#eh fuck it that's enough tags i can add more later

[frantic-fuck]

Snakelet - Masterpost

Synopsis: After 20-odd years of hoping and praying to escape his captor, Ziri finally gets his wish. Soon enough, he wants nothing more but to return to her.

Chapters and Characters below the cut:

Chapters

Like Flicking a Switch (Whumptember Day 11 - "One last favor, then I'll leave you alone", knife, sacrificing themself)

A Burden Shared, More Withheld (Whumptember Day 2 - "I can't do this alone", dried blood)

Chapter 1 (AoW Day 1 - Risk)

Chapter 2 (AoW Day 2 - Cry for Help)

Chapter 3 (AoW Day 7 - Promise, Guilt)

Chapter 4 (AoW Day 17 - Stress Position) (Augusnippets Day 7 - Drowning)

Chapter 5 (AoW Day 27 - Proof) (Augusnippets Day 4 - Vivisection)

Chapter 5 (cont'd) (Augusnippets Day 8 - Protective Caretaker, Found Family)

Chapter 6 (AoW Day 9 - Caged) (Augusnippets Day 9 - Overheating)

Chapter 7 (Augusnippets Day 10 - Begging for Mercy) (AoW Day 12 - Anger)

Chapter 8 (Augusnippets Day 16 - Humiliation)

Chapter 9 (Randowhump Birthday Prompt 4 and 14 - Wings and Hallucinations)

Characters

Ziri Kai (aka Koios Pan)

Pronouns: he/him

Species: winged snampire (snake vampire) satyr

Role: Whumpee; captive of Janessa, and later Nerium

Zop

Pronouns: they/them

Species: sea elf and lightning drake fusion

Role: Caretaker; Ziri's siblings trapped with him to keep him happy-ish and obedient

Janessa Vurbone

Pronouns: she/her

Species: human

Role: Whumper, later Carewhumper; extremely possessive of Ziri, but at least she has standards.

Nerium

Pronouns: they/them

Species: pixie

Role: Whumper; kidnaps Ziri from Janessa, they and their friends don't have quite the same standards

Ol' Moldy

Pronouns: she/her

Species: green hag

Role: Whumper; tried and failed to kidnap Ziri as a kid and just so happens to be one of Nerium's "friends" now

[dutyworn]

Wren full playthrough part 3. Notable mods for this part: LE1 Diversification Project, Saren Stages, Keepers Finders (full modlist linked under the readmore along with other generic information about this playthrough)

I timestapmed this a while ago so I have less commentary than usual for the self-roast etc because I can't remember shit. I do remember, though, that this part is a good example of the general "in-game isn't 1:1 to blog portrayal" what with exhausting a lot of the conversation options. I aim for this to be a "full" playthrough so like I'm recording the full Avina conversations, but a lot of that stuff... would probably be stuff that she either already knows or at the very least even if she likes to hear the facts from the actual people rather than the extranet (OK, Avina is a VI anyway but), she'd probably not stop to ask questions while being supposed to be rushing to the Council chambers XD See also she would never essentially brag at Avina for having an audience with the Council but that was one of the "Havu did not think the tone of that dialogue tree was that and clicked it anyway" times that happens way too much in this game.

Also? 100 percent I'm doing the Scan the Keepers quest for the money and the XP. Wren would... not fuck with that, and most likely report it to C-Sec. But I'm doing it because money and XP and also I like the little things the mod adds to it loool.

One more note, I don't think I had installed the mod that fixes mumbling NPCs yet for this part but I know I did sometime fairly early on. Paired with no subtitles this is not ideal but. Eh.

youtube playlist / tumblr masterpost (pending) (look for ; havu gaming tag for prev)

Highlights and timestamps:

00:00 Docking on the Citadel. Genuinely one of my favourite cinematics from the first game.

01:54 Talk with Udina and Anderson.

04:54 Chat with Embassy receptionist.

05:48 Chat with Embassy Avina.

10:40 Keeper, chat with Citadel Tower Avina.

15:03 Elevator chat: Ashley & Kaidan. Yes, I aim to record as many elevator chats with different squad combinations as I manage.

15:37 Meeting Garrus.

17:26 Council hearing.

20:15 Chat with Udina and Anderson.

27:27 Elevator chat: Ashley & Kaidan.

28:03 Scan the Keepers pt1, Chorban

30:40 Presidium Prophet pt1. A "I don't have enough reputation points for this dialogue, doing this later" moment.

33:33 Barla Von

General disclaimer: This is not meant to be a 1:1 to my roleplay portrayal, even if it can be used as a reference for choices and just as a general "people can watch this if they are interested/wanna know Wren/the game more" fun thing. In gameplay, I tend to exhaust dialogue options; for a lot of asking questions, Wren actually would already be aware of the answers so sometimes it's more about wanting to show the dialogue (for people not familiar with the game) and gaining XP, other times (mostly when conversing with people about their personal experiences) she asks about things she is aware of because she wants the story from the person themselves, and to show care. Also, gaming dynamics obviously have their limits.

I record everything. I edit out reduntant getting lost on the map (happens a lot more you'd expect), repeat dialogue, and/or speed through leveling up, modding equipment, etc. If I am reading something while playing, I keep the text in my edits for long enough for me to be able to read (I'm a slow reader). Stuff less relevant to the story, such as planet descriptions, I keep in the video but only very briefly so that the information is there and readable if the video is paused.

I mainly record for my own reference/screencapping etc. purposes. That's why there also are no subtitles, though I will record clips I specifically want to share with subtitles on.

You may use my videos freely for anything you wish, such as screencapping your muse if you play someone from the games etc.

I play with a galore of mods! Here's my list of mods I currently use in this playthrough for the first game.

I always include clickable timestamps on Youtube, if you want to watch, but want to skip some parts.

[jaypsnax]

Alright then, to take it from the top... here’s some things I’ve done here or there for this dang game, from oldest to newest. With a big chunk of months starting with the margin Floofty there. Much is traditional and such, which is not my most practiced medium. Details on each below, just because I like over-explaining and it helps my nerves about posting.

1st: Fairly certain this Gramble is the first thing I did that was OK enough to show. Or, at least close to the first. He was one of my favorites and still is for his kindness(though he also can be really mean and paranoid, also a reason why I like him), so I wanted to get around to em. Also he’s very cute, I love my little malewife. I wanna scoop him up and hold him. Trouble is, Gramble has to have some of the most awkward proportions I’ve yet experienced while trying to draw a grumpus, I swear. That, and the more I looked at it, the more I grew to be unhappy with it. That generally applies to basically all of the drawings from last year, I find them to be “eh” at best. But it is what it is. 2nd: Second up is Flooftyyy, my most favorite. Intelligent, well-spoken, morally ambiguous, NB... and an asshole. But one with a cause they believe in that’s ultimately well intentioned, which they’ll go to self-destructive lengths to fulfill. And it’s clear they struggle to really get a grasp on how to treat people and have learned to cope with their frustration by shutting everyone out and believing them to be ignorant. While still obviously playing favorites between Eggabell and Triffany :p But by the end of the game, they’re learning that in order to really do what they want, they’ve got to really try and understand others. They’re the sort that I’d love to keep following to see their development. The awkwardness, the uncomfortable apologies and attempts at empathizing or opening up, the potential for blossoming relationships and a connection with others that, maybe, they’ve never quite experienced before. Their character is one that’s kind of close to my heart for being interesting and also quite similar to one I made and roleplayed for years. Add in the fact they’re NB and that just sealed the deal, that’s some fucking gender goddamn euphoria right there. So I had to draw them. 3rd: This one also mostly falls under the same explanation as above, except it was an effort as really figuring out grumpus bodies and proportions and stuff. Albeit in the form of solely Floofty, but my mental bandwidth for anything more than a drawing or two at a time is zilch. After that I’m spent. It was the first thing that I felt even marginally satisfied with, however.... I just feel like I’m in danger when looking at it. Like I’m gonna lose my way of things and habits I’ve built now from observing it too closely. Did keep the eyes, however. Kind of. 4th: To be real w you I just felt like drawing a Filbo after seeing a Filbo. He’s cute and I’d put a smooch on his dumb little head. Also more practice w grump stuff, but with some intentional attempts at stylization. I guess it didn’t stick, but who knows, maybe I could pick some of it back up?  5th: THE FIRST NEW DRAWING FROM A FEW DAYS AGO and it’s FLOOFTY, of course. It’s not really the first, there’s a few other things before it, but they suck so... yeah. I’d crawled out of the Bugsnax hole somewhat after a few months and failing to really do anything I actually wanted to do before, but a particular fic conked me right back 6 ft under. Piled the dirt over me and packed it in tight. So here I am again. And not only is it like that, but after binging a whole nearly 60,000 words in a night/morning, I was struck with the inspiration to actually write myself. Or try to, anyway. I have experience in RPing, but not a whole lot in actually... making a story myself. It’s not been going well, but I’ve talked plenty about that already... I’m sure it gets annoying for the whole maybe one person whose seen most of it to witness. And I’m still having fun. I’d mention the fic, but considering it’s NSFW and I’m officially tagging this... I don’t know if they’d want me advertising it as such. But surprise surprise, it’s Floofty related. And don’t get the wrong idea, while it covers explicit subject matter, that’s not entirely the point. Not a bad thing if it were, just that it’s more than that. I just like good character writing over all else, which is something liking this game to begin with heavily reinforced.... 6th: Heeeere’s Gramble, again. I’d been doing some little drawings for character profile stuff in my notebook, but I started to run into some difficulties when I got to him. This here is one of the results of the couple of little draws I did to try and understand. Again, his proportions are so *weird*. He’s just a little guy.... 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th: Here marks the first impulse draw after considering Buddy/Filbo/Beffica poly stuff. As well as the sudden Buddy drawing in general, which came as a big shock to me. These draws are suuuper rough, but I like the concepts. And goodness has this stuff been a whole ‘nother tangent... I did a fair amount of talking about it here. I’d do more, since there were TONS of details I still wanted to mentioned, but... my hands are starting to hurt. So maybe later. I realized that I kinda of messed up their design in my head bc I thought they had more similar teeth to Clumby. Whoops. That’s what I get for not using reference and same with FlooFTY’S TEETH AND THE WATCH NOOOOOOOOOO- .... *Ahem* I reckon the design is subject to change. Gotta make some little adjustment here or there, like maybe different eyes to distinct them from Floofty, but I actually rather... like the look. The hat, tie, and maybe a change to a bag on the side look nice... if totally not canon. But I will have just a little break from canon, as a treat. Otherwise it’s canon or bust. Personally, at least. I don’t really hold others to that standard unless they say they’re trying to follow canon or diverge so badly that a character is unrecognizable.

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: High Praise (BAON)

Summary:  Stretch learns that when you're getting down in the dirt, it makes it that much easier to have a filthy mind.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

"you know, babe, i'm always happy to help out."

"I know and I appreciate your willingness."

"it's no trouble at all."

"As you've said, several times now."

"but. are you sure i'm the best volunteer for this?"

"Stretch," Edge said, and the calm patience in his voice held the slightest fragment of exasperation. "I am perfectly confident in your weeding skills. If you want to help me—"

"i do! i mean, if you want me to."

"—then you are perfectly welcome to help and of course I want you to. Love, it would be a sad day, indeed, if I didn't want you around. I always want you close."

From where he was sitting in the middle of the garden, Stretch couldn't help grinning, even though Edge was sadly out of reach. "oh, yeah, butter that toast, baby."

Edge only arched a browbone at him. “I can either bake or weed, I can’t do both.”

The pile already heaped next to him of forbidden greens that had met their demise stated clearly which direction he was heading in.

“guess getting baked on weed doesn’t count,” Stretch murmured and was summarily ignored.

Eh, that was fine, and Stretch took a moment to mentally buckle down before he dove into his own row of growing veggies. Honestly, the garden wasn’t too weedy, anyway. Edge kept up on it pretty well, hell, Stretch was half-convinced only the bravest of weeds would dare invade this sacred territory. Probably should give them a better burial than a paper lawn clipping bag. Maybe he could get Edge to go for a ceremonial bonfire, complete with a solemn moment of silence for the fallen before they roasted marshmallows.

When he looked at Edge again, he was already halfway down his own row and Stretch gave himself a mental shake and got to work. Weeding went faster when he was focused on it and that was sort of the point. If he helped, that would free Edge up for funner things and if he wanted to play with his honey, then he needed to speed things up. Even if he was a little dubious about the difference between an interloper and a plant that belonged.

It got easier as he went along and soon enough, he’d finished with the section with its label that declared the tiny green fronds as heirloom carrots.

"there!" Stretch sat back on his heels and wiped off his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. "finished the whole row!"

Edge was working on a second row of his own and did not look up as he said, "Good boy."

It was so obvious that he said it absently, not even teasing or putting any real weight on the words. That only made it all the more embarrassing the way those words made a warm pulse start in Stretch’s soul that coyly wound its way straight down to his crotch.

But fuck, the way he said it! Edge always seemed a little dissatisfied with his own voice. It wasn't like his or Papyrus's, that was true, and Edge usually claimed he had a bad singing voice but that was entirely untrue. His pitch was fine, his voice was only unique. Like Leonard Cohen, velvet dragged across concrete and to hear him say that in his beautiful, raspy voice? Hit Stretch in all sorts of lovely, wrong ways.

The heat in Stretch’s pelvis followed a tingling path up his spine to his skull, his mouth filling with soft magic like it was expecting to soon be replaced with the taste of something delicious. Stretch swallowed it away and shoved it to the back burner, 'cause much as he wanted to pounce his honey, they were both sweaty and filthy, neither of which was nearly as much as a turnoff as the fact they were in their front yard with a wide variety of neighbors lurking around, all of them with cell phones at the ready to capture any skeleton shenanigans to liven up the community message board.

Stretch wasn’t gonna give them the satisfaction. Besides, it was Papyrus’s turn to give them some gossip fodder.

Belatedly, he realized Edge stopped weeding and was looking at him suspiciously with narrowed sockets. He dredged up an innocently sunny smile before any of the clockworks in Edge's mind put two and two together and got a sum of dirty, dirty pervert.

His addition might’ve been a little off, but Edge was clearly still working on his calculations as he asked, “Problem?”

“nope!” Stretch shook his head and shuffled quickly over to the next row to hastily start searching for any weedy intruders that dared invade Edge’s prized cucumbers. “not a thing, getting back to work right now, yep, yep, yep.”

That was sort of the working definition of protesting too much, but Edge kindly let it go and went back to his own weeding. With his back to Stretch, there was no way he could see Stretch pausing long enough to take a long, appreciative look at the way the back of Edge’s shirt was riding up, exposing a few precious inches of the gorgeously intricate line of his spine.

Difficult as it was, Stretch tore his gaze back to the plants literally at hand. Time enough later for a math lesson and Stretch was betting by the end of it, he could add up to be a very good boy, indeed.

-finis

[wickedpact]

Idea for a JoexNicky fic!! (anon here)- piggybacking off the other anon's nicky's mom idea, what if for an anniversary present, Joe sketches a portrait of Nicky's mother? (obviously she'd look like a beautiful warm goddess of kindness) Like maybe he has a dream of one of Nicky's most vivid memories ;-; I would literally die

so uh. this bloomed wildly out of my control

this ficlet is 5k words long so dont open that read more unless youre willing to commit to it

warnings: brief discussions of violence, extremely brief mention of sex, me not knowing how the FUCK one becomes a priest in Ye Olde 1000′s, and probably a criminal lack of historical accuracy as well as a criminal lack of the accented o in ‘nicolo’

yeehaw.

  It starts with one of Andromache’s sparring sessions, and of course by ‘sparring’ session Nicolo means a session in which Andromache was in a piss poor mood for no obvious reason, and decided to take it out on the rest of them.

 These sessions tend to start with Andromache coming hurtling into their camp with a dark expression on her face, and end with Yusuf and Nicolo sprawled on the ground, bruised and exhausted, while Andromache and Quynh beat the ever-loving hell out of each other nearby. (Yusuf has been convinced for a long time that it's some sort of mating ritual; Nicolo... doubts it.)

This time around, they are at some point after Nicolo has given up, and some point before Yusuf has joined him; Nicolo lies on the sand, starfished, while Quynh and Yusuf attempt to tag team Andromache with an abundance of vigor and middling results. Nicolo cranes his neck to watch the spectacle, catching a glimpse of Andromache flipping Quynh straight over her shoulder before twisting around and kicking Yusuf dangerously close to the groin. Yusuf stumbles, and Andromache grabs him by the shoulder, shoving his considerable weight off of his feet and towards Nicolo’s resting spot.

Yusuf, stumbling, manages to not trip over Nicolo by inches, and falls face-first onto the ground beside him with a groan. Meanwhile, Quynh has recovered and charges at Andy again, beginning their age-old dance yet again.

Yusuf grumbles at Nicolo’s side and peels himself off the ground, leveraging onto a knee. Nicolo drops his head back down to look at him, smiling when he swipes a hand across his beard to dislodge the sand accumulating there. Having been roasting under the midday sun and the excursion of the fight for hours now, Yusuf is layered in sweat and breathing heavily but evenly, chest and shoulders heaving slowly with each breath. Nicolo’s mouth goes crooked watching him.

“She doesn’t attack still targets,” he advises, amused, lying still atop the sand.

“Like a lioness!” Yusuf agrees with a zest Nicolo lost about thirteen minutes ago. He pulls himself onto both knees and balances on them, wavering in a way that makes Nicolo want to give him a steadying hand. “Hm.” Yusuf braces a hand on his thigh, face scrunching up in consideration. “No. I don’t think so.”

And then he plops, face first, back to the sand. Nicolo gives him an encouraging pat on the back with his knuckles.

“Are you two giving up?” Andromache calls over. Nicolo cranes his head up again to see that Quynh is on the ground yet again, slowly stumbling to her feet, and Andromache stands with her back to her, facing them. Her hands are on her hips.

“Yes. Thank you for checking in!” Nicolo confirms, lifting a hand to give her a thumbs up. Andromache responds to the sass with a raised eyebrow before whirling around and punching Quynh in the stomach before the younger immortal could sneak up on her.

Quynh goes down for the-- who knows how many times now, and Nicolo drops his head. He squints up at the wavering blue lines of the sky until Andromache’s white robes cross his vision, casting a shadow over his and Yusuf’s resting forms.

“Get up,” Andromache insists, nudging Nicolo with her boot. “I’m not done with you two yet.”

“You can’t make us,” Yusuf grumbles into the sand.

“You bet I can’t?” Andromache threatens, more a tease than a promise. When neither of them reply, she rolls her eyes and says, with a less than gentle kick to Yusuf’s side, “You babies are so soft.”

Yusuf hisses, rolling away from Andromache’s boot, into Nicolo’s side. “Son of a whore, Andromache, knock it off,” he grouches, dropping his shoulder atop Nicolo’s. Nicolo grunts with the weight of it. “Or daughter of a whore, that is,” he corrects himself, then adds thoughtfully, “No offense to your mother, if she were a woman of the night. What did your mother do, Andromache?”

Andromache laughs at Yusuf’s meandering insult-- a posturing bluster of a laugh that makes Nicolo blink, wondering if Yusuf’s actually offended her somehow. If so this would be the first time; Nicolo has always known Andromache to be thicker skinned than a mule.

But then she says, “I don’t remember my mother. Who knows,” and turns and heads back over to Quynh, who’s only just recovered from before. They resume sparring, Nicolo watching them with mild confusion.

Nicolo turns to look at Yusuf, wondering if he’d caught onto Andromache’s discomfort, but when Nicolo catches his eye, he just shrugs his shoulder against the sand and says, “Well, that’s a line that’ll end an argument every time, eh?”

~

Later on, Nicolo is still considering it, sprawled in front of the fire --that Quynh had constructed a couple hours prior-- with Yusuf, Nicolo slouched against his chest and bracketed by his bent knees. Andromache and Quynh are arguing over the linen tent a little ways off, and Nicolo watches Andromache carefully, the lines on her face and the muscles in her arms, the working parts of her that have existed on this earth for thousands of years. The things her hands have done; the things her eyes have seen.

The things her heart has forgotten.

“You are thinking very loudly over there,” Yusuf says from somewhere over Nicolo’s head. Nicolo shifts his eyes from Andromache and Qyunh, to the fire, to his and Yusuf’s legs stretched out before it. He tilts his head back, the top of his head against Yusuf’s sternum, but all he can see from that angle is Yusuf’s beard, so he drops his head back down with a little amused huff.

“Andromache is very old,” Nicolo says slowly.

“Ah, yes,” Yusuf agrees, amiable. “Also: water is very wet, and the desert is very hot.”

“S’cold at night,” Nicolo grumbles, just to be contrary, and is rewarded by Yusuf slipping his arms under Nicolo’s, bundling him closer to his chest and notching his chin over his head.

“What’s wrong, Nico?”

Nicolo requires no further prompting, not from Yusuf at least. The words come tumbling out of his mouth, one at a time. “She doesn’t remember her mother.”

There’s little more that needs to be said there. The immortal life is one that comes with many downsides, and the nature of it is that sometimes one discovers these downsides centuries later than expected. This isn’t the first time an unexpected side-effect of their unending lives has been thrust upon him and Yusuf, and likely won’t be the last.

Nicolo had never really thought he might one day forget his mother.

 Yusuf hums thoughtfully in response, a non-answer that does little to soothe Nicolo. “That she doesn’t,” he adds after a moment. “What was your mother like?”

“I don’t--” Nicolo starts, and then, with an odd curiosity, realizes he’s having difficulty continuing. “I... didn’t know her very long. I was given to the church… very young. I don’t remember much of what she was like, other than that she was my mother.”

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

“Well…” 

Nicolo remembers little of his life before the clergy. Two brothers. A sister. His father’s stern brow, and the calluses on his mother’s hand as she took his little fingers in hers, leading him down the dirt paths back in Genova. Her smile, silhouetted by the heady red glow of the afternoon sun. 

“Brown hair,” Nicolo eventually answers. “Dark eyebrows. High cheekbones, too, and… and kind eyes.”

“What I’m hearing is you took after her very strongly.”

Nicolo smiles. “I do remember being told something of the sort before.”

“Her eyes?” Joe rests one of his palms flat against Nicolo’s stomach.

“Green, I’m pretty sure.”

“So you took after her very strongly, then,” Joe concludes.

Nicolo looks down, fiddling with the fingers of Joe’s free hand. “She used to take me to the shore. We’d gather seashells together.”

That he remembers well, plucking seashells and bits of coral out from dried seafoam after the tide had gone out near the end of the day, one arm bundling conch and clam shells against his chest, the other prying washed-up shells from the still wet sand. The sun would be low, but not low enough that they would feel the need to rush, and it would cast their shadows in long, blue lines across the beach. Time was an endless thing there, where the sun glowed red and bright, and there was always another conch shell wedged in the damp earth to dig up.

“She sounds lovely,” Yusuf hums. Nicolo pauses, tracing Yusuf’s index finger with his own. Yusuf almost never talks about his family. They have known each other for nearly three hundred years now, and yet Nicolo could store all the things he knows of Yusuf's family in a basket. Over the years he’s been able to piece together that both of Yusuf’s parents were dead before the Crusades began. And that they both died when Yusuf was fairly young. Beyond that… he knows little.

“Yusuf…” Nicolo starts, uncertain and fidgeting. “What about your mother?”

“My mother?” Yusuf repeats, as if Nicolo has somehow strung together two incomprehensible words. 

“Yes.” When a pause stretches between them, Nicolo sighs and laces his fingers between Yusuf’s. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“No, no,” Yusuf insists before Nicolo can change the topic. He returns Nicolo’s grip on his hands, smoothing his thumb over the knuckle of Nicolo’s pointer finger. “I want to. My mother…” He sighs. “She was very anxious. Always fretting. She was a weaver; she liked making rugs.”

Yusuf’s thumb stills over Nicolo’s knuckle. Nicolo tilts his head. “Your prayer mat. Did she--?

“Yeah, she made it.” Yusuf pauses again. “Weaving calmed her down when she was nervous. My father and I, we would travel often-- business, you know. Trade deals and things. Mother always worried when we were gone.”

They both pause when Quynh yells something particularly loud at Andromache, breaking the moment for a split second. Andromache hollers something back, and the two women break out into abrupt laughter.

“Are you worried you’ll forget her?” Nicolo asks when they've settled again. “Your mother?”

“No,” Yusuf replies, though he trails off halfway through the word. “In part, I suppose… but there are many things I’d like to forget, I think.”

Nicolo peels himself out of Yusuf’s arms in response to that, twisting around to look at his companion. Yusuf’s brows are pressed together, the tilt of his mouth sad. Nicolo places a hand to his chest, fingers against Yusuf’s collar. “Yusuf?”

Yusuf sucks the inside of his cheek, looking far away before directing a sad smile at Nicolo. “She came with us, once. On a trip. Of course the one time Father allowed her to come was the time that it went wrong.” At Nicolo’s questioning look, Yusuf elaborates, “Bandits.”

“Yusuf...”

“I hadn’t really known how to fight, then, so it didn’t… really matter, either way-- but I got knocked out in the fight, and by the time I woke up again, it was all over.” With a slow breath, Yusuf looks down at their interwoven fingers. “I would like to forget some things. Not her, but…” 

It takes Yusuf a long moment to continue. He looks up, towards the stars, lips pursed with thought, before eventually ducking his head again. Nicolo waits quietly.

“It is hard to remember them,” Yusuf says eventually, to their hands, “without remembering them in death. I had to bury them both.”

With a soft noise, Nicolo reaches forward and pulls Yusuf into a hug, arms wrapping about his shoulders; Yusuf responds in chorus and reaches for Nicolo back, his embrace tight enough to grind bone.

Nicolo rubs a hand up and down Yusuf’s back, his face tucked into Nicolo’s shoulder. Perturbed, Nicolo can’t imagine it- the comforting memory of his own mother, crossed and tainted by violence so cruelly. To lose her was enough. To lose the comfort of remembering her as well would be harrowing.

Yusuf pulls away first after some time, eyes red but dry, mouth turned down. Nicolo reaches up and thumbs at the crease between his brows, which quirks Yusuf’s lips ever so slightly.

“How old were you?” Nicolo asks.

Yusuf reaches up and takes Nicolo’s hand from his face, wrapping his fingers around his. “Twenty one.”

“A child.”

“Hardly, Nico,” Yusuf snorts softly. Nicolo disagrees, but he’s not going to start an argument over it. Not now.

With a sigh, Yusuf leans back against the rock formation behind them, wrapping an arm around Nicolo and tugging him sideways against his chest. Nicolo rests his head against Yusuf's shoulder.

“It’s not that I wish to forget her. Or my father. But I… would rather fondly remember the idea of them, the fragments, then remember them perfectly in death. That might make me selfish.”

“It does not,” Nicolo replies sternly. “It makes perfect sense to feel that way, Yusuf.” And then, “I’m sorry.” Yusuf only hums in response. It is, admittedly, a frail sentiment, so Nicolo adds, “I love you. In case you’ve forgotten.”

This earns him a huff against the top of his head. “I love you too,” Yusuf responds, and they fall into an easy silence.

After a few minutes, and with a great sigh, Yusuf tilts his head so that his cheek presses against Nicolo’s hair. “Nicolo…” he mumbles, hesitant, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but... I think we’re sleeping under the stars tonight.”

Nicolo lifts his head and twists around to find the half-assembled and frankly pathetic looking tent swaying off in the distance alone, with both Andromache and Quynh nowhere in sight.

“The consolidated wisdom of millenia,” Nicolo grumbles, dropping his head back against Yusuf. “And they still can’t assemble a tent.”

Yusuf laughs; Nicolo is by far more warmed by that than any comfort the damned tent could have offered.

~

Quynh has the little joke of hers whenever they go drinking. She’ll tell Yusuf, giggling into her tankard, “I miss when you didn’t drink!”

This is a joke because Yusuf gave up his abstinence of alcohol only a few months after he and Nicolo had met Quynh and Andromache, nearly two hundred years ago now, and when he’d announced his decision to do so to the two warrior women, they’d both admitted they didn’t even realize that he didn’t drink in the first place. 

Nearly two hundred years later, Quynh continues to make this joke. Nicolo has yet to find it funny, but Yusuf laughs every time.

“It’s our anniversary, Quynh, you must be nice to us!” Yusuf insists in response to said joke. He is, as Andromache might say, drunk off his ass, swaying happily in his seat at the musty bar they’ve settled in for the night to celebrate. Despite how loudly he’s speaking, Nicolo can barely hear him over the clatter and bustle and chatter of the other, varyingly drunk, patrons at the bar.

“Three hundred years is nothing, Yusuf. You’re still babies,” Andromache replies, equally smashed yet bearing it more stoically, pitched against Quynh’s shoulder. One of her hands is still curled loosely around her tankard, unwilling to give it up just yet, probably.

