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sweetberrysmooch · 4 years ago

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HC: Call This The ‘Can This Man Cook’ Section

(….. I don’t think these men can cook 😔)

First post pog :D I wrote a majority of these super late at night, so please forgive and let me know of any mistakes you find <3 Also, it’s a little long lol

Characters: Dream, George, SapNap, Badboyhalo, Wilbur, Technoblade, Philza, Quackity, Fundy, Schlatt.

Warnings: None, except for a kinda risqué comment in Philza’s. Oh and I guess there’s mentions of eating meat in case someone wants the warning :3

Song Recommendation: I Love You So- The Walters

Hella fluffy! Hope you enjoy <3

From best to worst:

#1: BadBoyHalo-

Bad is the best at cooking on the server. He is the creme of the crop, absolute top one percent, king shit at cooking.

He can cook, bake, and temper chocolate perfectly, what more could you want?

His favorite to-go recipes are cheesy garlic bread and a special spicy chicken and rice recipe which he typically makes when the boys are over at his house for the night. When he’s with you he goes for something a little smoother, some mulled sweet berry cider with a smoked cod fillet, eaten under the light of candles while you quietly chat about life and your fellow friends. It’s always one of Bad’s most anticipated hangouts, and he’s very careful about planning when it comes to those days.

While he appreciates being complimented on his food or his skills, deep down he wants to have someone to cook and share his knowledge with so the cooking process becomes much richer. He’s cooked for so long and learned so much, but it means nothing if he can’t share it with another person. The moment you come to him and ask him for help on any kind of recipe, he’ll drop almost everything to help you.

Side note; he absolutely carried lunch and dinner for his fellow DTeam members. While Sapnap would mostly take over breakfast, Bad would be hounded by begging puppy looks from these adult men who couldn’t cook and kind of just sigh and get the ‘kiss the cook’ apron ready. It’s not like he hates it or anything, but the endearing factor kinda slips off after a few years of adult men groveling.

(Bad’s hands rest over yours, dwarfing them entirely as he helps you cut the pasta sheet straightly. “There you go!” He encourages, squeezing your hand gently and stepping away, moving back to dice the vegetables on the cutting board next to you. A comfortable silence falls, and with it comes something in Bad’s heart softening. The worries and exhaustion in his mind ease, and he slips into a contented routine of finely chopping and slicing. It’s been a while since he’s felt so calm. There’s nothing that can ruin this-

The front door slams open. Footsteps walk in and approach the kitchen and you both hear it,

“Baaaaaaaaad.” Bad cringes, taking a step back.

“Baaaaaaaaaaad, we’re hungry.” Sapnap.

“Yeah Bad, feeeeeeeed uuuuuuus.” George.

And then, from around the door frame, a white mask peeks in. Nobody says a word, but you can feel Bad deflate next to you like let go balloon.

“It’s alright, big guy.” You laugh, grabbing his forearm and leaning up against him. His sad puppy eyes make you smile a little, and you try to reassure him. “We can hang out alone another time. Let’s keep working on the pasta.” He sighs, but still returns your smile. “Yeah, another time.”)

#2: Philza

Sigh…. he can cook. Not quite as good as Bad can, but better than Quackity. A solid second place. It stems mainly from being so knowledgeable that he just knows and has tried so many different foods, but since he doesn't actually do much cooking, I'm making him a flaky second place.

Doesn’t mind cooking, but doesn’t love doing it either. He’s always focused on so many different things that he’ll forgo eating to keep working on what he’s doing. He mostly cooks for Techno and Ranboo or the few guests (you) they seem to receive. Makes great stew, and even better roasted chicken, is absolutely immaculate when it comes to cooking bird.

He didn’t teach Wilbur or Techno shit! I wish I could say it’s because he wanted to but just couldn’t, but he was literally like “hmm. Im a little busy now, maybe next year” every year!! But, this being said, if you ask him to make something with you or teach you how to cook a particular dish, he will agree to help you. Old age has really mellowed him out, and after certain events, he realizes he needs to stay a bit closer to those he cares about from now on.

He likes sweets well enough, and will always thank you for any gifts you make for him. Along with growing older, he’s had time to lose his pickiness he had in his youth. If he does end up cooking with you, he’ll prefer doing the harder recipes over easy ones. He will lose it laughing if it turns out bad, so don’t worry about any disappointment (his children make up enough of that ^^).

(“Now,” Phil starts, washing his hands quickly as you wait for him next to the cutting board. “Pufferfish needs to be prepared perfectly, or we will die when we eat it. But I don’t need to explain to you how a pufferfish works, now do I?”

When you shake your head no, he comes up behind you, tarnished wings bound and hair pulled up in a pony tail.

“The meat of a pufferfish is very delectable, and much better with a glass of wine.” He grins cheekily, “ If this works out well, which I’m sure it will, dinner will be delicious.”

It falls quiet for a second, and as your hesitantly looking over the fish that may be your last, you gasp when you feel him press up against you back and rest his chin on your shoulder. “Maybe there’ll be other delicious things to eat as well,” He murmurs into you ear, before leaning back and busting out laughing. Your face feels stupidly hot. Dilfza quest activated.)

#3: Quackity-

Quackity:

Quackity can cook. I know!! I’d say he’s like the third best cooker on the list. And he’s not half bad at baking either.

He likes making up stupid bad recipes and trying them out with you, even if at the end of it the one of you up chucks your damned creations the hour after. Despite his reigning need for chaos though, he knows how to make a decent amount of recipes and strives for praise when he’s actually putting forward effort. He’ll arrange little dinner dates (“A handsome man and his very pretty friend, good food made by yours truly, and La Chona, what do you say, baby?”) and will sit there with a 🥺 look on his face until you tell him if you liked it or not.

He tries to act like he’s unaffected by your words, but even a small, “That was really good.” will make him turn red and giggle like a schoolgirl. He tries to play it off, but it’s easy to tell he loves the complements. Will also never tell you anything you make is bad. You are a deity descended upon minecraft Earth and he is but your prettiest disciple who will uphold your honor and treat you like you should be treated!!!! But he’ll then promptly choose to help you with and guide you into cooking/baking better ^^; He loves you!

As for baking, he really likes making cakes because of how simple they can be. It helps calm him down when he can just slip into bake mode and follow a recipe and make something nice at the end of it. Speaking of, he also has a sweet tooth, but not quite as bad as Techno does. Any sweets or food you make for him is always eaten, and always held in high regard. Will try to entice you into feeding him 👀👀 so watch out.

(He’s doing it again. You try to avoid looking directly at the dopey lovesick smile Quackity has on his face at the moment, but as you lift the fork up, you get a better idea.

You look at him (to which he seems to melt a little under your gaze), look at the fork, and then back to him, raising the piece of cake up to his lips. His expression turns flabbergasted and his blush deepens.

He doesn’t seem to believe you for a second, until you nudge the cake close and flash him a smile. Then it’s like a switch has been flicked; he giggles, blushing, and eats the cake right off the fork. He’s gone back to smiling that silly smile again, this time even brighter, but it’s okay. You try to ignore the way your heart speeds up in your chest when he begs you for another piece.)

#4: Schlatt-

Another cooker~! He specializes with formal dinners more than anything else, and adores a good steak.

During his presidency, he didn’t cook very often. Quackity and you had to keep him fed through most of it, and the memory of watching you cook in his kitchen while he looked over work papers at his dining table leaves a mark on him, sealing a new crave for domesticity that he hadn’t ever wanted before.

Sometimes he would cook though. You, Quackity, and Tubbo would all gather around and eat together every once in a blue moon, when Schlatt was sober and calm. It feels tense at the table but also not in a way? Schlatt always seems to be chillest during dinner, a mix of the alcohol wearing off and the emphatic family feel that comes with Tubbo, Quackity, and you surrounding him.

He loves cake! It’s one of the few desserts he’ll eat, but you have to watch him closely or he’ll gorge himself of the treat. Indulge him and invite him to make a cake with you, and it will be one of the most interesting bakes of your life. How Schlatt got three eggs to stick to the ceiling is beyond you, but the look in his eyes tells you he’s completely fucking sober and hamming up his own cluelessness. You probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for him hiding all the other eggs around your kitchen as well. How did he get one on the top of your door without it falling when you opened it? That’s between him and god.

Overall, a good 4th place on the list.

(“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Schlatt says, deadpanned, looking you right in the fucking eyes with an undisturbed egg sitting perfectly straight on his head.

“Where are the eggs, Schlatt.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Schlatt.”

“Yes.”

The container you kept them in is completely empty on your kitchen counter, once full of eggs but now reduced to a desolate husk of its former glory. Speaking of former glories, your president turns around, arms crossed and stands there silently.

You look around. Theres one in the door handle of in the pantry, another wedged between two slices of bread in your bread box, and- oh god. On the fucking ceiling. Three, stuck to the ceiling, unmovable. After a full minute of dead silence you manage a “What the fuck have you done?”, and Schlatt turns to look.

“Oh hey. There they are.” Your mind turns into a rock, shatters, and crumbles into dust.)

#5: Dream-

Honestly if you’re looking for edible food that tastes range from ok to good Dream is your man. 5th place.

He knows a lot of ‘depression era’ type recipes just because he’s pretty homeless and his man hunts don’t allow him much time to hone his skills. Stuff like bread or mushroom stew comes easy to him after so many times of having to do it on the run. Bread is the only baking he won’t screw up.

Can cook meat well enough too, but doesn’t really do anything special to it (besides his sauces).

To elaborate: Over the unknown span of his life, he’s acquired these recipes for forgotten and questionable sauces that he’ll store in little jars and leave at your house for you to use. They’re odd, and the ingredients aren’t ever what you think might be edible, but they’re surprisingly tasty none the less. He likes to show you a new one every month or so to keep things fresh.

Pretty general about sweets, but has a severe love for chocolate, especially dark chocolate. Has never had one, but dreams about chocolate cake. It’s high on his bucket list and written another four times over.

One of his favorite things to do with you is bake, mainly because of how ruinous it always turns out. No matter your skill, Dream’s vibes decimates any luck the two of you will have while baking. It’s scientifically proven. You left the cupcakes in for a minute-JUST a minute over what they should’ve been and they came out rock solid. Dream tried to eat one anyway. Best part was watching him try to bite through the shell.)

(He thinks he’s over selling it, half-gnawing on the brown cupcake (it was supposed to be vanilla, he thought) and making stupid growls when his teeth barely break through the surface, but the feeling he gets when you start laughing hysterically next to him wipes away any negative thought he had and fills him with utter joy.

It's very late into the night, and you’re both a little loopy, but all the while you still lean against him as you giggle, the spot tingling where your hand rests on his arm.

His heart thumps crazily, before sinking. Oh god. He’s in love with you.)

#6: Technoblade-

Knows a lot, but very little. He can cook the meat perfectly fine, but there’s a difference between being cooked and tasting good. He doesn’t know how to season them. Salt is the bare minimum you get.

6th place ^^; sorry king.

He’s good with potatoes though. I like to think that the countless hours spent potato farming had to account for something. He likes having cheese and butter on them every once in a while, but for the most part just eats them salted like an animal. It’s practically a show to watch him eat a cooked potato in three bites without anything but salt on it.

Big man loves food though, even if he doesn’t eat like it. Steak and cooked fish are high on his list of foods, but only if it’s cooked by Philza. And eventually you fall into his “I trust to eat this from you” category as well, but he has a special place in his heart for Phil’s cooking. Rabbit stew is at the very top.

He also eats a lot, being 6’10 and 200 something pounds of muscle, gotta consume quite a bit to keep him moving.

As for the sweeter variety of food, he’s got a massive sweet tooth. The moment you make him an apple pie or honey candy or anything of the like, he’s immediately enamored with you. Sweet things are hard to come by on the smp, especially with how far out he lives, but it’s a secret weakness of his that is very easily exploitable.

(You’ll be the death of him, he thinks, watching you closely as you trudge your way through the freshly fallen snow towards his house. Your normal pack is lighter than it usually looks, and he worries that you may slip and hurt yourself on the ice before you make it to the door. But still, you keep walking until you're standing at his doorstep, fist raised to knock when he opens it for you.

You look surprised for a second, and then a grin splits your face and his heart races.

“I can’t stay for long,” you say, having spent at least 30 minutes to get there. “But I wanted to drop this off for you before you went out to hunt again.”

Out of the bag, you pull another smaller leather bag and hand it to him gently. It rests heavy in his palm, and for a moment he’s sure it’s ender pearls that you’ve brought him. But still he opens it, and he’s immediately taken aback by the smooth golden candies you brought him.

“They’re honey candies.” At this point you’re practically grinning. “I thought you might like some while I was making them last night.”

He doesn’t have to see his own face to feel the deep blush setting in on his cheeks and ears. You…. you’re so…… sweet. You are very…. sweet, he admits to himself, and he is very not attached to you. Not at all.)

#7: Fundy and Sapnap tie.

Fundy-

Has his old man's cluelessness but is a fast learner. He doesn’t have much time to expand his food repertoire so it’s pretty much the basic stuff that he’s eaten during the war or before that when he was younger.

He really likes cooking though, and will invite you to come cook with him for dinner or lunch if he wants to hang out. When they were together, Dream had given him an old dusty cookbook that had several recipes he hadn’t ever heard of before, so that’s where most of what he tries to make comes from. His favorite to date was a special mutton dish that he asked you to try with him on his last birthday. It was just the two of you, but he had never had so much fun before.

Doesn’t like eating fish however, there’s just some bad vibe he gets when he thinks about cooking one or catching one. (Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Desperately ignores the fish fucker. Despera-)

Loves sweet berries as treats, seeing as that’s the only sweet thing he grew up with. Not too big on other sweet flavors. Likes honey in his tea though.

7th place cooker, will get higher as he learns more dishes.

(He raises his wine high with a laugh, clinking your glass with it as you both giggle drunkenly.

The lamb you had cooked together turned out amazing, juicy and tender and flavored with crimson fungus juice. The recipe was from an old cookbook he had, he faintly remembers telling you, hiding the fact that it was Dream’s cookbook that he was given after a particularly nasty argument.

He doesn’t want to think about him, especially not while he’s with you. Especially not when it’s his birthday.

So instead he ponders the trip through the nether he took with you to harvest some of the fungi, how the juice was tangy and slightly bitter, but how it had done wonders when basted onto the meat while frying.

You had looked so happy when you two plated the dish, so proud of him, all in a way that Dream never was.

Even now, as you tiredly smile at him from across the table, cheeks pink and eyes focused solely on the moment you were sharing, he feels at peace for once. This is what contentment felt like. Oh, how he loves you so.)

Sapnap-

Shame the shit cooker. Ok ok, he’s not as bad as some of the others on this list, but that’s just because he can make a half decent breakfast. It’s not much competition.

Bad has desperately tried to teach this boy some cooking besides eggs and toast, but the only things that seem to have stuck are mashed potatoes and grilled pork chops. Neither of which he even likes enough to make often.

He prefers fish to meat, and would eat any kind of cod you offered to him. Likes smoked salmon a lot, it’s something Bad made for him a lot when he was younger. He tries to recreate the dish, but comes up short and feels disheartened when it isn’t like Bad’s. He’d appreciate any time you took with him to learn how to make the dish, and it wholly sticks to his mind afterwards. He never forgets the experience, and treasures it very closely.

Likes not-sweet sweets. Not bitter per say, but just not very sweet. He likes chewy taffy in particular, but the old lady kind that lasts 60 years but gets hard in 6 minutes after being exposed to open air. Gotta be polite about it too, or he’ll end up embarrassed and pout for an hour.

(He’s eaten 6 of those fucking taffies since you sat down on the couch, completely straight-faced as the two of you of you listen to Dream and George talking.

At this point you’re completely checked out of their conversation, solely focused on the taffy Sapnap keeps eating. Where does he even get those? How many does he have?? You’ve been friends with him long enough to have seen him pop a taffy every other second of the day. He seems to have a stash on him at all times tucked away, filled with paper-wrapped pastel covered sweets.

“Want one?” Sapnap asks, holding out a light blue taffy with a little star drawn in yellow dye on the wrapper.

“What?” Startled, you lean back a bit and realize you had been staring him down as he ate, and flush with how rude that probably seemed.

“Want a taffy? I don’t mind sharing with you, cutie.” He winks and offers the taffy again. “....” You gaze at the taffy curiously. You’ve never seen him offer another person one of his precious taffies before. Hmm. “...Yes, thanks.”

You take it delicately, unwrapping the wrapper and taking a bite of it experimentally. It’s very lightly sweet, soft and chewy and surprisingly pleasant.

Sapnap watches you from the corner of his eye, softly smiling when he sees you eat the rest of it. Glad to see someone else has good tastes around here.)

#8. George-

Meager man makes a meager meal. I said what I said!!! This flatbread boy knows diddly squat, and the only things he can cook successfully are bread and mushroom soup. Which he will make. And that’s all he’ll make. Any food that isn’t that is cooked by either Bad or Dream, and he’s still picky about it.

He’ll make you the soup and bread ladies and gents. I’m not saying they’ll taste great together, but he will definitely make them for you. Anything else he’s pretty critical about, and he doesn’t care much for treats or dessert. He does occasionally like dark chocolate though, which he and Dream will beg Bad to make for them. Soon he begs you to make it for him, and then you have to go ask Bad how he makes it so George won’t complain about how it tastes different from Bads. It’s a weird situation. You make a lot of chocolate. Dream and George linger at your house for weeks on end until you get fed up and shoo them away with a broom.

To his credit, even though he can’t cook much, he’s really proud of his mushroom stew. Any time you let him cook, his go-to is his mushroom stew. He likes to feed you and know that you’re not hungry somewhere, and to top it off he gets to show you his prized dish; not Bad’s or Dream’s stew, but his. He’s cute or whateva…

(George places the bowl down in front you, stepping back and turning to grab his own, before sitting down next to you. He immediately begins to eat, and you give him a half glance as you bring the soup up to smell it.

It… doesn’t smell that bad, actually. Not burnt, at least. You spoon some of the soup into your mouth.

Despite all you’ve seen of George’s cooking, this is pretty well made. It’s nice and warm, and the flavors are rich and the mushrooms soft. You choose to ignore the small smile of his face next to you, and keep eating your soup quietly together.)

#9: Wilbur

Wilbur can’t cook for shit. Literally nothing. This man knows apples grow from trees and that animals are made of meat and that’s it.

You think Wilbur made any of his food when he was president or exiled or ever? Not a chance. He ate anything given to him, Tubbo and Tommy absolutely brought this man all the food they could find so he wouldn’t get eat straight trash or starve throughout the presidency. Techno slid him bare cooked potatoes in Pogtopia and he thought “oh this slaps….. this is the pinnacle of food”

Which I know, not really sexy. But! This means that the moment you feed him something a step up from a bare cooked potato he is in food heaven. He especially loves saucier kinds of foods with lots of flavor and spice to them, it’s just so fucking good. Food becomes his kryptonite after you feed this silly man.

With sweets, however, he isn’t that much of a fan. He does like those small lemon creme crackers, and you and da boys are the only ppl he’ll share them with.

(You hear him before you see him. The familiar clambering at your window draws your attention away from the pork you were dicing, and one look over your shoulder shows a disheveled but grinning Wilbur.

“I hope I’m not too late for dinner.” He jokes, brushing off his pants before approaching you to press a kiss to your temple. Soon after that you hear another set of clambering, and two pairs of stomps reveals one Tommy and one Tubbo respectively.

“What’s for dinner tonight, mate?”

“Hope you don’t mind if we join in!”

You sigh, turning back to hide your smile before they can see it.)

// Hope you enjoyed! I might write a pt2 of this later with some other ppl in it lol we’ll see :3

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lilacyennefer · 4 years ago

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Insomnia

A/N: I felt the inspiration for this little story, but as I was writing it I was thinking about making it a series, so let me know what you think.

TW: none, maybe some adult language in one part

Camelot is quiet at night when everyone is asleep.

Due to you being a sorceress, you didn’t need much sleep, or none at all actually, so at nights you were alone in the castle, wandering around or spending time in the library, occasionally you practised some simple magic.

It’s not different tonight either, with a cup of red wine in your hand, you’re walking around the castle, drinking in the rich history you can feel within these walls.

You’re standing on the balcony of the main hall, enjoying the cool night air on your skin, and the calm of the darkness. You hear someone approaching, and without looking behind yourself, you know it’s Arthur, you recognise his steps even from afar.

“Trouble sleeping?” you ask him when you hear him close enough to you. He walks next to you, wearing a simple white shirt which you can almost see through it, and a dark red leather pants.

“I guess so.” Arthur replies, his voice is heavy, almost stressed. You turn towards him, his focus is somewhere far on the land as you watch him.

“Is something specific bothers you?” He sighs deeply, and shakes his head lightly.

“A lot of things.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you offer, and you truly mean it. You didn’t stuck by Arthur’s side after he defeated Vortigern, because he was fun to be around, sure that was a small part, but because every King needs a sorceress counselor in their court.

Arthur shakes his head again.

You take the last few sips from your wine before you speak “C’mon, I’m gonna help you fall asleep.”

Your statement makes Arthur raise his eyebrows, and a small smirk appears on the corner of his lips. You playfully roll your eyes, of course he thought about sex.

“Not like that.” you say, and start walking towards your chambers. Arthur follows you, and when you reach the door of your chambers, he stops at the door to wait for you.

You walk up to your table, you run your hand above the small glass of liquids, you stop when you see the ones you need, grab them, and walk back to Arthur.

“After you, my King.” you say, motioning towards his chambers. You follow him as he walks to the King’s chambers, when you reach it, he opens the door for you to walk in.

“It still feels strange.” he admits as he steps into the huge room. You know this, at the beginning Arthur slept in rooms what originally belonged to servants, it was hard for him to get used to this luxury, but slowly, after his coronation, he took his chamber.

“I know.” all you say, quietly.

After minutes of long silence, you finally speak “I have some essential oils what will help you fall asleep and relax.”

“Essential oils?” Arthur raises his eyebrows “I thought you will use magic.”

“Hmm, why would I do that when I have the gift of nature?”

“Isn’t magic nature too?”

“You know what I mean, Arthur.” you step closer to him “Do you want me to put it in your bath or you want me to rub it on you?”

“Will you join in the bath with me?”

“No.”

“Then skin.” you nod, and Arthur sits down on the bed, taking his shirt off. You try to mask the effect his naked upper body is causing in you, so you take a deep breath, then let it out before you sit down next to him on his bed.

“Reach out your hands, and turn them so your wrist is facing upwards.” Arthur does as you say, reaching his arms out and turning them as he places them in your lap.

“Essential oils are ancient history.” you start speaking as you gently rub circles on Arthur’s wrist “It goes back far to the Roman societies, and many different oils have many different benefits.” Arthur is drinking in every word of yours, his eyes are fixed hard on your face. You take one of the small bottles what you brought with you from your room and show it to him.

“This one is lavender.” you say and drop two small drops on his right wrist, and start rubbing in “Lavender has many benefits, it helps reduce anxiety, it also helps relieve pain, but most importantly, it improves sleep quality.” you massage the soft skin on Arthur’s wrist for a little longer, until you feel the oil soak into his skin.

“The other one is vanilla.” you let his wrist go and take your other small bottle, dropping a few drops on his left wrist, repeating the same actions. “Vanilla reduces hyperactivity and restlessness, it quiets your nervous system and lowers your blood pressure.”

“And it smells really good.” Arthur says in a low, deep voice.

You smile sweetly at him “Yes. It’s my favorite smell.”

“I could guess. I can always smell it on you.” with your fingers still massaging his skin, you look up at him for the first time since you sat down next to him. You feel his pulse quicken under your thumb.

“You should calm down from these, and not get yourself excited.” you gently scold him.

“Why are you keep refusing me?” he asks the question what has been bothering him since so long.

“You know why.” you say quietly.

“No, I actually don’t.” he shakes his head. You let his wrists go and drop another small drop on your finger from the vanilla essential oil and you place your finger behind his left ear, massaging the oil into his skin there.

“You’re a human, Arthur. And I’m a sorceress. We can live for hundreds of years, meanwhile you, humans, don’t.”

“I don’t care about that.” he says firmly, your thumb is still behind his ear.

“What about sorceresses not being able to reproduce? Or at least not all of us.”

“We will make Blue our heir.”

“We?” you drop your hand helplessly. “You really want me this much? That you’d end the Pendragon name for a woman?”

“You’re not just a woman, and you know this.” Arthur moves closer to you, cupping your face in one hand.

“Don’t you want to be with me?” he whispers close to your face, and you could feel yourself tighten from his question.

Do you? Do you want him? The answer certainly wasn’t easy. Can a sorceress also be a Queen? What if you really won’t be able to give him a child? But most importantly, will you be able to handle seeing the man you love getting old, and die, while you stay young and beautiful?

“You know I do.” you lick your lips “But it’s not that easy.”

Arthur is about to say something, but instead he lets out a big yawn, earning a snicker from you.

“See? My essential oils kicked in.”

“I guess so, since I’m feeling sleepier by every second.” he says, and he looks at you with his bright blue eyes, full of hope, and sleepiness.

“We will discuss this tomorrow.” he says firmly, and you nod agreeing. You get up from the bed, and watch Arthur get under the blankets, he’s almost fully asleep now.

You stop in your tracks, and walk back to his bed, lay down and place a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead.

“Sleep well, my King.” you mutter into his skin, and leave the room.

Tag list: @innerpaperexpertcloud @lady-evans @agirllovespasta @oldstuffnewstuff @claudiahxrdy @keithseabrook27 @alexa-rae-dreamz @minnicelli @woahitslucyylu

#charlie hunnam #king arthur legend of the sword #king arthur x reader #king arthur legend of the sword fanfiction

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caffeinatedbraincell · 3 years ago

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Thank you so much for the wonderfully sweet andromaquynh story! 🥰💖 if I may request more since I saw the Touch sheet and uh I’m in love:

24. Whispering in their ear, lips touching their skin, either pairing

Thank you for this ask Shatters!!! And for encouraging me along the way<3 I know it took forever but I hope you enjoy this!

Read on AO3

The door of Dr. Shukla’s office rattled. Inside, Joe took a sharp breath. Nicky threaded their hands together beneath the table, murmuring reassuringly.

A second later, the doctor walked in, large yellow folder in hand and a stethoscope slung across her neck. Joe and Nicky stood to greet her.

“Please, be seated. It’s alright,” she said, voice low and steady. “I’m Dr. Shukla, a neurologist. I have some CTs and MRIs here of Mr. Yusuf Al-Kaysani’s brain that we’ll be discussing today.”

Joe exhaled shakily as they all sat down. Next to him, Nicky cleared his throat.

“How bad is it, doctor?”

“Good and bad aren’t diagnoses, Mr.…”

“Al-Kaysani. I’m his husband. But call me Nicky, please.”

“Of course, Nicky.” She extracted the prints from the folder. “There is no easy way to put this. The truth is, the symptoms Yusuf is presenting with, and these images from his scans, make it very likely that what we’re dealing with here is early-onset dementia. Possibly Alzheimer’s.”

In the silence that followed, Joe sighed in relief. Finally, someone had said the words. It wasn’t a vague suspicion hanging over his head anymore. It was reality. They could work with reality.

Next to him, Nicky was arguing with the doctor.

“…but how can you be sure? Scans are inconclusive when it comes to diagnosing-”

“I would not have brought this diagnosis to the table if there was any better explanation for what Yusuf is experiencing. Any at all.”

“But-”

“Nicolò.” Joe moved his hand to Nicky’s thigh. He looked at the doctor. “So where do we go from here?”

Dr. Shukla leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “I will not mislead you, Yusuf. There is no cure. But there are treatments - therapies, medications, management strategies - that can slow the progression of the disease. You can still live a long and meaningful life.”

“Of course he’ll live a long and meaningful life!” Nicky exclaimed.

“Tesoro, please-”

“Look,” Dr. Shukla said. “I know this is extremely hard. For both of you. But what’s important in this moment is that you take your time to process this news and adapt to it. Be there for each other, and be patient with each other.” She stood and walked over to her computer. “I’m going to put in a prescription for something called Razelon; it’s a cholinesterase inhibitor that will reduce early behavioral symptoms and boost cognitive function.”

“Do we need to pick it up today?” Nicky asked.

“Yes. Yusuf, I’m starting you off on half a pill. We’ll see how you react to it. If it works for you, we can modify the dose as necessary going forward.”

As they stepped out of the clinic into the stinging wind, Joe pulled his coat tighter against his body. At his side, Nicky fumbled with his phone, pulling up the prescription.

“Razelon,” he muttered to himself, typing it into Google. “Look, Joe, it seems to be a fairly common and effective treatment. Actually, it’s good the doctors caught this early. I’m sure we can-”

“Nicky.”

“-make this work until something more effective comes out. Alzheimer’s research is at a revolutionary place right now and-”

“Nicky…”

“-there’s definitely going to be some new, highly effective treatments on the market in a few-”

“Nicolò!”

Nicky froze where he was reaching for his car keys, lips pressed into a thin line. “What?”

“My love, we’ve had over one thousand years together.” Joe stepped forward, gently taking his hands. “Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

Nicky shoved him away lightly. “Stop it, Joe. That’s nothing to joke about.”

“Listen-”

“No, you listen. I don’t care if it’s been a millennium. If you don’t think I’m going to fight tooth and nail for every second - every single second - we can possibly have together, then you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”

“I will fight with you, my love, I swear. But-”

“But what?”

“But I cannot watch you mourn me while I am still here. Promise me this changes nothing between us, Nicky. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m suddenly made of glass.”

“Says the person who tried to wrap me in literal bubble wrap when we discovered we were mortal.”

Joe snorted. “Touché.”

Nicky stared at him for a second. Then, he leaned forward and kissed him, slow and sweet. “Get in the car. I’ll buy you a caramel frappucino by the pharmacy, yeah?”

***

“Joe, don’t forget, Nile’s coming over at 8 tonight for dinner, so we’ll have to be back at least an hour before that.”

“I don’t know, tesoro, forgetting is kind of what I do best now,” Joe quipped from the couch.

Nicky stuck his head out of the kitchen testily. “Still not funny, you asshole.”

It has been several months since that fateful day at the clinic, and Joe could tell he was getting worse. He didn’t feel it, exactly; the Razelon was helping, and Dr. Shukla had added an antidepressant to his prescription to ward off the vague sense of dread and loss that sometimes settled in his chest.

No, Joe could tell he was getting worse because of Nicky. The way Nicky never let him make the same mistake twice. Joe had forgotten to take his medication one night, and ever since, Nicky made a ritual of bringing it to him with a glass of water after they brushed their teeth. A few mornings ago, Nicky had seen Joe walk away from the coffee machine without turning it on, and ever since, there would be a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the table before Joe woke up.

It was as if by covering for Joe enough, Nicky could pretend this wasn’t happening at all. Joe frowned deeply at the thought.

“Hey,” Nicky said, coming to sit next to Joe. “What’s wrong, hayati? Would you rather stay in today than go to the beach? I won’t mind, you know.”

Joe shook his head. “No, it’s not that, it’s…” He furrowed his brow, then sighed in defeat. “Nevermind. Let’s just go to… the place. What you said.”

“The beach?”

“Mhm. Let’s go to the beach.”

“Alright. I’ll get us a bag.” Nicky kissed Joe’s forehead gently and got up to leave.

“Nicky, wait.”

“Yes, love?”

“Is it- Am I getting a lot worse, do you think?” Joe blurted.

Nicky frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s just- You didn’t let me pay rent this month. Usually you remind me, but you did it yourself last week, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did? I don’t want to make things any harder for you than they already are. Let me be there for you in these little ways, ya qalbi.”

“You are. You’re always there for me. But you’re doing so much now, too much, and I feel like I’m not pulling my weight anymore. I don’t want to become a- a…”

“A burden?”

Joe was already shaking his head, having clocked the disappointment in Nicky’s eyes. “No! No, Nicky, that’s not what I-”

“Joe. I think we should move back to Malta.”

Joe paused, a little taken aback. “Back to Malta? Like, for good?”

“For good.”

“We’ll be far away from Nile and Booker, though.”

“They can come visit whenever they want. They’re still immortal, Joe. We’re not. I want to spend the time we have left in the place I married you one thousand years ago.”

Joe stood up and looped his arms around Nicky’s neck. He grinned as Nicky’s arms circled his waist, pulling him closer. “And you say I’m an incurable romantic.”

Nicky laughed. “So you’re okay with that, then?” he asked, hopeful eyes searching Joe’s.

“More than okay. I can’t wait, amore.”

***

Dinner with Nile was a lovely time, as always.

“How is Booker doing, sorellina?” Nicky asked as he dished second helpings of lasagne onto everyone’s plates.

“Fine,” Nile said with her mouth full. “His therapy group is taking a field trip to the Met tonight, so he couldn’t come. But he said to bring him back some food.”

Joe laughed, turning to Nicky with delight. “Sir, be sure to pack this young lady your restaurant’s finest lasagne, to-go.”

Nicky rolled his eyes. “If Booker wants food, he can come get some himself,” he grumbled, nevertheless grabbing a clean tupperware from the counter. “It’s been ages since he’s shown his face around here.”

“He wants to come all the time, I promise,” Nile reassured him. “It’s just so busy now, between jobs and therapy-”

“I keep telling Nicky we can still work the jobs,” Joe cut in. “Just because we’re mortal doesn’t mean we can’t help with intel and stuff. Or Nicky can, at least.”

“And I keep telling you it’s not necessary,” Nile countered, gentle but firm. “It’s important that you two spend this time with each other. And anyway, Booker and I are managing just fine.”

“It can’t be easy, though.” Nicky popped open a bottle of wine. “Do you mind non-alcoholic, Nile? If so, I can pull up another-”

“No, no, non-alcoholic is great. And to tell you the truth, we are taking on less now. Choosing our battles more carefully. But the ones we choose, we’re fighting them better, I think.”

Joe sat back, smiling fondly. “Good. Good. I think we’ve all been prioritizing doing a better job of living. But the offer always stands, Nile. If you two ever need some extra hands, we’re here.”

Over lasagne and wine, the conversation ebbed and flowed late into the night. It was nearly 2AM when Joe stood up, yawning.

“Bed, habibi?” Nicky asked.

“Hmm. I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Let me get you your medicine. Nile, would you mind moving the dishes to the sink? I’ll be back in a minute to wash them.”

Nile stood up, piling the dishes together. Joe and Nicky walked towards the bedroom.

As Joe settled into bed, Nicky puttered around to arrange his pills and a glass of water.

“Nicky, we forgot to tell Nile about the plan. That we’re going to move back to, uh…” Joe’s eyes widened in mild horror as he struggled to remember. “Malta! Malta. We’re moving back to Malta.”

Nicky walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He lovingly cupped Joe’s face, leaning in to rest their foreheads together.

“I’ll tell her. Here. You take this medicine and rest. I should go-”

“Do you want to see what I drew at the beach?” Joe cut in. He didn’t want Nicky to leave just yet.

“Ya amar, of course I do. Where is your sketchbook, still in the bag? I’ll get it.”

Nicky handed him the book, and Joe flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.

“It would have been better if I had colors, but…”

He held out the book to Nicky, who promptly forgot how to breathe. Done in nothing but ordinary pencil graphite was his own profile, set against the background of a stunning black and white sunset. The fading rays of light gleamed on the ocean’s surface, and the waves looked, magically, like they could move.

“Do you like it?” Joe asked. Nicky realized he’d been staring in silence. He set the book on the nightstand and wrapped a hand behind Joe’s head, pulling him in for a kiss.

“I love it,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. It’s beautiful. Everything you make is beautiful, but this one especially so. And you’re beautiful.”

Joe giggled beneath the onslaught of kisses and praise. “You’re a sap. Now go, Nile is waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“Come back soon.”

Nicky grinned. “It’s almost 3AM. I won’t be long; Nile is probably exhausted, too.”

“Tell her to stay the night,” Joe mumbled, already half asleep. “Too late to drive.”

“I’ll tell her, love. Sleep well.”

“Tell me what?” Nile asked as Nicky returned to the living room.

“To stay the night, it’s late.” He looked towards the kitchen. “Where are the dishes?”

“I washed them, they’re on the drying rack.”

“Sorellina! You are a guest!”

“I’m family. I can help with the dishes,” Nile argued, rolling her eyes.

Nicky smiled, settling down next to her on the couch. Nile shifted, curling up close to his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“How are you doing?” she asked after a beat.

“Fine, Joe’s been-”

“I said you, Nicky.”

Nicky hesitated. “I’m alright, I think. Life is not harder now, not really. It’s nice to spend our days enjoying each other’s company, without having to worry about jobs and stuff. But…”

“But?”

“I can’t shake this sense of… loss? Our every interaction is tinged with it. He is the one diagnosed, but sometimes it feels like I’m the one who’s losing my sense of reality. I feel untethered.” Nicky broke off with a dry chuckle. “He gets upset if I’m too sad around him, so I try not to show it.”

“Oh.”

“Is it terribly greedy of me, Nile?”

“What?”

