics and tonal choices of jazz. Were you inspired by in any way by those forms of abstract yet emotionally expressive music? How might you describe its impact on what you've done?

S: I totally was! I discovered Anthony Braxton through Québec jazz guitar great René Lussier. I’ve been a fan of Le Trésor de la Langue for a while and I got into his back catalog last year: his collaborations with Fred Frith, EAI stuff and more, some of which was released on “Les Disques Victo”. “Victo” stands for Victoriaville, a small city between Quebec and Montreal, where there’s a great contemporary music festival named FIMAV. Shamefully, I haven’t actually been to FIMAV yet, but I’ve loved finding recordings of some amazing concerts, a favourite being Anthony Braxton and Derek Bailey’s 1987 Moment Précieux. I was amazed to find out about this rich local history of musical experimentation and improvisation. This record was very much inspired by the whole FIMAV sound.

Coleman is another great point of reference. His records and those of his collaborators, Don Cherry being another big one, all are major inspirations. As a guitar player, I especially got into James “Blood” Ulmer’s career. I really admire his approach to guitar and the immediacy and expressiveness of his music.

 I’m probably paraphrasing it all wrong, but Don Cherry said of Ornette Coleman’s “harmolodic” approach that instead of improvising from chords, like in bebop, you’d start with melodies and improvise to create new forms, harmonies, rhythms to try and reach a certain “brilliance” as he calls it. You’d try to make the music transcend. In harmolodic theory, melody, rhythm and harmony are treated as equals, no solos, no lead and accompaniment dichotomy, no strict timing, scale or tonality.

This is both quite simple but also quite hard to actually grasp in a musical setting, and I’m far from mastering any of it, nor is it necessarily something I strive for, but it is an inspiring way to conceive improvised music for sure.

 D: The first half of the album you make great use of what sounds like atonal melodies yet they perfectly convey the mood and lend a sense of texture. What informed employing those sounds in the songwriting?

S: I’ve always written music without much regard for tonality, key, etc. My musical background is still very much anchored in No Wave and noise music, where skronky chords and weird, unstable melodies are the norm rather than the exception. When playing, I really don’t think much about it, I follow what sounds good to me in the moment.

Looking back on the recorded music though, I feel like there is a lot of nuance to be found in atonality and imperfection. Detuned chords ringing out have such complex and interesting decaying resonances, you can almost hear the frequencies battling each other. These interactions between notes and lines that fall just short of resolving are part of the magic and intrigue of abstract music. In the case of Mesures, I think there’s something special with how some of the atonal, out of tune textures and weird synths clash beautifully with the in-tune clarinet parts, making either one “pop out” depending on where you focus your attention.

 D: The second half or at least the second three songs on the album use processed drones and what some might call noise underneath or in the background, although very much a presence in the mix, of the clarinets? What do you feel this almost contrast in sounds conveyed that say a more conventional arrangement might not?

The second half of the record is basically a rearrangement of the first three songs. There’s four clarinet parts in there! On the first side, they fade in and out of focus, but on side B, everything is there all at once.

This is basically the result of me simply “soloing” the clarinet takes in my DAW (Digital Audio Workstation, the software used to arrange and mix the music). When I heard the four clarinets at once, I really fell in love with the sound.

 So I knew I wanted this to be the focal point of the rearrangement, and I knew I wanted to add something. I just happened to be working with feedback that week, so it kind of fell in place. Feedback manipulation was a technical interest first, I had gotten a new guitar pedal called a Feedback Looper, which sends some of your output signal back into the input of a series of pedals. This creates self-oscillating and rich, detailed noises that are somewhat interactive and malleable. By turning some knobs and flicking some switches on ordinary guitar pedals, you end up with an infinite amount of possible glitches and shrieking high frequency tones.

I don’t know if my ears got accustomed to it or what, but I’ve come to really enjoy the sound of this process. I also really love the tactile aspect of it, it feels kind of like an unpredictable modular synthesizer. When I had recorded the feedback improvisation, which I did in one single take, I thought this sparse, harsh rearrangement was a nice contrast with the more warm, conventional first three songs. At that point, the record felt complete.

 D: The final three songs also remind me of Philip Glass in his soundtrack work wherein he mixes the playful and flowing with the dissonant. How would you say these sounds complement each other in your own music?

S: Especially on this release, while there are a lot of sounds that are contrasting with each other, I also feel like there is a sense of shared directionality. The song Et quart is a good example of this. The high feedback notes start out in almost complete opposition to the meandering low clarinet lines, but, as the song progresses, the sounds somehow seem to merge with each other and they end up flowing in the same direction for the song’s climax.

 D: What are some other artists operating now that you find interesting and/or inspirational and resonant with what you're doing?

There’s way too many to name them all, but I’ll try! I think there’s a very interesting local-ish scene around me. I admire the work of N NAO, either her solo releases or her collaborations with Joni Void. Sarah Pagé does mind-bending music with harp and effects; I’ve had the pleasure of catching her live in Ottawa just before the pandemic started last year. Kara-Lys Coverdale is also a major inspiration, so is Kee Avil, whose live show and guitar playing blew me away.

I also need to shout out my friend (and bandmate) Mathieu A. Seulement, whose end-year list allowed me to catch up on a lot of fantastic new music, including, but not limited to Ana Roxane’s Because of a Flower, Jasmine Guffond’s Microphone Permission, Caterina Barbieri’s Ecstatic Computation and, last but not least, Holly Herndon’s magnificent Proto.

  **the three Simon photos were taken by Charlotte Savoie

www.simonprovencher.bandcamp.com 

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Riding carriages around the camp

For arts and crafts week we've been building carriages and testing them out. Edie, Jamila, Easton, and Anissa have come to visit the camp and help us build these fun rides. So not only we get to build a bunch of cool stuff, we also have a new appreciation for the beautiful scenery - an unexpected but super sweet bonus!

It's so good to see Edie and the others again after so long. The trip is kinda a big deal for Anissa as it's not easy for her to travel. Edie and Jamila reached out to me a few months ago to plan this outing, leaving things as open as possible in case something happens with Anissa.

The building carriages event was something separate that was kinda a spontaneous thing that happened to line up perfectly with the visit. Jamila and Edie love working on big projects together while Easton and Anissa help out so they were excited when I told them about arts and crafts week. Also, riding the carriages was a good way to get around the camp as well as explore outside the usual hangout spots.

I was (still am) surprised when Jamila messaged me and wanted to take Anissa out here. Out of all the places she could have gone, Anissa instead chose the camp. She had once told Jamila that she'd wanted to visit the camp someday and that they probably would've done it by now if it wasn't for her. That conversation stuck with Jamila for a long time and when things took a turn for Anissa, Jamila, Edie, and Easton wanted to make the most out of the time they have left with her.

Edie has been friends with Anissa and Jamila since they for as long as they can remember. During the summer the twins would join the Sperry family on their yearly trip to Edie's grandma's farm, which holds many of their favorite childhood memories. During the school year Edie was a frequent guest at the Amine household and the three would play together for hours, letting their imagination run wild. There, Edie was allowed to be carefree and not have to deal with constant criticism from her father.

As Edie got older, she became part of the Amine family. She and Anissa were often in the same class so they stuck together a lot. Jamila didn't mind being the third wheel as she was happy to be doing her own thing at home while the other two often went out and about. Even though it didn't look like it to the grown ups, Jamila never felt like she was left behind.

Then Easton came along and he too became an honorary member of the Amine family. The girls were ten when he was born, the youngest and only son in the Sperry family. Easton was born missing half his left leg so he wears a prosthetic and other than his father, everyone else treats him like normal. Out of all the siblings, he's the closest to Edie, always tagging along with her.

For a while every day was pretty much the same. Edie, Anissa, and Jamila would walk home from school, sometimes stopping by the Sperry house to bring Easton along if Edie's mom had her hands full. The three would do their homework while the twins's mom watched over Easton. Then Edie and Anissa would usually be playing on the tire swing while Jamila knitted on the porch and played with Easton. Sometimes Edie would bring her banjo along and played some songs while the twins sang along, a highlight during summer nights at the farm.

Their favorite thing to do together was playing pretend in the attic because everyone had something to do, even Easton. The girls would often pretend to be accomplished women with successful lives full of adventure. Anissa was the one with the most creative imagination, often making up funny stories that would leave the others rolling on the floor with laughter. She was great at improvising with Easton, who was happy to join in on the fun.

When the girls were twelve, Anissa's life changed forever. The girls were playing pretend as usual when Anissa complained about a headache that quickly grew worse. She was rushed to the hospital and in Jamila's words, that was the last time she and Edie saw the old Anissa. A blood vessel had burst in Anissa's brain, resulting in a stroke that left Anissa comatose for several days.

While the damage from the stroke was not as extensive as initially feared, Anissa was no longer the same. Edie and Jamila were determined to bring back the old Anissa, only to be disappointed when they got their hopes up too high. Anissa was still set on marching to the beat of her own drum, trying to prove her independence whenever she could, which further convinced Jamila and Edie that she was going to make a full recovery. It took a long time for the girls to accept that things would never go back to normal.

The whole ordeal made Edie and Jamila closer than ever. Edie would help the family care for Anissa and in turn lift Anissa's spirits up. When Anissa got stronger, Edie would bring Easton along and he too provided some much needed sunshine during a difficult time.  Edie's mom and sisters helped out a lot as well, making sure that the Amines were doing all right.

Edie, Jamila, and Anissa have always been a tight knit group. Although Anissa was made strides in her recovery, the effects of the stroke still linger. Jamila and Edie became Anissa's caretakers when the three moved in together, living about twenty minutes away from their old neighborhood. Both families agreed that it was good to give Anissa some degree of independence as by then she could take care of herself for most part and didn't need constant supervision.

In recent years, various complications arose, which was expected but that didn't make it any easier. Anissa was well known at the hospital as she was a miracle. She beat the odds not only by surviving but also by living. What happened to her was rare - her doctor told that in the hospital's two hundred year history, only three other kids suffered from the same condition. One died on the way to the hospital, another slipped into a coma and never woke up, and one lived for two years before suffering from another stroke. No matter what happens, at least one thing's certain - Anissa always marches to the beat of her own drum.

Anissa for the most part managed to live a somewhat independent life. She got her GED, was able to relearn various skills like playing the piano, reading, and cooking, - all which she documented on her blog: Searching for Anissa.

When I started making plans with Jamila and Edie, I later found myself re-reading Searching for Anissa. Reading the stories of the girls, from the recollections of simpler days in the farm to the struggles of everyday life - it's such a fascinating read. The blog's more like a memoir that's a work in progress with Anissa writing her thoughts out and Jamila and Edie contributing by filling in some of the gaps and sharing their own memories.

The blog hasn't been updating regularly for a couple years because life's been getting in the way. But this year Anissa's hoping to post something at least once a week as she wants to keep writing while she still can. In the past year she's had two mini strokes so her hands don't work as well anymore, making it difficult for her to do a lot of things. While she's sad that she can't type anymore, Anissa found it therapeutic to say her thoughts out loud as it helped her accept what lies ahead for her. In turn, her blog posts have been a lot more free flowing as she contemplates her uncertain future.

For now everyone's doing their best to make sure Anissa's comfortable. She's been doing well physically so that's good. Good thing we have carriages so Anissa can explore the camp and enjoy the scenery. Also, Jamila, Edie, and Easton had a lot of fun building the carriage as well as taking it out for a spin at Breezy Hollow.

At times it seemed like the camp was being taken over by carriages. We even managed to make a train by attaching a bunch of carriages together, which was a really fun way to travel! First, we visited the meadow where Jamila knitted a blanket and Edie took out her banjo. Since the weather was a bit chilly I wasn't sure how long we were gonna stay there but thanks to Jamila's blanket, we ended up hanging around for a while.

Then we went down the trail by the mountains, which went surprisingly smoothly as the carriages went by with little difficulty. At the forest we split up into two groups with Daisy Jane, Edie, and Easton going for a short hike in the mountains while I stayed with the twins. Anissa admired the scenery, taking in the sights, sounds, and textures around her while Jamila began knitting another blanket, creating intricate patterns with ease.

Something about the way Jamila knits makes me want to grab some yarn and needles and join her - which is why Edie and Easton have picked up the hobby too. I think it's because she makes it look so inviting, like a fun bonding activity if you want to spend some quality one on one time with someone. The way she knits - on one hand it's like she's a machine because of how much she's able to do in a short time, but on the other hand she totally gives off the vibe of someone who shows appreciation through thoughtful, handmade gifts that she puts her heart and soul into.

After that we passed through Shovelstrike Quarry, OK Motors, and Lost Lure Creek. At Saltwater Shores we hung out at the beach and set up a barbecue. It was too cold to go swimming but we sorta went boating with a carriage built by Whitney and Rolf that can travel on water. The barbecue was a good way to keep warm as it got pretty cold around midday.

Daisy Jane and I cuddled up in our new blankets that Jamila surprised us with. I swear, her hands are like magic when it comes to knitting! While she started another knitting project, Anissa and Easton took a walk down the beach and Edie played her banjo. Later the others joined us by the fire pit for a fun singalong and impromptu concert.

We were planning to head back to the main camp when Anissa said she was feeling up to seeing more of the camp. Since the day was still young and the weather was warming up a bit, we decided to head to Sunburst Island. Anissa got to sit back and enjoy the sunshine while the rest of us harvested coconuts and went bug catching.

Around evening we headed back to the camp, where the campers set up a bonfire to warm things up. Whitney, Goldie, and Rolf went foraging in the forest while testing out their carriages so they found a lot of tea leaves that were perfect for a chilly night like this. After a busy day of riding carriages around the camp, it was nice to cozy up in front of the fire with a warm cup of tea.

Tomorrow will be more of the same - testing out more carriages and exploring different parts of the camp. Thankfully the weather's gonna be much warmer so that gives us even more of an excuse to go sightseeing!

[kiruuuuu]

Kapkan/Glaz sequel in which the Spetsnaz go swimming and some... get wetter than others. (Rating E, explicit, ~4.2k words) - The sequel to this oneshot!

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Glaz’ pencil travels over the thick paper, leaving behind graphite traces which form a whole not yet, but soon. His mind’s eye is closed as he draws exclusively with his physical ones, captures shadows as he sees them and dips and valleys the way they appear before him. Over the soothing practice, he forgets all about the oppressing heat reigning unchecked once more – a few weeks, they were graced with respite from this British record summer, but now it’s returned full force and with a vengeance. Still, it’s easy to leave it behind when he can focus on his favourite hobby. Even if his teammates make it mighty difficult to concentrate.

“Make sure to get me from my best side”, Tachanka rumbles, self-satisfied with the attention he’s receiving.

“Bird’s eye view?”, Fuze guesses from the pool, shit-eating grin immediately extinguished by getting dunked underwater by Kapkan.

“One more unqualified comment like that and I’ll demonstrate why my nickname during training was freight train.”

Their bickering has been going on all day, fuelled by frustration over the heatwave – not even the trip to the SAS-owned pool has managed to lift their spirits significantly. They’re more prickly than usual instead of just lethargic and Glaz knows exactly why. “In German, they’d call your best side your ‘chocolate side’. Marius told me when I sketched his Magpie”, he informs the other three, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat and maybe even switch topics.

“Any side of his is his chocolate side”, states Kapkan, deadpan, and finally allows Fuze to breathe again. “If you didn’t get it – I’m talking about your lovehandles.”

“Shut up or I’ll shove that pool noodle where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Glaz sighs inwardly. He’d been looking forward to lounging by the pool in peace, dip in and out to cool off and get some exercise without ending up panting like he’d just run a marathon, and maybe catch a few glimpses. Just a few. He asked about sketching and stormy eyes locked with his for a split second which felt like forever, and Glaz’ mind already provided ample inspiration, excuses for a specific pose, daydreams and a whole lot more unbidden imagery… but then those grey irises slid away again in disinterest. Whether feigned or not, Glaz couldn’t tell.

Tachanka was the one who volunteered eventually, and instead of relaxing around the people he knows best in this passionless country, Glaz is now stretched out on a chair by the side of the pool, studying the old man’s physique and listening to the other three bicker.

“You can try. I’ve seen you in the water once, and you swim the way you fight – like a tank.”