Nicolo leans back against his rickety chair. “Do you two remember when you only knew each other for three hundred years?”

In response to this, Andromache pulls back from Quynh’s shoulder, propping herself up on the edge of a table with her free hand. She tilts her head, staring silently at Quynh with a quirked mouth, and Quynh stares back, eyebrows raised high. Nicolo’s gaze flicks between the two warrior women, eyeing them both, studying the emotion in their eyes and their mouths and their brows. 

For nearly an entire minute they say nothing. They have no need to. The charged gaze between them could write entire epics; legions of words pass between them and neither woman even opens her mouth.

Nicolo finds himself slightly jealous. He wonders if he and Yusuf will ever hit a point such as this, where they could communicate without words, know each other so well that even a twitch of the brow or a press of lips could mean so much-- that words become irrelevant. Become small and useless compared to the years of their bond.

“It was a time,” Quynh answers at last, smiling a far away smile.

“That’s different,” Yusuf interrupts, slurring slightly and grinning widely. “because, this isn’t about how long you two have known each other, but how long I’ve known Nicolo,” here, he gestures broadly at Nicolo, sitting at his side, “and when you two will have known Nicolo for three hundred years, and-- and want to celebrate, I will not laugh at your paltry few years spent with him, in comparison to my many centuries! And you may-- may thank me for my generosity and kindness-- then.”

Quynh snorts. “That was very poetic of you, Yusuf.”

“Thank you.” Yusuf places a calloused hand atop Nicolo’s head. “I love him very much,” he states, very sincerely, if a little slurred.

Andromache, as always, seems to feel a compulsion to try and ruin the moment. Their Andromache, old and wise as she is, is a great many things: an elegant warrior, a stern protector, and a graceful leader-- however, a kind drunk she is not.  “You know, you’ll get tired of each other eventually,” she points out, gesturing between the two of them. Yusuf rolls his eyes, his hand slipping from Nicolo’s head. “Quynh and I usually separate every couple hundred years for a time. It’s normal.”

“Bah,” Yusuf grumbles. “Andromache, you do not have a romantic bone in your body.”

“I do!” Andromache insists. Quynh sends her a sharp look that she doesn’t see because she’s too busy waving her hand widely. “I have been with, and wooed, and have been wooed by-- by more men and women than you’ve ever even set eyes on.”

Yusuf copies Andromache’s grand gesture, cheery and mocking. “That, what you’ve just described, is the opposite of romance, boss.”

“Whatever,” Andromache concedes with middling grace. “I’m happy for you two, either way.”

“Thank you,” Nicolo says, so that Yusuf won't say anything else. “Another round?”

~

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Yusuf says to Nicolo an hour or so later, as Nicolo is trying to haul the damned drunk up the stairs without sending them both sprawling down to their temporary deaths.

Funnily enough, around the time Yusuf began drinking, Nicolo stopped-- not out of any particular thoughts on alcohol itself, but because someone had to remain sober in order to drag Yusuf’s drunken ass back to their room at the end of the night, and the responsibility fell to Nicolo for all of the obvious reasons, and also because he was happy to do it.

“Who?” Nicolo asks, steadying a hand on Yusuf’s shoulder when he sways at the top dangerously.

“Andromache,” Yusuf replies. Nicolo’s not sure what exactly Yusuf thinks she was wrong about-- they’d discussed many topics at the bar downstairs-- but he might succeed in having this conversation more so if Andromache and Quynh weren’t standing no less than five feet away, hovering just inside their room’s open door down the hall, stripping down to their tunics and trousers.

Probably standing by in case Nicolo and Yusuf took an unfortunate tumble down the stairs. Nicolo is warmed by their concern, but Yusuf is too busy being drunkenly confused by Andromache’s presence after she calls over an “about what?” to think of such things.

“Where did you come from?” Yusuf asks Andromache, only going half willingly when Nicolo rolls his eyes and drags him down the hall.

“Thank you, good night,” Nicolo tells the two women as they pass their door and head down the hall to theirs, floorboards creaking under their boots.

“Have a nice anniversary, infants!” Andromach calls after they manage to stumble to their door, sticking her head out of theirs.

Nicolo fiddles with the key the barkeep gave him, trying desperately to ignore Yusuf when he yells back, “Us infants will try not to fuck so loud you can hear it all the way down there!” probably scarring some of the tenants.

“I bet you can’t!” Andromache responds, gleeful, and ducks back inside to slam the door shut.

“Is that a fucking challenge?” Yusuf asks the empty hallway, going easily when Nicolo drags him inside.

It’s a humble room, but the presence of four walls and a floor makes it good enough for Nicolo, and the bed is only an added bonus. He leaves Yusuf to his own devices as he lights the lantern set in the corner, double checking that their bags --that they’d tossed in the room earlier-- haven’t been stolen. He nudges the bags with a toe as he unlatches his longsword from his belt, propping the sheath up carefully by the little table with the lantern.

Yusuf is being oddly quiet; Nicolo turns to find the love of his life lying starfished on the little bed, peering up at the wood ceiling as if the secrets of the universe are engraved on it.

“I am so tired, Nicolo,” Yusuf mumbles, mournful. “Why did you make me go up all those stairs?”

“I am infamously known to be cruel and unfair,” Nicolo replies dryly, crossing over and sitting next to Yusuf. He unbuckles the straps around Yusuf’s shoulders that keep his scimitar attached to his back while Yusuf lies still. When the task is done, he looks up to find Yusuf staring at him, brows drawn together. “Lean up,” Nicolo orders softly, and Yusuf complies without complaint, shifting his shoulders off the bed just enough that Nicolo can pull his sheath off.

He stands to go retrieve his own sword, so that both can be placed at their bedside, within reach, shucking off his boots as he goes.

“Can you grab my bag for me?” Yusuf asks from the bed while Nicolo is doing so, so Nicolo does, balancing the two sheathed swords under one arm and holding Yusuf’s rucksack in the other.

He drops the bag at Yusuf's side and sits beside it, setting both swords at his feet, on the left side of the bed. Usually Yusuf’s scimitar goes on the other side, but Nicolo does not trust him with access to a sharp object in this state.

Yusuf sits up to shuffle through his bag. “I got you something,” he tells Nicolo when he straightens. Nicolo frowns at him.

“You got me something?” he repeats. 

“Yeah.” Yusuf pulls out his sketchbook, though he doesn't grab his bag of charcoals.

But I didn’t get you anything, is something Nicolo almost wants to say, but honestly, three hundred years into a relationship, you stop keeping track of how many gifts have been exchanged and when. Especially when their finances are so intertwined. Nicolo and Yusuf simply buy each other things whenever the urge arises, and they’re both such men that these gifts are usually just practical items: new boots, a thicker cloak, and so on.

But now Yusuf passes Nicolo his sketchbook, turning back to the bag to buckle it closed again.

“A sketchbook,” Nicolo muses with a smile, rubbing a thumb over the bound leather cover. “You shouldn't have.”

“Oh, stop,” Yusuf grumbles, snatching the book back once his bag is closed. He shoves it off the bed with a mildly worrying clank and sits in its vacated spot, next to Nicolo. “Your jokes will make you look a fool when you are crying tears of gratitude on me.” 

Nicolo smiles. Yusuf’s thigh, pressed against Nicolo’s, is warm, and his shoulder knocks against Nicolo’s with such familiarity Nicolo wonders if he could identify Yusuf from that alone; without sight, without hearing. He thinks he could, given the opportunity.

Yusuf flips through his sketchbook quickly, scanning past images of landscapes and crowded marketplaces and Nicolo’s own smiling face until he stops at a certain page, angling the book away so that Nicolo cannot see. He peers sideways at him, suspicious or maybe anticipatory.

“Do you expect me to start the tears of gratitude now, or…?” Nicolo asks, grinning at Yusuf’s unamused stare before Yusuf shoves the book into Nicolo’s open hands.

Nicolo doesn’t understand what he’s looking at, at first. Not that he doesn’t recognize the image; he does, he just doesn’t... understand.

“How…?” Nicolo asks, trailing off in wonder. He lifts a hand to touch the image, then snatches his hand away, afraid he’ll smear it.

It’s his mother.

He doesn’t understand how Yusuf could do this; drawing his mother is one thing, but the accuracy of the drawing to Nicolo’s memory is astounding. The line of her cheekbones and the crinkles of her crows feet, the shape of her eyes set by happiness. The drift of hair over her shoulder is a little longer than his mother had it, and a little straighter, but other than that it is an almost perfect recreation. Down to the curl of her mouth, the small flash of teeth. Nicolo can practically hear her in the image, her eyebrows raised and surprised joy flashing in her eyes, as she says, “That’s a big one, Nicolo, good job!”

“How did you do this?” Nicolo asks, voice small.

“Do you remember when you told me what she looked like?” Yusuf asks. “When we were talking about Andromache’s mother?”

“Yes, I remember,” Nicolo replies, frustrated. “I told you she had brown hair and green eyes. Yusuf, how did you--” He peels his eyes off of the drawing that sends him straight to his childhood. “You even got her smile right.”

Yusuf presses his lips together in a fond little smirk. “I will tell you, but you must agree not to share my secret.”

“Yusuf.”

Yusuf scoots that much closer, tucking a hand under Nicolo’s jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “I know how she smiles because I know how you smile. Because she’s your mother. And she lives in you, even if she’s been dead three hundred years. Even if you forget her to some small degree, she will stay with you. Here--” Yusuf touches the corner of Nicolo’s mouth. “And here--” His pointer swipes over Nicolo’s cheekbone. “And here.” He presses a thumb under Nicolo’s eye, and it comes away wet. He makes a small noise. “I was kidding about the tears of gratitude, Nico.”

The sketchbook almost falls off of Nicolo’s thighs in his urgency to pull Yusuf into a hug.

Yusuf returns the embrace with a huffing little laugh, arms wrapping around Nicolo’s waist and hauling him in close, the sketchbook folding closed between the press of their bodies, the beat of their hearts against each other.

“Thank you, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmurs into the crook of Yusuf’s neck, endlessly sincere. His fingers hook into Yusuf’s tunic, over his back, already pulled tight by the muscles there.

“Happy anniversary,” Yusuf responds cheerily. “To three hundred years, eh?”

“And three hundred more,” Nicolo reminds him.

“Fuck, Nicolo.” Yusuf leans back, hands lingering at his waist. He catches Nicolo’s eyes, his brows pulled together. “To three thousand more; Andromache doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Nicolo frowns, recalling Yusuf saying something of the sort in the hall. “What did she say?”

“What did she say?” Yusuf repeats thoughtfully. “I don’t remember-- some nonsense about us getting tired of each other.”

“Oh.” Nicolo does remember that. “I don’t think she meant it like that, Yusuf. And after all, she is rather the authority on how the relationships of immortals work.”

“The authority!” Yusuf repeats, mocking. “When Andromache kills a man with her bare hands and comes out the other side of the experience loving him, I will give her credence to the idea that she’s an authority over our relationship.”

“I didn’t say she was an authority over us. Just that she may understand better.”

“What, do you think she’s right?” Yusuf’s brow furrows, voice lowering. “That we shall grow tired of each other?”

“No,” Nicolo immediately insists, his desire to assure Yusuf strong and instinctual. He lets his hand slide to his shoulder, gripping there. “At least,” he admits on second thought, “I’ve never once felt anything to give me the impression that I will. But it may happen, Yusuf.”

To be completely honest, Nicolo can’t imagine such a thing. He’s woken up every morning for the past three hundred years of his life at Yusuf’s side, and he can’t even begin to understand what kind of drastic shift in his heart would inspire him to grow tired or restless of doing so. Of Yusuf’s hands, of his voice, of his glittering eyes and his loud, joyful laugh-- and the way he furrows his brow when he’s thoughtful, like he’s doing at Nicolo right now.

“Because Andromache says so? I think not,” Yusuf argues. “Andromache is wise, but she’s known us barely more than a hundred years. Her experience does not allow her to see to your heart, or to mine. I will love you forever, Nicolo.”

“Forever is a long time, Yusuf,” Nicolo responds, smiling.

“Well, I will,” Yusuf insists. “When we are twice as old as Andromache is today, and the memories of our childhoods, and our warring, and even our three hundred year anniversary will be nothing but dust, I will remember loving you with certainty-- and that will be because I’ll have done it every day of my life.”

Yusuf shrugs and presses closer, bowing his forehead to Nicolo’s. “And if we forget every bad time and every good time with it,” he murmurs, looking down, “I will not care; it will all wash away in the sands of time eventually, but I have no intent to be separated from you. I won't let memory or time or violence take you from me. I don’t care what Andromache says. The only thing that will end us is your word, Nicolo.”

Amused, Nicolo lets out a throaty little huh. “You will be waiting a long time for that, Yusuf. Maybe even forever.”

Yusuf grins at that, eyes flicking up, and Nicolo has that split second thought he always has --you’re hiding dimples under all that beard-- before Yusuf tilts his head up and kisses him, leaning forward with all the drunken weight of his body.

Nicolo catches Yusuf’s jaw in his hand, shoulders bunching up as he shifts so that Yusuf doesn't topple them both; tilts his head and grips Yusuf’s shoulder and kisses him back.

It is not, admittedly, their best kiss. But Nicolo’s found over the years that a kiss with Yusuf is a kiss with Yusuf, which is to say no matter how much their teeth clack or their mouths miss their mark, it is still Yusuf, so none of them are actually bad.

And Nicolo is distracted. Yusuf is one to spew pretty words whenever the mood takes him, but his aptitude for the spoken word even in the worst --or most drunken-- of times always catches Nicolo off guard; even three hundred years into their relationship.

Every day of my life, Yusuf had said, and Nicolo finds himself giddy and weightless at the idea. Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks to himself, unable to fight off a smile as Yusuf pulls him in closer, a hand at his neck. Every day.

~

It is a fair while later --after Nicolo has pried Yusuf’s boots off, after the lantern light was blown out, and after they are both under the admittedly threadbare blanket-- that Nicolo lies propped up on his elbows on his side of the bed, admiring the drawing of his mother by moonlight. Yusuf lies on his back beside Nicolo, either asleep or drifting, arm thrown over his eyes and mouth pulled into a frown.

“Are you going to sleep tonight?” Yusuf asks groggily after some time, revealing himself to be awake. “Or must I compete with my own drawing for your attention?”

“You made a mistake giving me this,” Nicolo replies, closing the sketchbook and leaning over to set it carefully on the floor. “I will do nothing but admire it for eternity.”

With a huff, he settles under the blanket, facing Yusuf, crossing his arms to his chest. Yusuf responds with only a smile, and after the silence stretches for a moment, Nicolo adds, “I wish I could give you such peace in regards to your own mother.”

Yusuf drops the arm from his face, squinting sideways at Nicolo. “Pfft. You have already brought me more peace than any other living being on this earth. Give making me the happiest man alive a rest for a few minutes, Nicolo; you’ll give yourself a complex.” He rolls onto his side. “But also roll over. What are you doing lying all the way over there, anyways?”

“Giving myself a complex, apparently,” Nicolo grumbles, doing as he’s told and shuffling onto his side. Yusuf throws an arm over him from behind, snuggling forward and pulling Nicolo back in unison until they are pressed against each other, shoulders to thighs. 

“I am being truthful,” Yusuf murmurs after a moment, low and intimate and close, tired words slurring into each other. He yawns before butting his forehead gently against the back of Nicolo’s neck. “My mother-- I have many good memories of her, and some bad. I would like to forget some and cherish others, but in the end I will likely lose all or most of ‘em, as Andromache has. That’s just the truth of it all.” He yawns again, shifting his grip on Nicolo. “I could draw her if I wish, but I don’t know if even a thousand drawings will ease her memory. And losing memories is a simple trade-off of the life we live, even if we didn’t choose it. I may not keep my memories, but as long as I can keep you, I am at peace with it all.”

Nicolo considers that, tucking his own hands into his sides. As much as their immortality was not a choice-- it was nothing either Nicolo or Yusuf asked for or even really wanted, three hundred years ago, but it was gifted to them anyway. They didn’t ask for each other either, and yet Yusuf was given to Nicolo and vice versa in the same breath that their immortality was thrust upon them.

But of course, unlike the immortality, and unlike all the other positives and negative consequences that came with it, they did choose each other. They chose to put down their weapons. They chose to stay at each other’s side. They’ve chosen that every single day of the last three hundred years. Hopefully they will do so for the next three hundred -- thousand-- years.

He will lose his memories eventually, one day, one way or another. It is like Yusuf said: it is a simple trade-off of the life they live. 

But if it had been a choice-- well. Even the innocent comfort of his mother’s memory, of those late afternoons picking seashells-- those memories are not nothing to him, but if it ever came between keeping them and keeping Yusuf… the choice is obvious.

But there is no choice. The memories will fade one day whether he wants them to or not, whether Yusuf draws a thousand portraits of his mother or not.

Yusuf will not fade. Yusuf will be here. Yusuf has been here, for three hundred years.

Every day of our lives, Nicolo thinks, and smiles.

“You know,” he says quietly into the dark room. “You are a very wise man, Yusuf.”

“Don’t tell Quynh and Andromache,” Yusuf mumbles into Nicolo’s nape. “It will ruin my image.”

Nicolo snorts, smiles, and, eventually, falls asleep in Yusuf’s arms.

[neighborhood-merc]

Guys !!! I am back! First of all, I hope all of y’all (your friends, family, pets! too) are doing alright. Keep safe! Wash your hands! Don’t go out if not necessary! Kisses! Kisses! Kisses! Alright, alright, let’s do this shall we? Same shit applies. [Here is Part 1 & 2 btw ] 

The themes of the stories on this list varies, I’m either into something heart-warming, fluffy, domestic that sort of stuff or into some really really heavy and dark messed up ones. (READ THE TAGS) It always depends on the mood am I right? *wink wink*

It’s always gonna be smutty though lol

As long as it’s tastefully written, whatever kinky shit, I can be into it, I don’t judge the writer (they give us free content y’all, who are we to judge??) With that being said if I add something straight up messed up here now/or in the future, don’t come for meh, just mind the tags of the fic, for your own discretion if anything.

this list should be Wade Wilson/Peter Parker - Spiderman/Deadpool pairing only. I kinda like my babies greedy/possessive for/of each other.

READ THE TAGS.

I don’t care who tops or bottoms.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summaries are taken directly from the fanfic’s summary.

Read the tags first!

Deluge (this is such a good boi, this fic is a good boy!) Weapon X chose Wade Wilson because of several factors in his life. He was a preternatural. He had extraordinary abilities that could be expanded upon. The cancer just made him desperate enough to agree to whatever they wanted to do with him.They didn't just turn him immortal. They destroyed his very soul, tearing him apart and shaping him into something new and never seen before. They took everything he had been and left him with ashes and bones. Soulless.He killed his creators and went on with his life.Then he met Spider-Man.Things started to change.Something inside him, something that had come out of the ashes and was a nightmarish, terrible thing, sat up and took notice. An intense, single-minded notice.

The Perks of Working Third Shift An AU in which Wade is wandering the globe and ends up in NYC where he meets the absolute most perfect man he's ever seen who's working third shift at a quick mart. Even better, the man seems happy to flirt back. Wade makes it his mission to score a date.Peter stopped dating a long time ago, but Wade's flirtations, energetic attitude, and hilarious comments make it hard for Peter not to enjoy the attention. But will all of that be ruined if Wade finds out his secret?

Better Like This  (Listen,  NotEvenCloseToStraight’s Spideypool works are amazing, read all of em, honestly just check out ALL the works of the writers on my list because if I list everything, this is gonna be a long ass list) No one knows Spider-Man is an Omega. Not the newspapers, not the NYPD, and certainly not the overly loud, definitely obnoxious, sort-of-a-good-guy, completely Alpha, Deadpool. And Peter would like it to stay that way. But when he drops into an unexpected heat, Deadpool is the only person he can call to help, and how quickly the Alpha switches from shouting dirty innuendos to whispering comforting things really throws Peter for a loop. After sharing a heat, Peter is convinced that Wade is his Alpha, and is ready to take him as his mate, but Wade rejects him. Wade knows that a man like him wouldn’t make anyone a good mate, much less a perfect, pretty Omega like Peter. So he says no, pushes the Omega away and unable to even work together anymore, they go their separate ways. Peter is devastated, heartbroken, seeking comfort in the arms of another Alpha, and all Wade can do is watch from a distance, and keep telling himself that he is doing the right thing, sparing Peter a life of disappointment and pain. Peter deserves better than him as a Mate, and one day Peter will understand. It’s Better This Way. But is it really?(Peter is Andrew Garfield)

Use Me Peter wants to help Wade. Wants to make him feel beautiful, wants to make him feel wanted... Wants to put out the fire in his own gut whenever he sees the merc for what he really is. He does.

Double Mint Gum Wade decides that only one of his fine-ass self just isn't enough 

Spider Spidey (SPIDERY SPIDEY!)

Bleed the Water Red Peter and Deadpool are held captive by a super-villain that has an inclination for torture. After she boasts her untarnished record at never having hurt a child or teenager, Peter is forced to break the truth to both her and Deadpool.“Did you know I have a perfect record?” The villain collects a rusted pocket knife, tracing it up Peter’s arm, over his shoulders, down to his collarbone, as though considering where to cut. Peter focuses on controlling his breathing, fear twisting awfully in his belly. “You may look down on me, Mr. Spider-Man, but for all the righteous suffering I inflict, I’ve never hurt a child. Not once.”“Y'know, I don’t think you do,” Peter blurts. At his words, Deadpool's stare intensifies. “Have a perfect, non-child harming record, that is.”

Don’t Keep Me Waiting Peter's 90% sure Wade likes him. Or at least he was sure. When you almost jerk off in front of the friend you're definitely not pathetically pining for and they never mention it again, it makes you doubt yourself. Peter knows he should probably just ask what the fuck is going on, but where's the angsty fun in that?

Sometimes When We Touch Peter answers a Craigslist ad for someone who is willing to pay for some unspecified physical contact/sex because he's just that broke. He's surprised to find out Wade Wilson is the one who posted the ad, but thinks he can still manage just fine even when the man explains he'd like him to wear a special costume for the occasion. Of course things become a little more complicated when Wade reveals the outfit he's chosen: a shockingly accurate Spider-Man suit

Sunflower 26 and standing at the head of Parker Industries, Peter feels young in every way. He doesn't know himself, he lacks a lot of experience, and he's struggling to get a grip on what he thinks of the merc with the mouth, an absolute force who has starting pushing his desires in a direction that terrifies him.He desperately tries to come to terms with sexuality, even when it means dragging Wade flat on his face.Takes place after the dance scene in Spider-man/Deadpool, with important plot details omitted. Follows these two through extreme character growth.

Two Thirds of a Whole (I honestly felt weird about this one, but eh, maybe someone who’s into it would appreciate it) Peter Parker and Wade Wilson, finding Vanessa dead and having never met, assume the second body is their other soulmate. When they meet in a market ten years later, they both have a chance they never thought they would get again-- a chance at love.But can they find a way to be happy as two thirds of a whole?

Holding Back The thing about not being able to die is that it makes everything so dreadfully boring. Seriously, immortality's a bitch. So, you gotta keep things interesting. How else are you supposed to get through the day without going insane? Well, more insane.Wade wants to be a hero, but fighting bad guys isn't enough to keep things interesting. Wooing Spider-Man might help, though. And exploring his kinks definitely will. Of course, he never thought anything would come of either of these things. Boy, was he wrong!

Missed You  (Imagine me covering me shyly covering my face for this ehehe) “Wade,” Peter whines, pulling off Wade’s mask and catching his lips in a deep kiss. All he can smell is leather and sweat and gunpowder, and he’s already embarrassingly hard. Wade comes home from a mission. Peter missed him. A lot.

Big Peter can't stop looking at and thinking about Wade's great big arms and shoulders and hands and back. He's fine. (He's not fine.) 

 Slip of the Tongue Sometimes Peter can forget how big Wade is, how much presence he has. Right now is not the time. His heart rabbits in his chest as he swallows, looking up. There’s always something there when Wade’s looking at him, something predatory, that makes Peter nervous and wanting, shivering hot all over.

Wade The Cat  “Aw don’t be afraid little buddy, it’s okay, he’s gone”Wade almost cringes at how someone is talking to him, what the hell?! He’s not a defenseless animal. Wait. No, yeah, he is.Wade looks a little alarmed, stepping back as the man crouches next to him, smiling sympathetically “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. You okay?”Wade holds his breath, gives an once over at the guy, beautiful chestnut eyes, the adorable smile, the red face probably resulting from the cold and the brown humid hair stuck to his forehead as he holds his umbrella for both of them and yep, ladies and gentlemen if he wasn’t before, Wade is right now a defenseless animal because “Meow” Wade says wiggling what should be eyebrows “Honey, I’d let you take care of me all night long” Wade purrs.

Gonzo Journalist (It belongs to a series “We fell in love in October) A young photographer working for The Daily Bugle hears about the tragic fate of an ex-soldier and decides to write an article about his cause to help him out. Maybe more than in one way.

The Man in the Mask When Wade is unceremoniously dropped off into the custody of one Dr. Parker, he assumes the man has only the worst possible intentions for one of the world's last remaining mutants. But it turns out, the universe still holds plenty of surprises for them both.

You Wear My Name Over Your Heart Like It’s Invisible "Why don’t you ever let me see it? If you have the name already, why can’t you tell me whose it is? I thought we were best friends."Everyone gets their Name when they turn twenty-one. It isn’t their own name either. It’s the name of their Soulmate. When Wade Wilson wakes on his twenty-first birthday, he looks down at his chest and sees Peter Benjamin Parker. He stares for a moment then shrugs, gets dressed, and doesn’t think about it for another six weeks.

Parachute, Please Peter unexpectedly goes into heat after an Avengers mission, which could have been fine, but the ride back is 2 hours and he's stuck on a plane with his closest friends and family.At least there's one person he can call at times like these for relief. And in comes Wade.

Peter Parker’s Home for the Wayward Villain A really long redemption story.

And Words Are Futile Devices Peter doesn’t think he’s lonely. He’s too busy to be lonely. He’s twenty-two, working on his PhD and holding down a shitty job at the Daily Bugle, not to mention his nightly extra-curricular activities. He’s too busy for friends, and he’s certainly too busy for romantic interests. And yet, shockingly, apparently everyone in his life thinks he needs to stop being an anti-social recluse and get laid.So Peter enters the wide, wonderful world of online dating. He doesn’t expect to find his soul mate, or even a friend, and he’s definitely not looking for hook ups. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, really, until one Wade W. Wilson catches his eye and captures his heart with risqué dog pics and a concerning obsession with cannibalistic serial killers.This is a love story. A sweet, inevitable journey towards each other. There is humor, and melancholy, and a touch of both gravitas and levity to the weeks that trickle by. But really it’s just an account of the slow, magnetic movement of Peter towards Wade, and Wade towards Peter.

Strays Wade finds Spider-Man unconscious on a roof top. Score!Or: Spider-Man has lost his memories, some of his vocabulary, and all of his social conditioning. Wade is losing his mind.

The Inverse Deadpool doesn't have to try very hard to hide his second gender anymore because ever since Weapon X, no one in their right mind would ever believe that Wade Wilson was an omega. It doesn't matter anyway, because Wade knows no Alpha would keep a male omega. No alpha WANTS one, much less one that's as scarred and unstable as he is. Apparently, Spiderman was born to break every rule Wade has ever known.

The Body Remembers When the Mind Forgets When people need a mate in their life, it isn't usually because they've forgotten they already have one. 

Half Your Age (Plus Seven) In which Deadpool has oddly specific and frustrating morals, Spider-Man has excellent friends, his lab partner has an opening for a bassist, Johnny Storm has the warmest feet, and everyone has had enough of hearing Peter talk about Wade Wilson (except Aunt May: she’s always glad to hear he’s back in town).

[keep-calm-and-trust-carter]

"Need"

Summary: https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Need

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT. I will tag the post with this but I wanted to get it front and center so people are warned up front.

Thoughts

As proof that my powers of procrastination truly know no bounds, it has been over 4 years since I've done one of these.

"Need" is really not one of my favorites. It's not up anywhere close to "Emancipation" levels of hate, but it's just one I'd rather skip if I could

"I wish he'd stop doing that." Same, Jack, same.

Is it good that Daniel stopped someone from killing themselves? YES. But for the rest of the episode, I want to slap the shit out of him.

Please stop touching Sam. It's creepy. Yep, pretty sure I repressed this part.

"Lately, I...I get this weird feeling when I'm near Teal'c." "Hey, who doesn't?" That's not very nice, Jack.

"Well, you do realize it's also kind of rude to kidnap people and chain them up in a mine." *snort*

It's kind of hard for him to be your destiny when he's married to someone else.

Yeah, he's definitely an addict at this point. And this is the point where I start wanting to slap the ever-loving shit out of him.

