#literally put your back into those oars over and over and over again over and over and over again

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

hot bitches have The Chase from caleb hayashida's mobydick album stuck in their head for 5 straight hours

[redbatchedcumbermayned]

It all started under a duvet held up by an oar

Not so long ago I emailed Chris Tester, the voice of Heinrix van Calox in Owlcat’s recently released CRPG Rogue Trader, and asked if he would like to sit for an interview with me. Having some experience in interviewing people I like, most famously Oscar winner and all-around sweetheart Eddie Redmayne, this was not a completely nerve-wracking endeavour. And within a day of sending my email, Chris said yes. And what a pleasure it was interviewing him: Chris was so generous with his time, that the agreed upon 30 minutes turned into 50 minutes as we brushed upon many topics from his start as a theatre actor to his first voice-over role in a video game to his recently discovered hobby of playing D&D. Of course, we also spoke about all things Warhammer 40k, his new found fame brought on by voicing Heinrix and the insights he could share about the character.

I will publish this interview in three parts over the next week in text form and with the accompanying audio file (the audio quality is not spectacular but tumblr limits uploads to 10MB). If you quote or reshare, please quote me as the original source.

Part 2 of the interview

Part 3 of the interview

Fran: Thank you very much for taking your time.

Chris Tester: That's no problem. No problem at all.

F: So then let's start. You graduated in 2008.

CT: I did. Yes.

F: You started out as a stage actor. Did you always want to become a stage actor or an actor in general? Tell us a bit about your career.

CT: I always wanted to be a stage actor. Yes, as soon as I knew that I wanted to be an actor, which probably wasn't until I was a teenager. But yeah, my first passion was always the stage, and that was kind of borne out in my career. I would have been open to TV and film of course, if it had come along, I'm a huge fan of TV and film as well, but I never got an audition for any TV or film work.

I think I literally did about three short films in my 10, 12 years of actually professionally acting, and it is one of those industries where the more you do of one thing, the more you seem to find yourself doing the same thing to a degree. So yes, watching Shakespeare from an early age was one of my first passions.

And that was what first planted the seed of wanting to do it myself. The whole aspect of live performance is still something that I'm very passionate about. Up until 2020, when the world changed, I was trying to do two or three theatre shows a year, but since 2020, I haven't been near a stage and I doubt right now, especially with the way that the UK theatre scene is going, that I'm going to be back on stage anytime soon. I am resigned to that, but at some point in my career, I know I will be on stage again, because I can't live without it, but only for the right thing, both financially, but more importantly, creatively.

F: Your production company is currently on hiatus?

CT: I was the producer of a theatre company, which was run and was the baby of the director of the company, a guy called Ross Armstrong, who's one of the most talented writers and directors that I've ever worked with. I was helping out with a lot of the administration stuff so that he could still put me in plays. Instead of creating my own work because I'm not a very good writer or the best writer in the world, I support those people who will write me good parts. So yes, it is currently on hiatus, but never say never, we would always be looking to get back. It's difficult right now. It's difficult for all of us, because arts council subsidy, that way of being able to fund stuff, is drying up. We were doing a national tour of the UK when we were doing that [with the support of a subsidy]. There's even less money, there's even more people. I won't bore you with anything more than that, but it's kind of tough. We'd like to come back, but in the right way, and that's tricky to negotiate.

F: It's always hard as a stage actor to earn a living.

CT: Well, I've been spoiled by voice-over as well, and whereas when I was in my 20s and 30s then you're all about your art. And of course, I'm still all about my art, but I'm also about my wife and my cat and the mortgage and the bills and wanting to have nicer things to a degree as well. I've come to terms with that and voice-over does facilitate that as well as it opens you up to different roles and working with different people. So, I can't complain.

F: It's quite similar with making a living as a writer, because with a steady income you get used to a certain standard of living and once you have obligations and bills to pay, I think the stress on your mental health being creative and having all the stresses of regular life thrust upon you brings with it a challenge.

CT: It's a cliche we can very easily fall into: if I'm suffering, then it means I'm an artist. And that's not necessarily very true. It very often means that the art that we create only reflects one aspect of our lives, and it's usually a very tortured one. I am also about having wider experiences and broadening myself out. Whereas I think when I was in my twenties, I was thinking a bit more like: Oh, I'll experience the world and life through my art and just purely through my art. Whereas now necessarily I need to have a life outside of it as well, and then I can justify like I have the life so that I can feed my art or not, whatever. You know, I'll be a better artist by having a bit of a life outside of it. Maybe.

F: But that's what your twenties are for.

CT: Yeah, indeed.

F: Doing the crazy stuff, doing the band stuff 

CT: Yeah, yeah, exactly. So, there was certainly an aspect of that in my twenties.

F: So, what brought you to voice acting or voice-over work initially?

CT: Money. Video game stuff is kind of sexy and cool, and I'm a gamer, so that's important. Before I was a video gamer, I was a board gamer and off the back of that, I was a voracious video gamer, partly because I wasn't very good at team sports at school. I was always the person who was picked last in the football team. So that becomes part of your identity for better or worse. But video games, I was pretty good at, not amazing, but I was pretty good at, and I enjoyed it. And it gave me a different form of escapism as well, and off the back of that I always had an interest in them. 

So, the very first voiceover job was a video game: Dark Souls, which is quite a big franchise. At that time, I was your very typically jobbing actor. My acting agent came in and said: I got something for you. And so, I went in with that. But it was only in 2016, 2017 that I realised it was something that you could actually do yourself. People had recording studios at home and they were contacting people directly, not just going through agents. Because I'd basically written to the same 20 voice agents in the UK, mainly in London for like eight years in a row and not received anything. So, you keep knocking on those doors hoping. 

Before I'd even graduated from drama school, I'd burnt a CD and made these cases with my headshot on it and sent them all off at what at the time felt like great personal expense and didn't get anything for eight years in a row.  So, I was a bit like, I'm obviously doing something wrong, but I don't really know what, because I'm doing these workshops and getting good feedback. Then I found out through a couple of online courses, that there were ways and means of doing it myself, and that was a bit of a game changer for me, and within six months of having started, I was earning more through voice work than the bar job and the box office job that I was doing combined. Within six months, I was kind of like: “I gotta quit because I'm actually holding myself back from things.” So that was quite a big shift.

F: Somewhere you said, you started out under a duvet and with an oar.

CT: Yeah. On my website, I do have an image of it. [Dear reader, I could not locate this elusive photo] I literally had to take the duvet off my bed and put it into the living room, which was the quietest space in my then shared flat. I also had to wait until after one flat mate had watched TV and another one had used the table that had their washing on it. One of my flat mates had stolen an oar from some night out and that was perfect in order to be able to erect it over my head and the duvet as a frame. 

I did probably the first four or five months of voice recording like that. Probably about 10, 15 voiceover jobs that I actually got paid for, I was using that because it worked well enough. Since then, I've gone through various different iterations of a setup in the bedroom, to a setup in the hallway, to my current setup. In 2020 we moved to our first house, and this is the spare bedroom which I've had converted into a studio, which means my cat can be here asleep on me or near me getting fur everywhere, but it's fine. I can thrash around and I've got natural light to work in at the same time, which I find quite important. [Pictured below Chris' current setup.]

F: Very pretty. That's good. Guide us through a typical day of yours, if you like.

CT: Oh, sure. I mean, there is no typical day. And yet, and yet, and yet. A typical day for me is, because I am spending the vast majority of the day sitting in this room or somewhere close to this room, because I may need to record at short notice, because the vast majority of jobs are quite short notice. My priority is exercise for mental health more than anything. I've got some weights at the bottom of the garden, and I will get up first thing, and I will go there and I will do that after breakfast. And that's my minimal routine of physical activity done. 

And then I'll come back, and this is so rock and roll. Now what I do is, I spend like an hour on LinkedIn. And that's what you dreamed of as a creative person. Isn't it as an actor? I spend time on LinkedIn regularly every day, because it's a really good networking place for a lot of my types of work, and first thing in the morning, I'm a bit mentally sharper. So that's when I come up with a quick post that may be inspired by a bit of content that I've made elsewhere. That probably takes about 20 minutes and then I spend another 45 minutes to an hour engaging with people and saying hi and introducing myself and asking questions, whether that's with video producers or game developers or documentary makers or pretty much anything and everything. There are a lot of people who are active at that time. And so I do it.

And then after that, if I already have some recording lined up, then I'll prioritise mid-morning, because I've warmed up physically a bit more then, and I'm focused. So, you're going through the scripts, annotating the scripts, recording the scripts, editing the scripts. But then there could be live sessions at any time within that as well. I try to keep hours from nine till six. But occasionally, like with Rogue Trader, that was recorded at various different times of the day because we had people in New York, we had people in mainland Europe, and we had people in the UK. So all different time zones, so that can happen at any time. 

And then I try to do other kinds of bits and pieces of marketing whenever I've got free time to. I do use really exciting productivity hacks, like time blocking. Again, not something that as a creative individual, I was like: Oh God, this gets me so excited, because it doesn't, but it works. It's finding a system that works for you, but still has a certain kind of flexibility and fluidity. I'm trying to make sure that I get outside of the house, and that kind of stuff. 

Recently, over the last year, I’ve started doing audiobooks as well. That long form type of thing is quite nice to be able to dip into because sometimes you don't record for two, three days. You don't get the work. Nothing’s coming in. So, you’re marketing, but it kind of connects you back to the performance side of things to go: I can do a few chapters and you know, that kind of thing. So that's probably it. I try to formalise it, but you know, every voice actor’s day is radically different. There are people, some of the biggest names, going into different studios every week or every day. I very rarely, despite being based in London, I very rarely go into external studios. Like I would say 99 percent of the work I just do from home.

F: So how do you find the right voice for the specific type of voiceover work you do, maybe start with how did you find Heinrix's voice?

CT: Thankfully, Owlcat sent through quite a detailed casting breakdown. So, you get a picture, and that's pretty crucial, as well as a short bio, in terms of the background of the character, but not too much, because you have to sign an NDA, a non-disclosure agreement. But even if you do sign an NDA, I think developers are always slightly hesitant of giving you too much info about the game because things could still be changed. But I think I did get a picture of Heinrix, if not in the first audition, then certainly on the second one. From that you immediately think about the physicality and what might affect the voice, and there was also some direction in terms of what they were looking for. Anybody who has heard the character and me, they do not sound radically dissimilar. There's not a transformative process that I needed to go through, other than his sense of authority and the space that he takes up and the sureness that he has in that he has a kind of divine right from the emperor, so that level of confidence being brought through.

The other part of the audition was about the void ship [the Black Ship] that he'd been raised in and the horrors that he'd seen. And you as the actor have to do the detective work to go like this is showing another side, the more vulnerable side, the side that underpins all of his life choices up to this point. It's essentially playing the opposite to a degree. So it was kind of knowing when to let those elements bleed through a little bit. I think I had probably about a page worth of scripts, quite a lot of script actually to audition with. 

But I don't like to listen back to it a lot, because I think you get into your head. My biggest thing is stage work where it's ephemeral. You say it once and it could be different the next night. The whole point is that there's no one definitive way of doing things. Not quite the same with voice acting, where it's being recorded and you've got to get used to hearing it back. But I try not to overthink it. Just like record it two or three times with different impulses and then review and go like, those two seem pretty contrasting. I'll send those along and hope and then never hear anything back unless I do.

[ollieofthebeholder]

For We Are Afar With the Dawning: A RQG Fic

Also on AO3. Contains spoilers for Episode 207.

Augusta is floating. Both literally and metaphorically.

Mentally, she’s floating on a peachy-pink cloud of euphoria and warmth and happiness and contentment. It’s an absolutely perfect day, the kind of day she never gets to experience anymore. The sky is a clear blue dotted with puffy white clouds, the sun bright enough to illuminate the scene but not so bright to hurt the eyes, and it’s pleasantly warm without being oppressively hot. The gentle, cooling breeze brings with it the faint scents of something floral; Augusta’s never been all that great with scents per se, but she thinks it might be roses or something.

Physically, she’s in a rowboat in the middle of a glassy lake, lying on her back with her arms folded contentedly over her chest and her head resting on a lap that seems to mostly comprise of white illusion. Augusta herself is wearing a loose-fitting lawn shirt and a pair of trousers, her feet bare. A pair of oars rest in the locks on either side, but nobody is using them.

“You know, Gus, I think you’re going to have a curly crop when this grows out a bit.” Delicate fingers run through Augusta’s delightfully short hair. “You’re going to look quite rakish.”

“Just so you don’t try to get me to wear one of those dreadful outfits you were talking about that boy wearing in your book.” Augusta smiles. “Really, Lou, where’d you come up with that? Nobody actually dresses like that.”

Louisa laughs. “I wanted it to be really clear that there was no way Jo would ever fall in love with him. Why would she love someone who dresses like that?”

“You should have given one of the girls who came to the Christmas play a name,” Augusta says. “And a personality. And a reason to come back.”

“Are you suggesting I should have put you in the book after all? I thought you didn’t like publicity, O Best Beloved.”

“I don’t like being tied to my brother. Being tied to you is different.” Augusta punctuates this by reaching up and twirling a strand of Louisa’s dark hair around a finger.

Louisa swats her hand away, but she’s laughing again. “Are you going to row us back to shore at any point? Mary and Emma should be here soon. Your Sasha was going to take the carriage and go get them.”

“She’s not my Sasha,” Augusta protests.

“She could be, if you asked, I’m sure. You know we’re all just yours for the asking.”

“Oh, stop it. That’s not how this works.”

“You can’t tell me the idea doesn’t appeal to you,” Louisa says relentlessly. “Having your own personal harem of beautiful and brilliant women. Mary for those delightful scientific discussions and Emmuska for solving puzzles and mysteries and Sasha for going on daring adventures and robbing tombs with and me for...well, when you want to be lazy and bored, I suppose.”

“Louisa May Alcott.” Augusta sits up and takes both of Louisa’s hands in hers. “You have no idea how happy I am. Right here. With you. I don’t need anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Sasha and Mary and Emmuska and I love having them around...and you’re right, Sasha’s so much fun to go poking around places we aren’t wanted with. But if none of them were here, I’d be happy just the same. Maybe more so. Being with you?” She brings Louisa’s hands up and kisses them tenderly. “This is perfect.”

Louisa blushes beautifully, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to row back to shore.”

Augusta laughs. “You wound me. Right here.” She places one hand over her heart.

She’s joking, but suddenly, it feels like Louisa—or someone—has wounded her. There’s a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in her heart, and the last thing she sees is Louisa’s sparkling eyes and sweet smile before the world goes white.

It resolves after a moment. Now instead of sitting in a boat, Augusta is sitting on a rock in a clearing in a verdant  forest. Looking up, she can see the night sky and the stars, so many stars, more than she’s ever seen, and the sweep of the Milky Way looks almost green. The moon shines down on the clearing and illuminates her.

Augusta looks down at herself. She’s wearing more practical clothes now���boots, trousers, tunic, leather jacket—actually, it’s a lot like what Sasha Rackett wore when Augusta first met her, nearly two years ago now, except newer and neater. Across her lap is a well-made crossbow.

A big beast swoops overhead, one Augusta can’t identify (she grew up in a city and the only kind of hunting really considered proper for young ladies of her station was foxhunting). A moment later, there’s a rustle in the undergrowth, and a figure pops out into the clearing, a short figure with outsize ears and a drawn bow.

“Wotcher,” the figure says. “Seen a big beastie go by here?”

“It went that way,” Augusta says, pointing the direction she saw the beast fly. “What is it?”

The hunter—she presumes—shrugs. “Dunno. Still haven’t figured it out. Haven’t caught it yet. Maybe once I do, I’ll know. For now I just call it The Beast.”

He doesn’t seem particularly put out by this. He has a hunt, and what exactly he’s hunting doesn’t seem to matter much; he’ll find the answers when he finds the beast. It’s something Augusta feels an odd kinship towards. “How long have you been hunting it?”

The hunter shrugs again. “Dunno. What year is it?”

Augusta tells him. The hunter draws in a breath, then nods. “Well, then...two thousand years, give or take a couple hundred.”

“Ah.” Augusta looks around her. “We’re dead, then.”

“Probably, yeah. Well, I know I am. You probably are too. What were you doing?”

Augusta thinks for a moment. “Dreaming.”

The hunter snorts. “Not the best way to go out.”

“It’s not like I chose to go out that way. I’d rather have gone down fighting.”  Augusta sighs. “At least it was a pleasant dream, though.”

She touches her chest, out of habit, and has a moment of panic when she can’t find what she’s looking for. Frantically, she scrambles at her neck until she finds the fine chain, then pulls it out and breathes a sigh of relief when the heavy silver locket lands in her palm. Just to be sure, she pops it open, and Louisa’s eyes stare back at her.

Augusta smiles back at the picture, then looks up to see the hunter staring at her inscrutably. She coughs and closes the locket. “Sorry. Just...checking.”

The hunter reaches into his own clothing and pulls out a photograph, but doesn’t show it to her—which startles Augusta, as she didn’t think photographs were that old—before putting it back. “It’s important to hold onto these things. Until you find them. Everything dies, after all.”

“That...probably shouldn’t be comforting, and yet…” Augusta takes a deep breath. “Everything does die, doesn’t it? I don’t know that this is exactly her idea of paradise, though.” Then again, she hadn’t realized it was hers, either.

The hunter shrugs. “Probably not theirs, either. But they all connect. I’ve got a camp set up.” He gestures off to one side. “Check in there every few...decades, maybe. Just to see if they’re there yet. It’ll be nice to have a home to come back to, someday, but for now...there’s the hunt.”

Augusta considers that as she tucks the locket back into her shirt, then looks down at the crossbow on her lap. “I’ve never really hunted in forests before, but I’m not bad at hunting in general.”

“I’d be willing to teach you some tactics. If you’re interested. Just until we both find what we’re looking for.”

Augusta stands up, shoulders the crossbow, and holds out her other hand. “My friends call me Gus.”

The hunter grins, red eyes sparkling, as he accepts her handshake. “Grizzop.”

~*~*~*~

Sumutnyerl soars, buoyed up by a thermal, then banks to one side and swoops low, skimming over the grass. This is their favorite form; they love to fly, and it’s a perfect day for it.

Beside them, another eagle tacks and swoops playfully, then sheers off. Sumutnyerl beats her wings to gain a bit of altitude and follows. For a moment, they race one another straight up into the air. Then the other eagle dips backwards into a loop. Sumutnyerl screeches in delight and goes into a spiraling dive, weaving around the other.

They continue this sky-dance for several minutes before the other leads up to the branches of a tree; Sumutnyerl follows and lands on a branch, then transforms back. They’re already laughing with delight. “I never get tired of that.”

“Nor should you.” Oblaitko smiles warmly, their eyes soft and kind. “The day one grows accustomed to the gifts that have been given is the day one ceases to live and begins to only exist.”

“I mean doing it with you.” Sumutnyerl looks out over the rolling meadow. “I would that we could do this forever.”

“We can,” Oblaitko answers. “Our duties are...light. And not incompatible. We needn’t go back to the town at all. You can attend to the Garden, I to the River, and we can spend the rest of our time here.”

Sumutnyerl considers. The idea is...not unwelcome. She feels an utter sense of peace here, with Oblaitko by their side. More than that, they feel like herself, like an individual and not just part of a collective.

“I would like that,” they say at last. “Very much.”

Oblaitko tucks a strand of Sumutnyerl’s hair behind their ear. “As would I.”

“A bargain, then.”

“A bargain,” Oblaitko agrees. “We can ask permission in the morning, but I hardly think the Council will object. It will save resources, after all.”

Sumutnyerl sighs and leans their head on Oblaitko’s shoulder. They place their arm around her shoulders and pull them close, one hand idly resting over their heart.

For just a second, Sumutnyerl wonders if Oblaitko is concealing a blade, because they suddenly feel a sharp, stabbing pain in their chest. They look up in shock, but there’s nothing on Oblaitko’s face to indicate they’re doing anything...and then the world goes white.

When Sumutnyerl’s vision clears, they are no longer in the branches of a tree, but somewhere else, somewhere far too familiar. Awareness settles on Sumutnyerl’s shoulders as they look around the Garden of Yerlick, but not as it is in life—currently or under ordinary circumstances. The flowers bloom as they past, trees put out their hands like old friends, and the spirits of the dead are instantly visible, smiling and calling to them.

Ah. This again.

“Sumutnyerl?”

Sumutnyerl turns and smiles again. Oblaitko stands before them once more, not in the same form as a moment ago—no longer young, their hair white, their back bent with age and the weight of their position—but their eyes are the same warm, kind brown they have always been .Right now, they are wide with shock and not a little sorrow.

“Hello, my dear friend,” Sumutnyerl says.

“Sumutnyerl,” Oblaitko says again. “Why...how are you here? Like this? You—you mustn’t. It isn’t your time.”

“Perhaps not,” Sumutnyerl agrees. They touch their heart, where the phantom pain is fading fast. “I—I believe I may have been stabbed in my sleep.” Like Nik, they think, with a mingling of regret and anger.

“You will be given another chance.” Oblaitko states this quite calmly, as if it is a given fact rather than an opinion...or a hope. “The Garden needs you. Our people need you.”

“Perhaps I shall be given the offer,” Sumutnyerl replies. “And...perhaps I will accept. But...well. There is much that has happened. Perhaps if I am not needed...perhaps if my last great task has been fulfilled after all…” They hold out their hands. “Would you allow me to stay?”

Oblaitko takes Sumutnyerl’s hands, and stares into their eyes, and no other words are necessary.

~*~*~*~

Hamid knows, on some level, that he’s dreaming, if only because Zolf isn’t really one for parties. That doesn’t stop him from being happy, though. Hamid’s sleep for the past few months has been dreamless at best, teeming with nightmares more commonly, and occasionally non-existent at worst. A part of him has started to believe he’ll never have beautiful dreams again, so the fact that this is a good dream means he’s going to enjoy it for all it’s worth.

And the others all look happy, too. Aziza sings beautifully, her eyes sparkling and face expressive, and her husband gazes on her with a proud, adoring smile. Saleh, his wife, and Hamid’s mother are listening to Oscar tell some story, gesturing dramatically with his drink, his other hand being occupied holding Zolf’s. Zolf has a faint smile on his face as he listens to a story he’s probably heard a hundred times—hell, it’s probably one he was there for, those are Oscar’s favorite stories after all—but that he never gets tired of hearing Oscar tell. Hamid’s father looks more relaxed and content than Hamid has seen him...well, ever since he started paying attention anyway, deep in conversation with Saira and Apophis. Azu, wearing the gown she and Hamid designed together for the opening of the so-called Bow Bar, is making a valiant effort at letting Ismail teach her one of the fancy dances he’s learned, while Ishaq enthusiastically does the same with Cel. Skraak and Grizzop have become fast friends, which Hamid isn’t surprised by, and he wonders what they’re talking about and if he’s going to have to help Zolf clean it up later.

Hamid dances. He loves to dance, almost as much as he loves to fly, and he doesn’t really mind that he doesn’t have a partner at the moment. As he spins, putting in one of the fanciest twirls he knows, he catches Sasha’s eye across the room and grins; she grins back and shoots him a double thumbs-up.

Hamid starts in Sasha’s direction. She’s so good on her feet, he thinks, she’ll be really good at dancing, and she’ll love it. Aziza’s just wrapping up the song she’s currently working on, and Hamid’s pretty sure she’s going to go into the aria from Act I of Carmen, which was her first leading role and one she’s quite proud of. Hamid knows with absolute certainty that Sasha will kill it at a tango.

Before he gets to her, he passes his mother and gets a kiss on the cheek. Saleh gives him a friendly poke in the chest as he passes, which actually hurts a lot more than Hamid is expecting, but he tries to laugh it off, especially as Saleh is laughing, too.

Zolf turns to face him. Letting go of Oscar’s hand, he reaches over and touches Hamid’s forehead with one thumb. He’s still smiling a little, and the look in his eyes is one he hasn’t given Hamid in a long time—not since the beach south of Calais, after they survived the storm sailing from Dover. It warms Hamid all the way to his toes.

“It won’t end this way,” he says, and while he sounds like he’s talking at an ordinary volume, Hamid somehow gets the feeling that nobody can hear Zolf’s words but him. “I won’t let it. Your heart’s too big to be destroyed by something like this.”

Hamid feels simultaneously stronger than he has in ages and like something’s being sucked out of his lungs. His wings unfurl from his back before he completely registers that the music is gone.

He blinks. Someone is holding him—it feels like Cel—and it’s dark. The memory of the lights dimming and then going out comes to him...and they’d been heading to the lab, he remembers, because of the tunnel, but what—?

Zolf’s voice comes from not very far in front of him. “Get in in the door, and get safe.”

Hamid blinks again. That’s an order, they’re in the field—he promised he would follow Zolf’s orders in the field, so even if he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, he’s going to do what he’s just been told and he can ask questions once they’re all safe. Surely Zolf will be right behind him.

He takes in a breath to acknowledge his instructions—and sucks in a lungful of sweet-smelling gas. Instantly, he drops unconscious back into Cel’s arms.

He blinks and he’s at the party again. Zolf is still standing in front of him, smiling as he turns back to the conversation—did he leave for a minute? No, surely not, Hamid’s been here the whole time, he thinks fuzzily.

The song wraps up on a triumphant sting, and there’s a smattering of polite applause, and then just as Hamid suspected, the music starts up and it’s “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” from Carmen. He hurries over to Sasha and holds out a hand. “Sasha, come on, you’ll love this!” he cries.

