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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

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I Was Good To You

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,000 (lol sorry)

Summary: You were good to Bucky

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I really love the song “you were good to me” by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler (actually they have a lot of good songs, together and separately). But I felt like this song needs to be read from the opposite perspective literally every time I hear it, hence this fic. It’s a little different than what I have written so far, so I hope you still enjoy it! I put some of the original lyrics in the fic as quote-block format; it’s mostly in the reader’s POV and I’m sorry in advance for having to do Bucky like this – it just fits the song.

...

It was a fairly new relationship. And while you and he were both equally cautious about taking said new relationship too fast, it couldn’t be helped that the two of you were inseparable. From the day you met, he had been invested in you – your life. He claims it was because he was frozen for so long; because he didn’t know how to live “normally” in the twenty-first century. He went from World War II to Hydra to today. While that made perfect sense to you, a part of you always wondered if it was something more. Sure, Bucky had never had the chance to (and likely will never the chance to) live mundanely. He won’t ever work a 9 to 5 job, he won’t spend nights cooking and washing dishes, he won’t be doing lawn maintenance, working on a dingey car, or grocery shopping (and then forgetting your grocery list at home). You thought that he may have attached himself so quickly to you so he could partly experience the normalcy of civilian life. Not that you were complaining.

He often spent nights at your house, sleeping in your too-small bed, sitting on your countertop, and lounging on your loveseat. Waking up next to him was heaven. If you weren’t securely wrapped in his arms, head laying on his bulky torso, then he was using your chest as a pillow, the weight of him almost making it impossible to breathe. But that extra weight was calming; he may have even been the weighted blanket that has been sitting in your Amazon cart for well over four months. You’d wake up from an uninterrupted night of bliss, fingers running through his long hair, Bucky refusing to get up until you promised pancakes.

But then, three months into it, he left. Its not like he had a choice, you reminded yourself, its his job. And you were well aware of it – he made you aware of it. He told you he would be gone for three weeks. And that’s fine; you could spare less than a month of your life for the good of the rest of the world? It felt almost selfish to think that way. He wasn’t yours; he had to save the world, he belonged to the world – to himself.

So, you tried to keep yourself busy to distract yourself. But there really wasn’t much to do; hobbies you once enjoyed felt exhaustive and boring. The issue is you used to do everything with him: eat, work, eat, shower, sleep. Now it’s eat alone, work alone, eat alone, shower alone, sleep alone; each task a glaring reminder how desolate it was.

Floating, but I feel like I’m dying

Your routine felt like nothing – it just felt empty, the way that it lacked conversation, playfulness, fun, it lacked him. Nothing, in fact, felt real. You walked around the neighborhood and it felt like a fever dream, like you were gliding along the sidewalks. Not a single thought roamed through your mind, just the absence of what used to be. The days always went by painstakingly slow, but every Friday night you wondered how the week had gone by so quickly.

Your friends invited you out on the weekend, and while you mostly said no, they made sure to drag you out a couple times. The company was honestly welcome, it just felt like an empty effort to get dressed up and go to the bar when you really would rather be there (or home – in bed) with someone else. But by the time your friends got you in a routine to go out, Bucky came back home to you.

Months went by while the two of you were attached at the hip, smiles never leaving either of your mouths.

You woke up one morning to a heavy figure sprawled across half of your naked body. Yawning and trying your best to inhale a breath with his chest laying directly on top of yours, you flexed your arms and legs straight out, cracking a few joints that had been overused just a few hours ago. Bucky’s eyes popped open, his blue iris’s peering into your own. He rubbed an eye-booger away with the palm of his hand and started off the morning with “I have to leave tonight.”

You were confused and you knew he could read it on your face. “No good morning?” You joked haphazardly, trying your best not to blurt out every thought racing across your mind at that moment – the main one being what the fuck?

“’M sorry, baby,” he mumbled, still half asleep, pushing his face into the corner of your neck, planting a wet kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, then your jaw.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” Your fingers traced up and down his back, nicking on the scratches you left last night; nearly healed but you knew they were there.

He hummed and lifted his head to press a kiss to your lips. “Couple weeks.” Another kiss. “I’m not sure.” That being said, you didn’t bring it up again. It was better to spend the day binging pancakes and watching movies in bed than discussing it any further.

I know it’s easier to run

After everything I’ve done

It was finally time for him to leave. After all your distraction kisses didn’t work. As soon as the clock hit 8:00 pm, he stood, despite you feigning sleep beside him. He leaned over you on the bed and held a head to your cheek, then pushed the hair from your face. You opened your eyes, holding his hand in yours. He stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, just watching each other with sad eyes. “I wish I could stay,” he murmured.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. As he straightened back up, you stood next to him, pulling a shirt on and following him to the door. After opening the door, he cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you close to him. “See you soon, okay, doll?” If this was his best reassurance tactic, it wasn’t very good. You met his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, tongues swiping over each other, exchanging the words you couldn’t find earlier. Slowly, he kissed you back, releasing a long breath as he pulled away.

And then you did it.

“I love you.”

And then you regretted it.

He stared back at you, eyes scanning over the whole of your face: faltering smile, eyebrows drawn together, eyes suddenly glazed with worry.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).”

He turned and shut the door without looking back or saying another word. He really left. He really ran away.

Tears welled up into your eyes. Like that morning, the only thought you could process: what the fuck? albeit, this time, it was a little angrier than before. What did that mean? You immediately assumed he was done with you. But the more you laid on your bed, sobbing your eyes out into your pillow, the more that didn’t make sense. There’s no way he wanted to breakup with you – he was so happy before he left. Maybe he just didn’t love you? Maybe he loved you but he just wasn’t ready to say it? And honestly, knowing Bucky, it was most likely the last option. He enjoyed spending every waking moment with you doing the most absolute boring tasks; you don’t just suffer like that if you don’t love that person.

Then again, despite agreeing to take this relationship slow, he surely did not have a problem basically moving into your house and sleeping with you (which you would’ve assumed to be a much greater step than saying “I love you,” considering he was from 1917 where usually the order is reversed).

All that worrying seemed to be in vain. He returned to you no later than 13 days after.

You pulled open to your front door only to find a sheepish-looking Bucky on the other side. His hands were tucked into his pockets, shoulders shrugged unusually high as he stared directly at the ground. But as soon as that door swung open and he saw you standing bewildered on the other side, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off the ground against his chest. He hummed softly into your collarbone, “I missed you.”

And suddenly your heart began beating out of your chest. You hands found his hair and you gently untangled the knots, while you shut your eyes and breathed in his earthy scent. So, you’d been right: Bucky was just weird. You didn’t want to relive that scene from two weeks ago, instead opting to relax in his arms. “I missed you, too.”

Growing, but I’m just growing tired

Now I’m worried for my soul

And I’m still scared of growing old

As time went on, him leaving became more frequent. You couldn’t help the fact that they were getting a lot of new leads. Honestly, you couldn’t be more grateful to have Bucky. Not only is he the light of your life, but invariantly the same for everyone else in the world. His job was to protect people and you couldn’t imagine the world if he wasn’t off doing what he did so well. But they became more frequent and longer. Lately, it had felt like the two of you had spent more time apart than together.

Laying on the couch, his cheek resting atop of your chest, his torso and hips nestled between your legs, you broke the calm silence. “So next Friday’s my birthday,” you mumbled.

He chuckles in response, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Is this your way of reminding me to get you a gift? Because don’t worry, doll, I already got you something.” He winked and set his cheek back to his original position, softly shutting his eyes as you curled a lock of his hair around your finger.

“No,” you giggle back, rolling your eyes to yourself. “I want to take a trip. I think we should get away for the weekend.” You released the strand of hair, instead running your hand over the back of his neck. “What do you think?”

He sits up immediately, no disregard for your hands, and shakes his head. “(Y/N), you know that I can’t. What if they need me and I’m not here?”

You bite your lip, quickly searching for something to say. And what you blurt out actually happens to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. “Aren’t there like a million Avengers? I think you can take one weekend off.”

Now he rolls his eyes and scoffs. “(Y/N), you can’t be serious. You know it doesn’t work like that.” And at this point, you’re not sure if he’s talking about the Avengers not working like that or if your relationship doesn’t work like that – after all, he still never said “I love you” back. Not when he came home that time, not when he left for the next mission, not for your one-year anniversary, and not after the fact he realized that date occurred while he was away on work.

“I know, but – ”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, his tone harsh. “But no.” The way his jaw sets and eyes narrow at you doesn’t make you think he’s very sorry.

Staring back at him, you nod, getting up from the couch before he can see the tears well up in your eyes (for the record, he saw them). “I’m tired, Buck. Goodnight.” And with that, you scurried off to your bedroom. You locked the door and fell onto the bed, silently letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You buried your face into your pillow, throwing his against the wall, the smell of your bed – that smelled like him – pissing you off beyond belief.

Was this going to be your life? Constantly leaving, never saying “I love you” when everything he does clearly shows that he’s in love with you. There as a point in your life when you thought men were confusing. But, damn, James Barnes is a whole new story.

He clearly got the message that he’d be sleeping on the couch that night. He didn’t disturb you for the rest of the night – he didn’t even try. Could he hear you sobbing in your room? You could only assume yes. But that clearly didn’t make a difference to him.

But that’s okay. You’ve learned how to console yourself, how to calm yourself down during a panic attack, how to make the tears stop on your own.

That would become your reality. Would that be your future? Bucky talked about the future – quite a lot, actually, especially for being the one who won’t say “I love you.” He wanted to settle down, he wanted the future that was taken away from him years ago: to eventually settle down, raise little babies, grow old with you. He surely liked to talk about it, but never show it. There had to be some way he could ask Steve to take a weekend off. If he was reluctant to do it now, would he ever? Or would you just live in the shadows of his life, tying down the house alone, raising babies alone, growing old alone.

The next morning, you woke up to Bucky next to you in bed. He stroked your hair until you opened your eyes (that you could only assumed were swollen and red). He had apologized for the night before, pleaded for you to understand, and even gave you your birthday gift early. While you decided to forgive him, for the sake of the universe, you still couldn’t bury the hatchet completely. You weren’t going to show it, but what you were thinking about was important, and dammit you were justified in asking yourself those questions. (Even more justified to ask him those questions, but it was just never the right time).

And I’m so used to letting go

But I don’t want to be alone

One day, months later, your grandfather had passed away. It came as quite a shock, and it took you a few hours to even process the fact that he was gone. You’d been through countless calls with other family members and friends checking in on you. And while everyone meant well, every call resulted with you in a rush to hang-up, falling into a fit of sobs as you ended each call.

He had basically raised you since you were born and the fact that he had been ripped away from you so suddenly had burned you even more. Despite how sad you were, however, you had to be glad that you were able to fall apart in Bucky’s arms. Holding you tightly, reassuring you yet never telling you you’re overreacting. As someone who had been around loss his whole life, he definitely understood and thought it best to let you express your feelings earnestly.

That’s why, when Steve Rogers called his phone later that night, you couldn’t help but express your feelings very earnestly.

“Bucky, no, you’re not going.” You were sitting up in bed, in the middle of the night, darkness swallowing the room as Bucky stood to dress, not even bothering to turn on the lamp beside him.

“(Y/N), I have to. Please, don’t make this hard, baby.” His hand reached out to touch your cheek if only for a moment before he continued to dress and gather his things.

Tears fell down your cheeks freely, your voice coming out cracked as you begged him once more. It might have been pitiful, from his eyes, you’d assume. You were only one step away from looking like a sobbing toddler making grabby hands at her favorite toy. “Please, Bucky. You can’t leave me alone right now.” A sob rips through your throat and you nearly scream. “I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

You’d done the research: there were at least 12 Avengers nowadays. You didn’t know who was in what galaxy, but you were positive that one of them could take his place. Its not like he even really had superpowers. He was basically an enhanced man – plus they already had one of those? Surely, he could be spared this time around.

He shakes his head but sits down to pull you in his arms. “Baby, please. You can’t do this to me.”

And it takes everything in your whole being to not scoff. Do this to him? What exactly are you doing to him? Oh, just something he does to you on the weekly basis. You swallow your tears and shove him away. You don’t know what made you pull a complete 180, but it did finally feel good to get some things off your chest that had been plaguing your mind recently. “You always leave. I’m used to it.”

He opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. He watches you pull the covers over yourself and turn away from him. He closes his mouth and leaves the room.

God only knows where our fears go

Hearts I’ve broke, now my tears flow

You’ll see that I’m sorry

Cause you were good to me

It was the post-mission jitters. The remnants of the adrenaline from earlier that day still coursed through his veins as he paced back and forth around the jet, eagerly anticipating his return to you.

“What’s up yours?” Sam asks, eyes narrowed at Bucky, clearly in confusion but also in annoyance.

Bucky stops in his tracks, eyes wide, feeling as though he had been invisible for the whole plane ride. He shrugs, and as Sam raises an eyebrow, he offers an explanation: “I’ve gotta see (Y/N).”

A grin breaks out on Sam’s face. He falls back in his chair, throws a hand over his heart and pretends to faint. “Oh, you have to see your lover. I’m Bucky, I’m so in love,” he mimics in a high-pitched voice.

Where Bucky normally would threaten to beat Sam to within an inch of his life, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He stood, staring at Sam’s hideous imitation of himself – he swears his heart stopped beating. “Yes, exactly.”

Sam chokes and stutters a “what?” before Steve interrupts them from the cockpit.

“We’re landing, guys. Buck, grab a seat.” So, Bucky does exactly what he’s told, plopping himself into the seat across from Sam, ignoring all the questions and comments from the man across from him.

God, he mentally kicks himself. It’s been almost two years. Two years you let him treat you like that. Now, while Bucky doesn’t think he’s done anything outwardly wrong and had obviously never purposely tried to hurt you, maybe he could’ve been a little better regarding work. Maybe he could’ve taken that weekend off with you.

You really consumed his whole life. His thoughts were constantly about you (mostly sweet and innocent, sometimes dirty), he constantly wanted to be by you, talking, laughing, touching.

He made up his mind before the plane even lands. The last mission is over, and new – personal – one begins.

He leaves the complex, stopping by the florist to buy the biggest bouquet of roses he can get his hands on. A grin is itching at his mouth as he anticipates your reaction during the rest of his drive. His heart is racing – in a good way. In a way he hasn’t felt in, well, forever. His confidence is at an all-time high as he’s never felt surer of himself in his life.

He’s already planned it out. You’ll open the door and he’ll scoop you up in his arms, hand you the flowers, and finally say “I love you.” He doesn’t know what took him so long anyway.

And now I’m closing every door

Cause I’m sick of wanting more

You know he didn’t get to decide when he left and for how long he’d be gone.