"I have got everything under control, okay?" Yes, clearly.

"There's still so much you don't know about me." Yeah, like the fact that you're fucking married, and that your wife would probably like you to find her so she can stop having her body controlled by a megalomaniac parisite!

"You have a wife," Thank. You. Sam!

JANET!

Ooof, that poor SF. He's gonna be sore in the morning.

It was nice of Daniel to stay there to help Shyla through withdrawal. Hopefully, she actually does free her people.

Fun Stuff:

Do I Need to Watch this Episode: How important is this episode to the arc it’s in (Apophis Arc, Tok’ra Arc, Replicator Arc, Ori Arc, etc.) and to the overall series arc?:

I don't know that it's strictly necessary, but it does introduce the concept of overuse of the sarcophagus and the negative consequences of it. I'd say it adds context/layers to later eps. Particularly Abyss.

THE TEAM:

Number of Current SG Teams:

12. None got added this ep as far as I know

These People Need a Fucking Therapist:

Shyla is suicidal and coming off probably years of using the sarcophagus.

SG-1 after being kidnapped and used as slave labor

Actual Planet-Saving Adults

Nothing this ep.

TEAM LOVE

The rest of the team cares enough about Daniel to try and help him re: the sarcophagus even though he's being really shitty to them.

The rest of the team's concern for Daniel when he's coming down off the sarcophagus high

Jack talking Daniel down and hugging him.

Actual Siblings

Eh.

OTPS AND BROTPS

Sam/Teal’c:

Sam asking Teal'c for a translation of kalach.

Sam/Jack:

The look they share when Daniel's telling them how Shyla thinks he's her destiny

SAM:

Sam, the Omnidisciplinary Scientist:

"Maybe its healing effects alter your brain chemistry. Increased adrenaline, the hormones that make you more aggressive and irrational." Not sure that I'd put this under Omnidisciplinary, I think it's more guesswork based on some basic biology/biochemistry.

Sam is a Fucking Badass

Nothing here really.

Sam Saves Everyone’s Ass:

Eh. Her memories of Jolinar clue everyone into the bad stuff around the sarcophagus, but I don't know that I'd term it as "saving everyone's ass"

JACK:

“For Cryin’ Out Loud” Count:

0

Running total: 19

Jack’s Pop Culture References:

"Hi-ho hi-ho. Back to work"

His reference to Daniel going "Dark Side."

Jack, your smarts are showing:

Nothing really here either. Not that he acts stupid, just not much opportunity to show smarts when you're working as slave labor down in a mine.

Favorite Jack Snark:

"We had a nice time, sir. Carter picked up some Naquadah, Teal'c made some new friends, as usual. Daniel got engaged and um... I'm gonna hit the showers."

TEAL’C:

Teal’c vs. English/Pop Culture:

Not much here.

Teal’c the Secret Teddy Bear:

Nope. He's mostly just stoic in this ep.

DANIEL:

Daniel Death Count:

0.

Running total: 4.

DAMN IT DANIEL:

Blowing off Sha're while in the throes of his addiction/withdrawal.

ANTAGONISTS:

The Shithead has a Point:

Yeah, no. The shitheads are pretty much just shitheads

THE BEST AND THE WORST:

MVP:

3/4 of SG-1 for surviving in the mine.

Biggest Shithead/Annoying Character:

Pyrus was pretty shitty. There's an explanation for it but still shitty. Daniel's not much better.

TPTB AND THEIR BULLSHIT:

WTF, TPTB?:

Eh, not all that mad at them this ep.

Next up: Thor's Chariot, where the team faces the consequences from the "Nice Job Breaking It, Hero!" they pulled in Thor's Hammer,

[boogiewrites]

His Own Piece of Heaven By The Sea

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Ruth (OFC)

Summary:  Ruth, a nurse at Margate, happens to be assigned to a man brought in off the beach with a gunshot wound to the head. With her kind nature and good heart he quickly sees she is exactly as she appears and becomes fond of her. Asking her to be his personal nurse in his seaside mansion in Margate, an unlikely friendship grows. With time, tenderness and patience they grow to become more. (Done to celebrate PB S5 being released in the US. I tagged those that are tagged in my other Alfie fics as well.)

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Slow Burn. Nurse caring for injured Alfie after After season 4. Possible S5 Spoilers. Started as an AU so... Domestic fluff. Fluffy Smut.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Luckily for Alfie Solomons, the Margate hospital was only a few minutes from where he was shot and left for dead. Even if it had been carried out at his own insistence, after waking up sputtering to half a face and a high tide, it was now more trouble than it was worth, it seemed.

He lay in a sanitized room. The window was open, he could hear the seagulls and the breeze outside. He found it curious only half of the room appeared before him, but as a quick regretful touch of his face informed him, he no longer could see out of his left eye. He’d been stitched up and medicated, lots of thoughts swirling about his foggy brain. Some perfectly logical, some not. He stayed in that thin veil for some time at first while he healed. After the fact, he couldn’t recall much, only her. As she was the one constant through it all.

“He got shot in the face, left for dead and LIVED!” he hears whispers from the doorway. He was still a mess, scabs and swelling and a face that was half pieced together. He couldn’t blame anyone for looking but he wished in his lucid moments that they’d leave him the fuck alone.

“Go now. Mind your business. The man needs peace and quiet!” she hissed and the sound of tiny hands slapping against bodies could be heard. He smiles with the side of his mouth it doesn’t hurt to and grunts. “I’m sorry Mr. Solomons. Some people have no manners.” she speaks in a soft voice. This is his first memory of her.

----

He groaned in pain. Whoever was touching him, and whatever they were doing wasn’t right. They had him on enough drugs to keep him sedated but the loud roar of pain that rose from his tired chest made the girl trying to dress his wounds squeak in fear.

“He keeps fighting me! He’s under enough sedation to take down a horse!”

“Well, what are you doing to the poor man?”

“I’m trying to clean his wounds!”

“With this?”

“Yes!”

“You bloody idiot.” she sighs and moves over to Alfie’s side. “I’m sorry, forgive her for she knows not what he does.” she rolls her eyes and gingerly takes off his bandages. She barks orders, and in her familier voice, it felt good to hear. He focuses one eye on her as he sees her lips pursed and blowing to soothe his irritated skin. A kind hand rubbing and patting his chest to keep him still. “I know it hurts, I’m terribly sorry.” she tells and see’s him focusing on er. “Hurt enough to pull you awake, eh? Poor man.” she coos and pushes back his hair. “This will help.”

At first, he winces, the cold a surprise, but soon it numbs and dilutes the medication placed incorrectly. “Mmph.” he snorts in response.

“My, my what a chatterbox today.” she smiles and continues running ice over his face, blowing and cooing all the while. She takes her time, as she always has with him and cools his skin, then applies the correct medication to numb then another to fight infection. With a new dressing, she fluffs his pillow and gives his blanket a good shake before tucking him back in. ”Here you go, love.” she speaks, one hand behind his head, the other placing a bottle of liquid to his lips that he knows means another long rest is coming. “There we are. Soon you won’t need my help with that. I’ll check on you later Alfie. Not that you’ll know.” she chuckles. “But I’ll be there.” she pats his hand and gives him a smile as his eyes roll back and flutter shut.

----------

The longer he stayed and recovered, the closer they became. He quickly became her favorite patient and she, his favorite nurse.

“Ruth!”

“Yes, Alfie?” she asks carrying a tray on food into the room.

“The seagulls are being mighty peculiar today.” he answers with a shake of his head.

“What are they up to today?” she amuses him as she takes away his binoculars and sets them on the bedside table.

“Loud today. Storm coming in perhaps. The fuckers have been fightin’ like mad. They know something we don’t.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that in the least.” she smiles and places a napkin into his shirt collar, the tray in his lap. “Always up to something those birds.”

“You understand, Ruth. That’s why I like you.” he announces approvingly. He was rather entertaining when medicated. Although she hadn’t seen much of him sober yet.

“I managed to snag you another bowl of pudding and a sweet roll.” she distracts him.

“Always spoilin’ me Ruth.” he gives her a wag of his finger. “Have I ever told you about how I had a bakery? We made these rolls ourselves.”

“No, you haven’t. Tell me more.” she sits next to him, her shift over but having nowhere to go she cared about. She sits with a book in her lap and listens to the stories he tells over and over. Ones she could recite from memory if needed. But he sounded happy, was so lively when he told her stories she couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. She rather enjoyed seeing him smile.

-----------

Coming off the medicine, Ruth missed those stories and smiles. Alfie was coming down from his highs, pain, and withdrawal both plaguing him. Learning to function with one eye, the dizziness that came from the force trauma to his head and the depth perception problems. She understood his short temper, but he was still far nicer to her than any other person that helped him. After a particularly nasty day, him falling and being embarrassed, angry about being sick from the medicine and his head throbbing almost visibly, he surprised her.

“He’s asking for you again.”

“Right.” she tidies up and goes to the sounds of a groaning man. She could walk to the path in her sleep now. So many rounds and shifts, days and nights spent there with him. “You called for me?” she responds with the same polite tone.

“I did, yeah.” he nods then turn to look at her. “I’ll be out of here soon.”

“That’s what I’ve been told. I know you feel poorly but you are doing better,” she adds supportively. “It’s good that you’ll be leaving. Means you’re on the last stretch of recovery.”

“Do you want me to go, Ruth?”

The question catches her off guard. “I want you to get better.” she states plainly.

“Now I do want the fuck out of here, yeah? But I don’t wanna GO per se.”

“I’m afraid I'm not following.”

“I want to hire you. To come live with me. Be my personal nurse. You’re the only one worth a damn. The only one I trust. The only one that doesn’t look at me like…” he stops himself and sighs. “Would you be interested?”

“You flatter me as always Alfie,” she replies with a smile and her hand to her chest. “But I work here, I have rent I can’t just-”

“I’ll pay ya double what you make now. No rent, I’ve got plenty of rooms. You can help me, yeah? I don’t want to deal with this shit alone. I’ll only admit that to you. This fuckin’... the sight and vertigo and all 'is… shit that goes along with getting shot in the fuckin’ face. I can do it alone, but I don’t wanna, love. I’m finished with makin’ things harder on myself. And you help me, right? You have since I got here.”

“I have. I was the first assigned to you.”

“And the only one that’s stayed.” he lets out a little chuckle that turns into a cough.

“Yes.” she nods and smiles. “I’ve never done in home care.”

“You’re a good nurse. The best I’ve seen here. And you don’t annoy the shit out of me. You’re perfect for it.”

She shrugs, eyes not meeting his out of uncertainty.

“Ya gonna make me beg, love? Or is it more money you’d like?”

“Neither.” she laughs and gently pats his hand. “I accept. You’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“That’s what I was known for.” he grins.

“I can see why.”

“You go tell that boss of yours that don’t appreciate you enough to fuck off now. You’re gonna come with me.”

“I’ll tell them in my own way if you don’t mind.” she giggles.

“If you insist.”

---------

Ruth, in her simple cotton dress, walks closely behind Alfie as he slowly makes his way with his cane into his Margate home. She hadn’t known what to expect, but a mansion hadn’t been it. Aged and covered in ivy, the walls covered with specimens and art and each piece more interesting than the last, she had to focus on him to not become distracted. She’s careful to follow him on his side he can see on, ready to help him stay steady should he need her. He tromps his way into a cozy and lived-in room, plush chairs and a set of doors that overlooked the ocean. She gingerly helps him sit in the largest chair and doesn’t judge his pained sounds as he does so.

“Your place is lovely, Mr. Solomons.” she remarks, taking his hat and coat from him.

“Who the fuck is Mr. Solomons? Don’t call me ‘at. Call me Alfie.”

“My apologies. Since I was working I wanted to be formal.”

“No need for such. We’re old friends already, Ruth.” he grunts and resituates himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“None of that either.” he shakes his finger at her and she nods obediently.

“Yes...mate?” she suggests with a face that shows her rapid reaching for an alternative and it makes his laugh turn into a cough.

“We’ll work on it.” he chuckles.

“Where should I put your things?”

“There’s a closet by the door, hang ‘em there.” he nods in the direction of which he speaks.

With a quick bow, she leaves and returns promptly. “What would you like of me, Alfie? Some tea perhaps? I can get used to the kitchen.” she offers with hands clasped in front of her. So reserved, he thought to himself.

“Nah, you can go ahead and fetch ya things. Your room is the last on the left hallway, love. I’ll just be here.”

“Alfie, with all due respect let me at least make you comfortable before I go. That is my job afterall.”

“I’ll be fine, you don’t live that faraway. I did make it this far in life without you ya know.” he jokes.

“May I speak honestly?”

“It is what I prefer, yeah.” he turns his head and narrows his eyes at her.

“I do not want you falling or getting hurt while I'm here. I will feel personally responsible as it is my job to care for you and I take my job very seriously. You are... a bit stubborn and I don’t want your tenacity to give you a set back you will later regret and I will be left to mend something that could have been avoided.”

“Well that is...honest.” he shrugs.

“So as per my expertise, I would like to make you tea, perhaps a toastie or something to keep your energy up before tea. I’ll give you something to take the edge off, you’ve done a lot of traveling today and don’t need to exert yourself. I’ll settle you down with a book and some binoculars to watch the sea like you enjoy, eh?”

“A toastie?” he lets out a deep laugh that moves his stomach. “Haven’t had one of those since I was a lad. Sure. Tea does sound lovely after that char they serve in the hospital. Trust you can find the leaves on ya own?”

“Certainly so.” she nods with that same polite smile. “Here’s your binoculars...and a pillow in case you require it.” She moves about the space as if she knows it already. He notices what an observant person she must be. “Be back in just a moment, sir-Alfie.”

“Now SIR Alfie does have a good ring to it.” he teases and laughs, reaching for the binoculars as she opens the doors before leaving to familiarize herself.

“Don’t poke fun of me Alfie. I’m adjusting to this informality.” he hears the laughter in her voice covering the offense taken.

“I’d never, love.” he says with dramatic offense taken. “What sort of man do you think I am?”

“The kind that gets his tea poisoned for being an arse.” she snaps back with a playful smile he hadn’t seen before.

“HA!” he throws his head back, forgetting for a moment in the exchange that he was injured before cursing and mumbling, “Bloody room needs to be still.”

“And THAT is why you need me, Alfie. Behave yourself.” she sighs with a shake of her head as his brow furrowed hard in concentration.

“Yeah, yeah. Make me feel worse about it why don’t ya?”

He hears the sounds of another person in the house. Something he wasn’t entirely accustomed to. The tinks and shuffles of water and china go unnoticed as he focuses on steadying his head.

“Has the room stopped spinning for you to enjoy this?” she asks, standing with a steaming cup of tea and a saucer in her hands.

“Ya quiet as a mouse there.” he gruffs with one eye opening and giving her a once over.

“Not my intention,” she says with her trademark polite delivery. “Here you go. Still hot.”

“Mmph.” a grunt as he sits up straight and sees the swirls escaping the liquid. She stands patient and still as he puckers his lips and blows. He gives her a moment of eye contact before taking a noisy sip. He waits a minute, a slow head nod then a noisy smack of his lips. “Made the right choice hirin’ you dinnit I?” he states with a turn of his good eye her way. “That’s a good brew there, love.”

“Thank you. I pride myself on it. Been making tea since I could pour it myself.”

“You can tell. Good, that.” he adds with another slow sip. “What else are ya good at Ruth?” his tone sounded more like a challenge than a casual question.

“I suppose you’ll find out, won't you?” she answers back quickly and curtly. A small almost bend his way before moving back to the kitchen to impress him with a snack.

------------- He awakes with a twitching nose and the pain that the motion sends immediately through his head. The pain is ugly but the smell that caused it is lovely. The sun was already moving up into the sky and he groans and manages to sit up in his bed without too much nauseated feeling. He’d overslept which normally would be very much unlike him but his sleep schedule since being shot was erratic at best.

“Oh, you’re up already!” he hears the familiar voice chirp. “I’ve brought you breakfast.” she proudly declares, carrying a tray and sitting it on a table away from the bed. “How are we this afternoon?”

“What bloody time is it?” he grumbles as she approaches and checks his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Half past eleven.”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

“The medicine makes you sleep, Alfie. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’d rather you be resting than unable to.” her voice remains instructive but polite. “Here’s your tray.” she places the shelf to eat off of over his lap and begins to arrange the food. “We have porridge and honey. Tea with the same. Good healing properties in it, yeah?” she keeps her polite smile and watches him flinch as he moves his face. “Doesn’t require chewing. And I’d like you to start having food in you before you take your pain medication from now on. So we’ll start here and see how this goes.”

“Ya gonna do the dressin'?” he asks with a tired eye exposed.

“After your medicine has had time to dull the pain. No use in making you suffer more than you already have to.”

He watches her move about with light fingers and a pleasant face. “Why ya wearin’ that?” he asks with now focused eyes. He was referring to the new uniform she was wearing.

“My old uniform was the property of the hospital. I thought since I was still working it would be proper to get myself one.”

"Ya didn’t have to.” he offers.

“It’s no problem.” she lied. She’d had to buy the uniform second hand because she couldn’t afford a new one of her own. Of course with the new pay and lack of rent she’d be able to afford one soon. “The black will help hide any stains and the apron is always useful.” she offers and sits on the edge of the bed. “Now stop fussing and eat.” she directs with a gentle pat to his foot as she holds the paper in her hands.

“What’s that?” he motions with a spoon full of porridge.

“This morning’s paper. I thought you might like to read it.”

“If I wanted a fuckin’ headache, yeah.”

“That’s why I’m still here.” he retorts. “I can read it for you while you eat. Save your eyes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But would you like me to?”

“Mmmph.” he nods and begins to nibble away at the flavorful lumps in the bowl.

He was glad she could read so well, he’d had maids that couldn’t before but she was a nurse putting on the hat of a maid as well. He had to remind himself that. He uses his one good eye to look her over while she’s distracted. It was still in his nature to use anything available to his advantage. He’d already been able to surmise that she grew up poor, if she wasn’t still, from the food she served. This new uniform, clearly worn was another sign of this theory. It was a touch too short, clearly tailored for a shorter and smaller woman. The sleeves rolled up and the petticoat fluffing out at the edges that hit at her knees, the undone top button that wouldn’t clasp were all signs of support for his growing back story about her he was concocting in his head.

After he’d eaten his fill, an amount that was approved of by her and a good sign of returning health, she’d proclaimed, he takes his various tonics and medications that begin to make the edges of his vision a bit blurry. He pays attention to her now, his hands clasped in front of him, staring at her as she reads to him. “Would you like me to skip the arrests?” she asks.

“No, it’s a favorite part.” he gives her a smile.

“Very well…” she begins, posture straight and head moving animatedly as she read off the charges.

It was the drugs that made him feel so comfortable with her. But it didn’t stop it from feeling good nonetheless, no matter the official cause. “You have a lovely speaking voice, yeah?”

She blinks with surprise and turns her head his way.

“Bet children love it when you read to them, eh?”

“They usually fall asleep.” she replies with eyes that moved around in thought.

“You ever read poetry? Shakespeare and the like?”

“I am familiar with the works. Never thought it much use to read it to children in the hospital.”

“Mmmph.” he nods. “Perhaps one afternoon we’ll do that. I think your voice would lend a certain lyrical lilt to it.”

“Thank you.” she says politely as she closes the paper. “I do believe it’s time to change that dressing and clean you up. Officially start the day, yeah? The seagulls are probably lonesome without you looking at them.” she jokes.

“I’m a very busy man.” he nods in agreement. “Someones gotta keep an eye out on those bloody birds. Can’t trust em.” he hears her soft chuckle and keeps his hardened face in place, as is his way. Especially when his reactions tended to make her laugh.

-------

“Alfie?” He hears Ruth enter the room, announcing herself as his blind side was facing the doorway.

“Ello. Look at this ship that’s come in today. Never seen one so big.” He motions with his hand to approach him as he holds one eye of the binoculars up to his face. “Lots of cargo ships today.” He muses while Ruth peers out to the sea to entertain him. She couldn’t care less about ships. “Must be for the turning of the season coming. Needin' supplies and that.”

“Yes, I felt the chill incoming this morning.” She agrees with a nod and hands the spectacles back. “I have a question… or rather a concern I need to discuss with you.”

“Alright, go on.” He pats the seat next to him and she obediently sits.

“Tomorrow is Friday.”

“Mmm that it is.” He nods.

“That means Shabbat.” She states obviously as he seemed to not be following.

“Can ya make Challah?” He inquires.

“Yes, no problem at all. But there is the issue of me working.”

“Ah. I see. Yes.”

“I had been considering ways to still observe but not be away.”

“I could be fine for a day on me own, love. Ya don’t have to worry like ya do.”

She didn’t want to argue even though she disagreed.

“You can go off and do whatever it is you like.” After a pause and silence on her end, he turns to look at her. “What?”

She lets out a small frustrated noise. “I don’t really… have anywhere else to go.” She gives a small shrug. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Oh.” He blurts out, surprised at the answer. “Well, that’s also fine, innit?”

“I thought perhaps I skip cleaning on Shabbat. I can not wear the uniform you know? We can work together for tea and I can lounge a bit instead of keeping busy.”

“You know… some company would be nice.” He wouldn’t dig into her lack of social life today. The poor thing seemed embarassed. “I can help with the bread or at least supervise. Be useful somehow.”

“That would be wonderful. We could listen to one of the radio programs perhaps? Or I could read something besides the paper to you as you suggested?”

“Full of good ideas you are Ruth, dear. We can be a couple of mates bein' lazy. Have our wine and leisure as God requests.” He speaks with his hands, an animated delivery that told her he was adjusting well to the less intense medication.

“That sounds lovely. I’d like that very much.”

“Then that is precisely what we shall do, love.” He declares with a pointed finger.

And it was.

A lovely indulgent afternoon to close out their first week together. Wine and conversation. His snoozing through the afternoon as she prepared dinner. He told her stories and she read poetry about the sea to him. She continued to care for him but in her simple cotton dress this time. Her usual conservative hairstyle replaced with a loose fall of hair around her shoulders. A total opposite to the severe bun she had sported. He sees Ruth for the first time and not Nurse Ruth. She shares stories of patients and they laugh. She tells him of past Shabbats with her mum, and he shares some of his own. A mutual bonding on the loss of their mothers. They talk well into the night and only end the revelry when his medication renders him useless. It would be a special time for both of them to share and an instigator for their budding romance.

——————————

“The rest of you needs seeing to Alfie.” She insists. Knowing of his skin condition and back pain. “If you just let me assist you I can get it all in one go and it would be so much easier on me.” She stands with a hand on her hip as he stands with an undone shirt in the doorway of his bathroom.

“It’s a man’s business all his own in the bath. I don’t need your help to wash. Just on the ol face. I don’t want you all...exposed to this.” He motions to his body.

“You act like I’ve never seen a naked man before Alfie. I’m a NURSE. This is what I DO.” She maintains with open hands that chop down to the beat of her words.

“Ya tryin to get at me bits is what ya doin!” He replies dramatically and she sighs and puts her hand to her face.

“Alfie I swear-“

“Ehh. Only teasin bout that don’t get ya knickers in a bunch.” He groans and moves slowly toward the tub.

“You can use one of the wash cloths to cover up if it makes you feel better. But you never came off as shy before.”

“I’ll take ya up on that.” He makes his usual sounds of discomfort as he takes off his shirt. “Now turn and I’ll get in. Having an audience makes me bashful.” He jokes as she rolls her eyes and lets out a chuckle.

“I can’t have you getting dizzy and cracking your head open. I won’t apologize for watching out for you.”

“So you keep saying.” his voice shows his mild annoyance with her caring nature. But he was healing well he had to admit. She hears his clothes hitting the floor and water sloshing about. “Hotter than hell but fuck me that feels good on the ol joints” he grunts. “Come on in then ya stubborn bird.” He sighs out as she’s at the ready with her case of medicines for him.

“This makes this a lot easier on me. I appreciate your cooperation, truly.” She states with no sarcasm as she lines the bottles up and rolls up her sleeves.

“Only reason I’m agreeing to it.” He answers with lips planted together and readying for the bandage to be removed for what could be the last time.

“You have healed up so nicely.” She remarks softly as she studies the now stitchless face, only scabs left to fall off. Some already have done so with dark lines now showing the marks left from the open wound.

“Tell that to me fuckin eye.” He responds defensively.

She suppressed a sigh of frustration. He truly had come so far. He could’ve died of infection or any number of things by this point. “The sight left but the healing it’s done is remarkable all the same. The pigments gone but being able to keep at the eye at all is a teatmabe to your bodies ability to heal.” She uses a cloth to wipe gently at his face.

“You’ll say it’s a miracle I’m here at all next.” He complains.

“I won’t.” She snaps back. “Even though it is.”

He hums sarcastically.

“I feel comfortable not covering it anymore. Get some air and sun on it. Do you good.”

“Can’t wait to unleash this on the world.”

“You’ll be even more intimidating than you already are. With your personality, I’d think you’d find that more useful than a negative.”

“Got a point there.”

“Besides, the integrity of your face is still intact. All symmetrical and that. Your beard is almost grown back in on this side. Just scar and an eye that could pass for an opal. Adds character. And you are a character for certain.” She chuckles. “You aren’t disfigured. In my humble opinion still pleasant to look at. Most that get shot in the face can’t say they still kept their looks.”

“Looks?” He turns with a brow raised. “Are you complimentin' me?”

Her eyes blink fast and she looks away. In her attempts to cheer him up perhaps she’d been TOO honest. “I am.” She nods and begins rubbing oil between her hands. “Now give us this mop of hair.” She changes the subject and leans over to get her fingers into his scalp.

He’s rendered useless. As her nails rake away and wake up his scalp with a tingle. “Fuck that is good, innit?”

She smiles contently as his eyes roll back and he shuts them. “Get your blood flow going and heal up any spots. Very good for you” She says softly as he grunts. She washes his hair, an intimate thing she makes comfortable, the medicine she’d poured onto his face and hair washing into the bath water. “You can give yourself a wash while I put these away and then I’ll cover the spots on your trunk.”

“Trunk? The fuck you on about?”

She chuckles again and shakes her head. “That’s nurse for torso.” She explains.

“I was wondering if you’d sewed me up wrong for a minute there.” His response draws another laugh as she turns her back and closes bottles and wipes them down. “‘Spose you could’ve been takin bout my nethers.”

This brings a further laugh from her. “Nethers.” She chuckles. “That Alfie for genitals?”

“Since you’re a lady I wasn’t gonna say cock.”

She lets out a snorting laugh, shoulders shaking with it as he gives her a smile she doesn’t see. “But alas, here we are.” A happy sort of tone that shows her amusement and lack of offense pleases him in many ways. “Since when do you watch your language?” She sass’s.

“Since I got me arse and bollocks out I suppose.” She covers her face for another round of laughter and he joins in.

“You’re a character, Alfie Solomons. Never met a man like you before.”

“I’ll take what back handed compliments I can love.” He genuinely agrees.

“Not back handed. You are interesting. Unique. That’s what character means.”

“Quit bein’ so sweet and get over here, you’ll make it hard for me to be a grouchy bastard.” He grunts and stands, hand still holding the wash cloth over himself as she turns to get an eye full of dripping wet man in the tub. She was going to ask him to rise up a bit to get to the spots but… this worked too. See gulps and he catches it, a flush of confidence he couldn't help comes over him.

She works in silence, focusing with a furrowed brow she rarely had. She was fighting to not look anywhere she didn’t have to. Her fingers worked into his scaly spots, soaking up the good mixture of healing ointments and losing their redness already. He was dotteda long his shoulders and back, some on his chest and she was thankful there weren't any on his legs to be seen. She remained professional in action but her thoughts were moving in a wholly different direction.

“There you are. Finished.” she declares with a nod, not meeting his eyes and speaking curtly. She looks him over, not being very skilled at being subtle or sneaky as he stands and stares at her. A bit of flex of power as he saw her jaw tighten and lashes flutter.

“You gonna oogle me or hand me towel, pet?” he coos out and she is visible bothered. A quick jump and rush to grab what he asked.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“Hush, love I'm only teasin’.” he grins, draping the towel around his hips. “But I do believe I can handle the rest meself.” a smirk that gave away his delight at getting flustered is plain on his face but she dare not meet it.

“Course, course.” she mutters out and quickly turns and hurriedly gathers her things.

She goes to her room and finishes putting the bottles into her bag for later. She rubs the back of her neck and looks around at nothing in particular as her eyes remain nonblinking and wide. She was a professional, what was wrong with her? She shakes her head and the image of his broad body remains. Wide shoulders and strong, stocky legs that were made for… well, things she hadn’t experienced in a long while. The time without the intimacy of a man being felt hot in her face and elsewhere. She had heard him referred to as Captain, he was a military man, which would explain the strength there. She looks at herself, suddenly self-conscious with hands to her soft stomach and hips. She supposes it’s a good sign he looked so… healthy. It was in part to her good care and support and she took pride in that. But another feeling that was called sin was bubbling up beneath the surface for his recovery was becoming more and more apparent. ----------------

Time passes and the true nature of themselves reveals itself. Alfie being stubborn and grumpy, although she couldn’t entirely blame him. And her proving hard working and insistent. The banter between them became easy, the routines in place and their roles clear. It was a relationship that both of them felt they didn’t have to work too hard at. Over the weeks they’d grown comfortable with one another, and it was starting to show.