Kapkan probably thinks his derision comes across as good-natured mockery instead of biting venom. He’s lucky they all have thick skin or one of them would’ve retaliated much more harshly than they tend to do, and a pissed-off Spetsnaz is nothing to scoff at. He has these days when he sharpens his claws on them, like an animal: honing his fangs on his kin, and though he recoils upon a pained sound, he’s planning his next attack nonetheless. Glaz has noticed this since day one – Kapkan carries himself like a predator, watching, assessing, waiting.

He takes himself much too seriously, but a personal jab with no harm intended only would serve to rile him up further instead of prompting a relieved smile.

“I was carrying all my gear. I’d like to see you try to continue your water ballet with Glaz on your shoulders.”

“Hey, you don’t get to watch the show and complain about it!”, Fuze protests. He’s been vainly attempting to gain the upper hand for half an hour now and really should’ve known better than to ask Kapkan of all people to help him improve his hand to hand in water. They all know Kapkan is merciless and not above humiliating his opponent, as showcased by the fact that Kapkan’s hair isn’t even wet and Fuze must’ve swallowed a litre of chlorinated water by now.

“No one would pay money to watch you drown for an hour, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t move so much”, Glaz mutters and instantly regrets drawing attention to himself, because even Fuze and Kapkan cease their wet struggling to regard him curiously.

Tachanka is the one who seems to say what everyone’s thinking: “You’re suspiciously quiet today, lad.”

That’s just my seething fury coupled with the frustration of being disappointed every day, no worries, Glaz thinks and unconsciously glances over at Kapkan, who returns his gaze calmly. “I’m concentrating. Besides, shouldn’t we go back? Our hide-and-seek excuse won’t buy us another hour.”

It’s become an inside joke at Rainbow at this point – an unspoken yet silently agreed upon rule states that once a month, each team is allowed the claim to wanting to improve their navigational skills and sense of perception by utilising the natural terrain of the English countryside. In short: they tell Six they’re basically playing hide and seek so they can go out and do whatever for a few hours. The GIGN have used it to bake a surprise cake for Harry (whose vegan lifestyle makes it difficult to buy cakes for him), the Americans snuck off to Skype with their families on Thanksgiving, and the Germans prepared a barbecue plus an improvised bouncy castle for the 15th of October, when Rainbow celebrates six birthdays all falling into the same week. And today, the Spetsnaz used it to splash around in the SAS-owned pool on base.

Time well spent.

“You’re right. Don’t forget to clean up or it’ll draw suspicion”, Tachanka reminds them and rises from his sunbed like a corpse from a stretcher, complete with groans of the dead and joints popping. “I’ll even help, that’s how refreshed I feel.”

“And the fighting was my idea”, Fuze chimes in between coughs, cheeks reddened and looking wholly miserable, “so I’ll do it.”

Next to him, Kapkan is unfazed by their tussle and surfaces from the pool not even out of breath, rivulets of water running down his torso and making his skin glisten in the indirect sun beams falling in from the skylights. He’s… distracting, and therefore Glaz reacts entirely too late to his teammate joining him and pointing at the sketchbook in his lap. “Can I see?”

Unfortunately, he’s dripping all over it or else Glaz might’ve considered his question, but he’s had one too many books with him out in the rain or the snow and knows how ugly the damage looks on the pages afterwards, so he nearly flings it off into the distance with how vehemently he yanks it aside, and merely hisses a curse in preparation of telling Kapkan off for being this careless.

It’s just -

The only thing that leaves Glaz’ lips is an English: “Fuck me.”

And, well. He overheard someone else use it, probably Twitch or IQ when they burnt their hands, and then he noticed others saying it and though it’s been dancing on his tongue for days, apparently now his brain decided it was time to finally birth it.

Kapkan looks like he slapped him.

“Watch the fucking language”, Tachanka admonishes him with a wide grin. “Someone might think you’re an actual adult, Glazkov.”

His cheeks are killing him, they’re hotter than the air outside and getting flustered now will certainly look suspicious. “Just be more careful. Okay?”, he mumbles into his beard, directed at a thunderstruck Kapkan whose expression is inscrutable.

“You two can go ahead, we got this”, Fuze informs them and this seems to tear the very wet and almost-naked man in front of Glaz out of his stupor.

“Oh, I – I can take over for you. I’ll clean. You go.”

And now Glaz really wishes he had slapped him. What a perfectly obvious excuse to not end up alone with him. Before he gets a chance to drop a cutting remark of his own, Tachanka voices what everyone’s thinking: “You shit in somebody’s cereal, or why don’t you want to go back to base? You need to be forced to tidy usually.”

Fishing for justifications, Kapkan lamely defends himself by claiming he still has something to make up to Fuze – which is likely, yet no reason for him to choose cleaning over lazing about some more – and Glaz has to fight the urge to strangle him. That is, until he realises two can play this game.

“I’ll stay, too”, he announces and suppresses a laugh at how quickly Kapkan’s head snaps in his direction. “I can let my pages dry out in the sun. We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“And this why you’ve always been my favourite. Show me your masterpiece in a bit, alright?” Tachanka slaps him on the back approvingly and then heads off in Fuze’s company, the two of them discussing actual strategies about fighting underwater instead of beating the Uzbek up unhelpfully.

A stony silence settles in, making Glaz’ stomach cramp. The other Russian towels himself dry while he puts the chairs away and gathers the supplies they’ll need – there’s not much to do, the pool is being used daily and as long as they mop up all the splashed water, they should be good. Everything is done wordlessly, fuelling the awkwardness causing Glaz to drop whatever he’s holding twice, and it keeps getting worse.

Why have you been avoiding me, he doesn’t say, though he really wants to. We can pretend nothing happened. We can go back.

He could. With difficulty, but he could. If only he knew what was up. But working up the courage is impossible, he’s failed for weeks already and with a friendship on the line, with possibly more -

Kapkan chuckles. The low sound manages to pierce the spiral Glaz is sending himself down and interrupts his thoughts. “They really do have fucking pool noodles here. What on earth do they do with these?”

The supply closet indeed provides a variety of colourful foam noodles, even a deflated alligator and a beach ball. It seems they aren’t the only ones to use this facility for purely recreational purposes. “All I’m picturing now is Seamus wearing floaties.”

His comment earns him an amused snort and the ice is finally broken. They share a grin and Glaz’ relief must show on his face. “I almost want to go back in and ride this crocodile.”

“Or go dive for some of these rings.” Suddenly, Glaz gets an idea when he spots a hoop, reminding him of a dolphin show he once saw. “Hey, you think I could jump through this one?”

“No way. You’re too fat.”

Hilarious. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“Easy. Take a running start and jump through without touching the edges, you win. Otherwise, I win. I’ll even hold it up for you.”

“What are the stakes?”

This is where he wanted to land and Kapkan gladly followed him, possibly knowing full well where this was headed. They eye each other up. “A favour”, Kapkan suggests and couldn’t have been more vague.

Even so. Glaz likes where this is going. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He rids himself of his shirt and places all valuable belongings safely out of reach, encouraging Kapkan to do the same, and then walks a good distance away from the pool where Kapkan is standing, holding up the hoop expectantly. And it’d be so easy to win the bet and be owed a favour – so many possibilities. He’d be hard pressed to choose and already, his imagination is providing idea after idea, one more tempting than the next…

Then a whole other prospect enters his mind. It’d be even easier to lose. And end up at Kapkan’s mercy.

He starts jogging, building up speed, gaze fixed on the hoop until Kapkan’s is as well, the other man waiting to see whether the object will wobble from impact, no matter how small, ready to pass judgement on whether he won or lost -

- and then Glaz collides with him and shoves him into the pool.

The splash is extremely satisfying, almost as good as Kapkan’s brief grimace of surprise, shock, and betrayal as he sails through the air, flailing. Glaz almost laughs, gets out a bird-like noise of entertainment before it devolves into a shriek as Kapkan shoots back out of the pool like a crocodile himself, having spotted his prey by the shore, and the next thing Glaz knows are hands around his calves – no, one hand, the other somehow manages to land on his ass but the result is the same, they yank him in together with his previous victim.

Compared to the suffocating humidity outside, the water is refreshingly cool and punches through his consciousness like a shot of caffeine injected directly into his bloodstream, yet what makes the experience all the more powerful are the strong arms enveloping him in a tight embrace. Too tight, he was half on an exhale when going under and wants to swim up but Kapkan doesn’t let him, cradles him close and makes no move to swim to the surface, so Glaz starts struggling. Panic sets in and when he reaches down to pinch Kapkan’s inner thigh as hard as he can, large air bubbles escape the other man’s mouth. At least it’s successful: they rise.

“Fuck”, he spits out when he can breathe can, coughs and coughs into Kapkan’s face because suddenly, he’s too close and did he just try to kiss Glaz while he’s still recovering from nearly drowning? “What are you -”

It was a mistake putting his hand anywhere between Kapkan’s legs. The iron grip around his wrist hurts, even underwater, and his hand is uncomfortably pressed against the other Russian’s swimming trunks. Glaz moves his fingers to not cramp up and oh, hello. At least this time Kapkan’s dick isn’t being shoved into his face. The next attempt is successful and cold lips move against his, hurried, forceful, and then Glaz’ back hits the side of the pool with Kapkan’s body caging him in.

He should’ve known it would be unceremonious like this, the byproduct of a struggle, a line crossed stumbling instead of deliberately stepping over it. “Ask me”, he gasps and gives in, obliges: his fingers wrap around the flesh swelling despite the coolness of the water and he deepens the kiss. But not for long. He won’t be the passive party in this, and he demonstrates it by biting down on a lower lip.

“Like that”, Kapkan purrs against his chest and begins moving his hips against Glaz’ hand, the motion slow and almost sensual. He’s in a world of his own, thinking he’s won a prize of, well, something, thinking he’ll finally get… what? An awkward handjob by someone he was too cowardly to ask outright?

“Ask me”, Glaz repeats with more emphasis and feels his own body react. And how could it not, with a body mirroring his own in strength and build, with Kapkan panting in his ear and forcing his fist to remain where it is so he can fuck it. His fury has evaporated, was probably fed by the underlying anxiousness of quietly getting rejected, but now that it’s quite obvious Kapkan wants the same thing he does, all that’s left is stubbornness. That, and the desire to make Kapkan admit it.

He’s a match, though. Just as pig-headed.

And so, when he still hasn’t said anything else after more aborted kisses, Glaz tightens his grip, tightens it until Kapkan goes very, very still. His eyes are gorgeous up close. Glaz wants to feel him inside so badly, he momentarily forgets what he was doing and revels in the fantasy until a tongue dragging over his mouth catapults him back into the present.

“Suck me”, Kapkan whispers amid the soft gurgling of the waves they’re producing

Jesus fucking Christ. Glaz twirls them around with an annoyed sigh and, while wrestling the other man out of his shorts, hisses: “Why’d it take so fucking long?” All that Kapkan offers is an uncertain look as if he had mild doubts about what he just demanded, but they seem to dissipate as soon as Glaz lifts him out of the water. “Lie back.”

Wordlessly, Kapkan obeys, sits down on the edge, lower legs still dangling in the water, and leans backwards, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. His cock is proudly jutting straight up into the air, wet and dark and delicious, and in one fell swoop, Glaz captures its head between his lips.

They don’t have much time. He’ll have to make this quick.

Under the taste of chlorine, there’s skin and Kapkan, and he savours the taste on his tongue as he swirls it around the tip generously. Having draped himself over his friend’s thighs, his weight holds Kapkan down which turns out to be necessary as he’s pushy. His hips twitch and tilt, try to thrust upwards further into Glaz’ mouth and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a hand on his head pushing down.

Somehow, he manages to free himself and glare at his dishevelled friend, flushed and beautiful and flustered – and if it was any other situation, one where time wasn’t of the essence, he’d let Kapkan do whatever he wants. But not now. “I’ll bite”, he warns him seriously, “stop that shit. Behave.”

A curse is his response, but Kapkan obliges and withdraws his arm, and then throws his head back with another swear as Glaz swallows him whole. The flesh is piping hot and rock hard, just like Glaz’ own, and he sucks it down like it’s made of sugar, opens his throat, lets the tip hit the back of it. It pains him that he can’t relish in finally doing this, but hearing all these surprised grunts and sharp breaths has its own merit – not even the cool water can calm the vicious pulsing between Glaz’ legs and he idly tongues the ridge of Kapkan’s glans, wondering what it’d feel like inside him.

When he gets down to business, he can feel Kapkan’s muscles twitching and drinks in every hiss whenever he sucks hard. He’s not teasing anymore, instead bobbing his head in a relatively fast rhythm, using his tongue to exploit that sensitive spot on the underside and massaging the balls with one hand, squeezing out moan after moan. Kapkan is loud, much louder than he expected, and very appreciative. He seems to melt under Glaz’ ministrations and actually relaxes into the stimulation which is, well, lovely, but not goal-oriented. They need to be back in twenty, maybe fifteen minutes. And thanks to Glaz’ stunt earlier, they’ll need to clean up a second time.

He pulls off the cock in his mouth with a wet noise and once again addresses his friend: “Come on. I want to feel you pulsing in my throat.”

It’s more forthright than he’d normally be, but circumstances necessitate it. Not like Kapkan seems to mind, if the scandalised yet intrigued expression is anything to go by – he also tenses up noticeably as Glaz takes him back in to the hilt, stomach muscles fluttering and contracting when Glaz reaches up to gently rub over an erect nipple. “Filthy mouth”, Kapkan rumbles and lets out an echoing moan when his nipple is twisted between two fingers. He’s so hot. Glaz wishes he could blow him for hours, but alas. “Never would’ve guessed you’re that perverted. Go deeper. Yes.”

Glaz nearly chokes himself on Kapkan’s dick with no regrets and increases the tempo, sucks even harder and deprives himself of oxygen, and the pay-off is worth it. With another loud groan, Kapkan shudders, his entire body going taut, and his cock throbs in Glaz’ mouth, shooting out bitter liquid in spurts, in time with soft rolls of his hips. He finally made him come, finally blew him to completion and it was everything he hoped for. Watching Kapkan’s expression slip from need to utter bliss is as satisfying as he’d hoped, and he gladly swallows around the erection clogging his throat.

When he pulls free again, his friend is lying flat on the tiles, breathing hard and contemplating existence. He looks shattered, more spent than after a training session and Glaz would really like to hug him. Instead, he instinctively reaches down and grabs his neglected cock, harder than it’s been for weeks (since the day he made an implicit bet with Kapkan and went to bed early, dreaming up scenarios similar to this one). Right in front of him, a naked Kapkan is recovering from what looks like to have been a mind-blowing orgasm, and as Glaz takes him all in, marvels at his form, the softening dick gives a last feeble twitch.

Shit.

Okay, he’ll be quick.

He discards his own swimwear, just leaves it floating away, and lifts himself out of the water. Kapkan has barely time to react before Glaz is straddling him, trying not to cream himself from the skin contact alone, and as revenge for all the shoving previously, Glaz guides one of his friend’s hands between their naked bodies. “Do it”, he prompts quietly, desperation colouring his voice and Kapkan must’ve noticed or else he might not have complied so fast. Calloused fingers close around Glaz’ shaft and dear god, this will be an embarrassingly quick affair.

Kapkan wastes no time and jerks him fast from the get-go, almost brutal (probably how he himself likes it and the thought causes Glaz’ knees to go weak), and it’s not only water droplets hitting Kapkan’s flat belly now. The sudden intense stimulation has Glaz whimpering and fighting it, wanting more or maybe less, who’s to say – certainly not his short-circuited mind. He barely has the brain capacity left to suck Kapkan’s other middle finger into his mouth but he does notice his friend’s eyes darkening upon the realisation.

When the finger enters him, he buries his face in the crook of Kapkan’s neck and moans. He imagines it’s Kapkan himself, pictures them rolling around on a mattress with all the time in the world, harsh thrusts and nails raking over his back and Kapkan stares into his soul as he pumps load after load into him, and Glaz is moving his hips now, grinding down against Kapkan’s hand and he doesn’t care how fucking needy he must seem because he wants this. The hand on his cock is merciless, the speed unwavering and it’s flirting with being too much – there’s vague pain there but isn’t that normal, where Kapkan is concerned?