But he did get to decide his priorities. And honestly, you weren’t even sure if you were one of them anymore.

You were torn because you know how much his work means to him. Not only was it his calling, but it was something he thought was important to use his good work as a means to make up for all the bad things he’s done in the past. And while you’ve told him multiple times that that’s definitely not how it works, nothing will change his logic. So, you’ve stood by him; if it was important to him, it was important to you. Of course, you wanted to see your boyfriend exceed, feel fulfilled.

Now, you were just tired of seeing Bucky like that when it cost you everything. He was your everything. You had a job, yes, a home, a family. But the one person you were supposed to be with – actually be with – didn’t value you the same as his job. And thinking that to yourself just has to be the worst, most necessary wake-up call you need.

That was all you needed. You sat at your desk with a pen and a piece of paper. You couldn’t even think of an opening line for about two hours. Sitting there, chewing the inside of your cheek, you wrote countless paragraphs, scrapping some, keeping others, adjusting sentences, trying not to sound too mean – then having to start over because your teardrops fell onto the paper and smudged the ink.

All in all, it took you two days to write him the note – note turned letter. You folded it in three, left it on his pillow. As you placed it down, you broke out in tears. Falling to your knees, you shoved your face into the mattress, wailing into the sheets one last time. It remarkably still smelled of Bucky’s soap; probably just god handing you one more gut-wrenching blow.

You’d spent the night on the couch, unable to bear the sight of that letter or the smell of those blankets. The next morning, you tried to keep your head as clear as possible. No breakfast (no more pancakes with Bucky), no music (no reminders of your song), no phone (no messages from Bucky). It was time to leave. Time to leave this house, this life, this relationship. You’d quickly shoved a few bags full of clothes and necessities and threw them in the back of your car, not looking back. Just like he did after you’d told him you loved him.

Swear I’m different than before

I won’t hurt you anymore

Cause you were good to me

He practically skips up the steps. Knocking first, he rocks up and down on his tip-toes unable to contain his excitement anymore. Not getting an immediate response, he knocks again.

It would make sense that you weren’t home if it was work hours, but it was 7:00 pm. Bucky was thrown-off; you’d be at home eating dinner right now. Chalking it off to maybe you were in the bathtub, he digs around in his pocket for the key. Pushing the door open, he cautiously looks around the kitchen, then the dining room and living room, unable to find you. The bathroom was empty, and you hadn’t responded to him calling your name, echoing throughout the house.

He pulled out his phone while carefully kicking the bedroom door open with his foot. Straight to voicemail. Voicemailbox full. He tosses the roses beside him on the bed and sits on the edge, nearly ready to go searching again before a piece of paper catches his eye.

His heart drops.

It sinks.

There’s not a time in his whole one-hundred-year existence that he’d felt this much anticipation and fear.

He grabs the letter with shaking hands, carefully unfolding it and his eyes are fixated on the date you’d scribbled at the top of the page. Two months ago.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #fanfiction #angst #bucky barnes angst #captain america #bucky x you #bucky fanfic

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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Accidentally deleted my Tyrian and Watts asks while I was trying to fix a mistake so... Sorry about that, everyone! Here they are! Tyrian and Watts for the RWBY character asks!

Let’s do Tyrian first, because I have less to say about him, I feel like.

My top three ships for the character

Tyrian/Watts. Dysfunctional villainous romance of the century, no one knows how they’ve managed to make it to their tenth anniversary without killing each other, including them. Tyrian/Salem is my second top ship for him. Major Bellatrix/Voldy vibes with this one, but I could see it. Tyrian/Hazel is my third ship for lack of options. Does this one make sense? No. But I can at least see Tyrian being super flirty and Hazel being endlessly tired, but never really stopping it. (Also I hate Hazel so much lol.)

My three least favorite ships for the character

Tyrian/Qrow sucks for me. Like... I kinda feel like two people fighting each other just gets shippers, which is fine and totally understandable. But for me, Tyrian poisoning Qrow and almost killing him and calling his beloved niece a bitch and then killing Clover is a big no from me, dog. On that note! Tyrian/Clover is also one big no from me, since Clover murdered him. And Tyrian/Ozpin is another really big no from me. Tyrian and his crazy Salem worship can stay five hundred and fifty feet away from my son.

My biggest criticism for the character

They went a little too much on the crazy in the fourth and fifth season and it made him feel annoying. Like, I don’t mind the Bellatrix vibes, but I do mind the movie version Bellatrix vibes, sometimes. It just got kinda annoying. I wish his crazy was always more on the dangerous side and less on the kooky side, but that’s just personal opinions.

My favorite thing about the character

The way people are so uncomfortable around him. Whenever Tyrian talks to Emerald or Mercury, he’s honestly freaky. Like both me and the characters are waiting for him to snap. That’s a great quality in a villain that we’re meant to hate or love to hate. He has a real presence and it’s enjoyable.

A headcanon I have about them

Tyrian doesn’t often try to act normal, but he can, and he’s got a great ‘respectable, cool guy’ act that’s actually a little reminiscent of Qrow or Clover. He’s even passed himself as a Huntsman here and there.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

More involvement in volumes 4 and 5, and I’d treat him a bit more seriously and make him a bit more dangerous. Maybe I’d have him wound a member of Team RNJR in his attack as well as poison Qrow (maybe give Jaune a reason to unlock his semblance in season 4 and in response to the pain of a member of his team. Also, his ‘Tyrian purple’ color should be more than just the color of his eyes. Like, how come so many RWBY characters season 4 and onward have such boring colors? I’d give Tyrian some strong purple and pink.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Tyrian alludes to the animal fable ‘the Scorpion and the Frog,’ and that’s... really in name only, I think. A part of me wants to give them some kind of points for having Qrow work with him against Clover, only for Tyrian to kill Clover, which lines up with his ‘its just my nature’ scorpion stinging the frog so that they’ll both drown and die. But they didn’t mean for Qrow to really be wrong! They didn’t mean for the lesson to be ‘Qrow shouldn’t have trusted the poisonous villain’ it was ‘wowza does Qrow’s semblance hurt him. :( Too bad Clover got himself killed.’ Which makes the whole allusion kind of suck.

Now for Watts, the single best villain in my opinion.

My top three ships for the character

Tyrian/Watts. See above. This ship would be a dysfunctional mess, but it’d be a wild ride. Watts/Villain!Ironwood. I kind of hate this ship when it’s ‘fallen hero turned villain’ Ironwood. But if he actually had been written as a secret villain or obviously headed that way from the start, I can see him and Watts also being a dysfunctional mess of a wild ride ship, only with way more ‘evil power couple’ vibes than Tyrian and Watts would have. Also my favorite version of this features Watts having been the one to build Penny (maybe by stealing the plans from Pietro) and him and Ironwood raising a still bright and cheerful, still innocent and trusting, villain Penny who will attack to kill with a smile on her face and a ‘it was nice meeting you!’ And this is very weird and niche but Watts/Evil Stepsister (specifically the one with the sharp bangs and highlights.) Someone sent me an ask saying the Evil Stepmother and stepsisters should’ve been connected to Salem and gotten Cinder involved and I totally agree with this. I then started envisioning a world where the step sisters competed with Cinder and all three of them were raised in Salem’s circle. In this version of things, I could totally picture one of the step sisters having a romantic tension driven connection with Watts and the two of them subtly flirting sometimes (and bonding over their mutual hatred of Cinder.) I picked the sister with bangs for no real reason except that I like her look more.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Watts/Cinder. Watts thinks of her like a bratty little girl, and Cinder kills him. Watts/Lionheart. Kinda really hate this one because of how clearly Lionheart was terrified of him. Just a bit uncomfortable for me to see that in a relationship. Watts/Hero!Ironwood or Watts/HeroTurnedVillain/Ironwood. Sorry, but Ironwood in canon got such a bad, bad portrayal in season 8 and the end of season 7, and I just can’t help but blame Watts for quite a bit of it. I only like them as a ship if Ironwood is an antagonist from the start.

My biggest criticism for the character

They shouldn’t have killed him! He was one of Salem’s best followers and one of the best villains and it was such a big mistake to kill literally one of the only actual loyal followers. It threw off any character development for Cinder and it was a big mistake. I really wanted the Cinder / Watts / Neo team up to keep going! I’m so disappointed it got thrown away.

My favorite thing about the character

Watts is an entitled, petty bastard, and I think that’s so good for a villain that isn’t meant to be social commentary (because tbh, RWBY never should’ve tried to be social commentary.) Watts isn’t sympathetic, he’s an Atlas born and raised guy in a three piece suit, he’s posh, he’s upset because he wasn’t given exactly what he wanted. Most of the villains in RWBY are either victims of abuse, systemic oppression, or poverty, and that’s... Not fun in a show that’s never handled social commentary well and is about magical girls destroying Voldemort/Satan with the power of friendship (Ruby literally never says anything about Faunus rights iirc.) Watts is refreshing because he’s exactly the type of villain that you can expect in a show like what RWBY should’ve been, and he flourishes as that. Why would we be sympathetic to Watts when he’s just doing this all because he wasn’t picked first for his tech? Why would we feel soured towards conflicts with Watts and Team RWBY? He’s just a petty bastard being evil because he was snubbed. Why would we be frustrated that incredibly significant problems are being shoved to the side with Watts? He’s a fun villain, he’s not meant to be more, he’s not meant to make you emotionally invested only to then be gutted for it. You can hate to love him without it feeling bad. Maybe that’s why he’s just my favorite non-kid villain (other than Roman.)

A headcanon I have about them

Watts has been trying to build his own AI robot like Penny, in his spare time. He wanted it to be done in time to become a Maiden, but it wasn’t, and Salem gave that slot to Cinder and got after Watts for not contributing enough. He of course thought this was deeply unfair (especially after being made to contribute a lot to Cinder’s Beacon success without getting any credit for it.) And this just fueled his hatred of Cinder, his hatred of Pietro and Ironwood, and by extension, his hatred of Penny.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I would keep him freaking alive and keep up the pair up he had going on with Cinder and Neo! But also I’d increase his relationships with Emerald, Mercury, Tyrian, Hazel... Just some more Salem’s Inner Circle moments to flesh out their characters. Other than that, I wouldn’t change much. He’s a pretty good character.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

Okay, I’ve talked about his character allusion in a very long post awhile ago, but I’m not scrolling down that far to tag it. To sum it up... I hate his allusion. XD I loved the Sherlock Holmes books and read most of them, and I didn’t realize he was supposed to allude to John Watson until I read someone else’s post saying so, and I started freaking out about how awful it was. Watts has so little in common with Watson, he’s essentially the anti-Watson. Which basically means he’s Sherlock Holmes, the opposite of Watson in almost every way, up to and including freaking faking his death which is one of the most iconic Sherlock Holmes thing ever. Watts is everything Sherlock Holmes is on his worst days, arrogant, callous, consumed with his projects, petty, smug, over the top - as well as being hyper intelligent and a genius who often just gets passed over. He has rivalries with his colleagues like Holmes did. And like I said, he faked his death, only to reveal himself to an old friend later on the cusp of carrying out a scheme. He’s evil Holmes! He has nothing to do with John Watson - caring, humble, down to earth, not brilliant like his friend but content to be ordinary and special because of his emotional depth and devoted heart, medical former doctor who spends quite a lot of time chronicling the successes of someone else because he’s content to live in the background. Don’t get me wrong, a ‘Watson’ character who is evil could work - Watson himself indulged in crime for the sake of Holmes sometimes in the original works and if he worshipped Salem or one of her followers and did everything for her while still being a more humble, more friendly, not brilliant person he could be good - but Watts is not that person. Even the gimmicks Watts is given are stupid and don’t make it obvious he’s Watson. Boy’s got a moustache and a revolver and they thought that’d be enough. Idk why they thought 'we’ll make him Watson’ when he’s clearly a Holmes! Also, he’s supposed to be ‘Watson if he’d met Moriarty instead of Holmes,’ and to that I say boo! Watson wouldn’t turn into a super genius just because he meets a different mastermind!

...That’s summing up my feelings, yeah. Because I have so many feelings about his warped, weird character allusion. If I was changing it, I’d just make him Holmes like I think he was clearly supposed to be.

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beautifulterriblequeen · 4 years

Text

What if moonshadow elves lost knowledge about themselves?

Hello, hope you have a nice day ! :D

(wait, is it day, for you?) hem! Anyway.

I was analylzing Moonshadow elves again and now I’m asking myself something, wonder what you would think about it:

Remember my “epiphany about the moon arcanum”?, when I said there’s maybe another side of their arcanum Moonshadow elves don’t know about? Something more life-light related:hope.

At first I said “they don’t know about” without really thinking about it. But, what if it’s true? I mean, what if there truly is a part they don’t know about their arcanum, or maybe forgot along the years? What if the war made Moonshadow elves focus so much on death-kill and all they kinda…. lost some of their knowledge about themselves?

(I think I remember one of your old analysis (I think it was you, I can’t find it anymore), where you compared “young ethari” in the endcredits to the actual one. Where we saw him first doing jewelry, full of hope about life, and the actual one who let that aside to focus on the war)

Add to this their community is described as “really close-knit”, which means more or less isolationism and so a stagnant, unable to evolve society. A society where the same rules were applied for centuries and so inevitably lost their deep meaning with time.

I thought it was maybe exaggerated to think this way, but then I remembered the creators said there is 5000years of history in TDP. Even with longer lifespan, there’s no way elves didn’t forget some things with time. (I compare this situation to another one: some discoveries were recently made in egypt, and we learned that a few thousands years ago egyptian themselves re-discovered things they had discovered several centuries prior and forgot)

So I tried to find proof in the show and the novelization, and guess what? We have some! (or, well, it’s more my HC, but as I said, it’ just a theory)

I think this way especially because of Runaan, who was so sure there was “only one way to release”. But then, Zym came and cut Rayla’s ribbon. My personal HC on this is that only the life who was supposed to be avenged can release the assassin from the binding. It would make sense when you know Moonshadow elves “take life but they do not take it lightly”. But even if I’m mistaking, the central fact is that there is more than one way and, clearly, Moonshadow elves don’t know it (if the leader of the assassins doesn’t, then who could?)

What I find interesting here, is that Runaan recites this ritual at the beginning, about how precious life is, like a litany but the way he insists (especially in the novel) about killing Ezran even after he saw the egg, could be the proof it’s just that, a ritual. A ritual whose words lost all their sense, their deep meaning for his people.

Ok, it’s not much, but I think the combination of isolationism, stucking to rules without understanding them deeply and time, is the perfect recipe to lose your way, no?