It was one of the last warm days of fall, the cool air getting chillier by the degree every night and feeling it into every morning. Alfie was very aware of winters coming in his bones. An ache in his joints he dreaded every year with the changing of the seasons. But at least he now had someone with soft hands and warm heart to rub oil into the hurting bits. He wasn’t sure what helped more at this point, the oil and massage or the woman who was doing it.

They walked side by side, Ruth dutifully holding his arm out of habit by this point. But he didn’t mind it all that much. She had a little blue dress, one of the many shades of the sea they walked alongside. Both barefoot and Alfie with his pants rolled up his calves, his typical white shirt and waist-coat loose on the breezy and pleasantly cool day. When the sun would peek through the clouds a warmth would spread across their skin, sparkles on the water shone as they walked, their footprints disappearing behind them in the tide.

“Come in a little further, get the cold water lapping about your legs! Get the blood going!” she requests with a hand laced into his, giving it a timid tug in her direction.

“It’s bloody cold, love.”

“It’s not THAT bad Alfie. It wakes up the senses. Keeps you on your feet!” she gleefully announces as she lets his hand go and lets her dress get wet in the waves.

“Last time that water touched me I woke up with a hole in me fuckin face so forgive me for not being as enthusiastic as you.”

“You love the sea Alfie.” she scolds. “You sit up there on that balcony all day every day and watch it and everything in it. You hold no ill will towards it. Don’t make excuses. You can always just say no politely and I’ll listen.” she lectures as she splashes about, the tips of her hair getting damp and a sheen across her face from the splash the sea was waving against her. She looked happy. An innocent at play he thought.

“You’re welcome to it, love.” he contributes with a nod, watching her intently as the waves lapped around his calves.

“Fine, have it your way.” she submits as a wave almost knocks her over, a laugh arising from her shaking chest. “The doctors say this is good for the heart.” she informs without an inkling as to the soft look on his face, eye barely squinting in the dim sunlight.

“Yeah. I’d agree it’s that, innit?” he replies quietly, watching this lovely little siren spin and splash about. He wondered if it was old age making him soft, or if it was, in fact, just her. Perhaps a bit of both. How was a hardened man like him supposed to withstand a persistent assault at his heart by a woman so wholesome? She saw the world so differently, then he did. He couldn’t help but find her mind intriguing. He was already looking forward to wine and conversation with her that evening. Wine was the only way he’d found to open her up a bit, and each week he chipped away at her professionalism. One day he hoped to find something to give him some indication as to whether her kind and caring nature was just that, or if it was a sign of something more when it came to him.

——-

“Alfie, are you awake? I could use some assistance!” Ruth calls out, arms full of packages from the market. As she made her way through the house and into the kitchen.

“Do you think all I bloody do is sleep?”

“I can only work with what my own observations tell me.” she smarts back and he smiles.

“Don’t like it when ya get smart on me like that.”

“Then don’t ask silly questions, dear.” she ties back her hair as she moves past him to go fetch another set of bags from the car.

-----

They work well together in the kitchen. Both their upbringings working in tandem to create meals that both liked. He was a much better cook than she’d expected. She wasn’t used to men taking such interest in it, especially the baking. But she’d never had a better Challah than one that was kneaded by him.

“Did ya get the kosher eggs, love?”

“Of course I did.” she replies placing them next to him as he did a check of the ingredients needed.

“And the candles?”

“They’re crucial, of course, I remembered them you worrywart. I bought the fruit yesterday and the fall compote is in the icebox. The chicken is marinating, I have your favorite vegetables as requested and the broth is beginning to simmer. So onto the matzo balls.” she claps her hands together and readjusts her sleeves up her arm.

“You got the good schmaltz for it?”

“Yes, Alfie. Only the best for such a meal.”

“Good girl.” he praises as he moves about the kitchen with her, a slight hug from the side and a kiss to the head that made her blush at the approval. “These meals are so much easier with you here Ruth. Barely gotta do a thing.”

“Just keep making the best bread I’ve ever eaten and I’ll be more than happy to oblige you with the rest of the meal.” she says with a broad and happy smile.

“You flatter me.” he speaks softly as he dumps out the dough. He places his rings into a small dish she’d brought into the kitchen for that singular purpose. The kneading brought him back to his early days in the kitchen with his mum, the days he instructed the bakers at the shop. All happy memories that were being cast in shadow by the new ones he was forming with Ruth. But all she really could pay attention to the was the strength and endurance of his experienced hands plying the flesh-like dough. She put on records and lit candles, set the table with the last of the flowers from the garden. She had given the home a soft touch, a feminine one it lacked. It was still entirely his own, his things, how he wanted them, she never forced herself in. But her presence did seem to make things a bit more palatable. Especially on the bad days.

— They’d drank their wine, a bit over indulgent but no harm done. Sitting on opposite ends of a fainting couch and listening to the sea beat onto the shore outside the window. The fire roared away, Ruth shivered despite being under a blanket. She despised the cold, she always froze in the winter and without a fireplace in her bedroom she was already getting a bit chilled at night.

But in the shadow of the fire, warm and fuzzy on wine and seeing a snoozing Alfie it was far from her mind. She watched him with his harmless exterior, sat back and snoring lightly in his chair. He looked peaceful and rather adorable she would admit to herself. Lips pooched out with a chin pushed back into his neck, all snuggled into his beard on his chest. She sat with her elbow on the arm of the chair, chin in her hand and stared, took all of him in without judgement. She barely noticed the scars anymore honestly. She hadn’t known him without them. They seemed to suit him almost. A grumpy bear of a man she mused. The bear's nose twitched and awoke with a grunt.

“Mmph. What time is it?” he mutters.

“You’ve only been out for a little while.” she answers with a sweet voice that calls his attention. He sees her propped up and comfortable, a content smile not hidden on her face as she continued to observe him.

“Ya watchin’ me sleep?” he blurts out without any grace.

“Suppose I was. You look so peaceful.”

“Was dreamin’ ‘bout you.” he admits.

“Really? What about?”

“We were on a balcony. ‘Spose that one outside my room. It was cold and dark.”

“Least it wasn’t a nightmare.” she adds supportively.

“Far from it.” he grumbles, not giving away the other details of the dream of a warmth between them and their affections shown physically.

“Must’ve been nice. You looked happy.”

“Mmph.” he didn't want to give away any more than he already had. “Why didn’t you wake me? Or go to bed yaself?”

“You looked happy. Like I said. Didn’t want to bother you.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “That why ya lookin’ at me like that then?”

“I was just thinking.” she sighs out.

“‘Bout?”

“You.”

“Are you inclined to share your observations?”

“When you sleep you remind me of a bear.” she answers with a smile, her head tilted against the back of the chair.

“Ah.” he thumbs his nose. “A fierce beast indeed.”

“I should clarify I meant a stuffed bear.” she grins.

“What sort of stuffy would look like ‘is eh?” he retorts. Not exactly defensive, but not entirely not either.

“A well loved one.”

The smile she gives him makes him stop adjusting his posture and give her a gaze back. He looks her over for a moment, the wine leaving her relaxed with no sign of embarrassment in her body language.

“You look soft, comfortable. Your head down like your stuffing has been hugged about the neck so many times it’s lost its support. You’re worn and well-loved, threadbare in places. Some seams have split and you’ve lost an eye from your adventures but you’re still the same bear.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t heard her speak in such a way before. He knew her for her positive outlook but she sounded so… soft and dare he imagines loving with her poetic observations.

“But we’ve given you a good scrub, cleaned you up. Sewed up the seams and given you a lovely new pearl button for an eye. You’ll be good for years to come.” she practically coos, her head shaking backing and forth in support of her statement.

“You… are drunk.” he states.

“Oh pish posh Alfie, what if I am?” she raspberries her lips.

“Would explain this monologue you’re on about.”

“You are though. Drunk or not I’d mean it. I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant it as a compliment.”

“Didn’t say I was offended did I? Far from it.”

“Good.” she states and snuggles into the blanket around her shoulders. “Because you should see yourself that way.”

“Might take a bit more than kind words to change me own mind, love.”

“I’ve got them. I’ll keep trying.” she tires.

“Pearl button.” he chuckles.

“It shines in the firelight like an opal. Colors.” she yawns with smacking lips and closed eyes. “Or the moon in a cloudy sky.” she begins to murmur, sleep beginning to find her by force. “Lovely, really.” she barely whispers.

“Oh, darlin’.” he breathes out, watching the little mouse lose her fight with wine and sleep. “You’re too good to a man like me,” he declares before sitting up and moving her way. He doesn't have the heart to disturb her, only closing up the doors and placing the blanket he had over him onto her as well, giving an extra pillow for her to snuggle up to when she inevitable made the descent to laying horizontal. “Sweet little thing,” he murmurs, pushing back her hair from her face. “Don't take more than one eye to see how lovely you are Ruth.” he smiles softly and adjusts the cover around her. “Night, love.” he places a kiss to her head and she gently stirs, a little muffled hum from the touch. That’s what he’d go to bed tonight thinking about, that soft face spilling out honest words about how she truly saw him. He hoped his dream from before would return, he had lots of ideas for how to finish it now. ——

The cold had set in for the season, a crisp wind against the panes as the fire inside roared away. He supposes his compromised body, busy healing him from the shot was too preoccupied and hadn’t managed to keep up with its usual form of defense against the illness that made its way around this time of year. Ruth held herself responsible even though Alfie told her not to be ridiculous. He hadn’t left the house, he shouldn’t have had any way to get sick. She must’ve brought it in from the market she guesses. With her guilt heavy, and even if she wasn’t, her care of him always went above and beyond what was expected.

“We have just broth this time. Don’t want to upset your tummy further.”

“Tummy the medical term?” he still gives a sarcastic response despite his head hanging over the bed and the remnants of breakfast in the bucket below him.

“I’ll call it what I like.” she speaks with confidence as she wipes down his face with a cloth to clear his beard. “You need to stop being so mouthy and relax.”

“All the times I’ve been told that in my life...”

“You’d think you would’ve learned to listen by now.” she gives his cheek a gentle pat as she tucks the blankets in around him. “Take a few sips and wait. Then if you keep it down within the hour we’ll try some tea.

“Ugh.” he groans, his head spinning and for the first time not from the injury. He was just plain sick. Some stomach something that made him hot and cold and sleep like the dead. “I don’t want to eat a 'fing.”

“That means you’re still sick and you need the energy. So do as I say, please.”

She was stern but kind, reminded him of his mum a bit. She never shied away from the gross bits, whisking the tray away as soon as she saw his face turn and she knew he was going to be sick. She cleaned him up and bathed him to sweat out the sickness. He was so exhausted he didn’t have it in him to even tease her about seeing him naked. This told her he was especially sick. So when the hour got late and he was nowhere near where she’d like him to be in recovery, she stoked the fire and changed into her pajamas, setting everything he could possibly need by the bed.

“You’re burning up, love.” she whispered with a hand to his forehead. He only nods in agreement. “I’m going to stay with you tonight. Is that okay?”

“MMph?” a questioning glance shot her way.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You 'fink I’m gonna die?”

“No, I don’t think you’re going to die.” she chuckles and smoothes back his hair. “But I want to keep an eye on you nonetheless. You poor thing. I know you feel miserable.”

“Aye.” he moans.

“Do you mind me asking something personal?”

“What?” he gruffs out, sat back into the stacked pillows with a frown.

“When you were little... what did your mum do when you were sick?”

“Have me sleep with her. Do that lovely fing you women do with the fingers in the hair.” he grunts at the exhaustion he feels trying to reach his hand up to ruffle his own.

“Then I’ll do that then, yeah?” she suggests.

“Not a baby.”

“Tonight you are.” she smiles, crawling into the bed next to him. She makes herself a little nest and situates. “Would you like laying on my lap? A lot of people prefer it. That or on the chest, heartbeat is soothing, but I’m afraid I don’t want you that close to my face.”

“Don’t blame you.” he groans and moves slowly, to roll onto her legs.

“Curl up a bit, sometimes that helps with the stomach cramps.” she rubs his back, damp from sweat soaked through his pajamas as she lets him nestle up against her. Another sign he was very sick was his lack of defense of the idea. Men did love to be comforted in a maternal way when they were ill. She’d learned that quickly in her years as a nurse. This man wasn’t any different, it seemed. “That’s a good boy, now.” she feels a yawn coming on, fingers carding through the damp strands as she feels him rest his weight on her. “You aren’t accustomed to getting so ill are you?”

“No.” he laments.

“Your system has been through it as of late, hasn’t it? Healing you up so well it forgot to man the gates.” she lets out a soft laugh and his eyes are already shut. “Poor darling.” She whispers with a sweet lilt that gives him a moment of strength to wrap his arm over her legs. “Rest now, love, you’ve earned it. I’ll be here.” She continues to stroke through his hair as a snore quickly rises from his full lips.

He awoke without the usual ache in his body he’d grown accustomed to. Tiredness that was very much there, but the pain was dull and far away. He feels his head move with a soft rise and fall, realizing he was on Ruth’s stomach and he was feeling her breathing. He knew she was asleep by the steady rhythm it kept and it made him want to rejoin her. He felt the weight of her hand on his back and the other with an open book against the bed. By the small amount of light in the sky, he could determine she’d tried to stay awake and failed, but he had succeeded in getting an almost full night's rest for the first time that week. It must’ve been the fever breaking his rational mind thought, but he also concluded that the affection surely didn’t hurt his chances of recuperation either. —-

With frost heavy on the windowpane that night, Ruth kept adding more wood to the fire in the lounge to try to combat the freezing temperatures.

“Gonna have to move back inland to chop me own trees if ya keep feedin' it in such a way.”

“I’m sorry I’m just... freezing.” She whines with a sigh, pulling up her socks and tucking her feet beneath her on the chair that had been designated as hers unofficially over the weeks she’d been living there.

He looks to see her jumper layered over an undershirt, long johns and her big socks pulled up to her knees with her boots still on. “You’ve got more on than I do, ya still cold?”

“I’m always cold.” She mumbles. “Nights are worse.”

“Ya have a proper coat? A wool jumper instead of that knit one?”

“No.” A voice that was small and clearly embarrassed.

“Do I not pay ya enough to buy the things you need?” His tone wasn’t one of judgment which she was relieved by, but she still felt suddenly inadequate under his gaze.

“You do, you’re very gracious I just... I've been saving it.”

“Ah.” He nods, still looking her over. He wanted to ask her for what, but he supposed it wasn’t any of his business. But his curiosity and her silence got the better of him. “May I ask for what?”

“Just... life.” She shrugs. “For a place of my own one day. Being an unmarried woman I need to be able to support myself at any given moment if need be. Things happen. I like to be prepared.” She sheepishly answers.

“Well, that’s smart of ya innit.” He approves. “How about we go out tomorrow and I buy you a new coat? Get ya some good winter protection since you’re such a small thing. Won’t have ya freezin' in my house.”

“That’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary. I’d considered taking up knitting. I could make some things for myself.”

“You need something better quality than you could pull together. Not to be rude, love. It’s a good hobby to have but the weather by the sea demands more.”

“It is so much colder than it is inland. The wind bites to your bones.”

“That it does. So we’ll go. You aren’t spendin' your money on something like... fuckin gamblin' or what not, ya bein smart, so I don’t mind to step in. Consider it a gift for your excellent work.”

“You don’t have to-“

“Hush now Ruth. You don’t reject gifts now do ya. I know you were raised better than that.” He teases.

“Thank you. It’s very generous.” She finally accepts and pulls a duvet over her shoulders.

Her chattering begins to be noticeable to him. His injured side still hearing her sniffling and shifting as the night carried on even if he could not see it. “How have you been makin' it through the night without a fire if you’re already so cold?” He inquires without looking her way.

“I haven’t been really. I’ve had a hot water bottle and a warmed iron in my bed, sleeping in my clothes and that.”

“Unacceptable.” He grumbles. “You should’ve said something, pet.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You have never been a bother and you could never be, Ruth. Anything you need you just ask. Promise me.”

“Yes, Alfie” she agrees hesitantly.

“Good girl, now c’mere” he instructs, raising the blanket thrown over his lap. “Use the 'ol sharin' body heat in the meantime.”

“Are you su-“

“Get over here Ruth. Your teeth will grind down to nothing with the chattering they’re doing over there by the window.” He orders with more conviction, another motion of his hand to beckon her closer.

She sighs but begins to move, a nod of agreement, because he was right.

“Won’t have you catchin' a cold when a simple intervention of body heat will help remedy the situation.”

She brings her blanket around her shoulders, dragging behind her on the carpet as she shuffled towards him. Wordlessly she sits next to him as he pats the cushion, direction to sit close.

With only the crackle of the fire, he puts an arm over her shoulders, tucking the blanket now shared as he pulls her legs into his lap.

“Get these feet warmed up, eh?” He mutters, unlacing her boots as she watches him with curious eyes. The delicate movements of his fingers catch her off guard by the attention they demand of the firelight shining off his rings. “Beneath the legs. Toes under here, there ya are.” He mumbles while tucking her feet under his thigh to warm her. “Don’t be shy, we’ve had a cuddle before.” He chuckles as he pays her back. Her little body, in comparison to his, curls up against him. “Lookit is nose, red as a beet yeah? Can’t have that.” He takes her nose and places his palm over it and makes her laugh. “You are freezin' love, my goodness.” He remarks softly, rhetorically. “There now. Better?” He asks with genuine concern as he runs her back over the blanket.

“Yes actually.” She admits quietly. “You’re very warm.”

“Aye. Good it’s going to use then, yeah?” He looks back to the book he’d been reading. She feels a bit limited, being in such a confined space with him. She was on his blind side but that didn’t stop him noticing she was staring. “ You’ve seen me every day, love, what could there possibly be to look at you haven’t seen before?”

She gives him a grin. “I haven’t had to be so close in some time now. You’re still doing very well. Swelling is gone.” Her fingers trace over his scars that run from the line of his beard to his temples. “Healed up nicely. Hardly any displacement. Scars will always be there but a small price for what you’ve been through.”

“Thanks to you.” His way of accepting the compliment.

“I think you had a bit to do with it.” She lets out a soft chuckle. “I think you wear it well. Not just anyone could make this sort of look work for them.”

“Not that I’ve had a choice.”

“You certainly do.”

“How so? Can’t exactly choose what I look like.”

“No, but you have a very strong face, Alfie.”

“That’s a way to say ugly and still be polite.”

She laughs and her forehead pressed into his collar bone for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never say such a thing as it would be a lie.”

“Backtracking now are we?” He turns to show his good eye and an amused but teasing face.

“No!” She laughs and snuggles a bit closer to get his warmth.

“Hush and snuggle up ya little ice lolli.”

“Strong means exactly that. Strong.” She rests her head on his shoulder with his permission. Hair nuzzling against the scars they spoke of. “Masculine, you know. Hard brow, pronounced nose and jaw. And all symmetrical.” She yawns. “ Most can’t say that without getting shot.” She lets out a soft laugh.

“What did you break? You’re being too nice again.”

She lets out another giggle and it makes him smile.

“You know I would’ve come running and crying if I had.”

“True.” He agrees.

“You have an intense air about you. Suits the whole… look. That’s all.”

“Then thank you, Ruth, love.”

“Welcome.” She sighs with a smack of her lips.

She falls quiet, gentle breathing against his chest he doesn’t mind in the least. As much of a surprise to him as anyone else.

“Ya asleep?”

“Mmmph. Warm. Comfy.” She mumbles.

“Then let's go to bed, yeah? At least until we can fix the cold in your room.”

“Together?”

“Yeah, love, I’ll keep ya warm. Let me be of use to ya somehow. For what all you’ve done for me.”

“No use in arguing with you. Won’t win.” She answers with a sly smile that makes him laugh.

“Kind and smart. Gonna have to hold onto you aren’t I?”

His response causes a warm happy hum in her throat that makes him lean in to kiss her head before he wraps her up and takes her in his arms to carry her.

“Don’t strain yourself.” She tells him, waking up and wrapping her arms around his neck instinctually.

“I know me limits.” He grumbles back defensively. “Don’t worry, you just keep warm.” He adds more softly as he carries her down the hall.

With a well-fed fire and a comfortable position found in his bed, Alfie and his little mouse burrow up, her without her usual wall of hesitation as she hungrily pulls herself towards him, so relieved at the promise of a night not freezing alone.

As she had done before, watching over and being of service to him, he returns the favor night after night. Watching over her and the total abandon on her face as she slept. She looked so innocent in his arms, dark hair and lashes that lay stark against her skin. Besides their buzzed conversations, these nights were a close second in his favorite way to spend his time. He felt useful to her. Like he could entertain he could ever repay her for the help she’d given him. Laying with the strong but fragile-looking woman in his arms gave him something carnal he missed. He felt like a man for the first time in a long while. He hadn’t known if he’d ever feel such a way after being shot. He thought women may run in fear of him, left to pay for any kindness or intimacy with them. But one had appeared that made his chest warm, his belly full and his mind occupied. She’d been a comfort from the beginning, but he was suspecting he was becoming one for her as well.

--------

Alfie hadn’t had very many visitors since coming home and it’d been months. Very few people seemed to know he was even alive from what Ruth gathered. The only people that visited him seemed to be Jewish businessmen she’d never seen before. Most were Orthodox and very polite but they spoke suspiciously quietly while they met with Alfie.

She greeted them all enthusiastically making tea or bringing biscuits as Alfie suggested and this time was no different. She’d even put on her maid uniform even though she was more than a bit cold in it. But unlike times before, they spoke louder, as did Alfie, sounding a bit distressed. She was doing her work, scrubbing at the entryway where they had tracked in mud from their trip to the market.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it just happened she was in proximity with her work. She hadn’t meant to listen and hear things she shouldn’t have, but she did. Now she knew who Alfie Solomons was, and him being shot now made sense.

That evening Alfie, as is in his way, already knows she’s heard him. He could tell from the moment she took away the tray from tea. The lack of eye contact, the almost sad but cautious expression. None of it was lost on him.

After supper, he knows there’s a conversation that needs to be had. He knew no better way to approach it than head-on.

“I know you heard what me 'n those men were talkin' 'bout today.” She says nothing and keeps knitting. “I’m not angry, you can look at me, Ruth.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I didn’t assume as much but thank you for clarifying.” He answers calmly.

“I was working on the floor. The mess from going to the market and the wet and that.”

“Mmm.” He nods. He says nothing having learned it is better to let people talk themselves instead of probing in most cases.

“I’m not… in trouble am I?” She asks with big eyes.

“Not if you can keep a secret.”

“I’ve not told anyone that you’re here either.” she adds quickly.

“Good. Then no problem, yeah?”

She gives a sharp nod.

“But I would like to know. For my own selfish reasons, what you think now. Because you aren’t lookin' at me the same.

“It was a shock at first. But upon reflection it made sense. The big house, money, the guns” she recognizes. “You’re very well-spoken and read. Clearly a man of intelligence. You can be very intimidating at times and it seems natural. I thought perhaps it was just your turn but it seems it’s learned for… work purposes.”

“You’re very observant, Ruth. Very clever.”

“Thank you.”

“All those things are true. I won’t deny them to you because you deserve the truth. But I am retired now. I don’t do that sort of work now. I put in my time and it’s given me the means to have this sort of life. Now I can sit back and use the reputation, yeah, the power that comes with such a name and life lived.”

She nods bashfully again.

“Will this be a problem?” He questions after a moment of silence between them.

“Am I… I’m not in danger am I?” She asks with the same honest eyes as earlier.

“Oh pet.” He sighs out, reaching out and taking her down turned chin into his hand. “ I would never put you in danger. Do you understand? You’re far too important.”

“Okay.” A soft solution that cues him to move his hand to hold hers.

“Do you think less of me now?” An upfront inquiry she hadn't expected.

She takes a moment to consider her answer. She didn’t feel threatened or scared of him. He admires her ability to slow down and consider her words before speaking. It was a skill many lacked. “No.” She shakes her head. “You have been nothing but kind to me. Grumpy sure but that’s a personality trait and not the core of a persons being. You’ve been generous and thoughtful. As I see it you’ve done no wrong to me, and that is all I can base my judgments on. Who youwere before doesn’t seem to be who you are now. I believe people can change. You’re a good man to me. One of the best I’ve known and I suppose it makes no difference how you made your life.”

“That is a relief. And so thoughtfully spoken.” He gives her hand a squeeze.

“I know some think me naive. As my kind nature can be mistaken."

“You are not naive. You’re very smart. Have a lovely, clever wit about you. You’re a good woman. You have a good heart. I admire that about you.” He lets go of her hand and sits to look at her, meeting her eyes intensely. “What I want to know now, is do you want to continue to live here with me? Now that you know?”

She doesn’t consider it as long as he expected which makes him let out a relieved sigh. “I do. I trust you. And trust your word. I feel safe here... with you. Safer now still than I did living alone.”

“It does make me happy to hear such news.”

“But Alfie…” She begins. “You know, and I only bring it up because you did first. But you are aware you no longer... need me, right? Save the housework I haven’t had to be your nurse in a few weeks now. I’m no longer needed for the purpose I was hired for.”

“You are not needed for that purpose, no.” He shakes his head. “But you do not wish to go?”

“I do like it here. And you. But, I hate to put my foot in my mouth to ruin a good thing but I’m still being paid for things I’m no longer doing.”

“Mmph. That would seem to be the case yeah.” He nods, looking into the fire. “Perhaps I hadn’t brought it up because I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” He shakes his head. “I like you, Ruth. And I can count on one hand the people I’ve liked in my life. I’d choose you to stay here. With me. I wouldn't charge you rent. And I do like how you keep a house. And cook. And… many other things about you.” He pauses. “But I would like to know. Do you like me? Would you want to stay?”

“Am I… reading too much into this being a loaded question?”

“I’m not proposing anything indecent. Not asking anything of you. I genuinely enjoy you. You as a person. And I don’t want you to leave. Your company would be missed. Greatly.”

“You want me to live with you? Not as an employee? Am I… understanding you?”

“Yes.”

“If not as an employee then...as what?”

“You’re a good woman Ruth and I don’t want to insinuate or offend. I do enjoy our friendship. But I believe there is the possibility of more there. And I would be willing to help you out, as we could help each other out, by living together and giving that a chance. No professional lines crossed, and if you find you do not want to stay I would never keep you against your will. But I believe you might feel the same way. If I am so bold to suggest.”

“You are bold.” He can’t get a solid read on her expression as it holds many things. “But you are… also correct.”

“Would you like to take a chance then, Ruth love?” He takes her hand again. “I know a man like me has no business asking this of a woman like you. One as lovely and smart with so much to offer but if I didn’t I know I’d spend the rest of my life alone and regretting it.”

“A man like you has every right to ask such a thing of me.” She lets out a soft huff of a laugh to being flattered.

“Nothing has to change. Business as usual and no funny business on my behalf. I can behave. Despite rumors.”

She gives him a smile. One that reassured him of her answer. “I would like that. We remove the confines of professionalism. No taboos just, two very good friends… exploring the possibility of more. Organically.”

“You put it in such an easily understood way, dear.”

“I can agree to that.” She nods with a nod of confidence.

“Then it’s settled.”

“So it is.” She beams back. A moment of silence hangs between them. “How about a cuppa before bed? Special brew to celebrate?”

“Always full of good ideas, you are. I’d love that.”

——————-

That night when it's time to go to bed Ruth has regained that same nervous smile she had in the beginning.

“It feels a bit different now, yeah?” She states with a nervous laugh.

“A bit. But it won’t be. Everything moves at your own pace, love. Do you still want to sleep in here?”

“Oh, yes” she very quickly answers much to his relief. “I can admit now it’s far too pleasant sleeping with you to go back to that freezing room. I mean, sharing a bed with you… you know what I mean. Why am I being so particular?” She laughs at herself.

“S’all right.” He speaks comfortingly and as always lifts his arm to accomodate her against him. “You’re rather endearing when you’re nervous.”

“Lucky me.” She snickers. “ I would like... some minor adjustments?” She asks sitting up to meet his face on her elbow.

“Anything you want, darlin'.”

“Just… here.” She scoots closer to move her feet under lhis eg, taking his hand that lay next to him on the bed and resting it on his chest. “And one more thing.” She asks with batting lashes, “Nothing indecent about a goodnight kiss to the cheek right?” She asks before planting one on the scarred side of his face.