“That we’ve had over a thousand years together, more than anyone else in human history, and all I can think of is that it’s not enough. That I’m not ready. That I want more.”

“Love always wants more, Nicky. And no one is ever ready, no matter how much or how little time we have. Like, Andy and Quynh, right? You knew them for centuries, I knew them for a few years. But neither of us were ready to lose them.”

“I can’t do that again, Nile,” Nicky said wearily, feeling the full weight of his years. “I can’t mourn anyone else. I can’t mourn Joe.”

“You already are.”

Nicky’s eyes snapped to hers. “Wha- what do you mean by that? He said something like that, too.”

“You’re mourning the parts of him he’s already forgotten. You’re mourning the Joe who remembered his sisters’ names. The Joe who could differentiate San Paolo ‘34 from Berlin ‘27. The Joe who-”

“Stop.” Nicky squeezed his eyes shut. “He’s still here. My Joe is still here.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Nile said. “Think about the Joe you fell in love with outside of Jerusalem, Nicky. Now think of Joe sleeping inside. Everything has changed, but you still love him. What was it you fell in love with, the one thing that’s remained constant? His body? His mind?”

“His soul.”

“And can Alzheimer’s touch that? Can death?”

Nicky sniffled. He kissed the top of Nile’s head. “You’re far too wise for your age, you know.”

“I’ve had practice,” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Let’s get you to bed, alright? Will you stay the night?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Nile ended up finding out about Malta the next morning, when Joe mentioned moving plans to Nicky over breakfast.

“You didn’t tell her last night, tesoro?”

“I meant to. But I guess we were all really tired.”

“I think it’s a great idea. When are you two planning to move?” Nile asked.

“As soon as possible. Joe and I were looking at flights for this weekend.”

Nile nodded. “Booker and I can help you pack. How’s tonight?”

“Fine, if a bit early. We don’t have that much stuff,” Joe said between sips of coffee. “At least not here. There are some things in the safehouses…”

“Sure. You and Nicky make a list whenever you’re free, and I’ll make a few trips with Booker and ship everything to the Malta address.”

“You’re an angel, sorellina,” Nicky said.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Joe looked back and forth between them, trying to memorize this moment. Nicolò di Genova is reading the paper, he thought. Nile Freeman is eating toast. Nile is married to Sebastien Le Livre, whom we call Booker. Booker isn’t here because he was- he had-

“Did Booker send you any pictures from the Met?” Nicky asked Nile.

Ah. He’d gone to the Met with his therapy group.

Nile shook her head. “A few cute ones they took outside, but I think the exhibit they went to see didn’t allow photography. He’ll probably have some brochure pictures to talk our ears off about later, though.” She smiled fondly. “It’s our turn to bring something over for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” Nicky argued. “I love cooking for you guys. Let me make dinner. You’ll be stuck with your own cooking once we leave for Malta, anyway.”

Nile gasped in mock offense. “Well, someone has an inflated sense of their own abilities.”

“Habibi, listen, she’s disparaging my cooking,” Nicky complained.

“You insulted her first, my love. If you can dish it, you’d better take it.”

Nile laughed at the look of utter betrayal on Nicky’s face as she walked her empty plate to the sink.

“I’m gonna head out,” she said. “I’ll be back with Booker around 7. And fine, looks like dinner’s on you, Nicky.”

“I’m making poisoned mushroom risotto.”

“Suit yourself, I’m not the one who’s mortal.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nicky muttered around a grin as Nile and Joe high-fived. “See you later, Nile.”

***

Midnights were Nicky’s favorite part of Malta. The sky hung heavy like a black velvet blanket, and the sparkle of the stars reminded him of Joe’s eyes.

In the months since they’d arrived, Joe’s health had taken an undeniable turn for the worse. They’d talked to Dr. Shukla and doubled his dose of Razelon. Soon after, they’d doubled it again. But the disease progressed with a vengeance of lifetimes, as if it was trying to recompense Joe’s immortality by cutting his mortal life short.

Nowadays, Nicky almost never left Joe’s side, from waking him up in the morning, to bathing him, to feeding him, to taking him on long walks to visit their favorite places.

And truly, there was nowhere he’d rather be. But Nicky was wracked with guilt over the terrifying intensity with which he missed Joe. He found himself clinging fervently to Joe’s few and far-between moments of lucidity, dreading the day when Joe would look at him and no longer remember his name.

A tear startled Nicky as it slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, leaning over the balcony railing and breathing in the sleeping city.

“Nicky?”

Nicky whirled around. “Joe? You’re not asleep?”

“I woke up. I- I missed you.”

“Oh, my love, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d wake up. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

As they settled back under the covers together, Joe reached for Nicky’s hand and squeezed gently.

“What is it, hayati?”

“Nicky, I need to tell you something.”

Nicky turned to face him. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

There was a tense pause. Then-

“Do you know how much I look forward to this, Joe? These brief minutes when you’re present, fully alert and oriented? Tell me, have I waited for this moment only to hear you say those words?”

“I just- I want you to know that you can leave. This is only going to get worse, Nicky. You didn’t sign up to change my diapers.”

“I didn’t sign up for immortality, either. But I embraced over a thousand years of it, Joe. Because I was in it with you.”

Joe rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling and blinking back tears.

Nicky groaned, propping himself up on an elbow. “Listen here, you idiot. I know I can leave. I could’ve left when you offered me your hand outside of Jerusalem. I could’ve left when we had our first fight. I could’ve left when we lost Quynh. I could’ve left after WWII, when we became so depressed that we could hardly stand the sight of each other.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t. I love you, Joe. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

“And if I say I do want you to?”

“I’d tell you not to be a martyr.” Nicky sighed in frustration. “What would you do if it were me, Joe? Would you walk away?”

Joe’s breath hitched. He immediately shook his head.

“Why?” Nicky barrelled on. “Because of some twisted sense of morality? Because of some obligation-”

“Because I love you, amore. I would suffer a hundred deaths to spend just one hour more in your arms.”

Nicky slowly lay back down. He cupped Joe’s tear-stained cheek, tenderly guiding their lips together in a warm kiss.

“See? Can we drop this, now?”

Joe nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, ya qalbi.”

They drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, exchanging quiet kisses and hums of contentment. The next morning, Nicky realized he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

It was their wedding anniversary. Their original wedding anniversary, the approximate date they’d gotten married in Malta over a thousand years ago.

Nicky had meant to be absolutely insufferable about it, to go on and on about it from at least three days prior. That way, Joe would remember. He wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of forgetting, or the reality that his dementia no longer afforded him keeping track of the date.

Instead, Nicky had all but forgotten as well, only to be jarringly reminded by the date flashing on his phone.

He cursed as he fiddled with the coffee machine, analyzing his options. First option, he could simply remind Joe that today was their anniversary. Slip it into casual conversation or something.

But then he imagined Joe’s eyes going wide with shock and sadness as it sunk in that this is where they were at, now. He imagined Joe apologizing profusely for not planning anything special for Nicky. He imagined the guilt that any further attempts to celebrate would be tinged with, and that just wouldn’t do.

Second option, Nicky decided. He would simply not say anything. They’d treat this just like any other day, and what Joe didn’t remember wouldn’t hurt him. Something ugly twisted in Nicky’s gut at the thought that this could be their last anniversary together, but he stubbornly shoved it down. He could do this for Joe.

“Nicky?” Joe’s voice echoed down the hall. Nicky quickly switched on the coffee machine and returned to their bedroom.

“You’re awake already, love. Did you sleep well?”

Joe nodded, looking a little dazed. Slowly, his eyes focused on Nicky. He smiled. “Can we go brush my teeth? I want to kiss you.”

Nicky laughed, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “How about a kiss first, beautiful?”

Joe’s smile went soft, his gaze drifting languidly to Nicky’s lips. “Okay.”

Nicky reached for Joe’s hand as they kissed, threading their fingers together. Joe made a small noise of happiness, draping his other arm over Nicky’s shoulder and pressing closer.

This is enough, Nicky realized with startling clarity. This is more than enough for celebrating today. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

***

Awareness was strange for Joe, these days. Dr. Shukla had told him that no two people experience Alzheimer’s the same way; it was better to observe what happens than to expect a specific process.

These days, life often felt like working on the corner of a painting, some zoomed-in fragment for his mind to get lost in. He would zone out and zone back in, switching between his immediate reality and some dark, floaty place deep inside his consciousness. Any concept of the “bigger picture” seemed uncannily absent.

It would be terrifying, he knew, if not for Nicky. My husband, Joe thought fondly. That, at least, he had not forgotten yet.

Joe’s body still remembered perfectly well what his mind could no longer articulate. Nicky’s hand in his hand, Nicky’s lips on his lips. The instinctive way he’d reach out for comfort and find Nicky there, calm eyes and steady arms and gentle smile.

“Joe?”

With tremendous effort, Joe pulled himself out of his thoughts, trying to focus on the voice. “Hmm?”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t strain yourself.” Nicky rested a hand on Joe’s shoulder, and he immediately relaxed. “I’m making pastizzi. You remember pastizzi?”

Joe furrowed his brow. He doubted the word alone would have meant anything to him, but combined with the savory smell wafting from the kitchen, a fuzzy memory clicked into place.

“Favorite.”

Nicky chuckled softly. “That’s right. It’s your favorite.”

“Special. It’s for special days. Is today something special?”

Nicky startled like a deer in headlights. “Uh, wha- Yes! Of course it is.” He leaned down to kiss Joe’s curls. “Every day with you is so, so special, my love. It goes without saying, does it not?”

Joe grinned guilelessly, taking Nicky’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Is Andromache coming?”

“Andromache is not here, sweetheart.” Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe, swaying gently from side to side. “It’s just us, for now.”

“That sounds nice, too.”

“What do you want to do after breakfast today?”

“Draw. I want to draw you. But can we take a nap first?”

“Of course.” Nicky unwound his arms from Joe and walked into the kitchen. “You got up too early today, habibi. I told you, you should rest more. You’ll be tired all day, otherwise.”

“I only like to sleep with you, tesoro.”

Nicky barked out a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Here, let’s eat. Then we’ll nap together.”

Joe enjoyed breakfast, taking comfort in the familiar, grounding taste of Nicky’s homemade pastizzi. And he definitely enjoyed falling asleep in his husband’s arms, head pillowed on Nicky’s chest, bathed in the late morning sunlight.

When Joe woke up, it was in one of those increasingly rare and precious moments of clarity. Nicky lay beside him, still fast asleep. Joe stared unabashedly, marveling at how Nicky managed to look even more soft and peaceful than usual in his sleep. He reached for his sketchbook and began drawing.

As the hours passed, portraits turned into poetry, and poetry into letters. Joe wondered, for a moment, if he should wake Nicky up for lunch, but he was loath to disrupt the little rest that Nicky managed to get these days.

Instead, Joe sat quietly by his side, taking advantage of his own lucidity to write a letter to Nile and Booker. He vaguely recalled Nicky mentioning that they would visit at some point, and he wanted to make sure he could convey what he wanted to say to them.

Just as Joe was wrapping up, Nicky stirred beside him.

“Joe?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Sono qui.”

Nicky glanced at the bedside clock. He scrambled to sit up, gently taking Joe’s face in his hands.

“Hayati, why didn’t you wake me? It’s three in the afternoon! Oh my love, aren’t you hungry? Did you drink water today?”

Joe smiled, kissing Nicky softly. “I went and drank water. I accidentally dropped a glass, though-”

“That’s alright.”

“-and don’t worry, I’m not hungry yet. Breakfast was very filling. You looked so relaxed sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you for no reason.”

“I’m so sorry, Joe, I didn’t mean to crash like that. How long have you been up?”

“Since noon. But please, amore, don’t apologize. You deserve to rest.” Nicky opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Joe pushed on. “Do you want to see what I drew? And I wrote you a poem, can I read it to you?”

Nicky’s expression softened, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. “Absolutely, Joe. Show me everything you’ve sketched and written. Then we can go out for a late lunch, okay?”

To Joe’s immense satisfaction, the mental fog largely stayed away for the rest of the day. There were moments, of course, when all he could do was hold Nicky’s hand and follow his footsteps, mind eerily blank except for the buzz of physical sensation right beneath the surface.

But for the most part, Joe was present. He recognized by name the café they stopped by for lunch and the restaurant they went to for dinner. In between, when they visited il-Moskea, Joe was able to pray properly for the first time in weeks. Nicky had prayed alongside him, and as Joe listened to the quiet recitation of Quran verses from his lips, peace had seemed so easy. So reachable.

“Lean forward, hayati,” Nicky murmured. The moment they’d come home, Nicky had started a hot bath for Joe. Joe complied, leaning forward until the lightly scented bubbles tickled his beard. “Feels good?” Nicky asked, swiping a washcloth over his back.

“So good. Ti amo, Nicky.”

“Ti amo tanto. Now lean back, let’s rinse.”

“Did we- did we used to do this before?”

“What, bathing?” Nicky teased.

“Shut up. I mean, bathing each other. It feels familiar. An ancient ritual from way before I got sick.”

“Hmm.”

“But I can’t remember, Nicky. I visit the place in my heart where I stored those memories, and it’s empty. Like they’ve been stolen.”

Joe heard the distress creep into his tone, and he was sure Nicky could hear it, too. Sure enough, Nicky set the washcloth down and cupped Joe’s face.

“Hey, shhh. Just breathe, my love. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I feel like I keep hurting you when I forget important things about us. I don’t want to make you sad. But I can’t help it, Nicky, I don’t know-”

“Joe, ya amar, this isn’t your fault. You never make me sad, do you hear me? And it’s okay if you can’t remember. Getting to be here with you, in this moment, is so much more important to me than anything that came before.”

Joe lowered his eyes, unconvinced.

Nicky sighed. “Hey. The water is getting cold. Let me get your towel from the dryer, I’ll just be a moment.”

Seconds after Nicky left, his phone buzzed, sliding from the toilet lid to the floor. Joe frowned, extending a shaky arm out of the tub to put it back.

But as he picked up the phone, Joe caught sight of the date. June 18th. His frown deepened. June 18th, June 18th, June 18th…

Joe had no idea how he did it, but somehow, he managed to put two and two together. The pastizzi for breakfast. Their favorite restaurants. The trip to the mosque. The way Nicky’s hands had been impossibly gentler today, the way his eyes shined even softer with love.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s our anniversary?” Joe demanded as soon as Nicky set foot in the bathroom.

Nicky froze. “Joe. How in God’s name did you remember that?”

“I figured it out.”

Nicky set the freshly washed towel on the toilet lid and knelt by the tub. “Joe-”

“You were celebrating it without telling me.” Joe sniffled, mortified to feel tears pooling in his eyes. Of all the things dementia had taken from him, this had to be the worst. He hadn’t even bought Nicky a present.

“Yusuf, please. Please let me explain?” Nicky begged, reaching into the tepid water to hold Joe’s hands.

Joe shook his head, feeling the tears slip loose. Nicky drew a shaky breath, leaning forward to kiss them away. He was crying, too, Joe realized with a start.

“Perdonami, my heart. Perdonami. I didn’t think you’d remember. I didn’t say anything because you would have been devastated that- that it’s gotten this bad. I couldn’t bear you blaming yourself for something so utterly out of your control.”

Joe didn’t reply.

“Joe, listen to me. It’s just a date on the calendar, my love.”

“I don’t want to forget you,” Joe whispered.

A sob caught in Nicky’s throat. He pulled off his shirt and stepped into the tub, wrapping Joe in his arms. Joe tucked his face into Nicky’s neck and cried like a baby.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Nicky croaked, rocking them back and forth. “Everything will be okay.”

It was late by the time they dried off and made it to bed, not bothering with clothes. Joe watched as Nicky put a second comforter at the foot of their bed, in case it got cold during the night. When they were finally snuggled together beneath the covers, Joe spoke.

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“If- when I forget you, will you forgive me?”

Nicky pulled him closer, inhaling deeply as he tangled a hand in Joe’s hair. “There will be nothing to forgive, hayati.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose-”

“I know, Yusuf. I know. You never need to explain yourself to me.”

“Nicolò, promise me that- promise me that you won’t forget. Please don’t forget me.” Joe muffled a whimper, pressing closer until he could feel Nicky’s heart beating against his chest.

There was a long silence. When Nicky spoke, his voice was the steadiest Joe had ever heard.

“My beloved, I promise you that I will not forget. Whether or not you remember, whether or not you can even tell I’m there, I will be at your side for as long as we have together. I will take care of you in every way I know how. And when there is nothing left to do, I will honor your memory until my dying breath. I promise.”

Joe couldn’t reply, couldn’t breathe, as he felt his eyes well up again. His husband rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, and gradually, the moment of terror passed. Joe relaxed into the sensation, falling asleep to the rhythm of Nicky’s heart and the echo of his magnanimous words.

***

“He doesn’t speak much, now,” Nicky briefed Nile and Booker as he helped carry their overnight bags in. “You’ll have to introduce yourselves.”

Months had passed since their anniversary, and Nicky was adjusting to this new life right alongside Joe. Their dynamic had changed, but their love had not.

Joe no longer walked up behind Nicky and hugged him while he cooked. Nicky no longer woke up at 2AM to find Joe hunched over his sketchbook, struck by some untimely inspiration. They’d never had much need for words, but now, verbal conversation was even rarer.

Instead, they spoke the well-loved language of gentle touches, of midday naps wrapped in each other’s arms. A spontaneous kiss never failed to make Joe smile, and Joe’s smile was enough to make Nicky’s entire day. Their interactions fell back on a bedrock of trust one thousand years in the making. Of course there were bad days - days colored with grief and sickness and loneliness - but far more often, Nicky found his heart flooded with quiet gratitude.

“Hello, Joe,” Nile said, kneeling in front of Joe’s chair and taking his hand. “I’m Nile. It’s lovely to see you.”

Joe said nothing, but his lips curved up in a tentative smile. Booker came forward and knelt next to Nile.

“Hey, buddy. It’s Booker. Long time no see. I don’t know how much of this you understand, Joe, but I hope you know that we love you. So, so much.”

“Hmm,” Joe grunted softly. He turned his other palm over in his lap, as if in invitation. Booker wrapped his hands around Joe’s, eyes shining as he brought it to his lips with reverence.

“I think he knows, Booker,” Nicky smiled fondly. “Come on, I made rice. You two must be hungry from the long plane ride.”

It was later that night, after everyone had eaten and napped, that Nicky remembered about the letters. Joe sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, watching with interest as Nicky, Nile, and Booker played Snakes & Ladders on the coffee table.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Nicky exclaimed.

“What?” Nile asked.

“No, no, no - stop trying to distract us,” Booker said shrewdly. “You’re about to land on that snake and you know it. No cheating.”

Nile laughed. “He’s right. Take the fall, old man. You’re back to square five. Come on.”

Nicky scowled, sliding his piece all the way down the board. He’d been so close to winning.

From the couch, Joe snickered. Nile and Booker looked at him in surprise.

“He understands what’s going on?” Booker asked incredulously.

“Just enough to know when to laugh at me.” Nicky rolled his eyes, stopping to kiss Joe’s forehead as he walked away. A soft smile melted across Joe’s face, and he snuggled deeper into his blanket.

“I didn’t think he could get any more adorable, but here we are,” Nile commented. “Joe, you’re a sap, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” Nicky countered as he returned with the envelopes. “Remind me again what you gave Booker for your last anniversary?”

“A five-page poem comparing our love to the heavens from five different religious traditions,” Booker bragged. “It was the best thing I’ve ever read.”

Nile blushed furiously. “Alright, alright. Point taken. Hey, what are those?”

Nicky held up the envelopes. “Joe wrote us letters a few months back. One is for you two, and the other one is for me. But he said I couldn’t open mine until I gave you guys yours.”

Nicky handed Nile one of the envelopes and slipped the other into the pocket of his hoodie. Joe watched with mild curiosity, clearly not recognizing the letters.

“Should we call it a night?” Booker asked. “It’s nearly 1AM.”

“Quitting while you’re in the lead, Book?” Nicky teased. “But no, I think that’s a great idea. Joe would normally have slept hours ago.”

“He doesn’t look tired,” Nile observed.

“That’s because he’s entertained. He loves when people visit.”

The four of them walked towards the bedrooms. Nile and Booker waved goodbye to Joe as Nicky guided him into their room, before continuing down the hallway to the guest room.

“Nicky’s set everything up for us,” Nile appreciated. “These sheets are so soft.”

“That man works too hard. I worry about him.” Booker ran a hand through his hair fretfully. “I don’t know, Nile, I feel like we should hang around here more. Help Nicky out, spend more time with Joe.”

Nile stepped out of her clothes and curled up under the covers. Booker followed suit.

“We could,” she agreed. “I would appreciate the change of pace. And of course, having the family together will be nice.”

“But you would get restless.”

“Me and you both, Book.” Nile turned to face him, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I know, I know the point of immortality isn’t to fight all the time. But when we’re not fighting, I feel like we’re wasting this gift.”

“Yeah. I’ve had centuries longer to get used to immortality, and I still feel that way.”

“Maybe we could visit more often?”

“Hmm,” Booker smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Hey. Should we open Joe’s letter?”

“Oh, yeah! Definitely.” Booker propped himself up against the headboard, holding out an arm to Nile. She snuggled up next to him, carefully opening the envelope.

“Here we go.”

***

There were good days, and there were bad days. Nicky had spent centuries caring for the world, and now, he savored the years he’d been given to care for his world.

Nile and Booker visited more now, and Nicky sensed, deep down, that something had changed. Late-stage Alzheimer’s had not been easy on Joe - the darkness that came with cognitive decline was an extremely unpleasant experience for someone who preferred putting their emotions into words. And then, as Joe’s motor skills wore down, he’d found himself increasingly cut off from his art. Nicky had ached for him, helpless to provide much relief.

But these days, there was a calmness about Joe that hadn’t been there before. The anxiety gave way to an aura of peace, especially when Joe could see or hear Nicky nearby. Often, Nicky would stop whatever he was doing to just come sit with Joe, trying to absorb some of his serenity. It was like being in the presence of someone deep in meditation.

One night, Nicky returned to their bedroom after doing the dishes to find Joe sitting up against the headboard.

“Still awake, hayati?” He shook out the sheets as he undressed for bed, not expecting a response.

“Nicolò.”

Nicky froze. Surely he’d hallucinated that; it had been over a year since Joe was able to recognize him by name. He didn’t dare look up.

“Nicolò, my beloved,” Joe repeated, voice hoarse with disuse. Nicky closed his eyes, clamping down on a sob. He tossed the sheets aside and crawled into bed, reaching for Joe.

“What is it?” Nicky asked as he took Joe’s hands in his own, kissing his cold knuckles. “Tell me.”

“It’s time.”

“No,” Nicky shook his head, wrapping his arms around Joe. He was utterly unprepared for this. “No, no, please God, please, no…”

Nicky clung to Joe, sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. This couldn’t be happening. This was madness. A nightmare, Nicky decided - a particularly torturous nightmare that he would soon wake up from. And Joe would be next to him, perfectly fine, their lives untouched by this ugly monster of a disease.

When he finally calmed down enough to pull back, Nicky found Joe watching him, eyes round with unshed tears. The moment of lucidity had passed, Nicky realized. All Joe could see now was his seemingly causeless distress.

Joe tightened his grip on Nicky’s arm minutely in a silent question, and Nicky almost wanted to laugh. Even now, Joe was still checking in with him.

“It’s nothing, love.” Nicky wiped his eyes quickly. “Let’s sleep, yeah? You must be tired.”

Nicky helped Joe lie down on his back before lying down next to him. He pulled Joe closer, gently kissing the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” Nicky murmured, the words feeling like too much and not enough. “I’m going to tell you a story tonight, okay?”

Joe grunted his assent, already half asleep. Nicky closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to ground himself. He thought back to Joe’s letter, to the words he’d memorized the very night he read them.

When the time comes, amore mio, I ask that you hold me close. And speak to me, please. I want to hear everything - how we met in Jerusalem, our adventures with Andy and Quynh, all the bets you lost to Booker, the delight on Nile’s face when you let her use the paints you’d preserved from the 1500s. I want to hear about all the times we got married, and all the anniversaries we celebrated. Most of all, Nicky, I want to hear your voice. I want to move on from this world surrounded by you, your beautiful voice, your loving hands.

And in case I can’t tell you then, I love you. Deep down, I think I’ve always loved you, even before we made peace. And I know I will always love you, be it in this world or the next. Please never doubt this, my all. I love you so much.

Nicky struggled for a moment to regain control, overwhelmed at the memory. Then, lips touching Joe’s ear, he began to speak. He held Joe in his arms as he whispered their story into the silence of the night. Joe sighed deeply in his sleep, pliant in Nicky’s embrace.

Nicky had no idea how long he continued on - hours, at least. There was so much to say. He talked and talked until he fell asleep next to Joe, right where he belonged.

***

“Abort mission,” Nile hissed into the comms. “Code Red. Meet me at the checkpoint ASAP.”

Minutes later, Booker jogged up to the checkpoint. “What happened? Are you okay? I’d almost gotten through-” Booker stopped, noticing Nile’s tear-streaked face. His tone softened immediately. “Mon amour, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Nile sniffled. “Joe’s gone, Book. He’s gone.”

Booker staggered backwards like he’d been slapped. “Gone?! What the fuck do you mean, gone?”

Nile pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Voicemail.” She held out her phone.

Booker put the phone to his ear and listened. He heard Nicky’s voice, quiet and anguished, but felt oddly removed from the whole situation. What language was Nicky speaking? It sounded like Italian, so why wasn’t it making sense?

“Hey, Book? Talk to me, love. Hey.”

Nile’s voice, Booker thought. It sounded like she was talking to him through a very long cardboard tube. His vision swam. Everything seemed so distorted.

“Booker!”

The next thing he knew, Booker was blinking up at Nile from the ground, head half in her lap.

“Do not pass out on me,” Nile muttered through gritted teeth. “Get up, Book, please. I can’t do this. Not alone. Please.”

Booker felt an itch on his cheek, but when he reached up to scratch it, his hand came away wet with tears. Nicky’s words, tinny and wrecked with sorrow, floated back into his head.

It suddenly struck him that Nicky was an ocean away, alone with his grief. Booker pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Nile.

“Come on. We have to go to Malta.”

They fought on the trip, during a two-hour layover in Spain. Exhausted, hungry, and grieving, it was no surprise their tempers ran unusually short.

“What do you mean, let him be?” Nile assuredly did not yell. She was simply disagreeing loudly. “He’s lost his life partner of a thousand years, Book! He needs support - he needs family.”

“And what makes you think we can be that for him? What makes you think we can even start to fill the void left by Joe’s absence?!”

“It’s not about filling the damn void-”

“You don’t know what it’s like! When I lost my mortal wife, I felt like I’d lost everything! Even though I had Andy, and Joe, and Nicky, and- and you.”

“You were entitled to your grief, Book. So is Nicky. But I lost people too, so don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what it’s like. I’m immortal, too. I’ve lost my parents. It’s not just you.”

“No, that’s not- Listen! It took me centuries, centuries, to overcome that grief. I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice. All I’m saying is… Nicky has a choice, Nile. He’s mortal.”

Nile’s eyes went wide. “So you’re saying we just- let him take his own life?!”

“I’m saying it’s not our decision to make! And it’s not… morally wrong or something if he chooses that. Look, chronic pain is real, Nile, whether it’s physical or emotional. Everyone who can has a right to opt out.”

“This isn’t the same thing as euthenasia, Book.”

“It’s not so different either, is it?”

There was a minute of silence as they stared daggers at each other across the terminal bench. Then Booker sighed.

“They’re closer than we could ever imagine, Nile. They’re one soul, two bodies. If he wants to go, we have to let him go.”

Nile sat down, running a hand down her face in devastation. “What about the letter?”

“What letter?”

“You know what letter. Joe’s letter. He asked us for one thing, Booker. One thing only. And that was that we don’t let Nicky die of a broken heart.”

“It doesn’t matter. Joe’s not here. Nicky is.”

“How could you dismiss his last wishes like that?”

“Nile, look at me. What do you think Joe wants above all else? What’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted?”

“For Nicky to be happy,” Nile whispered after a beat. “Love, can’t we at least try? Can’t we just… be there for him?”

“Of course,” Booker said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. “Of course. But we cannot choose for him, amour. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Okay,” Nile sniffled, not entirely convinced. “Okay. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m just really…” Booker waved a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “Broken. I feel broken. Like I’m not myself.”

“I understand. I feel like that, too.”

“Hey. We don’t board for another 20 minutes. Can I get you a coffee?”

Nile managed a tired half-smile. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

***

In the end, it took four days of sleeping on Nicky’s couch for them to convince Nicky to drink water. It was another two days before he could keep down any food.

On the ninth day, Nicky broke down in front of them for the first time, crying his heart out as Booker and Nile just held him, murmuring gentle nothings and waiting out the tears.

They decided, at length, to take the year off from missions. They stayed with Nicky in the large house, trying to make it feel less empty. The grief would hit each of them at different times, and when it did, the other two would be there, always ready to lend a shoulder to cry on.

Within a year, the depression was slowly starting to lift. None of them had quite moved on, but they were very deliberately trying to make peace with this new reality.

Nicky fell back on simple rituals. Across from his bed, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night, he pinned up one of Joe’s charcoal self-portraits. Nicky loved it for how raw and alive it was in its beauty; not simply an image of Joe, but one that still carried traces of his fingertips in the sweeping strokes, the perspective of his eyes in the lighting.

Every morning, Nicky would kiss the tips of his fingers and press them to the bottom of the portrait in benediction. Then, he would close his eyes, letting the love and sorrow flow freely in his chest for a few minutes.

“I will see you again, hayati,” he would say. “Wait for me by the gates of Heaven, just as you did by the gates of Jerusalem. I will be with you again soon.”

It was a ritual that Nile and Booker supported wholeheartedly.

“Tell Joe to say hi to Andy for me,” Booker would add.

“Tell Joe I miss him. No one else will geek out with me over the Impressionist Movement,” Nile would grumble.

Sometimes, Nicky thought, it was like Joe was simply away on a mission. Like he would walk back through the door at any moment.

“Maybe he never left,” Nile mused once when Nicky voiced this thought. The three of them were sitting on the veranda, sipping hot tea and watching people mull about on the street.

Nicky frowned. “I want his soul to be at peace, Nile. Not wandering around like a ghost.”

“You know what they say. Not all who wander are lost.”

“I do feel like he’s here, sometimes,” Nicky confessed. “People say that your loved ones never truly leave you, that they stay alive in your heart, but I always figured it was a metaphor. I never imagined it could feel so real.”

“Can I ask you something, Nicky?” Booker’s voice shook slightly with hesitation.

“Hmm, go ahead.”

“How- how did you survive?”

Nicky rubbed his eyes. “Joe would never forgive me if I didn’t. That was the main reason. But I also believe that this is my penance.”

“For what?”

“For how we met. For what I did to him, to his people, his family. All this pain - being without him, mourning him - this is what finally cleanses me of my actions. It hurts, every day it hurts, but I can’t bring myself to run from it.” He stared down into his tea for a long moment. “I will continue on until it is my time, because it’s what my Joe would have wanted.”

***

Three years after Joe’s passing, Nicky finally gathered the courage to sort through his things. As he carried a stack of notebooks from the closet to the bed, one slipped to the ground and fell open.

Nicky set the others down and picked it up, running his fingertips over the page. It was a poem, written in Joe’s familiar cursive.

Empires rise and fall In a blink of God’s eye, The laws of nature bend As what’s mortal becomes divine. And the realization dawns When I see I’m left behind, Humankind’s greatest inheritance Is losing something to time.

As Nicky contemplated this, his cell phone blared to life on the nightstand. He reached for it distractedly.

“Hello?”

“Nicky,” Nile gasped on the other end.

“Nile? Dio, isn’t it like 3AM there?”

“Yeah, I woke up. How fast can you get to Medina?”

“Uh… I could book a flight for a few hours out?”

“Great, do that. Booker and I are already on the way to the airport.”

“Wha- Nile, slow down. What’s going on?”

There was a brief pause. Then-

“We had this dream. There’s a new one.”

16 notes · View notes

riofann · 4 years ago

Text

Rio Random 2.0

Part 1

Once again you and Aunt Brenda are at a tennis tournament. It had been weeks since your last interaction with Rio

“So what’s going on with you and that fine young thing what’s his name?”

“Don’t know who you’re talking about” you fib

“You know that one with the tattoos”

You sigh “Rio Aunt Brenda?”

“Yes, yes him. Mr.Rio”

You shrug “I don’t know.... nothing”

“Have you even tried talking to the man” by now she knew the details of how you two met and how you three found yourself in this situation

“I don’t want to be lied to”

“You never know he might tell you the truth honey” she retorts playfully hitting your arm

“No he lied for so long what’s the difference now?”

“Maybe the difference is that he no longer has to lie and you two can move forward”

“Can we just watch the match”

She puts her hands up “Sure sure but it would be a shame to let that go”

Your head whips around and now you’re beyond irritated. It was hard enough trying to get over him, her talking about him wasn’t helping “It was a shame for him to lie to me whose side are you on?”