Oh, and a crazy other point in between these two theories about “hope” and “lost knowledge” woud be: If there is another aspect of the moon, other elves more hope-related (like Ethari or Rayla), why not another form?

Like sunfire elves have heat and light-being mode, Moonshadow elves could have something else too?. It’s probably stupid, I’m only thinking this way because of how Rayla feels while in moonshadow form in the novelization. It’s not that she hates it or something, but it makes her feel dizzy, as if she wasn’t suited for this. And if not, maybe it’s because she’s suited for another form?

(sorry, I hope I’m coherent on this one, I’m a little exhausted and my thoughts are a little messy ^^’)

______________

Okay, @lily-lilou, just let me catch my breath, this whole thing is a ride and I loved it. We definitely vibing here, fam.

whew

Okay, from the top, because I’ve had a lot of these thoughts myself and I’m so stoked to see someone else independently coming up with them!

Yes 100% to Moonshadows losing a part of their own history. (And yeah, I do have a post somewhere on Ethari’s evolution. Probably called it that iirc) If we’re right about Moonshadows having lived in Katolis before the lands were divided, living right near their own Nexus as the Sunfires still do, then when they packed up and left, it’s very possible they literally couldn’t bring everything with them.

I have a quirky little hc that there are still, to this day, Moonshadow villages hiding behind ancient protection spells in Katolis, and that people wander past them every day and have no idea. But it’s one thing not to be able to pack up your actual village. It’s another to leave behind records of your people’s past, their accomplishments and dealings and discoveries.

*eyes Lujanne’s truly massive library, with its huge walls covered in runes and books* This is where the full history of the Moonshadow people probably is kept. And no one has access to it but her.

Those who headed east would only know what they carried with them, and what was handed down orally through the generations. But see, if my headcanon about the Moonshadow assassins being created at that time ends up being true, then that’s probably bad news for history and truth. When you create a whole new class within your culture, you need to bolster it with ideology. You use myth, cultural norms, and current events to make it seem important.

You tell everyone that being an assassin is the most honorable job there is. And then it’s suddenly cool to be an assassin.

If there were no Moonshadow assassins before the humans were booted out west, then everything Runaan says to Rayla, everything he believes, is pretty young compared to his people’s full history, which he may not know, at least in its true and undistorted form. It’s an illusion. Rhetoric. Propaganda meant to hold soft elves who deeply value life to the hardest task they’ll ever undertake: taking that life from another, for a cause they cannot turn away from, a purpose they are culturally indebted to. Because their people, their princess (?), was the one who asked for the humans to be spared, and so every mistake the humans make from that point on is the Moonshadow elves’ duty to handle.

Runaan was wrong about how many ways there are to release. Has Zym truly been the only victim who wasn’t actually dead, in a whole thousand years? Honestly, probably not, knowing how politics works. But see, if you have an elite squad devoted to serving Xadia, and you tell them that their hands will literally fall off and they will die if they don’t do their jobs because there is only one way to release the ribbon they’re honor-bound to wear, they will take their target or die trying. And if you maybe exaggerated reports of the victim’s death for political purposes and actually have them in a dungeon, or they fled to the human lands as a refugee, or any number of other squirrelly options that Moonshadows aren’t naturally inclined to consider, then you can literally get away with murder-by-proxy. Or containment. Or intimidation. Or whatever your purpose is in taking out a human target who may or may not even be guilty of the crime you allege against them. It might not even be Zubeia and Avizandum’s fault. Unless they can detect truth and lies, they can be deceived by someone unscrupulous with an agenda of their own.

Long paragraph long, there are a lot of problems with the existence and practical duties of Moonshadow assassins. They’re kind of like the War Doctor: born form conflict, and thus only able to serve it, instead of peace. Yes, we all want Runaan to get his happy ending, retire, go home to his soft husband. But really, the whole institution of the assassins needs to go. It was born of war, and if Xadia and the human lands make peace, truly, then the assassins should be dissolved. As I said in one of my fics, Moonshadow assassins are Xadia’s dark magic, turning death into power. It’s gotta stop on both sides.

One of my oneshots for January’s Ruthari Week played with the idea of Ethari having a moonform instead of a shadowform, because yes to elves having two kinds of forms in each culture! I would love to see that for all the elves. And if we use Sunfire elves as a kind of roadmap, with “sun” and “fire” being the heat- and light-beings, then maybe the other elves get their two forms from their names as well. Or so my headcanon went for that fic: a moon form to balance the shadow form, where the elf’s body can glow like the full moon. I didn’t really touch on what that form’s ability would be, but I suppose, logically, it would serve as a portable full moon, powering other nearby Moonshadows even when the moon was down, or new, or a small crescent.

Okay, that’s just fun. I like that idea a lot. The only time “just stand there and look pretty” can be used as a battle tactic!

I can see Rayla getting to have the rare Moonshadow power. That would make her a good balance for Callum and his unusual arcanum as a human. Part misfit, part superpower. It would also probably be a power that puts her closer to Ethari’s soft and protective attitude, no matter what the power really is, since the assassins in Moonshadow culture have clearly adopted their natural shadowy form as a mission tactic, attacking specifically on full moon nights. Literally any other kind of power is probably going to be softer, lighter, more lively and bright, in concept if not literally so. Maybe the other power kicks in on new moons? or is available at any time? I really hope we get a second Moonshadow power of some kind. I am down for all the extra worldbuilding!

Thanks once again for your thoughts! *fist bump* Moonshadow elves. You get it.

#asks #tdp speculatoin #tdp headcanons #moonshadow elves #rayla #runaan #callum #submission

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weird-incarnate · 3 years

Text

Angel.Exe: The Worst Time to Confess

I’m a sucker for angst and shipping content. Gotta make it hurt

TW: Guns, Attempted Murder, Near Death Experience, Valentine literally falls off a building

Summary: Valentine dreaded the day Damien would find her. That day happens to be today. With no where to run, will she be able to survive the wrath of the man who stole her wings?

Dr. Valentine studied the letter she received with worried eyes. The letters were written in a familiar drawl and she knew only one person on this damned planet that called her sweetheart. It meant the obvious. Damien had found her. Again. Swearing, Valentine threw the letter across the room, knowing she’d have to cancel her outing with Dr. Charles Afton. It really was the last thing she should’ve been worried about to be completely honest, but that strange doctor had come to mean a lot to her lately, as much as she denied it to Mortus. When doing procedures on patients, she finds herself wishing the doctor was there to help her, so she could witness his expertise. When cooking food she wonders what his favorite meal is, and if she could learn to make it. When she dresses up for the day, she hopes she runs into him, if anything to try and earn a compliment from him. The man was a brick wall half the time, but when she got even the slightest bit of a reaction, it made her heart flutter.

She really didn’t want to cancel on meeting with Afton at the park where they had their first encounter. He hadn’t exactly saved her life that day as she had told him. If anything saved her the pain of being stuck inside healing for several months. It wasn’t that easy to kill an angel. But by God did it take forever to heal.

Shaking her head at the memories of Afton, she moved to message the doctor on her computer hoping he wasn’t busy.

Valentine: Hey. Something’s come up with me personally. I can’t go out for a while. I’m really sorry to cancel but it’s important.

She clicked send hoping he wouldn’t ask further questions. She saw the three dots on the screen pop up, and disappear, then reappear. He was probably figuring out what to type.

Afton: S’okay. Stay safe.

Valentine rolled her eyes at his brief answer, smiling. Part of her wanted to invite Afton over to the house, but she knew Mortus would throw a fit. He wasn’t there to watch them like hawks to make sure no debauchery was afoot. Frankly, Valentine couldn’t care less about the specific “debauchery” Mortus accused her of trying to achieve. She just wanted to have some company knowing she’d have to lay low for a while.

Accepting her fate, she stood up and examined herself in the mirror. She was having a good pain day so she was capable of standing and walking for a couple minutes at a time. Vanity was never something that came to Valentine naturally because of her condition. She was scarred up from the attempts on her life, not to mention the giant scars on her back that had caused damage to her ability to walk. She turned around, craning her neck to evaluate the scars in the mirror, before admitting defeat and pulling a pink oversized sweater on over her underthings. She was completely admitting defeat at this point. May as well not bother with pants and just get some cleaning done. It’d be awhile before she could go back outside.

Or at least that’s what she thought.

Valentine had been about two hours into cleaning while streaming a random show she had found when she heard a knock on the door. Confused, she pulled on her doctor's mask and adjusted her sweater to cover her up as best as it could. She stumbled over to the door, her legs starting to complain about the strain she’d been putting them under, and opened the door without thinking. To be greeted with the worst thing she could’ve.

Damien Matterson. The man who stole her wings.

She reacted by immediately slamming the door shut, or at least trying to as she scrambled out of the entryway and into the living room.

“Oh come on sweetheart! Is that how you greet an old friend?” He cackled, his proud horns glowing red with energy as he watched her scramble away and out the back door, “So we’re gonna do the chasing game. So be it.”

He stormed after her, not noticing the purple sparks dripping from the TV as he gave chase. What Valentine lacked in speed, and dexterity, she made up for with her quick thinking and evasiveness. She had managed to shove down several random items in the back alleyway onto him slowing him down, and scrambled inside an old building that was set to be demolished in a week. Jumping inside an abandoned crate, she yanked the lid on top and tilted her head up trying to quiet her breathing. Oh she was dead, she was so dead. She didn’t have her phone with her to call Mortus or anyone who would have helped. Immediately, her brain jumped to Charles Afton. She never got to tell him she loved him. Fuck, she loved him. It was the first time she admitted it to herself, but what better of a time than when you’re about to die.

Valentine wasn’t able to think about that for much longer as Damien ripped off the lid to the crate and gripped her by the arm, yanking her out and holding her out in front of him. She tried kicking and struggling but his grip just tightened as he bore down at her with his black eyes. Valentine whimpered as he dragged her through the building, making sure to smack her against as many things he could, till she was battered and bruised. Her mask had fallen off at some point allowing her face to get scratched up. He didn't stop till they reached the rooftop of the old building, which by that point, Valentine had procured several large bruises, cuts and a bloody nose.

“Well, Miss Valentine, it’s been a fun couple centuries hunting you, but I think enough’s enough,” He hissed, lifting Valentine up over the edge of the building, gripping her by her wrist. She looked at him confused. The drop wouldn’t kill her. It would definitely kill a human but not her.

“Uh…?” She dumbly said, staring at him.

“Oh yeah that’s right… Well good thing I brought this!” He chimed with a sick happiness in his voice. He used his spare hand to reach into his satchel and pull out a silver pistol, a sigil carved into its side. Valentine felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized the symbol from a long time ago. The angel sigil of Michael. This gun would kill her near instantly with one shot.

“How did you…?” She mumbled out her eyes wide.

“An old friend of mine hooked me up with something to take out the pesky nephilim problem we’ve been having,” He responded, admiring the gun before pressing it to her forehead. The door that led to the rooftop flew open nearly startling the demon into dropping Valentine, which while not pleasant would’ve been preferable. He looked over his shoulder to the door, as did Valentine and was met with Dr. Charles Afton standing there, looking quite pissed.

“What?! Afton?! Get out of here he’s going to kill you!!” Valentine screamed, her panic starting to rise.

“Oh you know each other? That makes this so much better! Take one step closer and I’ll put this bullet in her head,” Damien threatened.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Afton said, returning the threat. Valentine shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

“No! Don’t hurt him please!” Valentine begged, she winced at the panic she heard in her voice but she didn’t care. As long as Afton stayed alive she didn’t care. Damien looked at her, analyzing her face before he started laughing.

“No! Don’t tell me! You’re in love with him! Tell me I’m wrong Valentine!” Damien screamed at her as the tears spilled over in her eyes. She looked at Damien, hatred filling her eyes, before looking at Afton who’s angered expression stopped to one of confusion, he met her gaze and his eyes widened.

“Of course, I love him… He’s saved me so many times, from others, myself… Cruel people like you... How could I not fall in love with him…” Valentine said, her voice soft and calm as she looked away from Afton and towards Damien who was laughing. He had moved the gun away from her skull to laugh at his own sick joke and Valentine realized what she needed to do. She gripped his wrist with her free hand, and fired out a light energy blast from her palm. Damien screamed at the pain and retracted his arm letting her go. She dropped off the edge, and proceeded to fall ten stories. Even though Valentine knew she wouldn’t die, a scream ripped itself from her throat as she felt the weightlessness of her free fall and her hands reached out attempting to grip anything she could but was met with air. She heard a gunshot before her body hit the ground, and everything went black.

. . .

It would take three days for Valentine’s body to heal up enough that she could become conscious. She was immediately aware of the pain in her body the moment she was able to wake up. Could she just.. Go back to sleep? Was that an option?

Unfortunately it was not as she found herself opening her eyes and being met with the ceiling of her room. There was an IV in her arm, something she assumed Mortus had put in to keep her energy stable. She was vaguely aware of the sound of Mortus talking to someone in the living room. Figuring it to be best to get his attention, she called out Mortus’s name.

She was not expecting Mortus to throw open the door to her room that quickly, but what she expected even less was Afton to come barreling in after him. She tilted her head to see them better as Mortus rushed to her side and began asking a slurry of questions. She ignored them all and reached out her arm towards Afton, now noticing just how doped up on meds she was. He hesitated for a moment before walking over to her bedside, and kneeling so he was at her eye level. He would be the first to speak.

“I… thought you died,” He mustered out.

“It takes more than that to kill me,” Valentine said, some of her words slurring together. Mortus checked her vitals quickly before nodding at Afton and leaving them alone.

“. . .Do you remember what you said before you fell?” Afton asked, his eyes reading her face for any sort of emotion. The memories came flooding back to her and she felt the tears well in her eyes again, and a squeaky sob came out.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to tell you like that but… I thought I was going to die! You… you don’t have to love me back I-I just… I’m sorry!” She babbled out, her chest struggling to keep up with her gasping breaths.

“Shhh…” He comforted, pausing for a moment, “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s okay…Would you at least like to know my response?”

“Huh…?”

“Because… I… I love you too.” Valentine looked at him, her tears running down her face, before smiling and letting out a strangled sob. He responded by petting her hair, just as he had done the first time they met and letting her sob. She would pass out soon after, leaving Afton alone with his thoughts. Admittedly, the biggest one on his mind was him scrapping the idea of using Valentine to his advantage. He had realized he hated seeing her hurt. He had realized he loved her. But the worst realization that hit was the one he was beating himself up about the most.

Damien had escaped and was still out there. Still looking to kill Valentine. And Dr. Afton was not going to let that happen.

#plague doctor #plaguecore #plaguesona #writing #Angel.exe ship tag #hhhh I wrote this in like two hours.