“Nothin' a ‘tall. Spoilin’ a man.”

“This is a good start.” She coos with tired eyes, already putting her head to his chest to listen to his breathing and heart. She takes his hand into hers and laces their fingers together. “Goodnight Alfie.” She sighs out. A content and pleased sound.

“That it is, Ruth. That it is.” He closes the night with a kiss to her hair. A new nightly ritual begins.

————-

Their courtship began and despite the fluttering in her stomach she was distinctly aware of now, it didn’t feel like much had changed. There was a certain closeness, an intimacy and tenderness that hadn’t been so blatant before. There were kisses to cheeks as they cooked, holding hands as they sat side by side on the chair in front of the fire at night. Quick strolls around the estate, hand in hand to knock the dust off Alfie's shoes as he put it. He’d started venturing out more as well. Returning home with trinkets and sweets to gift Ruth to show his fondness. She’d never had a man give her gifts, and even the simplest purchase of something she’d needed such as socks or soap, made her blush and feel pampered. They were moving closer to something increasingly serious between one another each day, and they were both waiting for the other to cut the tension.

Their Shabbat is spent together as always, days spent cooking and nights spent leisurely enjoying each other’s company after blessings in the confinement of their home. Ruth had an air of ease about her now that she was being courted and the barrier of being in Alfie's employ was gone. This led to her being over indulgent in wine for the Friday evening, but Alfie didn’t particularly mind.

She went to bed when he had, a late night with a bright moon and stars. She woke up shortly after a brief rest, feeling hot in his embrace. She peels herself from the bed, feet hitting the cold floor and her still buzzed state becoming acutely aware to her. She shuts the door, Alfie grumbling as she left after a kiss to his cheek and a whisper of “I'll be back darling, sleep”.

She made her way with the fog of rest and wine in her eyes as she lit a candle in the hallway. She took a sweet from the glass dome they were housed in and proceeded to stand in front of the glass double doors that outlook the beach. The ocean was still awake, a sparkling blue and gray as it lapped at the sand. There wasn’t a soul out to feel the salt air except for Ruth. Her face was flushed, the breeze welcome and fluttering her dressing gown to ease the side effect of the wine. After many content sighs, lazy blinks that turned the glimmer of moonlight on the water into small seemingly touchable stars she retreats to the confines of the dark and quiet house. She turns on the record player, something she enjoyed when she was drunk, and on occasion when she wasn’t and Alfie wasn’t home. With one door open, a tinkling of the chandelier above her as she spun and sashayed about the room with the bell sleeves of her gown adding a decorative flair to her lonely waltz.

Alfie had slept through plenty of things Ruth had done in the house, including playing music. But perhaps the lack of another body in the bed for too long made him restless, his mind refusing to tune it out.

Ruth was swaying with eyes closed and a content smile as she moved around the dark collection of Alfie's things. Light filtered through the gems on the chandelier and gave the room a smattering of bright spots that moved with the breeze and her raised arms as she felt the music move about her.

She was none the wiser to Alfie standing in the archway watching her. He moved as quiet as a mouse down the hall, suspecting no foul play at the music in the night. He smiled at the swirling woman, being happily surprised by what he found waiting for him. He had grown to enjoy having music on during waking hours, a pleasant distraction and a chosen aesthetic to the day to set whichever mood he fancied. But it seemed Ruth was the one setting the tone that filled the room tonight.

In her light-colored gown, a blue gray in the moonlight, she moved in and out of the beam coming from the open door. Her hair was down and free, waves moving with the fabrics with her small hands orchestrating along. She takes a swift spin to follow the string section, opening her eyes as she stumbles slightly. A happy laugh escapes her before she notices Alfie watching. A small gasp leaves shortly after with wide eyes that admitted guilt to being caught.

“Did the music wake you? I’m so sorry Alfie, my love, I thought I had it low enough that it wouldn’t.” She rushes over apologetically to the machine but a gentle and assertive hand stops her before she can hurriedly remove the needle and most likely scratch the record in the process.

“It did but no apologies needed, love. Your absence was what caused me to venture out more than the noise.” He explains.

“I woke up in a heat and needed some air.” She elaborates.

“That what happens when you drink too much.” He chuckles before giving her chin an affectionate pinch.

“You’re right. As always.” She gives a bashful smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Shall I shut this off and return to bed?” She asks with eager eyes and he finds himself sighing at the sight.

“No, no, love. Best not waste this lovely little scene you’ve set, eh?” He suggests as he straightens his posture and moves away from the wall. The candle in the hall was losing its fight against the darkness around it. It made no progress past the corridor and with a lack of fire in the room it was a peaceful display bathed in moonlight.

She looks at him curiously, not sure of the meaning of his words.

“Do you like to dance, Ruth?” He asks with an outstretched hand it takes her a moment to register its purpose.

“Oh yes. I do.” She nods.

“Would you like to now? With me?”

“I’d love that.” She smiles and takes his offered hand, small feet light as they were pulled along into the open space of the room among the rug and parted chairs.

“You’d never mentioned you liked it.” He observes.

“I’ve only done it alone before.”

“Ah. A shy one.” He grins and pulls her to his chest.

“Historically yes.” She laughs and happily takes her place against him. “You know better than anyone I am mostly hesitant to express myself and my wants.”

“Aye.” He nods, chin against her hair as a simple back and forth between them falls in naturally. A slow movement of feet, a swaying of shoulders as they leisurely made their way around the room. “But there is no need to be with me, pet. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t ask.”

“So wise.” She praises softly. “And so handsome. Really not fair.” She begins to giggle and hides her face in his chest.

“You’re still drunk.” He laughs and kisses her head.

“Only a touch. Enough to follow your advice. The wine helps you see. Helps me talk.”

“It can do that, yes.” He watches her face flushed and happy, lift to look at his.

“Sometimes I feel there’s so much in my head I want to say that I can’t choose where to even begin. So I don’t. But I want to.”

“Like what?” He inquires, giving her a chance to share her thoughts.

“Things… about you… and myself.”

“I have to admit I’m more than curious about your thoughts on the subject.” He teases and makes her smile with a dip of his head her way.

“I don’t even mind your teasing when I get to see you smile like that.” She catches him off guard with her softness as she always does. “You don’t smile often, so it’s like a little treat when you do. And when it’s directed at me…” she lets out a happy hum with a smile that warmed him against the wind whipping against his skin from the outside. “It just… makes a woman melt.” She admits with a soft laugh.

“Then I must admit yours makes me feel the same, love.” He kisses her forehead.

“You make me feel so… warm.” She sighs. “Like a constant hug. Or a big meal. It… feels so good.” She brings a hand up from his chest to rest it against his cheek. “I’ve never…” She stops and her eyes narrow just slightly in thought. “I’ve grown so fond of you, Alfie.” She finally verbalizes.

“And I you.” He keeps his voice soft as to not distract her.

“And you’re so… much. Smart and funny and lovely and so very good to me. And despite your insistence to the contrary, I do find you terribly handsome.”

“This what you’ve wanted to say to me love?” He nuzzles his nose against her head with an almost patronizing smile. As is his way. “Because it seems you’re only speaking my mind, as I feel about you. You kind and beautiful little woman. Clever and hard working. And bless you, finding me easy to look at.” He presses a long kiss to her cheek that makes her stomach flip and a smile that carries across her entire face bloom.

“I do. Because you are. And for that and so many reasons I really do very much care for you. Beyond friendship. Beyond platonic now.”

“Will you stay with me then darlin'? Ease my worries for losin' a treasure like you?”

“Of course. I don’t want to lose you either.” Is her honest and heartfelt response.

“So if I did what I truly wanted… and kissed you you wouldn’t be offended and run?”

“A man like you asking permission lets me know I am in fact exactly where I’m supposed to be. With you. So carry on with what we both want.” Her lips are still smiling as they finally close the space between them.

He was gentle with her. His hand moving from hers and to her head. It was short and chaste, as he didn’t want to offend her with more. She was by nature delicate and easily overwhelmed at times. The kiss’s purpose wasn’t to convince her for more but seal their courtship as official.

Small affectionate pecks follow. As they stand in the chilled room with nothing other than a warm feeling between them.

“I do believe it’s you and not the wine making me dizzy at this point.” She admits with a giggle against his lips.

“Then how about we get you to bed? There are always more kisses to be had whenever you want them. I’d never rush you, my love.”

“I do believe you’re right. I’m feeling a bit tired. And the promise of cozying up to you is more alluring than the breeze and music at this point in the night.”

“Then let’s do just that.”

—————————

Alfie had been put down for a nap as Ruth likes to affectionately tease him. He still suffered from the odd headache from time to time from the injury but a simple low dose of medicine and rest could always take the edge off he needed to function. If that didn’t solve it then Ruth’s humming and oiled fingers massaging his face and scalp could do the trick.

With a sweet kiss and words to leave him to drift into sleep, Ruth takes the time alone to see to the things she had on her to-do list.

Alfie wakes, just slightly groggy and becoming quickly aware of the silence in the house. There was usually some noise with Ruth around, the clinking of dishes or music floating about but his shuffling feet carrying him into the hall led to nothing. Perhaps she’d gone to town, she did say she needed some things for tea. With a shrug he helps himself to water and makes his way back with more open eyes than before. This time he sees the residing place of Ruth, and it was a bit of a shock on the old man.

Ruth had always taken her baths while Alfie napped. With medicine assuring he’d be down for a while she always left the door cracked to hear him call for her if needed. This time was no different.

Alfie heard the plinking of water first, his feet stopping in their tracks as the reflection in the mirror leaves him with a slack jaw after taking in the view. Ruth was exiting the bath, a reflection of soft curves bare to him for the first time. A lump in his throat grows, her toweling off and then turning with falling tendrils of hair wet and springing against the nape of her neck. Ruth was a modest woman, in her beliefs and her dress. Seeing her, and unexpectedly made Alfie behave like any man would, which surprised him. He didn’t consider himself just any man, and here he was with a storky, frozen like a teen seeing a naked woman for the first time. Admittedly it had been some time since he’d been with one. His life before didn’t really lean to him having any romance. He was busy, he was dangerous and he couldn’t risk any distractions. But he was no longer that man. A softness that had grown from wear and Ruth’s influence made him stop and take note of what was being blessed to him with his good eye.

As he sees her weighted breasts and soft stomach and hips disappear behind a towel he comes out of his trance and rubs his face, grunting as he makes his way back to his bed.

Ruth, none the wiser comes and kisses him goodbye. The grumpy and pursed-lip bear that was still in recline. She said she would only be gone a short while, as she needed plenty of time to prep dinner. She had said it many times and come home at almost dusk, so he hadn’t expected today to be any different.

Except she had. She’d wanted to celebrate their future together and attempt the bread he usually makes. Bread took time as he was certain to teach her and she wasn’t about to risk under proving it. Most of the time when she’d medicated him, Alfie would sleep through the afternoon. She would usually go in and check on him, a quick kiss before leaving to prepare for the evening. This was her plan as she moved light-footed down the hallway, but a new sound makes her stop and her eyes search for the source before she reaches his door. Now Ruth wouldn’t call herself nosey as much as cautiously curious, and at first, the sound worried her, heavy breathing, groaning, perhaps her poor darling was having a nightmare. But before she could turn the knob of the door she hears her name. And not called in any sort of way she’d heard before. It was needful, but not in a way that demanded her aid. This breathy call was asking for something different.

She gulps and a flush rises to her cheeks. With a flutter of lash she feels as if she’s been naughty and will be caught in the act of misbehavior. The longer she stays and listens, the less she becomes worried and the more… intrigued she becomes.

Alfie was no stranger to swearing, even in the company of Ruth who hadn’t ever minded as it’s never been directed maliciously at her. But she could hear the push of his stomach muscles, the strain in his neck as he said her name, soft words of encouragement for what she was sure were scandalous acts happening behind his lids in his mind. “Take it, pet.” he moans through gritted teeth, her hand moving to her chest to steady herself. “Fuck me, that’s it, love.” She knew what was happening behind the door, as he was only a man, it didn’t surprise her exactly but what did was her reaction to it. A heat in her face that sent a tingle down her spine that landed right between her legs. Her mind hurriedly imagined what he looked like, legs splayed and hand slowly gripping himself, those soft lips panting and begging things of her. She felt oddly powerful and the way her body reacted so quickly, so thoroughly was the real surprise to her. He wanted her, and in the biblical sense. It was a natural progression of their relationship, and one she had admittedly been considering more as of recent with the late-night snogs and roaming hands. It was a relief for her, she realized. Knowing he wanted her, and badly. It was a thought that followed her around all afternoon and into the evening. All the way to her bed.

With a pause in the cooking, now only waiting for timers to alarm, Ruth in her state of distraction excuses herself. Saying she was going to freshen up before the meal as she’d been out. Alfie doesn’t think much of it, a normal thing for a woman to do.

He waits and decides to peruse in his office, a room beside Ruth’s old bedroom. He was looking for a particular contract he’d been working on, the beginnings of a Ketubah. The sounds that tickle his ears are not as holy as the intention the document represents but they are indeed heavenly.

Ruth, hiding away in her bedroom under the guise of being in the bathroom is tucked away letting her body lead the way her hands move against herself. She’d been distracted and wet all afternoon. Every touch of Alfie's hands to her skin had ran red hot through her. She couldn’t hear a breathy chuckle and not think of her name leaving his wet mouth in much the same sound. She had to give in to what her body was calling out for, but she wasn’t exactly quite ready to reach the final step with Alfie.

In her throws she doesn’t notice the opening of the door through the wall that his study shared with her bedroom, her back resting against it as she sat on her bed with her face in tense concentration. Waves move her body and her voice, growing moans as her fingers circle and stroke. She imagined Alfie and his full lips on her breast as her fingers teased it through her dress. She imagined those firm thighs against hers and he moved in rhythm above her. A breathy and light call of his name escapes her as, in her mind, his lips find her neck.

On the other side of the wall, Alfie was feeling tortured. What a little minx she was. Seeing her naked and now hearing her touching herself proved too much on the man. His blood surged forward like a much younger man, even after sinfully meeting his needs earlier in the day, his cock was gaining more and more attention as her sounds continued.

He pressed his ear to the wall, a hand rubbing himself over his trousers and another in a fist. “Fuck, love.” He sighs out, hearing her whimper out his name.

She continues with her melodic moans until his body aches and can no longer be ignored. As hard a diamond he strokes himself, hearing her just on the other side of the wall, almost feeling her panting breaths.

“Oh my… Alfie yes, please.” She whines and tenses her thighs.

In his mind he gives over, his hand firm and fast and already nearing an end at the rather unorthodox means he was hearing a woman get off. She was a tease and didn’t know it. Trying to contain herself and be decent, take care of herself in private. But it made it even more delicious for him. He knew now she wanted him, and it gave him control. He knew he’d have her now. A proper woman like her didn’t want to fuck just anyone. She wanted to fuck someone she loved and the revelation of it all, between the two of them as they crested with moans and open mouths, was as intense as their orgasms. It was only a matter of time now that the known could remain a secret.

———————

Another Shabbat, another day spent close together. There was food and drink and sweets, an intimate dinner by candlelight that left them both feeling closer than ever.

Their evening is spent snuggled up on the couch. Ruth sat in his lap and read to him as his head rested against her chest, her fingers rubbing through his hair. He loved the sound of her voice. He also loved the feel of it. Something he hadn’t noticed before. The way her chest rose and fell and vibrated his head as she comforted him. She reads poetry he’d heard so many times before, making them both feel sentimental and appreciative of the other. Especially when they were nestled so closely in each other’s arms.

“I’ve never enjoyed anything with another person as much as I love simply being here and reading with you.” She reflects as she kisses his fussed hair.

“And your company is unrivaled.” He gives a smile and a kiss to her chest in agreement.

“You’re my favorite person you know.” She whispers and nuzzles her nose against him.

“And you mine. No one else has ever made me see the world as you have. A spotlight of optimism, a softness that endured against my most hard and stubborn parts. You’ve made me better. More human and somehow more powerful for it. Parts of me long lost were touched by you, love. I do hope you know how special you are to me.”

“I do when you work your silver tongue like that.” She kisses the end of his nose before dipping down to share a lingering slow kiss. His hands were gentle against her, warm as they ran up and down over the blankets. As was her way she pecked away, keeping a certain distance to not lose herself in him with a hand braces to his cheek in his beard lightly.

“It’s only natural to speak of a woman like you in such a way.”

“Charmer.” Her giggles turn into happy sighs against him. “I would never wish for anything bad to happen to you, but being here because of something bad that happened I can’t help but be selfishly grateful for such a thing. I wouldn’t have come to know you this way without it. And I don’t want to be without knowing you now.”

“Having you here now gave it purpose. In a different life, before all this, I couldn’t have been with you. Not with the life I led, the man I was. Not a peaceful sort of existence like we have now. Together.”

“A good reminder of fate knowing better than we do.” She huffs out a laugh as her fingers move over his textured face. “Knowing what we both needed… how to get us there.”

“Don’t sell yourself and your own actions short, love. I wouldn’t be in such a good state without you. Without your mind, body and soul to help heal me.”

“Take your own words and don’t give me all the credit, Alfie. You’ve fought to be here. And I’m thankful for such a stubborn man.” She kisses his forehead and holds him close for a moment. “I have been thinking...”

“Yeah, love?” He takes her hand, seeing the bashful nature return. Making her look at him as she spoke.

“These last weeks, months have been so lovely. With us being together as we are now.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“It’s made me consider a lot of things I hadn’t before. Living with you like this, feeling how I do about you. I want to stay here. With you. Like this. It’s too pleasant a life to pass up. And I… over these past weeks I’ve… Alfie, I do believe that I have fallen in love with you.” She manages to say with a sweet conviction.

She sees softness in his eyes take over. A dark hooded peek into his soul and a light cloudy one move over her face and take her cheek. “I am certain that I love you my little Ruth. And it pleases me beyond those silver-tongued words you admire to hear that you feel the same.”

“Alfie I do love you. It’s a fearsome thing to feel such a way. But it is such lovely torture to be blessed to have.”

“That it is.” He nods and the shine of tears in her eyes touches him, making his chest ache.

She leans in to kiss him, and one without the hesitation of them all before. A full connection, a sharing of breath and hands that held tight to him to match. After rounds of soft lips and teases of tongue she parts to breathe, feeling light-headed. Her closed eyes, forehead pressed to his face give away the emotions building inside her.

“Tell me Ruth my love, would you like to stay forever with me?”

“With you, Yes, always.” She exhales happily.

“Forever can start tonight if you want it love.”

“Yes. We’ve both waited so long already haven’t we?”

“That we have. A lifetime it seems.”

“Then… let us start our new life together, tonight.” Her fingers trace his skin along the inside of his collar. A clear indication of the meaning of her words.

“Is this what you want? Whatever it is I’ll give it to you Ruth. My world is yours now.”

“Yes. I want you. Every bit of you.” She whispers with her nose to his. “Make me yours in every way tonight.”

“You’re asking a lot of an old man there, love.” He smiles and makes her laugh into his cheek.

“Oh, Alfie.” She laughs and sighs, kissing his cheek. “I’ll take whatever you can give me you silly man.”

“That’s my girl.” He grins and kisses her cheek. “That laugh would keep me warm in the dead of winter I believe.” His voice soothing and deep as his nose grazed her jaw.

“You’ve already won me, seduced me. Let me do the same. I can show with actions more than tell with words. Let me tell you how much I love you in my own way.”

“Then no more words, only show.” He promises with a seal of a kiss that presses hard against her, beginning their melting into each other for the night. Tight hands around heads and backs give way to more need than their position allows.

A trail of clothes down the hall, a musical staff’s worth of varying laughs and sighs and moans follow them into the bedroom leaving them bare against the other. The journey to this destination might’ve been slow, but their hands and mouth give away the need they feel with the speed in which they move.

He knew he wasn’t a young man anymore, but she was neither a young woman. He made love to her the best way he knew how, first with his words, now with his body. Arching her back in the soft nest of bed they shared he kisses every point of her he’d dreamed of. Ears and neck to chest and hips. Her whimpering for him the entire way.

She needs him close. Her hands pulling him back up to her as she holds his face, a gasping kiss as she feels the heat of him presses against her stomach, her own hips giving away at how much she wanted to be one with him.

With soft lips attached to her neck, her own panting, he stroked her to a mewling mess. With small hands tense on his back, she begged for him, and he was happy to oblige. With her own wetness, he spreads it along himself between her hot and sensitive lips and over her clit to male her jump with every touch. She held her legs apart, welcoming him in eagerly.

With a tense push and a loud moan, they finally feel the chemistry between them realized. He swears into her shoulder, a hard brow concentrating as he felt her pulse around him, hips already asking more of him.

She moans out for him and God and in those moments moving inside her he felt they were one in the same. If he’d thought himself more than a man before, making this woman who was made of everything entirely good curse as she peaked only solidified the fact. As she shook he held her close, hips grinding together in a friction-filled union that took them both where they’d longed to go together. She was overwhelmed by the fill, the pressure, stretch and push of him. He was overcome by the squeeze, the pulse and the raw need he felt from the heavenly sounds escaping her mouth. They were only for him, and they’d only ever be for him again.

Not a care was given to the aftermath, the wet and mess that comes with lovemaking. They stayed together in it, lips connected and hearts in the same rhythm as they beat together chest to chest. Brief sweet praise, and exchanging of vows to belong to one another before the intensity caught up with them. The slowing of breathing and pulses died down to a whisper, the only heavy breathing that of sighs in their sleep as they held one another through the night. Each other was all that was needed in that big house by the sea. A place Alfie had called a slice of heaven in its picturesque existence.

Alfie had been given a second chance and he knew this. He knew this piece of heaven he’d carved for himself wouldn’t last forever. The day would come when he had to return to the world of mortal men and face his consequences, take a stand. However it played out as history saw fit. But for now, he would relish in this heaven he’d built with this woman. For he had convinced himself long ago he would go to hell. But the future would never again keep him from enjoying the present. His life was in the now, with her, and he planned on living this way as long as he could; in his own earthly heaven he’d built with Ruth, the most angelic woman he’d ever know.

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

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[mikmaqs]

so i took the plunge and watched promare (2019)

this morning i set out on something i have intended to for some time now, ever since seeing the very mixed opinions on the film. here's my take as an indigenous person, viewing indigenous/minority representation in this movie.

i will add that i am not jewish, which seems to be what most parallels get drawn to. this is just my view as an indigenous person w a long history of myself and my people dealing with oppression, so if jewish people have anything to add, absolutely feel free to do so, because i could have very well missed some things. that being said, let me compile my thoughts.

so, to begin with, i'll state my positive feelings on the movie to get out of the way the things that i did find enjoyable. then, i'll touch what i thought was...eh. less good, or downright bad.

first of all, the animation and color scheme of this movie really was beautiful, and a pleasure to look at (i.e. lio's volcano rage sequence, the promare itself, etc). interesting stylistic choices and enjoyable animation are, i hear, relatively intrinsic to the studio trigger brand. i can't verify, because i haven't ever viewed a studio trigger film before this to my knowledge, but that's what i get through the grapevine. the use of vibrant colors is very pleasing to look at, though it could probably be used as a murder weapon for anyone with color sensitivity or epilepsy, which is...less good, but the appeal was there. just know that it's very bright and a little flashy before viewing.

secondly, i enjoyed the character design more or less...except for, uh, a few things i'll mention later. generally, it was nice, and not an eyesore.

thirdly, the soundtrack was pretty good. i did find a few songs got reused a lot, but that's not exactly a this specific movie problem anyway, and generally not even much of an issue. it didn't unground me or anything, just was noticable enough to make me note it during viewing.

basically, as a whole, the aesthetic value of this movie is very good! credit is given where credit is due, so, yeah, i can say i did enjoy that part.

now, there's...a fair plethora of issues with this movie.

what i gather from this is i can, like...kind of see what they were prooobably trying to do here. like, i doubt they FULLY intended to make such a horrible approach at issues of social justice and racial equality, but, uh. yeah. it wasn't good. and i hear they've done similarly distasteful things, so who knows what the inner workings were with this. at best, it reads as insensitive and uneducated, which is not really what you want in a movie. the aesthetic value is not much if the storyline is sort of trash.

first thing i notice is that the minority group (the burnish, for those who have not viewed) is given a destructive ability and, apparently, an innate urge to........burn things down.......because........the promare......speak to them. like maybe that was just poor thinking, but the first thing you should not do is make the minority group inherently violent and destructive with the whole "the flames talk to us and tell us to burn shit so that's what we do" thing. personally, it reads to me as "oh these poor people inherently violent and horrible" and it's. um. unsettling. of course, the burnish hold pride in never killing for no reason, which makes this a bit more salvageable, but not good.

especially when part of the next scenes of the movie include lio (the leader of the burnish) losing his shit and having to be stopped by the white savior trope. like. well. this is unfortunate now isn't it. of course, i can't be positive galo is white, but i'm referring more to the "majority saves minority from...being a minority" thing that plays out here. like. imagine john smith stopping pocahontas from going into a rage and spearing people or whatever white people think we do. yeah that's basically what happens here and it's................yeah!

the only truly enjoyable characters were the burnish honestly. like. my dear fellow indigenous/minority i'm so sorry you have been subjected to this badly written movie. lio fotia i'm so sorry. you were the only character i liked.

and theeeen the parallels to the holocaust come in, and this is where it gets, uh, uncomfortable. more than before.

so this guy named kray foresight (what a name, huh) has an insane little superiority complex and thinks he's jesus or something. come to find out, he's a burnish — way to villainize the minority but without the "but they're people too" redeeming part, studio trigger — who is...doing experiments, human experiments, on the burnish to power his spaceship.

it's as weird as it sounds.

but the point right now isn't mr foresight's silly little spaceship adventure, it's the parallels to the human experiments conducted at concentration camps (promare has those too, by the way, but they're more of jail cells here) by doctors working under the nazi regime. most know by now about the horrific experiments conducted on people during the holocaust, majorly jewish people among other smaller percentages of other groups (poles, yugoslavs, actually mostly any minority the nazis could find and didn't like). the parallels to jewish oppression are staggering and impossible to ignore or not notice, for me anyway, and this is from someone who isn't even jewish. i'm sure watchers who are notice it even more starkly.

did i mention the whole symbol surrounding the burnish is a pink triangle?

gee. i wonder where we've seen triangles to identify a minority group before.

oh yeah. the identification tags used to separate jewish people from non-jewish people the nazis created.

funny how that works out.

there's also the way the star of david appears throughout the movie. or the several other parallels that exist within the film.

and the "genocide cultivation beam", whatever the fuck that means.

and the way the movie ends with the burnish just...not being burnish. identity: gone, white: savior, hotel: trivago.

yeah. the whole conflict of "the burnish keep setting shit on fire" gets solved by "well, we'll get rid of what makes them burnish as if we couldn't just settle it in another way anyone with a brain could think of". but, you know, plot is apparently more important than respect..

and all that aside? there's still more issues.

like the incredibly racist caricatures of Black people, y'know? the whole "big bulky deep voiced animalistic" racist rhetoric? yeah. yeah, they got that too. it takes about half a brain cell to notice it, and it's so hard to stomach, as a bipoc. i'm a poc, and even when it's not my race, it's so difficult to watch these poor, distasteful portrayals of real life oppression and real life people.

tl;dr, promare is a very well animated movie with a nice soundtrack, but that does nothing to wipe away the VERY large issues within it. if you are going to be interested in the characters and media, i IMPLORE you to remain VERY critical of every flaw and never excuse it. be sensible about your interests. i enjoyed lio as a character, but do i condone the issues in this film? fuck no, and i feel bad the poor guy had to be part of it. fork over the rights to lio fotia to me i'll treat him better than studio trigger ever did.

as always, be critical of your interests and listen to people affected when they bring something to your awareness. you can like characters without excusing the grossly evident issues of a piece of media. none of it is okay or excusable, regardless of what the intent may have been.

like i said, if anyone has anything to add, please do feel free to do so, and let me know — i'm always ready to listen and look at different viewpoints, especially of those affected by this media. ❤️

[viktor-noctis]

The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McSh*tFace

This is my review for the film: The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McShitFace.

Enjoy.

Tagging @christopherleefan because I think you might enjoy this? Also, I wrote a fic for Taste of Fear (or Scream of Fear for us Americans), and you can expect one for this film as well.

Pre-face: Okay, okay……………………………… Let me compose myself.

………..

………………..

……………………….

……………………………..

Alright, hit the play button.

London 1874 – I paused just to be sure this was the actual date when the book was written.

It was originally published in 1886.

We’re off to a roaring start.

Ew. Children.

Playing in a garden, yep, this is about what I remember.

Little boy shoves girl’s flowers to the ground, and McShitFace talks about “dumb human animals” when referring to children. We agree on that, at least.

“Play out when they cannot speak out.” Jekyll McShitFace suggests they’ve mentally blocked the ability to speak, due to the fact that they are letting another part of them be free to express itself…. What a load of garbage.