Laughing, Sasha takes his hand and lets him pull her onto the ballroom floor. She’s a natural at the tango. Hamid would never have dared ask anyone else to do this dance with him; it’s a fiery dance of passion, usually, but this is Sasha and she’s just his favorite sister, as far as he’s concerned, even if she’s not his sister by blood. There’s no romance behind what they’re doing here, no heat. They’re just two kids having fun, really, laughing and taking increasingly flamboyant chances with the flashier moves.

He ends the dance by dipping her, somehow, despite the fact that she’s two feet taller than he is, but they’re both flushed and laughing and having a great time. It doesn’t even matter that they overbalance and fall onto the dance floor. Nobody’s really watching them anyway, which is just the way Hamid wants it right now. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention all the time. Not even most of the time.

“I like your wings,” Sasha says, poking one of them, and when did they come out? Hamid genuinely can’t remember. “This ‘cause you’re a Meritocrat?”

“I’m descended from a dragon,” Hamid corrects her. “I’m not a Meritocrat.”

“Good. But the wings are cool anyway. Do they work?”

“Oh! Yes. Want to see?” Hamid gets to his feet and manages—somehow—to pull Sasha up too. “I can cast fly on you and we can—”

“No,” Sasha interrupts, surprising him. She pulls him into a tight hug, and, oh, Sasha gives the best hugs. Hamid’s always suspected she would, but she’s always been iffy about being touched. If his wings hadn’t already popped out with joy—apparently—they would be bursting out now. He hugs her back just as tightly as she lifts him off the ground with the force of her embrace..

“Don’t you give up, Hamid,” she says in his ear. “Don’t you do it. There’s no dream so good it’s worth losing the whole world for. You get back out there and you fight to make the world this good. Because this right here? This is worth fighting for.”

Just a little of the euphoria peels back from the edges of Hamid’s mind, and he clings to Sasha a little tighter. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“’M always with you, mate. Just like you were always with me. We’ll meet again. But right now, you’ve got to go save the world for me.” Sasha pulls back enough to smile at him, and her eyes are wet. “Make it a good one.”

Hamid’s eyes snap open.

~*~*~*~

If you had asked Oscar even a year ago, he would never have described this as the most perfect moment of his life. He would have said that the most perfect moment he could imagine is a gala celebrating the opening of his greatest work, a play that will be talked about through the ages and mean his name lives on long after he does, resplendent in his finest clothes, a rapt audience listening to him declaim his opinions—finally being the center of attention for art instead of admin.

But no. He enjoyed that, yes, and he’s looking forward to reading the description of it in the newspapers. But the truly perfect moment is this one. Just a simple, quiet family breakfast the morning after.

Azu is at more or less the opposite side of the round kitchen table they’re using instead of the formal dining table, nursing a hangover bigger than she is; she’s got a glass of tomato juice and a cup of strong black coffee and isn’t really talking to anyone. Cel is scribbling on a piece of paper and muttering under their breath, probably trying to improve or refine the special effects they and the kobolds designed and built for the production. Zolf presides over the stove as usual, his beard done up in one of the intricate braids he only does when he’s in an especially good mood and his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Sasha stands a little way down the counter, beaming as she slices and chops meat and vegetables for him; she’s the only one Zolf allows to help him in the kitchen, and even then only on special occasions. Hamid sits to Oscar’s left, a pile of newspapers between them, his pre-breakfast snack actually half-forgotten at his elbow.

“The reviews look really good, Oscar,” he says, sounding almost as delighted as Oscar feels as he hands over the Times, folded back to the Arts page. “All the criticisms I’ve seen so far have been about the acting, not the play itself.”

“I told you to cast Barnes in the lead instead,” Zolf calls from the stove.

“Not my call, darling. I’m not the casting director.” Oscar reads the article Hamid is handing him, a broad smile blooming across his face as he reads. Hamid’s right, the reviews are glowing, and this is from a critic who’s notoriously hard to please. A particular phrase about halfway down the column catches his eye: Wilde’s masterful words and turn of phrase makes even Johnson’s leaden performance turn to the purest gold.

Turning a few pages on, Oscar opens the society page and is delighted to see that most of it has been given over to a description of the party celebrating the opening. There are even a couple of pictures accompanying the article, and Oscar very carefully folds the paper back so that one of them is more fully visible—Oscar at the center, smiling broadly and holding a drink in one hand, his other arm draped around Zolf’s shoulders, the others arrayed around him looking pleased and proud.

“Have you thought about your next project?” Cel asks, looking up from their notes.

Oscar shakes his head before Cel can launch into an elaboration of the question. “No, not yet. I think I’ll take some time to see how this one does first. It may have opened well, but that doesn’t mean it will end well.” He sighs, a bit dramatically but not entirely put-0n. “Things so rarely do.”

“Things rarely stay good the whole time they’re happening, but that doesn’t mean they won’t end well,” Azu points out. “We got here, didn’t we?”

“And you’ve earned it,” Hamid adds encouragingly. “Happy endings feel a lot better when you have to work for them.”

“Cheers to that.” Sasha tosses her knife into the air; it flips four times and then returns to her hand without her even looking at it, and she goes back to her chopping.

“Have a bit of faith, Wilde,” Zolf chides him.

Oscar smiles fondly at his dwarf as he sets aside the paper. Azu’s faith in Aphrodite is a certainty you can cut your teeth on, but Zolf’s faith in Hope is nearly contagious. Like their happy ending, Zolf has worked for his faith, he’s earned it, and it’s never betrayed him. It’s the only reason any of them are still here, really. It’s the anchor that kept Cel from spiraling with guilt, it’s the keel that steadied Azu when she doubted herself (not her god, never her god), it’s the beacon that led Sasha back to them. And it’s the only reason Oscar and Hamid are still alive, albeit with matching scars—

Wait. Where did that come from?

Shaking his head slightly, Oscar pushes away from the table and passes behind Zolf, touching him first on the shoulder, then the cheek. “I have plenty of faith, dearest. In you if nothing else.”

“Get away from my workspace,” Zolf grumbles, though without any heat.

Oscar smirks and moves down the counter towards the cutting board, ostentatiously reaching for one of the ingredients waiting to be added to whatever Zolf is preparing. Sasha jabs playfully at his chest to make him back off.

She’s too good at what she does to accidentally stab someone when she’s only pretending to, and she wouldn’t stab him, especially not with Zolf’s good tomato knife; she has too much respect for both Zolf and blades to do that. And yet, pain suddenly erupts in Oscar’s heart, as though she’s driven a blade far bigger than the serrated one she’s holding into his chest. He inhales sharply, and the world goes white.

For just a moment, it resolves itself into his flat in Paris from when he was in university, or something similar anyway, but then it swirls into a pink mist. He feels something solid holding onto him, something anchoring him firmly in reality, and warmth floods his entire being. He feels safe and protected and cherished, and it gives him strength.

His eyes open, and he finds himself lying more or less on his back. Zolf kneels next to him, one hand tenderly cradling his jaw, the other pressed to his heart, which hurts like anything.

“Wh—huh—?” Oscar tries to sit up, his mind scrambling to fit this dark and rather crowded antechamber or wherever it is they are in with the light and airy kitchen-slash-breakfast nook he remembers from just a few...moments ago? What’s going on?

Zolf’s face is pale, his blue eyes intent, and there’s a trickle of blood near his hairline that worries Oscar in a vague and distant way. But he doesn’t have time to ask about it before Zolf looks into Oscar’s eyes and says in a voice that crackles faintly with an emotion he can’t place, “Get the others out, and get safe.”

Before Oscar can question it, or protest, or even figure out what it is they’re supposed to be safe from, Zolf half-shoves, half-throws him through a door that’s barely open wide enough for him to get through. He slides a few feet until he’s able to at least drag himself on his hands and feet a little further into the room. Someone runs past him and takes hold of the door, but doesn’t close it.

Oscar blinks hard, shaking his head to clear it. There’s a sweet smell in the air and he almost sniffs at it, almost tries to see what it is, but then his eyes fall on the crumpled figure not far from where he is and it acts like a dash of cold water across his brain. Hamid. Hamid is flopped in a pitiful heap, his new wings draped across the floor, his eyes closed.

He was dreaming. Oscar realizes that in the same moment that he takes in Hamid’s unconscious (oh, gods, please let him only be unconscious, Oscar cannot have failed him a second time) form and the sounds of something that is definitely not making breakfast in the other room. He pushes himself to a standing position and looks around the room. It doesn’t take long to spot the tunnel Hamid spoke of, at the back of the lab. That must be both out and safe.

“Tell the others to follow us,” he calls over his shoulder to the person he now recognizes as Ada, hurrying over to Hamid’s side and hefting him into his arms. The wings make it awkward, but Hamid sort of nestles into Oscar’s arms. Thank the gods, he’s alive.

Oscar runs. He heads down the tunnel, the light fading behind him, but he can’t spare a hand to cast any sort of spell to help him, so he just gets as far as he can. There’s just enough light left for him to see the gate before he runs headlong into it, and he checks, then looks over his shoulder. The others will be coming any moment now, he tells himself. They just have to wait a moment.

He sets Hamid down on the ground and looks him over quickly. He looks...fine, really. A bit disheveled, but fine. Then Oscar notices the bloodied tear in his shirt. Underneath the rend is a scar so new its edges are still shiny, directly over Hamid’s warm and generous heart.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened. And, touching his own chest briefly, Oscar feels the same thing.

He checks Hamid over quickly, and even though he’s a bit rattled, he realizes that the sweet smell he noticed earlier is probably what knocked Hamid out; other than that, he looks fine. Oscar sniffs the air experimentally. It’s a bit fresher down here, so he should be able to…

“Hamid,” he says urgently, shaking the halfling, then slapping his face as gently as possible. “Wake up!”

Hamid’s eyes snap open. There’s a moment of disorientation before his eyes clear. “Oscar?” he says, his voice a bit higher-pitched than normal as he sits up. “What’s—what happened?”

Oscar still has no idea, actually, except for one absolute certainty so strong he sensed it even in his dreams, maybe even before it happened. “Zolf saved us.”

The confusion on Hamid’s face melts into fierce determination. “Then let’s go return the favor.”

[omni-scient-pan-da]

And They Were Oar-Mates

The Second Part of My Fic About The Oars by omni-scient-pan-da

For @burntuakrisp @wh33z @reaping-mae @jo-the-nerd @emo-bi-mess @taurianskies7 @the-dumbass-multishipper @pictures-that-are-kinda-cool and that one anon that left an ask that made me actually finish writing this thing (Edit: Find All Parts HERE)

It wasn’t often that Rowan got upset. For the most part, he was an angel, everyone he met loved him. Even when dealing with the nastiest of people, he met them with a smile and a bounce of his step, never letting anyone or anything get to him.

But of course, most people he interacted with had never hurt Killian.

After a raid on their villiage, Killian had made a deal with an evil warlock in order to save both his and Rowan’s life. The warlock helped the two of them escape and live to see another day, and in return, one day the warlock would call on Killian to be his faithful servant for the rest of time.

Over a decade passsed, and the two all but forgot about the deal Killian had made with the warlock. Until one day, the warlock came calling, and Killian disappeared. And now, Rowan was out to find the warlock and get his beloved husband back.

Rowan knew the task wouldn't be easy. First of all, he had no clue where Killian had gone, or where to find him, or how he was going to get him back from the warlock, or even if Killian wanted to be found in the first place.

Rowan shook his head. No, that was just the spell that made him want to leave... Killian would never just abandon me like that, not if he could help it... I just have to find a way to break the spell and then everything can go back to normal Rowan thought to himself.

He'd packed up as much supplies as he could carry, ready to journey for however long it took in order to find his husband.

Sorcery or not, nothing was going to stand in his way. Either he'd return home with Killian or he wouldn't come back home at all.

Rowan teared up as he looked around their home. It didn't really even feel like a home without Killian there with him. After all they'd been through together, Rowan refused to let some evil warlock stand in the way of his marriage.

With a shaky breath in, and one last look around the quiet empty house that had fallen silent since Killian's sudden disappearance, Rowan stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind him as he set out to find his lost husband.

First things first, he had to figure out where the warlock was hiding.

This shouldn't be too hard Rowan thought to himself. How many green flamed evil warlocks could there possibly be?

Apparently the answer was a lot.

Rowan started off by asking around town, trying to figure out if people had heard of the warlock that had taken his husband before. He couldn't remember much about the man, other than the fact that he had given his younger self a case of the heebie jeebies and had green fire-like magic.

One would've thought that with witches and wizards and warlocks having the ability to do literal magic, they would've picked a wider range of colors for their magic to appear in. But not only was green the most popular color, it also was the only lead Rowan had in regards to finding his husband. The warlock hadn’t exactly left a name after saving them from the raid on their village and leaving putting a curse on his husband. 

A pang of remorse shot through Rowan’s heart. He should’ve done something more to save him. He should’ve worked harder, done something to get Ian to stay, held onto him and never let go, found some way to undo the curse, something. Anything would’ve been better than letting him disappear.

But Rowan couldn’t focus on that now. Right now all he could do was focus on moving forward. The past was in the past and no matter how much it hurt, there was nothing he could do to undo it. The most important thing was that he tried to fix his mistakes from the past and pray that Killian would forgive him when he finally found him again.

After spending nearly an entire day walking around asking about warlocks with green magic, Rowan set out to the next town to try and find out if anyone there knew the answer. It was longer than he thought it would’ve been, he hadn’t realized how little he and Killian had actually travelled after getting married. They had liked the idea of settling down, maybe adopting a little girl in a year or so if they could...

Rowan sighed softly to himself. “I’ll get you back Ian... I don’t care how long it takes me, I’ll find you again.”

As the sun began to set, Rowan walked to the nearest inn to find a place to stay for the night. No matter how much he wanted to keep searching, he would be no good to Killian if he froze to death setting out on the cold roads at night. And he’d be even less help if he tried to push forward sleep deprived and hungry. 

After booking a room and setting down his belongings he headed down to the tavern at the base floor of the inn. He didn’t want anything to drink, neither him or Killian cared for it, but right now, Rowan just needed to be around people. The thought of being alone with his thoughts at the moment... It was just too much for him to handle.

He sat in one of the booths in the back, just watching the people go by and twisting the wedding ring on his finger. Somehow he had to find someone that knew the warlock. And then he’d be able to get his husband back.

~

Meanwhile, across the land, the matching ring was being twisted around another’s finger.

“It can’t stay on forever boy,” The warlock scowled as he glared at his mortal bodyguard. “The metal will interfere with the magic.”

“I still don’t see why it’s necessary for me to learn magic in the first place,” Killian shot back, continuing to twist the ring around his finger. “Wouldn’t that just make it easier for me to escape from here?”

The warlock laughed. “Like I would teach you anything useful enough to help you escape.”

Killian glared at the ground, twisting the ring around his finger a little faster, as if to remind himself that it was still actually there.

“Besides, you entered a magical contract when you shook my hand all those years ago child. And no matter how powerful you may get, there’s no way to break a magical contract. You swore to be my faithful bodyguard for the rest of your mortal life in exchange for helping you and your little boyfriend-”

“Husband,” Killian intergected, though the warlock just continued on like he hadn’t said anything at all.

“-out of that burning village.”

“That you were attacking.”

“I never said magical contracts were always fair, or that the circumstances under which they were formed was always perfect, just that there’s no way to break them,” The warlock smirked, and it took nearly all of Killian’s willpower not to step forward and punch him square across the jaw.

Not that it would actually do any damage to the warlock himself of course. There were safe guards against that. Any physical harm Killian tried to enact on the warlock would end up rebounding back on him, whether he tried to physically attack him or poison his food. Killian had had to learn that one the hard way.

“What does any of this have to do with me needing to learn magic?” Killian asked.

“You can’t be my bodyguard and not know how to protect me against magical attacks as well as physical ones. Otherwise you’d just be a little human flesh shield and you’d be dead after a few hits, and that’s really not fun for anyone involved.”

Killian glanced down at the ring on his finger once again. He had no idea where he was, or where Rowan was, if there was any hope of seeing him again, or even if Rowan would want to see him after all this. It was possible that Rowan would want nothing to do with him after all was said and done. After all, he was the one that had left him. Killian couldn’t blame him if Rowan had wanted to move on. To find a less cursed husband. He had said from the beginning that accepting the warlock’s deal was a bad idea and yet he had taken him up on it anyways.

The warlock scowled, impatient. “Look boy, either you can take the ring off now, or I can take it off for you, and since you can still learn counterspells with nine fingers, I’d suggest you take it off of your own violition that way you can keep all your fingers and that stupid metal band.”

Killian hesitated for a moment before slipping the ring off his finger and slipping it into his pocket. He felt as if he was betraying Rowan somehow, dishonoring his husband by taking off his wedding ring, especially under the circumstances. But he didn’t have much of a choice. It was either take the ring off or let the warlock take it from him forever, and at least this way he’d still be able to hang onto it.

“Alright fine then, teach me your countercurses or whatever, I’ll bite,” Killian said, his voice unwavering despite the way he felt inside.

The warlock smiled. “That wasn’t so hard now was it?” his hands lit up, green glowing orbs floating in each one. “Now it’s time for the real work to begin.”

Author's Note: Haha, okay, so funny story, I was writing this because of this one anon and as I got to this point I realized it was a pretty good stopping point and since people are actually still interested in this I figured I'd finish the story and then lo and behold I realized that I should probably break the story up a little more, so there WILL BE a part three which I will link HERE when I find it and potentially a part four depending on how part three goes. I promise it will eventually have a happy ending and I'll tag the same people I did for this part in part 3 as well as anyone that reblogs or comments on either part one or part 2 (unless you don't want me to, then I totally get it, just lmk I won't be offended) Anyways, thanks for reading this far and hopefully part 3 will come out soon!

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 14 Encounter in the Ice Cream Temple

We All Scream

We return to the Ice Cream Temple after the absolute bombshell that the SPF engineered Jet’s death as a way to get the Candians to her lair and gear up for the fight that that revelation obviously triggered. We get a better idea of the battlefield with the amazing Rick Perry set--like even by his standards it’s amazing, fog is involved. The party is on a ledge on one side of the room and there are huge levitating Popsicles and ice cream cones between them and a massive tower of frozen desserts which has the chocolate egg stuck in it in a little alcove.

As the fight begins, the SPF quickly cycles through all her glamours before revealing her true form, a huge, blue/purple, many-faced, many-winged, angelic type being--but angel in the, “We’re saying ‘be not afraid’ not as a formality but because we know we look scary,” sense. And with a Nat 20 initiative she goes to cast something in a cone that would have hit everyone for 8d8 damage but Rina dispels it with a clutch 5th level Counterspell (rolling exactly the DC without even adding her mod), absolutely foiling Brennan. In celebration, she finally puts the crown on Amethar tossed to her a couple of eps back.

Cumulus does some crazy monk movement to jump all the way across to the alcove with the egg. Unfortunately, the SPF immediately uses a legendary action to hit him with with a Ray of Frost for 27 damage and then gets a lair action to skewer him with an icicle, fully dropping him to death saves. The one small mercy is that Cumulus falls towards the egg, not into the mist.

Liam takes some shots at the SPF, and learns that she has both a really high AC and some kind of Mirror Image spell going to take some of her hits. He also eats the Peppermint Heart Seed the SPF returned to them, hoping it will give him flight like it did to Preston (almost jumping off the ledge to test it) but Brennan rolls on the Wild Magic Table and it instead makes the entire party Invisible. 

Ruby (at Brennan’s mischievous suggestion) jumps off the edge so she’ll be in range to use Mage Hand, ties it to the end of the rope to the closest floating Popsicles (the orange one), and hangs on. In the distance, she can hear her aunts cheering for her. The SPF blasts her with some cold damage, insisting she just wants to take her somewhere safe but Ruby is having none of that.

Amethar throws some javelins which just gets rid of some of the illusions. The SPF does some more damage to Ruby.

Theo, student of Lazuli, realizes that the SPF is like a dragon sitting atop all this magical treasure but she’s not the source of the magic per se and they should be able to get the floating Popsicles to move at their command. He tells everyone and then holds his turn to see if Rina does anything crazy. Rina Thundersteps herself and Theo to the Popsicle Ruby is hanging onto and uses Winterscoop like an oar to try and move it (DC 10 Wis check w/ advantage--Brennan’s one small mercy). She gets it and yells to her guys to jump onto the other Popsicle (the red one) but they aren’t able to move it. With the rest of his held turn, Theo cast Protection From Evil and Good on Rina. 

The SPF tries to blast Rina’s group with another cone attack but Rina stops it cold (ha) with another Counterspell, viably breaking Brennan.

Cumulus fails a death save. Theo takes some cold damage which he lessens with Absorb Elements. Then the SPF casts a spell on Ruby, entering her mind and saying, “You came to me in the glade. Wherever you go, I go.” And she hears a scream from Jet as the SPF begins stitching her own shadow to Ruby. (Spooky, hate that!)

Liam jumps on the red Popsicle and attacks the SPF again, getting rid of the last of her protective illusion.

Ruby swings up to where Cumulus and the egg is. She the rope to Cumulus and pushes him off the edge (Zac’s Face: *Immediate Concern*) so they can pull him up and help him. She also does an Insight check on the egg and feels that the outside is cold but there’s a deep rumbling from within.    

Amethar jumps onto the red Popsicle and is finally able to move it. He gets closer to the SPF to throw some javelins and gets a hit this time but, unfortunately, as the SPF is hit, an identical wound dealing half damage appears on Ruby. Ruby yells this info to everyone else.

Theo again delays his action to wait for Rina to act. Rina Healing Word’s Cumulus both because he’s down and to boost her movement by ten (she gets that free 10 feet of Fly when she casts a spell) and she uses that movement to get within range of the egg and cast Bonfire (a cantrip) on the egg (Ruby insisting she could have done it without help). Brennan, womped thrice, needs a 12 or higher on 2d8 to damage the egg. Rina gets a 13 on the dice without having to even do any Sorcery shenanigans. 

The egg cracks, releasing hot steam, the smell of cinnamon and the most ADORABLE baby dragon that imprints on Rina immediately. Rina coos that she finally has a family.”

“That is mine,” the SPF says.

“Not anymore,” Rina replies. 

Ruby’s Big Day

Jon Bon nails the SPF with a throwing ax, doing half damage to Ruby again.

The SPF does a ton of damage to the red Popsicle peeps and Swifty and Gooey look ROUGH.

Cumulus (after determining that the SPF connection with Ruby will fade soon) jumps and grapples the SPF, doing a successful Stunning Strike, but the SPF uses a legendary resistance to come out of stun and then attacks him, paralyzing him and leaving him to fall.

Ruby tries to figure out if she can do something and Rina says if she trusts her and holds her action, she can do something to help. But it’s not necessary because, on his turn, Liam hits the SPF with a crossbow bolt (Ruby takes no damage as the connection has faded) and then moves the Popsicle under where Cumulus is going to land. The SPF hits Liam for 25 points of damage, taking him down to 9. 

Even though she doesn’t need it to save Cumulus anymore, Ruby still delays her turn to get movement help from Rina (reluctantly). Amethar catches Cumulus out of the air before he hits the Popsicle and then does almost 50 points of damage to the SPF with Payment Day now that he’s in melee range. 

Theo moves the orange Popsicle closer to where the action is happening, Misty Steps to the floating ice cream cone between his Popsicle and the other one, then tries to boomerang his sword to hit the SPF, but it doesn’t hit. 

Rina (slipping into a very Fig manner of speech for a second) asks Ruby, “You wanna go for a ride?” Ruby accepts and Rina (after telling Cinnamon--the newly christened dragon--to fly over to her when he has a chance) Thundersteps herself and Ruby over to the very crowded orange Popsicle with the SPF. She also casts Create Bonfire on the SPF which does double damage--24.

And Ruby decides to take her held turn.

She casts Green Flame Blade on Flickerish--Jet’s sword--and says, “For Jet, bitch.” 

Yak flies over to give her advantage (and make this as cinematic as possible).

Nat 20 bay-bee!

So she’s getting extra dice from Green Flame Blade, Rogue Sneak Attack, Flickerish’s Superiority Dice, and the Nat 20. Siobhan is rolling a DM number of dice here and you truly love to see it. 

Brennan, sensing that, writes a number on a folded piece of paper and hands it to her. The amount of HP the SPF has left. Then he has her roll in the Box of Doom. She lets those colorful dice fly and counts them up--while Brennan looks on with increasing consternation in the background.   

59.

She opens the piece of paper.  

52!

Ruby lands graceful, balancing with her circus training, shadow of Jet being cast tall on the wall of the cavern.

“Can’t you come home with me?” asks the SPF.

“Why don’t you come home with me?”

Ruby thrusts the sword forward and the SPF (who Brennan says was literally just about to use her 9th level spell slot to cast Wish and restore all her HP) is no more. 

Cold Shoulder

Fight over, the mist begins to clear. They see the floor of the cavern is just magical items on magical items and Swifty is stoked as hell. The magic of this place goes from painfully freezing cold and sickly sweet to the good kind of crisp cold and welcoming availability.  

Ruby in her ear hears 4 voices:

“Proud of you, kid.”

“You make it look effortless. I am so proud.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where we’re going next. It was nice to be here, but we’re gonna go somewhere we don’t know, but we’re gonna go there together.”