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krisseycrystal · 4 years

Photo

rated: t

fandom: Steven Universe

prompt: “Drunken Shenanigans” + BisPearl

requested by: Anon

SO UH a while ago a super sweet anon here on Tumblr req’d BisPearl + “Drunken Shenanigans” and the idea is GALAXY BRAIN let’s be real i just had to uh...take lots of creative liberties with ancient gem tech to fabricate a reason/way/method gems could become any semblance of “drunk”

then this 5k monster was born because i also felt like indiana jones-ing it and having a LOT of silly shenanigans

i haven’t written this long of a oneshot in a long while but it was FUN and i hope somewhere, out there, that anon that requested this enjoys it! if anyone else wants to req anything, i have about 3 fluff bingo prompts left so have at it

- o - o - o -

Open Again, My Home [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

Here’s the thing about exploring ancient gem ruins to assist an “infected” outpost gem colony on the fringes of gem-controlled space dealing with a problem caused by long-forgotten and time-corroded gem technology: if something in this abandoned temple is a potential threat to gemkind, then it is doubly threatening to humankind.

There are only two things keeping Pearl from completely freaking out: one, that Garnet has silently sworn that she won’t let go of Steven’s hand, and two, that Bismuth and Peridot--the only other two Crystal Gems who might know something about what they’re walking into--are with them.

“Whoa-ho-ho!”

Steven’s laughter is infectious: bright and booming. It bounces up and down the crumbling stone walls, and it would be comforting; it would be wonderful to hear; it would probably make her smile, if it didn’t remind Pearl every five minutes that he is here when he probably (no, definitely) should not be.

Steven’s gloved hands run over a long banner of ancient gem glyphs carved into the stone. A thin cord of light runs along the border, where a red dot zips down its surface. It lights up the transparent bubble of Steven’s helmet and illuminates the stars in his eyes.

“This is so cool…!” he enthuses. The quiet crackle of his suit’s radio underplays the projection of his voice, but does nothing to hide his wonder.

Bismuth scoffs and turns back to look at him. “You’re kidding me, right? That little emergency light-show’s nuthin’.”

“It looks cool.”

Bismuth opens her mouth to answer, but Pearl elbows her and sends her a Look that dries up her words in the middle of her throat. Bismuth holds up her hands. She turns around. “Just sayin’. I can make cooler.”

“Really?!”

“Bismuth, we don’t have time to humor him,” Pearl sighs. The light from her gem swings right and left, carefully analyzing every tile before they step on it. “The longer we’re here, the longer we risk exposure to whatever it is that’s affecting the colony.”

“Not a colony.”

“Outpost.” Pearl’s face squeezes tight. “Right.”

Bismuth watches her. They come to a stop, standing at the forefront of their traveling group. Peridot nearly runs into Bismuth, her eyes glued to the tablet she’s never without. Bismuth puts her hand on Peridot’s head and turns her to the left a few degrees. “You don’t have to be so stressed, Pearl. We’re gonna be fine. Tiny herself said this thing isn’t airborne.”

“It scientifically can’t be,” Peridot agrees, deftly stepping around Bismuth’s legs. “Our light-composed forms would be completely immune to it if it was.”

The hall ends in a T. A perpendicular, second hall stretches right and left. Peridot frowns and looks back down at her glowing screen. She swipes madly with her finger. Amethyst frowns, the epitome of boredom, as she peers over Peridot’s shoulder.

Pearl frowns and wraps her arms around herself. “Yes, I know that.”

“As far as I have been able to surmise, the virus is spread through direct contact with one’s gem.”

“Yes, I know, Peridot.”

“Besides, it’s not fatal to gems. It just makes us act strange.”

“I know.”

“Then relax?” Bismuth suggests. She looks Pearl’s rigid form up and down; there’s nothing but tension in her now. “We’re careful. We’re pro’s at fixing things for gem ex-colonies by this point. Besides, we ain’t gonna touch anything in here, Pearl. Peridot and her robonoids have got this covered.”

“I know. I know.” Pearl sighs again. She holds her forehead in her hand. “I just--”

“--ah-ha!” Peridot cheers and with a dramatic pose, directs the group left. “The central maintenance hub should be this way!”

“Woo-hoo!” Steven cheers with both fists in the air.

Bismuth looks to Pearl again. Pearl gives her a small, pained smile, turning away. Amethyst squeezes beyond them to follow on Peridot’s heels with a quiet, faux-accented, “Excuse me.” Steven giggles behind them after Garnet quietly murmurs something.

Bismuth follows Pearl down the darkened corridor.

- o - o - o -

“Interesting…”

“Whatcha got, Peri?”

“The cave-in above those towers.” Peridot taps her screen and zooms in on the data her robonoids are rapidly inputting. The tiny green orbs crawl all over the corroded remains of the temple’s central mainframe. “This planet’s strange merqua must’ve corroded away the temple stone, causing the ceiling to collapse over a couple hundred years ago.”

“Oh?” Amethyst pushes back the lock of her hair that wants to slip in front of her face. “Is, uh, that important to figuring out how to stop this virus?”

Peridot hums, tapping her finger against her chin. “Perhaps not. Unless determining how the virus came to be is our key to creating a cure.”

Pearl tries maybe too hard not to appear like she’s listening in. She stands like a sentry next to Garnet as Garnet sits cross-legged on the floor, both lap and arms full of a slumbering, space-suited and self-proclaimed moon boy.

When Peridot begins pacing again, stepping away and continually reading her screen, murmuring nonsense under her breath, Amethyst groans. She flips her long, white mane over her face and drags her feet towards the others. “Ugh! This is so boring. I wish we had something to fight.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Garnet murmurs.

Amethyst flops onto her face at Garnet’s knee. Her hair cushions her fall.

Pearl smiles. Her hand curls over her mouth. When she looks to the mainframe again, she sees Bismuth looking at the cave-in. Her broad hands sit on her hips; her mouth is twisted in a way that does nothing to disquiet the anxiety rolling in Pearl’s gut. She puts a hand on the back of Steven’s helmet and then walks over.

“What is it, Bismuth?”

Bismuth glances down at Pearl. “Aw, geez, Pearl. Promise me you’re not gonna flip?”

Pearl’s hands fist in front of her stomach. “Uh. If you tell me what that’s supposed to mean, I’ll think about it.”

Bismuth holds up a finger aimed at the ceiling cave-in. “That merqua is corrosive stuff, right? It ate right through the stone infrastructure of this temple. Course, it took time for that stone to break down, but that stuff’s been sitting here for how long? Centuries?”

“That’s what Peridot said.”

“It’s probably still eating away at this place,” Bismuth mumbles. “No wonder the tech’s all on the fritz. I ain’t ever seen anything like that merqua.”

Pearl lets out a deep and long exhale.

Bismuth turns to her and offers a smile. “Hey, though. Nice job.”

“On what?”

“Not flipping out.”

Pearl’s laugh is too forceful to be genuine. She waves a hand. “Oh, Bismuth, I believe somehow I’ve fooled you if you think this is any semblance of not freaking out.”

“You never did answer me. What’s got you worked up?”

“I--” Pearl stops and looks behind her, to Garnet and the boy curled into her shoulder.

Bismuth nods before Pearl has to say another word. “Steven.”

“Steven,” Pearl sighs. “Look, I realize he’s in that suit and Peridot has assured me over and over again it should protect him, but if it rips and he somehow comes into contact with that merqua, or his gem gets in contact with this virus…”

“If any of us come in contact with that merqua, really.” Bismuth’s face tightens. She scratches the back of her head. “I mean, you did hear me, right? That stuff’s corrosive. That…native liquid to this planet is literally eating through rock and it can malfunction our technology. That’s not something I want anywhere near any of us, human or gem or hybrid.”

“I know, but--”

“--Pearl, maybe for once you should stop bein’ so concerned about someone else, and spare some of that concern for yourself, too.”

Pearl blinks at Bismuth. She opens her mouth as if to say something, stops, and then asks instead, “What, do you think I’m not concerned about my own--”

A shudder runs through the stone of the room as, instantaneously, a loud crack booms loud as thunder.

Steven jerks awake, pulling himself up out of Garnet’s lap. “W-what was that?”

Garnet and Amethyst are on their feet half a second after him.

“Peridot.” Garnet’s voice is low in both warning and question.

Peridot steps back from the towers and monitors. Her fingers hover over her tablet screen, but her eyes roam side-to-side, up-and-down across the chamber. Her gaze lands on the merqua, still steadily dripping down through the broken cracks.

“Uh. I think that was the temple,” Peridot mumbles. “That wasn’t the mainframe.”

Another shudder and a part of the floor drops from under their feet.

It slants at a lopsided angle, the room jaggedly cracked two-thirds of the way across its expanse.

Caught in surprise, Bismuth nearly slips and falls. Pearl grabs her arm to keep her upright. Peridot crashes to the floor with a yelp and a skid until she sticks her heels into the crumbling stonework. Several dark towers, now on uneven ground, crash into one another like dominos. Robonoids squawk as they fall. Sparks sputter and fly, a mini-fireworks show in the dark.

“Are you guys okay?!” Amethyst shouts. She stands square-shouldered in front of Garnet and Steven, on the slender portion of the room that didn’t lurch and tilt out of balance.

Bismuth dusts herself off. “Fine!”

With careful steps, she inches down the floor’s new incline to reach Peridot. Peridot’s eyes are fixed on the gap between the central maintenance hub’s floor and the ceiling of the cavernous room beneath them.

“W-we should get out of here,” Pearl says. “This isn’t safe. Peridot, you have enough data, right?”

Bismuth helps Peridot to her feet and then slowly, up to the other side of the room’s higher floor. Steven and Garnet hurry to extend their hands over the edge’s lip.

Peridot nods, but it’s shaky. “Y-yeah. Wow. That was…something.”

“Yeah,” Bismuth laughs. As soon as Peridot’s on higher, more stable ground, she turns back for Pearl with a breathless smile: more nervous chuckles than anything else. “You can say that again. Let’s just hope that doesn’t happen a--”

The floor drops.

With a great, thundering crack that rips asunder their stability, Pearl and Bismuth fall into open air.

Steven’s scream follows them down--

down--

“Pearl! Bismuth!”

It happens too fast.

Spinning and flapping her arms, Bismuth turns to find Pearl. She reaches out for the speck of white, glimmering teal, and darker blue that she thinks she can see in the middle of the falling temple stone and chunks of floor. Metal crashes behind them, groaning and sparking as it slams into the wall in a free, wild tumble just like them.

And then Bismuth hits the ground.

Earth craters under her. Chunks of floor pierce the ground on either side of her, falling in a dusty upwind. Bismuth coughs and ties to push herself up in the midst of the crashing debris, lifting her head to see if she can find Pearl.

She isn’t sure what it is that makes herself poof: a fallen tower or a piece of what was once the floor--but she knows the instant it happens.

Because all she can think is: shit.

- o - o - o -

Reforming is a surprising challenge and Bismuth doesn’t know how or why or what the heck is keeping her from taking shape until she physically forces the problem away for space to be. Once the glow of her form solidifies, she lands heavily on her knees. A ragged gasp later and Bismuth places a hand on the boulder that had been pinning her down (potentially the one that poofed her?) and pushes herself up to a stand.

“Overalls,” she murmurs. “Nice. I can dig it.”

A glance up and at the pile of broken floor surrounding her brings a grimace to her face. “Literally, I guess.”

After climbing out from under the fallen debris, it takes only a few moments to find Pearl. It takes Bismuth another second to recognize that something must be wrong. Pearl’s curled onto her side, fallen on top of broken and crumpled mainframe towers. She doesn’t seem to be injured. So why isn’t she getting up?

The word cracked doesn’t even finish crossing her mind by the time Bismuth’s already started wobbly descending the rubble, arms outstretched. “Pearl! Answer me, Pearl! Are you okay?”

She doesn’t stir.

Bismuth crashes to her knees beside her and rolls Pearl onto her back. “Pearl! Talk to me!”

And finally, Pearl…laughs?

It’s a laugh Bismuth has never heard, in all the thousands of years she’s known Pearl: high and dreamy, like she’s breathing through clouds and having a great time of it.

“Uh, Pearl?”

“Oh, Bismuth!” And it’s not like Pearl’s voice is particularly different. Maybe there’s a slight slur to her speech and strange saunter to the way she talks, but it shouldn’t be as alarming to Bismuth as it is. Probably. “There…you are. I was worried about you.”

“Uh, yeah. Back atcha.”

Pearl hums and lifts a hand. At first, Bismuth thinks it’s coming for her face but then Pearl tosses her hand back above her head and it lands with an awkward thud on the corner of the tower she’s stretched out on. Pearl giggles. Her shoulders shake, chest lifting up with the motion. She closes her eyes and her head sags towards Bismuth’s knee.

There’s a strange, goopy liquid trailing across her gem, dripping down her right temple and to the metal. Or maybe it came from the exposed innards of the tower?

Oh.

“Aw, gee…” Bismuth swears a colorful storm under her breath. “Pearl, why?”

“Why what?” Pearl blinks slowly.

“Why’d ya have to go and land on the virus?”

“Well, ‘snot my fault. It’s not even on my list.”

Bismuth…tries to follow that line of thought. “Come again?”

“List! My list!” Pearl tosses her hand up again and it falls against Bismuth’s shoulder. Bismuth sighs and gets her hands under Pearl’s shoulder to lift her to her feet as she adds, “You know, the one Amethyst helped me get set up. She’s quite capable, you know. She knows so much more than I do. You know Steven’s been thinking about making a Little Homeworld?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bismuth gets them both standing by the time that she can hear a familiar voice shouting above their heads. She lifts her head to watch a familiar, gleaming pink bubble slowly waft down to them.

“Bismuth! Pearl!” Steven shouts, his voice strange and distant through his suit and bubble. The pink pops away as soon as he lands. “Are you guys all right? You sure fell a long way!”

“Steven, what the heck are you doin’ down here? Don’t tell me Garnet actually let you--no, nuh-uh. Don’t touch her; she’s infected.”

“But I’ve got a suit on! I can help! It’s not like I have a tear in this thing yet; I’ve been super careful and--” Steven brings up his hands to the level of his chest the instant Pearl rolls her head up to see him.

The smile stretching her face is far too wide and bright.

“Steven! You’re okay!” Pearl crows.

“Y-yeah. Uh. Hey, Pearl.”

Pearl takes a step away from Bismuth and wobbles. Immediately, Steven’s gloved hands latch around hers. Her slender knees shake under her as she bends over, elbows bow-legged outward. A giggle runs through her. “Oh, dear. This is a strange feeling.”

“What is?”