The digit inside buries itself even deeper and brushes over his sweet spot which he rewards with a whine, so Kapkan does it again and again, and with several weeks’ worth of anticipation, with the memory of a hard dick poking his cheek, with Kapkan’s taste still on his tongue, Glaz is shoved over the edge. He shivers violently, isn’t even sure what kind of noise escapes his lips as his climax shakes him to the core, traps him in ecstasy for half an eternity during which he’s hardly aware of anything around him – and when he realises he’s coming all over Kapkan’s chest while his friend is milking him expertly enough to prolong his orgasm, it’s another half. Kapkan lets him ride it out and brings him down gently, doesn’t overdo it and withdraws when Glaz puts a hand on his wrist.

Glaz’ relief is overwhelming and lasts throughout his afterglow: a minute or two during which he sits up, calms his racing heartbeat and inspects the mess he made on pale skin before him. They finally did it. And Kapkan doesn’t even look like he regrets it. He… looks like nothing, really, expression empty as he doesn’t even move to wipe the semen off him, and doubts slowly begin to overtake the pleasant exhaustion in Glaz’ bones.

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks meekly and feels silly, perched on top of another man who had his finger inside him mere minutes ago, and yet he’s not confident enough to just lean down and do it.

Kapkan examines him attentively. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You made it weird a long time ago.”

Visibly uncomfortable with the topic, Kapkan drags him down with enough force to make their teeth click, and though the angle is odd and their noses are in the way, the gesture counts. Glaz feels his muscles relax during the brief kiss and smiles as he comes back for air. When Kapkan smiles back, the fact that they still have to clean everything, including themselves, and that they’ll be really late with no excuse at all loses its threat.

They shower together, joking some more about the SAS operators’ pool habits, and then quickly sweep the floor once again. Stepping out into the blinding sunshine is like running into a wall, the heat is unbearable and tiring. Glaz almost wants to fall asleep standing up.

“Just so we’re clear, you lost that bet”, Kapkan tells him, blinking into the brightness instead of looking him in the eyes. “So you owe me a favour.”

Glaz’ lips curl into a grin. “Of course. You only need to ask.”

And while Kapkan doesn’t respond, there’s a certain glint in his eye which is full of promises and reassurance.

[askbittyerror]

Wedding RP part 4

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...with Campan, we couldn't find a partner for them with an opposing aura. Needed a positivity bab who could find with their negative aura." "We. Came very close to running out of time. After a year, the bonding can't happen, and their magic, and health, become permanently weakened." "...we were lucky enough to run into a young paladin, Dandelion. He agreed to come home with us, with his brother." "..." "Okay, technically his brother stowed away when we tried to leave, but- it worked out."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Then as soon as we get back, mission find grandbaby a partner is a go." Magnus says decisively, the others nodding.(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "-needs to be less than a year too, though." Bells warns softly, "Lady Dame doesn't generally adopt out bitties that young to anyone."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "I'm sure she'll make an exception, this once." Paladin says. "We just need to find the right bitty for that to be feasible."

salty darkness09/27/2020 A soft sound. "We could arrange something with her, then. For the sake of our child." Greylu is quiet for a few moments. "..." He opens the last letter.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 His new spouse lays a light hand against his shoulder- -then. Tries to peek as well.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The paper is lined, ripped straight from a notebook. The writing is sloppy, and, at least to Bells, something they have seen once before. It's a handmade coupon, in pencil.

One (1) convenient plot device.  Rip up and say what you want to redeem. Use it well.  -V(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "..." "Uh. I'll, take that. Please."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu hands it to Bells. "What the fuck is this??"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "It was meant for you anyway", appears on the page before quickly being erased.

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu makes a vaguely loud noise of fear.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "Lets call it asker stuff, and maybe leave it at that, please? Fourth wall things are, uh, vaguely brain breaking to people not inclined to them." This is the second time they've been left notes by this V...

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "ASDFFJS wheeze"

salty darkness09/27/2020 Louder noises of concern and definitely fear. [5:51 PM] Very, very scared goop.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Communicating like this was a great idea, I'm having a fucking blast!"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...Imma just tuck this away," they stash it in their inventory, before turning back to their beloved. no. no more scaring their hubby.

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." "Beloved. It was sentient. That was a sentient paper. What the actual fuck was that thing."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Paper based pouting. Fresh seems to be glaring at where the note was.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...it's basically a superpowered m!a. useful for Dame's bitty shop verse. and, no, it was just long distance communication via writing." by a creator. "someone has a sense of humor, and the resources to play with it."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Fresh huffs and nuzzles Bells. The other bitties look confused. "...yes. That."

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu still looks disturbed. "..." "Is it? Dangerous?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Fresh growls, hiding his face.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." They lay a hand against his chest, meeting their husband's gaze. "Think of it as a gift from a mischevious god-type you'll never meet. The gift itself isn't necessarily dangerous. But where it came from? Was already there, and will still be there, gift or no."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu sighs, looking away. "Alright. But if this 'god type' even thinks about harming our children? I'm going to personally see that they suffer for it."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 In their inventory, the paper giggles.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 They kiss his cheek softly. "Because you're a good father. Now c'mon, enjoy being married beloved."

salty darkness09/27/2020 The married goop nods, moving to kiss back- -and a tendril moves to stab at the paper, despite it being technically not present via the laws of inventories. As you do.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 ...pap. "no, lover." they deny gently. [6:06 PM] "no actively picking fights with gods if we can avoid it."(edited)

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." "It laughed at me."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 And it is continuing to do so.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...beloved? it's a piece of paper. a way to communicate. stabbing it would be about as effective as breaking a phone." "and. It may be useful. sometimes it's better to have such magic on your side."

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu is definitely growling. Growly goop. Look at this goop and his anger. "..." "It's very blatantly not on my side."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...no." a brief kiss, and a low purr, adding softly, "but I am. okay?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The paper is just having the best time, honestly.

salty darkness09/27/2020 The goop is just having the worst time, honestly. [6:10 PM] "...okay."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Much rumbles... happy lich. Soft kiss. "...now. we are really late cutting the cake."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Fresh focuses, his neons dimming. The paper huffs, laughs again, and falls silent.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a pause, and a nuzzle for Fresh, adding, "and thank you for that. I know you really don't like dealing with fourth wall stuff. I'm, not gonna ask if they're always like that? but thank you."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "No prob, brah." Fresh smiles weakly, nuzzling them back. "And yeah, thats... thats pretty much his norm."

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu looks up at the gathering of people near the cake, barely holding back laughter. "We should head up there, shouldn't we? People are probably getting impatient."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 A chuckle, nodding. "Probably. Hungry people are grumbly people, after all." "...grumblier than usual, anyway."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Food!" Mercury flings up his arms with a overly happy noise.

salty darkness09/27/2020 "...alright then. Let's go." Greylu hums, walking over to the cake, and the gathering there.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells follows, as well as Blue, who... well, they're just going to focus on cake, because processing the fact that there's another creator interested in the bittyverse? Yeah. That can wait.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The bitties, well, they're just along for the ride.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 The cake is, well, about what would likely be expected for the cake at a wedding between a lich and a corrupted guardian. That is to say, chocolate. Several layers of chocolate, with a deceptively bright layer of white buttercreme frosting, hot fudge drizzled over the entire thing in thick dark 'tendrils,' with candied mint leaves and candied blackberries lain in ornamental patterns across the surface. ...the toppers? are obvious. right?

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu licks his non-existent lips, a tendril carefully moving to pap the little Bells topper on the head. "...so. Are we cutting this thing, or what?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "damn right we are," they murmur, casting a fond look at the cute little Greylu topper. "...let me just remember where I put the cake knife..."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu holds out his hand, and, in a small flash of light, a glowing blue trident poofs into existence. "..." "Improvise?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they might grin just a bit. "As long as youve cleaned it since the last time you used it? "Hell yes." What better way to enjoy their wedding cake?

salty darkness09/27/2020 The husband smiles.

Tendrils move to gently pick up the toppers, setting them aside. He brings the trident down- gently- onto the cake, slicing it clearly in two. There is now chocolate all over his perfectly good weapon. Oh well.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." there is a trace of mischief in their eye, as they consider reaching for the trident to... help clean it off. with their first taste of cake. no. bad lich. "...nicely done."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mercury may be starry eyed. He wants to learn to do that!

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu hums, picking up the toppers. He hands the mini version of himself to Bells, studying their topper for a moment, running a tendril over the new wedding ring on his hand.

"...do I have to cut it into slices for everyone, or-?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "We just need like one slice, like collectively." Magnus says. "Speak for yourself, brah." Fresh grins. "I can eat halfa one on my own."(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "I think we're mostly supposed to cut our own slices, but- probably a good idea. Then we can sneak slices to our kiddos too."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "Hmm. Okay then." Greylu huffs, cutting a slice out of the lowest layers of the cake. "Can someone get a plate, or-"

There's a small flash of light- and glitches- and the slice is promptly snatched out of Greylu's hands. He yelps, tendrils swiping at the interloper, but the thief is already gone.

"..." "Fuck. There goes the first piece." [9:01 PM] There is the not-so-distant sound of a bluebird being way too smug and proud of himself.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "How I didn't see that coming, I haven't got a clue." They mutter. "Hey, Mercury? Are all my brothers impossibly impressive thieves, or just those two?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "I am absolutely full of crimes!" Mercury giggles.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells stares for a full second, then gestures at Mercury, an exasperated expression on their face. "See? How am I supposed to be annoyed when they're so fricking adorable about it?!"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mercury purrs and nuzzles them.

salty darkness09/27/2020 "Mmm-hmm." Greylu brings his trident down once more, hesitates, glances around... and offers a slice to the bitties. "Just for that, you all get second bite."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells seems to approve! Blue is hiding their face against the beloved on their shoulder, trying not to laugh. Okay, they're starting to see the resemblance now...

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The bitties take the plate via a careful amalgamation of tentacles, wings and little hands, tearing off chunks and passing it around with many thank yous.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Greylu gets a soft kiss on his cheek, as they lich smiles, holding his cake topper close. "Now, want to get enough to share with the kids, and let everyone else fight over what's left?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu smiles, tilting his head. "Yes. Gladly." He starts cutting up the cake, tendrils flicking back and forth as he works.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...i love that man." they whisper to Fresh, watching their husband cut the cake. husband. husband. what an enormously amazing word.

salty darkness09/27/2020 Their husband eventually has several carefully-cut slices of cake, darkness curling around to deliver them all around the fields. Luckily, there's still plenty of yummy goodness left. "Done. Beloved? You want a piece?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 “Eh, he’s alright.” Fresh chuckles, nuzzling Bells.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "I'd love you. Uh... one. Cake. love to." ...crap. they're blushing again.(edited)

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Blushing goop. Blushing goop.exe has crashed. Blushing goop definitely does not know how to respond to this.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells wishes they still had their hood to hide under. That. Was a great thing to say in front if their mom and new dad and Fresh and- "I. Cake. Please."

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu stammers, tendrils wagging and twitching back and forth as he fumbles to grab a slice. "I- um- yeah. No problem. Yeah." The largest piece so far- actually, it may just straight-up be the entirety of one of the upper sections of the cake- is handed to Bells.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Reminds me of us." Magnus laughs, nuzzling Blue.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Blue? Admittedly trying not to smile. "- guess a taste for nightmares runs in the family." they agree, nuzzling back.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Magnus blushes. "Yeah..."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Bells accepts the slice... sneaks a quick kiss, and whispers a thank you. ...that is a lot of cake. they're okay with this.

salty darkness09/27/2020 Greylu steps away from the cake, still blushing. "..." A tendril tugs Bells close to him. "Can we talk for a moment? Uh- alone?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a nod, wordless, letting him lead the way... managing to get their blush under control. Sort of. Okay, not at all.

salty darkness09/27/2020 The goop walks a little ways away from Blue and the bitties, leaning down to whisper in Bells' ear. "...when are we having the honeymoon, anyway?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...depends. do you want to wait until we manage to chase everyone out? or find someone to babysit, and sneak out?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 "Mmm.." Greylu huffs. "The first one, personally. I assumed your scientist or our respective siblings were going to watch our children."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...that's certainly the hope." they agree. starting to say something else- -they stop. and after a moment, prompt quietly, "how was, Cross doing?"

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." Greylu looks away. "Fine, mostly. I... didn't tell him, yet. About Twilight."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...I just meant about the wedding." They admit, taking his hands... hand, the other occupied with much cake. "I know... us being together, has caused him pain."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "..." "He's okay with it. As long as I'm happy."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." They nuzzle his cheek, and squeeze his hand. "-yeah. he's... good."

salty darkness09/27/2020 "...good.." Greylu is quiet for a moment. "..." "Where are we going for the honeymoon, anyway?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "I haven't a clue, honestly. Im guess you want to stay in your own multiverse though?" September 28, 2020

salty darkness09/28/2020 "...perferably, yes..." An amused sound. "I suppose we could always just have it right here. Probably make good use of... some of our gifts."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...i may have finished rooms for, you know, the kids... and us~" they admit, 'innocently.' "I really should show you while youre here~"

salty darkness09/28/2020 "Oh hell yes~" Greylu pauses, skull dusting blue as he realizes that it's... probably not appropriate to talk like that in semi-public. "Ahem. Uh. Yes. I would love to, spouse."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 ...ah. yes. their family was sort of, just over- aaaand Fresh. Blue may be trying not to look amused and embarrassed at the same time, not horribly put off by this, but Bells looks like someone caught trying to swipe the last cookie. "...um. I, would like to show... my new husband around a bit. if you wouldn't mind-"

salty darkness09/28/2020 The goopking hides his face in his hands, tendrils curling around himself. He seems... very much flustered and embarrassed.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 (( @Askbittyerror if bitties want to react))

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Fresh snorts and nuzzles Bells. "Alright, brah." He opens his wings. "You kids have fun." He gives Greylu a wink then flies back over to Blue. [11:36 AM] Fresh nudges Magnus when he gets back, whispering to him. "YOU KIDS HAVE FUN!" Magnus yells, Fresh immediately descending into hysterics.

salty darkness09/28/2020 This does not improve Greylu's flustered-ness. If anything, it's even worse now.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 The two gremlins are very proud of themselves.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Bright, bright blushing. Bells covers their face with one hand for a few seconds, Huffing as they grab their hubby's hand with the other, and physically draw him away from their family, managing a nearly audibly offered 'plan to, thanks.'

salty darkness09/28/2020 Tendrils curl around Bells' arm as they pull Greylu away, squeezing and clinging all the while. The goop is definitely still blushing.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 yeah, they just, excuse themself, making a beeline for the nearest exit, and only stopping once they were on the other side. "..." "That's normal, right?"

salty darkness09/28/2020 He leans down, pressing a kiss against his spouse's cheek. "...absolutely not, but I love you anyway."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...that's fair." their smile manages to return a little, as they motion the door shut behind them. "C'mon. Your room is upstairs. Most are."

salty darkness09/28/2020 Greylu fiddles with his ring, nodding as the blush finally fades from his skull. "...I love you. Have I said that enough today? I love you."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 The lich watches him, a softness to their expression. A light hand lays against his cheek, the one bearing their own wedding band. "You managed that with three words, beloved. When you said, 'Yes. I do.'" They lean in to kiss him softly, adding in a whisper, "but you can tell me a thousand more times, I promise. I won't complain." "...I love you too."

salty darkness09/28/2020 A tendril moves up to brush against the lich's hand, curling around their ring finger. He closes his eyes, pressing back into the kiss with a small, happy purr. "...then I love you. I love you, I love you, and most importantly, I love you~"

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Happy, happy lich purrs. "Forever, and ever, and ever, I love you~" another soft kiss, and another- - and, then it occurs to them that they're still standing in the stairwell. "...rooms?"

salty darkness09/28/2020 "..." "Do we have to?"