“Yours! Yours! I'm sorry honey. I just want to see you happy” she soothes sensing your irritation

You’re shoulders slump and you lean into her “I know”

“Just reach out”

You take in a deep breath as you think about it.

~~~~~You took the leap of faith and did as Brenda instructed you two were to meet at the local restaurant a little upscale, quiet and private. However you find yourself wanting to curse him out the second you see him.

He rushes over “heeyyy mama” he says smiling at you

You cut your eyes at him “30 minutes!” you scold

He chuckles “I’m sorry”

“30 minutes Rio and you couldn't send a text, been blowing me up to meet and then you show up 30 minutes late?!.... wow”

He leans over and kisses your cheek “tranquilo mami”

He knows what that does to you and immediately you take in a deep breath and blow out slowly

“I'm sorry okay i was handling something” he says as he seats across from you

“Okay”

“You look good” he compliments

“Order your food!” you bark now hangry

“Si mami”

“Don’t” you roll your eyes

He chuckles “my bad my bad”

You sit and watch as the waiter walks up and he orders his food putting his phone face down he leans back on his chair “so what’chu wanna talk to me about?”

You shrug “Nothing now”

“Come on I said i'm sorry” He gets up and pulls the chair closer to you, so instead of sitting across from you, now he was to the right of you.

“Why didn't you send a text?”

“I couldn't”

“Why not?”

He leans forward, staring you down “Y/N” he gives you a look “cuz i couldn’t”

And for a moment you had forgotten who he was and what he did

“Oh” you utter coming to the realization of just why he couldn’t

“Yea I’m sorry I’ll make it up to you”

“Okay”

“So......” he drawls leaning back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink

“Sooo you dance and play tennis?”

He smiles “yea calms my nerves”

“What could possibly make you nervous you're Rio”

“You have no idea” He smirks

“What else?”

“What else what?”

“What else do you do that I don't know”

“I prefer you don’t find out and I’m not bout to tell you”

You roll your eyes “Anyway....Why did you lie to me?”

“So you don’t have any other hobbies”

“I prefer you find out the natural way, I don’t want to have to tell you”

“It's complicated”

“We have time......” you say as you cut the appetizer with your knife and fork “....or do you have something else to prioritize” you speak with an attitude laced in your words. He hates to admit it but he missed your sass. It was always funny to him the pencil pushing good girls had the worst mouth on them.

He smirks and sits up straight. “I’m here”

“So I was some sort of front?” you had slowly pieced things together however you didn't know why

“Yea at the beginning but not anymore”

You can’t help but roll your eyes “Please”

He sits up and leans closer to you “Stop rollin yo eyes at me” he speaks so calmly but there's a threat lying underneath that tone

You huff “Fine”

“I aint lying to you tho”

You look at him for a moment before you decide to speak again and resist the urge to roll your eyes. It's more difficult than you imagined. Your facial expressions were a main form of communication for you.

“So what are you gonna do about Krystal?” What was he really going to do about apparently being in another relationship with another woman simultaneously?

“Ima take care of it”

“I don’t know! maybe” you argue

“How?” you snap, he raises his brow at you before taking another sip of his drink, you pause before you speak again “.... Maybe you shouldn't..... maybe if you talk to her.... I don't know.... reconcile”

“You sayin i should go back to her?”

“Nah she ain’t for me”

“And I am? I don't know your world!” you comment

“I don't want you to”

“So how can we be together if you only show me a part of you?”

He leans forward again, speaking slowly to add emphasis “Y/N, I don’t want you to. I just want you there I don't want you to ever feel like you gotta pick up a gun to prove a point or protect yourself”

You take a deep breath “and you think i won’t have to do that eventually?”

He looks at you with his typical nonchalant face “nah i got you”

“I don't get it why did you even fall for me if I was just a facade?”

“I didn’t plan this shit. It just happened plus i got tired of feeling like all i did was take care of business 24/7. Who wants to be talking about cappin someone 24/7? I couldn’t even have my son around me when she was there! Plus I trust you. I trust you more than her and even tho she knows that side of my life i know you wont sell me to the wolves”

You leave it at that because you feel like he would never tell you the truth, and you also felt like he was talking in circles, so you choose to proceed with caution.

As soon as you arrived home later in the day you’re tired and ready to go to bed. Too many mixed emotions. Did you like Rio? Yes, Did you think your relationship would ever evolve into something more? No? Maybe? What is your relationship with him ? Side chick? Booty Call? FWB? BF/GF?

“Hey!” You hear from behind you as your place the key in the door lock

“It’s okay, what's up? Why are you here?” you remember what Rio had said about her

Your body jumps, a natural reaction seeing that you were deep in thought and unaware of your surroundings “Oh my god!” The familiar voice however reduces the panic you’re feeling “You scared me!” you turned to face Krystal

“I’m sorry”

“Oh I just decided to pay you a visit, mind if i come in?” she flashed you that smile, you were beginning to hate it

“Sure!” you opened the door and let her in first “want something to drink?”

“Here you go!”

“Yea what you got?”

“Liquor, wine”

“Oooh do you have Bourbon?”

“Yes”

“Bourbon on the rocks” Your mind flashes back and you remember all the times Rio had ordered Bourbon on the rocks and it made you sick, to think the entire time he was there with you his mind was with her

“Thanks!,” she pats at her leg “come here sweety” she speaks to your dog ‘Coconut’, instead of walking over Coconut looks between you two and opts to lay at your feet. “Ugh my dog does the same thing”

“So why are you here again?” You were over this ‘visit’ already

“Have you talked to Rio lately?”

You find it odd that she would ask about Rio the same day you had lunch with him “Yea, had lunch today” no need to lie she probably knew

“Hmm” she hums as she takes a sip of her drink “did he talk to you?”

“About?”

“Me and him?” she looks at you wearily, playing with the glass in her hand

You shrug “Umm just said you two were exes”

You close the door and look at Coconut who barks at you from the stairs, “I know, i feel the same”

She perks up, smiling at you “oh yea!” she takes a deep breath “I’m sorry I should have told you but I didn’t, we are really good friends and I got caught up in the moment, I was drunk” you take note of her quick change in behavior, if they were truly exes she would have told you before she even introduced you two

“It’s okay”

Quickly she finishes her drink without saying much else other than“Well i should probably get going it's late”

“Yea thanks for stopping by” you couldn’t wait for her to leave

“Yea! See you around”

You opt to not even text Rio about Krystal's pop up at your house for all you know they were still seeing each other. However the ‘pop ups’ between Krystal and Rio were becoming a bit much. Weeks of them simultaneously showing up out of nowhere just to ‘chat’ were becoming unbearable. By now it was obvious they were both stalking you.

The doorbell rang as you and Rio sat by the kitchen island ‘chatting’ it up. You hopped down and rushed towards down the steps in your split level home

“Hey!” you force a smile as Krystal walks in “We are waiting for you upstairs”

“We?” she turned to look at you from the foyer

“Do you want what he has? Bourbon on the rocks”

“Yea just keep going” you motion for her to climb the steps

It was as much as a surprise to her as it was to Rio seeing each other there

Rio runs his hand over his face settling it on his chin massaging it to ease his irritation.

“Uh sure!” she says carefully placing her purse on the counter

“I'M SICK OF THIS SHIT! THIS TALKING IN CIRCLES! CONTINUOUSLY LYING TO ME! USING ME TO GET INTEL ON EACH OTHER!”

“You can sit next to him you don’t have to act like he’s a stranger”

“Y/N” Rio begins but you cut him off

“SO! I don’t know what’s going on with you two! But I’m tired of the fucking pop ups! I don’t need to be scared half to death every fucking time one of you decides to pay me a visit! I don’t know how I’m connected to whatever fucking plot you two are concocting but i don’t want any parts of it”

“There’s no..” Krystal interjects, which only makes you even more angry and you just let it all out. So much for being calm cool and collected

Both Rio and Beth look at each other

“Sweety it's not like that”

“DON’T FUCKING CALL ME SWEETY BITCH”

Krystal in turn looks to Rio to fix the problem

You take a deep breath to calm down, you were getting too worked up you could feel yourself getting ready to cry. “I don’t care! i just want both of you to know I’m done with both of you go find another pansy to fuck around with!” you turn to Rio and face him dead on “Go find another woman to fuck with while you lie about how much you “care” about her! Now GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE AND NEVER CALL OR PAY ME A VISIT AGAIN”

Krystal alarmed by your yelling, is quick to grab her things, she never expected this to happen. Rio slowly eases down from his seat and grabs his keys before leaving. He was beyond furious at the moment.

“Y/N can we just” Krystal tries to bargain again

“GET OUT!” It comes out as a high pitched shriek

When they both leave you slam the door and lock it. You know it wasn’t the end of whatever was going on but at least you stood up for yourself. And now you can finally let go and let the tears out

Your dog Coconut groans and you nod in response, pulling her in for a hug.

“Rio!” Krystal calls as she rushes to his side

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” his jaw is tight hands in his pockets

“We need to talk”

“NO! YOU NEED TO GO HOME! I TOLD YOU I WAS HANDLING IT”

“I know but,”

~~~~~The rest of the week you didn’t hear anything from both of them however the following week after you arrive to work, parking your car in its usual spot you get out of hear the infamous Rio speak causing you to spin around

“BUT NOTHING GO HOME AND LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE!”

He got in his car and slammed the door before driving away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Get in the car we need to talk” he’s calm like always.

“NO! I have to work!” you stand your ground

“Y/N, I wasn’t asking”

“I don’t care! Leave me alone!”

“I have to work Rio!” Without saying anything he starts to walk over to you. “Okay, okay, I’ll get in” you walk past him quickly and hear huff leave his mouth before he opens the door for you, you slide into the seat, you watch as he gets in his seat. He doesn’t even look at you but you can tell he’s still vexed. Jaw is still tight with a firm grip on the steering wheel. You don’t say anything but look out the window as you drive to an unknown location in town. It was a warehouse. You take a deep breath expecting this to be your last memory.

He removed his hands from his pockets, this time placing them in front of him, he squints a little looking at you before he decides to speak “get in the car or I’m gonna come over there and put you in the car”

“I’m gonna scream!” you threaten

He takes a few steps forward, which only caused you to retreat back “I don’t give a fuck! GET IN THE CAR!” he says more sternly and you would be lying if that didn’t frighten you

He scoffs “I’m not gonna kill you, if that’s what you’re thinking”

How did he always know what you were thinking?

“How long is this gonna take?” you ask looking around

“You might as well say you can’t make it in today”

You quickly text your boss and your car problems evolve into a bigger issue thankfully she understands and you feel at ease for now. You walk closely behind him as you approach the warehouse you can hear the chatter as you approach the building, when you do step in you're surprised to see a restaurant.

The smell of coffee and pancakes fill the place. The young girl seats you two by the kitchen. You look around in awe, you had no idea this place even existed. The place had an open kitchen concept so you could see the chefs and cooks working their magic and if you chose you could sit by the counter and watch.

“Hi Welcome to The Barnyard! How many?”

“Two” Rio answers

“Sure” you answer apprehensively

“You’re waitress will be Alyssa she’ll be with you shortly”

“Thanks”

“Hungry?” he knew you didn’t eat breakfast

You two order and eat not without saying anything to each other. Once you’re done he gets up and motions with his head for you to follow him. You walk towards the back past the kitchen, past the employee locker room/bathroom, take a turn into the backroom where the bus boys cleaned the dishes, past the huge walk in freezer and stop in front of a door where Rio knocks. The guy opens immediately, the door was heavy, like one of those safe doors you see in banks. You take a glance at the man on the other side of the door, he looks meaner and scarier than Mick you thought to yourself. You continue to walk down a few steps that seem to be taking you underground to another door where Rio knocks once again and the same door as upstairs, when you step in, you walk into what seems like a huge operation. Your eyes take it all in on one side there are people counting money on the other they’re bagging it. Not to mention what seemed like illicit drugs being packaged. Rio takes a seat by the table and watches.You sit down next to him and try to absorb it all. He doesn’t say anything for what seems like forever.

“You said you wanted to know what i did so here you go”

You turned to face him “why are you showing me all of this, now?” 4 months you dated this man and you thought he was a local drug dealer who made it big, this was cartel level operations

“Things have changed, I might be wrong in my approach to keep you in the dark, and we need to talk,” he removes his jacket and takes out his gun, placing it on the table “Krystal isn’t who you think she is,

“I know you told me that”

“Remember when she kept handing you zip-lock bags at the school luncheon, yea they all got your fingerprints. Bags filled to the brim with coke and heroin. There's a few storage keys hidden in your house, the feds would find those too, it would lead them to a local storage where they would find more money and drugs, your fingerprints are on those too. I asked you to hold on to them for me.”

“Her name is Beth Boland, you are a front. But it’s much deeper than that,” with his fingers he makes quotation marks “ ‘Krystal’ and I have an operation we are business partners, ended up fucking, emotions got thrown in the mix. She put 3 bullets in me.” He stops himself from, feeling like he’s getting carried away. “Anyway the feds started to question her connection to me, she got nervous, and came up with the plan of you, you would be my “girlfriend” while we continued to work and fuck. If the Feds started to look deeper they would see that the only reason she would be around me is because of you. But you being my girl wasn’t enough so we decided to plant some evidence in your house”

“What?!”

Your heart sinks

“You were going to be the fall guy and that would in turn get the feds off of her ass, my ass too for now at least”

You knew you were a front but this, you didn’t think it would be this, how could you be so stupid.

“But Beth ‘Krystal’ is becoming more of a problem, plus i can’t just over look my feelings for you”

“What feelings? Why did you even? Feelings?”

“I told you i didn't plan it!” irritation spewed out in his tone, but it was more so at himself than you “I care about you mama, you my girl”

You think about all the times you spent together, the few sexcapades you had, you feel sick to think it was all just part of the process, he was just going through the motions, whose to say he isn’t now? Maybe things are taking too long and he’s waiting for you to hang yourself with this new information.

“You can ask me whatever you want, I ain’t got shit to hide anymore, plus I figured its the least I can do”

“When did you start feeling differently, towards me?”

“About 2 months in”

2 months?! That's all it took was two lousy months, for him to ‘care’ about you? You knew you were naivety but how stupid did he think you were?

You contemplate calling the cops, FBI, hell the FBI would believe you wouldn't they? They already knew about them you were an innocent party

“I can see you thinking, just know if you go to the cops, they’ll do an investigation and since majority of them are on my payroll they won’t find nothing on her, they’ll instead turn their attention to you, with all that coke and heroin in your home, you wont see the light of day ever again. So whatever you’re thinking just know if Beth goes down, I go down and I’m not gonna let that happen whether you like it or not.” There’s that Grade A ‘CARE’ you say to yourself

You nod and wipe your tears away

“But I’m working on it.”

You scoff, what could he possibly be working on other than nailing the last nail in your coffin

“If i wasn’t trust me you would be in jail right now”

You swallow hard. This was a lot to process. You want to ask what he’s working on to get the target off your back but you don’t all you can think of is how you were one call away from being thrown in federal prison on drug trafficking charges.

He doesn't say anything else and for the rest of the time you are in that warehouse you sit quietly just absorbing everything that was happening. A few men stop by to talk to him but he doesn’t introduce you, you sit there listening to the conversation. Even if the feds were to interview you right now, you wouldn’t know what the conversation was about. It was in code and so vague that you couldn’t piece anything together. By the time you leave it's getting dark and you wouldn’t even remember how to get there. He pulls up to your car parked in the parking deck at work and gets out the car to open the door for you. You wanted to hop out and run to your car but you're frozen.

“Y/N” he calls to you bringing your attention back to him “i’m working on it, i just need you to trust me”

You nod in response feeling the tears threatening to fall you begin to walk away but he grabs your arm lightly pulling you back

“Her and Mick are there weekly and Mick leaves things a certain way if you go looking he will know, she will know, I’m trying to fix it mama i just need time, i just need you to operate as usual”

“You can’t go searching for them or she’ll know”

You give him a confused look

You pushed him away, pulling your arm from his grip “Okay” you were done with him for the day, being around him made you sick, he literally plotted your demise and for the most part didn’t care about you, until recently.

When you arrive home you look around and before you can stop yourself you rush over to the bathroom and throw up. When you've calmed down from your panic attack you walk around your home afraid to touch anything feeling like you were in a ticking time bomb, afraid that would be the reason the feds rushed over to your place.

A/N: As always please tell me what you think!

#rio good girls fan fic #rio good girls #manny montana fic #mann #nbc good girls #Brio #rio x reader #rio #rio imagine #writingblr #fan fic stuff #fan fiction #beth x rio #brio #imagine

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fenrislorsrai · 5 years ago

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Bad Words, Good Deeds

They spent several days enjoying the unusually nice weather, eating out, talking about nothing too important, and figuring out what less obvious changes Adam had wrought. Crowley had gone to his flat first evening after dinner to water his plants and sleep, but had showed up slightly after dawn with warm croissants and coffee and had dozed off on couch with sleek steel travel cup in hand. Aziraphale had taken it out of his hand without waking him and spent the morning reading.

He’d made a soft joke of it when Crowley had woken and tried to apologize. “Oh that sunbeam there, it’s gotten you so many times before, what’s one more?” It got Crowley several more days as he stayed up late with Aziraphale and never quite made it back to his flat.

After nearly a week of that and after a late lunch, Aziraphale suggested they should probably stop by Crowley’s flat and pick up his mail and water his plants. Crowley had looked briefly stricken and mumbled something about dropping Aziraphale off at bookshop “Oh really, I promise I won’t spoil your plants while we are there.” The we seemed to quiet Crowley.

There was a ridiculous amount of mail in box which Aziraphale took and shooed off Crowley to go deal with plants. He pretended to not hear Crowley scolding them.

He sorted it on Crowley’s desk based on how it was addressed. He’d picked up mail often enough when Crowley was off doing some mischief that most of them were familiar, but it did give him a chance to see what various fronts the demon had put up. Most contained the word “consulting” or “management” in the title. All the names and businesses here were ones Crowley had before the whole Antichrist thing had started. If he’d made new ones since then, they weren’t in this pile of mail. Or he just hadn’t seen the point in bothering with long term schemes anymore.

He got to culling the actual junk vs what was probably mail. All the slick cards for equipment and services went. The auction catalogs and the fashion magazine stayed. Bills Crowley probably wouldn’t pay in conventional sense, but would want to be aware of the existence of, got added to the ‘keep’ pile. The bulky hand addressed and rather squashy envelope that smelled faintly of flowers went on top.

The junk all went in the recycling bin that Crowley had tried several different defenses of as being evil but none of them were very convincing. The one about recycled paper was used to make those awful brown paper towel that somehow never actually dried anything was as close as he’d gotten to justifying it as a “demonic plot”. Crowley’s muttering in other room was a more likely explanation as to its presence.

Aziraphale picked up remaining mail and stood in doorway watching Crowley finish up with watering. Crowley turned around and gave him a little huff. “Don’t you be coming in here spoiling them, don’t think I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” He tipped arm slightly to show Crowley greatly reduced mail stack and saw Crowley’s sudden interest at the hand addressed envelope. “Should I put it back on your desk or are we taking it with us?”

Crowley froze at question.

“Perhaps on the coffee table instead?”

“Yeah. that makes more sense if… if we’re staying. You’re not going to be bored?”

“I can go get us something to drink while you deal with this.”

“Good idea.”

Mail got deposited on the stylish coffee table by the even more stylish couch that was rubbish for napping on and Aziraphale went to go see what sort of alcohol Crowley had on hand. By the time he got back with bottle of wine and glasses Crowley had put away plant mister and settled on the couch. Aziraphale took the matching stylish and uncomfortable chair.

Mail got dealt with as they settled into usual routine of drinking and talking. There were various brief lapses in flow of conversation as Crowley paused to actually read some of the mail. The hand addressed envelope of carefully labelled seeds and notes sent them off on a long rambling conversation where Crowley did most of the talking about this particular collection of wildflower seeds he’d just gotten. This wasn’t exactly what he usually grew so Aziraphale was interested if this indicated Crowley had an outdoor plot somewhere else and this segued into Crowley apparently was going to use them in some kind of bombs??? And Aziraphale’s sudden deep concern had the demon hastily reassuring him they were more along lines of bath bombs not explosives. Which apparently involved tossing them anywhere he thought they might grow untended, like empty lots and ugly flat roofs.

Didn’t seem that demonic really other than the name. Crowley launched into a fairly convoluted justification of the whole thing’s merits as a wicked plan to cause property damage, attract bugs, and bedevil people with allergies while Aziraphale just got an increasingly fond look on his face at this.

“It all sounds very nice”

“I don’t do nice. That’s you.” It was a very familiar protest, with no real bite behind it anymore.

“Now you can, if you like.”

“I’m a demon, nice is not in my nature.” There was more certainty to that one, but an undercurrent of some other emotion as well.

“You’ve been doing nice things for a long time, now you just don’t have to come up with an excuse why for a report.” A pause and then much softer “No more reports at all. No more thwarting. No more Arrangement.”

Crowley inhaled sharply and sat up totally straight, practically humming with tension. He started to splutter something but couldn’t seem to get thoughts to form actual words beyond “Angel…”

Aziraphale looked at him, face softening. “I’m sorry. That sounded… I think we both need a minute.” He looked at Crowley to make sure he was watching and then bent over and untied shoes, taking them off and slipped them under the coffee table. “I am going to the kitchen”

Crowley stared at the shoes for a full minute while composing himself before taking his own off and carrying both pairs to closet. Aziraphale’s shoes got put in empty cubby in shoe organizer which he’d never filled. For some reason. He stared at empty suit hanger he’d also never used. He hung up his own jacket and vest on the one he did use and stared at the empty one fretting over if he should ask Aziraphale if he wanted to hang up anything. He left it where it was.

Crowley drifted back to kitchen and ended up hovering in doorway where he could watch Aziraphale cutting up two apples he most certainly hadn’t known were in his kitchen. The apples got cut into thin yellowish slices, carefully splaying them in attractive little whirl on cutting board next to two little stacks of slightly crumbly cheese slices, one white, one a reddish orange. Watched him carefully clean off the knife in tiny sink, dry it, put it away, hang up the towel neatly, and look over area for a moment. Crowley suddenly didn’t want to be seen lurking so pulled back, but apparently made enough noise to get Aziraphale’s attention.

“Crowley?”

“Yeah.” He tried to lean nonchalantly against doorframe.

“I didn’t think I took that long.”

“You didn’t. I just…” Crowley looked away. Slight little sniff as he tried to figure out what to say.

“I was coming back.” It was said so softly.

“I know” equally soft.

“Since you’re here, you can carry this.”

Crowley came into kitchen and picked up cutting board. “Apples, really?”

“From Adam, I think.”

“Was I supposed to tempt you with these?”

“Did you have someone else in mind?”

Crowley started to say something and then retreated to the living room, hoping Aziraphale didn’t notice flush. He put cutting board on the coffee table and refilled wine. He moved own glass to where it would be easy to reach before sprawling on the couch.

The angel meanwhile resettled on chair. No mention was made of where his shoes had gone.

Aziraphale took some of the apples and cheese from plate to try each separately and then together. Crowley shifted a little so he could watch Aziraphale’s face as angel considered each bite and occasionally made slight little pleased noise. The angel seemed utterly focused on that for the moment, so Crowley was a bit surprised when Aziraphale spoke.

“Would you take them off, please?”

“What?” Even through the dark lens, Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes widen, dart downwards, then back come back up to Aziraphale’s face in confusion.

“Your sunglasses”

“Oh. Right. Those.” Aziraphale made a slight exasperated sigh at that and then leaned back with a little hmm noise. Crowley fidgetted at that, not liking where this seemed to be going.

“I’ve always liked your eyes.” That really was not where Crowley thought the conversation was going to go.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Crowley made a face at that as the tone seemed a little bit as if Aziraphale was mimicking his own voice. “You just want to see if I’m lying.”

“Of course you’re lying, you’re talking.”

“Oi!.” he sniffed “...but s’true.” a slight little shrug.

“I just am not sure if you’re lying to me or to yourself.”

Crowley sat up straight, ready to protest and then froze and just slumped. Quiet. Then took his sunglasses off and held them out to Aziraphale while looking at the floor. Aziraphale took them carefully and tucked them in pocket, with a little pat.

Crowley tried looking at something that was not Aziraphale. The downside of a minimalist space was that there wasn’t that much to idly look at when avoiding looking at a person right by you. Who was apparently just waiting patiently and seeing him smile just a little when Crowley finally looked back at him… Crowley decided the only safe thing to look at was his own hands.

“If you can’t tell me something, you could just show me.” Crowley snapped back to looking at him and that was A Mistake as there was his earnest, but nervous, face.

“And what if I’m going too fast?” Crowley was very, very still.

“Well’ Aziraphale now got to be the one looking all flustered. “I’ve told you no so many times before and you’ve always stopped…. I trust you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Then we’re both stupid.”

Crowley got up, circled round the chair. He grabbed Aziraphale’s lapels and pulled him up roughly, turning the chair at same time. He pulled him up on toes a bit so he could look him clean in the eyes. Aziraphale tilted his head a little and started to lean in…

Crowley pushed him back just a little and let him settle back down on heels.

“No.”

“No???” Aziraphale seemed a bit shocked. “But…”

“Showing.” He released lapels and smoothed them back down. Hands slid a bit lower and he started to unbutton Aziraphale’s waistcoat. Aziraphale inhaled at that, tensing up. His eyes started to move down to look at Crowley’s hands, but then he’d lose the eye contact that had been so hard to get in first place. They both watched each other’s faces, looking for that sign to stop, but it didn’t come. As soon as the last one was undone, Aziraphale grasped edges and started motion to shrug out of jacket and waistcoat.

“No.” Crowley pulled at both. “On” Aziraphale now got to look just utterly baffled. Crowley just ran hands along open edge of waistcoat, just feeling the fabric for now. He took a little steadying breath before running hands over Aziraphale’s chest so he could tug at the bow tie to undo it. Then make some little frustrated noises at it.

“Here.” Aziraphale brought his hands up to get the process started, tucking his hands under Crowley’s to help without fully displacing them. Once undone, Crowley just rested his hands on Aziraphale’s for a moment before slowly pulling them over to himself and resting Aziraphale’s hands on his chest. Then brought his own back to rest on Aziraphale, trembling a little. He pressed them flat against Aziraphale to steady them.

Aziraphale stroked Crowley very lightly with fingertips where his hands were resting. Crowley rocked forward into it a little, fingers digging into Aziraphale a bit more firmly, but not with purpose. “Please…”

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Crowley’s face as he worked at unbuttoning shirt with a far steadier hand. Now that he had some slight direction he seemed to have regained some of his composure. Careful, deliberate. Crowley started to unbutton Aziraphale’s as well, though with a lot more fumbling and urgency. He was light with hands, barely touching, like he would need to pull away at any moment.

He slowed as he got towards the bottom, then paused, finally looking down so he could see what to do next. A sharp inhale and then very slowly grasped shirt and pulled up to untuck it. And then had even more buttons to undo…

Aziraphale untucked Crowley’s with a bit more finesse. Aziraphale ran a careful hand across Crowley’s now bare stomach and rested his hand over belt buckle, watching face. A slight little head shake from Crowley and he brought his hands back up. Crowley’s hands hovered along edge of shirt, still not having touched skin except incidentally. Aziraphale made a slight motion like he’d shrug out of shirt and Crowly tugged at him again. “No. On”

Aziraphale blinked at him but let Crowley figure it out. Watched the demon try and keep his face schooled, but clearly was struggling with something.

Mind made up Crowley stepped closer and dipped shoulders a bit so Aziraphale got the hint and helped him out of his shirt. Aziraphale started to step away slightly so he could drape it on chair, but Crowley kept eye contact and grabbed one of his hands and pressed it back to his chest. “Stay”

Aziraphale kept one hand on him and lightly tossed shirt one handed and caught it on his forearm to fold it neatly in half. A simple movement, but elegant in execution. Aziraphale slid it off his arm and draped it across the arm of the chair he’d been sitting on.

Crowley took his free hand and pushed slightly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, then pointed at the couch. Aziraphale took a careful step back towards it, keeping hand carefully flat on Crowley. The demon wasn’t quite pushing into hand but was eager to move with him. Staying close, but not actually closing the gap just yet.

Aziraphale backed up til legs hit couch and then carefully sat down, sliding hand down Crowley as he settled. Scooted over slightly so Crowley would have plenty of space to sit. Who then mostly just collapsed into the space instead of actually sitting.

Crowley settled his free hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder then slid it down to rest on his chest, under the jacket but with waistcoat and shirt still between them. Took Aziraphale’s hand on chest and slid it slowly sideways to get it out from between them. As soon as it seemed Aziraphale would put hand around his back without guidance, he moved other hand to Aziraphale’s chest, just the shirt between them at this point. Aziraphale moved his other hand to settle into small of Crowley’s back and pulled very slightly. Crowley scooted closer but drew hands back a little so he was barely touching Aziraphale again. Watching face. A slight little bit more pressure from Aziraphale and that was it. Hands moved from outside to inside, just barely grazing Aziraphale’s chest before Crowley slid them all the way around behind and quickly pulled himself into lap.

A pained noise from Aziraphale made him freeze and then start to pull back just as fast. Aziraphale held onto him, not letting him go.

“Your knee.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale shifted hands lower and grabbed Crowley’s belt to turn him half on his side so he’d take weight off the offending leg. Gave him another tug for good measure to pull him closer before settling hands back in small of Crowley’s back.

There’d been the slight pause, but the tug had been all the encouragement Crowley needed to get back on motion. He wasn’t going to be able to really fit entirely in Aziraphale’s lap but he was going to give it a damned good try. A little more adjustment and he had managed to worm his way into position where he had their chests pressed together, arms firmly wrapped around Aziraphale, and improbably half burrowed under Aziraphale’s clothes while they were still mostly on.

Aziraphale had kept a firm hand on small of Crowley’s back to pull him closer, but had used other hand to adjust edges of clothing once it became semi-clear what Crowley was trying to do. Once Crowley seemed to be settling more of his weight on him, Aziraphale eased up on pressure and switched to just lightly stroking back instead. He slid other hand up and ran his hand up into Crowley’s hair.

“OH.” Aziraphale paused. “Please...” So encouraged he made little circles on Crowley’s scalp and the demon pushed slightly into that making some small, contented noises. Crowley tried to mirror a little bit of that gentle stroking on back, but kept digging his fingers into softness of back instead, like he could pull Aziraphale closer.

Tension slowly drained out of the both of them as minutes passed. As Crowley just slowly melted, Aziraphale started to suspect he might end up with the demon falling asleep on him. The position and the couch weren’t entirely comfortable, but it was also very comfortable in an entirely different sense.

Crowley finally turned his head a bit so Aziraphale could see his face again, though mostly obscured by his own shirt.

"Couldn't have told you that. With words. Still not sure I could tell you. It’ll all sound stupid."

“Wanting to be held is not stupid.” Aziraphale gave him a slight squeeze.

“Oh… angel….” Crowley rubbed cheek against him. “This is so…. Nice. and a bunch of other four letter words. Good. Cozy. Warm. Soft.”

“And you’re not nice?”

“I’m not.” Crowley curled in, hiding under edge of shirt. He didn’t quite sound like believed that lie either.

“But you’d like something...nice.”

“Someone nice.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

________

Also available over on AO3. It has slightly better formatting over there!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #non-sexual intimacy #aziraphale/crowley #snuggling

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risottostitties · 5 years ago

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Secret Santa!

I’m back from vacation woo!

This is a secret santa thing I participated in with @staruplatinum‘s discord. This is actually for @staruplatinum because I was her secret santa lol. I hope you enjoy it! I tried my best I promise!

Please check the tags before reading

Discovery

It was the third day in a row that Abbacchio had been awoken by the sound of vomiting from the bathroom connected to the room he shared with Nina. While normally such a sound wasn’t new to him, they both enjoyed their alcohol a bit too much if he was being honest, they hadn’t had any the previous night. Or the night before, out of concern that she might be getting sick. So the fact that Nina was waking up in the morning and immediately vomiting immediately put the lilac haired man on edge. What could be causing this? She didn’t feel feverish.

“Have you considered going to a doctor?” He asked, rolling out of bed to gently scoop his girlfriend’s hair out of the way as she heaved. They hadn’t eaten yet, so mercifully this spell of sickness would be brief.

It seemed like she was getting sick more and more often lately. Buccellati had to stop ordering shellfish because the smell made her sick.

“I already considered that, appointment’s this afternoon. I figured that if it was something important I’d tell you after.” Nina admitted, standing on shaky legs and flushing the toilet before going to clean her mouth out.

“Do that.” Abbacchio hummed, watching as she brushed her teeth with an expression softer that what people would expect out of a man like him.

It was hard not to feel soft, not to look at her with such complete adoration. After all, he’d never have anticipated finding himself in such perfect domesticity. It made this bout of illness all the more concerning for him. He hopped to hear nothing but good news from the doctor soon.

Month 3

Well, as it turns out, it was news alright.

“What do you want to do about this?” The unsure waver in Nina’s voice made his heart clench.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant, and unless there was something else going on it was his. According to the blood work, and the imaging she’d gone in for, she was about twelve weeks in, or approaching the end of the first trimester. There was time, theoretically, to end things before they became a real problem. Kids were never in the picture. In their line of work it was far too dangerous, and what’s more to have him as a father. To come into this world in the shadow of a failure such as himself. To grow up knowing your dad was not only a criminal but a coward and a disgrace as well; wasn’t that just too cruel?

What was he supposed to do? On one hand it would be easier to tell the kid everything from the start, to not allow them to idolize their father and grow up with the false notion that he was a man worthy of their admiration. If they were going to hate him anyway, why would he prolong the inevitable. Was it not cruel to allow the kid to build up a version of him in their head only to have it torn down as soon as they were able to investigate their father’s name?

Of course, this was assuming there would be a child at all.

“We should-“

“I want to keep them.” Nina’s voice prevailed over Abbacchio’s reluctant admission.

It startled him into silence.

“Why would-“ Why was he getting choked up. “It’s a bad idea, with our lives. They’ll be in constant danger.”

“We’re strong enough to protect them. Leone-“ Oh god, there she went. Using his first name. Even after all this time, he still felt his heart skip a beat when she said his name with such a reverent, adoring tone. “I want this. Us. Our family.”

Who was he to say no when she looked up at him like that. Eyes dewy, expression both hopeful and unsure. If he really wanted to, he could probably talk her out of it. But then for a brief second he pictured it. A little boy with her eyes and his nose, chubby and healthy in his mother’s arms. And he wanted it so much, it caused him to ache.

And although he was still wildly unsure… he found himself nodding.

“Our family.” He agreed, closing the distance between them with a quick step and leaning down to capture her lips with his.

He couldn’t tell if the salt he tasted was from her tears of his.

Month 4

Emotional announcement aside, Abbacchio still had his doubts about the whole pregnancy thing. Morning sickness was killer, and he couldn’t do much to fight off the mounting guilt when he awoke in the morning to his girlfriend hunched over the toilet heaving on an empty stomach. He did this to her after all.

But as though she could read his mind, Nina was always there to reassure him. And soon, he started to warm up to the idea of being a dad. Even as the cravings started to kick in and he found himself up at odd hours of the night, Leone Abbacchio couldn’t remember ever feeling happier. They had decided to keep it their little secret for as long as they could.

Their friends were good people, but they were loud people. And, something about the quiet domesticity the two of them shared together; the beginning of their own little family, something about that was just too nice to give up quite yet.

Although it was only a matter of time before someone found out.

Month 5

“Nina, did you want any wine with your meal?” Bruno’s good natured question caused the woman to pause, and for Abbacchio to tense up.

“Oh no, no thank you. Not this time.” Her response was just a touch nervous, and Bruno honed in on that like a blood hound. Sometimes his ability to read people was a curse to all of them.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, softly. A question that was quickly overshadowed by Narancia’s boisterous proclamation.

“You haven’t been drinking much either Abbacchio, what gives? Finally going back on the wagon?” The young man adjusted his bandana as he looked up from his homework. “Can’t manage without your little girlfriend?”

The smug smile on the teenager’s face immediately put Abbacchio in a bad mood, but instead of retaliating he simply reached for his glass of water. They had been told to try and reduce stress on Nina as much as possible, it wasn’t good for the baby. And Abbacchio snapping at people did little to relieve stress.

“None of your business.” He settled on that, which only seemed to fuel the fire.

“What, you pregnant or something Abbacchio?” It was meant as a joke obviously, but the silver haired man almost choked on his water; sputtering as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shit man I’m kidding! I didn’t think it’d get you that bad!” Mista was quick to offer his apologies, and a napkin.

“Abbacchio?” Bruno’s soft, but pointed question, left little room for the silverette to worm his way out of things.

Thankfully, Nina stepped in before he could mutter something under his breath.

“They’re due in December.”

And with that, all hell broke loose.

Month 6

Between the obnoxious ribbing from Narancia and Mista, there was a genuine happiness that filled the small private room in the back of their favorite restaurant. It wouldn’t be easy of course, raising a family in this kind of life. But with an army of over protective uncles it seemed like the kid would have a good start as any.

Nina was starting to really show now, as the doctor had warned them. Once the second trimester reached its end things would progress much faster than they had before. Nina had been removed from active duty because of her condition, something she protested greatly about. But Bruno would be hearing none of it. She had a child to nurture, he chided, she couldn’t be putting her life at risk anymore. Neither of them could. Soon, they would have someone very precious relying on them.

So both Nina and Abbacchio found themselves on ‘light duty’ so to speak. Abbacchio rarely rent on any dangerous jobs anymore. Bruno had taken to using Mista as his back up in Abbacchio’s place. Which, he supposed, was fine. Despite being dense, the gunslinger had a good head on his shoulders, and he was dependable. And, as much as the former police officer and his partner hated being left out of things it certainly wasn’t the case that they had nothing to do.

“I don’t have any fucking idea how this works. This is stupid, they won’t even remember the damned nursery why does it have to be so complicated? Just put them in a fucking box or something and be done with it.” He’d been working at this crib for over an hour now, and frankly Abbacchio was starting to lose his patience.

“Leone. If you imply our child deserves to sleep in a cardboard box in front of me one more time, you’ll be the one sleeping on a box.” Nina sat happily in a rocking chair (the first of many gifts from Godfather Bruno) munching on some plantain chips.

“Do you want to help then?” He asked, pulling back to adjust the bun he’d thrown his hair into.

“Hmm… no. I’m good thanks. I’m busy growing a foot.” Nina’s grin split wider at the exasperated expression on her partner’s face. “Besides, if you really hate the crib we can always co-sleep.”

The crib was finished later that evening.

Month 7

“So you don’t want to know the gender? Why not? It’d be a pain in the ass to buy all these new clothes if it turned out you had the wrong one.” Narancia asked, watching as Nina opened his gift.

Somehow he’d managed to get a baby onsie emblazoned with ‘All Eyez On Me’ album cover. Very much a little boy outfit. Complete with the sneakers and a hat.

“You fucking moron, this is why I told you to find something gender neutral. I knew I should have bought your present for you.” Fugo grumbled, shoving his present towards Nina next.

“Oh yeah, a strawberry outfit is totally gender neutral. What little boy would be caught dead in that?” Narancia snapped back, and Fugo jumped from his chair. The clattering sound made Nina wince.

“You spoiled my gift before she could open it you cretin! I’m going to end your whole bloodline you filthy fucking-“ And there he went, Fugo was pissed again.

“Oi! If you’re going to fight take it outside!” This, thought Abbacchio, was why they had tried to keep it a secret for so long.

Thankfully though, that seemed enough to stop any further altercations and Fugo muttered an apology before fixing his chair.

“You sound like a dad.” Mista joked, already on his second slice of cake.

“That’s because he is one. Thank you Narancia, Fugo, they’ll love the clothes.” Nina spoke, admiring the cute strawberry printed onsie (and lamenting the fact that it was mostly white, that wouldn’t last long) before putting it carefully with the other gifts.

Mista had given them blankets, five of them (a good number! He claimed) and had even taken the time to show Abbacchio how to swaddle a wine bottle in them. Apparently, Mista was quite good with kids. He never talked much about his former life, but he admitted to having several younger siblings. The ex cop found himself impressed. Although the thought of asking the gunslinger for any help made his stomach coil. Nina on the other hand, seemed to have none of those qualms.

“Mine’s a bit big. I’ll help you get it back to your apartment, but please open it here. I’d like to see what you think.” Bruno spoke up last, offering up a box larger than the others they’d seen before.

“You already bought most of the nursery furniture, Capo. You really didn’t have to get another gift!” It was true, as Nina had said. Bruno had taken it upon himself to furnish the nursery. They should be saving their money, he said, and he wanted to make sure his godchild had appropriate furniture.

“It’s the last one, I promise.” Abbacchio had the feeling it wasn’t the case, but as he helped Nina cut the tape off the box, those thoughts faded.

It was a mobile, with fish and boats and other aquatic creatures carefully hand crafted from wood with sea glass safely secured and dangling from fishing wire. It looked lovingly made and Abbacchio had to do a double take.