“Bops on your head.” Pearl says it so simply, so easily, like it should make sense. When Steven doesn’t answer, she continues, loosely waving a hand. “You know, that apple-falling thing. There were those fig snacks you always enjoyed when you were younger, but only the strawberry ones. Could never get you to eat blueberry until you were seven…”

Steven looks at Bismuth. Bismuth shrugs. “You remember how the other infected gems were acting in the colony?”

“Yeah. Like they were drunk.”

Bismuth makes a strained, odd face. She gestures to Pearl with both hands as Pearl straightens up to frown down at Steven.

“Steven. How do you know how to identify drunken behavior?”

“Uh, well, you see, during our jam sessions, Jenny, Buck, Sour Cream, and Sadie sometimes--”

Bismuth steps in front of him, taking Pearl’s hands and pulling her away. Pearl stumbles into Bismuth’s chest and Bismuth takes extra care to make sure her head is turned away from her gem. “Okay! That’s enough. Let’s just focus on getting us all out of here and rejoining the others. The sooner we do, the sooner we can figure out how to get rid of this virus. Okay? Okay.”

Steven’s booted footfalls behind her are rapid, twice as many for every single stride of Bismuth’s. “Oh! Wait! I know how to get out of here!”

Bismuth stops.

Pearl whips around to look at him. She smiles, nods, then turns to look at Bismuth, smug. “See? ‘Smy smart boy.”

Bismuth doesn’t know what to say to that. She looks over her shoulder to Steven instead. “You do?”

“Yeah! You think I would drop down here after you two without a plan?” he stops, seems to think better of his words, and immediately waves his hands. “Wait, don’t answer that. The others are making their way out of the temple, too. Peridot said she might have enough information to begin working on a cure. Besides, whatever other information she could have gotten is lost, now. So Garnet gave me a future vision kiss and we parted ways and now I know the way out of the temple!”

“Oh.” Bismuth blinks down at Steven.

Pearl grins and pokes Bismuth’s cheek. “You’re impressed.”

“What?”

“Say it. Tell ‘im you’re impressed.”

“What?” Bismuth repeats because her brain feels too full of doe-eyed stupid with Pearl so close to her front that she can’t think of anything else to say. She shakes her head. “Course I’m impressed. This is Steven we’re talkin’ about, here. I’m always impressed with ‘im.”

“Aw, Bismuth!”

Bismuth smiles at the stars in Steven’s eyes and the warm flush in his cheeks. She shakes her head and wants to laugh out loud. Instead, she puts a hand on the back of Steven’s round, transparent helmet and ushers him ahead. “Yeah, yeah. All right. C’mon, then,” she says. “Lead the way, lil man.”

“You got it!”

- o - o - o -

“Oh my gosh. This is hilarious.”

“I know, right?”

“What’s funny?” Pearl looks back at the two pairs of expectant eyes gazing up at her. She smiles and waves back at them, wriggling all the fingers on her right hand.

Amethyst loses it. She clutches at her stomach and rolls onto her back, legs kicking into the air.

Steven laughs, too, but more so at how hard Amethyst is laughing than Pearl’s behavior itself. He grins and looks up at Pearl, who seems pleased at being the object of their humor, grinning airily at them both.

“I mean, it’s kind of funny that I’ve never seen you this relaxed before, Pearl,” Steven hums, propping an elbow up on the couch cushion.

Peal has never slouched for as long as he’s known her. Now, her form is a lazy curve against the back of the couch with her thin legs kicked out before her. She folds her hands over her stomach, the absolute image of comfort. “You haven’t? Huh. Steven, you haven’t seen me like this before.”

“That’s what he just said, man.” Amethyst picks herself up the instant the front screen door of the beach house swings open and Bismuth strides in.

Like a switch has been flipped, Pearl’s face lights up. “Bismuth!”

“H-hey, Pearl. Again.” Bismuth chuckles and doesn’t know what to make of the quick glance Steven and Amethyst throw each other from opposite sides of Pearl. She clears her throat. “How’s she doin’?”

“‘Bout the same,” Steven answers honestly and Pearl makes a move as if to stand.

“Bismuth!” Pearl sings again. Her calf hits the corner of the coffee table and immediately, Amethyst and Steven are on their feet to grab either one of her arms. Pearl wobbles, before righting herself and giggling. “Oh, haha! Stars! Thank you. That would have been an embarr-arra-assing spill.”

Amethyst’s laugh starts in the back of her throat with a shocked, choking sound. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Bismuth sighs and steps forward to take Pearl’s hand from Steven before Pearl can repeat herself. The corner of her mouth curls up in a humored smile aimed at Amethyst. “Stop it. She can’t help it; you know Pearl would be mortified.”

“Yeah, which is exactly why it’s hilarious.”

Bismuth rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Anyway, Peridot sent me. She thinks she has an idea she wants to try. Steven, think could we borrow that bottle of Blue’s?”

“Of course!” Before Steven finishes talking, he’s bounding towards the bathroom.

Amethyst has to stifle another laugh behind her hand. “Pearl, what are you doing?”

Bismuth hadn’t even noticed Pearl’s index fingers poking into either side of her bicep as her glassy eyes are fixed on the way the steel-blue tone of Bismuth’s hue bends and warps under the pressure of her touch. Over and over again. Quickly, Pearl withdraws her hands, throwing them behind her own body with such force she nearly topples over. She giggles, her face ice blue, when Bismuth--again--catches her. “N-nothing! Sorry.”

Steven returns with the bottle outstretched. His eyes rake back and forth between Bismuth and Pearl. “Want me to come with?”

“Oh! Oh!” Pearl bounces on the back of her heels and raises her hand up from Bismuth’s hold to her face. “Yes! Me too; me too! Count me in, Bismuth! Wherever you go, I’ll follow! I’m very good at that.”

“Yeah,” Bismuth slowly and awkwardly laughs. “Sure. Why not. We’ll make it a party.” She looks to Amethyst and raises a brow. “You comin’ too?”

“You know it! I ain’t missin’ this!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought…” Bismuth ruefully grins at the same time Pearl cheers.

- o - o - o -

Peridot’s string of machines and salvaged parts of the outpost temple’s mainframe towers make a curious amphitheatre in the sand. Lapis watches idly, with her arms crossed over her chest, as Peridot runs back and forth between screens and data, huffing and hawing.

“Ugh!” Peridot cries, throwing her hands in the air. “This would be so much better if I had any actual equipment!”

“Well,” Bismuth chimes, holding Pearl up so that she doesn’t sag onto the sand, “Pearl mentioned something about a Little Homeworld I think. Maybe that’ll help you get some, uh, whatever it is you’re wantin’, exactly.”

“Hm? Bismuth, what did I say?”

Amethyst snickers. Lapis Lazuli snorts, turning away.

Peridot spins around to them. “You’re back! Oh, good, good, good, good, good!” With outstretched hands, she makes grabbing motions towards the bottle Steven holds. To Steven’s surprise, she latches on to his arm instead, dragging him over to the biggest screen on display. “Okay, so I have a couple working theories and we’ll probably need to test all of them on Pearl…”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” Pearl chimes in. Then, she leans into Bismuth conspiratorially, “That’s what humans call a pair of people who go on dates.”

Bismuth feels her face burst into heat at the same time as laughter busts out of her. “I’m sorry?”

Lapis’ shoulders are shaking as Pearl continues, “You know what I’m talking about, Bismuth, right?”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Couples! A one plus another one! One plus two plus one plus one plus--”

“--how was I supposed to know a human thing like that?”

“Don’t you want to be one?”

Bismuth doesn’t know what to say to that. She thinks she lost track of what it was Pearl was talking about. Or some part of her sorely wishes she did, anyway. “Uh. Pearl, you doin’ okay? Maybe we should sit down…”

“Perfect!” Peridot, fortunately, saves her. “Sit her down on this chair, Bismuth. We’re going to try a few different methods to see if we can combat this virus!”

Bismuth breathes a sigh of relief and pulls Pearl along to the plastic-white lawn chair that looks far too dirty and dusty to be sanitary. Pearl would throw a fit about being expected to sit in it if she were in her right head; thankfully, this Pearl lets Bismuth push her down against its flower-embossed backing without a fight.

Steven raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Peridot? That looks like something out of my dad’s old storage unit.”

“It probably is. I borrowed it from the car wash.”

“Huh.”

Peridot rubs her chin, looking at her glowing screens one final time. Finally, she sighs. “All right. I guess we’ll have to try Steven first.”

“Huh?”

Peridot pushes a quarter-full box of latex gloves into Steven’s chest. “Here. Apply one and lick your hand, please.”

“Didn’t we try this at the outpost?”

“Yes, well, we’re trying it again!” Peridot throws her hands into the air. “Pearl, you’re going to have to look at us.”

Perhaps for the first time in her entire life, Pearl whines. “But then I wouldn’t get to see Bismuth.”

“Oh, what a travesty.” Amethyst sighs dramatically and puts the back of her hand against her forehead. Lapis, now standing at her side, clutches at her stomach, pressing her lips together hard to keep from laughing.

Bismuth rolls her eyes, but with a good-natured grin, she steps around the old chair. “There. Now you can see me, right?”

“Better.” And Pearl extends her hand.

Bismuth can feel everyone else’s eyes on her. Her face blooms with heat. She turns around to the circle of an audience she has, all watching her and Pearl very, very closely. “All right! That’s enough, you guys! Knock it off! We’re just friends,” she shouts as she takes Pearl’s slender hand in her own and squeezes it.

“Oh!” Lapis laughs loudly. “Sure! Because that’s what this is!”

“Just ‘friends.’” Amethyst curls her fingers into air-quotes and bends over, laughing.

“Hey, Amethyst,” Lapis says through chuckles and chortles, extending her dangling hand. “Since we’re…just friends…how about you hold my hand while I get treated for a virus?”

“Why, Lapis,” Amethyst answers, bowing over Lapis’ hand, “since we’re such good friends, I’d be honored to!”

“Oh, Amethyst! Our friendship is just so integral to my feeling of safety and comfort!”

Bismuth tries not to laugh, pushing a hand against her own face.

Steven snickers and tries to stuff his laugh behind his own spit-slobbered hand, until Peridot grabs his wrist and pulls it away. She brings him to Pearl’s front and nods. Steven nods back, mouth pulled into a serious line, then slaps his palm over Pearl’s gem on her brow.

Pearl blinks.

A shiver passes through her.

She giggles. “Wow…it’s been a while since you’ve needed to do that, Steven.”

Peridot squints at her. Bismuth chuckles and moves as if to pull her hand away. “So, uh, okay. How’re you feelin’ now, Pearl?”

Pearl gasps softly. “Certainly not good enough for you to leave me, Bismuth!” And the frown on her face is enough to make Peridot groan and for Bismuth to take her hand back with a quiet, “All right, all right, I’m sorry; I’m here,” that has Lapis and Amethyst snickering all over again behind her.

“It didn’t work!” Peridot huffs. When Steven opens his mouth, she holds up a hand. “Never mind. I know it didn’t work when we were at the gem outpost, either. It was worth a second try. Give me Blue’s Diamond’s bottle.”

Blue Diamond’s essence doesn’t work, either.

Peridot’s a grumbling mess. She pulls Steven and his still-gloved hand aside as Pearl looks up to Bismuth with wide eyes. “Bismuth, is there something wrong with me?”

“What?”

Pearl’s eyes begin to shine with tears, two gleaming, wet pools of baby blue. “The lacrimal essence. It should heal; why aren’t I better? One impossible right after another. Gems can’t get sick! Am I dreaming?”

“Uh…” Bismuth looks behind her to Lapis and Amethyst, but they aren’t even watching anymore. Instead, they are focused on dramatically recreating the scene between Bismuth and Pearl to their own knee-slapping hilarity.

Bismuth sighs and shrugs. “I mean, I guess you’re--”

“--what happens if I wake up?”

“Uh…”

Bismuth moves aside as Peridot comes forward with Steven’s hand again. In the center of his round palm, cushioned against the cool cyan of the disposable latex, is a swirling mix of glowing blue and neon pink.

Bismuth has never seen anything like it.

It’s...remarkably pretty, actually.

Bismuth looks to Pearl and puts on her best, most encouraging smile. “Well, you’ll see me and I’ll be there to tell ya it’s not the end of the world. How’s that?”

Pearl blinks and that’s when Steven slaps his hand against her gem.

There’s a burst of sparkling light.

- o - o - o -

“Ugh, I’m mortified.”

“I knew you would be.”

“How could you let me say those things, Bismuth?”

“I had no idea what was gonna come out of your mouth!” Bismuth laughs and the entire stairway leading up to the beach house shakes with it. “None of us did! It was kinda wild, actually. Amethyst and Lapis got a big kick out of it. Steven, too, I think. Garnet was holding down the fort at the outpost, so she wasn’t there for some of it.”

Pearl groans and shoves her head in her hands. The setting sun casting Beach City in its warm, peach-pink hues should be calming, soothing. Instead, her gut is tying itself in ribbons over her own hazy memories. “They’re never going to let me live this down.”

“Probably not.”

“I’m so embarrassed…”

“Aw, hey,” Bismuth puts a hand on Pearl’s back. “I don’t know if you remember what I told you before Steven and Peridot fixed you, but…this ain’t the end of the world, Pearl. Amethyst, Lapis--we all understand that. It’s why everyone else is givin’ you your space as they fix-up the other infected gems at the outpost.”

When Pearl doesn’t answer and instead, only groans more, Bismuth laughs and wraps her arm around Pearl’s shoulders to bring her against her chest. “C’mere.”

“Bismuth…”

“Yeah, Pearl?”

“How are you not embarrassed?” Pearl pulls away from Bismuth’s arms, slipping down to the step below to frown up at her. “I did so many things that unthinkingly put you in such…awkward situations the entire time. How are you not embarrassed to be by me, right now? How can you look at me?”

Bismuth chuckles. She props her elbow up on her knee and sets her cheek against her loose fist, gazing down at Pearl. “I dunno. I thought it was cute.”

“C--” Pearl’s face flushes with ice. “--Bismuth!” she hisses. “We’re not in one of those anime Steven likes to watch! Cut that out!”

Bismuth laughs again, but it’s soft and fond. “No, not that kinda cute. I thought it was good. It was interesting seeing that side of you, the side of you that wasn’t afraid to ask for me to be there or for physical affirmations. The side that wasn’t afraid to put yourself and what you wanted first for once. Y’know?”

“Oh.”

“I liked it.” Bismuth shrugs a shoulder.

“You did?”

Bismuth chuckles. “Yeah. I like you, Pearl. Every side of you there is.”

Slowly, Pearl smiles. After a moment, she tentatively leans against Bismuth’s knee, eyes on her face as if checking every second, every motion, every contact, was okay. But when Bismuth makes no move to stop her, she lets her cheek bunch up against the surface of Bismuth’s thigh.