“I was fourth in line and I didn’t know that we were all gonna say something. They didn’t tell me.”

“Look after her please,” Ruby says.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”  

Then she feels the embrace of her shadow and it returns to its place.

(“I love you so much. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”) 

Rina says to Ruby that she could have finished off the SPF herself but she wanted to let her have the killing blow because it clearly meant a lot to her. She doesn’t know if that will mean anything to her now and she feels that maybe she’s wasting her time continually trying to reach out to her but maybe, someday, it will get through to her. 

Rina’s guys escort her away and she can tell that Gooey has something on her mind. Rina gives her permission to speak freely and Gooey (with Swifty and Jon Bon chiming in) basically says, “Fuck the Candians. They treat you like shit. We’re your real family. You’re gonna be a dope ass queen.”

“You know, it’s funny. That’s the first time someone has called me queen and it hasn’t felt uncomfortable. It actually felt really good.”

Ruby takes another moment of silence for Jet. Theo says that it was always Jet’s dream to be fighting with and for the common people which is Rina’s whole thing. They should be rallying behind her. Ruby and Amethar never even wanted to rule--now he gets to be a warrior again like he wanted. Amethar shoots back with his perspective on the last 4 weeks: his daughter died, he died twice, he decided he was gonna finally man up and bam, it turns out he’s not even king anymore. So excuse him for not being the most gung ho person in the world.  

Theo says that he trusts that Amethar is on board but Rina doesn’t know him. From her POV, this is just unprovoked shunning.

“You have two living daughters.”

Ruby goes to talk to Rina and, on a Nat 20 Insight, sees that all her guys are fully ready to remorselessly kill her if given the order. Still, she presses on, laying out her cards: Her entire worldview has imploded in a matter of weeks. Her twin sister just died. She’s going through so much and now this too? She can’t accept Rina as both her sister and her queen. She has to pick one.

“I understand that you lost everything,” Rina says, “but I was born with nothing.” She says that she was actually very excited to meet Ruby and have a sister and finally not be alone anymore, tears cracking through her cold facade for a moment. But then she gathers herself. 

“If I must choose, then I choose to be your queen.” 

“Very well.”

Rina and her crew exit the Temple and start down the mountain. Everyone except for Liam follows them. Liam goes to check on the hoard and rolls a 24 Investigation check. At the base of the tower he sees an old lair with ancient chocolate eggshells. He knows this is the dark space from his dreams and he knows this was once a dragon lair. At the center of the nest (which is still somehow warm), there’s a little ember that glows brighter as he approaches. It grows red and bright, filling his vision, a hand reaches out, grabs his throat and pulls and we end the ep!   

Medal of Honor

Killing a god should be enough to get anyone this spot.

But killing a god with only a 7 point margin on a Nat 20 in order to avenger your sister’s death with her own sword a turn before said god was about to down a Full Restore?

Ooh, man. All hail Princess Ruby Rocks baby!

Things I’m Concerned About

OK, I mentioned last week I was worried about Rina doing a Cat's in the Cradle but I said I’d elaborate later and what I feared seems to be materializing so I’m going to talk about it now. Rina clearly had a certain vision of what she wanted this family reunion to look like and, for valid reasons, it’s not happening that way. They’re not really bonding. So what this ends up being is them relying on her in battle but brushing her off socially--at least that’s what it looks like from her POV. And like, she’s been around for like 2 days so it’s kind of unreasonable for her to expect them to be fully on board already but I see where she’s coming from. If I grew up as basically a Dickensian orphan and a princess told me a sob story (however valid) I wouldn’t be impressed. It would be a complicated situation even without a war happening in the background. On top of that, Rina is surrounded by Yes-Men which concerned me from the start when Gooey pulled her aside that first time. The last time we had the potential for serious party conflict in D20 (not counting Bloodkeep because I maintain that, despite the setup and Brennan’s best efforts, that was never going to happen) was the Kingston/Pete situation and that ended up fizzling out but idk man. That conversation Rina had about how it felt kinda nice to be called queen? That def set off some alarm bells in my head. I don’t know enough about GoT to know if this is a totally valid statement but when she got the dragon and then that convo happened I was like...hmm...how does Dany’s story end again?

Lol also, whatever the heck is going on with Liam and the dragon. Really this should be first but, I’m gonna be real, the Rina thing was so much that I fully forgot this was a thing that also happened. 

I’m concerned about whatever happens next ep that was so bad they’ve been talking about it for ages. Feeling pretty trepid about that my guys. 

We haven’t heard from Annabelle and Primsy in a while and that doesn’t necessarily mean anything bad but...hmm...

Five A Few More Things

Ah yes, the return of the, “Why can’t a butterscotch bird help me perform first aid?” argument. “Are you telling me a bird can’t save someone’s life?”

“Give me the child.” Brennan, I know I say this a lot but if anything happens to Cinnamon...a single thing...a solitary hitpoint...Brennan…

 There's a bit where Cumulus rolls like a 9 and Ally goes, “Can he get advantage from the egg?” And Siobhan makes a face like, “Fully what?” but then a second later is like, “That’s a great question,” totally straight-faced and it’s so funny.

I wonder if Rina’s peeps feel the way they do about the whole party? Because Theo is honestly (in Murph’s words) also one of her goons practically and Cumulus pledged the orders’ services to her. You’d think they’d get consideration. 

When Cinnamon gives Rina a Help action she goes, “I’ve never gotten  Help action before,” and I understand what she meant but also, lol, she gets Help actions like every turn from her guys.

“Don’t come after my distant cousin!”

Very happy that if combat is happening in our story eps we’re getting some story in our combat eps. Getting a significant chunk of immediate aftermath is very cool and something I often wished for in the other main seasons.

FYI: Celestial is Liam’s Greater Favored Enemy. 

Brennan really does love to undercut the tenseness of the situations of his dark world by reminding us all that it’s also deeply stupid and made of candy and I think that’s great. 

One More Thing

Two big fandom art things are happening right now that I want to shout out:

(1) Until the 24th, D20 is accepting CoC fanart for their finale montage. The email is svod@chmedia.com and the details are on their Twitter. 

(2) A fan run event is also happening--as big bang (which is a fanfic-visual art team-up thing that I’m learning about for the first time but seems really cool). Info for that is here. 

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! I'm nervous bc i never ask smth like this, but I love your fics, it kept me sane the last weeks! I love whumpy/angsty arthur fics (sorry) and I have so many ideas, but no courage to write. Here is something i literally dreamed: "Arthur getting shot in a shootout and falls in the water, Dutch doesn't know what to do, but (fem)reader dives in right away to save him. She takes care of him, because shot +getting sick from the water" Hopefully it's something. greetings from germany :)

Holy crap, this is my 100th request!!!! I truly don’t know how to feel about this!!!! I’ve thought about maybe doing something to celebrate, but can’t come up with anything. Any thoughts from y’all? I’m hoping I can open my inbox soon.

Anyways, hello Anon! Writing these fics has kept me sane as well these past few months. I don’t like thinkin’ what I woulda done without it, so I guess they’ve been helpful to both of us. I bet you have more courage to write than you think you do! Hello from Utah! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

“It’ll be fine, darlin’,” Arthur says, grabbing the boat and pushing it closer to the water. 

“I don’t know, Arthur,” you reply, watching him. “I’ve got a bad feeling.” 

“Your girl worries too much, Mr. Morgan,” Dutch chuckles. He bends down to help Arthur and they manage to get the boat into the water. “Y/N, we’re just going off to fish. I know a great place.” 

“I’m sure it is a great place but…” you say. Arthur walks up to you and puts his hands on your shoulders. 

“Sweetheart, I promise nothin’ will happen. What danger can we get from just fishin’? ‘Sides, thought you loved doin’ this.” He gives you a smirk. 

“I do… and I want to. But, like I said, I’m just nervous. Feels like somethin’ bad’s gonna happen.” 

“Well then stay in camp,” Dutch growls, checking the oars. “Arthur and I will go, have ourselves a good time.” 

You let out a small groan, knowing your hands are tied. It was your idea to go on a fishing trip, but you thought Arthur might agree to just staying on shore, maybe even near Clemens Point. Dutch overheard and said he knew a great place where the fish would likely be plentiful and fat. Arthur heartily agreed, saying he needed to get out of camp for a while. You need to as well, but you just can’t shake this strange sense of foreboding. 

“Okay, fine,” you finally say and you clamber into the boat after Dutch, taking the front seat at the front. Arthur gives it one final shove and then hops in, taking the oars as he sits down. He begins rowing and Dutch points him on where to go. 

“It’s a long ways off, but I bet the amount we catch will be worth it.”

“Where exactly is this spot?” you ask. 

“Just near Bard’s Crossing,” Dutch replies, pointing to the massive bridge connecting New Hanover to West Elizabeth, stretching high above the Cumberland River. 

“Seriously, Dutch?” Arthur growls, still rowing. “We couldn’ta ridden there and grabbed a boat? That’s a long ways off!” 

“Oh now Arthur, you’re not telling me you’re adverse to a little hard labor, are ya?” 

You hate when Dutch does this because he knows Arthur will respond in just the way he wants. It’s always bothered you since you saw from the beginning it was a manipulation tactic for Dutch. However, you say nothing, but maybe you’ll talk about it with Arthur later tonight.

Arthur grumbles a bit and keeps on rowing. As time passes, Dutch suggests a song, which you and Arthur heartily agree to. Afternoon sets in and the boat finally arrives at the mouth of the Cumberland River where it flows into Flat Iron Lake, heavy and fast. 

“This is the spot, drop anchor,” Dutch says, rubbing his hands together. You pick up the heavy weight and toss it into the water, watching it sink and dragging the rope behind it. “This place should be great.” 

You silently agree with Dutch, looking out at where the river meets the lake. With the river flowing so fast, it’s surely bringing a lot of food down for fish and they will be congregating down here to meet it. There’s also bound to be plenty of deep channels here for them to hide. The fish that are here will be hungry and looking to feed. 

The three of you stand up and bring out your poles, assembling them and attaching lures. Dutch swings out first, then Arthur, and then you. Slowly, you begin reeling in your line, waiting for something to grab at it. 

You smile as you think on how it was Arthur who taught you how to fish all those years ago. He taught you many things. That was how the two of you fell in love. You’ve never loved anyone as much as him, and you’d been hoping he might ask you to spend the rest of your lives together. But then Blackwater happened and everything fell apart. Surely he will ask when things calm down? 

Dutch interrupts your thoughts. “You know, my mother’s buried in Blackwater,” he says, looking over to the shore where the town sits. He tells about how she and him didn’t always get along but they still loved each other in their own ways. As he talks, the boat drifts, revolving around the spot the anchor lies. Its rear where Arthur stands points towards the nearest shore. 

You’re still feeling nervous, but you’re beginning to doubt yourself. Maybe you’ve just been expecting something bad to happen for a while now. After all, plenty already has. First the Blackwater heist, then being threatened by the Pinkertons. Cornwall arriving in Valentine and driving the gang out. You’re not the only one wondering what will fall on the camp next. 

“Y/N, I ever tell ya about my dog Copper?” Arthur asks, leaning his head forward to smile at you. You shake your head. 

“You never had control of him,” Dutch says, almost darkly. 

“Ah he was a good dog, though. Never lost the puppy in him. But one day we all came back from this fishin’ trip. I turned my back for one second and Copper hopped up, ate all the fish in one go. I never seen Hosea so mad in my life.” 

You laugh heartily, easily able to imagine it. “Would you ever consider getting another dog?” 

“Maybe. Not now though. Things are too hectic,” he says. 

“Well, we got Cain,” Dutch says. “Though I suppose he’s more Jack’s dog than anyone else’s. I haven’t seen a boy love a dog so much since, well, since you were a boy, Arthur. Y/N, Arthur ever tell ya about his adventures as a boy? Oh I got some good ones to tell!” 

“Don’t do this, Dutch,” Arthur pleads, casting out again. 

“You gotta tell me now, Dutch!” 

He chuckles. “Well there was one day he came back from town with these big beautiful bass. He was maybe twenty, and we congratulated him all night. Made toasts to him. Well, next day we go into town and-” 

Dutch is suddenly cut off by a spot in the lake directly in front of him exploding, water shooting up into the air, a sound like thunder ripping through the air. All three of you know the sound too well: someone is shooting at you. 

“What the…” Arthur says, dropping his pole and whipping his gun out.

“O’Driscolls!” Dutch hollers, shooting at the shoreline. Down the upgrade in the land leading to the bridge, men are running down. Some are on horseback, but there’s no denying it. They’re from Dutch’s rival gang run by Colm O’Driscoll.

You drop your pole with a clatter and yank out your pistol, returning fire to the men. You try to ignore how seriously outnumbered and outgunned you are, trying to reassure yourself with the thought that Dutch and Arthur are some of the best gunmen you’ve ever known. Your aim isn’t bad either as you take down three O’Driscolls on the shore. 

One of the men shrieks something and walks into the lake, going all the way up to his knees. “You’re dead!” he screams and fires. You and he shoots at the same time, but as he falls, you hear Arthur give a pained grunt. He drops his pistol, clutches his ribs and hunkers down. The redistribution of his weight is too much and the boat tips, making him topple out. 

“Arthur” you scream. “Dutch, Arthur!” 

“Just shoot, Y/N! We’ll worry about Arthur as soon as these bastards are dealt with.” 

Typical Dutch. Ignoring Arthur when he needs his help the most. You look at the black water of the lake where Arthur fell in, expecting his head to be bobbing out of the water. But it isn’t. There’s only a small cluster of bubbles. 

“Goddamn it, Dutch!” you hiss and you put your pistol back. Dutch says your name but you ignore him, diving into the water. 

It’s freezing in the lake. Not surprising since the water where you are is from the river, which is mostly runoff from the frozen mountains. It doesn’t help that the sun was just setting beyond the horizon when the O’Driscolls attacked. You try to scan the deep water, but your vision is heavily blurred. Then you see a flicker of blue in the area where he went down. It must be Arthur. 

Quickly you weave your arms and kick your legs, swimming over to him. You’re not the strongest swimmer nor do you have the greatest capacity to hold your breath, but none of that matters. All you care about is getting Arthur. 

As you get closer to the blue flicker, the rest of his body forms. Swirling with the column of bubbles is a trail of blood. Finally you’re close enough to wrap your arms around his bulky chest and you start trying to swim back to the surface. It’s harder than you expected now that you’ve lost use of your arms. Your legs kick as hard as they can, but your lungs are beginning to burn. You wish you could beg Arthur to help you save him. 

As though he can hear your thoughts, his arms suddenly begin flapping through the water, slow but strong. He kicks with his own legs and since they’re much longer and more powerful, you move much quicker. 

It seemed like it took minutes to get from the surface to him, but now you make the return trip in seconds. Both your heads break through the water and you gasp for breath, coughing a bit. Gunshots still echo overhead but the boat isn’t too far away. With all your strength, you begin kicking, heaving Arthur over to it. 

“Dutch,” you gasp. “Dutch, help me get him into the boat.” 

“Can’t you see we’re still being fired on, Y/N?” he roars as he shoots again. He’s got both pistols out now. 

“Goddamn it, Dutch! Arthur, hang onto the boat.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but his hands latch onto the boat. You keep one arm on him, anchoring yourself to his body, and then reach into your holster, pulling out your gun. You fire and nothing happens. Shit. The gun powder’s too wet. You holster it and look back at Dutch as a shot splashes not too far from you.

“Dutch, give me one of your guns!” you shout, but he either can’t hear you or he’s ignoring you. “DUTCH!” He finally looks at you and you repeat your request. 

“I can handle them just fine, Y/N.” 

“Obviously you can’t, otherwise they’d all be dead. Just give me your damn gun!” 

Grumbling, Dutch tosses you one of his pistols and you turn your arm, returning fire on the remaining O’Driscolls. There’s only three of them left, all standing on the shores. One of them has a rifle, but the other two have pistols. You shoot at them, taking one down, but then you run out of ammo. 

“Dutch!” you holler, feeling truly desperate. There’s a decently sized pool of blood around Arthur now that’s beginning to worry you. Dutch growls incoherently and shoots in quick successions, finally taking down the last two O’Driscolls. He holsters his gun and turns towards you, bending down to grab Arthur by the arms. 

“Come on, big boy,” he grunts, heaving as you push him from the water. You’re not much use though as you’ve nothing to anchor yourself on, your legs still kicking through open water. Arthur’s not so badly wounded he can’t help himself though, he helps to hoist himself up with the arm on his uninjured left side. 

Finally, you somehow get him into the boat. He falls onto his back, coughing and spluttering. Dutch bends down and grabs your arm, lifting you up, which is much easier. Ignoring the exhaustion from the fight and your swim, you bend down and inspect Arthur, fumbling with his soaked shirt to get it unbuttoned. You manage it at last and expose his wound. It’s not good, but you don’t think it’ll be fatal as long as it’s treated quickly. 

“Quick, Dutch, take us back.” 

You half expect him to argue, to say something that will uphold his pride, but luckily he sits in Arthur’s previous spot and begins rowing, leaving the shore littered with bodies behind. Just before he sets off, you reach down into the lake and grab Arthur’s hat. 

As Dutch rows, you try stemming the flow of blood from Arthur’s wound, but there’s not much point as that bullet needs to be taken out. You look up, towards your destination, which looks miles away. Hope begins to fade away, quickly being replaced by fear. 

Arthur’s hand suddenly wraps around yours. “Stay with me, darlin’,” he pants. 

You look down and squeeze his hand. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just focus on me.” You run your free hand through his damp hair and he smiles a bit, looking into your eyes. 

After what seems to have taken a lifetime, Dutch pulls the boat ashore at Clemens Point. He immediately calls for aid and several of the others come running over. You grab Arthur’s arms and heave him up, but your exhaustion has properly set in and Arthur weighs more than you do. You can only manage a few steps, which are made extremely awkward by the curve of the boat’s bottom before the others reach you. Charles and John grab him, taking on the burden, and they help heave him from the boat. 

“What the hell happened?” Hosea demands, walking over and being closely followed by Grimshaw, who barks at Charles and John to get Arthur to bed. 

“Dutch is an idiot, that’s what happened,” you snap, bending over to try and catch your breath. 

“You’re out of line, Y/N,” Dutch says sharply. “I had no idea those bastards would catch us there.” 

“I told you I had a bad feeling about it! But did you listen to me? No. You never listen to me!” Rage courses through you. You can’t shake the image of Dutch just standing there on the boat, watching as Arthur fell in, and then him not responding. “You’re always sayin’ how Arthur’s like your son, Dutch, but when you’re required to act like a father to your metaphorical son, you are the worst-”

“ENOUGH!” he shouts, glaring at you. You’ve crossed a line. “That is enough, Y/N. Those bastards would have killed us all, and I knew Arthur would be fine. Because you were there. I knew you would save him.” 

“Typical,” you hiss, your teeth shivering from both the rage and the cold caused by your soaked clothing. “You let everyone else do your dirty work all because you didn’t want to get your hat wet.” 

Without waiting for him to respond, you stomp off towards yours and Arthur’s tent. You know you were out of line with Dutch, but you’re so angry and scared you don’t care. In the tent, Arthur’s surrounded by the other girls who are busy working away. He’s grunting and writhing in pain, his legs being pinned down by John and Karen while Tilly holds a thick stick in his mouth. Grimshaw and Mary-Beth are busy trying to get the bullet out of his torso. 

“Let me,” you say to Tilly, taking her place at his head. She nods and stands up, letting you kneel down at the head of the bed. Your fingers brush through his hair and you try not to look at what Grimshaw and Mary-Beth are doing. You’ve seen an innumerable amount of gruesome things happen to people, but you can’t stand watching it happen to the man you love. 

Arthur seems to calm down a bit when he feels your fingers in his hair, but he’s still in a lot of pain. You grip his shoulder and one of his hands comes up and grabs yours, crushing it. You let him though. 

“There,” Grimshaw finally says, holding up the long pair of thin tongs, a bloodied bullet clamped in them. “It’s over, Mr. Morgan.” 

He lets out a long breath, his face, neck and chest coated in sweat. Grimshaw turns away and Mary-Beth and Tilly immediately begin stitching and bandaging him up tightly. After a few minutes, they state there’s nothing more that can be done. 

“Those bandages will need to be changed after a few hours,” Strauss declares, inspecting the girls’ work. “The bleeding should stop soon though.” 

You pat Arthur’s shoulder, your other hand still clamped in his firm grip. You bend down and kiss his forehead, noting his closed eyes. Poor man is beyond exhausted. “Get some rest,” you whisper. 

“Stay with me,” he mutters. 

You promise him you won’t leave his side, but you get up and close the tent flaps, wanting some privacy. Then, gently as you can, you remove his soaked clothes. He shivers lightly when he’s fully naked, but you drape him in the blanket. When you’re changed from your own wet clothes and into a light, dry nightdress, you climb under the blanket and huddle close to him, trying to keep him warm. Despite his obvious discomfort, he holds you close. After a short period, you hear him grunt in his sleep. Feeling that the worst is behind, you close your eyes and drift off as well. 

*****************************************

A few days pass. Arthur gets a bit feverish, but you manage to keep it down to a fair minimum. Reverend comforts him a bit when he voices his fears that he might not survive by telling him you won’t let him die, not even if he wanted to. 

Dutch has been very respectful of the space around your tent. It’s almost as though he’s afraid you might start screaming at him again, which you’ve half a mind to. He even lets you butt in front of him at the line for dinners to get Arthur food, which he’s never done for anyone. 

Hosea cam and spoke to both you and Arthur the day after the ambush. He said you were right to get after Dutch, that he’s often let Arthur take the worst hits, but he also warns you not to go ribbing Dutch about this. 

“I’ve talked with him, he feels terrible. He knows he should’ve been the one to save Arthur, not you. He’s very sorry.”

“Well, I hope he doesn’t expect me to forgive him until he tells Arthur to his face how bad he feels about the whole thing,” you say proudly. Arthur chuckles from the bed. Hosea does too, but then he leaves. 

After only a week, Arthur’s greatly improved, much quicker than anyone could have predicted. Hosea teases that it’s your stunning work that has done the trick and that under your care, Arthur will live beyond a hundred. You doubt this, though you appreciate it all the same. Arthur’s always been a fast healer, and you take into account the fact that the bullet didn’t hit any of his bones nor puncture any vital organs. 

Arthur’s already been moving around camp, though he still moves quite gingerly. He tries to do regular work, but you quickly stop him from doing the straining stuff like chopping wood. “You’ll rip out your stitches,” you scold him lightly and make him sit down to help you with knitting. He complains but doesn’t refuse the work. 

Night falls, and you’re both sitting on the log near the campfire. Your head’s lying on his shoulder, your hand clasped in his. It’s late. Much later than you usually stay up, but you’re not ready to go to bed yet. 

John, who’s been sitting on the other side of the fire for a while, stands up and stretches, yawning. “Think I’m gonna turn in,” he says before leaving. Now you’re alone with Arthur. 

After a few moments, your hand leaves Arthur and you wind it up his body, hovering lightly over his wound. 

“What you doin’?” he asks softly. 

“Just makin’ sure. Don’t want you bleeding.” 

“I ain’t bled there in days, darlin’.” He kisses your head and then winds an arm behind you, allowing you to cuddle into him better. A few more minutes pass and it feels like he’s got something heavy on his mind. 

“Y’know, I have to apologize to ya, darlin’.”

“What for, Arthur?” 

“I ain’t… I ain’t appreciated you properly. Ain’t done for you what ya deserve. These past few days have shown me that.” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask, looking up at him. Arthur’s the best companion you’ve ever had. He’s always been protective yet gentle, thoughtful and passionate. You’ve never wanted to devote your life to a person so much ever before. 

“I mean… you deserve so much more than I given you. I shoulda done this months ago, but… well, I always blamed Blackwater on it, but truth is, I was scared. Then I told myself I wanted to wait until I could do it properly, make it special.” 

“Arthur, what are you going on about?” 

He hesitates for a second. “Darlin’, I wanna marry ya.” 

Your heart stops for a second and his words echo through your mind. “M-marry me?” 

“Yes. Listen, I… if you decide it’s dumb or that you don’t wanna, I understand.” 

You wipe your eyes and sniff. “Shut up, Arthur. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask?” 

He smiles a bit, his eyes shining with tears. “Too long, I’m guessing.” 

“Your damn right,” you say and you stretch up, kissing him hard. His arms wind tightly around you, holding you firmly against him. As you sit in his arms, pressing your lips to his and truly appreciating the form of his body against your own, your mind wanders to how wonderful it will be to spend the rest of your life with him. You’ve never wanted anything more. 

[jeanjauthor]

(Made up bit heavily inspired by bit with much much better women’s rights) In England late mediveal or early renaissance time, how would I put a bridge on a very large and wide river that large ships like cogs and big carraks can get under? I’d like to keep to that time period as closely as possible (but with different women’s rights) but I realised I need big carraks and cogs to go up a river I need many bridges on. Would swing bridges do? What would those be made of in those times? Stone?Wood?

eGood to know! Presuming a world without magic...if it's late medieval / early renaissance, just use drawbridges.

Understand that your boats will have to be smaller than most seagoing vessels. However,that doesn't mean they cannot be quite useful, and it doesn't mean they cannot be sailboats; they can! They just need to be more slender and shorter--not just to navigate between the central support pillars for said drawbridges, but also simply to navigate the twists and turns of any river.