It wasn’t until after the party that he had the chance to ask Bruno what the deal was.

“Did you buy that yourself? The mobile. Its beautiful but, you didn’t have to go out of the way for that. The brat won’t remember it anyway.” He asked, taking one last cig break before he and Nina returned to their apartment.

“It was mine.” That gave the taller man pause. “My father held on to it. I found it in the attic a few years ago, and didn’t have the heart to throw it away. I’m happy to know it’ll get good use again. It deserves to be hung up, instead of collecting dust.”

“You should save it for your own kids.” Abbacchio spoke, before taking another drag and offering it to Bruno, who declined with a wave of his hand.

“It’s better put to use now, don’t you think?” Bruno’s expression was far off, and Abbacchio couldn’t read it. So instead of responding is simply shrugged, exhaling his final drag and putting the smoke out with his foot before returning to the restaurant to collect his pregnant partner.

Bruno followed and helped them load everything into the car. The unreadable expression gone from his face.

Month 8

It was getting close. Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to appear. They had scared the shit out of the two of them the first time it happened. It was far too early and they had panicked, rushing to the hospital despite having been told what to expect this late into the pregnancy.

Nervous energy was abound between the two of them. Nina was officially on bedrest. She had been getting weaker and the doctors erred on the side of caution. There was little to worry about, they assured, they just decided to be safer rather than sorry. Leone couldn’t disagree with that, although he was glad that the whole pregnancy thing was almost done. Nina looked like she would kill someone if she had to remain cooped up in their bedroom for too much longer.

It was late, and while Leone had stopped drinking in solidarity with Nina he couldn’t help but want a sip to calm his nerves. Instead though, he walked around the apartment (trying to mind his feet so he didn’t wake his sleeping partner, the pregnancy made her a light sleeper) and took stock of their little home. Their life together.

It was new, better than the one bedroom they’d shared. Bruno helped them get into a neighborhood with a good school. Their rent was affordable, and their neighbors were friendly. IT was all so domestic, it felt like a dream. Or a cruel prank. He half expected to wake up on the couch hungover but that had yet to happen.

He paused, looking into the nursery. Bruno’s mobile was strung up over the crib. The room was simple, white furniture with light blue walls. With the mobile they added a few more ‘nautical’ things into the décor. Striped sheets in the cribs, some bubble decals on the wall, but over all it was a simple and calming room. The shelves were lined with books and blocks and other baby toys, and the stuffed animals they had been gifted were safely tucked away out of the crib. In less than a month there would be someone living here.

Leone took a seat in the rocking chair and observed, not even noticing as he nodded off to sleep.

In the morning he awoke with a blanket covering him, and he got up. Nina had no business being on her feet covering up her idiot partner. Ah, partner. That needed to change soon. Husband sounded better. But that was for later. Once the kid was born, then Abbacchio could worry about making his girlfriend his wife. Some would say it was out of order.

Abbacchio hoped to encounter them one day so they could say it to his face. See how well that worked out for them.

Month 9

How did it come to this? How had he allowed it to come to this? Abbacchio knew the kind of man he was, the kind who took the cowards way out of things. The kind who would rather turn to underhanded bribes than admit the futility of his work. The kind of man who allowed an innocent man to die for his mistakes. The kind of man who fucked up everything he touched. It only stood to reason that someday, eventually, he would ruin this as well.

He should have put an end to this when the problem first reared its head. Instead here he was, taking a drag from a rancid cig he bummed off a nurse to try and take the edge off of things. It was snowing, almost Christmas. This would have been their first Christmas.

Everything was wrong.

It all happened so fast. Things were going fine, labor was long but not unnaturally so. It was about five hours in when the baby’s heart beat started dropping. Emergency c-section. She seemed fine. The baby came, a girl, shockingly enough. And then Nina started slurring her words. It all happened so fast, he was being rushed out of the room by a nurse and the last thing he heard was the slowing of a heart monitor.

Twenty minutes later a doctor came to offer his apologies, and a child. Abbacchio had turned and left then, unable to handle the weight of what just happened. Shoving past Bruno (the only one allowed to be there for the birth) he ran from the hospital; coward that he was. And here he found himself, smoking to try and… what? Numb something? He was already numb. The cold helped with that. Perhaps if he stayed out here long enough, he’d risk hypothermia. He’d be doing everyone a favor right, freezing to death outside the hospital. It was abundantly clear to Abbacchio that he ruined every good thing that had the misfortune of encountering him.

Perhaps it would be best if he vanished from this kid’s life before he had the chance to infect that too. Or perhaps he’d doomed the kid of a life full of hardship by virtue of being the son of a bitch that fathered it. Her. It was a her. They had a name picked out. It was-

“Are you going to keep the name Sophia?” The only person capable of piercing through Abbacchio’s haze of self-depreciation had come outside to meet him.

How Bruno managed to get the baby out of the hospital so soon after it was born, who knows. Or perhaps he just became numb to the passage of time along with the cold. How long had it been already? Who knows? Who cared. But there she was, bundled up tightly in her hospital blankets and Bruno’s own coat for good measure.

“I’m not keeping anything.” Abbacchio huffed a long drag from his cigarette, having the decency to at least blow away from his friend and the child he held.

“Leone.”

“Bruno.”

His friend’s normally gentle face was furrowed into an expression of distaste. Always so righteous, of course Bruno would take issue with his decision. He still clung to the belief that Abbacchio was worth something, a dangerous notion considering that now there was a child in the mix. Bruno was a smart man, but perhaps their friendship had blinded him to the reality of the situation-

“She loved you and Sophia very much, you of all people should know that.” Bruno tried, only for Leone to take another drag from the smoke.

“A horrible choice on her part.”

“Leone.”

“What, Bruno? What do you want?” That was it, Bruno had found Leone’s breaking point and fuck, if he wanted a reaction out of him so bad, he had it. “Do you want me to be on my knees bawling in the hospital room? Should I be clinging to her hand, shaking her body, begging for her to wake up? What kind of reaction would please you Bruno?”

He threw the cigarette down and stomped it into the slush.

“What am I supposed to do?” Abbacchio could hear his voice crack, knees hitting the cold snow as his legs gave out.

It was amazing, how quickly rage could turn to sadness. Nina had borne witness plenty of times, as had Bruno. This was nothing new for either man, but there was a certain weight to it now. Nina was gone. She wasn’t coming back. If she were here she would be on her knees with him. She’d hold him close, let him scream into her shoulder and cling to her hard enough to bruise (something he always felt horrible for after). And in the end, she’d be there to fix his makeup. Sometimes they’d both need to touch things up; she wound up crying with him.

He’d have her sit on the bathroom counter as he fixed the delicate wing of her eyeliner. They’d tease each other over their puffy eyes and still runny nose. It was like a ritual between them almost, doing each other’s makeup. It wouldn’t happen again though, and the realization washed over him like a cold wave. He missed the numbness then, as he choked out an undignified sob. It was so much easier to be numb.

“Leone.” He could hear the crunch of slushy snow in front of him as Bruno knelt, careful not to jostle the child too much. She was already getting fussy from her father’s loud outburst. “I can’t help you. You need to help yourself. But I can be there for you, and for Sophia.”

“I’ll fuck that up too.” Abbacchio managed, unable to lift his eyes from the ground to look at the child beginning to fuss in Bruno’s arms. She already hated him it seemed. The sound of his voice was enough to make her squirm in discontent. He couldn’t blame Sophia.

“Sophia doesn’t seem to think so.” Bruno’s soothing voice did little to calm the infant, but it began to work on Abbacchio. The tears had yet to dry, but a feeble hiccup signaled the end of his sobbing.

“She’s trying to get away from me.” As if on cue the baby squirmed more, turning her head from her father.

“I think she’s just scared.” Bruno corrected, shifting the baby in his arms. “Leone, try holding her.”

“What?” That caused Leone to snap to attention. “You can’t be serious.”

He had very little time to react though, as Bruno deposited the infant into his arms. Abbacchio had to fumble a bit to support the head, but once things were in order it felt almost… natural.

He stood then, trying to dry what wsa left of his tears off on his shoulder. The kid looked kinda like both parents. She had some wispy pale hairs. Were those from him? Or would she grow dark hair like her mother? Sophia was still fussy, a spirited little thing it seemed, and although her eyes were mostly shut against the cold he could see the tiniest little sliver of purple and gold. She had his eyes.

She had. His eyes.

It was a simple realization, nothing remarkable. It didn’t do anything to quell the ache growing more and more apparent in the place in his heart Nina had occupied. It didn’t lead to any grand epiphany of how he was going to handle the future without her at his side. Nina had been his rock, his confidant, the person he loved most in the world and the one person capable of making Abbacchio see through the haze of self-loathing to imagine a better future. And she was gone. There was nothing that could replace her, and he didn’t want anything to replace her. If he hurt, it meant that she had been there once, right? The fact that her passing left such gaping hole was proof, in its own way, that she had really loved him. And that he, the failure Leone Abbacchio, had been capable to returning that love. Worthy of accepting that love.

And the physical proof was here in his arms. A mixture of Nina and himself. A gift that she had lavished so much time and love on, and had worked so hard to bring into the world. And what a job she did. Sophia was healthy, and energetic if the way she squirmed was any indication. Nina would have been so proud, so happy to have been her mother. Sophia couldn’t replace Nina. She couldn’t do anything to fill the voice her mother left behind. But it was strange, there was a new spot now. A new hole, but instead of emptiness it overflowed. He had to take a shaky breath to try and steady himself. It was overwhelming, the feelings of grief and loss and love mixing together. He could feel himself crying again, although for a new reason.

“Leone?” Bruno asked, having gotten up out of the slush himself.

“I’ll try.” It was all Abbacchio could manage as he again used his shoulders to try and dry his face. It was enough though, and as the new father began to bounce his daughter to try and soothe her, the two men headed back into the hospital together.

#my writing #leone abbacchio #abbacchio #jjba #jjba writing #jjba self insert #selfship #jjba part 5 #Vento Aureo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo kimyou na bouken #pregnancy #death #death during childbirth #birth

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metatiki · 6 years ago

Text

Favorite Passage Written 2018

Tagged by the magnificent @opal-bee! Thank you so much! <3

I don’t know how many words I wrote last year, honestly, but for me it was a low output year. Most of the writing I did was for my Inquisitor Dorian fic, and most of it isn’t published yet and will be later, so I couldn’t use it here.

This scene, however, ended up not fitting the overall pacing and tone of the next Act, so it got cut. But I still really like it, so I thought I’d share it here. I might put it up on AO3 as part of a ‘Deleted scenes’ archive someday (I am keeping quite a few deleted scenes) but for now, it’s a Tumblr-only thang.

This was originally written for Act III of Don’t Worry, I’ll Protect You, my Cullrian fic where Dorian becomes Inquisitor after a terrible accident befalls his dear friend Inquisitor Lavellan (see my AO3 profile under tklivory for more). This scene occurs while everyone is travelling back to Skyhold after Adamant and the confrontation with Nightmare in the Fade. Cullen is recovering from injuries received there. NOTE: I’m presenting it with minimal editing.

I’m tagging whoever else wishes to do this! Enjoy!

Fic: Don’t Worry, I’ll Protect You Pairing: Cullen/Dorian Game: Dragon Age: Inquisition (AU) Rating: T (This scene, anyway)

The next day proved to be no less tortuous than the first in terms of boredom, but at least Cullen had a bit more physical freedom now that the healers had worked their herbal and magical magic. The bandages were gone, and the heavy casts on his knee and wrist were reduced to far thinner versions supplemented by a spell. He no longer felt as if he were dragging large stones around whenever he moved. A horse still wasn’t possible, but at least he was able to get some real work done on the post-battle summary and recommendations for bonuses for the soldiers in the battle.

Of course, to decide on those awards, he had to speak extensively to the other leaders on the field. Blackwall was straightforward and brusque in his recommendations, and had high praise for several members of the Inquisition Forces. After a similar conversation with Ser Barris, he settled in for a good long session of list making and recommendations. He found himself frequently glancing at the door even as he worked, however, or pausing every time the carriage changed speed, hoping the door would pop open to reveal a familiar smile.

When the carriage did finally slow to a halt, he quickly tucked his lap desk to the side, not wishing to seem distracted from his visitor, especially if it was who he’d been expecting all day.

Dorian’s head pushed into the cabinet. “You’ll need to move your-- Oh, you already have. Capital. One moment.” And then he disappeared again.

As Cullen blinked in confusion, something was pushed into the carriage, floating without a hand touching it: a round, flat piece of decorated wood. As Dorian poked his head in again, Cullen asked, “Ah… What is it?”

“Sit back just a little further,” Dorian said in answer, waiting until Cullen had done so before making a little gesture. “There should be enough room, if my measurements are correct.”

Despite the questions hovering on his lips, Cullen managed to restrain himself until the piece of wood lay flat, allowing him to see the other side. His eyes widened. “A chess board?”

“Indeed!” Dorian exclaimed as he climbed into the carriage with Cullen’s chess set in hand. Settling into the seat across from Cullen, he said, “I had to scour the entire encampment to find one. Apparently, one of the Templars serving under Ser Barris is a fiend for chess. I had to promise some excellent wine from the Skyhold cellars to acquire this.” He rapped the board with his knuckles. “Still, well worth it, don’t you think?” Setting the box on the board, he pushed it across to Cullen. “I’ll let you do the honors, since they are your pieces.”

Cullen smiled. “You stole them from me last night, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t let them get packed away again, could I?” Dorian replied. “It’s much better this way.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a long time since I last played chess, actually,” he said, reaching for the box at last and working at the clasp. “Not since I played with-- Oh.” He frowned as the box opened, revealing something he’d forgotten until now.

“Commander?” Dorian asked, an expression of concern on his face.

Mutely, Cullen turned the box around so that Dorian could see its contents, knowing he would understand immediately.

“Oh.” Dorian reached out and lightly touched one of the dried flowers of the wreath which lay within. “She always did love embriums.”

“It was our stake,” Cullen explained softly as he turned the box sideways so he could retrieve the wreath. “Whoever won got to wear the wreath in the next game, and she would just make a new one when the old one withered.”

“So you won your last game with her,” Dorian guessed in a quiet voice.

“Mhmm.” Cullen’s fingers moved over the flowers gently, not wishing to disturb the desiccated petals. “She was improving, but I still tended to beat her most of the time. She was a sharp learner, but sometimes she would get overeager, and I could-- I would figure out what her game was. She insisted I not let her win, but--”

“But sometimes you did,” Dorian guessed. “And she figured it out.”

“Apparently I have tells,” Cullen said with a soft chuckle. “She’d reprimand me, of course.”

Dorian smiled. “She could have a sharp tongue when necessary.”

“Yes.” Cullen took a deep breath, letting a smile come to his lips. “I’ll have to figure out how to preserve that. It’s a special memory.” And, he realized, it truly was just that: a memory. Not a pain. Not a loss. Simply a poignant reminder of a happy time in his life.

Leaning forward, Dorian lightly placed his hand on one of Cullen’s. “If you wish to keep these memories of her to yourself,” he said quietly, “then I will find some other pursuit to bring here.”

“No.” Cullen sniffed, then straightened and focused on Dorian, tearing his eyes from the wreath. “No. She’d prefer us to play together, I think. To remember the good times with her, and not… not those last moments.”

Dorian smiled. “I do believe you are correct.” Squeezing Cullen’s hand, he sat back in his seat and began to pull the pieces from the box. “Though I’m not very good at weaving flowers together, I’ll warn you. They’d probably fall off if you so much as sneezed at them.”

Cullen chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Looking down at the wreath one more time, he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, then set it onto the table where both men could see it. “There. Now, which side do you want to play?”

“Does it matter?” the mage asked airily. “I’ll defeat you either way.”

As he started to place the pieces on the table, Cullen gave him a look. “We’ll see what tune you sing after the game is over, Inquisitor,” he said with a grin. “I daresay it will be different.”

“You’re on, Commander,” Dorian said, then sat back to contemplate the board, fingers steepled. This game was long overdue, after all.

After that, the chess game became a daily occurrence for as long as he was confined to the carriage. Given that he was the Commander, however, his healing sessions continued morning and night to great effect. The first time he was able to walk - albeit stiffly, and with the aid of a crutch - he had to be forced back into the carriage so that he didn’t overexert the healing knee. And, a couple of days after that, when he was finally allowed onto a horse, he spent the next few hours riding to inspect every last inch of the Inquisition forces.

The cheers that greeted him raised not only his spirits but, he hoped, those of the soldiers as well. He spent as much time leaning over his saddle to shake and touch the hands of his troops as he did actually riding along their lines, but everywhere he went, the men and women of the Inquisition rushed to meet him, to make sure he was all right.

It wasn’t until the evening after an extensive healing session and a light dinner - eaten one handed, since his wrist was still wrapped securely in a thin cast - that he realized there was one particular face amongst his troops that he hadn’t seen. As a frown came to his face, the tent flap opened to allow Dorian entrance, chess board and pieces in hand. He paused there, regarding Cullen with a raised eyebrow. “Is something amiss, Commander? Is this a bad time?”

“What? No, no,” Cullen said, gesturing to the table. “I’m glad you came. I did miss our game earlier, but…”

Dorian chuckled as he tugged the table closer to Cullen and proceeded to set the board. “You were enjoying your mobility. I quite understand, Commander. But why the frown, hmm?”

“Oh.” Cullen blinked. “I didn’t see Jim while I was inspecting the troops, that’s all. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t see him when there was work to be done. Once he started pulling his weight, anyway.”

“Ah, Jim,” Dorian said with a nod. “Yes. He’s been sent ahead to Skyhold on special assignment.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose. “Special assignment? What’s this? I hadn’t heard about any special assignment.”

Dorian grinned at him. “That’s because I didn’t want you to.”

“Oh, now that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Cullen drawled as his eyes narrowed.

“You’re right. It’s not suspicious at all. Wine?” Dorian moved to Cullen’s storage chest and pulled out the goblets. “I’ve been assured this one is a bit better than the last, so we can hope it doesn’t taste like vinegar.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen groaned. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Dorian gave him a wink as he poured the wine into the goblets. “And quite on purpose, I assure you.” As he handed the goblet to Cullen, his face softened. “Don’t worry, Commander. I care about them, too. It is a special assignment, and no, I’m not going to tell you about it, and yes, the men are perfectly safe while they perform it. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

Cullen’s gaze traveled over Dorian’s face, a habit that was becoming routine, until he finally sighed and reached for his drink. “If you insist.” A faint chuckle rose to his lips as he settled back into his chair and lifted his leg to rest on a stool as the healers had insisted. “I suppose if I trust you to take me out of the Fade, I’ll have to trust you when you say my soldiers aren’t in danger this time. Of course, now I’m just bloody curious.”

“As you should be,” Dorian teased him as he sat down opposite Cullen. “Now. I do believe I won yesterday, did I not?”

“I was distracted, you remember.” Cullen reached down absently and rubbed his knee gently. “All that infernal itching before they removed the cast.” And definitely not because he’d found himself staring at Dorian, no. Definitely not.

Dorian laughed as he quickly set up the chess pieces so that he got the first move. “You keep telling yourself that, Commander. I think I’ll go with my superior skill, hmm?”

With a grin, Cullen leaned forward in anticipation. “All I can say is you’d better think of something to blame your distraction on tonight. I know your play style now, so I know how to plan my assault.”

“Oh, do you?” Dorian asked. When Cullen glanced up from the board, he caught the amused expression on Dorian’s face when one curl of the mustache rose ever so slightly.

For a bare moment, Cullen stared at it, then quickly dragged his gaze back to the board. “Your move, Inquisitor,” he said in an oddly strained voice.

“Perhaps we should dispense with the formalities in private,” Dorian mused as he drew his finger along the board in front of his neatly arranged pieces. “We do have names, after all, and it seems a trifle odd to keep using our titles when we’re alone. Do you call Cassandra Lady Seeker?”

Cullen thought about it for a moment, then chuckled. “Only when I’m irritated with her,” he admitted.

That made Dorian laugh softly. “Maker forfend you are ever irritated with me! Besides, we already know how you deal with that, hmm? Especially if there’s a wall handy.”

WIth a wince, Cullen reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Inquisitor…” When he heard a little clunk, he looked at the board and saw that Dorian had made his move. “Oh, is that your strategy this time? Provoke me into distraction and then move when I least expect it?”

“Would I do that?” Dorian asked with a flutter of his eyelashes.

“Definitely,” Cullen groused as he considered the board for a moment. Granted, Dorian’s first move was fairly standard, but he could at least eliminate some of the possibilities of where the game could go from the outset. As he moved his piece, he said, “Were you serious about the name thing?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dorian asked, surprised. His hand tapped one piece, then moved to another, then another as he hummed thoughtfully. He glanced up, waiting until Cullen brought his drink to his lips before adding, “Although when you are irritated with me, I give you full permission to press me against the nearest wall as a consequence. That should get my attention quickly enough.”

The spray of wine from Cullen’s mouth was followed by a coughing fit and a long breath for much-needed air. “Dorian!” Cullen gasped finally.

“Was it something I said, Cullen?” Dorian asked, lips twitching. He had, Cullen noticed with a flick of his eyes, made his move on the board while Cullen was coughing, in keeping with his new strategy.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that,” he muttered as he finished wiping the wine from himself and mopped up as best as he could.

“I would never assume your keen eyes miss anything,” Dorian told him. He remained silent while Cullen’s fingers drummed on the board, speaking only when he reached for another piece. “They are such a lovely shade of brown that I would not mind looking into for a while, either.”

Cullen blinked, then looked up at Dorian. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the completely innocent look the man affected. “You’re up to something.”

“Winning, I hope,” Dorian said as he lifted his cup to drink.

Trying to turn the trick back on Dorian, Cullen said, “I wasn’t referring to anything above your waist, Dorian.” Though Dorian didn’t quite do a spit-take, he did suffer from enough of a coughing fit that Cullen was able to move his piece without being noticed. It wasn’t a brilliant or unexpected move, but it was made using the tactics Dorian had established. When Dorian recovered enough to glare at Cullen, it was his turn to affect innocence. “What?”

“You know exactly what you did,” Dorian grumped as he set his goblet down and looked at the board.

“Truce, then?” Cullen offered.

Dorian sighed. “Oh, very well. Truce. I’m running out of wine, anyway.” With a sigh, he moved his next piece without drama, then set about refilling their cups in silent apology.

After that, they fell into a companionable silence as the game progressed, with only an occasional comment or murmur to break it. Eventually they found themselves down to the last few moves of the game, with both men’s brows furrowed in concentration. Familiarity with the other’s tactics and strategies had settled in, and now they were at the stage of trying to outwit each other in unexpected moves. As Cullen reached out and moved a piece at a diagonal, Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “That sets you up for defeat in five moves.”

“Does it?” Cullen asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

Dorian glanced up at Cullen’s face, then back at the board, and his eyes narrowed further. “I must be missing something,” he muttered. He shifted in this chair, moving so that he could view the board from one angle, then another, and sipped thoughtfully at his wine in between, all in an effort to understand what, precisely, Cullen was trying to do. “You’re being sneaky,” he accused the other man.

“It’s called strategy, Dorian,” Cullen said. “You should try it sometime.”

‘Oh, ho ho!” Dorian said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. I’m twitting your vanity,” Cullen said with a grin. “Go on, make your move.”

“And how can I play when you make such a bold strike with that rapier wit of your tongue against something so very personal?” Dorian protested.

Cullen sat back in his chair and sipped from his drink. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. From what I’ve seen, you usually do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Dorian demanded, even as he reached forward and flicked a piece forward.

The motion brought a frown to Cullen’s face. “Wait. Why did you do that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dorian said airily. A lazy grin came to his face as he held his goblet by the rim, letting it swing gently back and forth as he moved his hand. “And here I thought you had me all figured out.”

With a snort, Cullen glanced at him for a moment, then focused on the table again. “I daresay that is beyond my poor capabilities.”

“You say that now, Cullen, but then… No. No, you’re right.” Dorian gave him a smirk. “You’ll say that after you go down in ignominious defeat as well.”

“I’m the Commander of your Forces, I might remind you,” Cullen said. “You’re not supposed to enjoy trouncing me quite so much.”

“Ah, but it will be such a sweet, sweet victory,” Dorian mused, watching avidly as Cullen moved yet another piece. “Wait. That’s not--”

“That’s not what, hmm?” Cullen said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Not what you expected?”

“Oh, hush,” Dorian commanded, hunkering over the table once more.

With a soft chuckle, Cullen raised his glass to his lips and drank from it slowly, watching Dorian try to puzzle through the game as it had been set up for him. His gaze moved slowly over the man, noting that the normally impeccable hair was just a bit out of place. Those few hairs made his fingers itch, and before he knew it, he reached forward to smooth them out.

Dorian looked at Cullen in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Ah…” Cullen coughed and leaned back quickly. “Your hair was mussed.”

Looking amused, Dorian said, “You could have told me about it. Or ignored it.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve gotten so used to you looking perfect that it was a bit disconcerting.”

“Perfect, am I?” Dorian asked with a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to vouchsafe that to other parties? It seems that my perfection seems to elude some.”

Cullen laughed, and tried to ignore the fact that his fingertips tingled slightly. “At any rate, you’re sorted out.”

“My vanity thanks you,” Dorian said, flashing him a brilliant smile before returning to his scrutiny of the game board.

Which brought Cullen right back to his own contemplation of the man across from him. With Dorian’s hair restored to its rightful place, Cullen admitted that he did have a preference for the man’s appearance, which was a startling thing to realize. In fact, he had more than grown accustomed to the man’s presence, he had come to look forward to it in a way that he did with very few others.

And only now, in the depths of his own mind as he sat and studied Dorian, could he acknowledge that it went a fair bit further than that. As Dorian raised his cup for a sip, Cullen found his gaze lingering on that perfect mouth for a bit longer than the motion warranted, and when Dorian’s tongue emerged to lick a bit of wine from his lips, Cullen bit the inside of his own. Surely I can’t… No, he isn’t… Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and quickly gulped his wine.

“Trouble, Cullen?” Dorian asked, looking up at him with a grin as he finally made his move. “Back to being scared of losing again? I think I see what your gambit is, you know.”

“Oh?” For a moment, Cullen could only stare at him. Finally he cleared his throat and asked, “And what might that be?” Maker knows, I’ve forgotten.

“You’re trying to be clever and use the Tevinter Reverse, aren’t you?” Dorian asked. Tapping his temple, Dorian then waggled his finger at Cullen before settling back in his chair. “But I’m on to you, now. I can reverse it.”

“Reverse a Reverse? Are you sure?” Cullen asked, forcing his eyes to drop to the table.

“Well, it is a Tevinter Reverse. I’d besmirch the honor of my forefathers if I couldn’t counter it,” Dorian said airily.

Now Cullen frowned. He didn’t think such a move was possible, but if Dorian said it was… “You’re bluffing,” he said finally, after staring at the board for a few moments. “There’s no way out of this.”

“Care to make a wager on that?”

Cullen looked up at Dorian, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he saw the sly expression on the man’s face. “I left my purse back at Skyhold.”

Dorian’s eyes twinkled. “Well, thankfully, we’ll arrive there tomorrow so that you can pay me. But, if you don’t want to bet money, there are other options.”

Now that was a bit too intriguing. “Like what?”

“You’re a creative man, Cullen. Surely you can come up with something,” Dorian sallied back.

And, try as he might, Cullen simply could not dredge up a single idea that didn’t go straight to a place which seemed, to put it mildly, inappropriate between the Inquisitor and his Commander. At which point, his mind happily supplied just what had gone on between the last Inquisitor and her Commander.

“My dear Cullen,” Dorian said, eyebrows rising. “Are you blushing?”

“What? No. I’m, ah…” Cullen reached for his wine and gulped it down. “Perhaps we could wager for an undeclared favor? That way if you need me to pay your gambling debt to Varric, I can.”

“Clever,” Dorian mused. “You don’t have to come up with something on the spot, and I can decide at any time what to ask of you.”

“Or the reverse,” Cullen reminded him.

Dorian scoffed. “If you win. And that yet remains to be seen. Very well, I accept the wager.” He held out his hand. “A favor owed by the defeated to the victor.”

“A favor,” Cullen agreed, reaching out to shake on it.

The next few minutes were tense now that something rode on the outcome, nebulous as that stake was. With so few pieces left, and each man trying to outwit the other within the narrow path for victory or defeat for each of them, each move took longer than the last. The wine bottle ran dry and the goblets set aside before Cullen finally smiled and looked up at Dorian after the mage lifted his hand from his piece. “Got you.”

Dorian’s eyebrows lowered as he frantically looked over the board. “What do you-- Oh, veshante kaffas, how did I miss that?”

Cullen simply smirked as he moved his piece into position. It wasn’t that it would take Dorian’s linchpin piece, of course, but that the maneuver prevented Dorian from moving his own pieces to defend that piece. The ending was a forgone conclusion in three moves. “Do you concede, Dorian?”

“I see no other option,” Dorian said with a sigh as he leaned back in the chair. “You have your victory.”

“And your favor,” Cullen reminded him.

Dorian tilted his head and smiled. “Oh, you already have that.” After a moment, Dorian blinked and then looked away. “Ah. Pardon. The wine, you understand.”

“Of course. The wine.” Cullen cleared his throat and reached up to awkwardly rub his neck. “It must be quite late by now. I should to bed.”

“As should I,” Dorian said, rising to his feet. He did sway ever so slightly, but the bow he gave to Cullen was impeccable. “I shall leave you to your slumber, Commander.”

“I thought we were using names,” Cullen said mildly.

Dorian chuckled softly. “Do forgive my lapse. Cullen, then.”

And somehow, just hearing it spoken in Dorian’s hushed, deep voice made Cullen’s mouth go dry. To distract himself from that, he lifted his foot from the stool and forced himself to his feet.

Unfortunately, his body wasn’t quite ready for the change in position. Hours of sitting had stiffened his knee enough so that when he did put weight on it, a surge of pain shot through him and it buckled. With a yelp, he fell forward, avoiding an embarrassing fall flat on his face only due to Dorian’s quick reaction.

It took a moment for Dorian to do more than simply support Cullen, during which their faces were mere inches from each other. “Close call,” Dorian said with a bit of strain in his voice. “Don’t put any weight on that knee, all right? I’ll get you to bed.”

Cullen nodded, not quite ready to trust himself with speech given the way that his heart was racing in a way that he couldn’t entirely blame on his near-miss with a face full of dirt. As it was, he kept his eyes on Dorian as the man shifted his grip and slowly lifted them up. He found himself fascinated not only by the intensity of the man’s expression, but also by the play of muscles on his bare arm and the feel of his strength. When Dorian tugged Cullen’s hand over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist to help him to bed, Cullen found that hand splayed on warm, firm skin and swallowed harshly.

“Painful, is it?” Dorian asked solicitously. “Don’t worry, it’s only a few steps. Come on, now.” With gentle coaxing and more than a bit of sheer strength, Dorian managed to get Cullen to the bed and swing him around so that his head was mostly on the pillow. “Hold on, I’ll check your knee.”

Cullen nodded, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as Dorian’s hands ran over his leg. A gentle warmth much like that of the mage healer stole over his leg, but the greater cause of warmth was, he realized, his reaction to Dorian’s touch. Closing his eyes, he wasn’t aware that he’d tensed his face until Dorian asked, “Does that hurt? I’m sorry, I’m not a healer. Perhaps I should fetch them.”

As the man moved to rise, Cullen’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “No! Ah, no. The pain is fading, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian asked as he sat on the side of the bed and searched Cullen’s face, then pressed his hand on Cullen’s forehead. “You’re flushed. Are you sure you’re not coming down with some sort of fever?”

“Quite sure,” Cullen said, then cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You don’t have a history of being the most forthright of patients, but… very well.” Dorian withdrew a kerchief from one of his many pouches and used it to remove the sweat from Cullen’s brow. “There we are. Perhaps it is the wine. Some people do tend to get overheated when they are inebriated, after all.”

“That must be it,” Cullen agreed, relieved to have an excuse.

Dorian smiled as he put the kerchief away. “Then sleep is the best course for you, my friend. Here, let me adjust you a bit.” Leaning over, Dorian worked to get Cullen’s pillow in a more comfortable position.

Cullen’s eyes closed again as that subtle musk in Dorian’s hair flooded his senses once more. Maker, what was it about this man? Their relationship had shifted so gradually that he couldn’t pinpoint when acquaintance had become friend, and then most trusted confidant, yet that is what they had arrived at by the time the Inquisition had marched on Adamant. But now, with the scent of the man hovering around him again, he couldn’t help but wonder if the possibility of more had slowly crept from faint embarrassment to alluring ideal.

When Dorian suddenly froze, his eyes snapped open to find the grey eyes staring at him. Mouth dry and heart racing, he licked his lips and croaked, “What is it?”

“Your hand, Cullen,” Dorian said oh-so-softly, and Cullen could tell the moment that Dorian’s eyes dropped to his lips before rising to lock with his gaze again. “It is…. not what I was expecting.”

My hand. Cullen swallowed and concentrated, and finally glanced down to where his hand had come to rest on Dorian’s hip. Well… mostly Dorian’s hip. Actually, in all honesty, it wasn’t even mostly there. Slowly he looked up at Dorian again, his breath catching in his throat as a muscle very deliberately twitched under his grasp. “Do you wish it gone?”

“Oh, I am quite content,” Dorian murmured. An odd play of emotions shifted his features, too swiftly for Cullen to even begin to understand. Ultimately, though, his face settled into a small smile as he asked, “Do you wish it gone, never to have ventured there?”

Maker. Cullen felt the blood pounding in his ears as he licked his lips again, staring into Dorian’s eyes for so long he almost forgot to breathe. Could he admit the truth? “No,” he whispered at last in confession. “I don’t.”

For a long moment, Dorian simply searched his face, brows drawn together ever so slightly. Then he raised his hand to cup Cullen’s cheek as his thumb lightly stroked Cullen’s lower lip. “I’m glad,” he murmured, then leaned down.

Cullen’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt the caress of Dorian’s lips on his, the tension so great in him that even that barest of touches elicited a moan. When the man didn’t press further, though, Cullen’s hand rose from where it rested to sink into Cullen’s hair, drawing him into a more fervent embrace. In answer, Dorian seemed to melt into him, his response to Cullen’s insistence every bit as eager as Cullen could have hoped for.

The need for air finally pulled them apart, and Dorian hovered above Cullen as he panted to regain his breath. “I see you enjoy playing with fire, Commander,” he murmured in a husky tone.

“You could say that,” Cullen replied, his hand still caught in Dorian’s hair. He felt his injuries even more keenly now, or rather the immobility they imposed on him, but that didn’t matter nearly as much as the sight of Dorian’s flushed cheeks and darkened lips.

Dorian smiled, his thumb again stroking Cullen’s lip. “I have to ask… if the wine is a factor.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed, confused by the half-question more than anything. “No,” he said. “No, I am certain. It just… took me a while to admit it.”

A subtle tension left Dorian’s face, and he relaxed with a smile. His second hand rose to lightly trace the line of Cullen’s jaw and stroke through his hair. “Good. I have a… bad history of wine making decisions for myself and those around me.”

After a moment, Cullen ventured, “Hawke?”

Dorian nodded. “Among others, but he was the most foolish one, yes.”

Shifting his hand to cup Dorian’s face, Cullen finally let himself tease the curl of Dorian’s mustache as he had wanted to for so long. “That is not what is happening here, I promise you,” he said, trying to convince Dorian with every fiber of his being. “And we don’t break our promises to each other, remember?”

“No,” Dorian said, his lips curving into an almost tremulous smile.

And that smile then was so tender, so… beautiful, that Cullen couldn’t resist the man any longer. He pulled him into another kiss, ignoring the protest of his knee as he twisted his body to lean into Dorian more strongly. In answer, Dorian’s hand ran down his side and cupped an entirely different sort of cheek, pulling them as close as they could manage despite the awkwardness of the cot and Cullen’s injuries. Since he only had one working hand, Cullen kept moving it between Dorian’s hair and either of the man’s cheeks, or at least the ones he could reach. Finally they parted once more, gasping for breath, and Cullen finally had to admit that he was going to pay for their passion as he hissed in pain.

Dorian immediately grew contrite. “I pushed you too far, Cullen.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I definitely helped,” Cullen told him with a throaty chuckle. “And I don’t regret a single instant of it.” He rubbed his knee. “Well, except the whole being injured part.”

“This cot really isn’t big enough for the two of us, anyway,” Dorian replied. “Perhaps we should discuss a more primal version of this activity later, hmm?”

Cullen nodded, though when Dorian moved to pull back, he wrapped his arm around the man’s waist. “Where are you going?”

Dorian’s eyebrow raised. “I thought we were--”

“Done?”

“Or at least for the night,” Dorian admitted.

“Not yet,” Cullen said, trailing his fingers up Dorian’s bare arm to come to a rest on the man’s chest. “Not as long as we can still caress the other’s lips with our own.”

Dorian’s expression softened. “Is that what you wish?”