The steel-blue tone of Bismuth’s hue bends and warps under the pressure of her touch.

“I like you, too, Bismuth.”

It is as soft and gentle as a thank you.

#steven universe #bismuth #pearl #bispearl #peridot #amethyst #garnet #everyone's here #su #fanfic #krissey writes a thing #drunken shenanigans #minus the alcohol #i invented a virus explanation for drunken behavior #it's all the shenanigans #with zero the liquor #enjoy

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millenniumfae · 5 years

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Mass Effect: Andromeda Companion Headcanons

Liam Kosta

He’s canonically a big fan of 20/21st century culture (aka, OUR culture). That’s not being retro, that’s the equivalent of being a Victorian era buff. Very geeky, but he’s not alone - he’s attended ‘21st century’ conventions, subscribed to youtubers who specialize in exploring the 20th century, been to reenactments, and has more than a few period dramas in his vid collection.

His favorite 20/21st century things? Old cars, weird recipes, and the movie Train To Busan.

And if there’s still anime in the year 2185, he’s a huge fan of that too. Doesn’t stick with a particular drama, he loves many of the more popular ones. Doodles characters in an anime style, and he’s not particularly good - but he wants to be better.

He was perfect for the role of being a crisis response specialist. His teammates thought he was great at calming the injured down, ensuring positivity in stressful situations, and producing results. Literally employee of the year.

And that’s one of the reasons why he fucks up a bit when in Andromeda - its not a high crisis situation like a hostage holdup or a terrorist bombing, its a slow but terrifying pressure on them all. Not what he’s used to, or what he thrives under. Take him on Vetra’s loyalty mission, you see a glimpse of the crisis expert he used to be.

He’s actually not that great in communicating with aliens. It takes a special skill to understand radically different cultures, and Liam spent most of his years surrounded by other humans. Hence his weird way of doing it with Jaal, and accidentally pushing Turian/Krogan buttons

Cora Harper

During the game’s duration, there’s only flat coffee available, but the minute someone’s offers blended venti-sized caramel macchiatos, Cora is first in line.

She’s medicated for depression, and it definitely helps her. Back during her training on Thessia, she had a lot of emotional problems stemming from her life as an especially powerful biotic. She found one pill that works, and sticks with that.

I don’t like how the Mass Effect franchise handles the Asari, so I’m changing it; Cora never had a relationship with an Asari, but its not because she’s straight - Asari aren’t at default women. Some are, but most don’t have genders. Just because they ‘look like women’ doesn’t mean Cora, a straight woman, wouldn’t be attracted to one. It’s just a coincidence.

I mean, it’s 2185, humans have had contact with several alien cultures for decades. The vast majority of people understand gender and sexuality in a much less limited way than we do nowadays.

Used to have a pretty popular Instagram, or at least the Mass Effect universe equivalent of one. Sometimes, it’s pictures of her hair and makeup, sometimes it’s her working out, sometimes its scenery and landmarks. On occasion, it’s her at a crazy bar and about to down some weird novelty cocktail.

Pelessaria "Peebee" B’Sayle

Her age is the human equivalent of being 24, since she’s near Liara’s age and Liara was apparently barely an adult. She’s got a doctorate, and several masters. Not human ones, but not Asari ones, either. Asari doctorates probably take 100 years, masters half that long. Peebee’s studied all across the galaxy, because her dislike of staying in one place has always been her hangup.

She’s telling the truth when she tells Drack that her father was an Elcor. Drack does that to people - brings the truth out of them. Peebee doesn’t admit it, but she felt like Drack didn’t deserve some bullshit lie.

And her Elcor father didn’t raise her, because her mother was one of those Asari who didn’t want a partner but wanted offspring. That’s rare amongst humans, but common with Asari. Her mother said to her father, ‘I want a child, not a husband.’

And her mother died 70 years before Peebee would jump onto the Andromeda Initiative from age-related complications. Her older sister, on the other hand, was left behind. But since she was already much older than Peebee, she’s probably dead and gone too. Peebee left her only remaining family with more than one tears shed, but they were never particularly close.

Kalinda knew how young Peebee was, and that’s why she decided to use her. She was Peebee’s first actual relationship, started right after Peebee left her sister for dead and about to leave home forever. Kalinda knew what she was doing.

Nakmor Drack

Drack’s understanding and gentle nature isn’t atypical of the Krogan. In the original trilogy, we could usually only talk to Krogan during battle situations, unlike Ryder’s chances to be diplomatic. Sure, the Nakmor clan is particularly civil since they’re the ones to join the Initiative in becoming immigrants to another galaxy, but there’s more than one gruff yet charismatic grandpa out there.

It’s canon that he likes cooking, and yes, he’s good at it. He specializes in roast meats, which is not easy, but he also bakes pastries, delicious soups and stews, grain dishes and other noms. Some of those recipes are very old Krogan ones, but many are from other cultures and other aliens. He got them from cookbooks, which he reads in his spare time.

Such as Hanar shellfish cocktails, Asari butter biscuits, Drell cheese dips, human sauced pasta, Turian marinated chops, Elcor flatbread, etc. Except Salarian cuisine. He doesn’t want to ‘benefit’ from them anymore than the Krogan had to. But Salarian pillbug skewers are pretty tasty.

And like many grandpas, he’s kinda slow to adapt to new technology. ‘New’ to him meant Omni-tools at one point, universal translators at another, and etc. As the centuries go by, Drack’s gotta get used to some other new smartphone-equivalent technology. He’s not the best at it, but long ago he learned not to be stubborn and make an effort.

Vetra Nyx

Garrus in the original trilogy made a big deal out of being an atypical Turian, but Vetra and her sister even more so. That’s because Garrus grew up in Palavan to a very traditional family, while Vetra and Sid spent their lives bouncing from place to place. As she said, they’re probably not part of Turian society anymore. No rank, no caste. If Vetra ever wanted to rejoin the Turian census, she’d have a lot of trouble. That is, if she did it completely by the book.

So Vetra is so much more flexible and casual compared to the Turians of the original trilogy. You see it in her jokes, her body language, but also when she gets mad; Turian culture has people like Kandros reign in their volume and temper when they get frustrated, but Vetra will snap back.

Humans wouldn’t know this, but Vetra’s actually not much of a looker in Turian culture. Her mandibles are thin, her eyes too large, and her waist too short. She wears the Turian equivalent of makeup, but its not much. She looks like what we’d think of a librarian nerd would be. But that matters little to her; Vetra’s charismatic and highly intelligent, winning crowds (and sometimes hearts) all across the board.

And speaking of librarian nerds, Vetra’s visor is for her poor vision, too. She’d been wearing corrective vision technology since she was a kid, and it’s inherited from her mother. Sid, meanwhile, lucked out on the vision compartment, never needing a visor.

The age gap between Sid and Vetra is around 14 years, and they have different mothers.

And Vetra isn’t a horrible cook (Sid is grateful), she just doesn’t know how to make human steak. Turian meat needs to be cooked much longer than Earth cow, so she overshot it and doesn’t realize why. If Ryder chooses to romance her, Vetra actually makes an effort to learn about human cooking and does much better at it.

Jaal Ama Darav

Jaal’s poetic vocabulary is typical of those native to Havarl, which is where he (and his accent) are from. And he intentionally harbors it, too, because his family is famous and rooted in Angaran royalty. As an insecure famous soldier figure, he unconsciously makes an effort to appear as affluent as he can be.

We only see two models of a Rofjinn amongst the Angara; Jaal’s, and the smaller ones like Efra has. But there’s many styles of Rofjinn out there, Jaal’s actually being more ornate, with a patterned fabric that has a sheen. It was gifted by his mother, who makes them as per tradition to children that she believes are destined to live a troubled or eventful life. The Rofjinn is a reminder than they have their mother’s love and protection.

And Jaal’s Rofjinn is especially ornate particularly because Jaal’s actually quite camp. Not because of his love for lotions and perfumes, that’s typical amongst his people. We don’t get to see it, but Jaal loves fashion, aesthetics, and accessories that border on tacky. He rarely gets an opportunity to explore it as a soldier, but in his spare time, his crafts are wildly dotted with gold and pink acrylic flowers, holochrome pearls, and shining with glitter. And when his mother made his Rofjinn, she decided to make it a bit more Extra just for him. He was thrilled.

Jaal’s huge compared to us, and indeed he’s stocky amongst the Angara. But his attractiveness isn’t because of that, it’s because of his particularly theatrical and poetic nature. Angara are naturally expressive, but some are expressive in a gruff way, others in a dramatic way. Jaal is one of those Angara that embrace the world like a Broadway stage.

#Mass Effect #mass effect: andromeda #me:a #jaal ama darav #liam kosta #cora harper #peebee #nakmor drack #vetra nyx #bioware #mass effect headcanons

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halfblood-fiend · 4 years

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Star Trek Bingo 2020: Vertical Prompt 3

Chess/”Board” Games

Show: Voyager

Words: 1,841

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): shenanigans

Dungeons and Bandwagons

When Giana attempts to organize her first D&D campaign onboard the Voyager, it turns out to be a bit more complicated than she thought.

Read it on AO3

We’d been going around and around for most of our lunch break. I did not think that introducing twenty-third century people to D&D would be so difficult.

After another explanation, Harry Kim stared at me with his hands folded beneath his chin for too long a while. “I don’t get it,” he said finally, picking his fork back up to resume playing with his food. “How is that supposed to be better than a holodeck program?”

“Uhhh… it’s interactive and adaptable?”” I offered. “Your DM makes the story up for you as you go.”

“An adept programmer could make the holodeck function in the same manner,” Vorik chimed in from my right. I had to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He shrugged without looking at me. “I am on the side of logic.”

I ignored this, shaking my head and insisted to Harry, “There are scenarios you just can’t plan for.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like…”

God. Like deciding to bang the first NPC you meet. Why? Eh, just ‘cause. Like deciding as a group to put on a spur-of-the-moment chili cook off to grant the deed to the town’s tavern to the winner because, obviously a chilli cook-off is the most fair way to make decisions. Or like deciding to betray your entire party for your character’s freedom, and then betraying those new allies and running off alone. Or like solving every kidnapping or murder problem by rolling the unwanted body up in a rug, and then lying to so many people about your rug selling business that your party all decide to petition the city for an actual business license, thus derailing the campaign for weeks as you all turn in your paperwork and get in touch with a real estate agent within the fantasy city in order to find a place to house your Totally-Not-Fake Rug and Carpeting Business.

But how to explain all that?

“Man… you just gotta trust me,” I sighed. “There are way too many variables to be able to make a program that will adapt to all of them. You have no way of knowing what could happen during a D&D campaign. Trust me.”

“Eh, I’m down to try,” Lyssa Campbell said. When Harry gave her a doubtful look, she shrugged. “Hey, it’s gotta be better than that poker everyone is always playing. And as long as we’re all relaxing and talking and having fun, then it sounds like it’ll be just fine.”

“Sounds like a rip off of my Grendel program,” Harry muttered. “And not even as interesting because we aren’t fighting holographic monsters. We’re just—what? —imagining everything happening?”

“Aha! I got it,” I said with a snap of my fingers, cutting off whatever he was talking about. “Dice!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and Vorik said, “Explain.”

“You can’t roll dice on the holodeck.”

“So?”

“So! Rolling the dice to try and see how well you do things is the best part!”

“If you’re telling me that’s the best part of this game, I’m really doubting how much “fun” you claim it to be.”

“Aww, come on, Harry! Let’s just try it!”

He shook his head again, but a smile started pulling at his lips. “Fine, but I’m not going to have fun and I will complain the whole time.”

“Doubt that,” I replied with a wink. “But I’ll take it for now.”

“Giana! If you can spare a moment, I have an inquiry regarding your role-playing game.”

Similar sentiments had been asked of me by most of my friends and future players, but Vorik was the last person that I had expected to have any trouble with character building. Yet here Vorik was, appearing at my shoulder before I could enter the turbolift to leave Engineering.

“An inquiry? Now is that more or less important than a plain question?”

He gave me a puzzled look as we entered the lift together and I smiled.

“Nevermind. Shoot.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question. Deck two.”

The turbolift slid into motion and Vorik began, “I was looking over the documents you sent those of us who required characters for your Dungeons and Dragons—”

I smiled at his use of the name but nodded.

“—and I noticed that ‘Human’ is among the other more fantastical races that one can play. It gave me an idea that I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh, yeah… I mean, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just an old Human-made game, remember? Don’t take it too seriously. I, like, literally never actually played a Human before. That would just be like playing myself and, sure, you always kinda do that but who wants to be so obvious about it?”

Vorik blinked. “I would.”

It was my turn to ask, “What?”

“If Humans can exist in this world, then I would like to role-play as a Vulcan.”

I chewed my lip, my heart sinking because I felt like Vorik was missing the point. Here I thought he was going to do something interesting when he asked to join the party. I was excited to see what he would come up with. But, then again, it wasn’t like he role-played very much when we played Skyrim together on the holodeck either. His inflexible and aloof attitude usually confused all the Nords until I stepped in to use the “proper” language. Made him useless at price haggling.

Since he wanted to play at all, I conceded to myself, that had to be close enough. I didn’t want to totally control his play. I never liked it when my DMs had done that in the past.

He a little confused, but he got the spirit.

“Okay,” I relented, “I’ll see what I can do about homebrewing a ‘Vulcan’ stat-block for you, just…promise me one thing?”

My Vulcan companion quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yes?”

The turbolift stopped and opened its doors. I could hear the sounds of soft chatter and laughter coming from the mess hall. Whatever Neelix was cooking wafted up the corridor and smelled really promising. My stomach grumbled in response.

“Just don’t play yourself,” I said as we both stepped off the lift and the doors slid closed behind us. “If you show up with a character named ‘Vorik,’ I’m going to kick you from the game. And then, literally kick you in the shins.”

“An extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

I put up my fists as if I was gonna fight him. “Oh, I can get more extreme.”

Looking at my poor guard dubiously, he said dryly, “I’m sure. Your Human penchant for hysterics?”

“Hysterics?! Oh! Well how about your high drama, mister??”

“I do not know to what you could be referring.”

The line at Neelix’s kitchen counter was somewhat long, which gave Vorik and I plenty of time to debate the “logic” of Vulcan fashion choices back and forth. I insisted they were dramatic for no reason and Vorik tried to act like real thought went into all the high collars and zig-zagged diagonal clasps. Neelix’s pasta dish actually did look as promising as it smelled, which was a nice surprise.