You resigned? Here I thought they fired you for being a creep. The fact that Ernst believes he really is a genius makes me want to punch something.

They’ve been married for six years??

No servants, no friends, and Jekyll has cut all professional ties to study the mind… Like a madman. Yeah, I can see Kitty hating this.

Beyond Good and Evil? Beyond the reach of society?

“A very dangerous man, my friend.” No shit, Ernst. Jekyll is suggesting the ‘higher man’ is the one within, while Ernst suggests that the weaker man maybe the ‘evil’ one. Or what we deem ‘evil’. Jekyll, like some, has come to some crackpot conclusion that by drawing out the ‘evil’ man, the ‘weaker’ man within him, that he can isolate and destroy him… Or something to that effect.

Jekyll never answers Ernst when he asks if he’s used it on anything other than a monkey and I find that telling.

Paul is here. Ernst is leaving.

Jekyll is quite charitable to Paul, if nothing else, and Kitty is putting up a marvelous front. Kitty even tries to get him to spend time with her here, but I have a feeling she knows where this is going. She’s probably done this a million times. This is another for the till.

I can tell Kitty is tired of this. Jekyll spends night and day in the lab. All the time. Yeah, that’d wear on most women. Considering the time period, this is all very strange. Then again, this is a ‘Strange Case’, or it was supposed to be.

Kitty telling him about Jekyll shouting to himself in his room, along with a strange voice that wasn’t his own, for an entire night… “Married to a man of great talent.” Ernst, my dude…

Kitty’s asking if he is insane enough to be sent away. Ernst says he isn’t: “we must both try to help him.” Right.

Christopher Lee! Damnit, he’s so tall. How tall is this actress?

They’re so cute. Terrible, but cute.

The top of her head reaches his nose or so. He’s a damn good kisser…

Kitty looks lovely in blue.

And is an extrovert.

Jekyll is an introvert.

Still hate him.

Don’t bash the girl for liking to go out. Or ask her to: “take the evening off”.

“I need you tonight, Kitty. Stay.” That’s not creepy. After years of being ignored, that’s not creepy in the slightest.

Okay, this might be just me, but… I see Kitty’s perspective. I sort of see Jekyll’s? It’s a grey area. I’ve paused it to explain my reasoning –

Kitty, is an extrovert, as I’ve stated. She gets her energy from going out, being around people, and having a good time. That’s great. Good for her, you have fun girl, and take your boytoy (he really is, as often as he gets in money trouble) with you. Jekyll is decidedly not. To say they are incompatible would be an understatement.

Kitty is the type of woman who glows under attention, who craves it from both her partner and others. But mostly, her partner. Enter Paul, who’s proven to be attached to her mostly through money, but there’s so much more there. Again, I love these two, because they’re so terribly flawed, but so clearly in love.

Jekyll, meanwhile, cut all attachment to “live like a hermit in the center of London”. Ernst’s words straight from the beginning of the film. I bet you Kitty was stifled, for years, before Paul came along. Now, not much is revealed of the how Jekyll became friends with him, when he did, or even why he did, but I want to bet it was during University or something. That seems the most likely theory, given Jekyll’s nature.

The Jekyll side is a bit more convoluted. Again, I don’t think Kitty is being unfair here. There’s no telling how long she stayed lonely, cooped up in that house (reference back to when Ernst talked about no friends, no company, and no servants), and was just… bored, sad, and upset.

Ernst even mentioned the house being ‘in ruins’.

She calls him selfish for making it such an issue. I get the feeling he sort of deserves it. Also, she’s in love with Paul now, so that adds another layer to their relationship not working and being incredibly strained.

“I’m not going to insult my friends for the sake of your whims.” Is what her argument amounted to. Again, the movie is making her sound like the selfish one, but you really have to take into account the history, nature, and aspects of each character. In doing so, I don’t really think she is. I think she’s in love with another man, bound to a farce of a marriage, and is doing the best she can by not staying near her creepy husband.

And yep, human experimentation time.

Yeah, go ahead McShitFace, sit at your desk and wait to become The Literal Worst.

Party time. I’m shuddering. Too. Many. People. Ew.

They’re both terrible.

I love them.

Awful.

Paul complains of being bored, and yet she is bored doing the things he likes. They jab and jibe. He looks at another woman. They jab and jibe some more.

They’re bickering like they’re already married.

Get a room.

Terminate their relationship?

They bring up their attachment, again, always with the money. Kitty likes a man free of shame, Paul thinks he might lose her to a man who had even less. Hahahaha. You nerds. You’re in too deep and you both know it.

The Literal Worst has arrived. And he’s uglier than ever.

The Sphinx? That’s the name of this trash heap ballroom?

Hyde looks like a Tool. Barely two minutes on screen and he’s got the Creep Smirk going.

Hoes do not stand together, I see.

Paul and Kitty smiling at each other, having a grand old time. I love them.

Hyde showing his true colors already, by eyeing up Kitty, while dancing with another girl (though I’m pretty sure she’s a prostitute. Or just a woman who gets around, living off other men’s money). Wow, he also says some not-so-nice things to her before heading after Paul and Kitty, who’s having a hell of a time. Paul can also be a jackass –

“Don’t drink too much tonight, my darling.” She says it with such tenderness, while taking the glass from his hand.

“Cunning little kitty cat. Rather a dull husband than a drunken lover, eh?” Paul’s already slurring. He’s entered cad mode. Feel free to kick him to the curve, my dear. He deserves to nurse his hangover by himself.

She just looks disappointed.

Kitty’s creep alert is going off. Listen to it, honey. Run. Run, far away.

She’s trying to take Paul home.

Then going to dance with Hyde. Fuck. Kitty, listen to your Creep Radar.

Friendship with Kitty? Honey. No. Run. “Can I trust you?”

?? Kitty. No. Do not trust the creep.

Prostitute girl is back, claiming Hyde tried to force her, and some dude wants recompense. Kitty just wants to go home. Paul refuses to leave, to help Hyde.

Has common sense become a commodity that only Kitty is buying??

“Give the lady a few sovereigns, and there’ll be no trouble.” Yeah, sounds like a prostitute. Kitty bids them all goodnight. Paul looks sad to see her go. Should have thought about that before you acted the bastard.

Hyde tells them to go to hell and take the trollop with him. Dude dives at them, Paul knocks him out… And Hyde keeps hitting him. Paul stops him, telling him not to kill him, and then asks him if he’s ill.

“Let me alone, Jekyll. Let me alone.” Dumbass. Jekyll voice coming out of Hyde. That’s not creepy. Paul looks amused by the creep show. Hyde leaves the place, screaming, and being weird.

Lots of voice changing. This actor is actually really good. Jekyll realizes what he did, because Hyde says: “I will be back, Jekyll. I will return.”

Jekyll: “Never. Never.”

So he knows this was a bad idea?

Goes into Kitty’s room, whose reading, and she starts talking about her ‘party’. She wants to go to sleep. Jekyll still comes closer, being a creep. Creep Radar is blaring.

“I need you, Kitty. I need you desperately.” And he comes in, trying to kiss at her, mouthing at her neck. Like a creep. I know this is a parallel to later in the film (yeah, it’s terrible), when Hyde is in control, but I still hate this.

I had to pause during the next scene to do a deep character analysis –

Kitty pushes him off, telling him she’s tired, and even says “please”. As if she should have to beg him to keep his damn creep hands to himself. He still has a wild, crazy look in his eye, and asks: “What are you really like, Kitty?”

“I’m your wife, that’s all I am.” She answers it with such evenness, barely disturbed, and it reminds me of what Paul said to her –

“From perfect wife to perfect mistress, and back again to perfect wife.”

This movie has a lot to do with the masks we wear. We change them, depending on who we’re talking to: family, friends, strangers, lovers, etc. All the different relationships we have require a mask, shadowing the core of who we are, because letting someone see everything of ourselves is too terrifying to consider. We don’t show our true selves out of fear, pride, or some other convoluted mixture of emotions.

However, every mask has a basis, a template of origin.

I feel as if, at some point, Kitty really did love Jekyll. She must have. She married him not for his intelligence, not for his money, but because she genuinely loved him. Kitty loves too deeply, too strongly, and has all the hallmarks of a woman who has been burned by that depth of attachment.

“It’s my fault, a woman who shows her feelings always loses dignity.” Kitty says this during the first bit of the dance she has with Paul, which reveals so much of her character. She doesn’t look at him when she says it, the pain of her admittance is too much, and she shies away from anyone witnessing it. Even Paul.

Her relationship with Paul is strained right now. It’s weird. It seems like neither of them knows where it’s going, too afraid to continue, but even more horrified by the prospect of letting the other go.

When speaking of breaking their ‘arrangement’ (look up ‘affair’ in the dictionary), Kitty suggested Paul wouldn’t be able to get along financially without her. Paul rebuffed her, saying that Jekyll and he had been friends for years, and she was just his dutiful wife… despising him.

There’s an ease between them that feels years old, yet I doubt it was from the get-go of hers and Jekyll’s marriage. No, she probably did hate him quite a bit, in the beginning. But there’s a thin line between love and hate, one that can be crossed with loneliness. I like to think it was physical at first, a build up of tension between a woman caged in a house, and watching this man go out and spend her husband’s money.

It was probably Paul who convinced her to come out with him one evening. Fuck it. Jekyll wants to stay in his lab all night? Well, why should you stay too? Kitty probably said no at first. Why would she go out with this smarmy bastard, who gambles, who sleeps with anything that has legs, and drinks himself silly? But then there’s the wanting, the listening to her husband tinker away, watching life go by without her…

She probably went to Jekyll. She tried to talk to him, have dinner with her in the house that night. Without any servants, she’s learned to cook. He makes a point of trying to be nice but talks about his work… Always his work. She asks him to kiss her, as if that’s something she should have to nearly beg for. And what did he do? On the verge of some great breakthrough?

“Not right now, Kitty. I’m busy.”

Kitty, who is strong, vibrant, and beautiful, is not enough to stir a man from the wake of progress. From pride.

Humiliation and defeat, a loathing that breaks through love, stuffs her chest and nearly throttles her on the spot. Retreating, glassy eyed to her room. She probably cried, mourning her broken heart.

After that, she demands to go with Paul.

There’s probably a touch of shock, then a knowing smirk. He’s probably seen lots of women with husbands who ignore them, falling into his kind of life, dancing and drinking and laughing their nights away.

He’s not ready for this one.

Alright, hitting play again –

“But the woman inside of you, is that woman my wife?”

No. No, she’s not. She belongs with Paul.

Stop shaking her. She’s right. Get out.

Take your: “Who am I?”s and get the fuck out.

Cut to Paul being a cad again. Ugh. Go home to Kitty, you absolute tool bag.

He and Hyde are sitting at a table in The Sphinx with two bimbos. Wonderful.

Hyde is a creep. I will say that no less than ten times in this review. I probably already have.

The fuck is this?

They’re doing something weird.

Really weird.

A snake charmer dance.

Am I to assume they wish us to believe that snake is venomous?

Okay, to be fair, all snakes and spiders are venomous, but the potency of their venom varies in such a way that they effect most human bodies on different levels. I say ‘most’ because you can be allergic to something, and receive a far more harrowing experience than 98% of the population.

However, that does not excuse the fact that the creature in question is a ball python and is therefore basically harmless. Minus some swelling and bruising.

I had to pause to write that, okay, playing again –

Yeah, this poor animal is being abused by being forced into a ‘sensual dance’ with this woman. ‘Tigress’, they call her, kill me now. Paul says she’s exclusive to the elite. Kill me twice over. This dance is the worst. That poor snake is confused.

Paul is looking worriedly at Hyde as he stares, transfixed, at this woman. Dude, he wants to get bitch slapped, let him.

Christopher Lee’s eyebrows are doing things to me. Paul is the real eye candy in this shit show.

UGHASDKFJASDKFNAMSDKFJNASDKF

Jkljasdfklajsdklfansdkfnj

Klasjeirkmaskdfnjkasdjf

Klasdmfnkasndf

JKLASJDKLFNASKLDFNJ

UGH

SHE

SHE PUT

THE SNAAEK

HEAD

IN

MOTUH

WHY? WHY? WHY would –

WOULD uuo –

That poor animal.

Tell me that was fake.

She did not really put that poor creature’s head in her mouth.

This is abuse.

Not to mention, really gross. Salmonella, and a million other diseases could potentially exist on the skin of a reptile. Do not handle reptiles and then touch your face, or eat, or put any part of their body inside your mouth. Wash hands after handling, thank you.

Disgusting.

And people are clapping. And cheering.

Is this what passes for ‘exotic’ in the 1700s????

Maybe it’s my modern cynicism, but I am not impressed. I am shuddering in revulsion.

Mostly because of the snake in mouth bit.

Gods.

End me.

I’m about to shriek.

“Forget it, dear boy. She’s not in the prep-school class. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Paul. Paul.

Have you ever considered:

She’s blind.

You’re gorgeous.

And you have a gorgeous woman waiting on you at home.

Why do you bother with the bimbos?

Girl on the right is pretty, okay, she’s like… an 8. Chick on the left is… also pretty, but like a 7.

Kitty is a damn 16, she blows them out of the water. There is no competition. When you’ve already had it all, why bother even looking at anything less? She gets bumped up to a 30 for the fact that she has a brain, she snarks, she jabs with the best of them, and is not afraid to leave you to your well-deserved hangover.

I will fight for Kitty’s honor.

Paul. I’m about to throw down.

He calls the dancer over – Maria – and I can already tell he’s going to –

Yep. Be a bastard.

“She only uses Christian names in bed.”

He deserved that drink to the face.

Even Hyde looks surprised. Then impressed.

Pft – HA! I have to quote this:

“Well, ladies, it seems that I must entertain you both.” He says, while soaked with what one can assume is scotch. “I trust that you will not be too disappointed.” Girl on the right looks like she expects to be disappointed. Ms. Left has her game face on.

“Oh, we’ll just have to manage.” Left is already up and at it.

“Somehow or other.” Right is playing along for now.

“Thank you for your confidence.” Paul’s reply does not sound confident in the slightest. He follows them through a curtain doorway. I’d say, ‘poor bastard’, but he doesn’t deserve my sympathy right now.

Hyde is creeping on Maria now.

“Keep away from him, he is dangerous.”

Yeah. To medium sized rodents.

Actually, considering Hyde is nothing more than a big, smelly, greasy, slimy rat –

Nah, wouldn’t want to give the poor thing indigestion.

“Your friend talked to me like a common whore.”

I assumed you two knew each other? I don’t know, they are weird and vague on that. Alan says he’s tried, then claims what names she uses in bed, and she did throw the drink on him afterwards. I’ve no idea.

I will give this to Hyde: He is a smooth talker. He is also, however, still a bastard.

And the makeup they used on this actress is not flattering at all. I’ve seen pictures of her, and she was beautiful. They somehow made her look hideous. ‘Impertinent’ is a word, though not quite the one I would use for this piece of garbage.

I love putting subtitles on. They’re so dumb.

(Soft sensual music) my ass.

Of course they shag. Why wouldn’t they?

She’s given him an in, now… “You do not buy, you do not beg.” A man who ‘takes’. No, do not give him that.

“A nice, cold wife.” I’m so furious.

They do have a servant! An old woman. Probably a concession after years.

“Mr. Hyde.” Creep.

‘Nanny’.

“Lately, this house has become unused to visitors.”

“The wife of a recluse…”

Trying to sweet talk a woman in love will not go over well for you.

Paul’s??? Paul’s friendship. What a save.

“The question of trespass hardly arises. Mr. Allen has no property rights in me.”

And as for Henry: “Henry leads his own life. He doesn’t seek my approval, and I don’t seek his. Is that wrong?”

OOOOOOFFFFF.

Sweet talk till you talk like that.

“To the boredom of being a neglected wife, and the humiliation of being a rejected mistress.”

It almost felt like she was into the flirting till he said that, but I still get the feeling she wouldn’t have slept with him. You can enjoy flirting, some people do it for a living, but not the act that comes after. As I said before, Kitty wears many masks. This one is short-lived. Hyde has insulted her, and the change in her demeanor is like a switch.

Kitty loves too deeply, to be reminded of her first failing, and the possibility of her loss of Paul is a kick in the teeth. Is she not worth loving? Is science, money, knowledge, other women – is she just no match? Can she have nothing out of this?

“I must say, you are honest. A trifle obvious, perhaps, but honest.” And too close to the surface, too close to the proverbial nail. Kitty is genuinely afraid of losing Paul, and it shows. She’s clinging onto something she feels she can’t hold onto, whether for her already damaged pride or because she doesn’t want to be hurt again. Her face only really started to shift when he said mistress.

“My great affair has already begun.” She’s pulling herself so easily from his arms. He talks about great love since he felt her in his arms, and she just turns away with this casual walk of a knowing woman.

“It was well advanced before ever you appeared on the scene.” She looks almost proud, though there’s still this edge to her. She expects it to crash and burn. She’s just waiting for it.

“I wonder what is the special quality in a man as weak, unscrupulous, and utterly unreliable as Paul Allen?” This really bothers him. Hyde is essentially Jekyll unchained, a copy of the inner, dark urges of one man laid bare, and given free run of the place… And he’s a total rat bastard.

And Kitty is smiling. Kitty is overjoyed.

“I don’t question your description, Mr. Hyde.” She’s radiating with delight. Even that description of Paul in all his awful glory stirs nothing but happiness in her.

“Well then, but why…” And he’s reaching for her, stroking his fingers over her back. It’s this odd mimicry of how Jekyll tried to hold her that night. Ugh.

“I merely happen to love him.” Yes! SHE SAID IT!

“Love? Love is an idiocy!” And she’s laughing again. I’m beginning to believe Kitty uses laughter to cover her pain. Hyde/Jekyll McShitFace uses rage.

“An idiocy of mine, perhaps, but a fact.” Then we get this beautiful close up of her face, the vindication with which she says it has me living –

“I love Paul Allen.” Love, you must be so blind and so wonderful.

(Ominous music). As Hyde descends back to his basement to turn back into Jekyll. Back to the sewer, your garbage monster.

Ernst is here. Okay, something weird is happening again. Jekyll has a heightened metabolism. Probably from sustaining two rat bastards instead of one. I’ve no idea how much time has elapsed, but quite a bit I’m guessing. A week? A month? Another year? Nah, probably more like a week or so.

Jekyll’s life is “burning out at a much faster rate.”

Kitty is fed up with being Paul’s ‘bank clerk’. Yeah, let’s bring Henry into this. ‘Let him deal with life’s little problems and leave us its gaiety’? You are a cad. Why do you love him again, Kitty? You can do better.

She’s sick of being used.

“How can you talk of our love in this way?” Love? Is this the first time you bring it up to her? While asking for money? Aklsjdfkasjdf

Men are annoying.

“You hypocrite!” Thank you.

Debts of honor, my pale ass.

He’s going to Henry.

Ernst knows he’s addicted to something. He says it’s more damning, whatever it is.

At least Paul is honest. Jekyll is being cold to him now. He knows about him and Kitty now. He goes back to his work desk. ‘Going away’. Right. Run.

Paul gets nothing. Notes something must be wrong with him.

Kitty is worried about Paul now.

And fuck – Jekyll is giving full power of his shit to Hyde. His estate, his money, his assets, everything goes to Hyde. This happened in the book, of course, but this completely cuts Kitty off as well.

Also, he even says he’s using Hyde to ‘learn all he can’. You pretty much know it all. Kitty, your wife, is in love with your ‘friend’, Paul. It’s not that hard. You’ve effectively been gaslighting them from the beginning.

“For do I want to return to a life of frustrated isolation and loveless misery?”

I.

I have…

So many problems with this statement alone.

You left your wife, even said it yourself, neglected. For years. So much so, that she’s alone as well. Of course she searched for something beyond you, when you chose to isolate yourself first… And you know what? I’m happy for Kitty, she found something, someone to love and love her in return. Is it perfect? No, but –

Anything and everything can be traced back to you, you sorry sack of literal shit. I’m about to lose it. He’s reaping what he’s sewn, and now he’s trying to escape it.

I’m so pissed off.

He drinks more stuff. Great. The return of The Literal Worst is upon us.

Wow… Never heard Christopher Lee say that before –

“Damn bad luck you’ve been having, I hear, Allen, old man.” Some man comments on the state of Paul’s life, which has gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Damn bad luck.” Paul’s agreement seems to taste as bad as the cigarette he’s smoking. I wonder how many are his, in that overflowing mound of ash and stumps, at the center of the table.

“Oh, well, luck’s a bitch, old boy.” Not sure that was a saying yet, but maybe this is the one that starts the trend.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Paul looking like he’d like to swallow down the rest of the decanter on the table, with Hyde being the creep that just walked in. “I’ve always had the best possible luck with bitches.”

I just about spit my tea. Not even kidding.

“Almost always, anyway.”

You’re terrible. Kitty should leave without either of you.

How is this review over 4K words? Who’s still reading this?

“Women aren’t a weakness they’re a recurrent necessity.” Paul. Paul. What are you doing?

‘Oldest mistress’.

Paul. You’re awful with money and it’s obvious.

They’re going to go out on the town. Like bastards. Hyde is The Literal Worst.

Snap shots of London’s underbelly during the 1700s… Brawling, lots of drinking and bad singing, and… smoking? Opium? Hooka? Who the fuck knows anymore.

Paul’s out. Hyde is doing the 100-yard Creep Stare.

Paul is out making debts again. ‘Honorable’ ones, at least.

Now he’s out of ideas. It’s been a week. He spent all that money – 5,000 in a week. Ouch. “But you, are a fool.” We agree on that. That is the only thing Hyde, and I will ever agree on.

“And I’ll try Kitty.”

Ha.

Haha.

You can see the wheels turning unpleasantly in Paul’s head. His brow is doing that furrowed thing when he’s confused.

“What the devil do you mean, Hyde?” You know what he means, you just don’t want him to go on. You’re hoping he doesn’t mean what you think he means.

“Well, that should be simple enough for even you to understand.” Again, insulting people while mixing in kind words, though his next ones are far from kind: “I am telling you to obtain your mistress for me.”

Paul is rising out of his chair. His brow is still doing that furrowed thing, but it has gotten even deeper. The rage is coming, a wave that was slow to foam, but quick to rise.

“You unspeakable devil.” There’s still some disbelief, but there’s no denying the shock.

Hyde is doing the creep laugh with a – “How very amusing.” Now you can see the anger, it’s chiseling its way into his features, hard and sharp.

“Paul Allen, breaker of every law in the moral code, is shocked into morality.”

Full blown: I’d punch the ever-living hell out of you. I’m about to.

“You vile, disgusting degenerate.” His lips are quivering. He’s barely holding it together.

“Be rational, my friend.” You’re pushing him far beyond ‘rational’. “I’m asking for the temporary loan of a proven adulteress, of whom you yourself have grown somewhat tired.”

First of all: fuck you. Second of all: Kitty already said he has no property rights to her.

“You go back to hell!” Paul. Punch. Him.

Oh… Wait… Yeah, he’d probably get in trouble for that. And then be sent to jail. And I doubt he wants to be in there while Kitty is out here with this lunatic. Yeah, running out before you lose it seems wise.

Still should have throttled him a bit.

Now what is The Literal Worst doing? Going back to the house…

And sneaking into Kitty’s room. You creep. I’ve never wished to jump through a television screen more.

They only have one servant, ‘Nanny’, is her name.

He’s blackmailing her. With Paul’s notes. Fuck. ‘Buy him back’.

She’s laughing. Yes, that is Kitty’s response to being uncomfortable.

“You utterly repel me.” YES! Go girl! She laughs as he storms out, tossing the notes away. Then she closes and locks the door, pressing her back to it. She was probably more than a little terrified.

Hyde assaults a homeless man, shoving him down, and steps over him. That was in the book… Then back to some cesspit that Paul showed him.

There’s something weird going on here with Hyde and this girl.

Cut to Kitty and Paul snuggling. And kissing. This is the quality content I came for. He’s wearing the same shirt from earlier… Which means he probably took a good long walk, had a small conniption, and then went straight to her.

“Why does love make us behave so hatefully to one another?” Yeah, well, Paul has been the terrible one here.

“Because we’re cowards, my darling. We want everything.” I’m not sure what Paul’s deal is, why he is the way he is… He could just be an ivy league guy who grew up, not knowing how to handle money, he might not come with as much baggage as the rest of them.

Why can’t they just be happy and cute?

Go away? Start a new life? Yeah, do that.

Right now.

Leave.

Before Jekyll McShitFace gets back.

Ah, they planned to mug Hyde, using the girl as a means to dupe him. Seems about right. Also deserved.

Ah, Kitty is leaving Jekyll. About bloody time. Also, the wrong time, considering the whole Hyde business.

Jekyll has destroyed his drugs, though admits that Hyde’s grip is too powerful. Right. As if Ernst didn’t warn you it was an addiction. “No degeneracy is low enough to satisfy him.” You mean you, right? Because, he is, after all, you.

The kids are back in the garden. This can only end well.

Oh, they’re leaving. Good…

Paul and Kitty are making out again. Good for them.

Jekyll shoved a kid. Bad for him.

Same little girl who’s always trying to give him flowers. Yeah, he’s losing it. Rushing back into lab to pen a last will and testament one can hope –

Nope, no such luck.

‘Exorcise him’. Right.

Handwriting switch. Interesting.

Paul admitting to Kitty he’s in trouble with Hyde.

If looks could kill.

Hyde lures them with an invitation from Jekyll, about their last evening together being ‘gay’.

Kitty doesn’t want to go, she’s frightened. Listen to your gut.

Paul wants to stay, because they think he’ll settle. Kitty agrees.

Fuck.

Cabaret. Ugh.

Someone get me out of here. Lots of underwear. This is painful.

Hyde making plans to meet with Maria before meeting with Paul and Kitty, who’s dressed for a funeral. Paul. Don’t. Go. Of course, he does.

Up to Maria’s room. Piss it.

More cabaret. I’ll hand it to you ladies; you can cartwheel and front flip. That is impressive. Also, I’m completely serious, because the amount of muscles it takes to do that are insane. Flexibility is also key. Congrats ladies.

Paul meets with Hyde.

“Surely we can keep Kitty out of this.” He knows something’s up and didn’t want to involve her. Smart, but also stupid.

“Hardly.” Hyde’s reply sets my teeth on edge.

Paul. Don’t go into that room. To meet him in private. Fuck me. Backwards. Paul.

A ball python. How dangerous. Paul. There’s a table right there. Squish the fucker. I mean, I’m against animal cruelty, but in the case of the story, that thing is supposed to be deadly. Squish. Squish. Otherwise, leave him the fudge alone and he’ll leave you alone.

Kitty… Don’t go with the creepy man. Listen to your Creep Radar.

Paul’s dead. Kitty doesn’t deserve this. Don’t –

I hate this. I hate this. Paul is literally dead in the other room.

I’m writing so much fix-it fic for this, you won��t believe.

This review is 18 pages long. If you’ve made it this far, may the gods have mercy on you, because my wrath at this point is endless.

Maria is in Jekyll’s house. He told her to go back to that house, put on Kitty’s clothes –

“The pattern of justice is complete.”

Rot. In. Hell.

Paul and Kitty deserved better. They deserved each other.

Kitty waking up, gods’ I hate this. She’s a wreck. Her hair, her clothes… You can tell she’s about to be sick. She’s barely holding it together. There’s a fucking note… A note leading her to the snake… She finds Paul dead. She’s already shellshocked. Out onto the balcony…

“Paul.” Her last word.

She plummets over the balcony, through the glass roof, and –

Cut to Maria saying: “I love you Edward.”

“I can’t love.” We can agree on two things. Those two things.

“I must be free.” Right before murdering Maria.

Jekyll finally takes back over, rightfully horrified, and runs back to his lab. With three corpses under his belt.

What an interesting mirror effect…

“Why must you destroy?”

“I must be free.”

Then we go back-and-forth, about who murdered, who revenged, and who was wronged. They weren’t in Hyde’s way, but Jekyll was. He doesn’t ‘feel’. Yeah, right…

Hyde is every dark, terrible impulse Jekyll has had, given life and form. His desire to be free, to run rampant, has been a desire of Jekyll’s since the beginning. Free the beast so he could kill it… Then proceeded to twist it to gaslight his wife, his friend, and everyone else. He was living a life, a lie, a sham. The desire for freedom from persecution for our desires, to be allowed to do what we want, when we want, without judgement has been an overarching theme in all of society. People are persecuted for what pronouns they want to use, for how they eat, how they dress, how they talk –

However, because Hyde is merely a reflection, one can assume his desire for freedom is mirrored in Jekyll’s continued desire for the same. Jekyll wants to continue to exist, so Hyde must desire to exist in turn. He’s still composed completely of Jekyll’s desires.