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...you, uh, want to... on the stairwell... right outside the wedding party?"

salty darkness09/28/2020 A pause. "..." "Alright, point taken. Rooms it is."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 A twitch of a smile, and they catch him lightly by a tendril, leading up. "Used to be I could cheat with the stairs, move between a dozen floors eas... but I got rid of those, so we're gonna have to hoof it, beloved."

salty darkness09/28/2020 The tendril curls around their arm, squeezing as he follows. "I don't mind. It means I get to admire you while we go."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 a rumble of pleased, as they lead the way. it's a good three flights... no.. seven... okay, apparently nine. they don't seem to notice, leaning against him, nuzzling and purring.

salty darkness09/28/2020 Greylu leans back, running his hand along the wall. Blackberry kisses are pressed all along their face, tendrils wrapping around to hug and squeeze and- -whoops. He's tripped and fallen down a few of the stairs. Oh well.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...!" Bells hurries after him, alarmed, and tries to help him yo his feet. A shaky sound, not quite a laugh. "Okay, maybe we should wait until we actually reach the rooms..."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Then they freeze, eyes going wide- -look once at Greylu? And teleport away. ...feels like panic-

salty darkness09/28/2020 "..." Greylu pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the buzzing in his pocket. "What-" Then he freezes up, and growls. ...and follows.

[squidbatts]

To Feel So Simple

or: on the relative virtues of Abel, New Canton, chickens, and cats

((it’s That Time Of Year again and i am ever so pleased to present @siriusmistake​ ‘s zr secret santa present! thank you so much @runnerzero​ for organizing this, thank you sirius for liking ships that i usually don’t write so i got the Wonderful experience of writing archie for the first time! i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!))

{ao3}

Abel doesn’t have a chicken petting zoo.

New Canton doesn’t either, not really, not one that the Permanent Advisory Council knows about, but Archie’s found that sneaking into the livestock holding pens does just as well in a pinch. Abel, though, doesn’t even have chickens.

“All I am saying is that it is practically a crime to not have farm animals to play with,” Archie tells Five as they do a basic supply run together. Five watches her out of the corner of their eye, amused smile creeping onto their lips. The sight of it makes Archie’s own smile widen. “I know you bonded with Mauve the milk cow when you were in New Canton, I saw you making kissy faces at her.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Five replies, easily stooping to pick up a sports bra that Archie is sure wasn’t there a second ago. “And I’m sure that all of Abel would love to have some livestock around, but it’s not that easy for every settlement.”

“Yes, yes,” Archie waves a hand dismissively, “Not everyone has a castle, but Abel has their military, yes? Can the army not spare a single little litter of piglets?”

Five makes a face, one that Archie knows they don’t think she understands, but that she easily interprets as If we had that, we’d eat it/break it down for resources/something else gruesome and no fun. It’s a very complex face.

“We have... kittens?” They offer after a while.

“Kittens?” Archie gasps, immediately pressing the button on her headset to call to Nadia as Five tries to pass off the smile on their face as shrugging nonchalance. “And I am just now hearing of this?”

“Just now hearing about what, Runner 20?”

“Don’t worry,” Archie replies, “I only wanted to ask if I could stay at Abel tonight?”

“What?” Nadia says, and Archie can hear the annoyed squint in her voice, “No, you and Runner Five both are supposed to be coming back to New Canton tonight, your route doesn’t put you anywhere near Abel-”

“Excellent, time for a detour then!” Archie cuts Nadia off, grabbing Five’s hand and changing their direction towards Abel.

“Archie, you can’t just do that!” Nadia says, “This is not a part of the agreement, and I’m going to tell the Council.”

“I’ll tell them it was an improvised Fraternal Alliance bonding activity,” Archie responds smartly, spurred on by the way Five is laughing and easily matching her step for step. “I am doing important work, and you wouldn’t want to stop a runner from doing important work, would you? That wouldn’t be very productive of you.”

While Nadia splutters over the comms, Five reclaims their hand to say, “Having a sleepover is hardly ‘important work.’”

“Personal relations are always important, silly. You can’t win a war unless you trust your allies, and we could use more trust on all sides when it comes to the Fraternal Alliance.”

“I don’t think you’re the person who needs to work on trusting your allies,” Five signs, face twisting again in an I still don’t like Nadia way. Archie bites the inside of her cheek because, as much as she likes Five and loves Abel, she also loves her settlement and her radio operator and all of New Canton.

Nearing Abel comes with the voice of Sam Yao in their ears. “Hey there, Five, Archie. Not that I’m not glad to see you, but aren’t you both supposed to be in New Canton?”

“Very important intra-settlement bonding,” Archie replies, and Sam snorts.

“Does New Canton know that?”

“New Canton knows what they must,” Archie says archly. “Now, I have heard that you have kittens. Can I reserve the kittens or is it a first come first served sort of thing? I’m willing to wait, but I would rather see them as soon as possible. Oh! Could you bring the kittens to the gate, actually? So I can hold a kitten immediately as I enter Abel. That would be the most ideal.”

“The kittens have to stay in the kitten pen,” Sam says, like he’s reciting a line off a card.

“Are you sure?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” Sam admits, and Five snorts beside Archie. “Sometimes I think Janine keeps more security on the kittens than the Major does on the gate. Uh, don’t tell anyone I said that though.”

Five winks at a camera and mimes zipping their lips, so Archie follows suit. Sam laughs in their ears and they approach Abel to the cobbled-together gate quickly swinging open to allow them entrance.

It’s fun for Archie to watch Five as they journey into Abel. In New Canton, Five doesn’t seem on edge exactly, just a little stiff; personally, Archie’s always thought that, when surrounded by the structure of New Canton, Five reverts back to habits from the military base they lived on after Z-Day. Back in Abel though, it’s easy to see Five relax. It seems like everyone they pass greets Five happily, offers them a high-five or a smile, and Five’s shoulders lower, their gait slows, everything about them yells home. Archie wonders if she ever would’ve noticed how uncomfortable they were in New Canton if she wasn’t given this close-up view of what Five looks like when they’re so completely in their element.

“How lucky am I,” Archie says after the twelfth person stops them to ask after Five’s health and their run, “To be escorted by Abel’s most popular runner.”

Five flusters, predictably, and tries to wave Archie off. “We don’t have as many runners as you do, it only makes sense that we’re well known.”

Archie hums, not agreeing but also not willing to fight against Five’s lack of ego. She winks when Five shoots her a skeptical look and laughs at the bright blush that blooms on Five.

“The cats are this way,” Five says, quickly turning their face away from Archie and gesturing her forward. Archie laughs again but follows happily.

The kitten pen is an enclosure made of chicken-wire and wood, with a cat walkway high on the walls and half a dozen kittens wrestling and playing and meowing. There’s another Abel runner inside already, one that Archie is able to quickly recognize as Runner 3.

“Simon! Hello!”

“If it isn’t my favorite New Canonite!” Simon crows, grinning and holding a tuxedo kitten with unnaturally sharp teeth up to Archie. “Meet my baby.”

“Your baby?”

Five huffs, rolling their eyes. “None of the kittens have official names, because Janine didn’t want to name them, but Simon has got everyone calling this one Simon Pawchlan.”

Archie looks between the cat and Simon. She tilts her head. She supposes, if she sort of squints, that they look slightly alike each other. It’s the smiles, she thinks. “Ah, I see the resemblance.”

Simon laughs, “No, he’s named after me because he’s great at escaping the enclosure. Even Janine can’t keep him in here.”

“He’s also named after Simon because he’s often escaping to get to Janine,” Five adds, and Simon shamelessly grins at the revelation. “Don’t ask, it’s absolutely not worth knowing.”

“Truly, you’re a charmer, Five,” Simon says, reaching out to pinch Five’s cheek and deftly dodging the mostly harmless snap of their teeth as he does so. “But I do think that’s my cue to leave. Enjoy the kittens, you two.”

Simon hands Simon Pawchlan to Archie as he goes, making a complicatedly indescribable, We communicate only by facial expressions here in Abel face at Five. Five makes one back and Archie politely coos over Pawchlan as the two runners silently fuss at each other. When they’re done, Five sinks to the ground lotus style and clicks their tongue gently, attracting the attention of several kittens. Archie sits beside them, carefully holding Pawchlan close to her chest. She watches, stroking careful, calloused fingers down Pawchlan’s back, as a cat leaps into Five’s lap while another determinedly makes it’s way up Five’s sloped back.

Five stays perfectly still as the kittens explore their new human body playset, stiff but not tense, and Archie thinks, I am lucky to be allowed to see this, to watch the Runner Five covered in kittens, with their back to the door, still completely at ease. Five is lucky as well, Archie thinks, to be the type of person that Archie will overtly disobey orders for in order to spend more time with.

Archie leans over and presses a kiss, firm but not demanding, to Five’s cheek. Five startles and causes the kittens to scatter, red sweeping over their skin as they turn to her, shocked. “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” Archie says, then, because that wasn’t quite true, “Everything. I was thinking that it's nice, being here with you. You are a surprisingly good date, Five.”

Five turns away, but Archie still sees the nervous, pleased smile creeping onto their face. When Archie leans in again, clearly telegraphing her movements to give Five time to back out, Five turns into it, meeting her head-on. It is wonderful, even if Simon Pawchlan rudely interrupts by digging his claws into Archie’s arms as she inadvertently squishes him into Five.

“You’re a pretty good date too,” Five says, hands steady though they can’t seem to look Archie in the eye. Archie laughs, bubbling over with happiness.

“I am the best date,” She corrects, “And you would do well not to forget it.”

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 5.15

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 5 (trial 5!!!), they discussed Kaito’s brilliant heroic plan to uhhh threaten Kokichi with a crossbow or something, Monokuma jumped in before they concluded Kokichi did it because he still isn’t even sure who’s dead, Kaito got to be himself again for a bit – or at least his idea of Kokichi’s idea of him – in what might partly have been a belief that Shuichi can prove he really is alive already, Shuichi finally accepted that he’s always known Kaito has to be dead, and even the narrative agreed that Kaito was definitely dead, because look, they had a whole Debate Scrum about it! – one which really should have gone all metaphysical and involved Shuichi arguing with himself rather than everyone else.

Having firmly established that Kaito is definitely dead, then, everyone decides to get back to talking about what happened with the crossbow.

Exisal Kokichi:  “O-kay! Let’s discuss that then!”

Himiko:  “Why are you acting like you’re in charge of things?”

Because that’s always the kind of thing Kaito does in trials! It’s not about him being in charge, just about him trying to bring everyone onto the same page and make sure they know where the discussion is going next. Kaito is ad-libbing again now that we’re back to talking about the crossbow, so his natural trial style is slipping through a little bit even here. This is the best way Kaito knew how to be helpful in trials (trial 4 aside, where he was trying far too hard to help in ways he wasn’t good at) – whereas the way Kokichi always acted in trials was never about communication and co-operation and was just presenting whatever arguments he had in mind, whether they were actually helpful or just an unnecessary tangent rooted in his trust issues.

Conveniently, this still does come across like something Kokichi might do anyway, just because of him having the audacity to act this way when he already knows exactly what happened and presumably doesn’t want them to figure it out.

Exisal Kokichi:  “So, if we assume that Kaito and I shot each other with the crossbow… then the most efficient way to solve this is to set up a timeline of events!”

You know who previously suggested setting up a timeline of events when they weren’t sure how to proceed, in more than one trial? Shuichi! Kaito has learned from him! He’s trying to pretend to be someone who is better at trials and deductions than he really is, so he’s doing that by thinking about what Shuichi would do!

Himiko:  “Hey! I said, why are you—”

Exisal Kokichi:  “Alrighty then! Let the debate begiiiin!”

Cutting someone off and ignoring them is of course not Kaito’s usual trial behaviour when trying to lead the discussion like this, buuut he’s got to be believably dickish enough somehow.

Actually, this whole thing of leading the debate is not entirely something Kokichi never did, because he did act this way in trial 4, in which he was pretending to be helpful while blatantly concealing the absolutely everything he knew about how the case went down. That’s basically what’s going on here, too. And back then, Kaito got annoyed at Kokichi for leading the conversation and ignoring his protests… so Kaito is probably partly drawing off that here. (Specifically, there is an exchange just after trial 4’s intermission which is extremely similar to this one, except that Kokichi was better at cutting someone off with more actual logic and discussion, whereas here Kaito is clearly just thinking “I should be cutting her off now, ummm, WORDS”.)

Tsumugi:  “The crossbow was in Kaito’s possession first…”

“Yes! I, Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars, had it!”

What an absolute dork. Kaito had just been switching characters a minute ago, so apparently he decided that’s a perfectly good excuse to keep doing that because that’s totally something Kokichi would do to be a dick to them. If Kaito were being genuinely himself and confirming that this is what happened, he wouldn’t waste their time being so over-the-top. But because he’s pretending to be Kokichi, Kokichi would totally take the piss out of how ridiculous Kaito often is… which gives Kaito an excuse to actually be that ridiculous!

Keebo:  “Then Kokichi disarmed Kaito, took the crossbow…”

“Yeah! That’s exactly it!”

Keebo:  “…and returned fire.”

“I really messed that up…”

The second white noise line here is definitely Kaito as himself again, but it’s less clear whether the first one is also in Kaito’s voice, or if he switched to Kokichi for that line and essentially simulated a conversation between them. Either way, I love how Kaito is messing around here and clearly trying to have some vague semblance of fun with this (or at least, trying to take the edge off how much he hates being Kokichi; “fun” might be a strong word here), even if he is also being a dick by “pretending” to be the person everyone just fully accepted is dead. None of this is scripted right now.

Exisal Kokichi:  “I didn’t take the crossbow from Kaito… I secretly brought a different one!”

…Actually, this proves that that previous white noise line was Kaito’s voice after all. “Kokichi”’s story here is not that he disarmed Kaito, which is what the white noise was agreeing with. Which then also makes it pretty amusing that Kaito is having the two “characters” he’s playing disagree with each other.

Maki:  “But only one crossbow was taken. The other two are still in my research lab.”

“Crap! She testified!”

And here’s Exisal Kokichi being all “oh crap, caught out in my lie!”. Which… is also not a thing the real Kokichi ever did. If he ever admitted to being caught out, it was always a playful “ya got me!” that never made it sound like he had a problem with being caught.

Exisal Kokichi:  “By the way, crossbow shots hurt a looot. My wound is still aching something fierce.”

“Shall I put you out of your misery, then?”

Aside from the amusing implication that you can try and disprove the fact that being shot hurts, and some fun white noise from Maki…

…“Wound”? Singular? But, “Kokichi”, I thought you were shot twice?

Now this is a line which is genuinely meant to explicitly hint that it’s really Kaito in there. But one thing that’s also quite fun about it is that it’s something the localisers added in without having even especially meant to. See, in Japanese, nouns aren’t any different in the plural, so the line here would have been perfectly ambiguous as to how many wounds he was talking about. It’s possible to specify the singular, but then you’d have to go out of your way to phrase it as “my one wound”, which is obviously not a mistake Kaito would make. But when the localisers translated this line, they couldn’t leave it ambiguous and were faced with a choice of whether to have him say “wound” or “wounds”… and they decided to make it so that Kaito slipped up for a moment there.

(Not that Kaito’s arrow wound is even remotely the only part of him which is causing him a lot of pain right now.)

Shuichi:  (…What? What was that just now?)

Shuichi is actually referring to the fact that Himiko just claimed there was only one arrow, which happened a little earlier in the debate. But since the wound line was the very last line of the debate and this is his summary-thoughts line before the debate repeats, it amusingly sounds like Shuichi is reacting to that and that he realised it was off.

It would be really delightful if there could be an alternative solution to this debate using that. Move the joke weak spot to the “my wound is still aching” part, and have Kokichi’s clothes be one of the possible bullets (which it sadly isn’t here), and then it turns out that’s not actually a joke weak spot and you can make Shuichi notice that contradiction, not about the wound aching, but about the fact that it’s just one wound. It’d give him a moment of fleeting hope despite his despair last time, because Kaito was the one with only one wound so surely that must mean Kaito’s really in there after all! Kaito would have to frantically improvise and be all “Haha, I’m sure you’d like that, too bad for you I just misspoke, or maybe I said it wrong on purpose to get your hopes up then dash them again, sorry not sorry for messing with you!” (which he’d hate every word of) to desperately try and get him to drop it. Then Shuichi would ultimately have to admit to himself that it was just wishful thinking and there’s no conceivable reason Kaito would be in there and lying to him and he shouldn’t still be running away from the truth. It would be really fun!