“Ah, Miss Giana, I almost forgot,” Neelix gasped as I turned away, drawing me back. “Ensigns Swinn and Jurot wanted to ask you about—ah—something called a ‘character sheet’?”

I thanked him with a smile and motioned for Vorik to help me pick them out of the crowded hall at dinner hour.

The day had come to start our campaign and not a moment too soon. I was excited as all hell. I’d hardly slept at all the night before, choosing instead to expand some NPC backstories and prepare a few more monsters. Just in case.

All of my players’ character sheets were checked and filed on my PADD for reference. I couldn’t help but laugh when Vorik sent me his and I saw the name at the top of the sheet. He had listened to me and wasn’t playing himself…but I was very curious to see how Surak the monk was going to handle my adventure. I was pretty pleased with everyone’s character concepts, actually. I had a pretty balanced group.

I’d decided some time ago that a grand total of six players was all that I could conceivably handle. But that hadn’t stopped everyone else from trying to ask for a spot. Dozens of requests had flooded my inbox from all corners of the ship (Neelix’s doing, I assumed) and I had spent a good chunk of time yesterday writing personal “sorry, maybe next times.”

Even Chakotay had sent me a note! Not to, like, join or anything, but still! He mentioned that he was familiar with the old game and wanted to tell me that he thought it would be good for morale and crew unity and other things commanders cared about.

I practically sprinted away the second my shift was over, bolting to the door before Lieutenant Carey had even said goodbye.

I was the last player on duty, and my group’s attitude towards D&D had changed dramatically once they’d built their characters. They all made me promise not to keep them waiting for too long.

And speak of the devil.

The communicator badge on my chest chirped before I’d made it halfway down the corridor. Harry’s voice crackled over the comm.

“Uhhh…Giana?”

I tapped the badge to answer. “Yeah, yeah, Harry. I’m on my way as fast as I can, okay?”

“Oh… No, no. It’s not that…”

Was I hearing things, or did I detect the hum of a lot of voices in the background?

“What is it?”

He sounded uncomfortable. “I think we need to find a different venue to play. Your quarters are going to be a little cramped…” Muted voices spoke rapidly but I couldn’t catch any words. “Meet us in the Lounge instead. Vorik says he has a code and he’d grab the PADD with your notes. I made him promise not to look.”

Nervous laughter bubbled from my mouth. “Uhh…why?”

Vorik’s voice resonated over Harry’s comm. “There are thirty-six other people who would like to spectate our game. At first it did not seem inconceivable to accommodate a few of them when they asked…”

“But all of us told a couple people that they could come and now there’s thirty-six of them,” Harry finished. “Sorry, Gee…”

Thirty-six… That’s forty-two people…

My jaw actually dropped.

“Okay,” I said in a small voice. “See… S-See you all there…” I killed the line by tapping on my badge again and wobbled.

I was shaking when I boarded the turbolift.

I’d never DM-ed a game before in my life, even though I’d talked about doing so on several occasions back home. So, without experience, or my old friends to ask for tips, I was already starting out nervous.

But now?

Holy shit.

What was I gonna do??

I blinked and the turbolift doors slipped shut on me, whisking me away to an uncertain fate.

#Star Trek #Voyager #Star Trek: Voyager #Voy #Ensign Vorik #Harry Kim #Giana Moreno #ah...what the heck #OTP: Two Worlds Collided #Star Trek Bingo

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dansiere · 4 years

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LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

Just a fun little character game. Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. Repost & tag away !

TAGGED BY: @reantte & @chaoswilled, who both like to see me suffer. TAGGING: it’s a wonderful meme thus I encourage you all to go ahead & steal it [just tag me when you do]; @handspoken / @balletshoes, @huntershowl, @kissafist, @spiraledheart, @mettatoniic, @inhumanistic, @breselin & @carvedbones get a tag nonetheless.

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. Nostalgic; struck by an all-consuming kind of grief.

002. Passionate, severely dedicated.

003. Compassionate; loving & caring fiercely.

004. Insecure; self-depreciation is her greatest vice.

005. Courageous, recklessly so.

GREETINGS:

001. a small wave, brisk & efficient.

002. a handshake, maybe; usually of the awkward kind.

003. a petite nod, occasionally; whenever she is busy or otherwise occupied.

004. greeting someone by saying their name or an enthusiastic “hello / good-morning / good day” etc.

COLOURS:

001. pastel pink, any shade of pink & even red really, but its pastel version holds the greatest value.

002. peach; perhaps even shades of orange.

003. (pastel) blue; several shades thereof. Turquoise & a tint of green.

004. ivory; see her skin, the base colour of sheer fabric.

005. grey & variations thereof.

SCENTS:

001. freshly washed laundry.

002. the ocean; the scent of the sea.

003. lush forests; a Spring breeze, bit of an earthly hue.

004. flowers; anything rose-y, really.

005. polished steel.

CLOTHING:

001. as a servant / Homeworld: typical leotard & sheer skirt + ballet slippers kept in white, black & shades of grey (while serving White Diamond), later frilly, multi-coloured dress with sheer fabric wrapped around her hip & a pink underskirt, ballet slippers & juvenile, “rosebud” shaped hair (while serving Pink Diamond).

002. during the rebellion / War for Earth: major change in attire; tight grey sheer top + blue vest underneath combo, peach coloured shorts & orange-tinted boots; sleeveless. Wild, unkempt hair resembling her earlier “rosebud” cut but far more dishevelled; sabre in hand.

003. post-war: hair a tad more ‘tame’, same tight shirt & shorts combo but a shift in colour with sheer sleeves + overthrow worn across the shoulders. Legwarmers paired with ballet slippers, heart-shaped cleavage.

004. post Rose’s death: same shirt with slight variations; star on her chest, sleeves again gone. Colour shifted to bright turquoise with sheer skirt & pastel coloured shorts worn underneath (reaching down to her knees), low cut socks + ballet slippers, very, VERY neatly kept hair with not a single strand out of place. Later, she dons a swift alteration thereof; the star on her chest is more strikingly depicted, sheer skirt replaced by a ribbon / bow tied around her hip; yellow shorts instead of pink. Hair a tad more unkempt.

005. post “CYM” / Future: wears a denim-esque jacket with a star on her back. Long, high cut trousers revealing her shins in addition to pink ballet slippers. Wears a turquoise, shoulderless top underneath the jacket with a heart-shaped cleavage. Hair resembles her war-haircut; more dishevelled, rebellious.

OBJECTS:

001. various swords & sabres neatly cared for & stored either in her gemstone or room. She has amassed quite the collection of ancient & legendary weapons over the centuries, ranging from simple marine sabres & battle axes to Excalibur (which she, at some point, pulled out of the stone).

002. her gemweapon, aka lances & variations / modifications thereof.

003. a mobile phone she got shortly before “CYM”; one of the few items she does not store in her gemstone.

004. dried roses at the back of a journal; one she wrote & sketched in back before the war. Hidden deep within her gemstone.

005. an array of other, different items stored in her gemstone (first-aid items, car keys, tools, various instruments, telephone numbers, various weapons such as shotguns, etc).

VICES / BAD HABITS:

001. Inferiority Complex / Low-Self Esteem. Pearl automatically deems herself inferior to others or simply not good enough, falling victim to hysteria whenever failing to succeed on her first try. -- this usually triggers sentiments of extreme self-decrepitation or emotional fits. Additionally, these feelings of deeply seated insecurity & self-hatred turn her bitter / petty & coerce her to crave validation in any shape or form. She can come across as a know-it-all, as condescending or arrogant given how she will continuously bring up her achievements, knowledge & countless justifications as to why (e.g) she did what she did or why sth. did not work to counter these ever-looming feelings of utter worthlessness.

002. Obsessive / Borderline Neurosis. A vice that goes hand in hand with 001; Pearl is obsessed with the past (may it be in the shape of mistakes or ‘happy memories’), symmetry, cleanliness & people per se; especially Rose has always been a sore topic in that matter. In fact, her obsession went as far as to turn into a serious neurosis / the unquenchable urge to hyperfixate on something & mercilessly obsess over it in turn. Without something to obsess over, Pearl breaks apart. While she loves fiercely, this kind of behaviour is prone to “smother” those in her care. May it be through overprotectiveness or overly critical / a “mother knows best” kind of demeanour.

003. Terrible Coping Mechanisms / Living in Denial. Pearl is guilty of “trauma compartmentalizing”; she represses her traumatizing experiences & memories in a self-destructive way. As demonstrated in “A Single Pale Rose”, her mind is structured in layers; the deeper “in” you go, the more she unravels & falls apart; on the surface, she tries to keep it all together but is well-aware of the mess waiting on the brink. -- Pearl additionally keeps amassing problems / trauma rather than facing any of them.

004. Stuck in the Past / Unable to Let Go; Probably a given one that does not require further explaining given what I already detailed further above. -- ever one to fondly remember the War & the role she had in it, she cannot let go of what once was. This is especially true whenever the casualties of war (guilt complex) or Rose Quartz are concerned; the latter coerced her to live the greatest half of her life (post Steven’s birth) trapped in a perpetual state of grieving & yearning for all she has lost.

005. Liar / secretive. Pearl has been prone to lie & twist her words ever since she was given to Pink Diamond 8000 years ago. What started as an attempt to protect Pink from the Diamond Authority soon turned second nature. While she usually lies out of a good reason, partially due to having been “forbidden” to talk about certain matters, lack of social skills + her compassion & eager will to spare e.g. Steven from harsh truths or to protect herself, it is a terrible vice she cannot shake.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. gestures quite a lot; may it be with her hands or expressions. Usually underlines her points by sweeping arm or hand movements; prone to “put her whole body into it”.

002. Arms wrapped around her body, predominately her waist. Usually a sign of discomfort or tension that she simply cannot brush aside. Often paired with her glare wandering aside / avoiding eye contact.

003. Broad stance / legs apart as opposed to her feet usually positioned in First Position. Radiates rare moments of confidence, often paired with her hands either on her hips or wrapped around her lance / sword. She usually places said weapon on her shoulder or sprawled across it.

004. Head held up high (e.g.: confident / disapproving) or head kept low (e.g.: insecurity / doubt); a gesture often affecting her entire stance - spine straightened & shoulders squared whenever poised, posture hunched whenever insecure.

005. balled fists out of anger / arm lifted & body positioned in front of someone she ought to defend.

AESTHETICS:

001. The Art of Slowly Falling Apart. “everything is perfectly fine”: a cursed phrase on the tip of your tongue; repeated endlessly. The paradoxical sentiment of deeming onself above all else. -- above the past, the pain, your former life -- & failing to realize that you are anything but, that control has long slipped from your grasp; that threads hold your broken self together, that you are so close to falling apart & yet play pretend.

002. All-Consuming Love. ever devoted, passionate / obsessively loving with all your heart. The yearning, mutual & unconditional dedication to something beautiful but fragile. You live in a fantasy alongside her / the kind you dreamt about ever since you freed yourself from Homeworld’s shackles. -- it is the kind of love that demands & demands & demands all you willingly give.

003. Dance. a part of your very identity, even the part of the past you ought to loathe; a fact that leaves you aching. It is embedded in your very code. A love for beauteous choreographies even integrated into melee combat; pristine, elegant, flawless; dancing to the mellow melody of some piano piece playing in the background.

004. the Ocean. may it be the aesthetic of giving oneself to the depths or wuthering emotions crashing down threatening to smite you into pieces / but also its power, the very effect the scent of salt & the sound of cascades have on you. -- something you ought to oppose but can’t.

005. the Battlefield / Revolution. swords clutched in aching hands; breathing heavily. The thrill of battle, the dirt under your nails; ever listening to the beating of a drum at the back of your head. You are Fire, Passion incarnate: cutting the cord, shattering those that wronged you, overcoming opposition & the conditioned voice inside your head, fighting against all odds / one step away from a cracked gemstone. Breaking the chains, literally.

SONGS / PIECES:

001. Running up that Hill -- Kate Bush.

002. Both Sides Now -- Joni Mitchell.

003. Eight -- Sleeping At Last.

004. Romeo -- Until the Ribbon Breaks.

005. My Boy Builds Coffins / Blinding / Over the Love -- Florence & the Machine.

Bonus: Cut the Cord -- Shinedown; not her style but boy does this give me Renegade Pearl vibes.

#[[ I am cheating in the music section I know I know #but I just have so many songs I relate to Pearl #hence why I did not list any pieces #even if I could write down a million gah. But yeah I got carried away again as per usual. Mobile users pls forgive me. ]]#vii. 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲.

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years

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Fic: Pure (6/14)

Summary: Belle wanted to wait until marriage before she had sex for the first time. It was the one thing that still stuck in her mind after leaving her small town upbringing steeped in religious doctrine and abstinence culture. When her wedding night comes, however, the purity ideals of Storybrooke’s sex education are hard to shake off, and making the transition from virgin to sexually active is more difficult than she anticipated. With the help of a patient husband, Belle begins an intimate journey into understanding her body, her desires, and her identity as a woman.

Rated: E

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [AO3]

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Pure

Six

“Belle! It’s so good to see you! How was the honeymoon! Tell me everything!”

Ruby clapped her hands together excitedly as Belle entered the coffee shop and went over to their usual table. As always, Ruby and Mulan had her tea ready and waiting for her, and it was just at a perfectly drinkable temperature as she sat down and took her first sip.

“I want to know all the details,” Ruby continued. “I know you don’t normally kiss and tell, but this is a honeymoon. It warrants a proper discussion.”

Mulan grimaced. “Please, Ruby, we’re in a public place.”

“So? It’s never stopped us before. By now everyone in here should be used to the two of us discussing our sex life at every available opportunity. So, spill, Belle. What was the reaction to the lingerie of the century? Favourable, I hope.”

Belle nodded. “Very favourable, thank you.” She took a sip of her tea, wondering how to go about broaching the subject. She’d chosen Ruby and Mulan to be her confidantes for her problem: they were her closest friends in Boston, and as Ruby had already pointed out, they were definitely and unashamedly sexually active. She wasn’t normally around for the conversations that Ruby had mentioned; they had sensed early on that it wasn’t a topic that she was fully comfortable with, but since they’d helped her on the underwear-buying trip, her comfort zone with them was definitely expanding.

She decided just to jump straight in with both feet first.

“When I stopped freaking out about losing my virginity and we did actually have sex, it was pretty good. For a first time. I think. I don’t really have any field of comparison.”

Mulan and Ruby just stared at her for a couple of seconds, digesting the weight of her words.

“Oh Belle… Why didn’t you tell us that you were a virgin?”

Belle shrugged, although she knew, painfully, the reason why. Back in Storybrooke, her virginity had been her only defining trait, the only thing that she was measured on. When she had moved to Boston and started making new friends, she was determined to be seen on her other merits.