He says he doesn’t feel, yet there is a desperation, a fear in his voice when he says: “You must lose, Jekyll.” Because he’s afraid he won’t. He’s horrified by the idea of being trapped forever, of their relation being found out…

Cut to Inspector being on the case at The Sphinx.

Wow, a lady in gentleman’s clothing runs The Sphinx. Nice.

Jekyll trying to leave a letter to Ernst. Yeah, that’ll go over well. He calls a street cleaner over to take his note to Ernst, but of course, Hyde has to upset that plan.

Again, I give props to the actor for the massive amount of voice switching, and playing the ‘tortured’ scientist, and the King of the Creeps.

Hyde is about to kill this street cleaner. Mate, why did you come into this guy’s house to randomly move something for him? He shoots him in the back, of course…

The Inspector arrives! Not in time…

Hyde is about to torch the place. Of course he is.

He puts up a performance for the police, saying Jekyll is nuts… Whole place is on fire, with street cleaner acting as a sub-in for the body of Jekyll.

I swear, if this fucker gets away with this, I will riot.

Is nobody seeing the Creepiest Grin of the Century?

No, of course not, they’re trying to fight a raging fire.

And of course, there’s a court hearing over the whole thing. Jekyll went nuts. True. He was addicted to drugs. Also true, though it’s not any kind ever seen before. Sought vengeance for imagined slights. True again.

“Fortunate to have escaped – “

Screw you.

Death by suicide. If only.

Do not tell me this is how this movie ends.

“A fine man. A fine – “

Shut up Ernst.

“The higher man.” Shut your face hole, Hyde.

Jekyll is coming out.

“I must leave immediately.” Oh no, you don’t, you bastard.

“Help me.” Keep talking, Jekyll. Get out of there. Confess. You deserve it.

Lots of struggling here. Again, props to the actor.

Inspector, Ernst, and everyone are watching. Do it now, you bastard.

He turned back into Jekyll!

Finally! You did something useful!

He looks really old. Apparently being Hyde aged him decades.

You can still rot in hell.

“I have destroyed him.”

“And yourself, my poor friend.”

“Only I could destroy him.” Dramatic pause. “And I have.”

He’s arrested.

Abrupt Hammer Horror Ending.

Kitty and Paul deserved better.

This review is 20 pages long, over 6K words, and it took me 4 hours to get through it because I kept pausing and rewinding to quote.

You’re welcome.

[diabolikmosquito]

Just-Watched Thoughts on S3

Alright time to write this while I’m still here recovering so I can go to bed already. I might add more/clean this up once I get some proper sleep. Tagging it but putting Castlevania Season 3 spoilers under a cut just in case people haven’t got tags hidden and such. Here goes-

Overall I’m honestly just kinda shocked? I think it’s because a lot of things were easy to predict (that the cult might be trying to bring back Dracula, something was up with the Judge, Hector was obviously gonna fall for Lenore’s bs, etc.) so when things happened I didn’t see from a mile away.. 

When I was only like an episode or two in, things actually felt a little stunted to me? Something about it felt like “This is what people liked from before, right??” particularly with certain action or such, but I feel like it picked up pretty quickly from that. I’m still kinda in winding-down-emotions mode so I can’t really definitively say what storylines I liked and which ones I disliked for the most part. I liked Isaac’s, and the design of the... Hivemind Magician? Was all pretty sick. It felt like the first thing that was actually a massive challenge for him, and nearly overtook him, but he overcame it and even came out of it thinking through what he wanted for the future. It’s a nice change from seeing him steamroll anything that came his way. 

I like that Trevor and Sypha’s storyline ends up with them not getting their heroic grand time like they did last time. Yes, there were sacrifices made, but before it still felt grandiose: they’d worked together to kill Dracula, something the world didn’t even think possible for the most part. This time, they sacrificed a lot more and ultimately didn’t win a thing other than their own lives, and were helping a hidden monster in their process of killing other monsters. What a crushing thing for them to have to go through, and I think Trevor’s conversation with himself before (and later with said monster, ironically enough) about missing parts of his old non-heroic non-adventuring life was pretty somber and interesting. 

The whole Lenore/Hector route was exactly what’s expected from the beginning, but it was done well for what it was, and I don’t think they were trying to fool anyone with the direction it was headed. Carmilla’s plot was.. eh, more or less not much seemed to actually happen, but it did introduce us to the awesome vampire sisters so I’m more than down with it. I wish we got a little more about Saint Germain’s whole deal with that portal and such, who he was looking for and how he knows they’re still alive in there, but I assume that’s a next-season kind of thing. I’m gonna ramble if I write anymore so here’s a more concise/clear list:

Things I liked -  Trevor and Sypha’s chemistry! I thought it was good the first couple seasons (which apparently puts me in the minority?) but they felt much more compatible as a couple this time around. The little exchange about the “taste for rougher things in life” is wonderful, and I definitely snorted when she sleep-bapped him in the face. - The tidbits of funny dialogue! Seems to still be a show specialty. Some of them were understandably a bit funny (using “Nope! speedwalks away” in place of “shut it” is pretty good), and others weren’t funny but I just found it hilarious (e.g. Morana’s repeated fancily-stated things that boiled down to “... Lenore, seriously, TMI”) - The soundtrack! Not really any surprise, despite it not being the famous Symphony of the Night tracks people clamored for trust me I totally get that and despite it still not being released even from season 2 much less 3,  it was very nice to listen to.  - The vampire sisters! While it was obvious from the beginning Lenore was the “cutest/nonthreateningest-looking of the scary bunch but actually the scariest” one I liked the energy they all had, especially Striga and Morana and their relationship. I liked that we got to see Carmilla’s attitude bouncing off of other vampires who (while respecting her skill) also called her out for it from time to time. - The references! I’m sure there’s more and I’m a dumbass who only spots the obvious ones, but... the fact there’s demons that’re exactly ones out of the ol’ Symphony of the Night game again, like the Malachi and Fire Demon. It’s so dumb but I love shit like that, especially since they obviously stray far from the game canon and don’t have to do that but do it anyway. - Some of the action scenes. I cannot mention what I like without mentioning the parts that made me go “... Okay, yeah, that was badass.” You know the ones! When Cho busted that sword with her hands, when Sypha chopped that angel-like demon into pieces. ... A lot of the stuff Sypha did, actually, I’m glad she got some more epic moments to kick ass this season. I thought the earlier action scenes of the season were just alright, but by the last fight it was definitely starting to feel like that awesome dynamic fight style we saw in season 2. - The fact Dracula saw an opportunity to return and didn’t want to. Not much to say here other than the obvious - I feel like that’s extremely fitting, and I’m glad they made it clear without bringing him back and having him be angry/regret it or something like that. Without any dialogue, even. - The ending.. somewhat. It destroyed me a little on the inside, but I actually like that nobody really had a happy ending. Particularly if there could be another season, it feels really fitting. I’ve seen some people complaining “They ended up where they started! Trevor and Sypha are back on the road, Isaac’s traveling with his army, Alucard’s alone in the castle and Hector is a slave” but I couldn’t disagree more. Of course if you boil it down to the words themselves, it’s “the same,” but did ya see the sheer trauma literally everyone was put through? Obviously some had it worse than others (and we’ll fucking get to that) but nobody came out unscathed. Everyone’s now had some belief challenged or retreated further into a fear/mistrust that already existed - previous events planted the seed for it and the hell the cast went through gave it growth. 

Trevor and Sypha are going to have to challenge their goal they’d been following since working together/getting together: they can’t just go headlong adventuring and fixing people’s problems, because things like this can happen. Their new allies and the entire town were slaughtered or trapped somewhere, and the man they’d trusted and been helping this entire time was a serial killer, particularly of children. Alucard is drifting into a state of consciousness not unlike his father before he met Lisa, but potentially in a worse place since he’s witnessed and felt true kindness, but has retreated away from it even so due to the betrayal he’s suffered at an already-fragile time for him. Isaac has to reconsider what he’s going to do once he has his proper army, and even if it’s worth it to get his revenge or to carry out Dracula’s original plans. Saint Germain.. I mean, he’s in psychodelic hell searching for that person and presumably a way out, I assume it’s tragic. Hector’s learned a hard lesson in trusting and is going to have to figure out if his freedom is worth risking pain or death. Likewise I think the characters grow this way. Even if it was a happy ending, or an ending where everyone “wins” some small victory somehow, I think it’d ultimately have been worthless if nobody was fundamentally changed by the end of the season.

Things I didn’t like - The sex scenes. I’ve seen a lot of people like “If you’re gonna put in gratuitous sex then actually include Trevor and Sypha??” and I’m gonna have to disagree with that. While I love the ship and all, I’d like to give the benefit of the doubt and say sex scenes weren’t thrown around randomly or just to flex the rating - they were only tied to actual story, hence why I’m down with the bedroom stuff of the show’s main ship only being alluded to. However, I gotta say that the long broken-up sex scenes mixed with battle/action was not the way to do that. I think I know what they were going for (it definitely drove my anxiety up having those scenes back to back with intense action/violence, I can tell ya that!), but it just wasn’t a good idea. Yes, they were obviously made to be uncomfortable (particularly since I’m pretty sure one of them was dubious consent at best?) but that was reflected well just in a few key frames/actions - it didn’t need to be drawn out and mixed with the action. It made me want to skip through (I didn’t out of fear I’d miss battles, which isn’t really good design) and I’d like to bet parts of the finale are unwatchable for some. For the record, yes you could say “well they got into an adult-rated show, deal with it,” but the fact of the matter is up until now sexual violence/discomfort wasn’t heavy-handed and in-your-face like this. Non-sexual violence was definitely all over the whole series, but it’s still a bit like whiplash considering. Also, the fact people think the scene with Alucard was at all chill. I see it from a story standpoint (though I honestly think their motivations were weak and there’s other ways to betray someone/get their guard down), but I think the people going on about “power bottom” and this and that are forgetting that the absence of a no is not a yes, particularly with someone severely emotionally damaged after spending months alone not only without a support group but without any contact, immediately following the death of his father by his own hands. I’m no expert but I don’t think that’s someone in the proper state of mind to consent to anything sexual, even if there were a couple weeks or whatever of spending time with these new friends. He very well might’ve been on the way to a stress disorder before they turned his world upside-down and frankly I’m wondering how he’s going to be faring come the next season (assuming there is one.) That’s more of a fandom gripe than the show itself I suppose but it’s worth a mention. - The pacing. It’s hard to pinpoint it, but something about it felt off, especially in the first half. The best way I can describe it is when you pump the gas and brakes because your brakes aren’t working great and you’re loosening them up - maybe it was necessary to get things going, but it’s a bit destabilizing/odd for anyone in the car. I think it’s what contributed to that stunted sense I got until things picked up a little more. You can see it more in just how packed with stuff the latter half is, some things which could’ve been planned a bit better through the whole season. - Sumi and Taka. I honestly felt that they wanted to get in a way to have a punch-in-the-gut arc with Alucard (not a bad idea, I am one for tragedy), wanted to kill off some characters who were actually important, and decided to do these both with one stone. I don’t think they were successful on the second part, because these two absolutely contributed to the stunted feeling I had about some of the season. They had a good start in terms of backstory, and the idea of two people working together to fight vampires without having some big legend tied to their name to drive it (e.g. Speaker magicians, Belmont legacy, Alucard’s heritage), as well as a connection to/fleshing out of one of the nameless generals, sounded like a great concept. A great concept, but it was rushed I felt, to the point that their motivations for turning on him were so packed and squished in they just weren’t believable if we’re supposed to believe these two were sane. They had some sort of mental/trust issues due to their backstory - that’s fine, and could contribute some emotional problems. However if their distrust in Alucard had been given more time to fester and grow, more little comments of Alucard’s brushing off their attempts to learn about specific things, and more cues from him that could be misinterpreted by them as him causing trouble and lying (not just them not believing him by itself), it would be more believable that the past and misinterpretations of the present get into their head and poison their thoughts of him. You can plant a seed of doubt but just like any other character bonds, it has to be given time to grow. Alucard’s rapid bonding with them could be attributed to his loneliness, trauma, and need for a support system, but you can’t make that excuse for Sumi and Taka’s motivations going from “Hm.. I wonder what he isn’t telling us” to “We need to emotionally gut him and then kill him” basically overnight. Edit:

I forgot to add a conclusion last night, so I guess the TL;DR is season 3’s a good 7.5/10 for me, -1 for the overall pacing, -1 for missing a bit of the punch from before, and -0.5 because the last few episodes jumped me with a bat and I let it happen.

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

--

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

[the--blackdahlia]

You’re All That I Need Chapter 13 (Tommy x Nikki)

Title: You’re All That I Need Chapter 13

Summary: It’s the early 80’s and Nikki Sixx is in need of a band. There’s one condition: no other alphas. That should be fine, since he found three betas to fill up the lineup to become Motley Crue. Or, at least he thinks they’re all betas. A collab between myself and @callme-kaz2y5-baby​​​!

Series Warnings: M/M smut (18+ only please), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, mpreg, language, slight drug use, protective Nikki, extremely funky timeline (might add more as we go)

Tommy was a pain in the ass for the rest of his pregnancy, at least according to Vince he was. Mick and Vince took turns helping Nikki out to keep Tommy entertained. Tommy loved it when Vince was there, because Vince would let him up to either sit on the balcony or in the recliner next to the bed. Which pissed Nikki off but made Tommy so happy, so Nikki kept his protest to the minimum.

“I’m so fat,” Tommy groaned. “Vince, I want to go out onto the balcony, walk off some of this fat.”

"You are not fat, your gorgeous, but yes a few hours in the sun might make you feel better." Vince bent over to help Tommy stand up. When they got Tommy's feet under him, he took a couple steps, even Vince knew something was up. He looked over at Tommy, who was wide eyed.

"Uh...Vince...." Tommy's voice was shaky, "I.... I think my water broke...."

Vince looked down and sure enough, Tommy was right. Vince looked back up at Tommy, a million things running through both of their minds.

"How are you feeling? Let's get you to the bathroom and cleaned up. Then we'll call Nikki.” Vince told him, trying to be calm for everyone involved.

"Right now, I'm ok, and yea I would like to get cleaned up," Tommy admitted. Vince helped him to the bathroom and helped him to the seat in the shower, Tommy stripped down and hosed off. Vince made sure Tommy was careful as he dried off and helped him into new clothes and back to bed. Vince picked up the house phone and called the studio where Mick was laying down guitar tracks.

“Hello?” Nikki answered, the sound of Mick’s guitar in the background as he worked on the song.

"Hey Nikki,” Vince greeted him. He was trying to think of a way to tell him what was going on, and instead, he figured the best way was to just come right out and say it. “Tommy's water broke, he's fine, the contractions aren't bad yet but you probably want to get home."

Vince didn’t even hear anything besides the phone falling and Mick calling out “what the fuck is going on?”

“Is he on his way?” Tommy asked, gritting his teeth a little. Vince hung up the phone and sat down by Tommy.

"Yes, is that a contraction?" Vince checked in, ready to time contractions. He had a watch and everything.

“Y-yeah,” Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck, Vince.”

"Ok, up we go we are leaving, Nikki will figure it out." Vince said more calmly then he felt.

“Hospital,” Tommy nodded. “My baby is not being born in this fucking bed!” He got out of bed with Vince’s help. “Nikki’s had my overnight bag packed for the past three weeks. It’s by the door. Can you grab it?”

"Got it," Vince helped Tommy down the stairs and to the front door, only pausing for long enough to scrawl on a post it note 'hospital' and sticking it to the outside of the door on the way out. Vince helped Tommy to the car, and held his hand as he drove as quickly and safely as he could. Vince was so focused he didn't see Nikki pass him, going the other way.

“I think we’ve got some time,” Tommy nodded, resting in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry Vince.”

"Nothing to be sorry for, I've been timing them, you're about 5 minutes apart. We do need to go to the hospital," Vince had never been so glad Mick had found him the pregnancy book as an audio book so he could listen to it.

He was prepared, at least, he felt prepared.

******

"Sixx! Sixx! Slow down! We just passed Vince. I think they are headed to the hospital." Mick pointed behind them.

"Fuck!" Nikki pulled an illegal u-turn and took off after them.

******

Vince was tracking Tommy's contractions all the way to the hospital. He pulled up to the doors in front of the ER and helped Tommy out of the car. Tommy held onto him.

"Fuck...Vince it hurts..." Tommy cried.

Vince wrapped an arm around him to soothe him, while ushering him inside as quickly as they could. Once inside, Vince started barking at the nurses; Tommy's information, how far the contractions were and calling for help. The nurses whisked them to the back taking Tommy's vitals and hooking him to all the monitoring equipment. Tommy was anxious, it was obvious to anyone wouldn’t feel the emotion radiating off of him.

Once everything was squared away, they were getting ready to get Tommy upstairs to the maternity ward when Vince heard Nikki hit the waiting room. He headed back through the door to get the alpha.

"Tommy... my mate.... wh... Vince? Is everything ok?" Nikki was panicked and Mick was doing his best to reign him in. He wouldn’t be calm until he saw Tommy with his own eyes.

"Nikki, he’s fine. Calm down, okay? They are getting ready to take him up to the maternity floor, come on," Vince explained.

"Woah excuse me, who are all of you?" The nurse asked, hands up to stop the three of them. Mick stepped forward so Nikki wouldn’t rip the beta’s throat out.

“This is Tommy Lee's mate and we are the rest of his pack." He explained. She seemed satisfied with his answer, because she let them pass.

When they reached Tommy's new room, Mick went down the hall to the payphone bank to call Tommy's family. He promised that he would be back as quick as he could, because Tommy didn't want any of them to leave and was being very vocal about it.

Tommy's mom and sister made it to the hospital as Tommy hit full active labor. Mick left for just long enough to greet them and tell them that he would be back as soon as the baby was born. So they waited in the family room while Mick returned to his pack.

Tommy's labor was quick and with few complications, even though the pre-eclampsia had made his pregnancy hell. After a little while, Tommy delivered a beautiful healthy baby girl. The smiles on Tommy and Nikki’s face were something that made both Vince and Mick’s hearts swell. Once everything was taken care of and Tommy was cleaned up, Vince headed down to bring Tommy's mom and sister to meet the new addition.

"Tommy baby, how are you feeling?" Tommy's mom was by his side as soon as she got in the room.

“Tired,” Tommy smiled some. Vince and Athena slipped out of the room, since it was a little crowded and Tommy already looked smothered.

“Wow, it’s incredible that there’s two omega children in your family,” Vince commented as they walked down the hall. Athena just started to laugh. “What?” He looked over at her, wondering what was so funny.

“Stereotypical ass,” She smirked. “I’m an alpha.”

“Wait, what?” Vince’s eyes widened.

“Tommy didn’t tell you?” She asked. “Eh, I guess it probably never came up. And he was hiding he was an omega for so long. I’m honestly surprised his pregnancy was this smooth.” She looked Vince up and down and sniffed. “You don’t smell like an omega. I’m guessing beta because you sure aren’t giving off alpha vibes. But, you still have a bit of a scent. What the fuck are you?” She eyed him, trying to break down exactly what he was.

"Beta, the scent is from this," Vince held up his wrist. "It's a pack bond". She sniffed the bracelet.

“I guess that could be it,” She shrugged. “So, you’re in a pack with my brother huh?” Her high heeled boots made a clicking noise as they walked down the hallway, and Vince could just feel the alpha oozing off of her.

"Yea, we all agreed that it was the best option to allow us to tour and record without issue," Vince supplied. "But we all love Tommy and would do anything for him.”

“You better,” She all but snarled. “I’m assuming if Tommy didn’t tell you that I’m an alpha, he didn’t tell you how protective I am.” She smirked a little. “I might be younger, but this fuck face broke my brothers nose, and I broke his balls.” Vince was practically vibrating, she was the closest thing to sex on two legs Vince had ever met. "You are aware that was a threat?" Athena snapped, waving a hand in Vince's face, "You act like an omega. You should have found that terrifying."

“I...uh…” Fuck, was his voice squeaking? It hadn’t done that in years. And he was starting to get hard. Fuck, he was embarrassing himself in front of the hot alpha. “S-sorry…”

“You’re hopeless. It’s cute,” She smirked. “But I’m taking it that I’m not the one you have your eye on. The idea of me being an alpha does things to you, but there’s someone else.” She turned the corner. “Hey Mick. Need help with the coffee?” Mick had been staring at them as they spoke, but he had looked down when they started to turn his way.

"Uh, yea not enough hands…” Mick mumbled, a little distracted by everything.

“You gonna be a little bitch or are you gonna offer to help too?” Athena asked. Vince gulped and took two cups from Mick while he got a cup carrier ready. Athena smirked and looked from Mick to Vince. “So...are you both betas or what?”

“Yep,” Mick grumbled, not looking at her. Athena looked at Vince.

“Why don’t you go ahead and head back with that? I’m gonna help Mick and I want to look at the vending machine offerings,” Athena told the frontman.

“Oh, okay,” He nodded and headed off. Athena looked at Mick.

"Hmmm,” She looked him up and down. “You’re not telling the whole story. I'm not sure what's going on, but I'm pretty sure that pretty blonde might have a thing for you, just like I'm pretty sure you're not just a beta." Athena gave him another once over before heading to the vending machines. Mick headed back with the rest of the coffees and Athena joined them a few minutes later.

Forever Tags: @dekahg​ @marvel-af-imagines​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @nanie5​ @imboredsueme​ @gemini0410​ @aiaranradnay​ @babypink224221​ @mogarukes​ @xxwarhawk​ @sandlee44​ @shatteredabby​ @caswinchester2000​ @lauravic​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​ @teller258316​ @horrorpxnk​ @tommyleeownsme​ @marvelismylifffe​ @mrslogansixxpixx​

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer​ @waywardprincess666​ @twistnet​ @saint-of-los-angeles​  @motleyfuckingcruee​ @sharon6713​ @kawennote09​ @2dead2function​ @nikkisixxwiththebass​ @iamtiber-andtiberismusic-deacti​ @jayprettymuchomw​ @charlyallise​ @you-know-im-a-dreamer​ @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings​ @arianareirg​ @the-normal-potato​ @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun​ @just-a-normal-fangirl18​ @stella20131991​ @tarahell​ @wowilovenikkisixx​ @i-want-to-shoot-myself​ @motleycrueee​ @sams-serialkiller-fetish​ @getbackhonkycatt​ @are-you-reddie54321​ @scarecrowmax​  @anyasthoughts​ @bandaids-not-groupies​ @ilovetomkeiferslips​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @useyourillusion​ @xpoisonousrosesx​ @slash-me-up​ @hauntedapricoteggsclam​ @punkrock-lobster​ @lucyboytom​ @ozzy-dumbass-of-darkness @reigns420​ @solopadawan​

[depizan]

Today in Mac rambles about fiction flaws, we have the problem of: “Oh no, the terrible untrustworthy guy is terrible and untrustworthy!”

The slicer guy in The Last Jedi is a great example of this, and the weakest - what I think is the weakest - episode of The Mandalorian is an even worse example. (Better example? What does one use for perfect examples of bad things?)

Aaaanyway. “Oh no, the terrible untrustworthy guy is terrible and untrustworthy!” is what you get when main characters rely on someone who has all but stated that they sold their own granny to a Hutt for a piece of gum and will do the same to the main characters if given half a chance. Possibly even an eighth of a chance. Basically, they have no reason to trust, rely on, or work with Mr. Untrustworthy, but do so anyway for plot contrived reasons, and then Mr. Untrustworthy lives up (down?) to his name and stabs them in the back. (Or possibly the front.) And everyone makes surprised Pikachu faces.

And the two Star Wars examples of this aren’t even the only examples I’ve encountered. They’re just the only two I can remember right now.

Why is this a thing!? It isn’t dramatic. It isn’t clever. It isn’t a twist. It just makes the main characters look dim (or extremely desperate) and squanders a chance for an actual emotional moment. Because, I’m sorry, but being betrayed by Mr. Betrayal McBackstabs is not a shock. It’s an: “oh, gosh, wow, who’d have thought. It’s not like it’s right in his name or anything.”

The Star Wars examples might be a case of people not grasping why Lando’s betrayal* at Cloud City works so well. But the thing is, in that case, the audience is aware of more than the characters are and Lando is charming enough that we don’t want him to be up to no good.

I suppose whether the slicer in The Last Jedi has any charm is a matter of personal opinion, but the story set up entirely works against him. He’s in a jail cell he demonstrates he can escape from at any time, with no explanation of why he’s hanging out there. So he starts out deep in the hole, trust-wise. But that should be for the characters, too, not just the audience. And half of his dialogue is about how everyone should be 100% in it for themselves! Dialogue to Finn and Rose, I might add. That he only betrayed them when they were all captured is more surprising than that he betrayed them. (Though I still maintain that the only truly surprising thing was that the First Order paid him rather than tossed him out the nearest air lock. Don’t they know how to be villains!?)

And that example pales in comparison to the wtfery that goes on in the sixth episode of The Mandalorian. The group of people our hero goes to raid the prison transport with don’t just ooze utter untrustworthiness, they’re assholes. They’re horrid, they hate him, they barely stop short of saying they’re going to betray him. There’s just no tension there. The question isn’t will they shoot him in the back; it’s when will they shoot him in the back. Or the question is what the everliving fuck the Mandalorian was thinking. He’s doing a job with people who are clearly going to fuck him over, steal the ship, and do god knows what with the tot he went on the run to protect. There aren’t enough credits in the galaxy to make that make sense!

(Okay, I guess he knew he was just so much better than all of them that it would work out, but that is still one hell of a chance he took.)

But in that case (and in many of the cases of “oh no, the terrible untrustworthy guy is terrible and untrustworthy!”), it just...sucks all the tension out of things that could - should - be tense. I can’t be biting my nails over when Team Asshole will turn on the Mandalorian if I’m busy facepalming over the Mandalorian even working with them in the first place. Even the reveal that the prisoner is a guy that the Mandalorian abandoned in the past has no bite because a) these people are fucking awful and b) we already know this is going to end in betrayal, so...eh?

And maybe that’s my base frustration. This...accidental trope, or whatever it is... makes for a much flatter story than the story would’ve been without it. Or with several thousand times more subtlety (particularly in the case of The Mandalorian episode).

If the slicer in The Last Jedi had seemed sympathetic to the Resistance or even just hadn’t been used as clunky gray morality exposition (and they’d had the basic common sense to write him being tossed in the cell after the heroes), then maybe it would’ve stung when he sold out the heroes. (I don’t even fucking understand his sell out. Do ships not have any forward scanners? Like, it shouldn’t have even been necessary. “Yeah, we know they’re aiming for that planet. It’s the only planet they could ever have been aiming for. Why else would they have come out of hyperspace?” Why was the writing so bad? Whyyyyyyyyyyy?)

If the crew of criminals in the episode of The Mandalorian had not seemed like a pack of slavering assholes who could barely hold it together and wait until they were on the prison ship to betray the Mando, then maybe it would’ve been a shock when the prisoner turned out to be a guy he’d left behind on a job. Maybe the betrayal would’ve been a surprise. Maybe there would’ve been like emotions and shit. Instead of the dull thud of my forehead on my desk.

Subtlety. It’s a thing.

Hint that maybe all is not well. Instead of having the Twi’lek woman come off mostly like “bitches be crazy” have her seem to be glad to see the Mandalorian, but then have her expression when he’s not looking but the audience is or a line of dialogue here or there suggest that maybe there’s more to their history. Have the human dude show interest in The Child in a way that seemed less schoolyard bully and more potentially dangerous later. Have the strong guy be...pretty much anything but whatever that was.

Just, you know, write it such that these characters could be a threat to the Mandalorian, but aren’t inherently a threat to him. Then the audience can worry that they’ll find out about the bounty on The Child, or just be completely blindsided by the prisoner being the guy mentioned earlier that the Mandalorian had once left behind.

Is it really that hard? Is there some benefit to “Oh fuck, Betrayal McBackstab backstabbed me! Why would that happen?” that I’m not seeing? Do writers for Disney think audiences need everything spelled out in advance and so have characters walking around with name tags that say “Hi, I’ll be your betrayer tonight”? Just...whyyyyyyyyy

*I want to call it a “betrayal,” since it’s not like Lando had much choice. It was Han or a city of thousands (tens of thousands?).

[rosalind-of-arden]

Sword and Pen Reread, chapter 16

Time for things to get stabby! Long post. Some discussion of a canon torture incident (y’all know which one).

We left off last chapter with Dario making his dramatic entrance. We pick up here with Wolfe lecturing Jess, Morgan talking to Dario, and Glain sending Codex messages. Who is Glain messaging? Her squad? Santi? Khalila?