Which, of course, was never really an option because this slip-up doesn’t and cannot exist in Japanese. That and the actual alternative solutions to debates that exist in this game were all written to require lying, even though that’s kind of arbitrary as I’ve just shown that there can absolutely be interesting alternate routes that use the truth. (I haven’t been covering any of those back routes during the trials because there’s no reason to assume any of them are canon, and most of them are pretty silly anyway. Some of them have some interesting bits, though; there’s one in this trial which is kind of similar to what I just talked about. I’m already planning to do some bonus material on here once I’ve finished the main story, so I’ll be covering the back routes in that.)

So instead we have to proceed by addressing the much less interesting contradiction about the singular arrow instead of the singular wound.

Himiko:  “Kaito even told me to only bring him one. He said he wanted to avoid fighting.”

I guess by that Kaito meant he was intending to simply threaten Kokichi with the arrow and preferably not actually shoot him at all. That sure worked out well. And after that point, since he only had the one arrow, he couldn’t even threaten him any more. I suppose injuring Kokichi would also help give Kaito a slight edge if it did come to a fight, since Kaito was otherwise far weaker than him at that point thanks to his illness.

Even if he wasn’t planning on using more than one arrow (or even ideally any arrows), there was still no reason not to ask for multiple arrows to make the threat more convincing, or to allow him to continue to threaten after shooting once. So I think that Kaito might have asked for only one partly as a measure to keep himself under control. He absolutely did not want to kill Kokichi, but he knows he has a tendency to lose control and lash out when he gets riled up, and so he wanted to limit the damage he could potentially do without really meaning to in that situation. And it seems that might well be what happened, given that Kaito shot Kokichi anyway despite knowing he’d lose the ability to threaten him once he did so, so that probably did happen out of anger.

And now for the most awkwardly mood-whiplashy Psyche Taxi of the game. Shuichi has only just accepted that his best friend is dead – now to pretend to drive a goddamn taxi through his mind in order to figure out the clearly very difficult concept that someone else brought the other two arrows and it wasn’t Kokichi because he can’t assemble a crossbow. Totally necessary and totally fitting Shuichi’s current emotional state. We’re not even specifying that the third party who brought them was Maki yet, even though she’s the only candidate who makes any remote amount of sense, because nope we can’t possibly have the taxi segments make any kind of significant progress despite taking so long.

Maki:  “That’s just a guess, though. There’s no way a third party exists.”

It’s really not a guess, Maki. There is no other reason for there to be more arrows there. You are looking very suspicious by questioning something so basic.

It should already obviously be her, at least to Shuichi, because he and she are the only others who can assemble a crossbow and he knows it wasn’t him. He doesn’t mention or think about this yet, though, probably because he doesn’t want to think that it was her. Despite what Maki accused him of earlier, Shuichi still very much does not enjoy suspecting his friends!

Exisal Kokichi:  “So the third party didn’t hand the arrows through the window… Instead, they went to the hangar and shot the crossbow themselves?”

Kaito is still doing his summarising thing! If he weren’t in the Exisal and didn’t already know how everything went down, this is exactly the kind of thing he would be saying to try and follow along with Shuichi’s logic and make sure he and everyone else was understanding it properly.

Shuichi figures out that the third party got into the hangar unimpeded using an Exisal.

Exisal Kokichi:  “By the way, I just wanna confirm something with Monokuma. Would the alarm still go off if there was a person inside the Exisal?”

The notion of confirming this with Monokuma to make things clearer seems surprisingly thought-out by Kaito’s standards, which makes me think that this might be one of the bits he spent some time thinking about and adding into the script last night. He’d know they’d eventually get onto talking about how Maki entered the hangar, so this’d be something he could prepare for.

Tsumugi:  “But… can just anyone pilot an Exisal?”

Keebo:  “…Well, Kokichi?”

Exisal Kokichi:  “It’s surprisingly easy. If you use both hands, both feet and both nipples, you can do it.”

It’s been a while since we’ve seen some words that were actually chosen by Kokichi. Even though we’re deep in ad-lib territory, this particular part could easily have been in the script as a response to being asked how he was piloting this Exisal, which didn’t necessarily have to happen in this context. This is not remotely Kaito’s flavour of ridiculousness and therefore not something he’d have come up with on his own.

Kokichi was probably having a good giggle to himself when he wrote this line. I bet he wrote it less because this is actually what he’d say in this situation and more because he knew Kaito would be obligated to follow the script and wanted to force him to say the word “nipples”, nee-heehee, how dastardly of him. Kaito went along with it anyway because he doesn’t want to risk deviating from the script unless he has a very good reason to, and this is not one.

Maki:  “There’s no way you can get through security if you pilot an Exisal. It’s… not possible…”

Maki, your insistence about this is making you look incredibly suspicious, especially since Monokuma just lengthily explained that it is possible.

Shuichi:  (Maki… what are you talking about? What are you thinking? What do you know? Why are you trying to hide it? Why…? Why won’t you tell me?)

Shuichi hates the realisation he’s beginning to have that his friend is hiding something important from him in a situation like this! And even then, he’s still not coming to the conclusion that this likely means Maki is the culprit, because he still hates doing that until he has incontrovertible proof.

Tsumugi:  “Is operating the Exisal… really that difficult?”

“Nope! You just gotta use your nipples!”

Credit to Kaito, he is going all in on this nonsense. Reiterating this point when asked again probably wasn’t specifically in the script, but it seems like the kind of dumb thing Kokichi would do, so why not. Certain parts of Kokichi’s expected behaviour, Kaito will not play along with even if it would help make the lie more convincing. But this? Sure, whatever, he’ll talk about nipples all day.

Exisal Kokichi:  “Nee-heehee… Shuichi is getting warmer. How about you say the answer right now? Who did it? Who is this third party?”

Kaito is doing what he usually does, encouraging Shuichi to voice his deductions! He knows Shuichi has almost certainly already figured this out and the problem is just that he’s hesitating to say it out loud because he doesn’t like accusing people, especially if it’s his friend. So Kaito’s giving him the nudge he needs to do that!

…And it’s probably also because Kaito really wants to get onto the part where Maki confesses as soon as possible so that he can understand what the hell is going on in her head and hopefully she can start feeling less that way.

Shuichi explains how it has to be Maki because she was the only one without an Electrohammer this morning… and then adds as an afterthought that she could also assemble the crossbow. That second point proved it was her several minutes ago, Shuichi, come on.

Maki:  “Why… are you doing this?”

Shuichi:  (…What?)

Maki:  “Why… are you getting in my way?”

Maki’s showing a lot more emotion in her voice here than she has for most of this trial. She is still just desperately clinging to the notion that she has to kill Kokichi no matter what sacrifices it takes, otherwise she’ll have killed Kaito for nothing and she can’t bear that thought. It’s also irrational of her to be acting like Shuichi would even know that he’s “getting in her way”, since he obviously doesn’t know what she’s trying to do.

Shuichi:  “Getting in your way? Maki, what are you—”

Maki:  “Yes, I’m the third party.”

So as soon as Shuichi quite reasonably questions that, instead of explaining what she means, Maki just cuts him off and changes the subject back to the actual logic.

Maki:  “But I didn’t kill anyone! I’m not the culprit!”

Note the way she doesn’t phrase this as “I didn’t kill Kaito”, even though she’s been adamant this whole time that Kaito is definitely the victim.  She does not want to frame her crime that way even as she’s denying it.

Rebuttal Showdown typography time again! This is pretty similar to Maki’s first one, with the words in simple, straight arrangements – but this time they’re moving even faster than before, and their movement changes direction partway through, making them a lot harder to cut. It’s not as deliberately all over the place as Kirumi’s was, because Maki’s giving a straightforward argument and not trying to misdirect Shuichi with her words, but she is trying to prevent him from reaching the truth unlike last time, and she’s a lot more desperate emotionally.

Maki:  “Think about the locations of the wounds. They were on his arm and back.”

Kaito wasn’t shot in the back, though. She is still not framing this as being specifically about killing Kaito – which on the one hand makes some sense because she was trying to kill Kokichi and doesn’t want them to know about that either, but on the other hand she just doesn’t want to think of this as her killing Kaito.

Her argument for this Rebuttal Showdown is that neither of them could have been killed with a crossbow alone based on those wounds. Which sure is something we should have brought up sooner while discussing the crossbow and acting like someone could have apparently murdered Kaito through the window by shooting him in the arm. Maki kept quiet about that earlier to draw less attention to herself (since if the possibility of poison came up, she’d be the one who’d seem most likely to have thought of that) and is only mentioning it now because it’s her last line of defence.

It’s also very notable that she’s not remotely trying to defend herself on the basis that she would never *want* to kill Kaito. That would work better than anything as an argument to make herself seem innocent, since nobody has yet brought up the possibility that he could have been killed by accident. While arguments involving people’s character aren’t usually the best to use in class trials, it should at least give Shuichi pause, since he would also firmly believe that she’d never do that.

But of course that’s irrelevant. She’s just someone who kills people, so naturally Shuichi should think it’s perfectly possible that she could have killed Kaito too. Her feelings on what she wanted to happen don’t and shouldn’t matter one bit. (Especially because thinking about what she did want hurts too much.)

Tsumugi:  “Th-There’s no way she is! Cuz… why would she kill Kaito!?”

Maki:  “…”

Maki’s face looks just a little bit more troubled once this notion is finally brought up by someone else, though.

(Three guesses why Tsumugi has decided to pretend to be invested in this, ugh.)

An extremely important thing to pay attention to here is that Exisal Kokichi is being completely quiet during this whole discussion. The real Kokichi most certainly would not be. He never missed an opportunity to rub in the idea that Maki is a heartless killer, and he would especially jump at the chance to do so when it’s Kaito she supposedly killed, proving that Kaito really was an idiot all along for trusting her and trying to help her because she was only ever going to repay that by stabbing him in the back, and Kokichi is totally right to say that nobody is trustworthy ever!

None of that would have been able to be scripted, of course. But Kaito definitely knows that something along those lines is the kind of thing Kokichi would say. It would benefit the plan for him to say something like that, both in terms of making him sound more believably like Kokichi, and in terms of emphasising any theory in which the culprit is someone other than Kaito.

But no. Never on his goddamn life is Kaito ever going to do that to Maki. She’s already suffering far too much; he will not make it any worse than he has to, not even if it would help the plan. It’s not worth it. Overt cruelty for the sake of making the plan just slightly more likely to succeed is never worth it.

Kaito is being just barely enough of a dick to make people think “yep, I guess that’s Kokichi”, and not a single bit more. He’s had to cause a lot of pain for this plan to stand a chance of saving everyone, but he refuses to cause any more than is absolutely necessary. This is what turning yourself into a villain because you truly, selflessly care about saving everyone looks like, and it looks nothing like the real Kokichi. This is probably the single biggest hint that Exisal Kokichi is really Kaito.

It’s just a good thing this hint is easy for everyone to miss because it involves a lack of saying something Kokichi would, rather than saying something Kokichi wouldn’t. That’s probably why Kaito kept quiet here, rather than trying to say anything about Maki’s crime that might sound too strangely favourable towards her.

(But also, conveniently, there are very few things that Kokichi very obviously wouldn’t say. He was so insincere all the time that even if he said something that sounded kinda off, everyone would just assume he doesn’t mean it. None of them are going to think in detail like I’ve been doing about the precise ways in which Kokichi was insincere when they’ve got a trial to focus on.)

Shuichi:  “Maki is trying to kill Kokichi in this class trial. She wants to kill the mastermind, a Remnant of Despair!”

Exisal Kokichi:  “…”

The narrative’s panning-to-Kaito-saying-nothing game is still on point. He even shifted poses there, making it seem like he was caught by surprise. I… don’t think Kaito did realise until this moment what Maki is trying to do. He knew all along that she believed she’d killed him, but why would she hide that when it’d get all her other friends killed? Kaito is only just now realising that Maki’s pain caused her to be willing to get everyone else killed in order to kill Kokichi after all. (Yet he still can’t quite grasp why killing Kokichi is so necessary to her. Sure, she still thinks he’s the mastermind, but killing the mastermind is pointless if everyone else dies too! What’s all this Remnant of Despair stuff even about?)

This silence would seem on the surface like Kokichi being evasive about the idea… but I think the real Kokichi would probably be likely to react to this in some cruel, flippant way. Kaito, however, is too busy being horrified at this realisation to try and think of something Kokichi-ish to say here.

Shuichi:  (The sacrifice that Maki is talking about must be…)

I’ve seen quite a few people get this question wrong at first and assume that the sacrifice was Kaito’s life, but no. Even though she was determined to kill Kokichi thanks to the Flashback Light, there is no way Maki would have been willing to sacrifice Kaito – or anyone else, at first – just to achieve that. It’s only because Kaito ended up being killed against her will that she became despairing and desperate enough to sacrifice everyone else as well so that she could achieve what she set out to do in the first place and make his death not be in vain.

Which is a very serious case of the sunk cost fallacy, but Maki is not being remotely rational about this, even if she’s compartmentalising enough to make it sound like she is.

Exisal Kokichi:  “But that mischievous plan was ruined alllll thanks to Shuichi here. Too bad, Maki! I already predicted this would happen.”

Of course he predicted this! Because Shuichi is amazing and always figures out the truth!

This line has nothing to do with what Kokichi predicted, because he didn’t have time to put any of this in the script. But Kaito has spent this whole time wondering why the hell Maki wasn’t confessing to her belief that she killed him, only knowing that it must have something to do with the pain she’s in and being completely powerless to help her with it from his position in the Exisal. The only way to help her with how she’s feeling would be to bring what she thinks she did out into the open, to get her to confront it and start talking about it, and the only person who could do that is Shuichi. Kaito may have been unable to help her himself, but he dealt with that awful feeling of helplessness by holding onto his belief in Shuichi. He knew Shuichi would be able to save Maki in his place.

(And remember how I pointed out a few posts back that Maki and Kokichi’s podiums happen to be directly opposite each other? This would also mean that, even if the Exisal’s camera has a narrow field of vision, Kaito would nonetheless have had a very clear view of Maki’s face this entire time.)

I also like that he calls her plan to get everyone killed “mischievous”. He’s still using the least biting ways to talk negatively about her, even when it’s about this. Because of course Kaito would understand that she’s doing this out of despair and already knows it’s wrong and hates herself for it, and that calling her out and being harsh on her about it isn’t going to help at all.

Keebo:  “You knew all along that Maki was the culprit. That’s why you’ve been so calm.”

A plausible idea, but of course the real reason he’s been so calm is that everybody is still convinced he’s the victim, and so long as they’re only discussing the possibilities of Maki or Kokichi being the culprit, then Monokuma will be fooled and the plan will succeed. But even later on when Monokuma becomes aware that Kaito might be alive, it’s still not going to make Kaito panic that much. His worst-case-scenario isn’t himself dying, or the plan failing, but rather everyone else dying – but that’s never going to come to pass. If things look bad, he can always just reveal himself and confess, ruining the plan but keeping everyone safe. No matter what happens, Kaito already knows that he’s the only one who’s going to die at the end of this trial… and he can live with that.

(This is also the exact situation Kaede was in during her trial.)

Shuichi:  “We have a choice to make. We don’t have to follow where the evidence leads.”

Tsumugi:  “Huh? What do you mean?”

Exisal Kokichi:  “Does this mean… you’re gonna vote for someone else, even if it’s not the truth?”

What Shuichi is essentially saying here is that they could theoretically all choose to sacrifice themselves in order to get Kokichi killed, like Maki wants. Kaito would probably be very horrified at this possibility if it wasn’t also a perfectly satisfactory outcome to the plan that won’t get them killed at all.

Shuichi:  “Kaito told me that only I would be able to grasp what lies beyond the truth. That means finding the truth is not enough. We need to grasp the hope just beyond it.”

That is not remotely what Kaito meant when he said that. Shuichi is assuming that Kaito was talking about their meaningless buzzwordy concept of “hope”, but of course he wasn’t; he never saw that Flashback Light and never even used the word “hope” at all. If the truth really is that Kaito is dead and Maki killed him, there’s no hope in that. And getting themselves killed just to kill Kokichi, even given that they still believe he’s the mastermind, certainly isn’t hope either.