“Yes.” For a moment, Cullen let his frustration show as he said, “At least until we’re near a desk that can hold you weight, and I have a knee that can hold mine. But I don’t want to end this conversation quite yet. Our lips still have far more to say to each other, I think.”

Dorian smiled as he took Cullen’s hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Perhaps they do at that,” he murmured. Twining their fingers together, Dorian leaned in, passionately claiming Cullen’s lips with his own once more.

Time melted away around them as Cullen lost himself in the taste and feel of Dorian’s lips. Nothing else really mattered right now. Nothing but Dorian mattered.

And that was the way it should be.

#Cullrian #Cullen Rutherford #Dorian Pavus #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age #deleted fic scene #my writing #Inquisitor Dorian

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leggigoesabroad · 6 years ago

Text

we’re only here on borrowed time

Sitting on a lovely, smooth, high-speed train from Nuremberg, Germany to Paris. Yesterday was a day from hell which I'll lightly get into but not dwell on, but for now, I'm so happy. I'd be remiss to not mention why!! Part of the reason I decided to book the train instead of flying from Prague to Paris was for many uninterrupted hours to listen to this new book my doctor recommended for me, called "Stress Less, Accomplish More" but Emily Fletcher. It obviously sounds like a typical self-help book, but I have a crush on my doctor and she really sold it for me. (BTW she's no older than like, 32, is married with two kids, super pretty, and totally gets me. She's very female-centric and one time said 'I'll never let you leave here without a prescription for more birth control, we will never let the system be the reason you're struggling with something' after asking if I had enough for the foreseeable future. Joke's on her, I'm single AF, but it really spoke to me.) She said it's a book about meditation and although I've tried meditating before, I am a little bit of a natural skeptic as to allllllllll of its listed benefits. She said this super simple technique helps you sleep better, greatly reduces anxiety/depression, get sick less often, be more effective at work, eliminate jet lag, on and on. She said she honestly can't say enough about it and it completely changed her life. I took this as a way to be more like her and immediately bought it. Also because I wanted her to like me. Incidentally, she texted me a few days ago inviting me to a new women's group she's developing for people in my demographic who are going through the same things. Because like of COURSE she did!! She also tells me to call her Casey instead of by "Doctor" and man I should stop now this is getting weird.

Anyway, this book is by an ex-Broadway performer who noticed she was going grey at age 28 (cough cough I am too) and was sick of all the medications she used to treat these symptoms and wanted to get more at the root. She talks about how simple this meditation method is - 15 minutes twice a day - and how it is literally the best thing she's ever done for herself in her life. After her course, she asks people how much money it would take to stop meditating. They all say something between "500 million dollars" and "no amount of money in the world, because what would be the point without everything else meditation gives me?" I booked the train so I could set aside several hours to listen to the book, especially on this trip, because we all know from the Thailand blog era that being far away in new countries is often what helps me make decisions in life and really self-reflect. Yes, I hear how extra that sounds, but I'm fine with it. I'm only on Chapter 5 and I keep intermittently crying!! We haven't even gotten to the part where she tells me HOW to meditate! Just her background on why it works and the entire theory behind it. The author talks about one case in which a guy with advanced Parkinson's started her sessions and after literally the first one, his tremors disappeared during the entire 15 minutes and for 5 minutes after. She said when they both opened their eyes he asked if she had noticed, and she said she did, and started crying because it was arguably the most profound moment of her career. I'm crying typing this. Ugh. She doesn't claim that meditation will cure chronic illnesses of course, but rather that it's the best thing one can possibly do to supplement medical instruction and for some ailments, it can indeed end up replacing them. She said after she started the practice, she didn't get sick again (cold, flu, anything) for EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS!! Because when the body can use sleep at night to fully rest and not just as a band-aid for stress relief, your immune system can work at its intended level and not allow any of these small things to come into play. You'd think I'd be getting paid for this post, but alas, I'm only 5 chapters in and get ready for me to be even more insufferable than usual when I get home.

Onward. Last I left off I was in a cafe with Lizzy in Prague. We stayed for a few hours and actually got a lot of work done! Turns out my freelance deadlines don't disappear when I go to Europe, hmm. We then walked to an area called Petrin, which from afar just looks like a tree-covered hill. It's actually an uphill path in an expansive park that ultimately overlooks the entire city of Prague. The more we went up, I kept thinking "we must be at the top by now" and then new buildings and castles and paths and orchards would appear. It felt like a hidden fairyland with twists and turns and new beautiful sights along the way. I posted a pic on the gram, but at one point we came to a clearing and there was a picture-perfect snapshot of the entire city through the trees. With the red roofs and striking architecture I again almost felt like crying. Also saw a bunch of couples making out in the orchards with no shame all, so that was something. Good on 'em, ay. We stopped for a glass of wine at the top (duh) and ended up chatting about work/management styles/feelings about jobs/etc. Something great about Lizzy is that it turns out for everything I'm interested in, she's in grad school for. I felt like she was the manifestation of all things fascinating to me. Kinda like when you meet someone really smart who is able to vocalize all the things you feel about things, but better. Like Hilary, but not my sister. Like Jay Wong, but not my boss! We talked about Kitty and her job search and then got into the concept of finding a job by figuring out what you love and what comes naturally to you, and then seeing how you can get paid for it. She loved hearing about Kitty and SpotX and the proposal she had to do about team-building and customer engagement, and we chatted all about different marketable skills. I remember crying to Hil many years ago (Hil if you read this, do you remember??) about how I *thought* I was smart but I hated studying/learning/school and my grades reflected that, and how I've squandered all my potential, I'm actually really dumb, etc. BTW in retrospect I now see a lot of that as my undiagnosed ADHD and I wish I had understood it earlier to get ahead of it, but it's okay. Hil at the time told me that she may have great grades and a good job, etc., but that she can't walk into a room and command attention or just become friends with everyone, and that skills come in all shapes and sizes and one isn't better than another. I'M GETTING EMOTIONAL AGAIN. Remember when my blogs used to be carefree and funny? Me either.

After that, Lizzy and I walked all through the grounds of the Prague Castle and wound our way down the hill to the Charles Bridge, and stopped for another drink. Then we got into a whole discussion about relationships and sexuality. Later, when we were hanging out with her husband, Rob, I found myself saying over and over: "It's like what Lizzy and I were talking about earlier..." and he was like "how did you guys somehow talk about EVERYTHING today?!" Females, man. Eventually she went back to her place to shower and I checked into my Airbnb across the street. Got SO EXHAUSTED and almost fell dead asleep while waiting for her before dinner, but rallied, and so glad I did. We took the tram up the hill to a nice restaurant for dinner, then went to an Irish pub to watch the Liverpool/Barcelona game. No one there remembered the epic call from 2010 World Cup that Ned and I quote all the time, but hey, we do and that's what counts. ("AND YOU COULD NOT WRITE... A STORY LIKE THIS.") We got there at halftime and were ordering drinks at the bar when a guy sitting at the bar was a real dick and says to me and Lizzy, "just so you know, when the game's on again, you've gotta move. I sat here on purpose for a good view, so make sure you move." Then turned to his partner and we could clearly hear him saying things like, "Fuckin' ridiculous they're standing right there during the game... I'm not going to let that happen... no fuckin' way" Um, a) it's half time. b) it's a bar and we're at the bar ordering drinks. c) WE KNOW. d) fuck off. He kept talking about us after we moved and she and I briefly thought about starting shit but you know, foreign country and all that. Luckily he was cheering for Liverpool and they got stomped in the second half to lose the game and we rejoiced. :)

Went to a weird, dark "Books" bar after that and we were almost the only people there. There were condoms in the bathroom and I took one as a joke to show Rob and Lizzy, but now it's still in my bag and freaks me out every time I reach for my Chapstick. We went back to their house afterwards and I kid you not, just watched Harry Styles videos. Turns out they both love him, especially Rob, which is so rich to me. He was like "this guy is just like coolness personified and he's so talented and he's weirdly attractive in kind of a feminine way but also masculine and he has such a nice voice and swagger...." you'd think I planted Rob to say this to me, but no. We watched the entirety of his Carpool Karaoke as I told them all of my favorite parts ("I was back middle." "Why am I always Julia Roberts??" "I cry in like, a cool way.") It's like when someone says to me, "you know, I'd love to know more about the meanings behind Taylor Swift's songs but I never learned, what are all of the albums about?" And I look around expecting that I'm being Punk'd. Parted ways with them and thanked them for everything and told them I was very grateful for our summer camp relationship. You know, the kind that is intensely strong, and very brief. I may never see them again and yet we spent 15 hours straight together on Wednesday and I had one of the best days ever. See you in another life, brotha.

A series of hiccups led to a very stressful morning on Thursday that I won't fully get into because my poor family already lived through it with me via WhatsApp... but it started with extreme random nausea, (the kind you have a serious internal talk with yourself about: "no. you are okay. take deep, slow breaths. do not throw up here. you are completely fine, this will pass. breathe. you're not sick. this is just random. you cannot throw up here.") and then I got on what was supposed to be a train from Prague to Nuremberg with a stop in Schwandorf, but there was a service interruption on the first leg and everyone knew but me. Probably because everyone speaks Czech and I, ya know, do not. BTW so far Czech is the least intuitive language I've ever come across. I could read an entire book in it and wouldn't be able to give you even the slightest context, like you can with French/Spanish/German. I know, romance languages and all that, but man I really underestimated how important it is to know some of the language when you're traveling through remote towns. I notice everyone in Plzen has gotten off the train and I think "well that's weird, but maybe they're all local commuters." A lady comes by and yells at me to get off, I say, "English?" She says, "NO. Bus." and shoos me off. In the panic I forget my suitcase from where I stored it - thank the heavens above, it was still there when I realized 15 minutes later and fought my way back on a closed train. I have such PTSD today and can't fathom what would have happened if the train had left. Imagine my suitcase just taking off on a train to the Czech countryside by itself. Zero percent chance I get that back. Work computer, my treasured leather jacket from Kathy that I swear I'd save in a fire, all of my toiletries and pills and prescriptions...ugh I can't even think about it.

No one spoke English except for a kind man at the info desk who spoke very little, and gave me directions ("directions" is a loose term here, I did a lot of critical thinking and problem solving to vaguely understand what I was supposed to be doing next) to take a bus in an hour that would take me to Stod, where I could then catch my train to Schwandorf and hopefully ultimately Nuremberg. After a series of mishaps and incredible uncertainty, eventually all of that happened. I walked into the hotel in Nuremberg and almost kissed the floor. I had big plans to wake up early and explore, but alas, I'm embarrassed to admit that all I did in Nuremberg was buy some wine/chocolate/gummy bears and stay in all night and sleep late this morning. Bodies need rest, y'all. My audiobook author would tell me that my body is in recovery mode after releasing an unnatural amount of adrenaline and cortisol. NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED!

I'll be staying with rig friend Angie and her family in Paris, and seeing rig Aaron there too. He messaged me yesterday and said, "so do you want to see museums and such? Or I can show you my favorite brasseries?" I said, "I've been to Paris, I'd just like to day drink honestly." Luckily he is on board, shawoooooooo. Oddly there's no WiFi on this train like they said there would be, but it's not that bad because it's so smooth and comfortable and I still have my audiobook. Will post this blog sometime later when the WiFi shows up. Cross your fingers that I get the romantic countryside train ride I pined for. And happy weekend!!!

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thosewhoruleegypt · 6 years ago

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What Followed the High Priest Home (Chapter 1)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Characters/Ships: Puzzleshipping/Blindshipping (Atem/Yugi); Gemshipping (Thief King Bakura/Ryou Bakura); Puppyshipping/Revertshipping (Priest Seto Kaiba/Jounochi); Atem, Yugi, Thief King Bakura, Ryou Bakura, Priest Seto Kaiba, Jounochi Katsuya Rating: M (WARNINGS for steamy fade-to-black moments, banter of a sexual nature, and some abuse of lotus wine) Length: Chapter 1 / 7; 4600 words

Summary:

Upon his homecoming, Priest Seto Kaiba certainly didn't expect to find a statue of the Thief King in the middle of the palace courtyard, right where the Pharaoh's statue ought to be. He also didn't expect the stray puppy he picked up on his travels to follow him all the way home.

In the meantime, the Great Royal Husband, Yugi Mutou, makes a new friend, one Jounochi Katsuya, and Pharaoh Atem wonders when the power dynamics around his palace got so difficult to navigate.

Sequel to "For Love of Pharaoh and King;" "The Pharaoh's Lotus Garden—Part I" accounts for the time between the two works. Can be read separately, but will make more sense with context.

Full Story Begins Here! Read on AO3 Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

note: Welcome, all! I’d like to take the opportunity to note, with his proper introduction in the series, that the Priest Seto Kaiba who appears in this fic draws inspiration from both the canon Priest Seto and the modern day Seto Kaiba of canon. If pressed, I would say he’s an AU version of the latter rather than a literal representation of the former. Thank you so much for your readership; it means the world to me! <3

Chapter One: New Arrivals

High Priest Seto Kaiba, weary from his travels, was looking forward to two simple pleasures: first, reporting his successes to his cousin, the Pharaoh Atem, and second, lying down and having a long, deep, undisturbed sleep in his own bed. He stepped out of his chariot at the palace entryway; Atem didn't like horses traipsing through the courtyard gardens that he took such pride in, and his cousin was duly considerate of such things. Accompanied by the small cluster of lesser priests, Priest Seto ran a hand briefly through his hair to make sure it was presentable, then strode into the courtyard.

He stopped when he found himself face to face with a statue of not the Pharaoh, where the Pharaoh's statue most certainly should have been, and had been the last time he had been at the palace, but a grinning stone effigy of the notorious bandit known only as the Thief King.

Priest Seto stumbled back, one hand flying to his chest; breathed, "Great gods, what's happened in my absence...?!" With a swish of robes and a shout to his underlings, he tore off toward the palace. Servants and castle-folk, going about an otherwise mundane day, called out greetings and questions, but Priest Seto blew past them and made for the throne room.

"Pharaoh!"

Atem looked up, mildly surprised, when a very flustered High Priest burst into his presence. Seto's hair was in as much disarray as the Pharaoh had ever seen it. "Ah. Priest Seto. You've returned. Welcome. Is everything alright?"

Seto, struggling to catch his breath, hurried to his Pharaoh's side and knelt. "What's happened while I've been gone, Pharaoh? I feared the worst when I entered the courtyard, and—I mean, the statue is—"

"Oh. That." Atem hid his face in one hand. "Yes. That. Sorry for any alarm, that was just—"

"Pharaoh Horus lost a bet," came a menacing purr, from behind the kneeling priest. Seto bounded to his feet; spun, and found himself standing before not just a statue, but the flesh-and-blood King of Thieves.

"I'll fill you in, Seto..." the Pharaoh said wearily, then addressed the other. "Put your fangs away, cur. No one's frightened."

The Thief King's grin only widened, contorting the gruesome scar that marred his face. "This little priest seems rather spooked," he said, beginning to circle Seto slowly. The High Priest stiffened; stared down at the thief, wondering how someone several inches sorter than he could act so believably intimidating. Then again, Pharaoh Atem was much the same, in that regard.

Seto took more detailed stock of the man before him—clearly the notorious Thief King, identifiable by that large scar down the right side of his face. Last Seto had heard, he'd been chased out—crushed, by Atem's policies, and reduced from King of Thieves to nameless outlaw. Four years after Atem had taken over, the Thief King should have been dead, or at least in a fairly desperate state. The man standing before Seto, though, looked to be in peak physical condition; his silver hair was lush, and lean, powerful muscle rippled beneath gleaming bronze skin. His dress wasn't ostentatious, but at least respectable: a red silk robe, with a few slim golden bands strung about a maize-colored headdress. Around his neck he wore a polished ring that bumped against his bare chest.

"Priest Seto, Bakura, Bakura, Priest Seto," Atem said briskly, motioning.

"Thief King Bakura, to you," the Thief King crooned, bowing low at the waist.

Seto stiffened further; turned to Atem, and was somewhat soothed by the sight of the Pharaoh still seated firmly on his throne. "And I'm the Pharaoh's High Priest," he replied, with all the dignity he could scrounge up in the wake of his shock. "As I'm sure you know, that means I'm second in command, here in the palace—second only to Lord Pharaoh."

"Really? I've never heard Horus mention you," Bakura said, his grin twisting a bit more. "And last time I checked, Lord Yugi is second to Lord Pharaoh, here."

Seto stiffened. "Yugi?"

"The Great Royal Husband. Or are you that oblivious to what's going on in your own palace?"

Seto felt the blood rise to his face. He had heard about the royal wedding, of course, but had either never been told or neglected to remember the new Royal Husband's name. "I've been far away, in other lands, on important—"

"Excuses, excuses," Bakura sneered. "And you say you're so high-up, here at the palace."

Seto glanced at Atem—seemingly impassive as he watching the scene. "I have been away," he said slowly, "but now that I've returned—"

"Now that you've returned... what?" Bakura sneered. "Dynamics here at the palace have changed quite a bit."

"Not that much," Seto replied stiffly. "And you are..." He took a deep breath; realized he had no idea what the arrangement might be, between his Pharaoh and the Thief King, and decided he shouldn't speak on what he didn't understand—he'd already made one significant blunder, by not recognizing the Great Royal Husband by name. Instead he focused on what he did know, for certain. "I am High Priest Seto Kaiba. And I will not be talked down to by the likes of you."

Atem's lips quirked upwards, even as Bakura laughed boisterously. "This one has some spunk, Horus!" he said, glancing at Atem. "You always keep interesting company, that's for sure!"

Seto, with the distinct impression of being mocked, took a step forward. "Listen carefully, thief!" he began, but Bakura's laughter all but drowned him out.

"Thief! That's original," he chuckled, as Seto's anger mounted. Again the priest glanced at his Pharaoh, wondering why Atem refused to intercede or further explain the situation. "And so terribly insulting, oh! No one's ever wounded me so, before! My tender heart bleeds!"

"By the gods, I will cut you deep, cur!" Seto declared, taking an aggressive step forward. Bakura didn't seem impressed.

"I say we have ourselves a duel, Priest. What do you think, Horus?"

Atem's eyes flashed, and he glanced briefly at Priest Seto. "I think that would settle things, don't you, Kaiba?"

Seto stiffened. The Pharaoh only addressed him thusly in the most serious contexts, and he wondered if the Pharaoh was being held hostage—if he was trying to communicate some message of distress. The only one who has ever beaten me in an official duel... is Pharaoh Atem himself... so... is he asking me to beat this filthy thief...? He must expect I'll be able to win. Of course I'll be able to win.

"I accept your challenge!" Seto declared, though feeling the travel-weariness deep in his bones. But when Atem raised the concern, asking if he would prefer to rest first, he shook his head. "I won't delay, even for a matter of hours! This is a duel for pride—I will fight, now, and I will win!"

"Are you sure?" the Thief King asked, with a crooning note of derision in his voice. "Feeling up to it, really? I don't want you blaming fatigue for your defeat, now."

"Never!" Seto thrust one hand out, robes rustling dramatically out behind him. He turned to Atem. "We will go to the duel ring immediately. Will you accompany us, Pharaoh, as witness?"

"Of course." Atem nodded seriously; rose, and gave brief instructions to a servant before stepping down from the raised platform where his throne sat.

"What shall we wager?" Bakura asked, as the three began to walk. Seto turned pointedly away.

"This is a battle between men, for pride. We needn't sully it with material wagers."

"Doesn't have to be material," the Thief King replied. "My usual rule is that the winner gets to take a card from the loser's deck, but you don't seem the type to go for that."

"I certainly am not," the High Priest replied tersely. "Cards shouldn't change hands so casually, much less cards of such high caliber as I use."

The Thief King chuckled. "We should still bet something, I think. Wagers just make things more interesting."

"Is your pride not valuable enough to you to keep the contest 'interesting?'" Seto asked.

"My pride... ah, a very important thing, to be sure, but it's not as if you can take that from me, even if you win this duel."

Seto glanced at him; Bakura seemed untroubled. "How can you say that? To lose is to—"

"The Pharaoh and I are one for one, by the way," the Thief King said nonchalantly, and both Atem and Seto went a bit pale. "That's how I got that statue put up, out in the courtyard. What's your record against our beloved god-incarnate, hmm?"

Seto looked at Atem, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze. "The Pharaoh... has never granted me a rematch."

Bakura's face lit up. "I've got a fine idea, then! Pharaoh will duel the winner, how about that? How about it, Horus?" he asked Atem, who refused to make eye contact with him, as well.

"Don't involve me in your petty squabbling. I won't be party to this."

"You thought the duel between your loyal servants would be a good idea," Bakura said, with mock innocence. "Why don't you join in the fun?"

"... Pharaoh, I believe you should duel the winner," Seto said, slowly, and Atem glanced at him in surprise. For years... I've respected you, when you've said that we shouldn't fight. Men with our power and ties of blood should stand unified, you've said. And, after the last time... But I've lusted for a rematch, Pharaoh. You claim to respect me, but you've denied me the chance to reclaim my pride. We will fight once again, and this time...

Atem, after a moment, dipped his head. "Very well. I'll assent, to this. I will duel the victor."

... ... ...

Yugi, feeling Atem's anxiety spike, raised his head slightly; a warm, dry breeze ruffled his hair. For the purposes of functionality, the two of them kept their minds mostly separate as they went about their days, but they where in the habit of maintaining some awareness of one another's general state.

"Pharaoh?" Yugi queried, across their mental connection.

Atem didn't respond, though Yugi did feel his stress rising as steadily as the Nile during spring. Deciding he shouldn't distract the Pharaoh, Yugi didn't try again to make mental contact.

"Lord Yugi? Is there anything I can get for you?"

Yugi shook his head; smiled at the servant who had paused. He was sitting in a secluded spot of the palace's main courtyard, admiring the blue of the sky and basking in the morning warmth. Within hours, the late summer sun would grow too hot to comfortably enjoy, and he would retreat to the shadowy palace interior.

"No, thank you." Then he paused; said, "What's happened, this morning? Does the Pharaoh have any special visitors?"

"Oh! Yes," the servant said, seeming pleased. "Priest Seto returned this morning!"

"Priest Seto?"

"He's been away for over a year, on a godly quest!" the servant said. "And he's returned at last!"

Priest... Seto... Pharaoh Atem had mentioned his High Priest, his cousin, on occasion, but nothing to give Yugi any real insight into the man or his so-called "godly quest." "Ah. I see. Thank you very much."

As the servant left, Yugi returned his gaze to the sky. But he could still feel Atem's unrest, and it soon became his own. He rose; paced around aimlessly for a moment, and then eventually made his way toward the entrance of the palace. He passed the statue of Thief King Bakura and felt himself smile. Just outside the gate stood a two-wheeled, single-rider chariot, now deserted save for servants and stable-hands who were beginning to tend to the horses and the chariot. The Great Royal Husband watched them work, for a moment, and then strolled back into gardens. He saw and noted where a few flowers had been trampled by hasty feet.

Yugi paced around the courtyard, avoiding palace-folk as much as he could; sticking to the secluded and shadowy areas on the perimeter of the palace. For some time he walked, in slow and methodical patterns, focusing on his surroundings and blocking out even the faint sense of Atem's mind brushing his.

There was a beat of unnatural silence—a moment when the desert winds stopped; when no palace-folk were within sight or earshot; when even the birds fell silent in anticipation of the stifling midday heat that was fast approaching.

Yugi heard the scuff of a foot behind him; felt an arm wrapped around his throat. He stifled a cry of pain as he was jerked backwards and dragged further into the shadow of the palace. He didn't struggle as he was dragged through a flowerbed.

"If you cry out, I'll snap your neck," came a voice close to his ear, and Yugi struggled to draw breath.

"If I cry out, you'll die..." he whispered, and the other's grip on his neck tightened.

"Don't test me, pretty-boy."

Yugi struggled to swallow; whispered, "I won't cry out..."

"Good. Now, tell me where I can find High Priest Seto."

Priest... Seto... "I don't... know..."

Yugi gasped as his body was slammed against the wall, face pressed against the stone. He wheezed softly as a hand tightened around his neck.

"He's an important man, here in the palace. He's the High Priest, almost equal in power to the Pharaoh. Even the lowliest servant has to know where he can be found."

So you have no idea... who I am... I thought so... Yugi had suspected the presence of an intruder—no one who lived in the palace would step carelessly in the flower beds that the Pharaoh so enjoyed, no matter how much of a stir the High Priest's return had caused. Though Atem seemed entirely preoccupied with whatever he was doing, Yugi was careful to keep their minds separate, to avoid alerting the Pharaoh to his current state. "I don't... know..." he repeated, though he couldn't quite get enough breath into his lungs. "But... if you let go of me, for a second..."

The stranger shoved him harder against the wall; Yugi felt his arm twisted behind his back, and realized that this stranger was a practiced fighter. His shoulder creaked.

"Not gonna happen, pretty-boy. Just tell me where I can find Priest Seto. Or, if you really don't know, tell me were I can find someone who does."

Yugi's vision was swimming with black dots, and he hoped the young man's fingers wouldn't leave marks on his neck. "I can take you... to the Pharaoh, if you'd like..."

The man's grip loosened, just a fraction. "The Pharaoh...?" he repeated, and Yugi took the opportunity to draw a ragged breath.

"I think your Priest Seto... is with him now..." That would explain Atem's anxiety, at least. "I can get you... an audience with Pharaoh, if you want..."

The stranger took a step backwards; kept his hand around Yugi's neck, but allowed his grip to slacken a bit more. "An audience with the Pharaoh?"

The sound of footsteps broke into the scene, and the stranger lashed out suddenly. He caught Yugi's temple with his fist, and sent the young Royal Husband crashing to the ground. Several palace-folk—two servants and a guard—appeared around the side of the building an instant later, and one of them cried out.

"Lord Yugi!"

"Shit!" The intruder raised his fists, but in an instant Yugi was up; in front of him.

"Stop, please! It's okay!" Yugi called out, as the palace-folk rushed in; they slowed, in response. "He's my friend!"

"Friend?" one of the servants echoed mistrustfully.

The guard took a step forward. "What do you mean, Lord Yugi?"

"He's my friend, from the village! From my childhood, as a commoner!" Yugi blurted out, arms spread wide. "He snuck into the palace to see me! Please, it's alright! He just startled me, and I tripped. So I know what you thought you saw, but really, he'd never hurt me! He's a very good friend of mine!"

The servants relaxed, though the guard stayed alert as he examined the Royal Husband and the intruder behind him. Forcing a cheerful laugh, Yugi took a step back and linked his arm with that of the stranger—the young man he hadn't even gotten a clear look at.

"He's just here to visit me, so please, it's alright," Yugi repeated, and eventually the guard's tension faded.

"Very well, Lord Yugi," the man said, hand leaving the hilt of his blade. The two servants were examining the stranger curiously, but now without hostility. "Shall we prepare to receive him, as a guest?"

Yugi shook his head. "I'll handle that. Please, don't tell Pharaoh, for now. He's tied up with some very important business, and I don't want to distract him with such a little thing. I'll introduce my friend to everyone properly at another time, when Pharaoh isn't so pressed, what with High Priest Seto's return and everything else."

The guard nodded; bowed. "As you say, Lord Yugi."

"Can we get you anything?" one of the servants asked the stranger, who jumped and stiffened. Yugi tightened his grip on the young man's arm; smiled at the servant.

"He's not used to things like this, so please pardon him. I'll probably take him up to our room shortly, so please have a meal ready for us there, if you would."

The servants nodded willingly; the two of them bowed, murmured farewells, and hurried off. The guard lingered for a moment longer, still eyeing the stranger.

"Are you certain, Lord Yugi?"

"Absolutely!" There was no trace of doubt in the voice of the Great Royal Husband. "I'd trust my precious friend with my life!"

The guard seemed placated; bowed, as the servants had, and left. Only then did the stranger shake himself, albeit gently, from Yugi's grasp.

"Why would you...?" he rasped, seeming at a loss. He dropped down to his knees a moment later, and said, "Friend...? Why would... you... and you're..."

"Mm." Yugi dropped down next to him on the dusty ground; got his first good look at his supposed friend. The young man was tall and leanly muscled, no older than Yugi himself, surely, with wildly tousled blonde hair and limpid, bewildered brown eyes. He was dressed in commoner's clothes—not exactly rags, but certainly not clean, either. He smelled like dust and sweat, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises.

"You're him... You're... the Pharaoh's..."

"I am," Yugi said gently. "I'm sorry they frightened you, like that."

"Why would you do that?!" the stranger demanded. "Why in Set's name would you take that kind of chance for me?!"

"Because I'd like to understand you," Yugi said, extending his hand. "Why you're doing this. Why you're looking for Priest Seto. And, if possible, I <i>would</i> like to be your friend."

The stranger looked down; screwed his eyes shut, and then buried his face in his hands. Yugi took one of his wrists gently, enfolding one calloused hand in both of his.

"I'm Yugi. What's your name?"

"Jounochi..." the other replied faintly, still hiding his face behind one hand.

"Jounochi. Why are you looking for Priest Seto?"

"Because... Because that bastard..." Jounochi seemed to be caught short of breath, then said, "Because that bastard owes me."

Yugi tilted his head. "If it's gold, then I—"

"Not gold..." Jounochi said, shaking his head. He lifted his head; laughed breathlessly, and gazed up at the sky. "Not gold. The bastard... he owes me just one more kiss."

Jounochi Katsuya hurried around the temple of Set, tidying up after worshipers and collecting offerings and otherwise doing what the local priests instructed. It was tiring work, but good work—stable, at least. With a job at the temple, he could support his mother and his sister. With a job at the temple, he could continue living. While they'd survived the great famine, doing so had sapped every resource the small family had, and so now they lived a day-to-day sort of existence. That day was particularly busy, as far as Jounochi's temple work was concerned, but he didn't bother to find out why. Some important person was likely visiting from some far off place—certainly nothing that concerned him.

When the work day was over, Jounochi made his way to a local tavern. That was fairly standard practice for him—not at all a usual habit for a temple attendant, but he saw no conflict. Within a period made short and effortless with practice, he was pleasantly relaxed, laughing and chatting cheerfully with other regular patrons that he knew well.

A hand threaded suddenly through Jounochi's shaggy blonde hair, and he spun to face an unfamiliar man.

"What's the damn idea, y' jerk?" he demanded, even as he realized that the strange man was uncomfortably attractive—tall, with brown hair and dignified, flawless features. He gave off an upper-class type of aura, even though his clothing did nothing to identify him as such.

Instead of replying, the man reached forward again; tipped Jounochi's chin up, a bit forcefully. Some of Jounochi's acquaintances laughed or called out encouragement.

"Do you drink wine? Or just vulgar commoners' beer?"

Jounochi felt the blood rise to his face, and he swatted the stranger's hand away. "What's it to ya?"

"Wine, please," the man called to the tavern's owner, ignoring the question. "The best you have."

"Hey! Jerk!" Jounochi grabbed the stranger's wrist; the man looked down at him in surprise, and Jounochi glowered up at him. "What's the idea?"

"You'll have a drink with me," the man said simply, then wrenched his hand free and sat down beside Jounochi's usual seat. After a moment of hesitation, Jounochi sat beside him. "You come here often?"

"Almost every night," Jounochi replied brusquely, seeing no reason to lie.

"Ever drink wine?" the man asked.

Jounochi scoffed. "Nah. Beer does the trick."

The tavern's owner had brought over a bottle of wine, then, and two bowls. The stranger poured some, and pushed a bowl over to Jounochi. "Make an exception, tonight."

Jounochi shrugged—free drink was free drink, he figured, and allowed his eyes to wander up and down the stranger's body. Uncomfortably attractive was a good way to put it, he thought again, and swallowed a gulp of wine. It was stronger than his usual fare, and burned a bit.

"Tell me about yourself," the other prompted, sipping his own wine. So Jounochi, again seeing no reason to lie, rambled on about his dead father and his well-meaning mother and his chronically ill sister. He ranted about how he wasn't a particularly devout believer, but the temple work kept his family alive. None of it was any great secret—something anyone could have learned about him, simply by asking around that very tavern—and he enjoyed the way the man's eyes glowed with interest when he spoke.

When he ran out of words—and wine, to chase them with—he said, "And you? What kinda story does a handsome bastard like you have to his name?"

The stranger shrugged. "That's not important."

"I think it is," Jounochi challenged, and objected, "Hey!" when the stranger took hold of his chin again.

"It's not important," the man said again, and kissed him. Jounochi's first reaction was to push up into the contact—the man's mouth was hot and lusty, his lips moving in a practiced way. But a moment later Jounochi drew back; shoved the stranger in the chest.

"What'd you think you're doing?" he huffed, and the stranger smirked.

"Wooing you."

"If this your idea of courtship, man, you should get a better strategy."

"I think it's working just fine," the man said, and kissed him against. This time Jounochi didn't pull away as quickly; let the stranger's powerful arms wrap around him, and kissed back.

The trip from the tavern to the stranger's dwelling was a blur made hazy with alcohol and kisses. But Jounochi came back to himself, slightly, when he found himself thrust down onto a bed—softer, he registered faintly, than an average commoner's bed.

"I'm not some whore you can just have," he grunted, even as the stranger crawled up over top of him.

"Would you rather have me, then?" the stranger asked huskily, and Jounochi's whole body grew hot. "I don't mind either way."

"N-Nah... that'd be..." Why would it be strange? As reluctant as he might be to admit it, Jounochi wanted this stranger to take him—wanted to be trapped beneath this powerful frame and ravaged by these skillful lips and strong hands.

"Are you... inexperienced?"

"... With guys, yeah."

The stranger smirked, then; gave a warm, somewhat derisive little chuckle. "Well. I'll be sure to take good care of you, then."

The stranger wasn't gentle—he was commanding, and at times rough. Jounochi loved that. Though he kept his word—took great care, with Jounochi—the stranger didn't treat him like he was fragile. When morning came, Jounochi wasn't surprised to find himself alone in the stranger's bed, sore and tangled in blankets made filthy by passion.

The stranger appeared from a washroom off to the side of the room, towel-drying his hair, wrapped in a thin, maize-colored robe that showed every contour of his body. "If you'd like to wash up," he said brusquely, and jerked his head toward the washroom. "After that you need to leave."

"Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea..." Jounochi murmured, and yawned.

Jounochi tided himself up, suspicions roused yet again by the quality of the soaps and perfumes that populated the stranger's washroom. When he'd finished, he peered out at the stranger, who was standing beside and gazing out the room's window.

Who are you...?

"Are you ready?" the man asked, without turning.

"Yeah..." Jounochi slipped into his sandals; walked toward the door, but kept his eyes fixed on the stranger. The man didn't seem to hear him as he approached, and jumped when Jounochi wrapped his arms around his waist.

"What are you doing?" the man growled, twisting as if to get away. Jounochi rested his chin on the man's shoulder.

"Last night was fun. We should do it again some time."

"I'm leaving this town, today," the stranger huffed, turning his face away. "You need to go, now."

"What's your name? Tell me that, at least."

"I never asked for yours. You've got no right to ask mine."

"Jounochi..." Jounochi breathed, and the stranger stiffened. "Jounochi Katsuya... that's my name. Now tell me yours."

"Get off me," the stranger grunted, and drew a sharp breath when Jounochi nipped his ear. "Enough!"

"Just tell me your name. That's not too much to ask."

"Go!" the man snapped, and Jounochi frowned.

"Fine." He let his arms drop; said, "Fine. I'll just have to figure it out myself, then."

A hand grabbed the back of his collar; jerked him backwards, and Jounochi squeaked with surprise.

"You will do no such thing, puppy," the man growled, close to his ear. "Don't get involved in things you can't possibly comprehend."

"Don't underestimate me!" Jounochi snapped, breaking away and spinning.

"Learn your place, dog!" the man shouted, and Jounochi stiffened.

"I'm no dog, you upper-class bastard!"

The stranger stiffened; pushed Jounochi toward the door again. "Get out. Get out!"

"You haven't seen the last of me!" Jounochi swore, even as the door was slammed in his face. "You hear me?! Jerk! You haven't seen the last of Jounochi Katsuya!"

#puppyshipping #revertshipping #priest seto #pharaoh atem #thief king bakura #jounouchi katsuya #yugi mutou #puzzleshipping #blindshipping #those who rule egypt #TwRE #what followed the high priest home #WFtHPH

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lobsters-on-their-heads · 7 years ago

Text

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Chapt. 8

This one was more of a bitch than the past chapters have been, but I think it’s okay now. You can read the entire work here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799?view_full_work=true

After shuttling through every major airport in Latin America (and several of the minor ones), Cosima expected landing in Toronto to be different, to feel like home.

It didn't.

As she leaned around Delphine to watch the city appear on the banks of Lake Ontario, she didn't get the thrill of seeing her home coming into view. It was just another city growing larger with their approach, not so different from San Juan, Buenos Aires, or São Paolo. Just colder and greyer.

“I've never seen it from this angle before,” she said.

“Hm?” Delphine opened one eye, frowning, both arms wrapped around her stomach.

“I've never flown into Canada before. I've driven or taken buses or whatever, but I've never seen it from the air.”

Delphine grunted. “`s nothing special.”