This particular scene from the BBC's Edwardian Farm series has an example of just such a boat: https://youtu.be/obIWqJlxniY?t=1030 You should watch it, even though they're actually just discussing using quicklime to neutralize the acidity of the local soils, and how they're importing coal for use in burning in the lime kilns.

The most important feature of the scene for our discussion is how it shows the size of cargo ship that would sail up a slow, calm river. The various boats that sailed up and down the Yangtze River, the Nile, Hudson River, the Mississippi, the gazillion waterways of the Amazon and more, all of these had a lot of river-based commerce. Even the canals of Angkor Wat had a great deal of commerce via boat.

In some cases, such as at Angkor Wat, they would have had stevedores (dockworkers) standing by at bridge causeways that boats couldn't cross. These workers would literally offload cargo from one canal boat, carry it a few yards across the street to the next canal's boat, load it there, and send it on its way along a different canal system. (You'd have to see how the roads and canals at Angkor Wat were built to understand this system.) In other locations, they would have boat-pontoons serving as a floating bridge that could be unlashed and moved out of the way so that cargo ships could cross, and there would often be regular times for these switchups to occur.

But if you're dealing with late medieval / renaissance levels of ingenuity, then winches, gears, capistans, etc, would all be a part of their canal system, with broad, stoutly made drawbridges being drawn up and lowered down at regular points in the day.

Some of these pulley systems could be animal-powered (horse, mule, oxen, whatever), or it could be a wheel that a man would walk along, kind of like a hamster wheel, such as the kind found here: https://youtu.be/s46qP1l39V8?t=628 Though it's a long zoom in, you can see toward the end there are actual humans inside thos wheels, walking slowly to raise and lower whatever needs to get up to the building site. A drawbridge system would be no different.

You can also use folding masts. Since you're not dealing with a specific real-world place-and-time, you can borrow from other eras and traditions, including ancient historical methods, such as the bipod mast: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bipod_mast These were used as far back as the 3rd millenium BCE to sail up and down the Nile...which admittedly didn't have bridges to sail under, but the stability of the bipod mast made it easy to lay it down without overbalancing the ship.

With some clever hinges and pulleys and gears, a Renaissance shipmaster could make a system that would allow the sails to be quickly brought down...though to maintain forward motion when going upstream, they'd probably have to pay a lining service a fee to line the ship upstream. Here's an example of how to line a canoe upstream along a river from Far North Bushcraft And Survival: https://youtu.be/ZQ7940-M5mM

This is literally the same system used to maneuver canal barges upstream (and down!), powered by horsepower, literal horses, donkeys, mules, oxen, etc. This particular scene from the Victorian Farm series shows one such canal barge being used to deliver a load of coal, as they would've done in the Victorian era: https://youtu.be/Ccjyt7BQEVU?t=1374 In the scene, they talk about how it's "...a fly boat, going day and night; they change out the horses..." to indicate that these were in constant use. You can see how there's a path built under the bridge for the horse to walk along.

The barge would be manned and steered in most cases, since that's easier than doing it manually by the two-line method, but they'd still probably have two lines on the boat in most instances, in case the helmsman fell asleep, or there was a change in the current, etc. There would also be strict "lanes" for upstream versus downstream traffic, ideally with walkways on each side so as to keep the lines from tangling--this would be in use in areas with really flat slow/sluggish water, not enough room to use galley oars, not enough room to set sails, yet you still want your cargo to head downstream at more than a snail's pace with the natural current (ideal for big cities).

Small barges could also be poled like the gondolae of Venice, but again, that's small barges, since there's only so much effort poling can manage before it becomes nigh impossible not only to get up to speed, but also to slow down to make a turn, to stop, etc. So consider if your river is slow, if it's a series of canals, how many bridges there are, what sort of workforce there might be for loading & unloading, and for portaging.

To portage is to go around an obstacle that a boat (of whatever size) cannot safely manage. The most famous portages were done by the voyageurs of the fur trade in Canada, where they'd come upon a stretch of rapids too dangerous to traverse or have to leave the river they're on to go in the direction they need to get to the next river or lake system, etc. At that point, the fur trappers/canoers would get out, offload their cargo, and carry it and their canoes--sometimes for miles!--to the next navigable stretch of water...and most cases they'd have to set up camp when they got there, then go back for everything that got left behind, and haul all of that to the new spot.

In many cases in the wilderness, they'd leave 1-2 behind to guard said provisions, etc, either at the offloading site or the final destination site. But if you're dealing with a civilized/settled area, they wouldn't necessarily have to do that, but might instead arrange passage with wagoners / caravaners, the people who got paid to transport river-shipped goods between two points overland.

There are also the possibilities for canal locks (the ancient Romans had a precursor to the system we know of today) as well, but it honestly depends on how much that region has decided to put in the effort to dig and construct and manage them. If it's wealthy, has a history of innovation, and/or relies heavily upon river commerce, then it's quite possible. But most likely, drawbridges and folding masts are going to be ideal.

Just remember that those ships and masts are not going to be designed to withstand open-ocean travel or hurricane force winds, nor to carry hundreds of tons. River ships are not going to be the same as ocean or sea going vessels. For example:

"During the time of King Philip II's reign (1556-98), the Spanish galleon increased in size and capacity. For example, while the earlier galleons had capacities for 120 toneladas (Spanish tons), the post-1560 galleons tended to cross thresholds of 330 toneladas." (https://www.realmofhistory.com/2019/06/07/galleon-spanish-warship-facts/ )

Or: "...a typical American barge measures 195 by 35 feet (59.4 m × 10.7 m), and can carry up to about 1,500 short tons (1,400 t) of cargo." (from the entry on Barges, Wikipedia)

These might seem like good resources, but those galleons are oceanic vessels far too large and/or deeply drafted for river navigation, and those barges are modern ones meant for the lower Mississippi River. The latter are also powered by engines, not by wind, oar, or musclepower (animals or humans lining the boat along the riverbank).

Unless your river is huge--at which point ferries will be your ideal method of crossing, rather than bridges--your river-running ships will be small, sleek, relatively shallow drafted, will most likely have collapsing sails, oars for windless days, ropes for lining (even if their own crew has to do it), so on and so forth.

...You can still have bridges without drawbridges, if your river runs through a canyon deep enough that the bridge will clear the masts naturally, or your engineers invest in long, long, long ramps leading up to and over the central arch spanning the deepest part of the river...and invest in lots of riprap (rocks specifically placed for lining the banks of the river to prevent erosion, etc). Unfortunately, most rivers flowing through canyons flow too fast and hard to make good safe transportation routes...and really tall bridges exhaust humans and animals alike in passing over them, so...it's not very likely.

One last consideration: the river itself. Here is a snippet of a video I took when I had the opportunity to go on a Rhein River Cruise (Viking Cruiseline). The cruisehip is docked. It is not moving.

The Rhein really does flow this fast (up near Switzerland, iirc, but all throughout the trip as well), and it only slowed down somewhat at certain points. The banks in the city zones (and even much of the countryside) are lined with riprap (stones fitted and cemented into place to control the river flow and prevent erosion), and yes, there were a few canal locks along the route. A lot of that riprap was laid in earlier centuries, some of it late renaissance (and much of it repaired since then).

We were warned that if there was a lot of rain during our trip (this trip took place in May) causing a lot of runoff to flow into the river, there was a bridge downstream (near the Netherlands) where we might actually have to disembark from this ship literally cross the street for that bridge, and get onto another cruise ship on the downstream side of the bridge. Why? Because if the river level rose too much, this ship would not be able to cross under that bridge.

Now, the ship's top deck was disassembled to pass under other bridges. It literally had awnings and roofs on hinges that could be lowered to as flat as possible...and yet there was still a bridge they knew they couldn't pass under if the river level rose too high. Even with modern tech, etc, there will be obstacles like this.

So consider that for your rivers and your commerce. In spring and autumn, the water might run too high, perhaps even too wild, for safe & easy river travel. Portaging might be the answer. Or your characters might be crossing over the bridge which has an angry river crew arguing with the city guard about why they can't take their ship under the bridge (because it could damage the bridge, it's the wrong season, etc).

...You can also have droughts (oftentimes in high summer) which could cause the river to become too shallow for boats to pass in certain sections, or they'll have to lighten their cargo to avoid getting mired in the mud, etc.

And if your story is set in a region with cold winters, snow, ice, etc...the river might freeze. This poses a whole host of transportation problems, but then transport wasn't often done in the depths of winter, save maybe for foods brought from the storage barns of local farms. If the rivers don't freeze over, water travel is still possible, though hypothermia is still a danger.

If they freeze only a little bit, still possible...but once the ice gets thick along the edges, it becomes dangerous to try to "cut" through the ice with a boat of any size. This can include ice that is too thick to get the boat close enough to shore to exchange cargo and/or passengers, but also the possibility of ice actually damaging a ship's hull.

And of course merely walking on the ice is sheer danger, unless you know exactly what to look for, how deep it needs to be, etc, to be crossed safely--the idyllic picture of the Dutch ice skating along their canals doesn't cover the fact that many people fell through the ice because they hit a stretch that was too thin to support their weight. Certainly history doesn't tell us exactly how many perished, though logic assures us that many surely did--either idiots who didn't check the ice depth, or who were young and recklessly brave enough to be foolhardy, an unexpected warming of the water coming downstream thinning out the ice in a specific spot in the channel, etc, etc, etc.

River boat crews would be aware of such potential dangers, and would not want to travel in icy conditions if it was at all avoidable. Which brings us to living on a riverboat, and how to keep warm in winter when the hull is literally in constant contact with icy cold water...but that's another discussion entirely. If the canals are in constant use, the water "might not" freeze over because it'd be constantly disturbed by the passage of all those boats...but it also could, especially if a bad winter storm shut down travel for a few days.

Mostly, river boats would be lifted out of the water if at all possible before the river iced over (which the locals would know about). Why? Because ice expands, and it would expand horizontally into those hulls, cracking them. Water and ice are incredibly powerful forces that we often underestimate. This means that winter is the time when boats would be brought ashore, tipped onto their sides, the hulls scraped free of river mussels and barnacles and whatnot, sections would be repaired, the hulls re-tarred, and other maintenance issues tended to.

If river commerce slows or stops in the winter due to ice issues, then you'll have wagons and/or sleighs, etc, bringing in the goods...but again, your horses or other draft animals will have a harder time working in cold weather. Your cities will therefore want most of their goods brought into the city's storehouses before winter falls, if it's an area with harsh winters.

If they're just rainy and wet and miserable for the most part (*cough* the greater Seattle region (*cough*)...then flooding will be your biggest concern. If it's a region with seasonal droughts & monsoons...you could have a whole host of problems, but you'd also probably want retention ponds and lakes to help keep the river flowing--fill them up in the stormy season and let out some of that water in the dry season to keep the river at a hopefully passable depth.

Bridges (and drawbridges), boats, and rivers are all part and parcel with the equation.

One more thing, if your local region is building a bridge in the story (a common occurrence in the renaissance in many towns), it doesn't have to be a part of the story directly, but can be mentioned second-hand, like one of your characters can say, "avoid the Baker's Bridge--remember, they're doing repairwork on it."

If this is a thing you want to toss into the story (it makes your town feel alive, a growing and changing thing, without having to go into exhaustive detail), then remember that the architects will have hopefully taken all the shipping and transportation needs into account...but that section of the river or canal will be blocked by scaffolding, requiring everyone to portage around it. If it is a river split in two by an island, or it's a canal shooting off from or paralleling the main river, you'll still be able to have commerce up and down the river, but it will cause that river travel to be thicker and more prone to clogs, blockages, accidents, arguments, etc.

These are little details you can put into your story to give your world more depth without having to go into exhaustive detail.

Good luck, and I hope at least some of that helped!

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 20: Arrears

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty: Arrears 

Note: And just like that, we’re on chapter twenty for the third time. That’s totally surreal, isn’t it? Sorry that my replies were a day or two late this week and that this chapter is a few hours late. I fell asleep. I was out of town Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday with a friend, so my uploads and response times were not quite as quick as I would have liked. But it’s okay because I’m back! Now let’s get on with this fic.

(-~-)

Once they were gone, the doors to the front office swung shut with a resounding bang, sending an echoing boom through the entirety of the front room. In what had to be a rare moment of silence for the normally noisy space, there was no music playing and no ceiling fans spinning due to the lack of electricity present within the building. It was welcome, but also strange as he had finally begun to grow used to the sound of Dante’s particular brand of loud metal and rock. And although he couldn’t say that he enjoyed the exact music that Dante did, he found that he didn’t mind it as much as he used to when he’d first heard it. Maybe he could even convince him to play something else… 

The Darkslayer took a moment to lock the door behind himself before proceeding, not so much because he was worried that they would be attacked or that someone would attempt to actually break in and rob them. No, that would be an absolute dream as far as the eldest Son of Sparda was concerned. Having the opportunity to teach a wayward criminal a much-needed lesson without the moral implications that came with cold-blooded murder or fratricide was a welcome change of pace for him. No, they needed to be alone for this, and he didn’t need any of his younger brother’s associates interrupting them with any trivial or annoying requests, especially given their current circumstances.

As the devil hunter in the blue coat approached his brother’s desk, Dante shook his head, reclining in the chair at his desk as he awaited his older sibling’s response. He was somewhat sure that he already knew what he was going to say. After all, Vergil had been looming over him like a literal physical manifestation of the shadow of his immense debt ever since they had returned and realized that the power was once again turned off. That had surely given them both enough time to contemplate what they both expected the other to say and, in turn, what they would add to the conversation themselves. That was, if there was a conversation at all. While they had made remarkable progress in the short time that they had been gone from the office, he didn’t put it past his older sibling to still want to settle this the old-fashioned way like they always had. And at this point, there was a part of him that expected nothing less than that, regardless of the progress that they made. The real question was how they would go about this process, and what the fight would be about this time, not so much if there would be one in the first place.

“I know, I know. This is the part where you barely hide how mad you are at me, and they you give me a piece of your mind before you stab me again, right Vergil.” Dante laughed grimly as he spoke those words, watching his twin slowly approach the desk. That was what was to be expected under these circumstances. And he’d dealt with Vergil enough times to know that-

“Why are the utilities always off, Dante? Am I to presume that you are in some form of arrears to the utility company, then?” Vergil said calmly as he reached the halfway point of the room. He stopped a few feet from the desk, looking around the room for a moment before continuing. “It came to my attention just after we had first returned from the underworld that you might be hiding something. It clearly wasn’t the first time that you had gone without electricity since you didn’t appear to be surprised by its absence, but considering our initial fight with Nero on the front steps upon arriving, my general mood at the time, and the lingering unrest in the atmosphere around the office as to my presence, I was unwilling to bring it up at the time. But now I require answers.”

His calm demeanor took Dante somewhat by surprise as while he was indeed expecting his brother to ask him why the power was off again, he wasn’t expecting him to do so with such a genuine level of curiosity. There didn’t seem to be any real anger in his voice as he asked that question, which admittedly turned things on their head a little. Dante was expecting to be lambasted for several minutes before things either turned violent or Vergil gave up and went to bed. This was… well, this was entirely too diplomatic to be an actual response from his older twin brother. What the hell was going on here?

“You caught onto what was going on that quick, hu? Well damn. I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it.” Dante said, dragging out a long, tired sigh. It was out in the open now, and that brought with it a sort of strange euphoric sense of release that he hadn’t expected, given the circumstances. “So… what happens now? Are we gonna skip the part where you stab me, or go straight to it? I’d just like to know what I’m getting myself into this time, ya know?”

Vergil stepped out of the shadows and approached the desk, unfolding his arms and using them to prop himself up against the desk. He seemed calm in a manner unlike what Dante was used to when it came to his older sibling. From what he could tell, the devil slayer in blue almost seemed to be considering something or even patently awaiting his response. But whatever he was doing, Dante wasn’t sure how he felt about it. As unpleasant as most of his older sibling’s reactions were to basically everything that he did and didn’t do, they were at least almost entirely predictable. This was the farthest thing from that that Dante could imagine, and it made him somewhat apprehensive as to what to do now. He was in uncharted territory, adrift at sea with no wind in his sails and now oars to row with.

“I am… attempting a new approach. My old methods have hit a dead end. And predictably so, at that.” Vergil let loose a barely audible sigh, looking down at the floor as he considered his next words carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure how to put into words what he was thinking, but he did, in fact, know what he actually wanted to do. Talking to his younger twin had never been something that he was particularly adept at, but that didn’t stop him from trying. After all, when had Vergil been the kind of man to do things by half? “As you know, I do not enjoy predictability. So in light of recent revelations, I am now attempting to actually communicate with you instead of simply folding to my baser instincts and using less civil means with which to get my point across.”

Dante sat up and leaned in towards him, looking at him as though he were speaking a foreign language. No, he couldn’t possibly be hearing that right. Had his older twin truly just insinuated that he might be tired of… that couldn’t be possible, could it? Well, it could. That was entirely possible. But he just never thought that he would live long enough to see the day that Vergil would succeed defeat and decide that maybe stabbing his younger sibling to death constantly was perhaps not the best method to achieving his goals. The thought had crossed Dante’s mind on several occasions, but he had just never been able to actually find a way with which to make those ideas into reality. But now…

“So if I’m hearing you right, you’re saying that you actually plan to not stab me right now, and instead you want to talk to me?” Dante wasn’t sure that his humorous tone of voice and sarcastic mannerisms alluded to the deep-seated elation that he felt at that prospect, but that didn’t make it any less true. He had waited a lifetime for the day that his brother might come to the conclusion that it might be a good idea to simply speak to him. And while he hadn’t helped to make that outcome anymore likely, and had often worked directly against it in ways large and small over the years, that didn’t make the possibility of that outcome becoming a reality any less joyous to him. “Am I getting that right, or has someone left and opened a valve that lets out toxic gases in here and we’re both just secretly dying right now or something?”

“Your half right, Dante. That is, in fact, what I am trying to say. But on the last account, you are incorrect. We are not secretly dying.” The Darkslayer paused for a moment, lingering on thoughts that he would have preferred to have kept buried deep below the surface to hide his apparent suffering. He had been through much, and a large percentage of his suffering in life had been through the lens of death. Talking about it wasn’t something that he cherished the opportunity to do. It was unpleasant but necessary. And yet, here he was, willingly doing so. Vergil had pivoted from defiance to indifference in some respects, and then he had made a sharp left into uneasy acceptance. For now, that was all he could do, and he had decided that focusing on what he was capable of instead of beating himself down with the combined weight of everything that he couldn’t might just be the best thing that he could do for himself in moments like these. “Every living thing is at all times marching towards their death. There is no secret in that. It is the inevitability of mortality. Some of us simply make it there quicker or under less desirable circumstances than others. But in the end, we all share the same fate.”

Giving his brother a much more serious look now than he had been a moment ago, Dante leaned back slightly in order to physically give himself space to take in what Vergil had just said. He had the distinct feeling that he now knew what this was about, and that was both a good and a bad thing. While it was far past time that they tackled this topic, he just hadn’t expected things to come to a head like this when they had. It would have been wonderful to have had forewarning so that he could have prepared and… no. No, had had time to prepare himself for this. From the moment that he had stepped foot in the Qliphoth and found himself standing face to face with the doors to Urizen’s throne room, coming to grips with the fact that the monster on the other side of those doors was indeed his twin brother, he had been preparing himself for the worst. When Vergil had reluctantly agreed to return to the human world with hum under the resigned fatalistic view that it couldn’t get much worse, he had known that they would have to have this conversation one day. And now that Vergil was here, it was time to have it. They had needed to get this off of their chest for quite a while now.

“Say what it is that you really want to say, Vergil. I’m not stupid enough to not be able to tell that there is more to this than what you’re saying. You know that, right?” Dante straightened his back out slightly as he reclined in his desk chair, peering out at Vergil from the bangs that hand now found their way in front of his eyes again. He needed to put some space between himself and his brother, if only to keep himself from developing claustrophobia. As much as Vergil utterly despised unwanted or involuntary physical contact, it was one of his best methods for making someone that he wanted to put on edge uncomfortable. Being at the mercy of both his impressive height in respect to most people, and his cold, unflinching stare was normally enough to make the average mortal flinch and back down, and in that respect, even Dante folded, even if only just a little bit. Being stared at the way that Vergil stared at people when he was trying to make a point was enough to make literally anyone want to back away from him. The Demon hunter wondered for a moment if his older brother even noticed that this was something that he did, or if it was something that he did involuntarily out of reflex.

A look somewhere between surprise and acceptance crossed Vergil's face as he nodded in agreement, standing up straighter as he shifted his weight to one hand and then quite literally looked down on his younger twin. There it was again. That noticeable change in him that had not been present when they were younger. Vergil understood it now more than he had when he had first noticed that something was drastically different about his twin now. It was his maturity level. Dante had indeed learned from his past, and seemed to be haunted by the mistakes and regrets that he harbored, much like he himself still did. He recognized it as his own, the poignant grief that he now realized deep within himself that they both shared. It was… well, he couldn’t say that it was something that he’d ever wished for Dante. There were plenty of unfortunate occurrences that Vergil would have brushed or even wished on his brother during his youth. Not so long ago, he would have been ready to exact those very injustices upon him with his own hands. But in that same light, he now understood something that he hadn’t then: the fact that Dante himself felt the same way. He just buried it under a thick layer of humor and sarcasm

He saw it in the moments that they were alone. Dante didn’t possess the same energy that he’d once had, the same spark that he had carried in his youth. And that wasn’t something he could blame completely on his age. Some things were lost along with the youth of the person who possessed them, and hope was one of those things. But hardship, regret, and suffering were great at enhancing those characteristics in a way that few other emotions could match, at least in regards to negative connotations. He would have never pegged Dante as the sort to think that deeply about his actions and their consequences when they were younger, much as he was willing to believe that his younger twin probably didn’t think he himself did back then. And they might have both been right under certain circumstances. But now they were older and they had lived through the folly of their youth. And they were ready to move on from it.

“You’re terrible at keeping things from me, Dante. You always have been. I had the feeling that something was amiss financially in regards to your personal life, and I see that I was not incorrect. But that does not concern me.” Vergil tilted his head slightly to the left, attempting to make brief eye contact with his younger twin as the slightly younger man attempted to not think too hard about the situation that he now found himself in. Things had taken quite the turn since Lucia had left the office with V and the others. He couldn’t say that he knew for sure whether or not his brother had specifically waited for them to leave before having this conversation with him, but he was willing to believe that that was more than likely the case. And that in of itself was admittedly fascinating to him. Vergil had never really cared about shaming him out in the open. Had he actually done so in order to not embarrass him any further than he was embarrassing himself due to the fact that they had company over who were not blood members of their family? Because if so, that had been uncharacteristically compassionate of his older twin. “If I had come here with the expectation that you had everything in your life under control, then I would not be able to claim to know you at all. Your financial troubles are something that can be fixed, unlike some of our other troubles.”

Dante couldn’t help but laugh at that statement. “Oh, brother! See, that’s where you're dead wrong. There is no fixing the amount of debt that I’m in. It’s a whole lot worse than just a few power and water bills.” Shaking his head, Dante leaned back and attempted to open the drawer to his desk, cursing himself internally when he had to pull on it much harder than he normally would. He’d shoved something in there before he’d left, and the sliding mechanism had been jammed, but it opened nonetheless. He then produced a worn brown ledger, tossing it onto the desk with a responding thud. Completely unwilling to even look in the general direction of the book, he slid the door shut and glanced over at Vergil, shrugging slightly. “You want a better answer as to what kind of mess I’m in? It’s in there. But you’re not going to like what’s in it.”

Leaning over to pick up the ledger, Vergil gave it a once over for a moment before opening the cover and flipping to the middle of it. Dante had to admire his twin’s insanity for a moment, likening the action of jumping to the middle of someone’s financial history with diving headfirst into ice water without knowing how to swim. Oh, wait… V had literally done just that. Perhaps reckless insanity for the sake of self-preservation ran in the family? Regardless, the frankly calm and placid look on Vergil’s face turned rapidly to confusion and perplexed frustration as he looked over the numbers. He then immediately turned back a few pages, only to realize that his answers were elsewhere. A moment later, he turned back to the very front of the book before furrowing his brow and jumping immediately to the end of the ledger to try and assess the damages in full. There was no point in trying to make sense of something like this. It was simply the kind of situation where you looked at how deep you’d fallen into the hole, and then tried to figure out what you could stack up to try and climb towards the surface again just to have a chance at jumping towards the general direction of the surface that you could probably barely see due to how far down you were. And you could only hope that you were able to grab onto something when you made that just, because if you didn’t? Well, you would just be back at the bottom where you had started in the first place all over again, and at that point, what had you accomplished?

Upon realizing the depth of the issue at face value, Vergil closed the book along with his eyes before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He then tossed the book back onto the desk as though simply touching it was enough to make him contract some sort of lethal virus. He slumped over the desk for a moment before glancing back towards the back office door and making a b line for it. Dante watched him go, trying his best not to laugh. Yes, now that was a feeling that he could relate to.

“Where ya headed Vergil,” Dante asked, barely hiding his amusement. It was time to see if his twin brother’s new anti-stabbing ethos was something that he was willing to stand by, even in the face of such a frustrating realization. He imagined that Vergil was more than ready to stab him right now.

He stopped, his back to his twin brother. After pausing for a moment, he peered over his shoulder, a slightly disbelieving, shocked, and overall surprised look on his face. “I need a nap, Dante. I think that jetlag has just set in.” He said simply before turning back in the direction of the door.