Jess admits he’s dying, and Wolfe shows a flash of emotion - Jess can’t tell if it’s anguish or anger. I think Wolfe is seeing himself in Jess here. Jess’s “Getting killed for something worthwhile is better than dying alone” echoes Wolfe’s death letter from Ash and Quill: “I hope I died for something, as I lived for it.” Wolfe in Smoke and Iron, too; he’s not afraid to go into the Colosseum and probably die fighting, but the thought of dying slowly and helplessly in prison terrifies him. He understands exactly what Jess is thinking, and that hurts.

Why did I go back and reread that whole letter? There’s something in my eye now.

Second page of the chapter, here’s Jess thinking that his friends have made him a better person, while his family’s influence makes him worse. His impulse to kill the Archivist comes from his family, and he expects his friends would disapprove. Interesting parallel with Dario later in the chapter.

Wolfe’s discomfort with violence again? He neither agrees nor disagrees with Jess’s argument about killing the Archivist. He just shakes his head and gets on with the scheming.

But this isn’t just a moral “is it ok to kill the Archivist” thing, necessarily. For Wolfe, especially, there might be a lot of vindication in seeing the Archivist formally and publicly accused and tried for his crimes. Obviously, he’s not going to admit that outright, but it could very well influence his stance on what to do with the Archivist (and co-conspirators).

And why isn’t Wolfe getting into this argument with Jess? He knows how much vengeance means to Jess. With Jess dying, Wolfe doesn’t want to have an argument that would hurt Jess unless it’s absolutely necessary. Wolfe might also know just how much of the “we need to kill the bastard” talk is emotion talking, too. After all, in the end, Jess is surprisingly compassionate toward the dying Archivist. And Jess wasn’t completely on board with assassination when Anit first brought it up earlier in the book, either. If anyone can recognize angry bluster, it would be Wolfe. Echoes there of Wolfe in Ash and Quill telling Jess how well he knows him.

Wolfe goes to talk to Glain and Dario (there’s the planning team), leaving Morgan with Jess. He’s giving those two a private moment - does he know they broke up? Probably not? But also, keeping his distance from Morgan after the energy draining incident?

Morgan and Jess, bonding over their mutual decisions to sacrifice themselves for the people and cause they care about.

Dario’s first response to being asked to lure the Archivist into a trap: “I’ve had enough of intrigue.” He’s still deeply hurt by the betrayal. He doesn’t want to do anything like that again. But here’s Glain trying to talk him into it. What message is Dario getting here? That his friends need him to be a bad person. Ouch. Guess what this pushes Dario toward?

Lose Wolfe’s trust, never get it back. He immediately and aggressively rejects the idea of working with Callum because he expects Callum to betray them. Very similar to his reaction to trusting Zara again in Ash and Quill.

Dad Wolfe holds Jess up when Jess just about collapses coughing. Wolfe’s hands are shaking while he holds Jess, which is interesting, since that’s always been a PTSD thing for Wolfe up until now.

Wolfe very much wants to be there to catch the Archivist.

Dad Wolfe, quietly checking in with Jess: “He glanced at Jess, just briefly, but Jess understood that to mean something.” This is a nice moment of understanding between these two. There’s the nonverbal communication, which itself shows how well they understand each other. But then there’s Wolfe, knowing very well that Jess might not want his vulnerability openly acknowledged, keeping this little check-in quiet. Jess does choose to explain, but Wolfe’s not demanding that. I suspect he would have accepted just a nod.

Jess says he got a new mask and stronger meds “on the way out”. Intercepted by a Medica? (Medica: ugh, you’re all impossible. Fine, have meds if you’re going to insist on sneaking out.) Or lying?

Magic ring restrictions: no harming anyone unless they’re harming the wearer first, no taking away choices from people.

“My clever father,” Wolfe muttered. “Trust Eskander to find yet another way to make this more difficult.” At this point, Wolfe’s talked to Eskander what, once? On page, at least. And hasn’t exactly had a lot of opportunities for off-page conversations. So where is this coming from? Keria, I’m guessing. Wolfe doesn’t know his father, but I’ll bet he heard plenty about Eskander from his mother, whose view would be... biased, to say the least. Rumors from the Archivist and Artifex, too, maybe - he might have been close enough to either of them in the past to hear them griping about Eskander making trouble in the Iron Tower.

Dario-Wolfe parallels: Wolfe doesn’t want to die in a graveyard because that’s embarrassing, Dario doesn’t want to die like a commoner.

“We’ll make sure everyone knows how royally you bled to death.” Glain gets all the best lines.

Also, though. Here’s Dario saying he doesn’t want to kill the Archivist. He says it’s because he doesn’t want to be killed in revenge for that, but is that it? Or is this another hint at conflicted morality? Or devotion to Khalila, knowing she definitely wants a fair trial?

“Their old dormitory must have contained postulants for the upcoming year.” So, by my guess, this is happening in November. I really, really cannot think of a way this could be happening at the beginning of the school year. It would be hard, even, to push the date into December and say Jess means the new year not school year. So... Alexandria isn’t using the same calendar as us? (Where would that be on the ancient Egyptian/Greek calendar?) Or the Library starts school years irregularly? Or Jess is just out of it and not thinking that this group of postulants would already be pretty far into the program. Eh, let’s go with that. Jess is unreliable.

More Dad Wolfe moments: playful slaps on the head for Jess and Dario. @thegreatlibraryfangirl this is it. The closest thing to a sweet dad moment Dario gets. 

I’m kind of sad we don’t get any more Morgan POV. I’d like to know how she’s feeling about Jess when she hugs him here. Questioning her feelings again? Wanting to part on good terms? Just needing a bit of physical comfort and knowing he’ll give it?

So did Callum really set the trap like Jess asked? Or did Callum actually tip the Archivist off, leading the Archivist to send the Elites? I can see him playing both sides. 

Also, is this happening before or after Zara shoots the Archivist? Who knows.

““Any last words, Scholar? I’ll be happy to record them and add them to your journal... Oh, sorry, the Archivist has ordered your journals burned.” That’s just vicious. The Archivist didn’t just send his captain to kill Wolfe, he sent him to taunt Wolfe with an extremely sensitive subject first.

Ok, ok, another tiny little Wolfe-Dario moment: “I don’t have followers [...] Do I?” “No, sir [...] I’m afraid not. You’re too unlikable.” So we have some very small signs of affection between Wolfe and Dario, but they’re wrapped up in mock hostility. Fitting for both of them, since neither likes to show emotion or vulnerability, but still. Poor Dario.

“Make it between adults, if you can manage that.” Wolfe, snarking at gunpoint again. And trying to draw the enemy off the kids. (Unconventional patronus/animagus/daemon for Wolfe: a fucking killdeer.)

Interesting parallel here between Wolfe and Morgan tricking the Elites with Morgan’s illusion and Wolfe and Khalila in the Welsh general’s tent. Wolfe and kid tag teaming an enemy. But also parallels with the Philadelphia planning - once again, Wolfe and Morgan plan to save everyone at the cost of overusing Morgan’s power.

Wolfe tries to spare the Elites’ lives, but when he fails at that, he doesn’t hesitate to shoot the captain. But that’s while the captain is still grappling with Jess and Dario. Once the captain surrenders, Wolfe won’t shoot. How much of Wolfe’s thinking on when it’s ok to kill someone is influenced by all his work with Santi in war zones? This seems like a very military code of conduct. Give the enemy a chance to surrender, fight if he doesn’t, stop when he does.

So, the stabbing. It’s easy to see how Dario gets here. He’s spent the whole series characterizing himself as ruthless and willing to make hard choices, and in this book he’s just been told by the people he cares about that he can only help them by doing the dirty work. Over and over, he feels bad about what he has to do (or thinks he has to do), and over and over, he’s told it’s the only way. Add in whatever fucked up family backstory, and this is where he ends up.

This actually reminds me a bit of what @eli-wray said about Jess and Dario’s plan in Ash and Quill. This is an act of self sacrifice for Dario, much like that plan. He’s doing something he feels is wrong but necessary so that other characters don’t have to. In Dario’s view, the only way to get the information is to torture the captain, and his friends are good people so they shouldn’t have to do it. He’ll be the bad one for them. 

“I want this to be done, for all our sakes.” Here’s Dario’s main motivation. Dario is tired of this fight. He was tired of it after betraying Spain. He was tired of it at the start of this chapter. Dario just wants to get all of this over with. 

Dario’s grinning and threats have Jess freaked out, but we already know Dario is a good actor. I don’t think he’s having as much fun as he pretends he is. Will he feel as bad about this as the betrayal? No. But this is definitely adding to the list of reasons Dario does not think of himself as a good person or worthy of Khalila.

And where does Dario’s act fall apart? It cracks a bit when Wolfe asks him to stop, and he sounds more exhausted and frustrated than gleefully murderous. It shatters when he learns Khalila’s in danger. Genuinely murderous Dario isn’t grinning or taunting anyone. He’s just putting the knife right in the captain’s heart.

Anyway, enough Dario. I’m supposed to be rambling about Wolfe here. So, for obvious reasons, this isn’t going to be comfortable for Wolfe to watch. Jess is oblivious as usual, but we get a couple hints. First, Wolfe’s dialogue. We get “Dario, stop”, then nothing until he checks on Jess as they leave. Short sentences, basic word choices. Twice, Jess notes that “not even Wolfe” said anything. Wolfe gets quiet when he’s triggered. And then there’s the “bleak look in the Scholar’s eyes” at the end of the chapter. There’s more than enough to cause that - Khalila is in danger, Jess and Morgan are dying - but trauma is another cause. Pretty sure his expression has been described as “bleak” before when he’s triggered and/or remembering Rome. This is far from the worst trauma response Wolfe has had, but he’s definitely uncomfortable.

Wolfe might have more pragmatic reasons to object, too. He’s been tortured himself. He probably has a pretty good idea of how likely the captain is to give them true and useful information. This may not even be his first time in this kind of situation - there were those 10 war zones, after all. And sure enough, while the captain does point everyone in sort of the right direction, what he says is as much a taunt as an answer, and it’s leaving out quite a bit - possibly, the captain didn’t even know about the final plan to destroy the Archives. Wolfe would probably expect those problems. Dario doesn’t.

[taehyungiestummy]

Return to Paradise -- Chapter Nineteen

Masterlist     Previous     Next

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3542

         “I love hanging out like this,” I smile, snuggling into Taehyung’s side as we lounge on our hotel bed. “I say it every time, but it is true.”

         “It’s more fun when you are singing,” Hoseok makes peace signs and dances a little bit. “Or dancing, so maybe you can do one of them.”

         I giggle, “You are so cute, Hobi.”

         “I agree though,” Jungkook smiles. “Sing or dance.”

         “Well, I’m not letting her go,” Taehyung holds me even closer. “If she does something, then it will have to be singing.”

         “After the past few days,” Emily bites her bottom lip reluctantly. “She might not be up for it.”

         “Another stomach bug really sucks,” Jimin pouts.

         “You innocent boy,” Seokjin smiles and shakes his head.

         “If only it was a stomach bug,” I grumble.

         “What are you talking about?” Jungkook asks. “Amber told us it was a stomach bug.”

         “I’m the leader, but I don’t want to tell them,” Namjoon sighs.

         “If Amber wants, I’ll tell them,” Yoongi shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me.”

         “Gah, I don’t know,” I shake my head, snuggling my face into Taehyung’s chest. “Sure, it shouldn’t be embarrassing.”

         “Amber was on her period, a normal, monthly girl thing.”

         “She has really bad cramps,” Taehyung adds in. “So that’s why she says it is a stomach bug.” He begins rubbing my back.

         “Oh,” Jimin’s cheeks are no doubt reddening.

         “Well, next time we can take care of you better,” Hoseok chuckles. “Geez silly, do you not trust us? I have a sister, so I know about that stuff.”

         I pull my head away from Taehyung’s chest to look around at the boys. “No, I do trust you. I really do. Just, it’s so personal.”

         “No reason to be embarrassed around us,” Seokjin tenderly smiles.

         “Amber blushes so easily,” Emily giggles. “Everything embarrasses or flusters her.”

         “Not true,” I pout.

         “Kind of true, little one,” Yoongi smirks. “You get flustered quite easily.”

         “Whatever,” I sigh. “I’m not blushing anymore.”

         “It’s cute, though,” Taehyung kisses my temple.

         “I bet aegyo would make you go so red in the face,” Hoseok proceeds to look really cute, holding his face in his hands.

         “Not from you,” Jimin then slightly pours, looking overly cute.

         “Amateurs,” Namjoon scoffs. “That’s not even trying.”

         “You have to use peace signs,” Jungkook rolls his eyes. Then he goes ahead and holds up peace signs in both his hands, acting overly cute.

         “Stop,” I giggle. “This is too much,” I roll away from Taehyung.

         “No blush, though,” Hoseok angrily sighs.

         “Yoongi-hyung, do some aegyo so Amber blushes,” Taehyung tickles my side.

         “No,” Yoongi shakes his head. “Fuck no, actually.”

         “You do it for fans,” Emily points out.

         “Little one is different.”

         “Then, do different aegyo,” Namjoon says.

         “Here, I’ll come to you,” I stand up, walking over to Yoongi in the only chair in the room. “Go ahead, make me blush.”

         “Please, little one,” Yoongi sighs.

         “Do it, Yoongi!” Hoseok shouts.

         “How come we couldn’t do it?” Jimin pouts.

         “Well,” I smile. “I don’t blush that easily, but when I do, it is intense.”

         “Fine, I’ll do it,” Yoongi grumbles.

         “I’m ready.”

         “Sit,” he pats the armrest.

         “Sure,” I take a seat on the armrest, facing him the best I can.

         Yoongi hides his face behind his hands, “You better blush.” His hands pull away to reveal his cheeks puffed out, a cute sparkle in his eyes.

         “Oh,” I am caught off guard.

         His hands cover his face again for a few seconds. This time when his hands pull away, his lips are pushed out.

         “Duck lips,” I giggle, pushing the blush down.

         Hands cover his face again, pulling them away a few seconds later to show a scrunched-up face. This time, I can feel my cheeks beginning to heat up. Yoongi smirks before hiding his face one last time. A gummy smile appears in a second, and his hands go by his jaw, wiggling his fingers.

         My cheeks burst out in heat, “Whoa.”

         “He did it,” Hoseok shrieks.

         “So cute,” Taehyung giggles.

         “Wow, that was crazy,” I nervously chuckle.

         Yoongi relaxes his face, giving a quick finger heart. “You almost held on, little one.” He pulls me off the armrest into him. “Blushing is cute. Really cute on you.”

         “I haven’t seen Amber blush so hard so fast in a long time,” Emily chuckles. “Good job, Yoongi.”

         “When was the last time?” Namjoon asks.

         “First time she talked about Tae,” Emily smiles. “Before then, I don’t know.”

         “Taehyung means a lot to me,” I smile, snuggling into Yoongi.

         “We know,” Jimin says. “You mean a lot to him.”

         “You make each other so happy,” Seokjin says. “Taehyung has been waiting for someone like you to come into his life for a long time, and I bet that you were imagining a nice boy for you. He deserves to be this happy.”

         “After everything he’s been through,” Jungkook says. “Yeah, he deserves it.”

         “He brought two girls, two amazing girls, into our lives,” Yoongi gives me a squeeze. “Thanks for that.”

         “My pleasure,” Taehyung chuckles. “I just wanted to check on a cute girl, and that lead to dating her, and now I am so happy.”

         “I’m so happy to,” I push off Yoongi, but he just pulls me back down to him.

         “Nope, you get to be with Tae all the time,” Yoongi says. “Let me have a few minutes.”

         I giggle, “Fine, fine. I’ll stay here. Now, boys, how about we talk about something that isn’t me?”

********

         “Last concert, in Mexico City, get hype,” I giggle.

         “Then it is back to Korea for a week, and then back home,” Emily giggles with me.

         The two of us pace around the hallway, waiting for the boys so we can wish them good luck.

         “Summer is almost over, though,” I pout. “One last time, I keep telling myself, but that doesn’t mean leaving will be any better.”

         “No, but returning will be all the sweeter,” Emily grabs my wrist and pulls me to a stop. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

         “Of course,” I pull my wrist out of her grip and lean against the wall. “I still don’t know what we are doing, as you guys won’t tell me all the details.”

         “All you need to know is you can sleep in, breakfast will be made for you, we will go out for lunch, and cake and presents will be back at the apartment.”

         “That’s all I have wanted to know,” I cross my arms over my stomach. “No big surprises, though. Nothing too over the top.”

         “Let me, and Nari, and the boys, handle it,” she smirks, patting my head. “We have to one up last year, and I think that with what we have planned, we can do it.”

         “Just being with the boys and talking to them would one-up last year. I am just excited for being with them on my special day.”

         “You can drink next year over here. Maybe getting drunk is how we one up this year.”

         I laugh, “I don’t think I’ll be getting drunk the first day I can. Is the drinking age really eighteen?”

         “Eh, I think so,” she shrugs. “It would make sense. We are a year older over there, kind of.”

         I glance down the hall to see the boys making their way towards us. “Still, I don’t think I’ll be drinking anytime soon.”

         In the next moment, all seven boys are standing with us.

         “Last concert before we head back to Korea,” Hoseok is all smiles.

         “This month has been amazing,” Jungkook fixes his earbuds.

         “Better when you have two lovely girls tagging along,” Seokjin smiles. “Made the trip funnier.”

         “You are so sweet, Jin,” I grin.

         “I’m glad little one was able to come so I would have someone other than Namjoon to seriously talk to,” Yoongi squeezes my hand for a few seconds.

         “That nickname is still the cutest,” Emily giggles.

         “I’m gonna miss being together like this,” Jimin sighs. “I’ll enjoy the time we still have together.”

         “That’s a good attitude to have, Jimin,” Namjoon pats the boy on the back. “Just enjoy these last days before the girls have to leave.”

         “If only we could stop time,” Emily kisses Namjoon’s cheek.

         “Tae, babe, you’ve been quiet,” I turn to face my boyfriend.

         “Just taking you in,” Taehyung tenderly smiles. “Enjoying this time together, like Jimin said.”

         “A hug before you go on stage then?” I hold out my arms for him.

         “Or a kiss,” he grabs my wrists in his hands, holding my arms by my side. Then he connects our lips in a kiss way more heated than I expected. His tongue darting into my mouth makes my cheeks heat up.

         After what feels like eternity, yet also no time passing at all, Taehyung slowly pulls our lips apart. He pecks my nose before releasing my wrists and walking away.

         “Love you jagi!” Taehyung’s smirk travels with his words.

         “I love you too, Tae!” I turn around to see him still walking. “Do great out there!”

         “That boy likes living near the edge,” Yoongi takes a deep breath.

         “He’s in love,” Seokjin says. “Just let him live.”

         “Sometimes he goes so overboard,” I shake my head. “It is all that I have ever wanted, though. He makes me feel so warm and loved.”

         “Still the cutest couple,” Emily nods.

         “With Amber being the cuter one,” Jungkook says.

         “Taehyung can be pretty cute,” Jimin says. “But Amber is cuter.”

         “We need to get going!” Hoseok shouts, rushing down the hall.

         “Oh shit, yeah guys,” I chuckle. “Go! Don’t get us in trouble!”

********

         “It was so nice of the boys to give us some along time,” I smile, sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed.

         Taehyung is sitting up, legs straight out in front of him and back against the headboard. “That was nice of them. We’ve spent this whole trip as a group, and sometimes I just want to be alone with you.”

         “It’s been fun though,” I smile. “I like hanging with all the boys. They are such a great group. I’m going to miss them even more this time around. I feel like now that we are closer from being able to talk, that is what will make it harder.”

         “Then why are we hanging out alone? We should be with them. You aren’t with us that much longer.”

         “No, I like being with just you,” I fall back on to the bed. “Talking in Korean about whatever we want. Couples need alone time.”

         Taehyung grabs my ankle, untangling my legs, and pulling me down the bed. “We do need alone time. I haven’t kissed you nearly enough.”

         I giggle, “Yes you have. More than enough, but I guess I could never get tired of your kisses. The only boy who has ever given me kisses.”

         “I give the best kisses,” he puckers his lips.

         I push up onto my elbows, “Too far away.”

         Taehyung lunges at me, tackling me to the bed. His lips attack all areas of my face, avoiding my lips.

         “Tae,” I wiggles around, giggles passing through my lips every few seconds. “You are being too cute.”

         “Please, keep giggling,” he chuckles along with me.

         After another minute of that, Taehyung falls to my side. The two of us out of breath.

         “You never kisses my lips,” I grab onto his hand.

         “Just being a tease,” he squeezes my hand.

         “Fine, I won’t sit next to you at dinner.”

         In an instant he is hovering over me again, pressing his lips to mine.

         I push him off seconds later, rolling onto my boyfriend. “I should threaten you more often it seems.”

         Taehyung wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head this time. “What should we do now?”

         “Anything on your mind?”

         “Just you.”

         “Come on Tae. Be serious for a minute.”

         “I’m excited for you to meet my family. If that’s what you wanted to hear.”

         “Oh yeah. We are doing that right when we get back.”

         “Are you excited?”

         “I’m feeling something.”

         “Also, your birthday is almost here, so that’s pretty awesome. Growing up before my eyes.”

         I slap his chest best I can. “Shut up. That makes me seem like a child. You aren’t much older than me.”

         “Then you’ll be gone for a little while, but that’s okay. You will be back, and with me for a long time.”

         “Living together in a cute apartment,” I close my eyes.

         “Yoongi will have to Skype you as much as I do.”

         “I’ll be fine with that.”

         His hands run down to rest on my butt, giving it a squeeze and making me squeal. “Tell me something that I don’t know about you.”

         “Like what? I have told you so much.”

         “A childhood story. I don’t know much about you as a kid.”

         “Hm, okay,” I bite my bottom lip. “Okay, I think I have a good one. So when I was in elementary school, before I became really introverted, I talked to everyone. I had a lot of friends, because I was a kid and didn’t care about others opinions. On top of that, there was one girl I hated with every fiber of my being.”

         “Did you punch her?”

         I chuckle, “I’m no violent, Tae. I have never hurt someone. Anyways, at the playground, I went up to her, and in the meanest words a small child has, told her how I felt.”

         “Did she cry?”

         “She did. Straight up bawled from the second the tears started flowing. I have never felt so bad in my life. I turned myself into the teacher.”

         “You got yourself in trouble?”

         “Kind of. The teacher had us both go inside to talk it out. Boy, did we talk.”

         “So you made up, and then what?”

         “I’m telling you,” I giggle. “From then on, we stuck close to one another. Such a weird way to make a friend for life.”

         “Wait, that other girl was Emily. Wasn’t it?”

         “Yeah, it was.”

         “That’s crazy. I always wondered how you two met and became friends. You two were meant to be friends if she got over that.”

         “Tell me something about you now.”

         “Only fair,” he brings a hand up into my hair. “Well, I was raised by my grandma for the first fourteen years of my life. The world outside our little village was something I knew little about, but I always wanted to go visit.”

         “I can’t wait to meet her in a few days.”

         “She’ll love you. As will my siblings.”

         “Don’t they already?”

         “They’ll love you even more when they meet you.”

         “I love you, Taehyung,” I yawn.

         “Sounds like you need a nap,” he kisses the top of my head. “I love you, Amber. My princess.”

         “Can you sing to me? I want to take a nap so I can be awake at dinner.”

         “Sure thing, jagi. Any song in my mind?”

         “Surprise me.”

         “Hm, so many songs to choose from. Ah, okay, I have a good one. Ready for my lovely voice?”

         “Always,” I snuggle into him. “Always.”

********

         “Pizza for our last meal in America as a group,” I smile, taking a bit of my slice of pepperoni pizza.

         We found a nearby pizza place that was able to fit our large group into a booth that they have for just these kinds of situations. Most of the time it’s like for birthdays, but they don’t really care.

         “It seems fitting,” Emily sips her Sprite.

         “The last time we will be together will be Amber’s birthday in a few days,” Namjoon says. “That’s crazy to think about.”

         “I don’t want to think about it,” Jimin pouts. “I wish the summer never had to end. Amber and Emily have made it so much more fun.”

         “I agree,” Hoseok brings another piece of pizza onto his plate. “The girls bring a certain something along that just makes us all smile.”

         “I’m glad we can,” I giggle. “I love seeing you all smile and be happy. That’s all I need to be happy. Well, not really, but you get the point.”

         “All we want is too make you two girls happy,” Jungkook grins. “We will continue to work hard to do so.”

         “Next year, it will be so good to be by your sides for the big moments,” Emily says. “Mainly award shows.”

         “Ah yes,” Seokjin smiles. “We hope to win a lot of awards. We’ll see what happens.”

         “I’m sure you guys will win many awards,” I grab a breadstick and place it on my plate. “I’ll be there to congratulate you when you do.”

         “With kisses?” Taehyung tears a piece off my breadstick and shoves it into his mouth.

         “The boyfriends better get kisses,” Namjoon chuckles. “Winning an award is a huge honor, and means we worked super hard.”

         “Next year, we promise,” Emily pats Namjoon’s shoulder. “We want to go to as many away sows as possible.”

         “As long as Amber is in a dress,” Yoongi grins. “Tae has shown me pictures, and you are so cute and beautiful.”

         My cheeks heat up at his comment. “Oh, thank you Yoongi. That’s very nice of you. If we are allowed to go to an award show, and be by your sides, I’ll wear a dress.”

         “Now I want to see Amber in a dress,” Jungkook says.

         “Me too,” Jimin pushes his plate away.

         “I have pictures,” Taehyung brings his phone out of his pocket. “My jagi is so beautiful when she dresses up and when she doesn’t.”

         I giggle as Taehyung passes his phone over to the other maknae’s.

         “Amber is beautiful,” Emily smiles. “She’s starting to really understand it now.”

         “Good, it’s true,” Yoongi smiles for a few seconds.

         “What did you fall in love with first, Tae? Her looks or personality?” Seokjin asks.

         Taehyung wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “That’s tough, because it was a mixture of both.”

         “How?” Hoseok chuckles. “One or the other first, boy. You can’t go down the middle.”

         “Well, when I first saw her in the park, that’s when I developed a crush. She was cute, and her smile was amazing. As I learned more about her, that’s when I truly fell in love. That’s why I say it was a combination of both.”

         “That’s cute,” Emily leans into Namjoon. “Taehyung, you are sweet.”

         “Thank you,” Taehyung leans down and kisses my cheek.

         “Very beautiful, Amber,” Jungkook hands Taehyung’s phone back.

         “Yes,” Jimin nods. “You have to come to award shows next year and dress up like that.”

         “She’ll always be by my side next year,” Taehyung places his phone back in his pocket. “That’s a promise.”

         “Then, I can be with all of you all the time,” I giggle.

         “Sounds perfect, little one,” Yoongi says. “We need you around.”

         “As well as Emily,” Seokjin says.

         “I think Amber should sing now,” Hoseok chuckles. “It’s been a while.”

         “Actually, she should rap,” Jimin smirks.

         “Have you been practicing, jagi?” Taehyung briefly tickles my side.

         “She has,” Emily smiles. “I heard her in the shower a few days ago.”

         “I’ve been helping her get better at it,” Yoongi says.

         “Then you have to rap for us,” Jungkook slightly pouts.

         “We are in public,” I whine. “Other people can hear me, and I would rather they not.”

         “You don’t have to be loud,” Hoseok rolls his eyes.

         “What can you rap?” Namjoon asks.

         “Yoongi’s part of We are ‘Bulletproof,’” I look down at my lap.

         “We slowed down so she could do it, but she is pretty close to the normal speed,” Yoongi just barely grins.

         “Come on, Amber,” Hoseok exaggeratedly whines. “Rap for us.”

         “As long as Jungkook sings his part,” I look back up.

         “Sure,” Jungkook shrugs.

         “Not a hard requirement,” Seokjin giggles.

         “Someone bring the karaoke version of the song up on their phone,” Emily smiles.

         “On it,” Taehyung has his phone out again.

         “Just take a deep breath, no reason to be embarrassed, little one,” Yoongi nudges my foot with his.

         The music begins playing from Taehyung’s phone; my mind blanks for a split second. Namjoon mumbles his part as he rub his hand up and down Emily’s arm. Jungkook is a little more vocal, calming me down. Then it is my turn.

         I stumble a bit at the beginning, being caught off guard from being distracted by Jungkook. Once I catch myself, I fall into the rhythm of the rap. I only mess up one more time around the middle; one part I am still working on.

         The boys burst into cheers once I stop. Not a single one caring we are in public. I’m doing my best to catch my breath, and quiet the boys with Emily’s help.

         Taehyung pulls me into his lap, giving me kisses all over my face. “Amazing, jagi.”

         Yoongi looks so proud; his gummy smile has overtaken him. “Good job, little one.”

         Emily and I eventually give up trying to quiet the boys down, and laugh along with them. Tonight was a great way to end this month trip, and I can’t believe that I got to experience something so amazing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

This was such a fun chapter to write. Hope you enjoyed reading! :D