The plan landed in a few minutes, and they sat quietly waiting for first class to disembark before they stood up. When it was their turn, Cosima retrieved the carry-on suitcase containing the two remaining vials of clone cure from the overhead compartment, and led her still bleary-eyed fiancée from the plane. Parking themselves and their luggage in the non-citizens line for customs, Cosima wrapped her arms around Delphine's midsection and let Delphine rest her cheek on her the top of her head.

“Do you think you'll want to be a Canadian citizen one day? Like, after we're done traveling?”

Delphine shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Just maybe. Hmm. Usually I'm the one too tired to function after a flight, not you. You sure you're okay?”

Delphine nodded, though Cosima swore she felt a heaviness in Delphine's body that wasn't usually there.

“How much you wanna bet that you'll be wide awake once we put you in bed later?”

Delphine didn't answer.

The line moved foot by foot, a segmented snake of people moving through the legal limbo that existed on Canadian soil but not yet in Canada, and Delphine's eyes were closed more than they were open as she leaned either on Cosima's shoulder or on one of the lane dividers. The only time she perked up was when a security beagle went by sniffing everyone's luggage, and she pressed a knuckle against her lips to contain a squeal. Cosima mentally filed away the memory for later, when she might, potentially, be able to get Delphine a puppy. Some day. The thought was interrupted when Cosima's phone buzzed.

“Sarah says they're here,” she told Delphine.

“Hm,” was all Delphine said, still watching the beagle work its way down the line but no longer smiling. Cosima watched the way Delphine still rubbed her abdomen, and she wanted to do whatever she could to make the pain stop, to make Delphine smile again even for a second, but she knew that a customs line wasn't the place to try kissing it to make it better. She had to settle for kissing Delphine's cheek, instead.

“We'll be home soon,” she said.

For now, Cosima navigated their way through customs, paying the duty fee for the tequila they were bringing in, and leading her fiancée by the hand through the double doors into the arrivals area, where a small mass of people waited to greet their loved ones or business connections.

She saw the signs first – large poster board signs reading “WELCOME HOME” along with their names in rainbow colors and drawings of butterflies and airplanes, held by Charlotte and Kira. Charlotte stood as still and stoically as any of the sensible business people nearby, but Kira almost wiggled out of her skin. Both girls had grown since the summer, she saw, and Charlotte looked even more like the other sestras than she had on Skype. No matter how many times she saw her youngest clone, the resemblance to herself in adolescence still startled Cosima. Add a few years, a nose ring, and glasses, and Charlotte could start doing clone swaps. Behind the girls stood Sarah, looking almost the same as when Cosima last saw her, exhaustion, torn jeans, and all, and in her arms were two winter coats, one red, one black.

“You're gonna need these,” Sarah said after she'd hugged them both.

Cosima swathed herself in her old red coat, smelling the must of the Rabbit Hole's closet, and fought the memories that threatened to explode in her mind.

Meeting Alison for the first time. Running through campus with Delphine and a bottle of wine. Coughing up blood.

She shook her head and smiled to thank her sister. From her bag she took her hat and gloves, packed back in June with this day in mind, and Delphine did the same. Hers, though, were purchased in Mexico, where selection was limited. The hat was one of those ear-flap varieties decorated with bright red snow flakes and a white pompom on top that looked frikkin' adorable on Delphine, but which Cosima knew would be traded for Delphine's trusty old grey beanie in less than 24 hours.

Outside the airport, both of them gasped when the frigid air hit their faces, making Sarah and Kira laugh. Making sure the girls weren't quite in earshot, Cosima muttered, “fuuuuuck....”

“A bit different than what you've gotten used to, isn't it?” Sarah said.

Several rows of cars later, Sarah pulled out her keys and pushed a button to unlock a black Prius.

“What happened to Siobhan's truck?”

“Nothing. It's still back at the house. It's not that easy getting two girls to and from everywhere with it, though, you know? Especially since they keep getting taller on me.”

The Prius had four doors and a hatchback and looked more suited for Alison Hendrix than Sarah Manning, except for a bumper sticker advertising Bobby's Bar. Charlotte took the front seat, with Kira sitting between Cosima and Delphine in the back.

“Me and Charlotte convinced Mom to get this car,” Kira said. “And Colin helped, too.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said as she pulled out of their spot. “Alison wanted me to get a minivan.”

Cosima tried to imagine Sarah driving a minivan, and laughed. “Well, I appreciate any and all attempts at reducing the carbon footprint.”

Sarah pulled into the long line of cars exiting the airport parking lot. “That's what the girls said. What do you want for dinner, by the way? Or did you eat on the plane?”

Cosima smirked. “Yeah, no, we fly coach. No in-flight meals for us. And whatever you guys want is fine. How `bout you, babe?” She reached around Kira to tap Delphine's shoulder. “You want anything special for dinner?”

“Anything is fine. All I really want is a cup of coffee.”

Cosima snorted. “Only if you want to spend the night by yourself.”

In the time since leaving Dyad, Delphine's caffeine intake had been severely reduced, meaning each cup of coffee packed a much larger punch than it had in her days of four to six cups a day. She'd forgotten that once in Guatemala, when one of the clinic doctors gave her a 16 ounce cup of local brew in the afternoon and Cosima thought she might actually jitter out of her own skin. It was the only night Cosima had ever kicked Delphine out of bed, because Delphine simply could not keep her body still.

Charlotte twisted to look at them from the front seat. “Sarah says we're going wherever you guys want to go for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Kira agreed. “So you should pick something.”

They looked at each other over Kira's head, and Delphine shrugged. “You have been saying you miss maple syrup. And peanut butter.”

At that, both Charlotte and Kira broke into smiles. “We can go to Jack's!” Kira cried. “We can have breakfast for dinner!”

Sarah paid for their parking and the car sped out onto the highway towards Toronto proper. Cosima was struck by how different the landscape here was from each Latin American city they'd been to, and she was about to comment on it, but when she looked over, she saw a far off look on Delphine's face. Her fiancée's mouth was drawn into a small frown, and her eyes were larger than usual. Cosima reached over and brushed the side of her head, making Delphine jump a little.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yes.” Delphine turned to kiss Cosima's wrist. “Just remembering things.”

At Jack's Diner, they all piled into a booth towards the back, and everyone got hot chocolate except Sarah, who got black tea. Cosima hadn't thought she was hungry on the ride over, but the pies in the front display case called her name as she walked past, and just about everything on the menu looked amazing.

“Will you judge me,” Cosima asked the table at large, “if I order something super unhealthy?”

“It's the Christmas season,” Delphine said, “so we can all be a little unhealthy, I think.”

“Alison would disagree with you there,” Sarah said. “Apparently she's got her whole family on a diet right now.”

Kira giggled. “That's just because she caught Helena giving the twins butter.”

“What's wrong with butter?” Delphine asked. “They're eating solids now, aren't they?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, “but it's just butter. Like, she gets a glob of butter on her fingers and gives it to them like that. They love it.”

Cosima could picture that quite well, and she imagined that Helena would transfer some of her own idiosyncrasies about food to her feeding of the boys, who were now nine months old. “That sounds like Helena,” she said.

Delphine nodded. “As long as they're getting a balanced diet otherwise and their pediatrician says they're okay, butter should be fine.”

“She also gave them a can of frosting,” Charlotte said, “but I think she ate most of that herself.”

It must've been news to Kira, who turned to her mother to indignantly say, “you never let me eat frosting out of the can!”

“Yeah, `cause I'm not Helena, and neither are you! You heard about her trip to the dentist, yeah, Cos?”

She had. Apparently Helena had gone most, or even all, of her life without seeing a dentist, and that combined with her sugar addiction had created a goldmine of cavities. The only way the family had gotten her through the initial exam and cleaning was by Donnie holding her hand the whole time, and discussions were underway as to how to get her through the recommended fillings and a potential root canal.

“She just needs a little moral support,” Kira had said. “She's afraid of doctors.”

“I'm sure one of us can sit with her through it,” Cosima said. “If that's what it takes. We'll find a dentist who understands.”

The waiter came for their orders, and Delphine got a salad. All the talk of butter and frosting turned her off of the heavier menu items, but Cosima had the opposite response, ordering a plate of French toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, and hash browns. She might regret it all later, but that was a problem for later. Sarah ordered a club sandwich, Kira got a stack of pancakes, and Charlotte ordered the eggs benedict.

While they waited for their food to arrive, they chatted about family news and local happenings, with Kira doing most of the talking and Sarah or Charlotte chiming in with side notes or corrections. They learned that Cal Morrison, Kira's father, might be coming to town for Christmas, but no one was quite sure how likely that was. Then their food arrived, and Cosima stopped caring about Cal Morrison. After a few minutes of quiet chewing and the clatter of silverware on plates, Charlotte sighed and slumped in her seat.

“What's wrong?” Cosima asked. The youngest Leda had seemed in better spirits that evening than in their recent Skype calls, but she could be moody, too.

Charlotte twisted her mouth like she didn't want to say, but then said, “Ira's was better.”

Ira's. Cosima had not thought about Ira for months, focusing on the Ledas they could and would save rather than the Castor men they hadn't even tried to save. She reached across the table and took Charlotte's hand in hers. “Ira was a good guy,” she said. “I know you miss him.”

Tears gathered in Charlotte's eyes, but she nodded and picked her fork back up. She didn't eat, but pushed a piece of egg around on her plate, eyes down.

“Did he ever show you how to make it?” Delphine asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “He said it was hard to get it right.”

Delphine nodded. “It is hard, but once you have the technique, it's not too bad. Would you like to learn?”

“Do you know how to make it?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, but it's been a while.”

Cosima leaned back from her own decimated plate to arch an eyebrow at Delphine. “You've never made me an eggs benedict.”

“You've never asked for one.”

After they'd eaten their fill of diner food and Cosima decided against buying any pies, Sarah drove them to the Rabbit Hole and dropped them off. “See you tomorrow, yeah?” she called from the driver's seat.

Cosima nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Maybe tomorrow afternoon, though. We need to settle in a little before too much family time.”

Downstairs, in the cold former storage space come laboratory, she and Delphine turned on all the lights, set down their luggage, and stood for a minute, staring at the space and each other. It was cold enough that their breath fogged in the air. Despite the months that she and Delphine had spent living here after the fall of Neolution, the first memories that sprang to Cosima's mind were of bloody coughing fits, robot worms, and soul crushing despair, but to her surprise, she still felt a rush of fondness for the little apartment – laboratory combo.

“You know,” Cosima said, “I didn't realize it, but I kind of missed this place. In a weird way.”

Delphine turned on the nearest space heater, then wrapped her arms around Cosima and nuzzled her hair. “Why is it weird?”

“Because so much of the time I spent here was.... well, it wasn't exactly happy.”

“No. But some of it was, I think.”

She nodded and rubbed her nose against Delphine's warm neck. “Yeah. Especially once you got here.”

Delphine giggled. Her clothes smelled like coffee and bacon, and the stale airplane air they had marinated in for much of the day. Then she sighed and pulled Cosima closer.

Cosima rested her her hands on Delphine's hips and thought back to their dinner. “Is it okay with you that I've only told Sarah so far?”

“What?”

“That we're engaged. Sarah's the only one I've told, well, not counting Art. The girls don't know.”

“Oh, no, that's okay. If you told the girls, they would run around and tell everyone else before we got the chance to, and you want to tell them yourself.”

“Exactly.”

They broke away from each other to turn on the remaining space heaters scattered around the basement and to check their stores of winter clothing. Then, Cosima went over to the storage case and looked at the new vials of the clone vaccine Scott had put together for them. “We'll need some more. There's only twenty here, and we have, what, fifty in Europe and the Middle East?”

“Something like that.” Delphine plucked at the sleeve of Cosima's jacket. “Worry about that tomorrow. I'm going to take a shower, and you know the hot water here doesn't last very long.”

By the time Cosima got into the tiny bathroom with the clawfoot bathtub and the fitful shower head, Delphine was already naked and shampooing her hair. No matter how many times Cosima had seen Delphine naked, in various states, moods, and positions, watching Delphine wash her hair always held a special appeal for her. Maybe it was the way Delphine's arms raised above her head and stretched out her torso, or the way she held her head to one side, or maybe it was just the play of water over her skin, coursing across the freckles on her back and down the crack of her ass...

“Are you coming in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Totally.” She shucked off her clothing and climbed in with her, hurrying to soap up the most important parts of herself. As Delphine predicted, the water cooled off just as they finished rinsing off, so Cosima had goose bumps when she stepped out. There would be no shower sex in this place, that was for sure.

After they'd showered, dried off, and crawled under the layers of blankets on the bed, Cosima tucked herself against Delphine's body and breathed in the warm smell of her skin and hair. Delphine wore a T-shirt and flannel pajamas pants, and Cosima missed the easy access to her bare skin she'd had in Latin America, when all Delphine wore to bed most nights was a pair of shorts. She kissed her above the neckline of the T-shirt.

“I'm glad you're here,” she whispered.

Delphine squeezed her arm. “Me too. Did you think I wouldn't be?”

“No, no. It's not that. I'm just glad you're here.”

“Hm.”

She felt Delphine smile, and her fingers tapped against Cosima's arm even as residual warmth from the shower weighted Cosima's limbs down. “You're not even, like, remotely tired anymore, are you?” Cosima asked.

“Only a little bit. I slept pretty heavily on the plane.”

Cosima remembered Delphine's face, tucked into and drooling on her rolled up sweatshirt, scowling in her sleep. “You did. You seemed upset when you woke up, too. Did you have a bad dream?”

Delphine paused before answering, which meant the answer was probably yes even if Delphine said no. She pulled Cosima closer and ran her fingers over her upper arm, feeling the curves of her muscles. They'd both kept fit on their journey, walking and biking a lot, doing yoga, and discovering a mutual love of rock climbing, complete with jokes about the next time they'd get each other in a harness.

“You could say that,” she said.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Delphine chest shook a little as she breathed in, making Cosima look up to see her staring at the ceiling. Cosima knew when Delphine was stalling. A year after their little Don't Ask Don't Tell arrangement on Revival, Delphine talked a lot more, but her habit was still to keep difficult topics close to her chest, even as Cosima got better about seeing through her defenses.

“I don't remember all of it,” she said.

Cosima rubbed her thumb over Delphine's ribs through her shirt. “That's okay. Tell me what you remember.”

“It was just... old worries I thought I was finished with. Like, something scraped up the old, accumulated gunk from the underside of my psyche and set it floating around in my head again. I need to just let it settle back into place, forget about it again.”

“That's an oddly poetic way to describe it without telling me what you actually dreamed about.”

She let out a huff of air. “Okay. I dreamed that you were dead. Is that better?”

Cosima kissed her jaw, then her cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your dream, for almost dying on you a couple times before, for being a brat. You know. For all of it. All the clone drama you've had to put up with over the years. And that you'll probably have to keep putting up with.”

Delphine kissed her back, holding her lips in hers for a moment before letting go. “You're worth it. And besides, I don't expect any upcoming clone drama to even remotely rival the drama with Neolution. Do you?”

“Oh, God, let's hope not.”

“We're safe now. I mean, as safe as anyone really is.”

She kissed the corner of Delphine's mouth, then the side of her nose and her temple. “I still think about it though, in like, fits and spurts. Sometimes I go days without even thinking or remembering that, hey, we didn't always have it this nice, you know. And then it hits me, like, I'll have a bad dream, or some smell will hit me, or I'll see someone who looks like Coady or Susan Duncan or whoever, and it all comes rushing back. Is it like that with you, too?”

Delphine gave her a small smile and stroked her face. “Yes. It is exactly like that.”

Cosima wanted to say more, but a large yawn stifled her words, and she snuggled back against Delphine. When she spoke again, her voice slurred a little with sleepiness. “It's probably just being back here. Back in Toronto, back in this basement. Seeing Sarah again, all that. It's kind of hit me, too. There's a lot of memories here.”

“Yes, there are. But, we can make new ones. New memories.”

“Damn skippy we will.”

Delphine giggled and tugged the blankets higher to cover their shoulders. Cosima's body relaxed, but her mind kept going, catching on the rough edges of memories. “Are you okay?” Delphine asked.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just, you know. You got me thinking, too. About the power of memories, and how our brains just, like, snap us back in time without much warning.”

“Mmm. Yes, they do.”

“Like, there was that one clinic we were in, I think it was in Sucre, and they'd just had a patient come in bleeding all over the damn place, and the walls were just concrete, and it was damp, and something about the smell just...”

She closed her eyes, but it wasn't the clinic she saw behind her eyelids.

“Like, I didn't even register the smell first,” Cosima went on. “The memory hit me before the smell really clicked. I didn't have any choice about whether or not to remember.”

Delphine stroked her hair. “Which memory?”

“The cage, and Janus. All that.”

Delphine hadn't learned about those details until after Westmoreland was dead, after the dust had settled on Neolution and various law enforcement agencies had tied up the loose ends. Delphine had stumbled across the partial tuxedo tucked in the back of the closet and asked Cosima if she would ever wear it again, and Cosima had told her the story. Cosima remembered how pale Delphine's face had gone, and how tightly she'd held her in her arms afterwards.

Delphine rubbed her back under the covers and nuzzled her hair. “You can talk about it more, if you want to.”

“I know. As I recall, though, we started talking about your inner demons, not mine.”

“I'll tell you more about mine in the morning.”

“Hmm. You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Do you promise to still be here in the morning when I wake up?”

She kissed Cosima's fingers. “Yes, I promise. There's nowhere else I want to be.”

#continuing travels of cophine #cophine fanfiction #orphan black fanfiction #cosima x delphine #I've just really been craving diner food for like a month

19 notes · View notes

kavuyi · 5 years ago

Text

Nkani: All That Glitters 31 Part 2 https://ift.tt/2T6Zylh

For this chapter, we had another writer add in some amazing words. Can you guess which parts?

We hope you enjoy. It’s sooooooo drama!!!

“Hey babe.”

Sangu wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my cheek.

“Hey.” I respond.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He brushes his lips across mine. He’s in a good mood, I can tell. He probably had the best day at the hospital. He gives me one last kiss on my lips before he lets go of me and takes my hand.

“Dinner?” He asks.

He flashes me a smile before he leads us to the kitchen. I roll my eyes at the back of his head.

“You cooked?” I ask

He turns and looks at me.

“Yeah. Come on, I’ve been cooking the past days. Why you shocked?”

“Well, I know you can cook but everyday? Honey are you sure you want to be in the kitchen everyday?”

“For you? Of course. You’ve been doing everything for me for so long so I’m showing you I’m here for you.”

“That’s really sweet of you but work? You’ve been coming home earlier than usual.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“And its all sorted babe. No worries.”

“What is going on?”

He opens the door leading to the kitchen and stands aside to let me through. I do not take a step passed him, I look at him hoping to see some kind of answers from his eyes but nothing. He gives nothing away.

“Sangu what’s going on? I’m getting worried.”

“I’ll tell you everything later. We gotta celebrate first.”

“Celebrate what?”

“I’ll tell during dinner. I have your favourite wine, chilled, roasted pork, mash potatoes, greens…”

“No. Tell me now.”

He smirks and stands in front of me.

“Remember those days we talked about me reducing my number of hours at Queen Elizabetha Medical Hospital?”

“Yes.”

He grabs my shoulders excitedly.

“Well, that day has come.” He laughs. “I finally got a response from Patrick Chileshe Memorial Hospital. You’re looking at their newest doctor.”

“That’s amazing sweetie. I’m so happy for you. When did you get the news?”

“Today. In the morning.”

“Great. But you’re home early? You’ve home early this past week.”

“Well I’m on leave. Or not really on leave. I still get called in for particular cases.”

“Oh. You didn’t tell me.”

“Was going to the day of moms birthday but stuff. Then Thandiwe.”

“Oh. You get home early enough to cook?”

“Exactly. Now I have to think about how to split my time schedule between the two hospitals.”

“I don’t understand.” I respond confused. “Doesn’t that mean more hours for you?”

“Slightly more but better pay.” He says

“Okay if you put it that way.” I laugh. “I’m so proud of you honey.”

I close the gap between us and kiss him. He smiles against my lips.

“Told you I’ll make you proud of me.” He whispers

“Yes you did. And you have.”

“Dinner?”

“Of course.”

He takes my hand and we walk into the kitchen. The scent of cooked food makes my mouth water. I can’t wait to eat it all up. Sangu has the kitchen table prepared, empty wine glasses standing beside plates laden with our dinner.

“Let me take your bag ma’am.” He says

He takes my handbag from my hand and places it on an empty chair around the table. He pulls a chair back for me, ever the gentleman.

“The food smells so good Sangu. I absolutely love the display. I’m a lucky lady.”

“Yes you are.”

He sits down beside me, reaches out for the bottle of red wine standing between the wine glasses.

“Wine?” He asks

“Hmm. Thank you Hun.”

“Mum says hi.” He says as he pours the wine in our glasses.

“Hmmm.” I respond.

I grab one of the forks beside my plate as I watch him. The food tastes as good as it looks, so good it has me closing my eyes and sighing in pleasure. If there is something I know about Sangu it’s that whatever he puts his heart into comes out perfect.

“She’s as excited as I am about the news.”

I grab my glass of wine and look at Sangu.

“You told her?”

“Yeah. She came by the hospital actually.”

“Oh? Is she okay? Why was she there?”

“She actually brought………”

He stops short but the guilt in his eyes is enough. I know who his mother brought over. His amazing pregnant ex girlfriend. Did she do it deliberately? Remind him of a life he could have with his ex and her child or was did his mother take her to him for an honest check up? What is it with that woman and holding onto her son like he’s her last drop of water?

“Are they okay?” I ask

“As to be expected.” He responds, obviously relieved.

“That’s good.” I respond.

I look at my plate, the sight of food no longer as pleasant to look at. So his ex girlfriend found out about his job changes earlier than I did. She seems to know a lot more about him than I do. She knows about me and my problems from his mother. She probably knows the real reason Sangu left me on my birthday. What if he really wants her back? Surely he must know I don’t approve of him giving his ex check ups. And the fact that he would see her more often than I would like bothers me more than it should. His mother is to blame for this mess. Period. What am I supposed to do now? Wait it out? Till he leaves me again?

“Babe. Are you okay.” He asks. “You’re not eating.”

I look at him and smile.

“I’m great.” I respond. “I was wondering though. Do you really want to have children with me?”

“What kind of a question is that Sampa? Of course I do. I love you.”

I meet his gaze and shake my head.

“Sangu I think We need to talk.”

**********

“Call Sampa. Call Ian. Wash some whites. Have a salad and sleep.” I tell myself

No echoes are curious enough to talk back. It’s a beautiful end to a perfect day. One of my best days yet. The restaurant had one of its best days yet. Packed to maximum, I was kept on my toes all day. I got to do my job with the passion I was born with. I believe I killed every meal I made today and I’m proud of myself, the smile on my face is evident of that. I smile at my reflection in the mirror.

“Good work done Sonia.” I tell myself.

I blow myself a kiss and grab my handbag off the white sink. I need to get home soon. I walk out of the bathroom with a smile plastered on my face as I head to the kitchen area.

“Sonia?”

I turn around and catch sight of the hotel manager, Mr Mwansa standing by the door of his office. He lowers his head slightly to look at me over his rectangular spectacles that make him look older than his fifty years. Then again his grey hair doesn’t do much to make him look any younger.

“You’re still around?” He asks

“Just leaving actually.” I respond. “Just going to the kitchen to check on a few things then I’ll be gone. Quite tired to be honest.”

“Ahh I can imagine after the day you’ve had.”

“Very busy. But worth it.” I laugh.

“Could you step into my office please.”

My smile fades as I walk to his office. He heads to his desk as I close the door. I’ve been to his office too few times and it’s only been to deal with menu designs with the head chef, never after hours.

“Take a seat please.” He says slowly

I walk to the only empty chair across him and sit down.

“Sonia I want to thank you for coming in today. I know you had the day off to see your friend but you showed up. Thank you.”

I offer him a smile and meet his gaze.

“Anyway that’s not why I called you here.” He continues. “This should have been done earlier but the day got away with us.”

He shuffles a few papers aside on his table before he pulls out a brown envelope and hands it over to me. I look at the envelope then at Mr Mwansa, a look of confusion on my face. Is the hotel firing me I wonder. Did I do something wrong today? I believe I worked to my best today but if I’m getting fired then I obviously failed. Where will I get a new job from? Plus I need to save for my wedding. I reach out and take the envelope from his hand. I quickly rip the opening and pull a single white page from it.

A lips break into a smile as the words promotion and head chef stand out on the letter. I look at Mr Mwansa hoping his face can reveal that the letter is not some sort of prank.

“Promotion?” I ask

“It’s been a long time coming.” He laughs

“Yes it has.” I agree

“We, I and hotel management have noticed your efforts Sonia. You are an amazing chef. You’ve put your heart into everything you do. I’ve received glowing comments from clients. You never disappoint. Always willing to learn. We figured it was best we reward you for your work done. Like today you made the kitchen work and the product was beautiful meals that created smiles on people’s faces.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you will accept it. You will become head chef as of tomorrow.”

“But what about head chef Benard?”

“He will help you around the kitchen for the time being before you’ll be fully able to control the whole kitchen.” He says. “Bernard actually gave a glowing recommendation about your skills.”

“He did?”

“You seem surprised?”

“Not that I’m shocked I just didn’t know I would be under recommendation. That’s all.”

“We are always on the look for new and fresh talent Sonia and you are it.”

“But I don’t understand, the kitchen will have two head chefs?” I ask confused.

“Sadly no.” He sighs. “Bernard will be leaving us in a few weeks and he recommended you as his replacement.”

“He did? Me?”

“Yes. You. Did you have anyone else in mind for the job?”

“No. It’s just that I’m in shock. It’s a good thing sir.”

“I understand. It’s been a long time coming.” He laughs. “Then again he was telling us what we already knew. You are one hardworking chef.”

“Thank you sir.”

“This is the beginning of great things Sonia.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“So what do you say Sonia? Are you up for the challenge?”

“Yes!” I laugh. “Yes I am.”

“Well Sonia thank you for the work done and as head chef we expect more innovative meals from you.”

“I won’t let you down sir.” I respond. “Thank you so much. Thank you.”

**********

“You are the most stupid woman I know. The fact that you’re my sister even hurts me more. You’re letting your husband walk out of the house just like that? You can’t even stop him?”

I look at Tendai and roll my eyes before I walk out of the living room. I don’t have to sit and listen to her talk rubbish anymore. Chinyama is not here to listen to us talking so I don’t have to respond to her anymore. Since I walked in on them laughing, she’s not let me have one moment of peace in my own house. She didn’t even ask me how I was doing let alone if I’m okay.

No.

I don’t even know why she’s in my house right now. She hasn’t told me what’s going on. She didn’t even have the audacity to call me before showing up. She chose to call Chinyama first and tell him she was coming to Lusaka and my darling husband instead of calling me took it upon himself to pick her up and drive her home. To my home! I didn’t even have time to be happy at her arrival before she went right into trying to fix Chinyama and I.

And why?

Because my husband chose to tell her part of our marital drama first. The parts she wanted to hear anyway. Tendai didn’t bother to find out if it was true. To her Chinyama was the honest one and I the difficult wife with a hard heart. She literally forced him to stay for dinner so as to mend the gap. To my surprise Chinyama stayed. He literally agreed to stay for dinner and play with the kids. He was civil, and nice to me for some time while Tendai received all the smiles and laughs.

They both were irritating but for the kids I played the perfect host; and the gap fixer Tendai? Well she stayed by his side touching his shoulder or whatever she could touch all night till he left. If it wasn’t for me she would have begged him to stay the night.

“You really letting that man sleep in a lodge ayi? Really? You have such a big house. Lots of space. And you kick him out?” She continues. “Like mama you need to grow up and out of this phase. You still holding onto things he did a while back?”

What does she even know about my marriage for her to judge me? She’s in my house and she’s defending the very man that left his home. I don’t need her talking at all. I head to the kitchen with the sound of her heels behind me.

“I am so disappointed in you Mable. Do you know how many women would want to be in your shoes?” She asks

“Please tell me.” I whisper.

I push the kitchen door and walk into the kitchen, she follows behind me. I walk to the sink and place the plates in the sink. The maids can clean this mess up tomorrow. I’m not in the mood.

“A lot. Cheating husband or not a lot of women would love to be in your shoes with that man for a husband. You have everything you need! Everything! What else do you want? You’ve always been delusional about marriage and love mama.”

I turn around and face my sister. At the age of thirty-four she looks amazing. She’s kept herself fit and healthy that I feel jealous. If I had that body maybe my husband wouldn’t cheat on me. Maybe he would choose me; but then again I know Tendai manages her shape because she’s never had children or extra fat that comes with depression from a broken marriage. Tendai doesn’t even know what it’s like to be married and she’s here judging me for choosing happiness. Wonders never cease to amaze me.

“And to think Chinyama married you after you got pregnant. Like how many men do that? Feel guilt? Feel guilt and marry their baby mamas?”

Is that what it was? Guilt? He married me out of guilt and not love? Is that what he told her? What else had he told my older sister? Why is she still supporting him after all has done to me? She’s supposed to be in my corner being my best friend but no; then again Chinyama and Tendai were always close friends, best friends if they ever got to that stage. They were always together, they would hang out in the same clique, so many thought they would take it further but in the end he married me, her younger sister and settled down.

“Mum will be so disappointed.” She continues. “You need to let this go. Once and for all let it go and get your husband back. You’re gonna lose him.”

“Oh please, shut up.” I respond.

“How dare you.”

“How dare me? Tendai you’re in my house. Mine! And you’re on a bender about my marriage? My husband? Like seriously where do you get off telling me all that trash? Why are you even here? You called my husband when you came to Lusaka? What are you doing here?

“This is isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m your older sister pointing out you’re ruining your marriage.”

“Ruining my marriage? I think my marriage got ruined when my husband cheated on me the first time, don’t you think so too?”

“You need to let that shit go mama. For good or he’ll definitely go to her in the end? Is that what you want? The ridicule you’ll face?”

“Are you kidding me? Is that what he told you? Did he call you here to talk to me about this?”

“Oh please you know perfectly well your husband doesn’t tell me anything. We might be friends but he still respects you.”

“Then why are you up in my business now?”

“Because I care about you.” Tendai says slowly. “Chinyama told me about the living in different homes yes.”

“What else.”

“Nothing. But it’s pretty obvious there is more going on.”

“Paranoia was never your strongest suit Tendai. Please remember this, Chinyama and I are still married. Legally. We are simply living in different houses for now.”

“You think this is a joke? That he will come back to you when you’re done playing? You will lose a perfectly good husband to your jokes. You don’t even realise what you’re losing. You’re so stuck up. I don’t even understand or know why.”

“What is it to you? Whether I’m with him or not is not your business.”

“It is. He’s family. The father to my niece and nephews. Remember your kids. I swear if I did not know better I’d think you’re up to no good.”

“You’re mad.”

“You’re foolish for putting your kids in this predicament.”

“Tendai I swear if you don’t stop I’ll hit you or throw you out.”

“See!! You’re so rude. And you know you’re so lucky that husband of yours even defends you to this date. But one day he won’t.”

“Defends me? What the hell did I do wrong? He cheated. I was pregnant then. That man is still cheating. He still meets up with her. They share her child.”

“Her child? Is it his child? Blood for blood?”

“No.”

“So you’re angry that your husband who is a man is cheating and helping a woman with her child? Is that all?”

“I can’t talk to you anymore. Are you listening to me? You keep talking but you don’t know a thing about my problems with my husband. Stay out of them.”

“You act like you’re so perfect. Look at our family. Our parents. Remember them? That’s reality.”

“Oh please don’t bring them into this. Their marriage is theirs not ours.”

“It’s an example.”

“A horrible one.”

“Realistic.”

“Realistic? How? Mum suffered too remember? She wanted to leave dad.”

“She never left dad. She stayed with him through it all.”

“That’s her. She accepted it all. She accepted you because she couldn’t leave him at the end of the day.”

“Exactly. I’m the child he had outside his marriage but mum didn’t leave him or let him leave for a day. She took me in. She let him stay. They are happier than ever.”

“Tendai I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

I walk passed her towards the kitchen door. I will not have her comparing my marriage to my parents marriage. My mother suffered enough when she found out about dad and Tendai’s mother, the same way I suffered with the Cynthia situation. Now Tendai will try and demean my situation and call me bad. How rich.

“As my younger sister you need to figure out a way to fix the mess. You’re losing too good a man for trash. You’re losing a good man to trash you’ve met that has you lost.” She says.

I stop and turn around, my heart beating so fast I feel Tendai will hear it. What does she know about Isaac? Oh my. This is not good.

“What did you say?” I ask

“You suck at hiding secrets. You suck at being a liar. You met someone.”

“Now I’m the cheater?”

“You were not home when we came. And you showed up late. Who does that? Who is this person who keeps you out. I know your tuma friends work for a living.”

“Wait, so I can’t have friends who don’t work? Or I can’t visit any who do? Gosh I was not home because my husband was home.”

“Look at you trying to hide the truth. Who is he? Who is this man huh? This foolish man that has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

“Are you drunk? Did you have too much to drink?”

“I know you met someone else. I can tell. I know you too well. It’s written all over your face.”

“You are obviously losing it.”

“Mable, there is no way you would be willing to leave Chinyama over stupid shit. I know you. You’ve been fighting to save your marriage for years and now you’re strong enough to let him walk? You’re foolish. You’ll get caught. You’re so lucky your husband is foolishly blind in love with you not to see it all.”

“I’ve had it up to here with you.” I respond. “Enough. I don’t need your trash advice.”

“I’m trying to help you fix your marriage.”

“Don’t help at all. I will get my husband back.”

“With the way you’re acting I don’t think so.”

“Fine. That’s fine with me. Why don’t you concentrate on getting married first. Or even better finding a man first.”

“Do you actually miss your husband? Like do you miss him?”

Of course I miss my husband. Parts of him anyway. I’ve been with the man for so long so I’m bound to miss him when he’s gone.

“Do you miss him?” She repeats.

“What do you think?”

“You’ve left him to be out of this house for over a week and you show no signs of getting him back honey. You need to get your shit together.”

“When it’s time to fix this then it’s time. What is it to you? Let it go. That’s it.”

“I’m not the one who will be getting divorced.”

“Coming from you I’m surprised you’re not happy I’m separated from the man. After all haven’t you been in love with him for years? Holding onto him like he’s your lost love? Just stop it and accept that he’s still married to me. Goodnight Tendai.”

*********

There is no time like the present. Sangu cannot get away from this. We need to stop walking on eggshells in this relationship once and for all. I think I’ve been patient enough with the man and it’s time he opened up about what’s going on between us and his life. I’ve already been dumped once this year, I don’t want to waste time on a man who wants to be with someone else one day. I look at him and the look on his face breaks my heart. He’s not pleased but neither am I. At least I let him have dinner before I demanded for a sit down. Why was supposed to be a celebratory dinner turned into an out of this world full of tension dinner. Maybe I should have waited for another day because now I look like the selfish girlfriend. Pathetic.

“What do you want to know?” He asks.

“Everything. The truth.”

“I’ve been honest with you from the get go Sampa.”

“Except for the part where you forgot to tell me you’re visiting your ex, Penelope, most nights after work.”

Sangu exhales sharply and shifts uncomfortably.

“I’m not cheating on you.” He says

“I never said you were cheating Sangu.”

“Then what? What’s stressing you out?”

“The fact that you lied so many times all in the hopes of seeing her. If you had nothing to hide you would have told me.”

“I didn’t want you…” He pauses and looks at me. He takes a deep breath before he responds calmly. “Didn’t want to piss you off.”

“So you thought lying was the way to go? Now I’m getting pissed off honey.”

“You saying all this as if I wanted to do it.”

“You didn’t want to?”

“Of course not. Penelope and I are over. For good. The only reason I had to do her cheek ups was because mom requested me to help out.”

Of course she did. I knew she was involved in this mess, but then was she the only involved? What if quiet Penelope had suggested it first? What if she wanted Sangu back as well. What if this was the way to get him back? Have them connect over babies I couldn’t give him yet? And only Sangu knows the truth I need to know. I have to find out now or forever keep these thoughts to myself.

“Your mother made you do it?” I ask

Sangu looks away from me and nods. I can tell he’s nervous from the way he rubs his knees with his hands. He’s uncomfortable with my questions.

“She thought Penelope was having issues with the pregnancy. She was worried. So she had Penelope move in with her for a while. Just to keep an eye on her. And then she called me. I didn’t even know Penelope was pregnant.” He says.

“So you’re saying Penelope doesn’t want you back?”

“I don’t know what she wants. We don’t talk about the past and things we missed out on. She knows I’m with you. She knows I’m happy with you.”

“And she also knows I can’t have kids and that you left me on my birthday.”

“Mum revealed that to her not me. Mum is our link. I seriously wouldn’t have known a thing if it wasn’t for mum. I saw Penelope around the house before but I never thought anything of it. Our friendship was strictly that till mum told me.”

“And when was this? When did she first call you about the pregnancy?”