“You’re telling me, Vergil. Why do you think I sleep so much?” Dante said with s slight laugh, shaking his head as he faced forward into nothingness again. It was incredible how dark it got in there at night without lights to combat the inky blackness.

“Depression? A desire to avoid your problems for a bit longer? Other ill-defined reasons that I care little to discuss at this point in time?” Vergil shrugged nebulously, seemingly resigned to the reality of his fate. How in the world had those numbers gotten like that? It defied logic. It defied reason. Hell, it defied science and math, too! “Those are just the reasons I can think of off of the top of my head. I am not your phycologist.”

At that point, Dante actually did laugh. It seemed that his financial state had managed to strip what little will to live and energy that Vergil still possessed in his body. That many zeros tended to do that to you. “I mean yea, that’s fair, but you don’t have to say it. I have feelings, you know?”

“Do not awaken me until either the utilities are restored or the office burns down Dante. This will take a substantial amount of work, and I am not at all well-rested enough as it currently stands.”

With that, Vergil closed the door to his bedroom, and a moment later, Dante could hear what was definitely his older twin hitting the bed with enough force to go through it. That right there was a mood, and he was positive that he had never once related so much to his brother’s questionable coping mechanisms. Maybe a good night’s rest was in store for them both. It was dark already anyway. What could it hurt? He was sure that no one would mind, least of all Vergil. Considering the way that he slept on the rare occasion that he actually did, he wouldn’t mind literally anything for a very long time. That could only be a good thing at this point.

(-~-)

I couldn’t tell you why, but Google Docs has decided it hates my guts lately. It decided to crash no less than 7 times while I was writing this, taking whole paragraphs with it. It was a nightmare to write. In fact, it crashed once while I was writing this footnote, so this is my second time writing it. Joy! Anyway, happy 2nd DMC5 anniversary everyone! I hope you all had a good time reading this one! Can’t wait to read your comments. Now time to go cry in the corner over my lost paragraphs! Duh du du du du!

[bombshellbois]

Killer Summer

@harringroveweekoflove

Harringrove Week of Love Day 5: Summer Camp AU

Rating: T

Warnings/Triggers: Dark humor, brief description of a corpse

Words: 2122

Summary: Billy’s big summer plans for him and Steve get derailed by the common annoyances of summer camps, such as children and serial killers.

The rain hits the cabin windows in heavy splatters, smacking into the glass in a way that makes Steve vaguely wonder how old the window are. And if heavy enough rain might break them. It certainly doesn’t feel like that’s impossible when those windows are the only thing between him and a downpour that’s quite literally tearing the forest apart. He sighs and decides not to think about that. Instead, he picks up the handheld mic for the ham radio and pushes the button on the side.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Steve Harrington, radioing in from Camp Know Where. The storm has knocked out our power and there is debris blocking the road out. Two of our counselors are unaccounted for. We have children out here. I repeat, we have no power and no way out of the woods.” 

He releases the button and watches the mic like it might do something. Then the radio. Silence. He throws the mic on the desk, scrubbing a hand over his face as it clatters into the body of the radio and falls off the desk.

The cabin door swings open and the wind carries it right into the wall. The rain outside is just a wall of noise, making Steve cover his ears. Billy scrambles into the cabin, the rain splattering in more than halfway across the room when the wind picks up, until he slams the door behind him. 

“—Mother Nature, fucking PMS bitch!” Billy is saying, which Steve can only hear once he’s safely shut the door. Billy’s camp shirt is saturated, the green fabric dark with water and looking almost black in the dim light from the oil lamp. He slams a thermos down on the desk and shakes his head rapidly, sending a spray of water everywhere. 

“Dude!” Steve raises his arms to try and shield himself from it. “Come on, I just barely got dry!” 

“Hey, I risked life and limb to bring you coffee. Deal with it.” Billy grabs a handful of Steve’s collar, the water on his hand immediately soaking into Steve’s shirt. Steve groans in irritation, but turns his head up and gives Billy the kiss he’s waiting for. Water drips from Billy’s curls onto his face and and neck. 

“That’s more like it,” Billy sighs, releasing his shirt. He jerks his chin at the mic from the ham radio, swinging gently from its cord where it’s fallen off the desk. “Don’t suppose you were roughing that thing up because you were so happy to get an answer.”

“I don’t even know if this thing is working,” Steve sighs. “Nothing on it does anything. For all I know, I could be talking to a dead battery.”

“Don’t your nerd children know how to use it?” Billy asks, stripping off his sopping shirt. 

“Yeah, but I’m not dragging them out of the storm shelter to come work the radio.” Steve picks up the mic so he can pretend he wasn’t staring at Billy’s chest, setting it on top of the radio. “I mean, honestly? What are we even calling for?”

“You know what.” Billy wrings his shirt out by the door, since the floor is hopelessly soaked there already. The water dribbles into a puddle on the floor, and when he snaps the shirt back open, it still drips from the corners. “Hopper said you had to keep him in the loop.”

“Yeah, I know. I know he’s freaked out by the weird shit that’s been going on, especially with El’s battery still being dead.” Honestly, if the storm hadn’t come on so suddenly and buried them under sheets of water, Hopper probably would have come and picked El up as soon as he heard about the very lived-in tent they found in the woods while hiking. The one with a compost pile suggesting someone has been living there at least the whole summer. “But a fucking Demogorgon could come and knock on the window right now and what is the forest service gonna do about it?” Steve gestures wildly at the radio that might not even fucking work for all he knows. “Fire up a helicopter in the middle of a deluge?”

“I mean, knowing Hopper he’d probably pull on a raincoat and come shoot it. It’d take him hours to get here and we’d all be dead by then, of course,” Billy says sensibly, leaning his hip on the desk. 

Steve snorts out a laugh. It’s morbid but the image of Hopper in a yellow rain slicker, slogging his way through a mudslide and holding his gun over his head like some kind of small-town Rambo... it’s a pretty fucking funny image. Especially when combined with the severe stress they’ve been under, with finding the tent and then the broken locks in the boat house and now the storm that basically just fell on top of them.

“Not to mention that Demogorgons are pretty bullet-proof,” he adds.

“Ah. Can’t forget that part,” Billy agrees, leaning down and kissing Steve again. “So, y’know... once he ran out of bullets, he’d have to pistol-whip it into submission.”

Steve snickers and wraps a hand around the back of Billy’s neck. “You made me laugh. I’m gonna share my coffee with you for that.” He reaches for the thermos, but Billy nudges it just out of reach. 

“I can think of way better ways for you to thank me, pretty boy,” he says, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. 

“I know you can. You’ve been hinting at that all summer.” Not terribly subtly either, because when was Billy ever subtle? More like leaving condoms hidden everywhere in Steve’s bed like some fucked-up cousin of the tooth fairy.

“And this might be our only chance to not have anyone else around.”

Steve rolls his eyes and leans further over the desk, snatching the thermos. “The kids aren’t around because we’re in an emergency weather situation. And Tommy and Carol aren’t around because they’re off fucking. Again.”

“Sounds like they’re the only ones having fun this summer.” Billy picks up the radio mic and pushes the button. “Mayday, mayday, mayday... this is Billy Hargrove, calling from Camp Know Where. We’ve lost power and the road is blocked and there’s about to be twenty minutes of unmanned radio waves while I take my boyfriend into the back room and bend him over a kayak.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Twenty whole minutes? How romantic.”

“Ooh. Boyfriend is displeased.” Billy clicks his tongue. “Make that forty unmanned minutes. Forty-five if we cuddle.”

“Oh I expect cuddling.” Steve pries the mic out of Billy’s hand and drops it aside. Standing from the desk, he hooks a finger under Billy’s belt and pulls.

In the time it takes to cross the tiny cabin space, it’s impossible to tell who’s pulling and who’s being pulled. They practically fall into the back room where the lake equipment is stored. There are hard shadows cast by the kayaks leaning on the wall, but the faint light from the oil lamp on the desk in the main cabin doesn’t offer much more detail. Not that that matters. 

When Billy trips over a pile of oars he can’t see on the floor, he just hauls Steve down on top of him, grabbing his hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Steve’s hands grope at him, fingers passing over flesh and scars until they find the metal buckle of his belt. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Steve’s method of yanking blindly isn’t doing much on Billy’s belt. Billy laughs breathlessly and reaches down to help him. When the leather tongue finally slips free, Steve makes a triumphant noise into their mouths and throws the belt aside. The metal skitters lightly on the wood and taps gently against a wall somewhere. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Billy pushes Steve onto his back on something that feels soft. Steve shifts and tries to get comfortable, but something is jabbing into his back, It feels like he’s laying on the life preservers, but they’re folded in all the wrong ways. “To lumpy,” he complains. Trying to move away doesn’t work either, because something hard and wooden just knocks into his knee, making him hiss. 

“Okay, get the light.” Steve rubs at his knee, trying to ease the throbbing sting of it. Billy makes a frustrated noise but gets off him and goes back into the main cabin. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Steve looks around in the dark. What the hell is that sound anyway? The shadows cast by the kayaks swing wildly as Billy picks up the light source and carries it inside. 

“Here. Hurry up and get comfy,” he says, handing Steve the lamp. “With our luck, the rain’ll clear up and all the kids’ll come charging in when I’m still balls deep in you.”

“You’re so charming.” Steve stands up, side-stepping the oars that he can see now. He holds the light aloft, letting it fall on the window. It swings in the gusty wind outside, rapping against its own frame. The wood under it is dark and glistening from the rain. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“...Why is the window open?” 

Billy groans like the wait might kill him. “It’s open because it blew open,” he says, stepping around the oars and over to the window. 

“Can it even do that?” Steve asks, looking around the room.

“It just did.” Billy yanks the window closed. “There. All fixed. Back to undressing.”

“You’re impossible.” Steve kicks at the pile of life vests, trying to form a more pleasant-looking pile. 

“Impossibly horny because you don’t put out,” Billy huffs, unbuttoning his own pants. 

“We’ve been at a summer camp surrounded by kids!” Steve sets the lamp on the ground and flops down on his pile, unfastening his belt. 

“And now we’re not, for a very limited time. So quit wasting it.” Billy pulls a condom from his back pocket and drops it on Steve’s stomach before shucking his pants off. 

“Asshole.” Steve tips his head up and kisses Billy as he kneels between his legs and then settles his weight on top of him. Something is still jamming into his back once he’s got Billy on top of him. 

“Dammit.” Steve pushes Billy off and twists around to grab the lamp. “What the hell is wrong with these things?” He yanks on one of the vests free from the pile.

The problem is not the vests. The problem is the arm. The pale, naked arm laying limp on the ground under the pile. 

Oh god.

Steve grips the lantern harder to make sure his hand doesn’t shake and slowly lowers the light to follow the arm back, back, back into the dark space under one of the shelving units. 

Tommy’s dead eyes stare back at him. His face is white and his mouth is hanging open, the lamp casting hard shadows in his mouth, turning it into a black maw. His green Camp Know Where t-shirt is matted in something dark, but the body is crammed into a space too small to see it clearly. 

Steve stares at the body. Billy, crouched beside him, stares at the body. He turns to look at Steve, reaching over to take the lamp before Steve drops it.

“Okay. Steve?”

“..Yeah?” 

“I think we should still do it.”

Steve pauses for a long minute, having to run that through his head a few times. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” 

“Fucking hell, Hargrove!” Steve shoves him aside and scrambles up off the floor. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“He’d want us to!” Billy calls after him. “Come on, Steve, honor his memory!”

In the main cabin, he can hear Steve picking up the mic for the radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, we have an emergency situation at Camp Know Where...”

Billy groans in frustration and kicks the limp arm hanging out into the room. “Way to fucking cockblock, Hagan,” he sneers, pulling his pants back on. “I hope they let me write your eulogy so I can tell everyone what a sycophantic suck-up you were. And then I’m gonna piss in your open grave.”

“Billy!” Steve yells. “Stop yelling at Tommy’s corpse and come help me figure out what the fuck to do!”

Billy throws his hands up and points at the arm. “Great. Now you got me in trouble,” he hisses. “This is why you got picked off first, because you’re a shitty friend.”  He snatches up his belt and stalks out of the storeroom to go help Steve deal with the stupid serial killer bullshit. 

***

Epilogue: Tommy’s funeral is lovely. Billy is not asked to write the eulogy, and Steve does not allow him to piss into the open grave, despite Billy’s best efforts. 

[chickren]

ASoS Jaime I - let’s get physical

After my facetious little post about how carnal Jaime and Brienne’s dynamic is from page one, many of you have sent anons saying yes I in fact do need to go through it line by line, so. Here’s chapter one. I may do more, but no promises.

So, Jaime is nothing short of obsessed with Brienne's body pretty much from moment one.

“How can that be?” you ask. “He constantly says how ugly she is.”

Yeah, he does. But the obsession with her ugliness is actually part of it. Also, clearly for Jaime less-than-beautiful=/=unattractive. How do we know? Well, apart from his attraction to Pia & Hildy later on (and that awkward bath boner over Brienne herself), let’s examine the second(!) paragraph of Jaime’s first ever pov chapter:

Scowls suited her broad homely face better than a smile. Not that Jaime had ever seen her smiling. He amused himself by picturing her in one of Cersei’s silken gowns in place of her studded leather jerkin. As well dress a cow in silk as this one.

So, uh, yes, Brienne is ugly. Thank you, Jaime. But he immediately puts her in the same context as Cersei, the only woman he loves/has slept with.

“Well,” you say, “that’s just the only frame of reference he has for women’s bodies, that doesn’t mean—“

Sure, sure, sure. Well maybe we should hop right on to Jaime’s next paragraph, then.

But the cow could row. Beneath her roughspun brown breeches were calves like cords of wood, and the long muscles of her arms stretched and tightened with each stroke of the oars. 

LOL like, Jaime, how long were you watching those muscles again? Like watching them move? Over and over? tf

And then you turn the page and he’s like:

“No. Do you deny your sex? If so, unlace those breeches and show me.” He gave her an innocent smile. “I’d ask you to open your bodice, but from the look of you that wouldn’t prove much.”

Cool, cool, cool, Jaime. She’s ugly, you’re insulting her, but also you’ve assessed her boobs?

And (ha!) if you think this is the last time he’ll ask her to get naked, uh, you would be very wrong. Did I mention we’re still in his first chapter? Because, we are.

Also, he’s back on her boobs again several pages later.

She’s the Hound with teats, he thought. Or would be, if she had any teats to speak of.

How much. are you looking. at. her. boobs????

But then we start to get the first unabashed non-ugly note about her looks:

Brienne moved the tiller and the skiff sheared left, sail rippling. Jaime watched her eyes. Pretty eyes, he thought, and calm. He knew how to read a man’s eyes. He knew what fear looked like. She is determined, not desperate.

Just to give this “PRETTY EYES” business some context, they’re currently running for their lives and he’s trying to come up with an escape plan (which, he doesn’t, btw, she does—but that’s a whole other post). So literally mid-chase scene he’s like, “those eyes, tho.” (Oh, btw? Still his FIRST CHAPTER!)

She threw herself off the rock, and looked almost graceful as she folded into a dive.

Almost? Sure, Jaime.

As he helped her into the skiff, water ran from her hair and dripped from her sodden clothing to pool on the deck. She’s even uglier wet. Who would have thought it possible?

Okay this is more ugly. I didn’t even include all the ugly comments. But the major question is--how much time have you spent looking at her to comment sfm about her looks, you dumbass? He spends an ungodly amount of time trying to process her physical existence, istg

In conclusion, Jaime in chapter 1:

Calls Brienne ugly often and in creative ways

Compares her body to Cersei’s

Takes a long hard look at her muscles

Asks her to get naked

Obsesses over her boobs

Obsesses over her body full stop

Flails over her eyes when he should be trying to stay alive

And the thing is, all of this. All. of. it. Is completely unnecessary to help the reader recall Brienne who was already amply and dispassionately described by another character in the previous book. George could have reminded the reader what she looked like very simply with a line or two about the very tall, muscled, ugly blonde girl who fights like a knight. 

All of this, all the attempts to process her ugliness, all the comparison to Cersei, all the long muscles stretching and tightening, all the thoughts about her naked, all of the inability to ignore those beautiful eyes--all of this endless and recurring commentary on Brienne’s looks exists to tell the reader something about Jaime.

[blitz-and-hearth]

This au snowballed out of hand and I ended up writing a whole short fic. 

read on AO3 here or just click the read more 

Blitzen had always loved things made by humans. Humans themselves he could take or leave, just something annoying who sometimes got too close and became a meal. But the stuff they made? He was obsessed with their crafts. Especially the strange ways they draped fabric over their bodies. The other sirens didn't get it, they thought he was crazy, made fun of him to his face. Sirens weren't very nice creatures, this was well known. He'd be lying if he said it didn't get under his skin just a bit though. But for the most part, he ignored them. Blitzen didn't listen to their chattering, focusing on hoarding human clothing instead. 

they weren't hard to get his hands on, sunken ships were plentiful around his home, and when he was really desperate for new clothes scavenging the remains of another siren's meal worked too. He just enjoyed how pretty they were, the different colors, the different textures. Blitz could spend hours just admiring his collection. More recently, he decided to try learning how to make his own, so he too could wear something pretty. A few overly stained and/or tattered shirts were sacrificed, carefully taken apart so he could figure out how they were put together. Once he was confident he knew what he was doing the young merman started looking for materials. That had been his downfall. He never should have gone near the old fishing net. The older sirens had known better and stayed away, but not Blitzen. He'd been blinded by the thought of what he could do with it, how it would look tied around his waist like the skirts female humans wore. Stupid of him, foolish. Blitz had been busy trying to work the net free from the rocks it was tangled on, he hadn't been paying attention. It was something all mothers warned their pups, a basic lesson. Whenever you're close to shore, whenever you weave through narrow gaps in rocks, never turn your back on the waves. The sea could turn in an instant, that was its nature, and Blitzen knew that. But he'd still not paid attention, and now he was paying for it.

He'd just gotten the net untangled, holding it up triumphantly, when a sudden large wave swept through, catching him up and slamming him into the rocks he'd just freed the net from. It stunned him and that allowed the waves to toss him around for a bit more before he could recover. Would have only been a bit embarrassing but nothing else, if he hadn't still been holding the net. Thanks to that act of stupidity, he'd really gone and truely fucked himself. The old net tangled around his body as he was knocked around by the tides, pinning his arms to his sides and wrapping around his tail. If that wasn't bad enough he was washed ashore, the net hooking on the rocks of the beach, literally hanging him out to dry. Blitzen had struggled, he'd thrashed, he'd twisted to try and bite through it with his fangs, but couldn't reach. Now he lay prone and exhausted, panting from all his struggling, feeling the sting of sand in his gills and the rough ropes cutting into his skin. The sun was beating down, drying out his scales. Fuck, he was going to die here, baked alive on the shore. He keened weakly, letting out a distress song, desperate for help. He could see the other sirens, his supposed pod mates, continuing on with their business, ignoring his cry. A few would pause and look over, giving sympathetic glances but none even attempting to help him. They'd all apparently decided he wasn't worth the risk or effort. Sirens weren't very nice creatures, this was well known. But still, this seemed unreasonably cruel to do, especially to one of their own. He halfheartedly started to struggle again, clawing at the sand but made no progress at all. Blitz whimpered, tears gathering in his eyes at the hopelessness of his situation. After about an hour or so of being trapped, there was suddenly movement on the rocks surrounding the island. Blitzen looked up, completely worn out and feeling like giving up, but suddenly hopeful again. Maybe the other sirens changed their minds and were going to try to help him after all. But no, it was just a human ship getting a bit close to their island. The others were only moving around because they were excited for mealtime. Blitz dropped his head back down onto the sand with a sigh, thinking about how empty his own stomach was, wishing to be back with his pod even though clearly none of them cared about him. Anywhere would be better than hopeless trapped here right now...

Meanwhile, on the ship circling the siren island, someone else was feeling hopeless and trapped too, in a different way. Hearthstone clutched the railing of his father's ship, feeling sick to his stomach as the rest of the crew rushed around. He'd been told why they were there, what his purpose in this plan was. His father had finally found a use for him, and Hearth didn't like what it was one bit. But he couldn't deny it wasn't ingenious. Sirens could bring in a ton of money, for just a single scale you'd be able to buy a large house in the nicest part of England. And if you somehow managed to get one alive, why you'd be set for many lifetimes over. Not just the price people would pay to see one up close without the risk of dying, but it was well known that their tears would become diamonds. All of this was great, but it was impossible to catch even a dead one, wasn't it...? Their songs would bring men and women to their knees before they even got close. Unless of course, you couldn't hear at all. What was a sirens powerful music to a deaf man? Nothing, absolutely no effect. And that was Alderman's grand plan.

"It'll be easy"

He'd said

"You'll finally do something to justify the space you take up, you should be more excited"

He'd insisted. Hearthstone had tired to be, tired to be hopeful about maybe for once getting his father's approval. But he couldn't. Not when he'd been told what exactly he was expected to do. Alderman wanted him to go, by himself, of course, catch a mer, and cut out its tongue so it could no longer sing. Easy, sooo easy. Just catch a man-eating monster on his own, yeah, simple. And then put his hands in its mouth filled with fangs to cut off its tongue. Surely the siren would just open its mouth and let him, not fight or try to bite off his fingers at all. He needed those, sure everyone did, but him especially. How else would he communicate without fingers? And that wasn't even getting into the psychological struggle. Even from here, far away out of hearing distance from their singing, the sirens looked so.... Human. Hearthstone wasn't sure if he could do it. It seemed so cruel. But it didn't really matter, did it? Because he either would do it or his father would beat him to death. A lose-lose either way. There was no escaping, he was trapped. A familiar firm hand clamping onto Hearthstone's shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, dragging him away from the railings.

"Come on, time to go"

Alderman said as he pushed his son towards the dingy they'd gotten ready for him. Had everything he'd need, weapons, daggers and a sword, even a pistol, as well as ropes and nets. He shoved Hearth hard towards it, making the boy stumble, clutching onto the side of the small dingy to stay on his feet.

"Make it quick and don't waste any time. If you take too long we'll leave, amusing you dead. Go on, we don't have all day"

The sea captain ordered sharply, caring not for his own son's life. Either he'd do as he'd told or Alderman would have a good excuse to get rid of him. And Hearthstone was perfectly aware that was how he thought. He'd didn't try to reason with his father, just quickly scrambled into the boat, which the rest of the crew was already lowering to the water and he had to jump. Hearth gave one last glance up at his father and the rest of the crew before grabbing the oars and starting to row towards the island of sirens.

As Hearthstone got closer he got a better look at the sirens. There were so many of them, lounging casually on the rocks surrounding the small island, and every single one was beautiful. They came in all different skin tones and colors, he even saw a few he was pretty sure were male, which he didn't know was a thing, but no matter what size or shape they were all enchantingly gorgeous. Still, despite their pretty faces and flowing hair and sparkling scales, Hearth was also close enough to see their needle-sharp fangs, slitted animalistic eyes, and the bones of sailors that decorated the rocks they rested on. He shivered fearfully, tightening his grip on the oars as he wondered if the seductive monsters would swarm his little boat like piranhas now he was so close. But no, once the mers realized their hypnotizing songs weren't working on him they were pretty quick to flee, slipping off their rocks to vanish among the waves. Seems they were actually pretty cautious creatures and none were willing to try their luck against prey that might fight back. Hearthstone relaxed for a moment with a sigh of relief, before he remembered why he was out there in the first place. Oh, right he had to catch one them. dubiously he looked down into the murky water where they'd escaped to. No way in hell would he be getting into the sea with them, way too easy for one to drown him. And there was the same level of human intelligence in their eyes, so he didn't think he'd have any luck attempting to fish for one.

Well now what the hell was he supposed to do? Clearly, neither he nor his father had really thought this out. Hearthstone scanned his surroundings, struggling to come up with something. He could see the sirens in the distance, watching him, perched on rocks or peeking out from the waves. He'd put money on them fleeing the second he tried getting closer. Come on Hearth, think of something! He kept looking around, eyes eventually landing on the small island. He wasn't sure what he was hoping to see, but he definitely hadn't expected what he did see. There was a limp form laying on the sand, tangled up in a broken net. It was hard to make out details from here, but the siren was dark-skinned with green and purple scales and looked pretty dead. What luck! Hearthstone felt bad for the creature, seemed a bad way to die, but at least now he wouldn't have to try and take a living one. His father probably wouldn't be as happy but it would be way better then if he came back empty-handed. Feeling relieved he grabbed the oars again and eagerly rowed to shore.

Blitzen had been in a bit of a haze. The sun got to be too much making him feel dizzy and it was very hard to keep track of time now. He'd never been thirsty before, what a horrible feeling. The fact he didn't bolt upright at the sound of crunching sand proved how out of it he was. It was only when a shadow fell over him that Blitz realized something else was there on the beach with him. His eyes snapped open and quickly started to struggle against the net again, first thought of an animal. He didn't want to die of sunstroke but wanted even less to be eaten. But wait... That's not possible, the biggest living things on this little island were crabs, definitely not big enough to cast that kind of shadow over him. Blitzen squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head before opening them again, forcing himself to focus, looking up to see what had approached his prone form. There was a... A human? A young man, probably no older than himself, with pale hair and haunted eyes who looked just as shocked as Blitz felt. What was a living human doing here? How did he get past the others in one piece? Had he just completely lost his mind from dehydration and was now hallucinating?