I see what Shuichi is getting at in that just because Maki is (supposedly) the culprit, they don’t necessarily have to follow that truth in terms of the vote they make just because it’s the truth… but that still isn’t even slightly what Kaito was talking about back then. Kaito probably really wishes he could correct Shuichi on this; he has to be worriedly bewildered as to why Shuichi seems to think Kaito was telling him to kill himself and his friends for no good reason.

Shuichi:  “So, Maki… please tell us the truth! The truth that only you know!”

That is a rather overdramatic way of putting it, considering that the person in the Exisal clearly also knows this truth.

Maki:  “… So Kaito… said that to you. Then… does that mean you guys made up before he died?”

Maki Roll! This whole time she thought she’d killed Kaito before he even made up with Shuichi like she’d so badly wanted them to! Hearing that they got to do that after all has to make this just a tiny, tiny bit more bearable, perhaps enough that that’s why she can go on to talk about it here.

This moment was also a real gut-punch to first-time-me who was at this point convinced Kaito was the victim, because for the first time in this trial he wasn’t just an object we have to make deductions around, but a person and their friend who’s now gone and guh. This really hammered home that he was dead in a way that simply becoming factually convinced of it from the Debate Scrum didn’t.

Maki:  “…Okay, I’ll talk about it. Especially since it’s my responsibility for involving everyone.”

No matter how much Maki had brokenly convinced herself that sacrificing her friends was a worthy cost for killing Kokichi, she never truly wanted to get them killed, and she probably felt especially awful about the fact that she was planning to have that happen without them even knowing. It’s better if sacrificing themselves to kill Kokichi gets to be their choice as well, and after Shuichi saying that they might be willing to make that choice, she’s able to accept this option.

(Sacrificing themselves to kill Kokichi is still not a remotely sensible idea, but they’re all brainwashed with the completely inappropriately-worded notion that ~hope must defeat despair!~, so, you know.)

Maki:  “Shuichi… you’re so persistent. Were you always like that?”

Shuichi:  “Ah, you think so? Maybe Kaito’s charisma is starting to rub off on me…”

Of course he wasn’t always like that! Of course it’s because of Kaito! It doesn’t even need to be because of specific words or specific advice Kaito has said to him – just Kaito being there and being Kaito and being his friend is enough to give Shuichi some of his strength and confidence.

And the person in this room who has the most trouble believing this idea at this point is most likely Kaito himself. It has to mean so much to him to hear this. Shuichi absolutely means this, Kaito. You are the reason he’s become this strong. You’ve always been a hero to him.

Maybe it’d be a little easier for Kaito to really accept that Shuichi means this in this situation, where Shuichi doesn’t even know Kaito is listening and so can’t possibly be saying anything just for the sake of humouring him and making him feel better. Kaito, please take this to heart as much as you deserve to.

(I say this, but, uh, based on some things he says at the end of the trial… I’m not at all sure he does.)

Maki:  “That guy… could be pretty stubborn.”

Maki’s smiling as she says this! She’s finally not just desperately suppressing how much she cared about Kaito and is able to let herself fondly remember one of the things she liked the most about him!

This has to help Kaito a lot too. Not just the fact that Maki cares about him, but the idea that this is how he’s going to be remembered when he really is gone. He’s not just going to have lived for nothing. He’s going to leave a huge impact on the people who were most important to him, and that’s the best thing he could ever hope for.

(You might like to know that I am doing myself an emotion thinking about this. Heartless Journey is not helping.)

After a little more inconsequential dialogue in which everyone else asks Maki to tell them her story and Monokuma awkwardly starts narrating for some reason…

Exisal Kokichi:  “… Well… I guess this turn of events isn’t exactly boring either.”

Uhhhh this is totally still Kokichi in here, you guys!

Kaito apparently got so caught up in being deeply touched and taken aback by the things his sidekicks were saying about him that he completely forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be being Kokichi and that Kokichi would probably have something to say in this situation. It took him a while to remember that, but here he is awkwardly throwing out a sentence that is totally believably something Kokichi might say because it’s about things not being boring, right?

It’s pretty telling that this is exactly the same kind of this-is-definitely-Kokichi behaviour (invoking the concept of boringness) that Kaito pulled out the previous time he’d been distracted by having emotions about the things Maki and Shuichi were saying and wasn’t sure how to respond to it as Kokichi. At least this time was a lot less painful for Kaito than last time, and his words this time aren’t trying to change anything but are just an awkward reminder that Kokichi is totally still here. This… doesn’t actually make much sense as something Kokichi would describe as not-boring, either, because he was never really a fan of just pure unadulterated friendship and people proving that believing in others is actually worthwhile, was he.

(Did you know this game is about FRIENDSHIP.)

---

[Next post]

[silliusssoddus]

Take Another Piece Of My Heart

A/N: I’ve been listening to "Let Me Live" from the Made in Heaven album on repeat and I got the idea of reader living with John as he’s going through Freddie’s death. Also I’m pretty new to this whole writing thing so I’m really sorry this is really bad :/

Warnings: aaangst, mentions of death (Freddie Mercury), inaccuracies, Deacy with a c (lol)

Here’s a goofy gif to ease the pain ;)

You woke up to the familiar smell of your boyfriend’s stench that had been present for the past week. John had barely moved from his bed since the morning you both received a call from Jim, saying Freddie had died the evening before. He’d been quiet ever since, occasionally throwing in a few ‘good morning’s, ‘goodnight’s or ‘I'm not hungry’s’ here and there. You tried your best to leave him be, but you hated seeing him like this.

“Good morning, sweet.” you said as you pecked a kiss at his cheek. He buried his face into his pillow at the feeling of your lips, making you frown. You ran your hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that he flinched at the touch as well. You announced that he should take a bath.

“Bri and Rog want you to be down at the studio today, only if you felt like recording.” He nodded, shuffling and stumbling to the bathroom.

You heard him close the door and lock it. You sighed - he never locks the bathroom door. After opening the windows in the bedroom and making the bed, you made your way to the kitchen to make some cheese on toast for him, hoping that would bring him joy somehow.

While you were pouring the hot water into two cups for tea, you heard him walk into the kitchen. You turned around to talk to him, but your words were quickly replaced by stifled giggles. John had wrapped a towel around his chest, instead of his waist. He somehow found a way to wrap another towel around his head, but what surprised you the most was that the towel didn’t fall. You gave him a light smile as you wrapped the towel in its rightful place and looked up at him. His eyes were avoiding yours.

“Guess I'm too used to taking care of you.” he muttered, so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it. You pressed your lips together as your fingers traced the outline of his jaw. He didn’t like the contact and leaned out of it. You missed the old Deacy, where all he had to do was smile to make you forget your struggles. He wouldn’t sleep until you fell asleep first or get out of bed before you were awake. He’d cuddle you through your nightmares and listen eagerly at every great dream you had.

He’d been so distant lately. It was like he left with Freddie.

“Listen, I get that you just wanna be alone for now but I am here for emotional support, being your girlfriend and all, but only if you want me to be.”

“I'm fine, Y/N, you don’t need to keep asking me,” he said, rather sternly, “and you’re helping me enough.” He sat down at the kitchen counter and took a bite of his cheesy toast.

“Deacy, I know you’re not. And I'm not helping one bit. You’ve been avoiding me, Brian and Rog this whole week. Speaking of, they really wanna finish this album. It might help you clear your mind, doing something you enjoy.”

“I can’t seem to enjoy anything when everything reminds me of him! Especially playing the bass and being with those two,” he raised his voice, making the both of you uncomfortable, “even you remind me of him.” he sighed.

Of course you did. It was Freddie that made him go to a club that night, the same club you happened to be in. He made him talk to you, get your phone number and persuaded him into calling you later that night.

“I'll tell the boys you’re not up for recording today.”

“Thank you...love.” There was a slight sign of uncomfort at the last word, which caused you to shudder.

You really felt useless to him.

The phone call was made. Brian and Roger both understood his reasoning, but they expected something from him sooner than later. You said you’re trying your best and they agreed. John had made himself comfortable on the sofa, his body sprawled across it, staring at the ceiling. You gave him some clothes you found upstairs in his closet and you helped him as he slowly wriggled into them, despite him frequently mumbling that he could do it by himself and that he didn’t need help. You took a seat at the piano next to the fireplace, prodding the keys and playing a familiar tune.

“Monday, start of my holiday. Freedom for just one week, feels good to get away.”

You heard a slight chuckle and you beamed. It worked! He joined you with the second verse.

“Tuesday, I saw her down on the beach. I stood and watched a while, and she looked and smiled at me.” he sang, turning to look at you. You couldn’t help but notice his eyes, glossed with a thin layer of tears.

“Wednesday, I didn't see her. I hoped that she'd be back tomorrow.

And then on Thursday, my luck had changed. She stood there all alone, I went and asked her name. I never thought that this could happen to me in only seven days. It would take a hundred or more for memories to fade.”

You decided to end the song there as John went back to staring at the ceiling in deep thought.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to listen to your own words.”

“Eh?”

””It would take a hundred or more for memories to fade”? Love, Freddie might be gone, but you can still continue his legacy.”

He broke into tears after that sentence. You abruptly left the piano to kneel next to his head and comfort him.

“Oh, God I'm sorry, I'm really sorry love-“

“N-no it’s not your fault it’s...it’s just the song I-“ he spoke through sobs. You’d never actually seen him cry before, not even after the phone call, and you could feel your heart shattering into a million pieces at the sight of him so broken, “I wanted to write this for you but I couldn’t find the right words. Freddie, he- he helped me so much.”

“And look at how successful this and all your other songs turned out to be. Look at how successful you all are.”

“But that was because of him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Deac,” you said as you sat him up so you could sit next to him. His head automatically fell into your shoulder and you felt the tiniest bit of relief, “you guys are all so good at doing what you do. That’s why millions of people love you and your songs. Hell, I don’t think the name Queen will ever die out.”

“I just- I'm too scared to write a song without having the usual feedback I get from Freddie.”

You cupped his cheek, tilting his head a little to kiss his forehead. You could tell that he was trying so hard to stop himself from flinching.

“Tell you what, since I’ve inspired you before, we’ll go to the studio today and I’ll stay. You can always get feedback from the boys. Or me. Though I’m not as talented.”

He looked up with red eyes and a small Deacy smile that didn’t last long. You wiped away his tears and was about to lean down to kiss his lips, but he seemed to predict that move as he leant his head on the other side of the sofa. Just as you thought things were working out well.

“I love you.” you said as you got up to call Brian and Roger, stroking John’s cheek before you left the room. He didn’t react to that at all.

-

You both walked in to the studio, Deacy carrying his bass with both hands. Brian saw you walk in, frowning at the lack of physical contact between the two of you. He could definitely tell that something was wrong. You hoped he’d ask you later - he gives useful advice sometimes. Roger was standing next to him and when he saw you, he looked more delighted than John recently looked waking up.

“Y/N! Finally!” he ran over to you, kissing your cheek and pulling you into a deep hug, “and Deacy! We’re so relieved you’re here. We really need your expertise.”

“Roger and I have been fighting on how to continue "Let Me Live". It’s the only song we have left of the album, but we’re not gonna release it just yet. Better let the press settle down a bit first.” He let out a sad chuckle when you went to hug him.

“Thought we decided to drop that.” John muttered.

“Ah, we revived it. Anyway, we only have that one verse that Freddie wrote.” Brian finished, scratching his chin with the end of a pencil. John and Roger made their way over and crowded around the various sheets of papers filled to the sides with music notes.

“Why don’t we go for the same melodic structure and just change the lyrics? That way we don’t risk messing up.” John said and the other two seemed to like it. Roger patted John on the back.

“See? This is the genius we were missing.” he said grinning. You laughed at Brian rolling his eyes. John gave a small smile to Roger, but his face quickly turned poker.

“Alright then, let’s just have you improvise and we can gather up some words.” Brian suggested.

“Um, yeah sure.” John never liked singing - he’d only ever do it if it was with you or the band.

“Don’t worry, sweet,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, which he wasn’t slow to subtly shrug off. You saw in of the corner of your eye that Brian was looking your way, “just remember what I said. I'm your inspiration, baby.” you said playfully. Nothing. You walked into the control room where Brian and Roger was, ready to press the button and let John sing.

“Okay, "Let Me Live" additional verse, recording one...aaand go.” Brian said, pointing to John and pressing a button that started playing Freddie's vocals.

“Take your time, we’ll just loop the instrumentals and write down the lyrics until you stop.” Roger called out, holding a notebook and pen. John nodded, gluing his eyes on you as his brain visibly whirred.

As the recording of Freddie finished what was then a very short chorus, John started singing.

“Why don’t you take another piece of my…soul? Why don’t you...shape it, and...shake it...ah- um, until you’re really in control. Does that work?” he called out, breaking eye contact with you. Frantically writing, Roger nodded.

“’Good, it’s good. Let’s re-record that part with more confidence this time.” John nodded. As he re-sang the lines, Brian turned to look at you.

“Y/N?” you hummed in response, “Have you noticed that he’s been staring at you the whole time he sang those lines?”

“I told him he could look at me for inspiration. Like how he wrote “In Only Seven Days”?”

“Yes, but that was a love song. This...I'm not too sure what this is, to be honest.”

You paused to hear that John had gone on to complete the chorus and was now working on the bridge with Roger.

“I’ve noticed you two aren’t handsy. Very unnatural - well, for you.�� he grinned at you when you playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Thanks for worrying. I guess we all just have different ways of getting through something like this.”

“I guess so. But for the sake of your happiness, I'm gonna call a break so you can talk it out.”

“You’re too kind. Make sure you listen through the tapes.”

“I got it,” he said with a wink, “Alright, great work Deacy. You deserve a break.”

You suddenly felt a wave of fear fall over your body and walked outside to get some fresh air, John following you.

“You alright?” he asked you.

“Those were some pretty harsh lyrics, Deac.” you whispered.

“It’s a pretty harsh song.”

“But you were staring at me while singing it. It’s like you were telling me those exact words.” You bit your lip, he didn’t seem to look guilty.

“I just sang what came into mind when I look at you.” he shrugged.

“You think I'm controlling?” you crossed your arms, trying to mask the growing pain in your chest. Tears started to well up in your eyes.

“No- well...no, that’s not what I meant. It’s just-“ he obviously had something he was hiding.

“What’s wrong, John?” you tried to sound soothing, but it ended up sounding desperate. He was startled at your use of his real name, but his forehead quickly furrowed.

“Look, I’m fine! Could you please stop pestering me!” he shouted at you and you stood in shock, not knowing what to say.

“God, Y/N, this past week I’ve had to deal with your voice constantly repeating the same sentence.” his fists were clenched. You were speechless - in the almost 20 years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him get visibly mad at anything.

“I- I’m just trying to help-”

“Well, it’s clearly not working! I thought you’d stop after realising it wasn’t.”

“I did, I swear I tried to let you heal by yourself but...Deacy I just love you too much!”

“Yet I don’t feel the same way!” his voice lowered, realising what he said, “not anymore at least.”

You didn’t want to believe it at first. You searched hopelessly in his eyes, trying to find a sign of a joke somewhere, but you couldn’t. Your eyes fell to your shoes as you knew the truth.

“I just- I don’t feel like I can continue this. Us, I mean. Well...Queen and us.”

You felt your heart sink to your feet as the colour drained from your face. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’m retiring. I want to finish the album with the boys and then leave. Spend more time with myself. It’s just- it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Not without Freddie.” His voice broke and he rubbed his eyes, “I tried giving it a shot, I can’t, Y/N, nothing feels right.”

“Deacy I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

Your knees were about to give way and your bottom lip started trembling.

“John. things could still work out. You just have tell me what I need to do.”

“I need you to go.” he said sharply. Those words felt like spears going directly through your stomach.

“But John-” you pleaded.

“No, stop. Just- let me live. Leave me alone.” He walked into the studio, leaving you out in the cold.

You hesitated for a few seconds, trying to get some feeling into your legs again and wiping the few drops of tears that had fallen, before walking into the studio. You kept your head down, ignoring Brian’s questions and Roger’s snarky comments on taking a long break. You grabbed your coat and turned to look at the crew for one last time.

“Good luck, you guys. Freddie’s proud of you all.”