“December. Weeks before new year.”

Weeks before he dumped me on my birthday. Could it be he left me because of her? Was that it?

“Is that why you left? Broke up with me?”

“No!” He responds, too sharply.

He looks at me, his eyes flashing emotions he doesn’t want to show.

“You sure it had no connection?” I push further.

“I told you why I left Sampa. Don’t make me repeat the words.”

“So you found out your ex was pregnant and you became her personal doctor then dumped me, a woman who has low chances of ever getting pregnant weeks later. Surely you can see the connection.”

“You’re overthinking things.”

“Am I?”

“I was overwhelmed. Work. Us. Life. Then my mother. And then Penelope became a factor.”

“Because your mother wanted you guys to get back together. Did she convince you that you were better off with her?”

“My mother wants a lot of things but that doesn’t mean she will get those things.”

“But I’m right she wants you to get back with her? And my inability to have children for the time being makes it worse for you.”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what my mother wants. Penelope and I are done. We are through. Have been for years.”

“Yet she is still priority?”

“To my mother yes. To me she’s a friend who happens to be pregnant. That’s it. The same way I care about Thandiwe.”

“So you didn’t tell me you cared about this friend’s pregnancy because you wanted your mother to do it for you?”

“Sampa..”

He reaches out to touch my hand and I slap his hand away instead.

“No, you embarrassed me. And your mother seemed happy with the result. You literally went all putty in her ploy to make me feel bad. I know I can’t have kids but I don’t need you or your family judging me for it.”

“Babe.”

He attempts to grab my hand again. I push his hands away and stand up.

“No. Don’t touch me. You are lying to me. Hiding things. What else are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“So this week with the dinners? The cooking and taking care of everything has been nothing?”

“Sampa you know me. You know I love you. You’ve been stressed, the Thandiwe accident had you lost. I stepped up because you needed me. That’s my job as your boyfriend.”

He stands up and we face each other.

“Nothing more?” I ask.

“Nothing less.”

“So if you love me then why are still only dating five years later.”

“What?”

“Why are we still at this phase. This. Right now.”

“Sampa really. There so is much stuff to sort out.”

“So that’s why we are still in a relationship not taking this further? Like I think we are stuck in limbo waiting for your mother to get used to me?”

“It’s not like that at all. I have…. No.. We have much to do before we take that step Sampa.”

“Like what? Turn thirty? Get a house? Get better pay? What? We’ve done all that.” I respond. “Or you’re waiting for something else’s? A baby?”

“Gosh Sampa.”

“No. You need to accept that being with me means we might not have kids.”

He closes the gap between us. He wraps his arms around me and looks down at me.

“I accepted that.” He whispers.

“Are you sure? Because your family seems to think you’ll be a great dad to Penelope’s baby.”

“Did my mother tell you that? I swear if she even implied that to you I’m going to talk to her about this shit. It’s got to stop. Sampa, I love you. Baby or no baby, I’m still here.”

“Maybe you need to think about this. All of it. Then decide. Take time off and think. Whatever choice you’ll mane is cool.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” He asks shocked.

“No. I just want you to be sure Sangu.”

“Sampa.”

“I love you Sangu but I’m not going to be some second option in your plans.”

“You were never a second option. You’re my only choice. I left you before and that was wrong and I will make sure you forgive me one day but I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Your mother will beg to differ.”

“I swear I’m sitting my mother down once and for all.”

“She will hate me even more.”

“Well hating you is hating me.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek.

“Don’t kiss me. I’m still angry with you.”

“I need you smiling. I’ll do anything to have you kissing me. You want me to stop checking up on Penelope then I’ll do just that. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Done.”

“No more secrets.”

“Done. You gotta promise not to hold things in for too long.”

“I promise.”

“Also let me spoil my girlfriend to dinner while I still have the time.”

“Fine. Gosh Sangu. What am I to do with you?”

“Love me babe. Just love me.” He laughs.

And he kisses me. And that’s all that matters right now.

**********

I hate her. I hate her.

I hate her for being somewhat right. I’ve been married to Chinyama for so long, I’ve fought the battles that came with marrying him. I beat Cynthia to keep my husband. And now I’m willing to let this all go? Why now?

Isaac?

Or am I doing this for me? To be free and happy without Chinyama. Our marriage is damaged, and whether or not it can be fixed time will tell. I miss him, I should miss Chinyama. He’s my husband. Maybe we have been separated for long enough. What if he decides to leave me. For good. I can’t let that happen. But then am I willing to let go of Isaac in the process. Or maybe I can keep them both while I decide.

The sound of my phone ringing makes me turn on the bed. I reach for my phone and shake my head as I look at Isaac’s name flashing on my screen. Tendai could tell I have another man, I don’t understand how she picked up on my secret while my friends failed to notice it. What if she tells Chinyama the her suspicions? What then? Maybe avoiding Isaac would be best for now.

I stare at the phone a second later and I click to answer.

**********

“I swear I hate the fact that I have to face an empty house. I think I need a roommate.”

“You love being alone Yoli.”

Mutale’s eyes twinkle with amusement and something else I can’t read. I hate him when he’s like this, excited like a little boy who just discovered what his favourite body part is used for. He’s been like this since I got to his place. His very new place. The man has made some changes in the time we’ve been apart with the first thing being him finding a job.

Mutale didn’t waste showing me every inch of his house the minute we arrived. He was happy and proud of himself, going as far as naming it “the move that changed his destiny.” For a while as I followed him around I couldn’t connect him to the man I used to date- the man I over spoiled and literally took care of who was now living the life I always knew he would lead.

Dumping me and moving on looks like the best thing that ever happened to him and for the first time I am actually happy for the man. I should hate him, I should be cursing his name and telling the world the man is a pig but here I am in his kitchen, a glass of whiskey in my hand laughing with the man that broke my heart months ago.

“If you’re being serious why don’t you get one of your friends to live with you?” He asks.

“I swear you are the worst boyfriend I ever had.” I laugh. “Sampa lives with Sangu, Mable and Thandiwe are married and Sonia is engaged. You seriously never paid attention.”

“Thandiwe is the one who was in the accident right?”

“Yes.”

“See I pay attention. Besides you have more friends that the favourite four.” He argues.

“Not ones I can tolerate like my besties.”

“The always having fun aspect?”

“The no judgment part more than the fun. I am crazy sometimes.”

“That I know.”

“I know you know Mutale. You’re as crazy as me.”

I stick my tongue and he repeats the act. I missed him; I miss the random late night chats even more. Mutale was my friend through and through. What we had was beautiful, some part of it anyway.

“Do you miss us? Me?” He asks

Finally he brings it out. The dreaded question acting as an elephant in the room. Of course I missed him. Some part of me should him but with way I’ve been living my life I haven’t had the chance to admit that to myself. Do I miss him? Or the idea of being with him?

“Well I called you so obviously I must miss something. You couldn’t even call me.”

“I tried. You blocked me.”

“You deserved it.”

I meet his gaze and smile.

“I definitely missed this.” He laughs.

“What?”

“This. Talking to you.” He says. “Being with you. There is something about you Yolanda.”

Just old times, me sitting on top of the chest freezer, he parts my legs apart and stands in between them.

This is not what I planned for.

This is not how I saw this “meeting to end the boredom” going. So much for talking.

Maybe I should have worn the red lingerie set, the one made up of all lace and nothing else. Why the hell am I thinking about lingerie.

“I miss you.” He whispers.

I lift up my head to meet him staring down, his eyes, firmly centered on my eyes. He tips my chin upwards, our faces were just inches apart, Mutale whispers gently and in an unnaturally hoarse voice.

“Yoli, I never stopped loving you”

In one swift motion, his head dips down, his lips find mine with such force and passion, I clench my eyes to brace myself. I kiss Mutale back as madly as I can, my hands grabbing the nape of his neck, pulling him in for more. Our lips lock in close combat, my tongue desperately dueling his and savouring the sweet sensation coursing down. Two minutes seems like an hour before we break up for some needed air, his eyes almost bloodshot with need, passion and lust.

Our eyes meet once again, and this time no words are needed for the encore. I push myself against his chest, positioning myself better on the hard surface of the chest freezer as Mutale’s lips come searching once again for mine. This time his gentle self attempts to gain some semblance of control as his kisses are much more softer and restrained; his fumbling hands on the buttons of my shirt tells me about the futile battle he is fighting. I smile against his lips in need. I want more of him and I know Mutale will not disappoint.

Mutale marks every spot of my face with his kisses; he gives me one lasting kiss before he abruptly breaks our interlocked lips and retreads a step or two. I look at him, an incredulous look on my face as I catch my breath. He runs a hand over his face groaning. Mutale keeps his gaze on me, the lust and passion unmistakably still stalking his eyes as he exhales.

“I’m sorry Yoli, we can’t do this.” He starts. “Not yet.”

“Yet?” I laugh.

He wants this as much as I want this.

“What do you mean by “you can’t do this”, Mutale?” I growl back at him. “You don’t go passionately kissing your ex you’re still in love with when you aren’t prepared to go all the way” I shout at him.

“You want this?” He asks.

“You started it.” I sigh.

“We are supposed to talk remember. Cure your boredom.” He responds, the calm, collected gentleman makes a return as he leans against the refrigerator.

I shake my head slowly, as I avoid his eyes.

“Fine.” I retort. “Let’s keep talking.”

” I love how you always switch from passionate Yoli to calm Yoli.”

“Well I’m not in the mood for jokes. Let’s talk.”

He smiles and walks back to me, between my legs. Mutale wants to play and I have all the time in the world. He dips his head lower for a brief moment, as if seeking for the truth in my eyes. His hands grab the sides of my face and he kisses me, gently. None of our eyes close as his lips massage mine into submission. He pulls away from me but his hands stay on my face. He gives a bitter laugh.

“I’m getting married on Saturday, Yoli.”

I freeze. Goosebumps all over my skin as his words replay on my mind. He’s getting married and yet I’m here in his arms kissing him like old times? What’s he playing at? Our eyes meet and I see what looks like remorse on his face. I wish I could slap his face to hell right now but I don’t. He’s leaving me forever.

“Say something.” He whispers.

What do I say? Congratulations? What? Am I really happy about this piece of information? Why is he marrying her so soon? Is she pregnant? What is he up to? What do I do? Sitting on his freezer, wanting him. I should leave now. Why stay? This is a taken man. I’m better off with the love you now Mr Forty or the ever angry but nice Masulani. Mutale is my past. I lift my hands to his face and smile.

“Congratulations boo.�� I whisper.

Goodbye? That’s all I have to say next and I’m so gone. This is it.

“Mutale.” I whisper.

I pull his head closer to mine and merge my lips with his.

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tomeandflickcorner · 8 years ago

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OUAT Episode Analysis- Murder Most Foul

Well. That was unexpected. Not sure how I feel about the ‘gotcha’ moment at the end, though. I know they probably needed a bit of drama to drag the current CS storyline out, but...huh. Maybe it’s best to reserve judgement until I see where A&E plan to go with this new development.

We start off with the night that Charming and James were separated as babies. It turns out that during the winter, the brothers fell ill, and Ruth and Papa Charming (whose name is revealed to have been Robert) didn’t have enough money for medicine. Cue DO Rumple, who offers to give them money for medicine, on the condition they surrender one of their sons to be raised by King George. And I really love Ruth’s initial reaction to this. She actually grabs a knife, ready to defend her two sons with her life. (She did realize she was facing down a man who could reduce her to a pile of dust with just a thought, right?) But Robert decides they have no real choice, as it’s the only way to ensure their sons will live. So they, with great reluctance, agree to the terms, with James being selected via coin toss.

Apparently, that event is what led to Robert becoming an alcoholic, with him turning to the drink in an effort to escape from the pain and regret of giving up James. He admits to the bartender at a local tavern that David, now six, deserves a better father than him. At that moment, Robert is shocked when King George enters the tavern. King George announces that his son, Prince James, had been abducted, and he’s looking for anyone who has information. Robert, wanting to help his biological son, decides to take it upon himself to rescue him. And it was here that I started ‘aww-ing,’ as we see Little Boy David. (He’s so adorable.) It turns out this was the true story behind the tale Shepherd David will one day tell Anna. Little Boy David was under the impression that Malcolm was leaving home to recover from his alcoholism. But in fact, he was trying to rescue long-lost brother James. To give his father a little bit of luck, Little Boy David gives Robert his lucky coin. (Hmm. Was this the same coin used in the coin toss?)

Robert makes his way to the Dark Castle to see Rumpelstiltskin, who reveals James actually ran away. He gives Robert a ticket to the place where James went. In exchange, Robert has to give up a hair from his head. While DO Rumple initially implies he has plans for the hair, it turns out this was all an act and the ticket was a freebee. Because Robert’s determination to see James reminded DO Rumple of his own desire to reunite with his son. (Okay, fine. You get a gold star today, Rumple. I can admit when you act like a halfway decent person.)

The ticket, it turns out, allows the holder access to Pleasure Island of Pinocchio fame. (Interestingly enough, sharp eyes can spot August was actually writing about the place at the end of the last episode. Unfortunately, I can’t locate the post that pointed this out to me, so I can’t currently credit the sleuth for this observation.) Anyway, Robert makes his way there, and is even able to resist the lure of drink in his determination to find James. He does, however, have a run-in with Pinocchio, back when he was still a wooden puppet. (Not sure how Pinocchio was around back then, as he’s only supposed to be roughly ten years older than Emma, who won’t be born for another few decades, but oh well.) Thanks to that pesky trait of his nose being a lie detector, Robert figures out that Pinocchio saw James. Upon locating Little Boy James, we see he’s completely different from his adult self. He’s just a gentle little boy who doesn’t want to become a knight and kill people. Robert offers to bring Little Boy James to live with him, stating he’ll have a brother to play with. Unfortunately, the people who run the place spot them trying to leave, so they have to make a run for it. When they reach the docks, however, they find King George is there. Robert identifies himself as Little Boy James’ real father, and states he has no desire to give up his son again. As such, King George orders his guards to take Robert back to the mainland and kill him, instructing them to make it look like an accident.

I guess this is how James was able to figure out he had a twin brother somewhere. I’d always wondered how he seemed to know that information in the Underworld, despite King George never knowing there was a twin brother until after James’s death. In any event, I feel even more sorry for James than I did before. From the looks of it, all the negative traits he displayed as an adult were most likely due from being raised by King George. If he hadn’t been stuck with such a nasty piece of work, he might have turned out differently. (Seriously, A&E, can we please address those pour souls who got dropped into the River of Lost Souls? It would leave a bitter taste in my mouth if the show ended with them still trapped in there.)

Flash forward to present day, with Charming leading the Nevengers in a toast commemorating Emma’s safe return from the Wish World and defying the vision of her death at Gideon’s hand. (And I got a huge chuckle from Killian toasting with his flask instead of a wine glass.) However, when Charming later slips outside to mourn the fact that Snow can’t be present, due to the lingering curse on their shared heart, he starts to hallucinate, seeing an image of his dead father. He then collapses for some reason. Wasn’t really clear why, but I guess it’s because he’s currently sleep deprived due to his stubborn refusal to switch off with Snow until the incident with Gideon was dealt with. (Does this variation of the Sleeping Curse prevent Charming from taking a non-cursed nap or something?) Killian apparently noticed his friend collapse from the window, as he hurries out to check up on him. But Charming is too high-strung to be accepting of Killian’s concern, and resorts back to his S3 attitude, dismissing Killian as a pirate. Killian is visibly hurt by the snub, but backs off without a fight. When Killian goes back inside, however, Charming notices something on the ground- his father’s lucky coin, the one he gave his father as a boy.

The next morning, we see Charming had taken Killian’s advice and swapped with Snow, as she pays a visit to Regina. They talk a bit about Robin Clone and Regina’s decision to bring him into Storybrooke. While I am a bit put off we didn’t get to see how Snow reacted to what Emma went through while she was out, I do applaud her for talking sense here. Just because Robin Clone looks like Robin Prime, it doesn’t mean he’s the same person. (Speaking of which, was Robin Clone sleeping in Regina’s living room? With the size of Regina’s mansion, you’d think she’d have a spare bedroom on hand. What are you using all those extra rooms for, Gina?)

Meanwhile, Killian, in a surprising turn of events, pays a visit to Archie’s office. (Is this the first time they’ve interacted since the start of the Revenge arc/2B?) Turns out Killian’s still a bit hurt over the incident the night before and is worried that Charming still views him as the man he used to be, and that Emma deserves better. Killian then admits the reason why he’s so concerned with how Charming views him is because he’s planning to propose to Emma. (Insert the shrill squeeing of the CS fandom.) But, old fashioned gentleman that he is, he wants Charming’s blessing first. Archie assures Killian that everyone knows he’s a better man now, but suggests that Killian should just come out and ask Charming how he feels about him if he’s that worried about it.

Speaking of Charming, when it’s his turn to be awake again, he has another hallucination of Robert. His father accuses Charming of forgetting about him, and Charming retorts that Robert was barely his father and was just a drunk he worked hard to forget. When Charming demands Robert say what he wants, Robert says he wants ‘truth.’ This sets Charming off, and he’s now more determined than ever to solve the mystery behind his father’s death. To achieve his goal, he decides to enlist Killian’s help when the man stops by to follow Archie’s advice. Killian suggests that Charming might be better off going to Emma for help, since she’s the sheriff and has magic, but Charming refuses, stating he doesn’t want to worry her or Snow, and that they might not approve of what he might have to do. He then states he needs a pirate, completely oblivious to how Killian becomes crestfallen at his words.

They make their way to the Swan-Jones house, with Killian saying it should be empty, as Emma took Henry out on a canoe trip. But he briefly balks when he finds out Charming is planning to steal some potion ingredients to conjure up a spell. Gotta say, I’m with Killian on this one. Magic isn’t something you want to mess around with. At least not when you have no formal training. It’s like operating heavy machinery. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you could cause a lot of damage, or get badly hurt. But Charming is not to be swayed and instructs Killian to stand watch. Killian, who is desperate for the man’s approval, reluctantly goes along with it. At the same time, you see how upset he is about this. While Charming is occupied rooting around the shed, Emma returns unexpectedly, as Henry forgot to bring the life jackets. Which leads to a great scene of Killian trying to keep her distracted long enough for Charming to slip away. A task that’s not easy due to Emma’s superpower kicking in. Killian is able to get away with a half-truth, despite how uncomfortable he is with not being 100% honest with her, talking about how her near-death had made him reflect on some stuff. Obviously, we know he’s referring to his intent to propose, but he doesn’t let Emma in on that just yet. In the end, Charming is able to avoid being seen by Emma and the two men head off together.

Back at the Charming loft, Charming and Killian proceed to conjure up a spell that will show them where Robert’s lucky coin was the day that he died. (Insert cute moment with a beaker.) Despite their lack of magical training, the spell works, pointing them in the direction of Pleasure Island. Now that they have a lead, they go see August, who explains the last he saw of Robert was of him escaping Pleasure Island with Little Boy James, and that he never connected them with Charming. The knowledge that his father had been trying to save his twin brother clearly stuns Charming. August then explains that he took some pages out of Henry’s book waaaayyyy back in S1, as those pages chronicled his time in Pleasure Island, something he’s not proud of. He offers to look for them in case they reveal more about Charming’s father.

After leaving August’s place, Charming deduces who may have killed his father. However, Killian, realizing that Charming is out for blood, tries to talk him out of it, as he knows better than most what a quest for vengeance can do to you. Unfortunately, Charming takes this as a cue to handcuff Killian to a nearby bike rack in order to keep him from stopping him. He then heads right to the psychiatric ward beneath the hospital, which I guess is now used to hold long-term prisoners. There, he confronts King George/Albert Spencer, who admits he ordered Robert’s death. Charming proceeds to challenge his former adoptive father to a duel to the death. But just as Charming gains the upper hand, Killian arrives, having broken out of the handcuffs off-screen, and quickly returns King George/Albert Spencer back to his cell. Killian proceeds to try and talk Charming down, stating that while the man did admit responsibility for Robert’s death, he also told Charming that his father resisted temptation in the end, and became a father Charming could be proud of. This leads to Charming to have a full-on emotional breakdown, admitting his fears that he’ll lose everything. Killian then presents Charming with a choice. He can proceed to kill George/Albert, but first he has to remember that Robert did everything in his power to be able to look his son in the eye. He asks Charming if he wants to be a man who can look his father in the eye, too. With these words, Charming collapses and cries on Killian’s shoulder, completely overwhelmed.

Sometime later, Charming makes his way to the docks, where he makes peace with his father’s memory as he now knows that Robert did come through in the end, overcoming his vices. Killian, once again concerned for his friend, sticks around to make sure he’s okay. Charming proceeds to apologize for his behavior throughout the episode, stating that Killian was the noble one that day, and that he’s sorry for how much he risked that day, including Killian’s relationship with Emma. Upon receiving confirmation that Charming believes he’s is good enough for his daughter, Killian gathers up the courage to ask for his blessing to propose to Emma. After a brief pause that clearly makes Killian very nervous, a smiling Charming grants that blessing and the two men head off together.

However, that’s when the ‘gotcha’ moment happens. When Killian is making his way back home to Emma, blissful that there’s nothing holding him back from proposing, he’s approached by August, who located the pages pertaining to Pleasure Island. Even though he didn’t find any new information about Robert, he figured Charming might want them anyway. Killian agrees to pass them along. But after August leaves, Killian spots an illustration of Robert and is horrified to realize he recognizes him. It turns out the two guards who were hired to stage Robert’s fatal ‘accident’ were interrupted before they could complete their task. Killian, back when he was still the infamous Captain Hook (and apparently taking a slight detour during his time under Pan’s employ, as this took place when Charming/David was only six), had targeted the cart that was to be used in the frame-up with the intention of making off with some of the king’s gold. In the processes, Hook kills the two guards and then, in a tragic turn of events, he proceeds to kill Robert as well, stating he can’t afford to risk the older man keeping silent about what he’d seen on his own.

So, yeah. That stinks. I think this is the first time we’ve actually seen Killian/Hook at his most ruthless. Up until now, while we have certainly seen him do some underhanded stuff, they just….never seemed all that bad to me. Not that what he did in the past wasn’t bad, of course. But there was always something that made it not seem unforgivingly bad. It was usually just him reacting to something that set him off. But this? Yeah, this is completely different. This wasn’t just another spur-of-the moment thing. This was straight up cruelty. I think this is the first time you actually can see why he earned the reputation he had as Captain Hook. And I am wondering how Charming’s going to react if he finds out this new tidbit about his future son-in-law. I admit, I won’t be surprised if he’s initially put off by this. But I’ll also be disappointed if he doesn’t eventually come around and remember what he said about Killian in this very episode- that he has changed since then. Besides, it’s clear that Killian is deeply remorseful now that he realizes what he’s done, as he’s now back to feeling unworthy and therefore reluctant to propose to Emma. And you know, seeing as Snow forgave Regina for killing her father despite there being nothing substantial to suggest she’s remorseful for it, I expect Charming to eventually forgive Killian for this as well. Especially since Killian/Hook hadn’t realized he was responsible until just now. Unlike Regina, who knew perfectly well she was killing Snow’s father, Killian/Hook had no way of knowing this man was the father of someone he’d eventually view as a friend and brother, as well as the future grandfather of the woman he’d one day fall completely in love with.

This right here, while it is an upsetting revelation, can also serve to be the final step in Killian’s redemption. While he has admitted he’s deeply remorseful about the murders he committed during his time as vengeful Captain Hook, this is probably the first time he’s being directly confronted with the people who suffered because of it. Sure, he’s faced down people he’s hurt in the past, like Ursula and Liam 2.0. But those were either easy fixes or, in the case of Liam 2.0, more about putting an end to a vicious cycle of blood and revenge. This time, there’s no easy fix. Granted Robert was going to die regardless, but Killian/Hook had the chance to spare his life and didn’t take it. As a result, he unknowingly caused a lot of pain for people he would one day love dearly. When he gathers the courage to admit the truth to Charming and Emma, and they forgive him for it (because it’s obvious they will, with the only question being how many episodes it’ll take), it’ll be symbolic of Killian being fully absolved of his past.

Come to think of it, I think it’s a huge testament to Killian’s character that he was able to recognize Robert when he saw the illustration. Just think about it for a moment. When he killed Robert, the man was nothing to him. As far as Hook/Killian was concerned, he was just some random stranger that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And yet, he is clearly able to remember what that man looked like, even though it’s been years since that night. I can’t see how anyone wouldn’t find that impressive.

Meanwhile, in subplot B, Regina, following Snow’s advice, starts trying to help Robin Clone acclimate himself into Storybrooke. Unfortunately, Regina gets momentarily distracted by Zelena popping by to say she won’t allow Robin Clone anywhere near Baby Robyn, stating he has no rights to his sorta-daughter. (I know, dead horse, but technically you shouldn’t have any rights to her, either, Zelena. You know, seeing as how you were Robin Prime’s rapist.) By the time Zelena leaves, Robin Clone has gone and scarpered. While out and about, Robin Clone runs into Keith/Sheriff of Nottingham. (Ah, so I guess he didn’t die at the end of ‘Lacey.’ I’ve always wondered if Gold beat him to death after the cutaway. Looks like he didn’t.) Regina steps in before Robin Clone could kill him, but this leads to a small confrontation between the two, which leads to Regina stating that, even if Robin Clone didn’t regret killing Keith now, he might later on. Okay, I’m completely okay with that line. It’s nice to see brief glimpses of redeemed Regina. If only they weren’t so rare to see. And it gets better. When Regina takes Robin Clone to her vault to tend to his hand, which was slightly injured in the struggle with Keith, we learn that Regina still hasn’t returned the hearts she collected. Finally, someone addresses that! I’m starting to like Robin Clone. He actually calls Regina out on stuff. Regina even states she knows she sounds like a hypocrite. (Did I mention I really like this Regina subplot? How’s that for a novel concept?) However, Regina insists she has changed, (then why haven’t you gotten around to returning those hearts in your possession to their rightful owners?) and that she brought Robin Clone back with her because she was hoping she could be a part of his fresh start, too. The two proceed to kiss, but it’s visibly obvious Regina feels something is off about the kiss. It doesn’t feel the same as when she kissed Robin Prime. Regina later talks to Snow about the matter. (So we get two scenes with Snow’s interactions with Regina in this episode, but none between Snow and Emma? Yeah, that’s lovely.) She begins to acknowledge that this isn’t her Robin. But that leads to her wondering who this Robin Clone is, and what he could possibly want. That question is made even worse when we see Robin Clone swiping a fancy-looking box from Regina’s vault. What he plans to do with it remains a mystery at the moment, but I doubt it’s good.

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pastorcowboy · 8 years ago

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Gluten or no gluten

Gluten or no gluten: that’s the question. As a boy, I played in the dirt. What kind of dirt? I don’t know what was in there. It was dirty dirt. I probably cut myself, ate dirt, and swallowed bugs too. There is a good chance I risked my life. One time we were jumping off sand cliffs. I suppose it was insane. One jump I landed on my head. I could have been killed several different ways in my childhood, yet here I am Gluten free.

I did not know what gluten free means. What is organic? Years ago, two people convinced me that meat was bad for you. We were not meant to eat meat. They said the chemicals and fat in meat will kill you. They also said killing animals for meat was wrong. Hmm… What to do? For a year, I was a vegetarian. I liked it. I lost 70 pounds. Then I got sick. One day I noticed those two-people were taking b12 pills to supplement meat. Really? The insane part is b12 comes from animals and is made by chemical companies. I ate a big mac the same day.

If you ask me to eat better I will try. If you ask me to change my ways to be healthier I will listen. I want the best me. Yet, I am not a pill guy. I want my immune system to work alone. I don’t really get sick too much. Taking supplement pills to avoid eating meat is nuts. If society falls, people are screwed because chemical companies make pills. They say it’s all natural. If you take away the ability to make pills then all you have is a bull, a carrot, and a farmer.

Recently, I have noticed that there are signs everywhere telling us to eat right. We should eat organic, gluten free, and sugar free. Also, recently, I read a report that said diet drinks are not healthy for you. I am sighing here. I know that we are raising a soft generation. It seems every piece of food has warnings and restrictions. There is paranoid and paranoid. We are over analyzing and over thinking everything. This will be known as the fearful generation. The soft generation. Playing in the dirt is unsafe and not an option.

What does God have to say about food? People love to yank on the Bible over Leviticus and the other history books of the Old Testament. They are boring and old. Yet, God said a lot about food. We did not seem to kill animals in the beginning. God provided lists of safe animals to eat. God might even have had a gluten free diet in Manna. However, Paul in the New Testament said drink wine for your health. Jesus said all food is good. Maybe the rule of KISS is all we need: keep it simple stupid.

This generation thinks because we can make it that it’s safe. They believe that taking out harmful things in food like nuts and gluten will keep them healthy. Yes, I know people have allergies. Yet, as a kid that was rare. Why is it not rare now? I suppose all the toxins we have put in our food, water, and air might have changed us. So that made more people allergic to nuts? It made people need gluten free? I suspect in the end it’s the diet soft drink effect. Someone who owns a company will convince you to eat or drink their product because it’s safe. They will tell you that you need to avoid certain foods. An organic food company will be tops at the stock exchange. Then will come the reports that they were deceiving you. They made money off of you. Why? Because you did not keep it simple stupid.

Surely, eating chocolate bars is bad? Surely drinking energy drinks is bad? Are these things worse than playing in the dirt? Are they worse than riding a bike without a helmet? When war comes, and it will. Can this generation stomach a fight? Will they rise up and be strong? Or, will they call on injustice, and expect an easier way. War has no easy way. These days our call for change and complaining has been reduced to social media. This society is soft. They expect to be takin care of. Life never works that way.

I love apocalyptic shows like the Walking Dead. If all hell broke loose the first thing to go will be the soft. There will be no pills. There will be no gluten free. There will be no nut allergy alerts. People are so into bringing down the government. Somehow, they think that will be a good thing. Ask the Middle East if that is working. Ask Africa. Ask Russia. People thought it was hip to fight in the first world war. What they thought afterwards was a different matter. Just 20 years later a far worse world war happened. Do you really want to go down this road?

During the second world war, some countries tried to play neutral. Some even took sides but refused to fight. We all ended up sucked into that war. Currently, the same discussion is happening surrounding terrorism. What does war and gluten have in common? It’s perception. We believe there are soft, fluffy, and nice ways to be safe. That abstaining from meat will create health. I know one of my vegetarian friends died of cancer. I know Poland is in a war with Russia involuntarily. Putting up warning and signs is teaching this generation to fear, to avoid, to substitute. When real life comes, and it will. Who will be strong enough to stand?

#glutenfree #nuts #sugar #diet #allergies #war #Bible #god #soft

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ebookwriterblog-blog · 8 years ago

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Relationships: Final Submission – Retirement!

Episode 43: Eventually then, we all get there. The state everyone dreads creeps up slowly through our 40’s, gathers speed in our 50’s and runs over us like a speeding freight train in our 60’s. Anyone who says that the 70’s are the new 50’s has obviously never been there but retirement however, as a way of life, is not the final state of submission.

‘What is there to submit to?’ you may quite rightly ask. Well, with the kids hopefully gone, the mortgage paid and a healthy retirement fund to get stuck into, this time of life should never be regarded as any form of submission, but cause for celebration. If our Harry and our Kylie have survived together for some forty five to fifty years; dragged up a couple of kids who are now out there making their own mistakes and avoided the ‘other man’ or ‘other woman’ fifties plus trap ... then hallelujah ... the world is now their oyster.

Bear in mind of course that to have any sort of pension worth a light, Harry will have had to pay some quite large financial lumps annually into a private pension scheme throughout his working life. If Harry and Kylie did finally marry, then there is also the rather offensive joint state pension to look forward too. If they both remain unmarried, there is the laughable single person’s state pension to claim, either of which may just about cover the UK standard council tax bill ... and an annual, one-time only, pre Christmas visit to Asda’s.

However, the big decision of the day will be related to the house the long suffering couple will be living in. Harry’s Kylie will have her mind filled with the thought that the house they have so carefully managed, extended and improved over the last forty years is now ‘too big’ for just the two of them. This thoughtful consideration will have started as a seed sown and further encouraged by the children who see the possibility of a small gold mine coming their way if Mum and Dad sell up and buy an all year round live-in ‘retirement’ caravan on the East Yorkshire coast.

What they don’t know of course, is that our Harry will have a plan of his own, and it does not involve a poorly insulated aluminium box sitting on a permanently windswept concrete slab, half a mile from a coastline that is dropping into the sea at a rate of two meters a year. There will of course be restrictions on any retirement plans conjured up by all the retiring Harry’s out there and the main one will be the availability, or otherwise, of suitable amounts of cash. If our couple happen to be the kind of fortunate individuals who have lived in the East End of London and purchased a maisonette from the local council in the seventies at a massive discount, then they can think themselves lucky as in the year 2016 they could well be looking at near sterling millionaires in the mirror.

However, on the other hand, they may have been unfortunate enough to spend most of their working life in the delightful garden town of somewhere like Scunthorpe; an attractive northern location dominated by a crumbling, stinking, prize winning air polluting steel works. They may also have managed to secure a similar deal from the local council as their London based contemporary to buy your property ... and may well now be lucky to see their money back. So, whoever falls into that enviable category of a lucky Londoner, they will doubtless have at least three quarters of a million to play with when they sell their two up and two down. If, however, they fall into the Scunthorpe category, they will be lucky to see even ten per cent of that figure.

To the thinking man, it will immediately be clear that retirement options left to a couple who have survived any kind of relationship for several decades, are perhaps limited to the amount of cash that can be raised to fulfil a plan our Harry has been working on for some years. He may even have been sneaking off for Spanish, Greek or Standard Croatian lessons on the sly and become completely competent at ordering a beer and three portions of fish and chips ... in any one of these difficult to master languages.

Having a plan is one thing; having the money to successfully execute it is another. But what will eventually put the parking brake on it all? Well, it’s not too difficult to guess that if the scheme involves moving somewhere more than a twenty minute car journey from Kylie’s daughter, then the plan will need to be scrapped. She will of course want to sell the house and ‘downsize’ as she puts it, which is Kylie-speak for a house the same size, nearer to her daughter and much, much cheaper.

This impossible equation will not be satisfied mathematically until Kylie has dragged our Harry round thirty or so unsuccessful property viewings to prove the point. If grandchildren are involved, then the chances of enacting a plan involving any kind of move outside the strict radius, as laid down by the young Kylie, can only be regarded as a completely hopeless task.

At some point, the whole matter of their future together will need to be discussed. Harry will require some well honed diplomatic skills to ensure he chooses the right place and time to approach the matter in order to simply reduce the chance of immediate rejection. Perhaps a romantic dinner in a nice little restaurant down by the river might do the trick; or during a relaxing package weekend away at an ‘adults only’ hotel that sensibly bans all forms of child-life and four legged animals. For the London based couple looking to make more than half to three quarters of a million when they sell their property, the choices will be wide and the selling of an idea possibly easier. The initial conversation between Harry and Kylie may go something like this.

H: ‘So are we more or less agreed to sell the flat dearest ... and start a new life in our old age?’

(Harry smiles to make light of the matter. Kylie does not, but remains thoughtful.)

K: ‘Well, I’ve told you, I don’t want to move too far from our Kylie and the kids. I’m still sure that if we downsized, we could find something even nearer than we are now. I mean there are babysitting nights to think about and I know you don’t like staying over and everything ... and there’s the little shopping trips both our Kylie and I go on. If we move too far out then it will be difficult to get to our favourite shops and things ...’

(This is the difficult bit as no matter what happens; whatever Harry puts forward as a plan, he must not leave himself open to being accused of acting ‘selfishly’ or being labelled ‘selfish’ in any way whatsoever.)

H: ‘I really do think Luv that unless we move a really long way away ... maybe like Luton or Watford or somewhere like that, then even with the cash we have, we won’t be able to find something suitable we can afford!’

K: ‘Oh no! I couldn’t be that far away Harry ... that’s just too far, it really is ... and what about the money? If we spend a lot on another house, then there won’t be any left to give the kids ... you know, to help them out a bit’

H: ‘Well you know what I’ve been thinking ... if we are going to have to move that far out ... it will take ages, even two or three hours to get backwards and forwards to see the kids, so we might as well actually be guaranteed to be only a couple of hours away ... in a place like Spain ... for example’

K: ‘Spain? But that’s full of foreigners and we don’t speak the language or anything ... and you know how bad you are driving on the wrong side of the road dear!’

H: ‘I was only thinking of you dear, about how much better your arthritis would be in a warmer, sunnier place ... and if we work it out carefully, we could buy a place in say Spain ... or somewhere like that, and have a caravan somewhere in Essex; somewhere much nearer the kids. If we get a good deal ... there could possibly be some left over to give the kids, as a present like, just to help them out’

(The smart move by Harry is the mention of ‘something for the kids’ as he knows they will support any plan that puts some money in their back pocket. Kylie is now thoughtful as she considers the options.)

K: ‘So what you’re saying is we could afford a villa or something in Spain and a place near our Kylie and the kids ... and still have some left over?’