Hearthstone didn't know what to do now. He'd really thought the siren was dead, but clearly, that was not the case. The poor thing seemed dazed, and it was a poor thing, even with those sharp teeth. He couldn't help but feel for him, so clearly suffering and in pain. And well Hearth would be lying if said the mer wasn't pretty, just like all the others. Strong jawline with a surprisingly clean-shaven beard, long black hair done up in dreads, yellow-hazel eyes that seemed to shift like the tides, and all those pretty purple and green scales. Even with how disoriented and sick the siren looked he was still beautiful. But that was beside the point, what was Hearthstone supposed to do now? He supposed this counted as catching one, but that meant he had to... He wasn't sure he could, especially with how helpless the siren looked. And wasn't their singing the most thing to a siren? Or at least Hearth assumed so. Cutting out the mer's tongue would psychically be easy with how dazed it was, but mentally..... He shook his head. He had to! Otherwise, his father would.... He tried to remind himself this was no man, this was a man-eating creature! Hearth bet he wouldn't show mercy if it was him helpless before the siren. He kept telling himself that as he drew his knife. The second the siren spotted the blade he seemed to come around a bit, starting to struggle harder.

Blitzen still couldn't tell if this was real or just his mind playing tricks in death throes, but he wasn't about to just lay there when he saw the human pull out a knife. His first instinct was to sing, a high pitched panicked melody, a song that was supposed to make the human stop. But it didn't. The boy didn't even falter, just taking a step forward and kneeling down, holding his knife at the ready. When he realized, for some strange reason, siren song wouldn't work on him he changed tactics. With a last desperate burst of strength, he thrashed as he tried to hit him with his tail, baring his fangs in a snarl

"Back off! I can still bite!!!"

Blitz growled, praying he'd be able to just scare him off. He really doubted he'd be able to kill the human before they could kill him.

Hearthstone faltered. Oh good, now the siren was talking to him.... He... He didn't know they could do that. It made sense, but he hadn't put two and two together on that one. It was a little hard to read his lips with all those fangs but doable. Hearth's shoulders slumped. Oh, fate really had no mercy for him. He couldn't do it. Maneater or not, this was a person, with thoughts and feelings. He couldn't just hurt someone who was helpless like this.... And he couldn't leave him to die either. Hearthstone stabbed the knife into the sand to free up his hands before signing

"Be still, I'm not going to hurt you"

He tired, hoping the mer would understand.

Blitzen stopped struggling but still eyed him with distrust, and a bit of surprise. Sirens had natural magic to understand any language, made it easier to lure people if you sang words they understood. He supposed it makes sense for that to work with whatever this handwaving language was too.

"You can't own me either, I'd rather die than be your meal ticket"

He snapped, still very defensive.

Hearthstone shook his head

"I don't want that either, just hold still so I can cut you free"

He explained before picking up the knife again Blitzen did not believe that even a little, but he couldn't see what game the human was playing. He was already helpless there was no reason for tricks. He didn't understand or trust him but... He wanted freedom. He'd die here otherwise. So he kept his eyes locked on the blade, very much not happy with it being so close to his skin, but held still. Once he was free he'd stand a fighting chance if the human tired anything. Still, he couldn't help but whimper as he felt the cold blade against his skin, shivering in fear. Thankfully the knife didn't bite into his skin, the human keeping his word and started to saw at the net instead. It took forever, but eventually, he cut through it and Blitzen's arms were free. He gasped with relief and then hissed as pins and needles ran up his sore arms, flexing and stretching his webbed fingers before rubbing the rope burns.

Hearthstone moved onto the siren's tail now his arms were freed but kept nervously glancing over his shoulder at him as he worked. He was wondering if he should have done the tail first. Now the mer's arms were free he could easily attack him while his back was turned. But thankfully he seemed more focused on getting feeling back in his arms and Hearth was able to cut his tail free without incident. He quickly moved back and sheathed his knife, giving the male siren space so he didn't get nervous

Blitzen pulled himself back too, curling his tail up around himself, carefully looking it over. He'd lost some scales and there were spots rubbed bloody from all his struggling but not badly hurt. Once he was satisfied his tail was alright he looked up at the human, eyeing him curiously, who was eyeing him right back. This was... Odd. He'd never been this close to a living human before. And everything he'd ever been told about them was they were greedy, only wanted sirens for their beauty or wealth they could bring. But this one just... Let him go. It didn't fit into that narrative at all.

"... Why'd you cut me free? What do you want?"

Blitzen demanded to know after a few minutes of just staring at each other.

"I don't want anything"

Hearthstone replied, glum and resigned. He was a dead man walking now, his father would kill him when he came back empty-handed, might as well answer honestly

"My father sent me to catch a siren since I can't hear your songs, but I can't. I can't hurt someone like he wanted me to. Didn't seem fair anyway, he just wants one for money when we already have more than enough"

He signed with some irritation

"And you were hurting. I didn't want to leave you to die"

He added with a bit more sadness, dropping his hands in his lap.

Blitzen raised his eyebrows, having not expected an answer like that.

"Isn't your dad not gonna be happy if you come back without one of us though?"

He asked

Hearthstone bit his lip and nodded slowly

"This was my last chance. I don't have any more use in his eyes, he'll throw me overboard"

"Oh"

Blitzen blinked. Now that sounded like the humans he'd been told tales of. So unfair and cruel. An act of kindness, and frankly bravery since he hadn't been bluffing about biting, being punishable by death. That wasn't fair at all. This human had just saved his life, he wanted to return the favor.... And maybe he could.

"Don't you want to run away? I could help you escape. I do owe you after all"

He suggested

Hearthstone eyed the mer warily. This had to be a trick, but... If it was it barely mattered. Either he'd get eaten or he'd have to return for his father to decide how he'd die. Hesitantly he nodded

"I do want to get away but I can't.... How can you help?"

Hearth asked

Instead of answering Blitzen held out a hand in greeting

"First of all, I'm Blitzen, what should I call you?"

Hearthstone looked at his webbed fingers and sharp little claws with fascination before remembering to shake it, not wanting to be rude. He found the siren Blitzen's hands were surprisingly soft....

"I'm H-E-A-R-T-H-S-T-O-N-E. But-"

"Hearthstone? That's a pretty name. Can you help me back to the ocean? I'll be able to pay you back once I'm in the water"

Blitzen cut him off and Hearthstone raised an eyebrow

"You don't have to trick me, I'd have helped you back to the water anyways"

He replied before moving closer to pick him up

"It's not a trick, promise. You'll see"

Blitzen said as he allowed Hearthstone to pick him. He wrapped his arms around the human's neck as he stood with him in his arms, a little startled by just how high off the ground this was. But despite being built like a twig Hearth was surprisingly strong and didn't seem like he was going to drop him. Blitz was also pretty surprised how good he smelled too, unable to resist nuzzling his neck a bit. As a creature of the sea, he didn't have words to describe it, but it was the scent of pine and fresh wildflowers. Hearthstone flushed red a bit at that, a little nervous about those fangs near his neck but more flustered then anything. He tried not to focus on that too much as he waded into the water until the waves were at his hips. Before he could put Blitzen down in the water he felt the siren touch his face and looked down at him. He had a big smile on his face. Should have been scary with all those teeth, but Hearth was just entranced. Before he knew what was happening Blitz had slid a hand into his hair and pulled him down, lips meeting in a kiss. Hearth's mind completely whited out, not able to think of anything else but the siren's lips on his own. He tasted salty like the sea but also sweet like nectar. Downright addicting. He wondered if this is how it felt when people heard their songs. If so he could hardly blame them for eagerly jumping overboard to their deaths. Hearth hadn't even realized Blitzen was pulling him down until he hit the water. He struggled a bit at first, air bubbles escaping from his mouth as he was dragged deeper. But Blitz wasn't letting go of him, and he didn't stop kissing him either.

Ah well, he thought as he stopped fighting and went limp. He supposed if he was going to die this was actually a pretty good way to go, being kissed by beautiful merman as he drowned. Except he wasn't drowning. When Hearthstone finally had to gasp for air, he didn't get the choking sting of salt water, but the relief of fresh air. Or at least that's the best way he could describe it. It was hard to put into the words what it felt like, but he was breathing underwater. Hearth pulled back, blinking his eyes open. And he could see perfectly clearly, no stinging nor blurriness at all. Blitzen was still grinning at him as light flittered across his face. But he barely got a moment to take that in before he started to feel strange, making him double over with a gasp. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel pleasant either, just.... strange. Blitz rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and Hearth was quick to cling to him, burying his face in his shoulder. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, one of those things that's very had to keep track of time during. His hips and legs ached, the sides of his neck burned, and his teeth hurt. But eventually, with the rip of fabric and the loss of some very nice pants, it was over.

Hearthstone went limp in Blitzen's arms, panting, feeling exhausted. He still wasn't really sure what happened at first, but clearly, Blitz hadn't actually been trying to drown him. Hearth took things in one thing at a time. First, he was breathing underwater, an odd fluttering feeling on the sides of his throat. When he brushed his hand against his neck he confirmed what he thought. Somehow, he'd acquired gills. Second, his teeth were long and sharp now. Running his tongue over them he nearly cut his tongue on the razor edges. And lastly his legs. Or rather, that he no longer had any. His legs had been replaced by a long silvery fishtail, the fins like silk flowing in the water, scales glittering in the light. Needless to say, he was amazed, staring down at his new tail, twisting to look at it from different angels and flicking it back and forth to be sure he wasn't just imaging things. When he looked back up at Blitzen he didn't even know what to say.

Blitz was a bit nervous. He'd thought this was the right thing to do, now Hearthstone could escape his father easily, but he seemed so shocked now he was worried Hearth wasn't happy bout it.

"Um... Do.. Do you like it?"

Hearth stared at him for another beat. Did he like it? Did he like it?? He couldn't even put into words how exciting this was. He raised his hands to sign but couldn't find the right ones. Forget words, he grabbed Blitzen and pulled him into another kiss as he wrapped his arms around him tightly, trying to show how grateful he was through action instead.

Blitzen let out a startled squeak but quickly recovered, kissing Hearthstone back as he smiled against his lips, their tails brushing together. Yes, this had defiantly been the right thing to do.

Alderman growled with annoyance. This was taking forever, where the hell was his useless space waster of a son? It should have been an easy job, in and out, and then he'd have his very own silent siren. But no, hours had gone by with no sign of Hearthstone. How annoying he must have died. Ah well, no major loss, he couldn't find another deaf and dumb fool to get him a siren. The captain had just been pulling away from the railing to call for his crew to start getting ready to head out when he heard it. A haunting melody echoing across the water up to the ship, forcing Alderman to freeze. Oh... Oh lord no, what was one doing so far from their island? This wasn't possible sirens never wandered. This had to be his stupid son's fault.

And that was the last coherent thought Alderman had before the song truly took hold. His eyes glazed over as he turned on his heels, walking to the railing and looking down at the ocean, at the single siren who's song was prompting him to jump in. Yellow-hazel eyes full of anger met his. And then Alderman stepped off the edge, falling down into the sea and the waiting fangs below. Shortly after the song was replaced with Alderman's screams, given no mercy or a swift death, the water turning red with blood as the sun sank below the waves...

Blitzen was very pleased with himself as he swam back home, picking bits of meat and bone marrow from his teeth. He'd never taken so much enjoyment in a meal before. Normally he just found them messy unpleasant means to an end. But after Hearthstone and he had gotten talking and he'd explained more of how his father had treated him... Well, Blitzen couldn't just let the man get off scoot free for that. Hearth probably didn't need to know about all the gruesome details though. No need for him to be told about the look on his father's face when Blitzen had ripped his heart out of his chest, honestly a little surprised he actually had one. No, he'd tell Hearthstone about it later, he'd been through enough for today. Blitzen paused to double-check he had no blood on him before swimming into the sheltered cave. Hearth was curled up on his bed of seaweed and fabric, sound asleep. He was pretty exhausted after changing from human to mermaid after all. Blitz smiled to himself. He was so pretty... He hoped he'd stay, just for a little bit. Moving across his cave, he tucked the freshly cleaned skull among his collection of other nicknacks, before returning to Hearthstone's side, snuggling up to him as he had been when he'd drifted off to sleep.

Hearth stirred and rolled over, nuzzling into the warm body. He let out a satisfied sigh and smiled in a half-awake state. How one's life could change in such a short amount of time. This morning he'd been miserable and alone, trapped by his father. Now he was completely free! With a very pretty merman who seemed very interested in him. He hoped he'd be allowed to stay, even for a bit. Blitzen seemed happy to let him. They'd made out for a good while before he brought Hearth to his home and invented him to stay. Hearthstone had nowhere he'd rather be. As long as Blitzen was willing to have him, he'd stay.

Blitzen purred deep in his chest, pressing a kiss to Hearth's forehead. He liked the newly made merman, quite a bit. Handsome and kind and funny too... He was eager to get to know him better, if he stayed, which he seemed very happy to do. The siren sighed with satisfaction as he closed his eyes, feeling very happy with all the stupid choices he'd made that lead to him laying here, snuggling with Hearthstone for the night.

[yoyo-inspace]

Mmmm... Top 5 hdm scenes!

all of them

Alright so there are tons of scenes in the entire trilogy that mean so much to me or that I find funny or horrifying or thrilling, etc. Had to narrow it down somehow. So I sort of settled for “scenes that stayed with me” after like, the first or second time I read the trilogy. Those that really etched their way into my head from when I was quite young. They don’t come in particular order though. I noticed going through it after I’d written it that there’s definitely a heavy bias towards moments in TAS, which I think is fair enough considering that’s the book I read last, when I was most mature, and it also has the culmination of a lot of stories - those moments wouldn’t have been half as impactful if they didn’t have the storytelling in the other books to lean on. 

This got longer than I thought, but that’s generally what happens when I talk HDM. Also, obvious SPOILER WARNING for anyone who haven’t read the trilogy. 

1. Lyra finding Tony Makarios in the shed.God, this scene. The build-up for it is amazing and absolutely chilling. There’s been build-up all throughout the book to what the Gobblers are actually doing. We get closer and closer to it. And then this chapter happens. The slow approach to the shed, the ominous but vague warnings from the alethiometer, the stories from the town’s people. You can really feel the dread creeping up on you. And then that last paragraph hits you.

The little boy was huddled against the wood drying-rack where hung row upon row of gutted fish, all as stuff as boards. He was clutching a piece of fish to him as Lyra was clutching Pantalaimon, with both hands, hard, against her heart; but that was all he had, a piece of dried fish; because he had no daemon at all. The Gobblers had cut it away. That was intercession, and this was a severed child.

It honestly gives me shivers every time. Nearly tear up reading it. I think it’s one of the best examples of how brilliant Pullman’s world-building is (and I do think his world-building is the strongest aspect of NL/TGC). I honestly don’t think this will be as strong in the tv show (and the movie really didn’t do it justice) - though I hope it’ll be horrifying - and that is because in a visual medium, we won’t get the horror and insight into Lyra’s mind that we have in the book. That’s okay, some things just fit better in the written medium, and I think this moment is going to be one of them. Lyra’s internal struggle with how to be brave is so good, and I hope they manage to portray a little bit of it on screen. 

2. Roger leaving the land of the deadIf I tear up every time I read the Tony Makarios scene, this is the scene where I bawl. Literally, I started crying while writing the passage down. The entire sequence in the Land of the Dead is intriguing to me, and Lyra telling the ghosts of what will happen to them is beautiful, and the struggle to get there is painful. And then they get there. And Will opens the window and they’re all crowding, afraid and yet excited to be out of that horrible place. And then a little ghost of a boy, the boy who was the reason Lyra set out on this journey to begin with, takes a step forward. 

The first ghost to leave the world of the dead was Roger. He took a step forward, and turned to look back at Lyra, and laughed in surprise as he found himself turning into the night, the starlight, the air… and then he was gone, leaving behind such a vivid little burst of happiness that Will was reminded of the bubbles in a glass of champagne.

That specific phrasing, the description of happiness as “the bubbles in a glass of champagne” has stuck with me for so long. It’s one I keep coming back to. 

3. Lyra leaving Pan Don’t have much to say about this other than I still have such a vivid image in my head from when my dad first read that passage to me, of how I remembered it all to look, of what I felt at the time. Especially my shock at the call-back to Lyra’s betrayal. Again, a scene that in several layers is strengthened by the world-building. We’ve been so convinced at this point how painful it is to leave your daemon, both emotionally and physically. I’m greatly looking forward The Secret Commonwealth to dig into what this did to the relationship of Lyra and Pantalaimon. 

[--] Lyra was doing the cruelest thing she had ever done, hating herself, hating the deed, suffering for Pan and with Pan and because of Pan; trying to put him down on the cold path, disengaging his cat-claws from her clothes, weeping, weeping. Will closed his ears: the sound was too unhappy to bear. Time after time she pushed her daemon away, and still he cried and tried to cling. [--] 

”Pan, no one’s done this before,” she whispered waveringly, ”but Will says we’re coming back and I swear, Pan, I love you, I swear we’re coming back - I will - take care, my dear - you’ll be safe - we will come back, and if I have to spend every minute of my life finding you again I will, I won’t stop, I won’t rest, I won’t - oh Pan - dear Pan - I’ve got to, I’ve got to.” And she pushed him away so that he crouched bitter and cold and frightened on the muddy ground.    What animal he was now, Will could hardly tell. He seemed to be so young, a cub, a puppy, something helpless and beaten, a creature so sunk in misery that it was more misery than creature. His eyes never left Lyra’s face, and Will could see her making herself not look away, not avoid the guilt, and he admired her honesty and her courage at the same time as he was wrenched with the shock of their parting.

[--] Her eyes never left Pantalaimon, who stood trembling at the shore end of the jetty; but as the boatman let go of the iron ring and swung his oars out to pull the boat away, the little dog-daemon trotted helpless out to the very end, his claws clicking softly on the soft planks, and stood watching, just watching, as the boat drew away and the jetty faded and vanished in the mist.

(Sidenote: I remember getting to the chapter titled “Lyra and her Death” and doing a big WHAAAAAT kind of face. My dad laughed at me. Either way, I find the concept of a personal Death strangely comforting.) 

4. Asriel and Marisa into the Abyss This one is difficult to quote. Because it’s the whole scene, the whole part of it, the fight - which is brutal - and the ferocity of these two people who, granted, are both absolutely awful, but they do this thing at the very end and it saves everyone. It’s one of the many things that people do at the end that saves everyone, but still. Especially Marisa, who reveals earlier that she was so afraid of exactly this type of faith, just nothingness, to make that last jump, as Asriel calls her name, and she’s roaring as they topple Metatron over, the fact that they both have each other’s daemons at their side. It’s just a very haunting scene. I don’t think the tv show (or any movie) would have been able to pull of the exact way I imagined this in my head, but I’m looking forward to seeing it all the same, and I hope that we get there. 

Instead of quoting the very end, I picked the moments just before, when they’re together again for a brief moment before Metatron arrives. It’s a rather sweet conversation, considering who’s involved, Marisa crying and Asriel comforting her. The “Dust is beautiful - I never knew” stuck with me especially. 

He took her in his arms, and the golden monkey embraced the snow leopard’s neck and buried his black face in her fur.  ”Is Lyra safe? Has she found her daemon?” she whispered.  ”The ghost of the boy’s father is protecting both of them.”  ”Dust is beautiful. I never knew.”  ”What did you tell him?”  ”I lied and lied, Asriel - Let’s not wait too long. I can’t bear it. We won’t live, will we? We won’t survive like the ghosts?”  ”Not if we fall into the abyss. We came here to give Lyra time to find her daemon, and then time to live and grow up. If we take Metatron to extinction, Marisa, she’ll have that time, and if we go with him, it doesn’t matter.”  ”And Lyra will be safe?”  ”Yes, yes,” he said, gently.  He kissed her. She felt as soft and light in his arms as she’d done when Lyra was conceived thirteen years before.

5. Lyra and Will freeing the Authority For a series that people keep harping on is about killing God, the actual death of the creature who called himself that is actually quite beautiful. It’s even a little sad. But it’s also important to me that there is actually no killing going on. All that happens, in all its unremarkable-ness - because no one else notices - is that there are two children who are kind and wants to help. And that’s what they do. 

Will cut through the crystal in one movement and reached in to help the angel out. Demented and powerless, the aged being could only weep and mumble in fear and pain and misery, and he shrank away from what seemed like another threat.  ”It’s all right,” Will said, ”we can help you hide, at least. Come on, we won’t hurt you.”  The shaking hand seized his and feebly held on. The old one was uttering a wordless groaning whimper that went on and on, and grinding his teeth, and compulsively plucking at himself with his free hand; but as Lyra reached in too to help him out, he tried to smile, and to bow, and his ancient eyes deep in their wrinkles blinked at her with innocent wonder.  Between them they helped the ancient of days out of his crystal cell; it wasn’t hard, for he was light as paper, and he would have followed them anywhere, having no will of his own, and responding to simple kindness like a flower to the sun. But in the open air there was nothing to stop the wind from damaging him, and to their dismay his form began to loosen and dissolve. Only a few moments later he had vanished completely, and their last impression was those eyes, blinking in wonder, and a sigh of the most profound and exhausted relief.  Then he was gone: a mystery dissolving in mystery.

___

Whew. There we go. More crying than I was expected, though I probably should have, considering it’s me.

Quick honorable mentions, because I’m a horrible cheat, but without explanations: Lyra in the Retiring Room, Lyra leading the children through the snowstorm after Bolvangar, Mary Malone talking to the Angels through the Cave, Will and Lyra fleeing the children of Cittàgazze, all of Marzipan, Mary Malone standing on the platform and looking through her spyglass at the dust, Pan and Lyra talking about the Republic of Heaven. 

[vaguely-concerned]

TEMERAIRE LET’S READ: BLOOD OF TYRANTS, THE WILLIAM LAURENCE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT NG+ SPEEDRUN

- oh NO LAURENCE D:D:D:

I do love that one of his first realizations is that he’s definitely not dutch tho lol this dumbass remembered that he was english before he remembered his own name

- caught between OH NO TEMERAIRE (and it’s only page 9 it’s going to be one of those books huh) and laughing my ass off at the thought of him swooping into notoriously isolationist japan and yelling ‘HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN MY DAD???’

- “Yes,” [Laurence] said, unyielding, as he could not be otherwise. ahahahahaha way to summarize the entirety of old school!laurence with one fucking sentence

(I am very much enjoying this uh. ‘setback’ of his character actually? novik really did just roll him back to factory settings and went ‘now... from the top again, let’s see if you’ve been paying attention these last seven books’ haha. no one told me there’d be a test!!!!!!!!!!)

- Kaneko really has the patience and graciousness of a saint, @ laurence please... please try to be marginally less sketchy hm? (I guess his sheer obliviousness to how direly he comes across here must be why kaneko hasn’t dismissed him out of hand)

- y’know... at least laurence is in no position to have to worry about all this shit temeraire and the others are pulling. when people start talking about black-scaled celestials shaking the country to its very foundations he’ll be blissfully, innocently unaware. that’s something, I suppose... well who am I kidding we’ll 100% get a couple of paragraphs of him convincing himself this is all his fault somehow anyway

- . . . and His Majesty’s Government does not behave in such an underhanded a manner as to attack another nation with no warning or quarrel. aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha oh what a strange beautiful fantasy land you’ve been residing in for most of your life william laurence, hang on tight for the opium wars

- hahaha oh my god this is like a platonic version of that text post

temeraire: have you guys seen my dad??!?!

them: what does he look like?

temeraire, crying: beautiful and human and has gold buttons

- I take it all back old school laurence is such a tremendous idiot. just PRETEND you’re willing to cooperate at least you huge fuckign dummy, all you’d have to do was say something vague about how the ship can’t get too close to shore; it won’t actually help them and they’ll know it but you won’t make yourself look so unspeakably willfully suspicious

-  :( making me read things where temeraire is just hurting should be ILLEGAL actually

- NO LAURENCE STOP TRYING TO KICK LITERALLY EVERY POLITICAL HORNET’S NEST WITHIN REACH BAD BOY he is... a disaster but I love him and fear for him as a son so here I am anyway

- hahahahaha yeah wow laurence it sure would suck if you ever had to commit treason huh death probably would be preferable indeed

b o i

- i like that it took him like a week to even give a single thought to edith lol at least he remains aggressively himself

- I think temeraire basically just invented dragon baby photos and I can’t even think for how darling it is

also every dragon physician is delightful; they fear neither god, man nor huge ass patients who could swallow them in a bite

aw man I love gong su

- ahahahahahahah kiyo is the actual best I can’t breathe

KANPAI INDEED, MY LADY, MY LIEGE, I DON’T CARE WHAT ELSE HAPPENS I WOULD FOLLOW YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH

Laurence was forced to at least moisten his lips in a show of accompaniment, and hope that he had indeed buried Caesar and not praised him, or for that matter raised him from the dead one act too soon; he was not perfectly sure. He did not think he had been this appallingly drunk since he had been a boy of twelve, trying to make good on every toast at his captain’s table. I. am. dying

thank you thank you thank you for the mental image of laurence drunkenly trying to stumble through the ‘friends, romans, countrymen’ speech as well as the entire rest of the play in a one-man performance

- oh no... I would die for junichiro, baby boy who loves his teacher SO MUCH ;____________; aaaaand there are laurence’s adoption instincts, I see, right on time <3 I like how they have had one actual conversation now and laurence is like ‘ah well nothing for it then guess you’ll have to stay on my ship and I’ll have to be your dad now, brash 16 year old child’

junichiro is being Full Teenager about laurence not knowing ~*obvious*~ things and it’s a delight

- y’know this period of japanese history is always portrayed in the west as paranoia and it could probably only be done because the country was a strict military dictatorship at the time... but having read oh, any history book ever, deciding that nope nah don’t think so no europeans ever is the greatest ‘fair enough’ in human history.  (...I guess this series is sort of AU fix it fic of the period in the first place haha)

- seeing temeraire this level of straight out angry is very interesting and also very unsettling

- ooooof whenever laurence almost-remembers temeraire... stab me in the heart why don’t you

- man churki really is the mom friend of these dragons she’s the only one who has a lick of sense

- *laurence, upon clobbering several men with an oar* “Ma’am, I beg your pardon,” Laurence said to the old woman, who was still sitting ramrod-straight in the ferry over the side from him and regarding him with a flat expression of utter disapproval and not the least evidence of fear; he put out a boot over the side and shoved the ferry off with a heave

god this book is just a continual parade of glorious mental images, just this old woman glaring at him like ‘RUDE’ and “Ma’am, I beg your pardon” fdslfhsdlkjh

- I have a lot of sympathy for hammond. imagine having to navigate the extremely delicate diplomatic situation between europe and japan, with the real prospect of a war breaking out over it, while temeraire is looking over your shoulder... real dragon in the glassware shop vibe going on here, i’m sorry about your life hammond

- AUGH laurence just sort-of-remembered emily he just half-remembered he basically has a daughter someone hold me (...junichiro is so so sweet ;___;)

- bwahahaha yeah I’m sure the only reason this impressionable young kid who’s slowly becoming very impressed by you has for sneaking glances at your bare chest is manly appreciation of your battle scars laurence, well done (I mean a supremely understandable innocent teen crush to develop but stay safely out of that, kid; I trust tharkay to survive the sheer field of mayhem around this man only because he’s got like 20 years, extreme competency and a world of cynicism on you)

- aw junichiro :(:(:(

- ...laurence you need to stop making your dragon boi think you’re dead because this is hurting me. my heart lies in sad little pieces on the ground right now. you are stepping on them with tapdancing shoes.