You flashed a quick smile to both Brian and Roger as you turned and walked out, hot tears rolling down your face. You could hear John’s voice as they started practicing again.

“Why don't you take another little piece of my life? Why don't you twist it, and turn it, and cut it like a knife? All you do is live, all I do is die…”

You picked up the pace and ended up running down the road, trying to run as far away from his voice as possible, while you sobbed out your heart’s content.

- Part 2

Let me know what you thought! Criticism is openly welcomed :) 

Tags: @notthebackchat @deakyjohns @fatbottomedgorl @fredthelegend

[pipesflowforeverandever]

The Ink Demonth, Day 15: Time Travel

I borrowed @aceofintuition‘s Joey Drew, “Snowy”, again for this alongside my own, “Gingie”. This drabble is based on an RP we did together some months ago. You can tell by the length how much I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: An old man with blue eyes steps into the page of someone much younger with dreams ahead he still can’t see.

Word Count: 2942

The aging man heard the ring of the café door as he stepped in, the gentle sting of coffee immediate underneath his nose and its faint taste on the edge of his lips. His eyes glanced around at a world seemingly tinged brown like a yellowing photo, the soft, warm hues evident everywhere on this sunny autumn evening. There was a record playing somewhere as the sweeping of a broom scuffed next to the counter that caught the silver fox’s attention, but his light wrinkles crinkled a bit more as interest in the cleaning was brief; he was here for something else.

Someone else, he found as a shade of reddish-orange caught his gaze, and he felt lured closer just like a curious fish in the sea.

The young man had his back to him, a briefcase shadowed by his side as it leaned against the leg of a chair. He was the brightest thing in the room, like he lit it up the same way a candle does the spare, dusty bedroom; everything around him just seemed to follow suit to his cream sleeves and tan-brown pants. His cup of gold-tinted tea rippled as he bumped the table, reaching down for a hardcover book with pages sticking out in much the same way the case did.

The newcomer, still standing, allowed his ice blue stare to cling as he walked past the busy, seemingly ditzy boy. Or…well, “boy” as an accurate term is determinate on how old one is when perceiving it. The redhead certainly wouldn’t consider himself a boy at the ripe old age of 22, but someone without a line of color left in their grey hair would, and the mysterious person letting his black cloak rub past the seats as he made his way to the window was such a someone. It wasn’t until he sat down that the distracted kid had finished lugging up his notebook and felt his expression still at the appearance of someone he didn’t expect to see again.

After all, Joey had lived here for years, and most unusual folks he spied on in the park didn’t show up again somewhere else. Not in the same day.

The stranger was beautiful, with hair styled almost impossibly in a large swoop from the left to the right side of his head; the end of it had a distinct wave, and it all looked dyed as if steeped in moonlight for nights on end. His brown skin shone with the glow from the window, leaves falling from the tree just outside it past a pair of irises that would put the finest crystal glass to shame.

The aspiring artist with already pinkish skin felt it become pinker, heat nibbling at the top of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and knuckles. The pages laid across his desk were undoubtfully familiar; what were the chances that he had seen them as he strolled past to the booth? In his panic, he calculated it to be high; even if the old man refused to look back at him, he must have known.

He’d find out many, many years later he didn’t, but the wrong assumption made the right thing to do. It was inevitable anyway, in a certain sense, as sketching strangers in the park without them noticing was a practice that can’t eventually go undefeated.

And Joey, even when he was young, was a man proactive in his introductions. Perhaps a bit more on the shy side than he would be running a studio, but still someone that would rather talk than let silence rule the day.

And so he did.

“G-good ev- afternoon! Sir!”

The silver-haired man lazily blinked and glanced to the side at the youngster who was hardly taller than him even when the former was sitting and the latter bouncing to the tips of his scuffed shoes. A grown man, perhaps, but Joey would always be teased for never growing an inch more. The blue-eyed man evaluated him, another set of honey eyes flickering slightly but constantly with nerves that had a shaky smile to match at the corners of his mouth. He noted there was no mustache above his lips, but still sideburns and glasses to accessorize his head.

He played dumb. “Hey.” The newcomer’s voice was deep with two accents coming together, one a southern drawl and the other the unmistakable hint of someone accustomed to speaking Spanish. “…What can I do for ya?”

Yes, of course, he had noticed the ginger staring at him from afar some hours ago. Yes, of course, he was going to enjoy seeing him squirm for a reason to cover it anyway. Truth be told, he was surprised that the kid came up to him in the first place; he figured it would be up to him to initiate a conversation, if one was going to happen.

But that had always just been Gin, it turned out. The old man tried not to smile at the idea of it, so there was just a twitch on the left side of his mouth.

“I- I was just!” Joey held his hands in front of his chest, chin turned down to restless, fiddling fingers. What could he even say?! ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for sketching you without even talking to you first’? No! He wasn’t even sorry! …Just sorry he got caught.

It was only then he supposed maybe he hadn’t been caught, as he assumed. The realization it was far too late to back out felt like a push on his back to keep spitting out words and hope they make sense.

“I…I hope this doesn’t come off in the wrong way, my good man!”

Said good man raised a brow as the other squeaked his way around the situation.

“But- but you made for a lovely inspiration!” Joey kept grinning until it hurt his face, as he looked at the stranger for any sort of reaction.

“…Beg your pardon?”

Oh.

“I! I simply!” Come on now, confidence! Only thing left to save him now! “I’m an artist! And I do life studies! And you simply are just FAR too interesting to ignore!”

And in both excitement and fear, the old man felt himself involuntarily tilting his head back as a book was shoved into his personal space, pages flicking until it fell to the last ones before the rest of the book seemed orderly. And there, indeed, was his own face.

In awkward silence, his wide eyes flicked back to look at the others’, just to see the ginger in the same sort of anxiety inducing panic that he was before- perhaps amplified. He blinked again. Somehow, he still wasn’t used to this kind of attention, even if he knew he should have known better.

Gin was a weird kid.

With the young man waiting, seemingly, for him to react first, the stranger gently gripped the book and pulled it away so it was at a better angle for his eyes.

And although he knew he was avoiding the growing need for a pair of glasses, the old man also understood at a glance this was something special.

“How about…” the older man drawled with as much patience he could muster, trying to begin a proper conversation, “…’Y pull your stuff over here? ‘Magine your back hurts from standing up so straight.”

With that, he had to try not to chuckle as he saw the kid realize his stance and overcorrect, abruptly adjusting where his limbs were in relation to his body before scrambling to bring his things spread across the table in an armful. They were spread once more before the other next to the window, and it didn’t take long for him to try to forget at least a bit of the horrible introduction that just happened.

It almost felt like he was evaluating his portfolio, with a bright-eyed new artist waiting with a bounce in his seat for commentary on the accumulation of his work and skills.

So he was the kind of guy to pour himself out without even knowing if the other person was an artist or not- just someone he…wanted to approval of. The old man supposed there was something there he was supposed to think about in relation to his friend, but didn’t have the attention to word exactly what as he plucked up a random sketch- a seemingly candid one of a rabbit tucked behind a thin bundle of flowers.

“These are nice,” the old man commented with a sharp but approving glance over. “Y’ got a real eye for detail, here, kiddo.”

It still didn’t cross the youngster’s mind that the whole ‘I’ve been drawing you’ thing was pushed aside so easily for a reason. He had been watching him back for even longer; no explanation was needed, and he couldn’t improvise a realistic response anyway as if he was surprised.

“I’m…an artist, sir,” Joey repeated again, somehow steadier this time but calmer. “I just draw what I see. And I quite enjoy it! I just-“

Joey interrupted himself with a hum that trailed off, in some way not wanting to finish that thought. The other man pursed his lips.

“Just what, kid?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“…Can’t really drop all these drawings on my lap and call whatever you want to say about them nothing, you know.” His tone was dry but the meaning was sincere, a tinge of softness in his voice, a kind of understanding a bit too familiar to put aside.

As such, after a few more seconds of fumbling, the shy young man simply nodded in agreement.

“Now…” the older continued, setting the held page down to pick up another, “…What do y’ wanna do?” The question was taken with a bit of shock, but he continued as easygoing as before. “What do you…wanna make with all this? What’s the dream, kid?”

It did feel like a dream, Joey inwardly agreed. He plopped himself onto a total stranger and found himself without hesitation being probed about what it meant to him. And usually Joey had answers! He could go on and on and on without taking a single breath about what it meant to him to create things, about wanting to do things for others to see. But he always said so unprompted; now that it was actually asked of him aloud, he found himself floundering on what to say.

“I…”

The old man tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at him, wasn’t so invested in the answer that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Joey exhaled and folded his hands on the table, thumb smoothing over his own skin in restless ponderance- a good emotion for a matching time in his life.

“I would…love if I could, somehow, use my art to…make people happy.”

Now that was something he had never considered, but there it was- spoken by none other than himself. He briefly bit his lower lip and looked out the window, perhaps avoiding making himself look at his art and the man that was now- unbeknownst to him- clearly staring with intent.

“I…want to do what my mother always believed I could do. You see- see, she told me I had a special kind of magic that matters to other people. That I’m so bright that…I can make others bright too, just by making them smile.”

It was so, so hard for the stranger to withhold his smile for just a second longer.

“But I…don’t quite know how that can be done!”

Joey’s eyes flickered back, and the nervous smile had returned; in spite of his optimism, it was like putting a blanket over the unsure, tumultuous waves of the sea.

“Then you try something out.”

The response, as quiet as it was spoken, was still strong and unexpected, and so Joey felt himself gasp. His honey eyes widened, and his whole head turned to attention.

And now- now he was letting himself smile. The man opposite of Joey knew that he was looking this time, and that it was when it mattered.

“You keep tryin’, no matter what. And piece by piece, something will come together. Just like when you figured out how to draw, right? Assumin’ you were normal and learned things as you went instead of being perfect on the first go.”

With his lips lightly parted, the young man in awe of someone who could- for all he knew- been spouting motivational nonsense without knowing a lick about art…was entirely believable.

It was the right thing at the right time, regardless.

Those brown irises had eyelids fall over one second more, returning to his own creations with a new perspective. The lines seemed more purposeful, the shapes more unique. It was something flawed and yet flawless, just as he had always seen anyone else’s art.

The old man was quickly becoming satisfied with the rare feat of making Gin stunned enough to shut up. He thought about leaving right then and there, as if this was all he had come to see and do, but he was once again the person between them surprised when the redhead stood up first, scooping up the papers in his arms. The young man forced his eyes away but towards the end of the collecting finally met his again, a twinkle there that made the silver haired wanderer feel more at home than he had been this whole time.

“Thank you,” he muttered, words slick and airy with what could only be relief. “Thank you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on his things until they were more orderly and less likely to fall away. “I…do hope to see you in town again.” His grin was fading in and out with each phrase, but the feeling was so pure, so freed, that an excuse wasn’t needed. “Apologies for…not…asking first!” he chuckled, buckling at the knees briefly.

The other man chuckled back, the sun setting behind the glass. “No problem.”

A wonderful, awkward pause filled the space between them, the conversation ending as it started with one sitting down and the other standing up. Joey didn’t know that the other person would have as much a reason to try to treasure this moment as he did. Eventually, he took a step backward and slowly turned around through the now near empty café, towards the front door and the streetlights beginning to be lit.

“Oh!”

And he spun right back around, much to someone else’s bemusement.

“What…-” the redheaded scamp asked with hesitation, “-Is your name?”

Looking him up and down, having forgotten to introduce himself too, the fellow with moonlit hair and a black coat leaned his arm around the edge of the booth and took a moment till he smirked.

“Mr. Flores.”

The man with sideburns and glasses nodded, mouthing a ‘right’ before abruptly turning back and leaving the room. Mr. Flores watched the brightest splash of color in this world stained like aged paper walk out his life, looking forward when he would walk back in. With he himself looking like he was out of place and dyed with blues- with an indigo tint in his clothes and the cyan like glittering water under his eyelids- decided it was his time to leave, too.

The suitcase Gingie had forgotten was reverently taken by the handle before disappearing in a portal, the rim of which shimmered blue, too.

The old man ducked out and into the room of another person, someone who he had grown old with. Nighttime had fallen and the shadows of unlit halls looks like ink thin and seeping into the wallpaper. What he surely knew was yellow now seemed a bit on the cooler side, and someone he had just seen looking like the fire of the sun in daytime now seemed like wax of a candle extinguished, in his cream shirt in the dark and top hat hung up on the coat rack. Gingie, his red hair looking paler as strands of it turned white, glanced up from a paper held between his fingers. His gaze was soft, mischievous, and made Snowy feel at home.

“Mr. Flores,” the other Joey smirked.

A hand came to hold his back, the two old men together with more winkles and greyer hair than when they first met- for either the first time or the second time. Snowy scoffed, grinning wide.

“You weren’t supposed to remember till I brought it up to ya!” he lamented humorously. “Wasn’t supposed to be that I just…show up after accidentally running into you in the past, then you suddenly know too. More dramatic than that!”

Gingie scoffed right back. “It seems like you and I have exchanged some…traits over the years. And here you were always teasing me for being the one to portal into your life first.”

Snowy sighed through his nose as a rosy hand cupped the side of his face, tilting into it with hooded eyes.

“…Nah.” Then the toothy grin came back, devilish. “You were as much of a chicken with its head cut off as ever.”

And to that, the other pursed his lips, still holding his cheek. “And you were as subtle as ever.”

Basking in the moonlight of the time Snowy was really from, Gingie pulled him closer, their silhouettes seen through the window if one was looking- their faces becoming one shape and the outline of their bodies shining like the glass under the stars, frost around them like a picture frame as snow began to fall. The lost suitcase was set down and very likely forgotten for yet another several decades.

[letterboxd]

Run, Brittany, Run.

“It has changed my life. It’s changed the way I look at myself, the way I speak about myself or even think about myself. I feel like I’m a much kinder person to me.” We talk to stars Jillian Bell and Lil Rel Howery, and playwright-turned-director Paul Downs Colaizzo, about his debut feature film Brittany Runs a Marathon.

Transformation stories, makeover movies, ugly duckling tales: Hollywood has long been awash in them, but usually they’re steeped in fantasy (average girl discovers she is princess! Princess reveals she is ogre!). Brittany Runs a Marathon is the very real story of a woman who is transformed not by any magic spell or deus-ex-machina, but by the words of her doctor, warning her to follow a healthier diet, get some exercise and lose some pounds.

The real-life Brittany ended up running the New York Marathon, inspiring her friend, playwright Paul Downs Colaizzo, to write and direct a feature film about her journey. It’s a great vehicle for Jillian Bell, who racked up her own running miles to prepare for the title role. Playing Brittany’s wonderfully supportive brother-in-law Demetrius, lending moral support via video-chats, is Lil Rel Howery (Get Out TSA agent Rod Williams).

While Brittany Runs a Marathon is being heavily marketed as a comedy, “there’s something deeper, more serious and heart-wrenching lying at the heart of this film” observes Letterboxd member Nina. “Sticking to regimens and coming off of setbacks is hard,” writes Michael. “It was refreshing to see growth portrayed in all its fits and starts.” “A really beautiful story of someone trying to better themselves and how that doesn’t mean you have to do so alone,” Claire agrees. “Jillian Bell is excellent and really raw as Brittany.”

We spoke to Jillian Bell, Paul Downs Colaizzo and Lil Rel Howery ahead of the film’s US theatrical opening.

Jillian Bell (Brittany)

What was the first thing in the script that you related to and made you feel that you could be Brittany? Jillian Bell: I got the script from my manager and I was very nervous [laughs]. She said, “You’re going to be a little scared while you’re reading this because I think you’re going to relate to the character and then you gotta keep reading because the script is really beautiful and powerful.” I read it and I remember thinking the exact same thoughts: ‘This is going to be very different to take on than most things I’ve done’. It was different in a good way. Something I wanted to try and go out of my comfort zone. I just related to the characters so whole-heartedly. There were moments where I thought ‘someone is taping me right now’ because I’ve thought the exact things and now they’re in a script I’m reading.

What were some of the conversations you had with the real Brittany? How did meeting her affect your approach? The script is inspired by her story but there were a lot of other characters in the film that were not in her actual life story. Paul and I decided to create a character together and Paul had sent me early on a video of the real Brittany when she was making a tape to raise money for the marathon. I completely got her essence from that. She is so inspiring, smart, and funny, sometimes very silly.