H: ‘Of course dear ... if we’re careful I’m sure we put some away for them’

K: ‘But it’s a long way ...’

H: ‘Well, you have to consider that to get to East London from Luton will take nearly two hours ... maybe three ... by road ... you know how bad the roads are! But if we went to Spain, it’s only the same time, maybe a couple of hours from Benidorm to Gatwick ... no driving involved, and you could be at Kylie’s in half an hour Luv!’

(Kylie is weighing up the plan. It’s not yet accepted and it’s not yet rejected. She will need to discuss it with her Kylie before she can come to a decision. Harry knows exactly what’s going on in her mind and pushes home the benefits.)

H: ‘The big thing to consider dear is that if we’re careful, we can make sure the kids are well looked after financially and we can live much cheaper on the continent. We’ll have a better life; you’ll feel better and if it’s cheaper to live, then we could maybe send some money to the kids and grandkids whenever they need it’

K: ‘Well, I don’t know what I’m going to tell the kids. I mean our Kylie will be well upset ... we’re very close you know. But if we can help them out to pay for some babysitting that we would normally have done ... if we were here, then that might be alright for them’

H: ‘It’s up to you dear. The choice is really yours and if you mention the money to Kylie, I’m sure she will be able to see the advantages. The other option is Luton and every penny we have will be needed to buy another house. We might even have some debts to consider!’

K: ‘Hmm ... shall we have another bottle of wine Luv?’

H: ‘Yes dear!’

From little acorns do oak trees grow ... and now the acorn has been broken from its shell by a satisfied Harry and planted in what is hopefully fertile ground. The plan is now firmly in place and after Kylies next visit to the young Kylie, Harry is sure the pendulum will start to swing his way.

#harryandkylie #retirement #relationships #pension #old age #heating allowance

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zerathine · 8 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Your Best Friend

Book 1: Dark

Breaking the barrier permanently and ending the Resets will require Frisk and Chara to choose a side: friends or enemies?

Virtual

The bed of golden flowers

I lie on stretches to soak in the feeble sunlight. The cavern is cozy, a smidge wider than my room at home but much, much taller. A tan hand that does not belong to me covered in pollen lifts to block the light. I roll…

No. Wait. That is not quite right, is it? I am not the one in control.

The voice - his? hers? theirs? - is more of a thought than speech but is as clear as the music of Mom’s crystal wine glasses.

The owner of the voice stands--and I with them--a stick clutched in their left hand as they pat the pollen from their striped shirt. Tufts of leaves poke out of the stick’s single branch. They’re lucky it didn’t impale them or snap from the fall. As though sensing my thoughts, they inspect their person for injury apart from whatever the bandage on their forearm covers.

They...they...No, that, too, is inaccurate. I am not an outsider peering in. I am...dead. Was dead. Irrelevant. I can sort that mystery out later. Correcting my perspective to right this disorientation takes precedence.

My essence is bound to...to you. As it was once bound to another. You breathe, and I breathe with you. Through your eyes, I see a white card reflecting sunlight tucked into the flowers.

That’s new, you say, and these words resound off the surrounding pillars.

Hmm, no, that perspective does not quite fit either. This person is not really “you,” are they? “You” are entirely someone else.

The child kneels to collect and inspect the empty card, and their wonderment buzzes through me, just like their question.

Name...My name is….

My name is…?

My memories of the time I was alive are far from lacking: tender moments with family sitting before the lit fireplace or moments where I was given that rare delicacy known as chocolate, but like the card, my name is empty.

/* I don’t know. */

The person blinks and lowers their arm to their side, head tilted. My answer, I suspect, is unexpected, but the hesitation lasts a heartbeat before another thought comforts me:

Ah! Let’s. Let us. Us, we, ours. Had I lips, I would have smiled. We smile anyway.

We slide the glossy card into a pocket on our shorts and snap the button shut, then follow the single passageway to a slate-colored doorway with the Delta Rune emblazoned above, supported on a pedestal by two ridged pillars. We brush our fingertips along the dry stone in the threshold, eyeing a cheerful flower bobbing along to its humming. When it spots us, its smile widens.

/* Really. Well then, what do you propose we do? */

/* And has that worked for previous encounters? */

/* Hah! Then, what makes you think it’ll work now? */

Well, that’s the finest display of optimism by my new companion…. We inhale and, it occurs to me as we run toward the flower on our exhale, that we haven’t been properly acquainted.

/* Hey, what’s your-- */

“Howdy!” The flower’s friendly smile widens. He expects us to stop. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flo-”

Our foot smashes into Flowey’s face, and we exult with a reverberating “whoop!” and laughter. Never, in the history of human or monster-kind alike, has a plant faced such demoralization.

“Aaaaargh! What’s the big idea, you idiot!?” Flowey shouts.

The magic he flings at our back tinks against the stone floor as we dash into the next chamber where a grand staircase hugs a pile of Autumn leaves. Our chest spasms from our giggles and breaths.

Something latches onto our collar and lifts us running from the ground, reducing us to dangling Flowey-bait. So much for our great escape.

“My child, you should pay closer attention to your surroundings,” a woman chides.

She sets us facing her on our feet and brushes down our wrinkled shirt. Ears drape over her shoulders and small, white horns poke out of her head. She holds herself with the grace of royalty, posture erect, towering even. Her face...

“You ought to apologize to the poor dear.”

...M-Mom.

It’s...it’s Mom.

But she should be at New Home. Not here.

But here she is.

Why…?

We stumble after her tug on our wrist, too dumbstruck to resist. Flowey, whose grimace reeks with suspicion, leans away from our approach and into the halo of light, which highlights the footprint stamped into his face. With a bit more force, the indentations might have been permanent. It’s too bad dirt will wash away.

“Do not be scared, little one,” Mom says. “The child only wishes to tell you they are sorry.”

She releases us but places her paw in between our shoulder blades to keep us from fleeing, a habit she developed because of my past fights with Asriel, heheh. She nudges us forward, and our hand flexes around the stick, the tip of which Flowey eyes as it teeters up and down.

“You do wish to tell him that you are sorry, do you not, my child?”

We flip the stick so the point faces behind us, grin at our masterpiece, and frame the shoeprint with our fingers. Some of the pollen from the golden flowers has mixed with the dirt. Truly a photogenic piece.

“That’s not an apology,” Flowey says, glowering.

We crouch to eye level with him and circle our arms around our legs, then pick at the bandage on our forearm. He sinks into his stem.

“Well?” Flowey snaps.

We pull our eyelid down with a finger and stick our tongue out at him.

“Rrrgh, you little--”

“My child.” We flinch at the severity in Mom’s voice as she places a hand on our shoulder and kneels beside us. Her disapproving frown foretells a Mom talk. “In life there are many choices, each of them paired with a resulting consequence.” She gestures to Flowey. “Your decision to terrorize this poor creature will result in a negative consequence such as a night without dinner. However, should you reverse your course, a positive consequence may follow such as my warm, homemade, flaky butterscotch-cinnamon pie.”

Mom’s pie...steam rises from caramelized sugar waiting to melt in our mouths. The spicy-sweet scent of the cinnamon glaze Mom brushes onto the pan and the top of the pie permeates the cavern. We can almost reach out a hand to dig our fingers into the gooey filling, but our growling stomach bursts the daydream into a pie-less reality.

I’m sorry…

“What was that?” Flowey drawls. “I couldn’t tell if that was your mouth or your stomach talking.”

I’m sorry your face found my foot.

Flowey giggles. His tipping head leads the sway of his stalk like one of those gaudy solar dancing flowers.

“Golly, that’s…” And in that instant he freezes, his expression darkened to a poignant scowl while we bite back more laughter. “That’s not funny…. Stop laughing.” We laugh harder. “I said stop laughing!”

“Oh dear,” Mom sighs. “I’m sorry, ah…”

“Flowey,” Flowey growls.

“My deepest apologies, Flowey, for the child’s misbehavior. Allow me to make it up to you somehow. Would you and your family like some baked snails?”

“Hmph, I don’t have a family.”

“O-Oh...dear. I am sorry. I, ah, did not realize….” Flowey shoots Mom a withering glare. “Well, would you like to accompany us for some pie?”

What, no!

“Hush, my child. We will deal with your punishment when we return home.”

/* Worth it. */

“No. I’m fine,” Flowey says.

“Are you certain, small one? I would like to do something to make up for the child’s discourtesy.”

“I said I’m fine. But thanks. For the invitation.”

“Well, if you change your mind you are more than welcome to join us.”

We waddle the cramps from our legs into the next room, where amethyst clusters protruding from the ceiling saturate the brick with a deep purple glow, almost disguising the stone crumbling from years of disuse. It’s certainly a stark contrast to the blackness of the previous cavern. We glance over our shoulder, but Flowey’s gone. Well, at least we dodged on apologizing, and he’s out of our hair now. Plus, whatever punishment Mom decides upon won’t be cruel.

Mom herself, now that we can get a better look at her, looks older. Her coat has lost its luster to time’s corrosion. It’s more matte, more brittle than soft. The only exception is the faintest glimmer of joy in the crinkle of her eyes.

“What an interesting creature,” Mom says as she follows our gaze to the now-empty moss. “I’ve never seen a flower monster like him before. Hmm, nevermind. It’s not as though I have spoken to every existing monster myself.” We meet her eyes. “My name is Toriel. I am the Keeper of the Ruins, and every day I pass through this area to see if any humans have fallen. Though your behavior was less than ideal, I still look forward to showing you your new home.”

We follow her up the deteriorating steps, the stone rail rough with age under our hand. Even the crystals above look like they might wiggle loose with one good quake, crushing the staircase into dust and rubble and submerging this room, too, in darkness. Mom hums a haunting lullaby that accentuates the hollowness of the Ruins. Slimes, shadows, frogs...monsters of all sizes, shapes, and stenches used to pack these vacant walls. But now they are no more.

Just how much time has passed between my death and now?

We hop up the remaining two steps, whereupon a flower pops out of the floor near the doorway.

“Howdy,” Flowey says. His face looks naked without our footprint art. “So, I’ve thought about your invitation, and I’ve changed my mind. I think pie sounds like a wonderful idea, and it’s the perfect apology.”

“Oh, splendid!” Mom says.

/* This is not splendid. */

“We would be delighted to have you join us, wouldn’t we, my child?”

We say nothing as Mom turns the corner ahead of us. We squeeze the stick to dispel our rocketing anxiety, point two fingers at our eyes, and then jab them in Flowey’s direction. Unfazed by our warning, he bares his fang-filled smile and plops underground.

“...variety of difficult puzzles,” Mom says as we’re entering the first puzzle.

/* Oops, should we have been listening to her? */

She lowers the lever and the doors scrape open to the sound of rushing water. We shuffle along the well-worn path past the six depressed buttons and into the next corridor where water flows along two parallel troughs. Flowey, waiting for us at the first lever, pulls it with a vine and a leafy wave. A distant mechanism clicks, slides, and clicks.

“Puzzles will be no problem if we work together, right?” Flowey asks as he sways to and fro.

I can do it on my own.

“I mean, I’m sure you’d be fine, but what’s wrong with a little bit of help from your best friend Flowey?”

Repaying a Loan Shark would be easier. We ignore him and dash across the bridge ahead of Mom to pull the next lever.

/* Wait, that’s-- */

“No!” Mom shouts.

We jerk our hand back as though scalded by the metal, our jaw clenching when Flowey giggles from behind us.

“That’s the wrong switch, silly,” Flowey says.

We stumble back and look between the two levers, puzzled, though it’s pretty clear which one is correct.

/* But the yellow arrows are pointing to the right one. */

“What’s wrong, my child?” Mom says. “Go ahead and pull the other switch.”

I just wanted to see what this switch would do.

“Well, if I’d have known you wanted to waste everyone’s time, I wouldn’t have given away the answer,” Flowey says with that ear-drilling giggle. “By all means, go ahead and pull it, but it’s just a dud.”

You’ve taken all the fun out of it.

We march to the other lever. We tug it down. The spikes slide beneath their plates, which opens the way to the next room where a dummy sits in the far corner.

/* A cotton heart and a button eye, you are the apple of my eye. */

“In the underground, you will run into monsters who will try and attack you, but do not fear, my child,” Mom says. “Simply talk to them and stall for time until I can come to your aid. Why not practice talking to the dummy?”

Monsters...monsters attacking us. No, that cannot be. Knight Knights, Bye Bees, Doppel Gen Mirs, Migospels, Gorgonzillas...None of them would hurt a human.

Flowey’s existence is proof enough of that. He pokes out of the ground next to the Dummy and pats the base with a leaf.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me this stuffed animal scares you,” he says.

No.

“Do you hate dummies?”

No.

“Then what’s the problem? Don’t you want to be its friend?”

We cross our arms and jerk our head away.

No.

Wait….

The dummy sheds a stuffing tear and putters into the air out of sight. We wince.

“Gosh, that wasn’t very nice,” Flowey says.

You set me up on purpose.

“What are you talking about? I just asked you a simple question. You were the one who chose to say no. Don’t go blaming others for your insensitivity.”

“Flowey is right, my child,” Mom says. “You cannot place blame on others for your actions, even if it was an accident.”

“From what I’ve heard that dummy is pretty sensitive, too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s telling its cousin about what you said right this instant,” Flowey says.

“That’s enough from you, too, young one. It is cruel to dig at the wounds of another.”

Flowey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

He burrows beneath the rock, and Mom leads us into the next room, where vendors with vibrant stalls once lined up in rows to sell their handmade blankets, dishware, and trinkets away from the city bustle. Only the stone remembers the echoes of the names they once hailed.

/* By the way...you never told me your name. */

/* Frisk? That name...it feels so familiar, but I am certain this is the first time we have met. */

/* What? */

/* Try me. You certainly act like this isn’t your first time through here, yet everything has taken you by surprise thus far. */

/* Changed? */

/* Calm down. Your jumbled thoughts are making me dizzy. Wait, watch out! */

A Froggit hops into our path within the narrow corridor, more startled by our presence than we are its. We keep our posture open and inviting to counterbalance the Froggit’s offensive crouch.

Aw, aren’t you a cutie.

It doesn’t understand our words, but it relaxes and blushes pink until Mom hustles up to us and frightens it away with her stinkeye. It hops by in a hurry to escape her, poor thing. It didn’t do anything wrong.

Mom takes hold of our hand anyway to guide us across the spiked floor ahead of us. She’s more protective than I remember.

/* What do you mean my name has changed several times? */

/* None of those are me. */

...None of those are me. I can’t explain how I know this, but those names do not encompass who I am. With nothing left to say, we step through another threshold into a corridor stretching into an infinite nightmare. Mom turns to face us.

“I sense some remaining animosity between you and Flowey, my child,” Mom says. “Please, forgive me for what I am about to do, but I believe it is for the best that you two work through your differences.”

Mom books it to the other end of the hall, a white and purple speck by the time she reaches the lone pillar. Flowey pops out of the ground, giggling.

“Finally, she’s gone. Now you and I can chat without interruptions.”

We sidestep Flowey and entertain the thought of stomping on his face again. He cuts us off.

“Well, gosh, from the way you’ve been acting, it seems like you already know what’s going on here, huh?”

We shrug. It’s still a long way to where Mom’s hiding.

“You seem pretty smart for a human,” Flowey continues. “Say, and I’m only making a wild guess here, but…”

We skip past him again, confident he won’t attack where Mom can see us. He sure is a persistent flower.

“...Hey…”

We ignore him.

“Aaaaaaaargh! Would you stop and listen to me, you idiot!? If you don’t, I’ll kill her. Hee hee hee.”

We pause and tap the tip of the stick against the cave floor. Flowey clears his throat to draw our attention, but we cross our arms and wait. If he wants to talk, he can come to us. He growls but pops up in front of us once more so we can talk face-to-face.

“As I was saying, it seems like there’s been a misunderstanding between us. I mean. Our first meeting was you stepping on my face. And then blaming me for your mistakes. So, I’m not exactly in the wrong here.”

We wave a hand in front of us to tell Flowey to get to the point.

“At least this time,” Flowey adds. “So, what was it before? I give you some bad advice? Try to steal your stick?”

You know the answer to that already.

We start to walk away again to let him know we won’t answer his roundabout questions.

“Okay, okay. I admit, the thought of killing you did cross my mind. I’m guessing that’s what I’ve done in the past, so I understand why you don’t like me.”

We shouldn’t have said anything, but we halt again, since he has stopped beating around the bush.

“Sure, I may have done some preeeeeeeetty gross stuff to you before. But” --he studies us-- “are you entirely innocent yourself?”

Distorted thoughts skritch along our brain like dozens of agitated bees. Our flinch is the trigger for Flowey’s next sting.

“You aren’t, are you? You’ve toyed with their lives, too. You realize this is all just a game, so you Reset to discover what you’ve missed. Hee hee hee. You sicko. You’re just like me.”

That’s not--

“But it’s okay because no one remembers. Why golly, even I can’t remember!”

You’re just assuming things.

The skritching worsens the longer Flowey considers us.

“I can be amicable, too, you know,” he says slowly. “We could be allies, you and I. Wouldn’t that be interesting? With your ability to Reset, it’d be useless to try and kill you, I see that now, but if we worked together, we’d be unstoppable. The best part? There wouldn’t be any consequences!”

No, absolutely not. We storm past Flowey, our heart and mind racing in opposite directions. His fixation on this idea bodes ill for us, and we’re only a third of the way through the hall. But if Flowey is right and we...if Frisk is some anomalous time traveler, then the probability of Resetting to sate their curiosity seems rather high.

/* Is it true, Frisk? */

/* Then why Reset so much? */

Flowey wraps a vine around our ankle, which we shake as he stretches his stalk further from the ground to twist in front of us.

“Why are you so against the idea of us working together?” He follows our involuntary glance to the pillar where Mom hides. “You think that pig hiding actually cares about you? That she’s any better than me?”

She looks more like a goat.

“Augh, whatever! Pig, goat, trash, I don’t care what you call her. The point is you are just a replacement to her, a fantasy for times long past.”

You’re lying.

“She ran away from her responsibilities and now searches for poor, injured humans to try and fill in her loneliness. Look at her. She’s a pathetic bleeding heart. She’d be more than happy to let you march off to your own death than try to prevent it. Why? Because she’s afraid. She’s afraid of facing her shortcomings and mistakes far more than she fears for your safety. What a hypocrite.”

That’s not...

Our struggle against Flowey’s hold ceases at the flicker of a memory, not from me but from Frisk, of Mom’s hug begging us not to leave the Ruins yet not offering to accompany us either to ensure our safety. Her expectations, her loneliness, her fear....she’d claimed to set them aside for us, but the truth was that she had clutched onto them all the tighter.

/* No, Mom isn’t like that, Frisk. */

Flowey continues, “But me? I’m not afraid of anything, and I’m the only one who can really understand you and your ability. Hee hee hee. I can help you. Your false trust, your loneliness, your fear. I can help you overcome them. I can show you the truth, and I won’t lead you astray. There’s just one itsy-bitsy thing you gotta do. It’s simple, really. You just have to side with me. It’s your call. Just make sure it’s the right one.”

Flowey burrows underground, leaving us to contemplate his offer.

But to accept would be absurd. We are caught at a crossroads halfway between the corridor’s entrance and Mom’s pillar. This is all wrong. Asriel’s and my plan had failed, but Mom should still be with Dad, so why is she here anyway?

/* Frisk, what happened since...since my death? */

/* What do you mean? I deserve to know what happened to my family. */

/* Fine. */

We reach the pillar in silence, where Flowey waits with Mom, who has her hands clasped before her until she sees us from the corner of her eye. The furrow of her brow betrays the dissatisfaction she won’t voice.

“Greetings, my child. I am sorry to have left you. I wished to not only test your independence but allow you the opportunity to reconcile with Flowey. However, he tells me you continue to ignore him.”

Mom hesitates and scrutinizes us. With a curt, self-assured nod, she pulls out an ancient-looking cellphone from the pocket of her robe and approaches us.

“Here, my child, take this. I must attend to some business in order to prepare the pie and think it would be best if you and Flowey used this time to continue working through your differences. I am sure that you two have more in common than you might think. Why not talk about some hobbies you may share while I am away? Or pretend you are monarchs ruling over the leaf pile with a fist of iron. I will return in a short while to see how you are doing. Be well, my children.”

In the yard with the blackened tree, our knuckles white and hand aching, we brandish the stick as the weapon it truly is for the first time against Flowey. Too many battles has that contemptible flower interfered, providing wrong directions to watch us flounder against easy enemies throughout the entirety of the Ruins.

No, not enemies. They are not enemies, no matter what poison Flowey feeds us. There’s no reason to kill them, even in self-defense, as Frisk has proven.

But this...this parasite will ruin us.

“Boy, without me around to help you, you woulda been dead by now, huh, friend?” Flowey says. “Good thing I’m here! Are you sure this isn’t your first time though? You seemed kinda lost. I mean, there was that whole thing with that stupid ghost--”

His name is Napstablook, and it’s your fault he left crying!

“--plus the puzzles you constantly screwed up at every turn despite how much you’ve supposedly done them, and have you never fought Moldessa triplets before?”

I’ve only seen them a few times, and that was forever ago.

“I’m not judging you or anything, but your form was a little sloppy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fight more pathetically than you.” His sly smile is another cut along our battle-weary soul. “Maybe it’s not that you choose to befriend everyone but rather you can’t even fight. You don’t know how to attack, you don’t know how to kill, you don’t know anything! Maybe the previous times I tried to kill you because it would be a mercy!”

Our befriending attempts may have been sloppy, but our vertical slash at Flowey is swift and precise. Flowey jerks to the side in time to catch the blast of air as the stick whistles past his face.

“Golly, you sure are quick to attack for someone who’s never killed, huh?” Flowey taunts. “Have I already angered you to homicide? Hee hee hee. That was easier than I thought.”

We sweep the stick parallel to the ground, but Flowey tunnels out of the way.

“I guess you’ve made your choice then,” Flowey says.

I won’t side with you. Lie to as many monsters as you want to make them hate me--

“What in the world is going on here!?” Mom shouts.

A wall of flame intercepts our next slash, and we falter in our step, aghast. Not often have I witnessed the sort of rage that engulfs Mom’s arms in fire to the elbows without singeing a lock of her fur--or the bag of groceries clenched in her opposite hand. We instinctively cower away from her.

“That is enough of this childish behavior. You two could get seriously hurt. Child, follow me this instant. I do not know how you were treated on the surface, but down here we do not needlessly attack one another when there is a disagreement.”

Mom snatches our arm and drags us staggering toward the quaint house, one of the only structures not falling apart brick by brick. Despite being in trouble, the lighting as we enter the foyer casts a homely glow, even as we’re tugged to the right and down a hallway consisting of three rooms, the first at which she jerks us to a halt. We relinquish the stick to her outheld paw, sulking as we’re ushered into the bedroom.

“You may come out when you have calmed down and thought about your actions,” Mom says.

Though we expect the door to slam behind us, the jamb mutters shut and the lock snicks into place. We jostle the handle to no avail. We truly are locked in. Mom’s voice fades as she exits the hallway toward the living room, asking Flowey if he’d like to help her with the pie and apologizing on our behalf, as if we’re the enemy.

We scour the room for an escape, but aside from dusty toys, a chest full of shoes, a camera on the bookshelf, and a closet full of assorted striped shirts, we find nothing. Along with the camera sits a music box, which we wind up to fill the tense silence. It’s the lullaby Mom was humming earlier, the underlying chords warming the melody.

We plunk down onto the bed and rub a hand along our face, sinking further into the mattress as we exhale.

Not particularly keen on talking to Frisk myself, I retain my silence, and we listen to our heart slowing to the music’s tempo. Throughout the Ruins, we bumbled through attacks and floundered through puzzles, our knowledge of how things should be and reality differing from one another. Our accidental insults toward the monsters had dwindled into stony silence with Flowey as our constant shadow.

Stacked atop all of that is Frisk’s insistence on withholding knowledge claiming it’s for my benefit, just like Mom used to say when I asked her questions, or like that one game, keep away, which I used to play with Asriel. Except now I’m the victim. No wonder he always tattled on me.

/* The least you can do is stop invading my thoughts. */

We unsnap our pocket and remove the card we found at the start of our journey. Both sides are still empty. It’s rectangular, about the size and glossiness of a photograph.

/* You’ve said before that it was new. */

We close our eyes, our hand covering the card on our stomach while our legs dangle over the side of the bed. We picture a long hallway tinted blue and devoid of sound, writing etched into the wall where occasionally a gray door stands.

"I can feel it,” Asriel’s deep voice echoes. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you…”

The world is ending, has dissolved to the darkness of final confrontation. Before us Asriel floats, the wings of the cosmos extending to the ends of the universe. I can feel it, too. Every soul pulsing within his body cowers at the magnitude of the power ensnaring them. They are lost, each and every one of them. Yearners, dreamers, wishers...all seek the forgotten.

Hundreds of beams punch through our paralyzed soul until it splinters into halves. But it refuses.

“Still you're hanging on...? That's fine. In a few more moments, you'll forget everything, too. That attitude will serve you well in your next life."

We bolt awake, solid and whole and shaking.

/* Frisk, was that… */

/* Asriel’s alive? */

/* Then what? */

Huh, that makes a bizarre sort of sense. Neither alive nor dead but caught within the circuitry like a glitch.

Rubbing our eyes of sleep and yawning, we slide from the bed onto our knees to grab the card and pocket it again. A dense grogginess numbs our mind, but we rock to a stand and approach the door, not like Mom’ll have unlocked--

It swings open. We blink, then creep into the hallway like fugitives. The warm smell of pie clobbers our olfactories, nearly toppling us into a starving heap on the floor as our stomach clenches into a meal-deprived knot. Mom’s too far away to summon for help. Looks like we’ll have to proceed on our own.

We slink through the foyer, straining our ears to listen for any suspicious sounds, arms wrapped around our stomach to muffle its protesting growls until we reach the wall between us and the living room.

“...digestive systems as they mature?”

Ah, facts about snails. Asriel loved it when Mom shared a new snail fact with us every week, always spent the first hour trying to guess what fact she would share by shouting nonsense like, “Talk. Really. Slowly?” Flowey, on the other hand, looks bored to tears as we poke our head into the living room. Huh, surprising he hasn’t threatened her with violence yet.

Mom catches us from the corner of her eye and smiles while she places the snail book in her lap. “Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie and enjoy some facts about snails. Would you like to join us?”

We nod and enter the room in trepidation as Mom leaves for the kitchen and returns with the biggest slice of pie I have ever seen. We take the plate, plop onto the floor, and scarf down the pie, much to Mom’s amusement and Flowey’s distaste.

“Say, what would you do if you found out the human killed someone?” Flowey asks.

Mom nearly spits out her bite of pie, and we nearly choke on ours. “What?” Her attention snaps to us. “Who did they kill?”

“Oh, nobody!” Flowey giggles. “It was just a hypothetical question. You know, just in case they ever do.”

Mom contemplates her answer. “I would ask who they killed, why they felt inclined to do so, and if they thought it was the right thing to do. There is always an underlying reason for our actions. I would then explain to them that the monster likely had a family who had cared for them very much and that now the monster is gone and will never return home.”

“Wow, that’s really sad.”

We dislodge from our throat the chunk of pie that tried to kill us and set our plate aside--fork and knife included. The pie looks less appealing now as apprehension worms its way into our stomach instead.

“What if they continued to do it?” Flowey says.

“W-what?”

“You know, kill monsters. What if they didn’t listen to you?”

“I…”

“Golly, what a heavy question. They would never do that, would they?”

Flowey shoots us a pointed look, his head tilted sideways. We shake our head, our pulse racing. Flowey’s eyes sink into his disk, forming hollow orbits through which his pupils glow, and his smile curls into that of the deranged, growing wider and wider until it could swallow us whole. We fall back on our hands to scramble away from him.

“That’s why someone has to do it for them until they learn otherwise!” he says.

A barrage of pellet-sized bullets punch through Mom, who slumps back in her chair, eyes glassing over as we scramble to our feet. Her plate clatters to the floor.

“Ha….ha…” Toriel gasps the last of her breath.

Her dust plumes out to cover the chair, her soul hovering in the negative space until one pellet strikes and shatters it into thousands of sprinkling shards. Flowey cackles.

“So, you won’t kill anyone, will you? No, you want to save them. Hee hee hee. That’s okay. I’ll help you overcome your fear of watching them die by killing them myself when you’re least expecting it. Go ahead! Reload your last save. I’ll be waiting.”

Flowey vanishes beneath the floorboards.

The room tears away into darkness that sews itself together into the bedroom where we were previously grounded. We release a shuddered breath and exit into the hall. This time, when the pie’s sweetness bombards our nose, we swallow a gag. Nauseated, we slink into the living room contemplating the worst outcomes.

Mom lowers the snail book to her lap and greets us with her ignorant smile.

“Good morning, my child,” Mom says. “You are just in time to eat pie and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Flowey makes a show of dipping his head to inspect his leaves, his eyes lifted toward us while another of his disturbing smiles sprouts along his face.

I’m okay, just a little tired.

“Howdy!” Flowey perks up. “Boy, you slept forever. I was getting bored and was about to ask our host what she would do if you ever decided to kill her.”

“Goodness,” Toriel says, “what prompted that question?”

“Well, they're human, aren't they? And humans are notorious for believing they're above consequences! Aren't you? Hee hee hee.”

That's a lie! You’re the one who thinks there’re no consequences for our actions. You believe this world is kill or be killed, but you’re--

“Right!” Flowey says. “This world is kill or be killed. And I’ll show you why.”

Again the bullets puncture Mom’s body. We let out a strangled cry, reach for her as her dust billows outward in a cloud. We crawl toward her shivering soul, but it bursts into glass fragments that dissolve upon impact with the floor. We sink against our heels, arms limp at our sides.

“You know, my sibling used to get me in trouble all the time,” Flowey says. “It's kinda nice being on the opposite end of that for once, hee hee.”

As he twists around to face us, Flowey gives our shoulder a sympathetic squeeze with one of his vines.

“Oh, stop crying. The only reason you're suffering is because you refuse to distance yourself. You should revel in the freedom that killing others brings without worrying about the consequences. Continue like you are and you’ll only end up alone with no one to blame but yourself. I’m your friend. It’s not like I enjoy seeing you like this, but you’re hurting yourself with your constant lies. All you need to do is admit that you’ve killed, and this violence will stop. That’s it!”

We shake our head with conviction. Flowey sighs and tuts at us like we’re a simpleton.

“You’re lying,” Flowey says.

He disappears, and the world tears away to the bedroom once more. Again we march to the living room and again we stop short as Mom smiles at us.

“Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie with us and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’m fine, just a little tired. Can I still have some pie?

Mom chuckles and stands, placing the book on the cushion of her chair. Once she disappears into the kitchen, we snatch one of the fire pokers from the stand in the corner adjacent to the doorway, the wrought iron heavy in our hands.

“Hee hee hee. You’re so easy!” Flowey says.

We rush Flowey just as Mom walks in with the pie, which clatters to the floor and explodes into a gooey mess. Fire weaves itself into the palms of her hands, but a cascade of bullets hail through her. Her body shivers from each impact.

“Did you really think attacking me was going to help her?” Flowey asks.

Mom drops to a knee. We shout and stab at Flowey’s smug, nightmarish face with the poker, but his litheness makes him a difficult target.

“Ha….ha….I see now….my child….” Mom says before her form dissipates.

“You’re never going to save her.” Flowey’s eyes bulge with hunger-lust. “Maybe you should choose more carefully who your enemies are. Hee hee hee. Just admit you’ve killed before and I’ll end the torture. Your move.”

Flowey disappears, the living room vanishes, and we find ourselves materializing in the dark bedroom, the length of which we pace.

A rather unpleasant question with an equally distasteful answer.

/* Sometimes it’s better to keep your enemies closer than your friends…. */

We stop with our heels pressed together. Teddy bears, dolls, blocks, and toy trains overflow from the toy chest. None of these toys, however, can solve our dilemma.

/* He wants to get a rise out of us. If we submit for now, we can wait for an opportunity to gain the upper hand, lure him into a false sense of security. But we can’t give up pushing his buttons entirely or he’ll become suspicious of our behavior. */

/* We can figure that out later. He’s not going to budge on this. Unless you want to watch Mom die continuously. */

/* Make sure it’s convincing. */

We leave the bedroom and return to the living room, freezing mid-step as a pile of dust greets us, “The Book of 72 Snail Facts” face down and its pages bent from how it fell.

“You waited too long this time, friend,” Flowey says. “You should have known you were on a time limit. I wonder, how long will your Determination last? Will you cave and start killing her yourself just so you don’t have to deal with the pain, or will you watch as I turn her to dust over and over and over?”

Okay, Flowey, you’re right. I have killed during previous Resets. We hold ourself with pride, shoulders squared, back straight. I’ve killed Froggits, Vegetoids, Migosps, and Moldsmals. I’ve gained Toriel’s trust just to stab her in the back, and I’ve cut her down with one blow. But one thing has never changed, Flowey, and that’s the strength of my Determination.

Flowey grins at the conviction empowering our words. The best fibs contain a spattering of truth, but in this case I can’t tell how much is truth and how much is lie.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Flowey says. “But you’re only halfway forgiven. Hee hee hee. Reload again, and maybe this time I won’t kill her.”

We do so and roll our shoulders before entering the living room for the final time. Mom smiles at us.

“Good morning, my child. You are just in time to eat pie with us and enjoy some facts about snails.” She frowns. “Oh dear, are you unwell? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’m fine, just a little tired. Barbs scratch our dry throat as we repeatedly swallow. I...I’ve also thought about what I’ve done. It was wrong of me to step on your face and blame you for my mistakes, Flowey, and I’m sorry for attacking you earlier. I hope you can forgive me.

“Golly, it'd be criminal of me not to forgive you, friend! You already know I’m not one to hold a grudge. An apology was all I wanted.”

Flowey sticks out his tongue and winks.

“I am so proud of you, my child. It takes a lot of courage to shoulder responsibility for one’s mistakes and apologize for them.”

We flash Mom an exhausted smile. Can I have some pie?

Mom retrieves the biggest slice of pie we’ve ever seen from the kitchen. It tastes like dust and imprisonment.

“Um, I’d just like you both to know how glad I am to have you here,” Mom says once she settles into her chair. “I know that if you give each other a chance, you could become friends. Maybe even...siblings?”

“Golly, that'd certainly be nice, wouldn't it?” Flowey says.

/* Hah. Well, whatever may happen, you must stay Determined. We are in this for the long haul, partner. */

Reality

Re: Anomalies

Ness Dink

To: Gentry Itti; Vance Serpere

7/3/18 7:20 PM

Apologies for the late reply. I just got off of work. It certainly seems as though today has been rather active for everyone in the gaming universe. Even the people I have spoken to who hate Undertale have expressed concern over Toby’s disappearance. It is quite the conundrum, but there isn’t much we can do, is there? It’d best be left to the authorities.

I suppose we could livestream. I will run Genocide, since you have already claimed Pacifist in your blog, though I am not looking forward to fighting Sans again, but since there will be plenty of others who will explore the neutral routes, I think it would be good of us to stream the two extremes first.

I think it would be best if we did not race, however. If there are as many new events as Vance has claimed, then we will want to take our time and explore all of the differences.

Bray will also want to study our recordings to come up with her own theories, so don’t get overzealous like you tend to, Gentry.

On 7/3/18, Fri at 6:13 PM, Vance Serpere wrote:

Actually, it is not uncommon for game devs to set up a scheduled time for an update to be released, especially if they’re going to be gone for a while.

Heh, who knows, maybe he faked his own death because of how much of a celebrity he’s become.

On 7/3/18, Fri at 6:05 PM, Gentry Itti wrote:

Vance, buddy! Glad you saw my post. Sounds like you and the other DedRiters have been busy. Crazy stuff, huh? Toby hasn’t updated the game in centuries, then BAM, an update goes out the day he vanishes.

Still can’t get over the fact it’s Friday 13th. I’m not normally superstitious, but this gives me the heebs.

Luv the idea to livestream, Vance. What do you say, Ness? Ready to wipe off the old Undertale livestream accounts and race like we used to?

On 7/3/18, Fri at 5:56 PM, Vance Serpere wrote:

Hey.

So, I’ve run some initial tests that I think you two might find interesting. I suggest livestreaming both of your profiles from here on out because the game gets insane.

It’s easily tripled in size and gameplay, bumping up average time to about 18 hours. At least 12 new rooms have been added along with new enemies and dozens of new objects to interact with. It’s like a completely different game with the same premise and graphics.

I’m going to see what else I can crack, but right now there’s some code that even those more skillful than I cannot access because of some high-level encryption. Dunno what Toby’s been doing for the past 3 years since the game’s release, but his programming skills have rocketed.

Oh, I also looked into the MIRAGES bit you mentioned in your blog, Gentry, and it looks like Room 269 is now off limits until an event triggers. However, it’s become more difficult to edit room values and fun values without hitting a wall. Believe me, my buddies on DedRit are trying, but every time we crack through a bit of code, a firewall goes up to keep us out.

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