- “I am under an obligation to Junichiro,” [Laurence] said, quietly, “who you must know has aided me for love of you. If I surrender myself and am made prisoner in this way, will your honor be satisfied?”

fdsfhsdkfsdja  *ELMO SURROUNDED BY FLAMES GIF* this is all awful they’re all such good people why must this happen why this  

(what a way to remind me why I love this stupid wonderful man so much tho uuuuuugh)

- “He is a prince of China, and my captain.” “The devil I am,” said Laurence. This might be the funniest heartbreak I have ever experienced

- good job making me cry whenever I read the words ‘principia mathematica’ naomi novik that was real nice of you

- maximus is such a solid bro. not the brightest, but by god a good 80% of that boy’s gigantic body mass is pure heart

- I love the sheer trollishness of just dropping all these hints about whatever’s going on in the US and then moving on like nothing has happened lol at least it’s deeply implied that hamilton squandered his chances at the presidency by pulling his dumb hoe act in this universe too... constants and variables friends constants and variables

- bOY for a moment there I really did wonder if junichiro was going to die, thank god for a quick google to stop my heart from leaping up my throat and out into thin air to shatter yet again on the flagstones beneath

- in unrelated news I recently found out a bit more about the whole historical Situation in Australia at the beginning of Tongues of Serpents (incidentally, by reading Mark Forsyth’s ‘A Short History of Drunkenness’, which is very funny and quite interesting although I can personally testify that the chapter about vikings at least is completely riddled with misunderstandings or straight out factual errors about the mythology, the role of women in society and uh the entirety of how poetry worked so maybe take him with a pinch of salt lol), and now, in retrospect, I have to say Novik does a poor job conveying the sheer hilarity and madness going on at that time. Like. I was quite bored in those first few chapters, whenever Tharkay didn’t have page time. how could you make this incredible spectacular shitshow boring. it should have been easy comedy gold and not just like. misery. oh well great times, let’s return to the book at hand

- I remain utterly devoted to Lady Kiyo. livin’ life, drinking sake, giving no fucks, absentmindedly scoping out the western style ships and starting an entire modern navy for her country, getting some Theater up in here.... truly I would follow her into the jaws of hell itself, safely in the knowledge that she’d find some way to have a good time down there

- kaneko tearing up at laurence promising he’ll take care of junichiro 😭 this is so cruel to me, personally, specifically against my person, I am undone

- I like how the incan dragons are told like ‘don’t pick just one special person; you can love all your humans equally’ while the poor japanese ones are told ‘actually don’t love any of your humans very much at least not more than Honour’ lol they must have so many neurotic dragons running about b/c that when that attachment happens it seems extremely central to their psychology (and considering lady arikawa it’s not like they’re exempt from it, they’re just supposed to repress it to conform)

- laurence desperately trying to work out whether emily’s his daughter without actually asking anyone... delicious

the descriptions of roland’s letters: even more delicious

- temeraire sees the sad remnants of laurence’s robes and ‘hello darkness my old frieeeeend’ starts playing in his head... too bad laurence isn’t really in a position to experience the relief

- He is very much a one-note character, but O’Dea’s resolute dedicated fatalism is extremely funny

- hahaha poor temeraire... when you try to introduce bae to the family and they insist on being TOTALLY EMBARRASSING god

- The guilt of having caused pain to one deserving only consideration at his hand mingled with unanswered disquiet. I’m bawling laurence’s dad instincts are so pure and good even tho everything’s a bit messed up right now. like this whole paragraph is so powerful b/c you can see laurence’s natural loving impulse at war with his dad’s cold authoritarian parenting style and because his lived experience is removed he doesn’t know what is right.............. oh b o y

- oh okay I see my earlier comment about the opium wars proves unexpectedly prophetic

- it cannot be overstated how much I love junichiro or how happy I am that laurence is being so soft and patient with him. this kid has Been Through some shit

- emily roland shoulder to shoulder with laurence killing fools and he never doubts her for a moment... *chef kiss emoji*  

- the problem with these books is that there are just so many good characters and so many of them don’t get any real page time in any given one -- I’m sitting here plaintively like ‘I realize this is not the most pressing issue right now but how is demane and sipho doing. are they okay. does sipho have enough books’

- ouch memory loss isn’t stopping laurence from flashing back to victory of eagles :(

there’s something so disconcerting about knowing why laurence reacts to things the way he does when he doesn’t; novik is using that very efficiently, this is a very satisfying use of amnesia just from a writer’s POV haha

- I like how none of these suckers really have the tools (or in some cases even inclination) to understand how messed up junichiro’s political situation is in all this

they just expect him to come home to britain with them and meanwhile he’s just found out that The greatest threat to his nation (from his POV I mean china/japan relations irl seem uh complicated) has more dragons in one field than he’s ever seen in his life. it’s a rough and lonely deal being this kid in this book

- oh ouch yes hey there laurence there might have been... a little bit of treason. true. extremely justified treason tho. I mean. oh dear

we don’t have tharkay and his unique mix of deep cynicism, incisive sarcasm and surprising depth of concise moral clarity here to assist with the aftermath so this could get  u g l y

- listen what did I SAY about making me read about temeraire being miserable     :(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

- SIPHO!! hey baby boy pls have some thought for your brother’s cardiac health tho

- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw the fact that laurence is getting out of this crisis so much quicker this time because of his bone-deep instinctual knowledge of how much he loves temeraire, which doesn’t need specific memories to be true and felt. god. jesus. stars above

- laurence: approaches little

little: gay panic

- [Laurence] groped after the truth of himself like a prisoner in Plato’s cave, watching shadows. *clenches fist with great emotion* fuck naomi novik why must you be such an excellent goddamn writer im in pain

- oh hay arkady

poor poor temeraire feeling like a failure in every way is so awful but also kind of funny. ‘oh shit arkady’s egg oh fuck oh crap’

- I LOVE that hammond is so clearly and repeatedly shown to be a very astute political thinker and working shit out before everyone else! he may be a dumbass and a bit of a weasel but by god he’s great at what he does!

- laurence wouldn’t have changed anything if he could u guise. I . that. hm. oh

- thARKAY

.........arkady I am only a human and a small one at that but I will find some way to climb up there and wring your neck

(how cute is it that apparently jane roland realized she needed someone to find laurence and was like ‘well I need someone who can take care of themselves and knows the area and speaks dragon and Understands the chaotic ways of william laurence and also has looked uncharacteristically like a kicked puppy at the very mention of his name ever since being forced to leave him behind in australia.... hey tharkay you want a job’ fhkjshdfkalhsd)

- I’m very glad I googled ahead and spoiled myself a bit on this, because if I just read this part fresh I would have expired on the spot

- MISSION GET MY BOY BACK SAFE FOR GOD’S SAKE is a go

- general chu is pretty cool for an old dude you feel me

- . . . and Laurence knew him; knew him and knew himself.

ahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahaha

hahahahahahahhahahahaha

hahahahhha

haha

what... what pure undiluted soulmate nonsense is this. what. how. WHY would you do this

- I think I said something offhandedly in my victory of eagles reactions about how tharkay makes laurence remember who he is. I. thought I was exaggerating slightly for dramatic effect at the time. um wow

- I am having the sort of feelings about I need to write fiction about because my ability to express it any other way is failing me. That’s just about the highest praise I could give, really, Novik sure knows how to plant interesting seeds in her stories lol

- for the record this is not how I wanted him to end up in laurence’s bed

(im not thinking too much about how he got hurt b/c if I do I’ll start crying and that’ll just be embarrassing for everyone)

- “I hope you will forgive my mentioning it, Will,” Tharkay said, eventually, rousing Laurence from his reverie. “ -- I recognize there is a certain pot-calling quality to my doing so under the circumstances, but have you noticed that the top of your head appears likely to come off?”

a) my love for him is just. so pure. so complete. so deep b) consistent first name basis; the one sure way to make me swoon c) the implication that he’s just been quietly watching laurence while he was lost in thought... im so soft

- oh god laurence very gently helping out demane and roland because he remembers now....... i cry and my tears are blood welcome back buddy

- “I am of the opinion,” Tharkay said, “that you ought not assign to free will something more likely the consequence of a sharp blow to the skull.”

he truly is the gift that keeps giving. an endless cornucopia of sarcasm and delight. we do not deserve him.  

- [The man he was eight years ago] would not have valued his own feelings, on such a matter, higher than the law and the discipline of the service. *AIRHORN AIRHORN AIRHORN* there we have it folks that’s literally his character arc spelled out, he would have done SO MUCH BAD SHIT because he thought his own feelings didn’t matter and yet he chose another direction, stupendous, brilliant, revolutionary

also him trying to get his support across to both of them in as roundabout and discreet way as possible... laurence you beautiful disaster

- im just so happ. so happy. so happy temeraire has his dumb dad back

- oh so the russians think the BRITISH, of all people, are too soft on their dragons... ruh-roh

- sdfskadlfj yes good tharkay the ROBES (also the implied depth of fond schadenfreude-tinged amusement contained in that ‘those particularly magnificent robes’.... *prayer hands emoji*)

laurence is like ET TU BABE?????

I think this is very delicate gong su speak for ‘please do not be a dumb bitch your majesty’

hahaha chu knows what’s up -- I am growing desperately fond of him, please don’t have him suffer any cop-one-day-from-retirement style accident

- “If I may cut your Gordian knot,” Tharkay said, with a glint in his eye. fdsklfhsdkflhdsakjfhdskjh remember back in black powder war when he was all closed off and phlegmatic and purposefully distant... and here he is... with a glint in his eye and a crazy ass plan that requires other people and that he actually shares before pulling it off and calling laurence by first name in public......... we’ve come so far

- Also this means he’s close enough to Laurence’s height and build that he can wear his clothes without it looking weird, which is nice to know because Laurence is sometimes more preoccupied with describing what men are wearing than, y’know, what they look like lol. (probably not quite as broad in the shoulders, tho, since it’s pointed out every time laurence is described that he has shoulders like a linebacker)

- temeraire: eXCUSE me god didn’t do this the emperor of china did???!?! rude???

- pffffffffff tharkay and chu being jaded world-weary bros for a second there... this is what I read these books for folks

- NOOOOOOOOOOO chu this is the one thing I asked you NOT to do D: temeraire being sad and scared about it is slowly murdering me, thank god laurence is back online for him

- dunno this napoleon dude sounds pretty great and all but this also sounds suspiciously... like trying to invade russia in the winter time. immovable force and unstoppable object or something. I mean I don’t read history so I don’t know. might be a great idea. who’s to say.

- I see that tharkay and laurence have reached the ‘communicating complex information solely through eyebrow movements’ stage of their relationship. *drinks this excellent excellent OTP juice with both hands*

- god I love how cool temeraire!napoleon is, in a strangely believable way. he’s just so weirdly charismatic and novik is SO GOOD at setting up a situation so you understand just how brilliant a move he’s made whenever he seems to be backed into a corner and turns it all around. I kind of want him to win at this point (though tbf all of europe fucking sucked at this time so like he doesn’t have to doll it up TOO much to look better by comparison haha)

- boooyyyy Laurence is P I S S E D (also him being like ??? :D that the general basically agreed with him lol)

ALSO also the fact that laurence does not realize that he’s like the fucking horror story all the major authorities around the globe tell each other at night... fjksdfhsdkjlhf

ah russia. truly consistently one of the most shit places to be a peasant or apparently a dragon through so much of history.

- junichiro Y__________Y no wonder laurence is so protective of him, he’s finally met someone as stubbornly stupidly ~*honorable*~ as himself. godspeed bb boy I wish you only the best even though I know your story line is never properly brought up again

- I ship... roland and demane... so much. like with my heart. she’s so young and earnest and curious and misses him so much and casually scandalizes alice about it fsjdakfjhds

- well I mean. dragons eating people is clearly not  g r e a t  but also... karma. y’know?

- this is a lot of words to use to convey the sentiment ‘oh they are all so fuuuuuuuuuuuuucked’ naomi novik

(feels a little like she wrote herself into a corner here tho -- she’s set up such an impossible situation, in RUSSIA in the WINTERTIME, that I’d need a hell of a lot of convincing to believe they get out of it)

- aaaah okay I really enjoyed this one too, especially the first half! I feel like this series is often at its most inspired when it sticks to a tighter character focus (for example I still vividly recall the part in the first book where Laurence stays in his father’s house and it’s Bad. relatedly........ F U C K lord allendale), and this brought that in spades. I love this series so much, it’s shamefully underappreciated in the speculative fiction world.

also it brought *me* to my knees with a simple “Tenzing,” [Laurence] said, which... holy shit. fuck. damn. that’s my personal recommendation of this book, tbh, even beyond my wish for this series to be more appreciated within the genre: Tharkay was there and it was very gay and non-obnoxious soulmate vibes???? I never even thought it could be done but here we are

This is probably going to be my last reaction thingy for the foreseeable future, since my local library doesn’t have book 9 and honestly... having read a few summaries of what happens in it I’m not that keen on reading it? That’s not the ending to this story I want, so I’ll just live over here in denialville, I-realize-the-author-made-the-choice-to-not-make-further-use-of-Lien-AKA-THE-coolest-antagonist-in-this-series-and-indeed-did-not-wrap-up-numerous-character-arcs-or-plot-lines-but-I-don’t-like-this-choice-so-I’ll-ignore-it

(actually I do sort of appreciate the idea of not having one grand final duel or something, because that’s not how it usually works in real life, but that she’d just shrug and not mercilessly hunt for the revenge she’s so clearly motivated by when everything she loves is falling apart around her again... that’s too much of a letdown to bear, really)

let me just... live in willful ignorance and pretend anything could happen from this point onward haha.

- let me give a final shout out to my boy gong su, who’s been hanging around since book 2 (!) and yet we do not know One Single personal detail about him for certain except that he sure knows how to handle knives. that’s some good spy shit right there, he knows what he’s about

[kingdomofkitten]

The Wedding: Part 6: The Resolution

Ryuu: …*snoring*.....*moving a little* mrghm….hmm...hmm? Why does this bed feel…*opens his eyes*...wha…*looking around, feeling wood, and water* W-what the?!

Haida: Oh, good! You’re awake! There’s a fishing pole for ya.

Ryuu: WHA?! *he realizes...he’s on a raft, in a large body of water, next to the wedding venue* WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING OUT HERE?!

Haida: Fishing! What does it look like?

Ryuu: ….WHY am I fishing?

Haida: Because I figured it was high time you and I had a chat. You don’t want to see Retsuko?

Ryuu: ...no.

Haida: Alright. So you’ll see me.

Ryuu: I don’t get a choice, do I?

Haida: Well, unless you’re an athletic swimmer.

Ryuu: ...of course. I never get a choice until I push the right buttons.

Haida: Like how you didn’t want to be a part of the wedding?

Ryuu: Exactly. They just expect me to go along with it, just because I’m the younger brother. It annoys the hell out of me!

Haida: Huh. You’re reminding me a bit of myself at that age.

Ryuu: Yeah?

Haida: Yeah. I’m the youngest in my family. And...well, my sister was always kinda better at everything than me, and got a bit more attention than me. At the time, I did kinda resent her a bit. But...I guess over time, I came to realize she wasn’t all perfect, neither did she want to be. We started hanging out more, and things kinda simmered.

Ryuu: ….huh. Does she sometimes turn into a freakish monster, like mine?

Haida: Well, firstly, kinda rich coming from someone who literally turned into that yesterday.

Ryuu: Shut up.

Haida: Secondly, no. At least, not in the way Retsuko can be. She could be a bit...arrogant, I guess is the right word for it. She definitely has a lot of energy, like Retsuko, but she uses it up differently….was there a point to this? I can’t remember.

Ryuu: Look, if you’re trying to get into my good graces, or whatever, don’t bother.

Haida: ...look, dude. I get it. There’s some tensions going on. You don’t want anything to do with her. But like...that’s family, man. She doesn’t even hate you! She doesn’t know what she did to rub you the wrong way!

Ryuu: I thought she did? Last time we met up?

Haida: ….you mean what happened with Ryoko? That’s what did it?

Ryuu: Well...yeah.

Haida: Why’s that?

Ryuu: ...it’s just after that day, nothing ever felt right. I could just barely look at her the same way, ever again. It was like that with dad, for the longest time too. I just...thought he was doing something right. Like something was wrong with her...now I wonder if there’s something wrong with me too…

Haida: ….well….it depends on how you view it.

Ryuu: ...huh? I-look, I get it, you’re marrying my sister, but...you can’t be so biased that you can’t see the problems here.

Haida: Oh, I see them. I know what can happen. That doesn’t change my view on the whole thing.

Ryuu: ...why?

Haida: Because deep inside her rage, I know Retsuko for who she is, and who she wants to be. And both of those sides, I find to be absolutely wonderful. She may get super pissed off, and hard to control, but when she’s calm, and collected...she’s one of the kindest, joyous people I’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting. When she’s happy, it just warms me up so much. There are many times, either when she’s being a mother to Ikari, my girlfriend, my fiancee, or just being herself, that I could engrave into my memories because of how wonderful she is in my eyes. I know you and her don’t get along much, but there has to be at least one good memory with her, right? I hope so.

Ryuu: …...y-you know, yeah. Yeah, there was this one time.

Haida: Oh?

Ryuu: I was REALLY little. Like...1 or 2. Probably 2, I feel like that was when I started to really remember stuff. Me and Riko were outside playing, but a big storm was coming. The family was scrambling to get the house ready for the storm, and my mother picked us up. I guess she had to help dad, and was hurrying, because she just put me down on the floor. I just started walking around a little. I didn’t think much of anything, until I heard this loud bit of lightning. I was just so frightened, I screamed, and ran around, trying to find somewhere to hide. I just happened to be near Retsuko’s room, and so I hid under her bed. She happened to find me, and held me close to her. I was petrified of the thunder that was rumbling outside, but she managed to calm me down. It was weird, it was like I was suddenly so relaxed by her. I was at peace. Even as I kinda...I guess hated her, that memory still resonated with me. I often wondered why I kept that memory if I suddenly hated her so much.

Haida: ...maybe you didn’t after all?

Ryuu: ...I guess that would make sense. I don’t know. I-I probably messed up everything. I don’t know. She said I was out of the wedding, so I dunno what I’m doing here.

Haida: Well, the thing is, I think she’s wanting to call the whole thing off unless you were there.

Ryuu: What? Why?

Haida: I’m not sure. But that’s what she was telling me. I guess, even with the animosity, you’re still her little brother, and she would like to have you there.

Ryuu: ...oh...so, is that why I’m out here?

Haida: For the most part, yeah. Sorry if it annoyed you, it’s just...I really have been wanting to marry her for some time, and I didn’t want to see it go to waste.

Ryuu: ..no, no, it’s fine. Listen, this...this was actually kinda alright. I...I’ll do the wedding. I’ll go in.

Haida: You sure?

Ryuu: Yeah. It was my fault anyway. I might as well go fix it.

Haida: But you didn’t even get a fish!

Ryuu: I hate fish anyway.

Haida: Well, alright. *puts up his fishing rod, and grabs the oars to start paddling*

Ryuu: To be honest, I’m kinda surprised you’ve been so cool with me during this. Given I...well, slapped your kid.

Haida: By all intents and purposes, I probably should kill you for that, but eh, I gotta be a bigger man here.

Ryuu: You and me both. *they eventually reach the shore, and quickly begin exiting the boat* Thanks for trying to help. You don’t seem like such a tool like before.

Haida: Hey!

Ryuu: Just sayin’! I...wait, is that…?

Haida: ...it does look like it. *they both see Retsuko walking towards them, family and friends behind her, with a smile on her face*

Retsuko: You two had a good time out there? :)

Haida: Um, yeah! I think so!

Retsuko: Good! *to Ryuu* You doing okay?

Ryuu: Erm...yes? What’s going on?

Fenneko: Check the boat, dumbass. :3

Ryuu: Huh? *looks over the raft...and sees a mic* ...the conversation was recorded?

Fenneko: Sorry about that, hombre. We just had to let Retsuko hear you two.

Ryuu: Oh. *sees Retsuko* …*sigh* big sister, I...I heard you didn’t want to go on with the wedding without me, and...well, look, I want to apologize for acting like I did. You’ve grown up, and...well, truthfully, I still have a long way to go. If it means you will get married, I would like to be a part again.

Retsuko: ….I mean….truthfully, I was gonna go on without you anyways?

Ryuu: ...what?

Haida: B-but I thought-?

Retsuko: Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was devastated! I blamed myself for acting like I did, and kinda felt I was no good as a bride. So I WAS planning on canceling the whole thing...then Fenneko and Tsunoda kinda showed me the bill, and um, yeah, I couldn’t really cancel it.

Tsunoda: You could’ve made us waste a bunch of money, buster!

Ryuu: Ah…

Retsuko: But the fact you want to make things right makes me feel better about things, for certain. Of course you can be back in! And if it makes you feel any better, I still have a lot of growing up to do too. :)

Ryuu: Heh. Again, I’m really sorry. To you, and to everyone.

Ryota: Don’t be! *chuckles, and pats his son* I was probably being a little harsh on you. It’s all a bit sudden, I realize.

Ryuu: I guess.

Retsuko: ...I gotta say, I’m surprised you remembered that whole thing in the rain! You were so young back then!

Ryuu: Believe me, I couldn’t figure out how either. But...I’m glad I did. It kinda brought me back, I feel.

Retsuko: I’m glad too. *hugs her young brother*

Haida: ...ya know, there IS someone you’re forgetting.

Retsuko: Hmm?

Fenneko: Your kid. :3

Retsuko: Oh! That’s right, where is-*feels her leg being tug on* Huh? Oh! *picks up Ikari* There you are!

Ikari: Mama! *turns and sees Ryuu* *GASP!* *cowers on his mother’s shoulder*

Retsuko: Aw, Ikari! It’s okay! He won’t hurt you.

Ryuu: It’s alright, buddy. I’m sorry.

Ikari: …*looks at Ryuu, nervously*

Ryuu: *smiles awkwardly, trying not to seem like an idiot*

Retsuko: *seeing Ikari turn his head to her* ...it’s okay, sweetie. He’s fine. :)

Ikari: …*looks at Ryuu again*........*stretches out his hand, to reach*

Ryuu: *grabs Ikari, and holds him* ...s’up, little fella? :D

Ikari: ….*tilts his head in confusion*

Ryuu: ….um….what’s up? How’s life?

Retsuko: *laughs* Ryuu, he can barely form words!

Ryuu: W-well, I know that! I just, um….*sticks his tongue out* bleh!

Ikari: ….*begins smiling, and giggles*

Retsuko: Aww, he’s starting to like you! :D

Ryuu: Heh, that’s, um...that’s good, I think.

Retsuko: That’s very good. ^^ *sees a car pulling up to the building* ...who’s that?

Fenneko: I think that’s one of the invitees. *the car door opens, revealing Resasuke* Yyyyep.

Haida: Wow! Good ol’ Space Cadet!

Resasuke: *walks towards everyone* Hey.

Retsuko: *gives Resasuke a hug* Resasuke! I’m so happy you could make it!

Resasuke: I mean, I was invited, so…

Retsuko: True! *to her parents* Mom, dad! I’d like you to meet someone!