Paul and I worked together on creating a character based off all these other characters and it informed us about X, Y and Z. But the first time I met the real Brittany O’Neal was when we were shooting a super emotional scene. I was concerned about making sure she was okay. It’s one thing to know that your life story was about to be told; it’s another thing to see an actor trying to portray all of these things you really went through in your real life.

What were the other types of preparations you did for the role? I decided I was going to do the actual physical journey of the character. I decided to lose 40 pounds for the shoot, 29 pounds before we shot and eleven while we were filming. I just thought it would inform me on certain approaches the script took that I didn’t quite connect to emotionally. There was so much that I did connect to with Brittany, and then there were moments in certain scenes where I thought ‘why is she acting that way? Why is that her response?’ Once I had done the physical journey I completely understood. I had never experienced what it was like to plateau, for example, and focus on a number so intensely. That was part of the script that I didn’t really understand.

You’re known more as a comedic actress and this was a fantastic opportunity to show off your dramatic talent. How did you want to subvert expectations of yourself coming into the more dramatic scenes? I think there’s always a lot of pressure when you try something that is different than people expect to see when they come to see a movie that you’re in. I was just so drawn to the script and I wanted to protect the character. I know I told Paul that I didn’t want anyone else playing her, not that anyone else couldn’t do it, but I wanted to make sure that the way I read it was the way he was going to shoot it, and he was so on the same page.

I felt like I was in really good hands. We were both taking a chance on each other. He was a first-time writer/director and this was my first time doing something that had dramatic elements, and I was playing the title character which I’d never done before. This is the first time where I was in a movie where I was in every single scene. I had no idea if I was going to enjoy doing something that was such a departure of things I had done in the past, but I truly loved it and I hope I get to do it again.

There’s a fine balance between the need for people to live healthily in order to avoid lifestyle-related illnesses, versus the need for society to accept everyone for who they are, no matter their appearance. What conversations did you, Paul, and other creatives have about this line? We had several conversations and talked basically every day for seven months before we started shooting. We wanted to make sure that we were being honest about these conversations: what it’s like going to the doctor and have them say to you: “You need to lose weight to be healthier” because of some health concerns; and the difference between that and the friendship that you have where somebody is saying: “You’d look better if you drop a few pounds” and how unhealthy that is. And how you can have self-hate and lack of self-worth and [how some of that] is society-ingrained ideas and some of that is of your own making. I think Paul did such a beautiful job with the script. We hit on everything without being too political or too shy.

We just covered Sword of Trust and had the delight of chatting with its director, Lynn Shelton. That’s another fantastic, funny movie you’re in. Can you talk about the different pleasures you get from working from a script versus the type of freedom you have in improvisation, as you did on Sword of Trust? I’m definitely more comfortable with things like Lynn’s film, where it’s not as scripted and you get to be extremely loose and bring whatever you want to it, and Lynn was so open to any ideas we had. I remember Michaela and I, the night before we shot, we were sitting in a hotel room together talking over who our characters were and what they wanted, what their goals were. We approached Lynn saying “this is what we’re thinking” and she said “great!”. It’s very different from doing a role like Brittany, where all I got was the script and I fell in love with that. I decided to stick more to the script than I’ve done with any other film. But I definitely wanted to make sure I was telling the story that I received and was so moved by.

Jillian Bell, Micah Stock and Michaela Watkins.

It’s awesome that in both these movies you’re opposite Michaela Watkins. It’s wonderful for me. Michaela Watkins is one of my favorite actresses. I just think she’s so strong, and honest in her performances, and she also makes me laugh harder than most people in this world. I would really love to work with her again. I’ve worked with her twice in one year so I’ve felt very lucky.

Paul Thomas Anderson has said he’s gearing up for a comedy with Tiffany Haddish. He brought you onto The Master and Inherent Vice because he thinks you’re very funny. You must be on his speed-dial for this project, right? I don’t know about that. [Laughs]. I may not be on speed-dial. I’m definitely a huge fan of his and I love that him and Tiffany are working together. That’s going to be amazing. If I hear nothing more than it coming out, I’ll be very excited to go see it.

Brittany has a life-changing experience and your hard work to demonstrate that really shows. How has working on the film changed your life? It has changed my life. It’s changed the way I look at myself, the way I speak about myself or even think about myself. I feel like I’m a much kinder person to me. It made me examine what I was putting out there and how negative that can be and I think that happens, not to all women but to some, and I’m definitely one of those women.

I feel like a movie like this really inspired me to look at that and have a deeper look at how I would talk about myself. I think this is the movie that I wanted to see when I was thirteen, about a real woman who was struggling with these things and how hard it can be to make the first step, how amazing it can be to really choose yourself first over everyone. It’s a hard thing to do, making that first step.

What was the film that made you want to be in film? Clue was the movie that made me want to be in films. I watched that when I was a young girl; it was one of the first VHS tapes we had and I watched it on repeat. It wasn’t just because I loved comedy and mystery and anything that’s a little dark and twisted; I also loved how all these funny character actors were the leads. I still love watching that movie and it’s still my favorite movie to this day.

Jillian Bell with writer/director Paul Downs Colaizzo.

Paul Downs Colaizzo (writer/director)

The film is based on your best friend and roommate Brittany. What was the moment you realized her story could be a movie, and how was she involved in shaping her own narrative and the tone of the film, if at all? Paul Downs Colaizzo: It was after a conversation she and I had after I first moved in with her, where she decided she was going to turn her life around and take control of what she could control and find some structure in her life. So she went for a run. It was when she was out for her first run that I thought this could possibly be a movie. I outlined it without telling her I was working on a movie that was inspired by her life and then a few months later I let her know. She was surprised and flattered and excited and interested and intrigued.

The character of Brittany is different than my real-life friend Brittany in a lot of ways but her DNA is all over it. She was incredibly supportive, and now she’s at a point where she’s excited that people are going to be inspired by something that was inspired by her.

Which aspects were fictionalized for the movie? I took some milestones from her journey and there were elements of her personality that I incorporated into the character of Brittany, but none of the characters is really based on anybody. The character Brittany is different from my friend and really none of the scenes from the movie is a recreation of anything that happened in real life.

What was it that convinced you Jillian was right for the lead? How did you identify the dramatic potential of the comedic actors you selected? [With] Jillian, I’d always been a fan of her comedy and her comedic acting; when she was in 22 Jump Street I fell in love with her. When I met with her about the role she really had this connection to the character. She wanted to tell the story and she wanted to protect the character in the way that I did. Her brain is naturally funny so we got the opportunity to play with the comic genius that is Jillian Bell and also expose this well of untapped emotion that most people had never seen her access. She’s never done a dramatic role before, I had never directed a film. We had to place bets on each other. That drove both of us to work as hard as possible to not let the other one down. 

The idea of the film is that we’d take a character who is typically a sidekick, start with the archetype of her as someone we know how to laugh at and create actually a really deep, personal pathos-filled human that we also empathize with and relate to. We wanted to do that with Brittany but also with all the other characters in the film. Luckily we got incredibly talented comedic actors who are normally playing supporting roles and also have these other elements of their personality that we were able to expose and illuminate for the world to see.

Do you feel there are films or plays that have done justice to body image issues before? What did you want to bring to the topic you felt was lacking? I never really approached this as a body-issue film. I started working on this in 2011 and that wasn’t really part of the cultural conversation at the time, at least in the way it is now. Her relationship to her body was always a big element of the film as far as her trying to understand what her own value system was, not the value system that the world put on her. But I would consider it a story of a person coming into their own.

I think we all can relate to this idea that we’re not living the lives we want to live and that we’re maybe not taking ourselves as seriously as we could because we’re afraid that if we try we will fail. I think we’ve been ingrained to feel that failure is a bad thing. For me this was a story about a person who learns to help and dream for herself and pursue these dreams in a way that’s earnest, without losing her edge and irreverence in the process.

I like how you kind of utilized the “friend-zone” in a way most rom-coms don’t know what to do with. What were some of the genre clichés you deliberately resisted? Again, you know, I never really looked at it that way because I come from theater. I really am just looking at the characters and their journey and the story we’re telling and how it all relates back to the theme. It’s not quite how I look at the construction of a story; I’m not starting with the genre. The one thing I was starting with here is I was starting with the archetypes we were familiar with and allowing the story to decidedly go in a different direction by deepening the characters and seeing where the story would go as we deepen the characters.

How do you feel your instincts as a playwright and experience in television informed your approach in making your first feature film? What were the different satisfactions in the process? The good news about theater is that it’s an all-hands-on-deck situation. You’re making things work, you’re solving problems because there are limitations in the space in which you’re telling the story. In an indie film, there are also a lot of limitations. So getting creative with your surroundings and figuring out how to multi-purpose environments so they can be several different settings so your film can have a feeling of scope and a change of scenery, but also be filmed in a certain amount of time, was a technical thing I brought over from theater. But beyond that, it’s all storytelling and it goes back to Aristotle and the poetic and finding heroes with flaws that we can relate to. It’s just, in this movie, I’m just asking that the sidekick is the hero because she deserves to be one too.

You filmed at the New York City Marathon. That sounds very challenging. Can you talk about your experience filming there? Did it go smoothly? It was incredible. There were six of us from the crew permitted to be there. We had three units in the race. It was a monster of a day. And also, the action you see in the marathon is easily one of the most emotional days of the city in the year because everybody is so supportive and lovely and kind to their fellow man. We could feel it that day, and I think you ultimately feel that energy in the film. It’s a magical day to experience in real life and we did our best to honor that.

What was the importance for you of depicting an LGBTQIA+ family in the film? I’m a gay man. I think this story is about giving depth and relatability and asking for empathy for all of the people in the film, many of whom are “others” in our society. I wanted to subvert the idea of the gay best friend as a trope, which is usually in a lot of ways the comic relief or kind of a hot mess, sort of the character Brittany would be in a typical big comedy. I wanted him to have a full life that honored where our culture is headed and made the gay storyline as relatable as any other storyline.

What are the types of films you’d like to make moving forward? Do you see yourself making more personal projects/dramedies like this or maybe adapting your own plays? I’m gonna go wherever the inspiration takes me. One thing a friend of mine observed about my work recently: I tend to like to unfreakify people we freakify. My guess is that thread will remain in my work but I’m going to do it in a whole bunch of different ways I hope. I’m working on something right now that’s a historical thriller but I’m not done with it yet. I’ll let you know.

What was the film that made you want to be a filmmaker? The first film that made me realize that films had the amazing potential to break through to people all through the country in all sorts of situations and make them feel excited by the idea of insight was American Beauty. I grew up in Georgia in a conservative area in a religious home and the idea that my life could be subverted in a way that movie depicted made me excited to understand more about myself and the world about me and the lies we tell ourselves.

Great choice, it was formative for me too, I resent this backlash it’s been getting. American Beauty? Fuck that! It’s great!

Lil Rel Howery as TSA agent Rod Williams in ‘Get Out’.

Lil Rel Howery (Demetrius)

What did you connect with most about the script? What was it that stood out to you? Lil Rel Howery: How honest it was and how Paul did a good job of writing the human experience on an aspect of you know, “you lose weight, everything becomes peaches and cream” but you have to get your mental health together too. I thought it was dope. Brittany’s character really showed all the different processes of getting it together. She would be running and losing weight and it’s like “everything’s going great now” but then here comes an obstacle. It’s not about the weight, it’s more than that, and I thought that was very deep. I love how, also, he wrote all these stereotypical characters in such a human way without a political agenda to it. He made these beautiful families look like real people.

Most of your scenes you’re acting in front of a computer. What were the challenges of acting without your co-star present? How did your scenes work? I always joke with people, like, “I’ve done more than Get Out”, and they’re like, “Have you ever acted with people before?” I’m joking. It was acting, man. I think one of the things I love about what Paul did a good job of was each of us got our one-on-one with Jillian. And not just one-on-one, especially for us funny people, very dramatic one-on-ones. It wasn’t hard, it was a beautiful well-written movie and for me, that scene with me and Jillian was one of the coolest things I’ve ever filmed because it was filmed with honesty and emotion and I think we did a good job of filling that.

Do you feel eager to show that dramatic side of yourself? How will you reconcile that after establishing yourself as a comic relief? I’ve never put myself in that box. Unfortunately people just love to do that, I guess. With Get Out, as funny as I was in that, I was only funny to people because it was so intense. It wasn’t like I was just telling jokes. I wasn’t doing anything silly. My character Rod was just being honest: “This is what I think is going on.” It’s just funny the way I was saying it because the rest of the movie is insane. I even look at Bird Box, that character, I threw in a couple of jokes in there just because I felt like it, but that was a dramatic character. 

Even the scenes in Get Out, most of those things were dramatic. Even doing Uncle Drew, I made sure they didn’t make me the funniest person in that movie, especially with a movie with everyone running around with prosthetics. I thought that was crazy. I made sure I was the one who brought the heart into the movie. I’m very specific about what I pick. So I think with my next few films, the ones coming out this year, along with Brittany Runs a Marathon and the stuff I’m filming now, I just think you’re not going to put me in a box. You’re just going to have to call me good at one point.

You are good! [Laughs, generously.]

What are the different pleasures for you working in a scripted format compared to the freedoms you might have on other projects where you can improvise jokes? The crazy thing is, when people hire you they want to hire the best of you, right? I can improv drama. When I met with Paul it was about playing a love interest. We had a conversation of how I loved the script so much and I was talking to him about how I wish the father figure would be aggressive with her and he ended up making me that character where I played the father figure. He created this character based on our conversations. This character didn’t even exist at first.

I’ve worked with directors so far that trust me, and I trust them along with the creative process. I’m one of those dudes who’s a control improv-er. Maybe some comedians go off the rails. I know what the story is, I know what the moment is, I never go off what we’re supposed to get. My only thing I like to do is make a scene real. Even if the scene is funny, I don’t like to do nothing funny if it ain’t real. If it’s too silly, I don’t want to do it. I’m very big on keeping it real.

The same goes for my standup. My standup always comes from a real place. I try to make sure, everything I do, every project, every role, even the stuff now, I’m working with some great directors and I’m like, “can we get on the phone today because some of these lines are too stupid. Let’s think of something better and dramatic and I’ll make it funny” [laughs].

Get Out is a bonafide classic. It must have been exciting two years ago when it was being lauded and discovered, but in hindsight, it’s a key part of a movement that’s defining Hollywood right now. How does that feel to be part of? It feels great, man. I feel like I’m a part of so many different versions of that. I’ve been lucky, I’ve been able to do some cool stuff, man. I think with Get Out and what that did. I think about even Bird Box, you can do whatever you want, that was a fun time and I loved the script. After that, Netflix said they were breaking all these records. “This is a record-breaking movie.” There are a lot of interesting things I’ve been able to do, which I’m not done with.

I think for me, Brittany Runs a Marathon falls under that category with Get Out where I don’t think people know what they’re about to get into. I remember telling people that about Get Out and they were like, “Oh, okay”, and I was like, “Naw, you have no idea what this is about to be”. I think Brittany Runs a Marathon is like that too, I don’t think people have any idea how special this movie really is until they see. That’s why I think it’ll do well word-of-mouth more than anything.

Did you get to keep the hoodies for your character’s birthday? That’s the best piece of costume in a film for 2019. [Laughs]. Naw, I didn’t. It’s so funny you say that. I don’t know why I didn’t keep a t-shirt. Damn, I should’ve. I’d keep anything.

What movie made you want to be in movies? Let me tell you something funny. It’s not a film that made me want to take this on at first. It was an episode of Family Ties. It’s the episode where his friend got killed by a drunk driver [season 5, episodes 23 and 24; a two-parter titled A, My Name is Alex which won the Emmy for Outstanding Writing for a Comedy Series in 1987]. Michael J. Fox performed in a way, you know, you watch things to be entertained at first? But that was the first time I watched an actor and I was like, “Yo, this is crazy good”. Then he did like a one-man show in the second part, like a play where he was walking on different parts of the set and it was different parts of his life. Man, I thought that was brilliant. I thought, ‘Whatever job this is, this is what I want to do!’ [laughs].

‘Brittany Runs a Marathon’ is in US cinemas now.