Rie: Oh, honey, we know hi-

Retsuko: This is my ex-boyfriend, Resasuke!

Ryota: ….

Rie: ….e-ex-boyfriend?

Retsuko: Yeah. I kinda was crushing on him at our work place, but it ended up not working out. But we’re still good friends.

Rie: …..well, uh...it’s probably a good thing that it didn’t work.

Retsuko: ...huh? Do you guys not like him?

Rie: N-no, it’s not that! It’s just-

Retsuko: Oh, boy. Look, I agree, we weren’t really all that compatible, but you can’t just decide not to approve of him! We already went out, it doesn’t really work when you break it off-

Ryota: Retsuko, that’s your cousin.

Retsuko: ………...what?

Ryota: Your mother’s side.

Rie: Aunt Rumi? That’s her son.

Retsuko: …………………..

Resasuke: ….you know, I THOUGHT you looked familiar when we were going out. Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but yeah. What’s up, cousin?

Retsuko: ……………………….I………………..

Haida, Ryuu, Riko, and Hiroko: ………………..PFFFFFFT, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fenneko: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

[greekmythstoldbyanasshole]

Odysseus

So first off, we’re going to talk about Odysseus. Odysseus was like that smart, but weasely guy you know. The kind of guy who is great to have around if you need to find a way to sneak out of a bad blind date, but also the kind of guy who cheats on his wife while she’s sitting at home literally turning away handsome and rich guys left and right. 

But I digress. 

So, Odysseus was on his way back from the Trojan War on his way home to Ithaca. The place, not the college. At this point, his ego must have been huge, since he created the entire field of hacking when he designed the original Trojan Horse. 

After leaving Troy, Odysseus and his buddies were looking for a place to stop and chill out for a bit. I mean, I probably would have just grabbed a couple of Red Bulls and tried to power through until I got home, but that’s just me. They eventually found an island and thought, “This island probably isn’t full of monsters, so that’s cool.”

Island was totally full of monsters. It held the terrible Cyclopes, known for horrendous things like living in caves, eschewing government (and law) and grouwing crops from rain personally sprinkled by Zeus. Seriously? This is the description that these guys get? They’re horrible because they are special farmers who live in caves and fuck with the government? They’re only a few steps away from being a US Senator. 

Odysseus, feeling like Jesus, took 12 of his guys with him to do some ‘splorin’. He told everyone else to stay on board and remain at the ready at their oars, to which I’m sure the not-cool-enough-to-be-a-part-of-the-landing-party guys gave a very convincing nod and said, “Ya, we’re totally going to do that.”

O-dawg and crew then saw a cyclops and decided that the best course of action would be to follow the fucker while holding a wineskin full of specifically unmixed wine. None of that “Barefoot Red Blend” bullshit. 

Ok, so at the beginning of the story, I know I said that Odysseus was super smart, but the following tidbit makes him seem like a bit of a moron. He took one look at the big, ugly, Fox News Conspiracy touting Cyclopes and was like, “It’s customary for all Greeks to be, like, super inviting hosts, who give out sweet gifts to their guests. I’m sure these guys will be like that and not murder us in their caves or anything.”

Then, like a normal Air BnB guest, Odysseus waited in the bushes until the cylops started tending to his sheep, and then snuck into his house. 

When they got into the cave, everyone started bitching about how musty and cluttered it was, as if they hadn’t just broken in hoping for free shit. There were baskets full of cheese and animal pens full of lambs and little baby goats, who were hopefully weraing those little pajamas like you always see on Facebook. The cyclops had made a bed out of willow branches because Ikea hadn’t been invented yet. 

After a while, Odysseus’s homeboys started getting nervous about the whole, “breaking and entering” thing, so they suggested some light robbery. 

“Why don’t we just take some cheese and leave?” They asked, like dicks, “We can always come back later for some lambs.”

Odysseus decided to take the moral high ground. He packed up their things, left a nice tip and a detailed review, got back on his ship and sailed home. 

Just kidding. He acted like a baby. 

“They’re supposed to give us a gift because we’re their guests,” he pouted, knowing full well the difference between an intruder and a guest. He also had a name! How great. His name was Polyphemus, which definitely doesn’t sound like a sexuality. 

So Polyphemus came back to his house and had his sheep with him (like a normal person), rolled his rock-door into place and then milked his sheep. When he was done, he realized that there were 13 strange men in his cave. Not one to judge, but what kind of life does Polyphemus lead that he doesn’t notice 13 random guys in his house? Just how into milking his sheep does he get? Also, what were Odysseus and his crew doing while they were waiting? Politely coughing to let him know that people were watching? There are so many questions. 

When Polyphemus finally got around to talkking to them, he said, “Who the hell are you guys? Like, pirates? Or what?”

Odysseus, super pumped to get his weird guest-gift, said, “We’re Achaen soldiers. We were just fighting in Troy, but we got blown off course, so now we’re here by Fate. We’re in your cave because Zeus says that hosts should give their guests gifts...so...you know...”

“Dumbass,” Polyphemus retorted, “We’re Cyclopes, bruh. We don’t care about Zeus’s laws. We helped him defeat the Titans, so now he waters our plants. He’s essentially our sprinkler system. But,” he continued, “I do care about something. Where did you land your ship?”

As soon as Polyphemus said this, all of Odysseus’s men were probably like, “Fuck. We’re probably not getting that god-damned gift basket.”

Odysseus, though, being the king of thinky-thinky said, “We don’t have a ship. Poseidon decided to smash it against some rocks. We are the only survivors.”

Suddenly, Polyphemus remembered that he hated the number 13, so he grabbed the 2 nearest guys to him, smashed their heads against the wall, and then fucking helped himself to a nice meal. 

Cyclops Cave Air Bnb:

           We got some free cheese and the goat yoga was fantastic, but the host fucking ate my cousin. 2/5 stars

After that, the cyclops laid down on his sad excuse for a bed and went to sleep. 

After apparently just hanging out while his buddies got devoured, Odysseus pulled his sword out of his ass and charged headlong at Polyphemus. However, he paused halfway down the cave as soon as he remembered that there was a big-ass rock blocking the doorway. Remembering that he was better at verbal jousting than physical activity, Odysseus put down his sword to think up a plan. 

After waking up, the giant strolled over to his kitchen, cracked 2 eggs and made himself an omelette. Only, instead of eggs, it was men. Because this guy is just terrible. 

After this, Polyphemus led his sheep out to pasture, and rolled the stone back into place, because everyone in this story is a dick. 

At this point, Odysseus’s men start to cry, which is the first reasonable reaction anyone has had up until this point. Meanwhile, Odysseus decided to try something useful for a change. Among his weird collection of things, Polyphemus had a “hug olive wood log” which was “definitely not a dildo.” Odysseus told his men to sharpen the log and then harden it in the fire. 

When Polyphemus got back, he milked his sheep and then ate some Panda Express while watching Ellen. Nah, he ate more guys. 

After the cyclops was done eating, Odysseus gave him some of that crazy, unmixed wine. Which was apparently a big deal because, apparently back then, everyone would lose a drinking competition to a college girl named Amanda who passes out after 1 1/2 Bacardi Breezers. Anyways, Polyphemus downed it. 

“You know,” the cyclops slurred, “If you tell me your name, I’ll give you a gift.”

At this, Odysseus got a guest-gift hard-on. It didn’t matter that literally half of his men died, he was going to get some decorative bath soap. Odysseus just smiled like a sleazeball while pouring more wine. Not yet having gotten the spins, Polyphemus continued drinking. This whole cycle repeated itself again, and not until the cyclops was good and wasted did Odysseus say,

“You want to know my name? My name is Nobody. That’s definitely what everyone calls me. Nobody. I would tell you to ask my buddy over there to vouch for me, but you fucking ate him.”

Accepting this to be as normal of a name as Polyphemus, Polyphemus said, “Well, Nobody, here’s your gift: I’ll eat you last!”

At this, the cyclops laughed so hard that he threw up the wine and human bits, and then passed out in all of that. 

Gross. 

Without a moment to lose, Odysseus and his men pulled the log “out of hiding,” whatever that means, and stuck it in the fire until it was as red-hot as early 2000′s Ricky Martin. The men took the flaming rod and jammed it into the cyclops’ eye hole. Since he had killed all their buddies, they made sure to wiggle it all around and keep it there until his blood boiled out of the socket. 

Gross.

Meanwhile, Polyphemus was understandably freaking the fuck out. He was causing such a hubbub that all of the nearby cyclopes came over to see what all the yelling was about.

“Dammit, Polyphemus, what is wrong? Surely nobody is killing you by force or treachery?” they asked, apparently unaware of all the strapping young men in the cave.

Polyphemus screamed, “Yes! Nobody is killing me by force and treachery!” 

Apparently fed up with his sarcastic-ass answers, the other cyclopes said, “Ok, man. Whatever. If you are alone and screaming like that, you must be crazy. Try praying to Poseidon to cure your womanly hysteria.” And, without opening the door like decent friends, you know, to see if he was actually ok, the cyclopes just left. “Eh, he’ll be fine.”

Hearing all of his definitely-not-getting-Christmas-presents-this-year friends leave, Polyphemus screamed. He shoved the boulder out of the way and stood in the opening, ready to catch any shithead who tried to escape. However, Odysseus weren’t no bitch. 

Later that night, after the cyclops had put in his earplugs or something, Odysseus stole some branches from the branchopedic bed and used the branches to tie groups of 3 sheep together. He did this just enough times so that each of his buddies would have a 3 sheep luxury package, but not enough for him, because he was an arrogant motherfucker. 

After tying the three sheep together, he told his crew to each grab on to the belly of a sheep, which, I guess, were huge? Odysseus took the biggest ram for himself (phrasing) and held on. 

Instead of waiting until, like, 5 o’clock in the morning to grab some sheep, the poor suckers spent the whole night hanging upside down. When the sun finally rose, Polyphemus let his sheepies out to play. As the sheep went by their blind master, he tapped each one on the back to make sure no one was escaping. The following is how I picture that scene to have played out:

*pat pat*

“Hmm, this is weird. 3 of my sheep must have gotten tangled in my bed and got stuck together. I’ll deal with that later. Next!”

*pat pat*

“God, my sheep are dumb today. 3 more sheep are stuck together. Good thing I’m patting these sheep down for escaping prisoners, or I might think someone was up to something.”

*pat pat*

Odysseus and his big ram *wink wink* were the last to leave. As it came near the cave’s entrance, Polyphemus put on his Border Patrol cap and stopped the ram.

“My old buddy,” Polyphemus said to the ram, probably while looking in the wrong direction, “why are you in the back today? You usually lead the group. Maybe you feel bad that daddykins got blinded by that big, mean bully, Nobody? And he got me drunk! Rude. I’m sure if you could talk, you would tell me where he is hiding.”

But he couldn’t talk, because he was a ram, and that would not be logical. Like the rest of the story. 

Odysseus had a mild panic attack when Polyphemus *pat pat*ed his ram down, before it waddled over to its friends in the pasture. 

When all the sheep had gone far enough away from the cave, Odysseus and his men released themselves from the sheep. Can you imagine how badly their arms must have hurt at that point? I mean, I sometimes need to take a break when I’m straightening my hair, and that takes, like, 8 minutes. Tops.

After getting off the sheep with jello-for-arms, they grabbed a bunch of lambs (with their mouths?) and hauled ass down the mountain. When he finally reached his ship, Odysseus, being an arrogant moron, turned around and yelled, “You! The guy who was a dick and ate your guests, the ones who totally didn’t sneak into your shitty cave, I hope you enjoy the punishment Zeus has in store for you!”

Polyphemus, the guy who didn’t just hear the whole sheep plan, nor the sheep yoking, nor the lamb stealing, heard this taunt from forever away on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Pissed, he grabbed a piece of the mountain and threw it at the ship. It’s a whole new level of angry to rip off, and then throw, a piece of mountain. The piece of mountain grazed the ship, which resulted in a mini tsunami. This pushed Odysseus back into the shore. His crew frantically pushed the boat back out, where they doubled the distance they had before. Odysseus was about to call out to the cyclops again, but his crew told him to shut the hell up and be glad that they had escaped. However, Odysseus was mad and arrogant, and Twitter didn’t have the balls to block his account, even with all the racism and threats of nuclear war, so he yelled again. 

“Cyclops! If anyone asks you who blinded you, you can tell them it was Odysseus of Ithaca!”

Hearing this, Polyphemus remembered a prophesy he’d heard about the Boy Who Lived. No, not that one. About Odysseus. He prayed to Poseidon in the style of Veruca Salt, if Veruca Salt had become a dictator. 

“Don’t let Odysseus make it home! Actually, no. Let him go home, but all his friends die! And...it takes forever! And when he gets there, there’s a whole bunch of shit going on! And make his lawyer get arrested for paying off a prostitute! And kill his hamster!”

After praying/bitching, Polyphemus threw another mountain chunk at Odysseus. This throw also resulted in a mini tsunami that pushed his boat to shore. This time, however, it pushed the boat towards the rest of Odysseus’s fleet, which apparently existed. Instead of booking it, the men decided that right then was the best time for a gyro, so they ate a feast of the lambs they had stolen and drank DILUTED wine. When the sun rose the next morning, they took sail. They were happy to be alive, but also really sad about the guys who had been turned into BK’s Chicken Fries. 

But, the fun was just beginning because Poseidon was pissed. 

[randomwordprompts]

Intimate Friends | Part Six

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Death, angst, darkness, mentions of rape (no descriptions but the word is there), torture, blood, abuse, and some slight fluff because I had to

Taglist: @bartierbakarimobisson @texasbama @princesskillmonger @babygirlofwakanda @wakandas-vibranium @wakandan-flowerz @storibambino @soldierandawar @blackgirloneshots @great-neckpectations @yaachtynoboat711 @maya-leche @flowerdelreaper @kumkaniudaku

Translations: Ma voie appartient au diable. Ill est notre redempter - My soul belongs to the devil, He is our redemption, ma petit - little one

(After the women left)

“Well well, I was wondering when you’d find me, Dr. Lector.”

Mason Verger stepped out of the cabin and over to a struggling Hannibal, his face a disfigured mess and his voice akin to gravel being placed in a blender. He looked like a decrepit old man that died and came back to life, the iris of his visible eye a darkened red. Hannibal tried to work through the blinding pain shooting through his leg but found it nearly impossible, especially once Mason spoke again.

“That looks like it hurts, Hannibal. Would you like some help?”

Mason stalked over to him with a menacing chuckle before bringing his foot down onto the bear trap and stepping on it, causing the man to let out a yell through gritted teeth.

“Wh-what exactly do you want, Mason? And why aren’t you dead?”

The disfigured man simply shrugged a bit before leaning in close to Hannibal, the smell of him being putrid at best.

“What I want should be obvious Dr., but let me explain. My new life here depends on giving some...gifts to the person that brought me back. You’re one of those gifts.”

Hannibal listened for a moment before taking the closeness of Mason and using it to land a clean swing on his jaw, causing him to fall back. While Mason was down, Hannibal tried to crawl away only to be grabbed from behind. Before he could turn and land another blow, Mason grabbed his left arm and literally pulled his shoulder out of socket, getting an agonized cry from Hannibal. Mason then opened the bear trap with relative ease, watching the blood flow from Hannibal’s leg for a moment before placing his hand over the leaking wound. His palm began to glow and heat up to the point of extreme pain, the heat more than enough to cauterize the wound so that it would stop bleeding.

“Can’t have you dying on us here, Doc. That just wouldn’t be fair.” Mason said with a horrific smile.

The burning pain of Hannibal’s leg was enough for him to pass out, making Mason’s voice the last thing he heard. Mason, on the other hand, dragged Hannibal’s body towards the lake where the camp kept their boats, all manual except for a motorboat for emergencies. Once the unconscious doctor was placed in the emergency boat, Mason grabbed two oars and began to row the two of them down the Ottawa River, heading east until they reached the St. Lawrence River. Once there, he started the motor and began to head southwest, eyes darting about his surroundings. Roughly 4 hours later the two were still going along the St. Lawrence, near the Canadian/US border portion of the river. About this time, Mason had to change out the fuel tank for the spare kept on the boat, delivering a rough punch to a stirring Hannibal in between to keep him out.

Before long Mason had arrived at Oak Island in Hammond, New York, where he docked the boat and carried Hannibal deep into the woods until he was at a secluded cabin. Tying him to a hook that was attached to the ceiling in the middle of the open living space, the deformed man limped off to grab a bucket and fill it with water only to throw it on Hannibal, stunning him awake. With gasping breaths, he looked around before gritting his teeth as the pain in his leg returned with full force.

“Wh-...where am I? This doesn’t look like your cabin so I know we’ve moved.”

“Well well, congrats on that lovely deduction, Sleeping Beauty! No, we’re not at my camp because I wouldn’t want to kill any of my precious campers.”

“Campers? You mean your victims?” Hannibal remarked sarcastically.

Mason snarled before delivering a rough blow to Hannibal’s ribs, his strength enough to crack at least two.

“Those children don’t have anything without me, we both know that. The least they can do is thank me for my...benevolence.”

Hannibal coughed up a bit of blood as his breathing became more labored, though his eyes held only hatred for the wretched man that was holding him hostage.

“What happened to you, Mason? Margot thought she killed you…”

“She did, actually. But you don’t get to where I am by being easy to kill, Doc.”

Margot looked at the sodium cyanide tablet for a moment before placing it into the glass of red wine, letting it dissolve before stirring it until it was combined. Her hands shook as she took a deep breath, steeling her resolve and painting an emotionless expression on her face so that she could take the glasses out into the dining room. She walked out to where her brother waited expectantly, taking a bite of his food as she placed the wine to his right. Mason gave Margot a smile that was more of a sneer before taking a bite of his food. A satisfied hum sounded from him at the taste of her cooking, his gaze on her amused as she silently ate her own food. Mason grabbed his glass and took a swig of the wine to wash down the food he ate, immediately noticing a slight almond aftertaste before pain shot through his entire body. His eyes went to Margot as he began to suffocate, her eyes finally meeting his nervously. Before he could ask her what was in his drink he began to lose consciousness, the glass slipping from his hand and falling onto the table with a light thud.

Just before passing out Mason fell to the floor from his chair, gasping for air and clutching at his throat before muttering a soft phrase too low for Margot to hear.

“Ma voie appartient au diable. Ill est notre redempter…”

Within four minutes, Mason Verger was dead on the floor of the dining room with Margot looking at him in both shock and slight satisfaction. She’d finally accomplished what she wanted and felt pure relief. Stepping over Mason’s body she suddenly felt tired and made her way to her bed, finally at peace enough to sleep without the worry of her brother sneaking into her room and hurting her.

Two hours later, Mason began to stir. His body changed and shifted, his skin almost melting off until he was unrecognizable to anyone who knew him just before an agonized cry tore from his throat. The sound was enough to wake Margot from her sleep and drive her to find the source of what stirred her. Mason waited for his sister to come back down to the first floor of the massive house, lurking in the shadows and watching Margot closely. Before she could even react he pounced on her inhumanly quick, making her scream in terror.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?!”

He gave her a crooked grin before a low chuckle came from his throat.

“You don’t know me now, dear sister?”

“M-Mason? What happened to- I thought you were- How-”

Mason grabbed Margot by her throat with a menacing snarl. “I think the real question is, what made you try to kill me? All the time we’ve spent together and you had to go and mess it up like this.”

Margot struggled a bit under his grip, tears beginning to flow from her eyes as she realized she’d failed. Looking down to the floor as she sniffled, she spoke with labored breaths.

“I...went to see this therapist. He told me that killing you would be good for me, help me heal and such.”

“Is that right? And what certified therapist would tell you that?”

“I...I can’t say.”

Mason tightened his grip on Margot’s throat only to pull her in close to his disfigured face.

“Let me sweeten this for you, dear. You show me who he is and I won’t kill you right here. Tell him you did what he said, that it was a success! Then I’ll let you go and you can pretend I really am dead.”

Margot looked at him with wide, fear-filled eyes but agreed to his terms.

Hannibal let his head drop as he swung side to side slightly, blood dripping from his mouth before he spit at the floor.

“So you had her lie to me and you let her go.”

Mason chuckled before taking a seat in a chair across from him. “Well...no. I never said I wouldn’t kill her at all. Just that I wouldn’t kill her in that moment. I had to find the man that turned my precious sister against me, after all.”

At those words, Hannibal looked up to meet his face with the best look of incredulity he could muster.

“Turned your sister? You raped her! You did one of the most despicable things anyone can do to another person to the one you were supposed to care for! And those children have been subjected to the same treatment. They are all victims.”

Mason stood and got in Hannibal’s face once again, grabbing his sore jaw tightly.

“Well then, Dr. Lector...I guess you’ll be my next victim then.”

(Back at the Lector Home)

More people have addictions than we’d like to acknowledge, but Amira embraces hers. Music is her drug of choice and dancing is her way of escape. Since she was a child, whenever she couldn’t put how she felt into words she would close herself off and dance. Hannibal noticed early on that this was her coping mechanism and decided to turn the basement of their house into a dance studio. It was soundproof and spacious, the perfect setting for his youngest to let out everything she bottled up without being bothered or disturbing anyone else in the house.

Currently, though, Amira wasn’t dancing. She simply laid in the middle of her studio, music blasting as she cried. Her chest heaved, eyes nearly as red as her hair, the only other sound coming from her being pained wails. She’d asked Xavier to stay with her family, but he couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming sorrow and worry that raked his mate. He sat and half listened to the rest of the planning before standing abruptly.

“I need to go check on Amira.”

With those words, he left the office and made his way down to the basement. He didn't bother knocking once he was there knowing the music was too loud, simply walking in. No words were said, he just closed the door and walked to the stereo to turn the music off before picking Amira up and sitting in a nearby chair with her limp frame in his lap. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, the sweet scent of her hair reminding him of one of the many reasons he loved her.

“You know I can feel you, Mimi. Please don’t hide from me, ma petit.”

Amira sighed in slight relief, just having Xavier close to her bringing more comfort than she expected. She shifted until she was straddling his lap and hugged his torso tightly, burying her face in his neck before placing a soft kiss there as a silent thank you. He held her and they sat in a comfortable silence for about 5 minutes before she finally spoke.

“I just want him to be okay…”

“I know, but he’s strong. We’ll find him and wipe out who or whatever did this.”

The small demon huffed a bit but found herself believing him with a nod of agreement. As they sat a bit longer Amira suddenly sat up and slapped Xavier in the chest with wide eyes.

“Woman, what the hell?!”

“I’ve got an idea! We need to go tell the others!!”

Before Xavier could even ask what the idea was, Amira hopped out of his lap and ran upstairs to the office where the rest of the family was. She burst through the doors and found her brothers along with Will and their mothers sitting around a table going back and forth about how to get Hannibal. They stopped at the sight of Amira with Xavier trailing behind, his face as confused as the others.

“Mom...what if we used a tracking spell to find him?”

Diana's eyes widened before a grin spread across her face, grabbing her child's face and kissing her excitedly.

“That could work. It's a long shot but if we do it together it could be just strong enough to work!”

Will, a definite skeptic when it came to magic, looked between the two of them with no small amount of doubt, choosing to voice his views openly.

“I'm sorry ladies, but I don't see how any of your…beliefs are going to find him, let alone save him.”

Before Diana could stop her, Amira turned to walk towards her uncle without a word and leaned over the desk before blowing out air cold enough to freeze his hands in place on Hannibal's desk. Will tried to pry his hands from the ice but found himself stuck in place before coughing roughly, a sensation similar to heartburn taking over his chest. In the midst of this Amira began to speak, her face expressionless.

“I don't know what my father told you about us William, but these aren't ‘beliefs’. We're witches, my mother and I. A big yet basic part of that is elemental control.”

Will was leaning forward at this point, his chest filled with a burning pain that he couldn't soothe just before the taste of dirt filled his mouth. It was nearly unbearable but suddenly he couldn't breathe, his eyes quickly meeting Amira's cold gaze.

“Three minutes and you'll be dead. Let's see if you can believe that.”

Diana considered telling her child off, but she knew that would only result in Will being dead. Instead, she waved her hand, undoing the spells currently plaguing him. The man in question took loud gasps of air and held his throat as if it would fall off. Amira folded her arms but didn't speak as Xavier placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed soothing circles into her neck. Elisha spoke up first, trying to keep anything else from happening.

“Let's go with the spell. Amira and Diana are powerful in their own rights so together I don't doubt that they're capable.”

Amira smirked at Will but nodded to her step-mother before placing her hands on top of Xavier’s.

“Thank you. Now, if I recall correctly we’ll need eight candles, a photo of dad, a map of the area he was in last, and some privacy.”

Diana chuckled at her daughter but admired her knowledge.

“So you have been paying attention to my lessons. Color me surprised.”

“Mama I always pay attention, Even when you think I don’t.”

(Meanwhile, at the cabin)

Hannibal took labored breaths, trying to conserve his strength and soothe the ache of his cracked ribs. By his measures, he’d been strung up for about two days now and keeping a poker face was becoming harder by the hour. The pain coursing through his body was nearly unbearable if not for the knowledge that his family was doing their best to find him. He only hoped they would find him before it was too late...

A/N: Damn, I really didn’t think we’d get this far. My little one-shot turned into a series! But I can’t say I’m mad because my friends continue to gas up encourage me to keep it going. I think I’m going to conclude this story soon but don’t worry, we gone get through the storm first!