“Would it have made our friendship any different if I had?”

“Of course not, you silly goose.” Ruby leaned across the table and gave her a hug. “It’s your business when you do it and who with, but we could have helped stop you freaking out about being one on your wedding night. Why were you freaking out in the first place?”

“Look, you’ve been to Storybrooke. You’ve seen the place I grew up in and you know they’re a bunch of conservative nutjobs for the most part.”

“Yes. I did have fun arguing with the guy who was convinced that homosexuality is unnatural because it makes no sense for anyone to be attracted to someone they can’t reproduce with.” Mulan gave a contented sigh which was at odds with her truly wicked grin. “He was so desperate to get rid of me and so completely out of arguments that in the end, he just ignored me and started talking to a pot plant instead. It was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Exactly. That’s the kind of place I lived for eighteen years. Now, just imagine being brought up into a culture that tells you that if you have sex with anyone other than your husband, you’ll burn in hell, and that sex is for baby-making, not for personal enjoyment. Well, not if you’re a woman, at least. They don’t seem to care too much if men enjoy it. It might have something to do with the convenient fact that for men, the baby-making bit is also the enjoyable bit.” Belle groaned. “Getting off topic there. Anyway. You’d freak out about your first time too if you had all that behind you. But it’s ok. Aiden talked me down off the ceiling. I was just hoping that you two might be able to help out after the fact, so to speak. I realise that I probably should have had these conversations before I got married, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty and as long as I know I’m not weird, then it’ll all help, right?”

“Of course, whatever you need. I mean, I’ve only ever had sex with women, so I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, but if I can set your mind at ease, then I will.” Mulan patted Belle’s arm. “You’re safe with us.”

“My first time was kind of meh.” Ruby scrunched her face up. “We were both virgins, both sixteen. We were ready, mentally, that wasn’t a problem. We were just absolutely shit at the actual ‘having sex’ part, due to lack of practice. So, it wasn’t exactly mind-blowing. I think that’s a good argument against waiting until marriage, actually. If it’s your wedding night, you want that to be special and really good, and it’s never going to be the magical experience that everyone raves about if you’re both fumbling over which hole his dick’s supposed to go in and you’re nervous about it being the first time anyway.”

“That was part of the reason why I was freaking out,” Belle admitted. “I was scared of it hurting, and I didn’t want to end my wedding day by getting blood everywhere.”

“Yeah. It shouldn’t hurt, I don’t know who started the myth that you just have to accept that the first time always hurts. Probably some dudebro who couldn’t understand the intricacies of foreplay.”

“That’s what Aiden said.”

“I knew you were onto a winner with him!” Ruby beamed. “See! There’s no need to worry with a guy like that taking care of you. I only had girlfriends for a long time after high school, but luckily, the second guy I had sex with was a doctor, an OBGYN to be precise, and he definitely knew his way around. The third was a mechanic, very good with his hands. The fourth was a doctor again, but he was a psychologist. Then I met Mulan and suddenly my love life was a done deal.” She leaned over to kiss her girlfriend. “I’m still in touch with the psychologist, actually, if you need therapy.”

“I don’t think my upbringing was that traumatic.”

Ruby just looked at her. “Belle, you literally just told us that you had a freak-out about having sex for the first time as a direct result of your upbringing. Archie’s a great guy and I really think he could help you. Better than us non-professionals at any rate. Ok, ok, I’ll leave it alone for now,” she said when Mulan batted her arm to make her shut up. “What do you need? Because I am quite happy to take you toy-shopping. In fact, I have been itching to do that ever since I met you, but I always held off because you seemed…”

“Like a prude?”

“Yes. Well. No, because that makes it sounds like a bad thing. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Belle shook her head. She was only just getting to grips with having sex and enjoying it in the first place; there was no sense in rushing headlong into anything just yet, as liberating as the experience might be. “I think I just need female friends I can talk to about these things who aren’t going to freak out themselves.”

“Oh, we will definitely not freak out. And we’ll try to make sure that we don’t freak you out either. Well, I’ll try to make sure that I don’t freak you out. Mulan’s sensible, she won’t have to try.”

Belle laughed. It was good to be back in Boston and have her friends around her. It had been good to reconnect with some of her old school friends back in Storybrooke who had not moved on, too, but the very fact of them still being there, still being steeped in that culture, meant that she could not talk to them about her plight. They’d end up with exactly the same reaction as she had done so many times herself. Good girls don’t talk about that kind of thing. Good girls don’t think about that kind of thing.

She felt sorry for them in a way; it wasn’t their fault that they were stuck with such a faulty worldview as they were. Not everyone had her courage or means to get away from it. Part of her wanted to go back to Storybrooke and gather all her contemporaries together, shouting from the rooftops that it didn’t have to be this way.

With her declaration and all of the subsequent discussion out of the way, the talk turned onto other topics, namely the non-sexual aspects of the honeymoon. Belle had been able to take in most of the sights, even if she’d flown back to Boston thinking that she’d probably need another holiday to recover from everything that she’d done during the honeymoon.

Just as Belle was getting up to leave, Ruby pulled her back down and scribbled on a napkin, tucking it into her coat pocket. Belle fished it out to see that she’d been given Archie the therapist’s number.

“Just in case,” Ruby whispered.

Belle nodded. She hoped she wouldn’t need it, but it was always good to know that she had access to professional back-up in her mission.

It was still something of a novelty, sleeping in Aiden’s bed with him. In anticipation of their wedding, Belle had moved in with him three months ago, when the lease on her own apartment ended, but she had slept in the spare room. If it hadn’t been for all the kissing and teasing and the wedding planning going on all over the house, people would have been forgiven for thinking that they were roommates rather than an engaged couple. Now, all of her things had made the journey seven steps down the hall into the master room, with the exception of a few pairs of shoes that were a few too many to fit in Aiden’s closets.

Belle sat on the end of the bed, brushing out her hair and occasionally glancing over at herself in the cheval mirror. She was wearing her oldest and softest pyjamas, a pale pink camisole and long pants that had faded to grey with so much laundering. They were her favourite set, and she wasn’t looking forward to the day when they became so worn that she had to throw them out. She’d worn these pyjamas around the house so often that Aiden was used to seeing her in them, and she’d always felt comfortable wearing them around him.

Tonight, however, she was feeling different. Not uncomfortable, not at all. She couldn’t really describe it, but she knew that she wouldn’t have the confidence to keep feeling it if she hadn’t been wearing her favourite pyjamas, the ones she always felt safe in.

Up until now, Aiden had always been the one to initiate their intimate encounters. Belle had been happy to go along with him when he did; she had been very eager to agree with him when he suggested them, but she had never yet made the suggestion herself, always waiting until he brought the matter up. Tonight, she was going to turn the tables. Hopefully. If she didn’t chicken out at the last minute. She listened to the sound of Aiden brushing his teeth in the bathroom, remembering their wedding night involuntarily with a shudder. At least she knew that he wasn’t going to be hiding from her.

She was a married woman. There was no shame in her wanting to have sex with her husband. There wouldn’t have been any shame wanting to have sex even if she wasn’t a married woman. She still needed to keep reminding herself of that one. Trying to break the mental link between sexuality and morality was a lot harder than it seemed to be at first glance. Maybe Ruby was right and speaking to a professional would be a good idea.

She pushed the thought away for now; that was something that could be explored in the morning, when she couldn’t feel the heat rising in the pit of her stomach and calling out to her, telling her to get her man into bed and do something wonderful with him.

Almost on cue, Aiden came out of the bathroom, and Belle watched him cross the room to get into bed. Even in a t-shirt and pyjama pants, he still exuded an air of attractiveness and confidence. Maybe it was the confidence that made him so attractive. It certainly wasn’t vice versa; he had always been rather self-deprecating when it came to his own appearance. He hadn’t been able to believe when Belle had agreed to go out with him for the first time and his usual suave demeanour had pretty much instantly fallen as soon as she’d said yes, because he hadn’t had a plan for what to do in that situation, so convinced had he been of her imminent rejection. It was only now that she was working through her own confidence issues that Belle felt a new sense of kinship with him. Their circumstances were very different, of course, and their problems stemmed from different places, but the crux of it all came down to the same thing, a belief that had been instilled a long time ago that was very hard to break out of.

Belle slipped under the covers beside Aiden and switched off her reading light, plunging them into companionable darkness and cuddling in close. They’d fallen into their sleeping position so easily after that first night, although Belle had no intentions of sleeping just yet. It was easier in the darkness. She didn’t have to worry about looking like a fool who didn’t know what she was doing if Aiden couldn’t see her properly. The dark was kind to her.

She slid one hand down and under the hem of his t-shirt, resting her hand lightly on his stomach and feeling the little twitch he gave in response. She glanced up at him in the gloom, just able to make out his face.

She stayed with her hand on his stomach for a while, wondering where to go from there. Down towards his cock, or would that be too forward? Should she make her intentions known a bit more blatantly?

She kissed him in the dark, working her way slowly from his cheek, a little rough with the day’s stubble, round to his lips. He responded eagerly, opening his mouth to touch his tongue against hers. His hand came up to rest on her hip, fingertips drawing little circles on her skin under her camisole until Belle finally broke away from their kiss. She had gone into this with such determination to go for what she wanted, and now she just felt clumsy and embarrassed, unable to articulate her desires. It wasn’t that she lacked the language, nor particularly that she was having to deal with the snide voices telling her that she shouldn’t want this in the first place, let alone want to express how much she wanted it. It was more that she didn’t have the necessary gumption. She pulled her hand out from under Aiden’s t-shirt and let it fall back onto the mattress between them. Aiden kissed his way round to her ear.

“Was there something you wanted, sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice so soft and breathy that it sent a shiver of delight down Belle’s spine.

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want, my love.”

“You.”

She felt rather than heard his little chuckle, and then he was pulling her over on top of him, running his hands down her back to cup her ass cheeks, kneading lightly through her pyjama pants. Belle dived in for another kiss.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about being on top. According to her research – well, according to the books she’d read – it was a popular position for women, but Belle couldn’t help feeling exposed, vulnerable. When she’d had Aiden’s warm weight covering her, she’d felt safe, hidden from whatever strange kind of angelic voyeurs might be out there checking up on her purity credentials. Now that she was taking the lead, there was far more chance of her shortcomings in the world of carnal pleasure becoming obvious. She knew that it made no sense in the long run; Aiden knew that the entirety of her practical knowledge came from what he had taught her already, so he wouldn’t be judging her for anything that she didn’t know.

That didn’t stop Belle judging herself, though. It was ridiculous, but she was still blaming herself for her lack of experience, wishing that she knew how to make Aiden feel as good as he made her feel. As much as she wanted to keep kissing him forever, because kissing was familiar territory and it always felt good, she knew that she was going to have to let them come up for air at some point, and she pulled away, sitting up a little and looking down at him. His hands came up to her waistband, thumbs hooking inside and continuing to draw little circle patterns against her skin.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked. His voice was so husky and seductive that Belle could almost feel her brain beginning to melt and dribble out of her ears.

The first words on the tip of her tongue were I don’t know. She had no idea where she was supposed to go from here, how she was supposed to vocalise it all having never really done so before. Aiden always liked her to talk to him, to tell him what felt good and what didn’t, not to be afraid to tell him if he was going too fast for her, and she loved him all the more for it, but now that their roles were reversed and he had put her in the driving seat, so to speak, she had lost all ability to form words.

“I want to touch you,” she said eventually, the sentence sounding stilted even as it came out of her mouth.

Aiden smiled. “I want you to touch me, too.”

“I’m just not sure how.”

“Well, putting your hands on me would be a good start.” Aiden sat up a little and pulled his t-shirt off before getting comfortable against the pillows again and taking Belle’s hands, placing them on his chest. “Tada.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. I want to touch you how you touch me; I want to make you fall apart in the same way I do when your hands are all over me.”

“Well, I would suggest that you go with your instincts,” Aiden said, the words almost a purr.

It wasn’t the first time that she had explored his body with her hands, after all. It was just the first time that she was doing so with clear intent, as opposed to being caught up in the moment of intimacy. She slowly stroked her fingers over his chest, rubbing gently over his nipples and relishing the little hiss of pleasure that he gave, the buds tightening under her touch.

“Our bodies are not so very different,” he murmured. “What feels good to you will feel good to me.”

Belle kissed him again, pressing a line of soft little butterfly kisses down from his lips over his chin and neck, and down to his chest. She had always enjoyed his kisses to her breasts, although now that she was here doing it to him, she felt more self-conscious than she had ever done in bed before, and she pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” Aiden was immediately concerned, the worried expression in his eyes at odds with his heavy breath and the stirring hardness in his groin beneath her.

“Nothing, I just feel silly.”

“Why?” His hand came up to cup her cheek, stroking her hair out of her face as her eyes remained downcast, unable to face him.

“Because I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t. I’m just fumbling along like an idiot.”

“It really doesn’t feel like that, I promise you.”

Belle gave a soft huff of laughter. “You have to say that; you’re my husband.” She sighed; she’d had such grand plans when she’d come to bed, and now they were all falling down around her. She didn’t even know why. This wasn’t out of a subconscious desire not to do it; she could feel the heat already rising between her legs and the sight of Aiden’s flushed cheeks and lust-darkened eyes certainly weren’t helping her keep her head. This was more out of frustration, wishing that all the knowledge was there already.

“Practice and repetition is the best way to learn,” Aiden said. He pulled her down for another kiss. “The more you practice, the better you’ll get, and then you will know what you’re doing.”

“I know, I know; but doesn’t it frustrate you? Being with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing?”

“I maintain that you do know what you’re doing. You’re not naïve, Belle, just inexperienced. And why would it frustrate me? No, I think of this as a wonderful opportunity. May I?”

His hands had come to the hem of her camisole, and Belle nodded, letting him pull it off over her head in one motion.

“Teaching you how I like to be touched is a most… pleasurable… experience…” He punctuated his words with kisses over her bare shoulders. “One that I will gladly undertake for as long as necessary. There’s no exam to pass at the end, my love. We can keep learning for as long as you like.”

“But surely you’d prefer it if you didn’t have to teach me in the first place?” With his lips and tongue touching her anywhere he could reach, Belle was having rather a lot of trouble concentrating on what she was trying to say, and sure enough, her worries seemed really to be of secondary importance compared to what Aiden was doing with his mouth.

“Oh no, my darling Belle. This is just going to make the ending all the sweeter. Now… Where were we?”

He interlaced his fingers with hers, placing them back on his chest and moving them slowly down towards the waistband of his pants.

Belle took this as her cue, slipping her hands under his waistband and pulling the pants down his legs and off, throwing them off the end of the bed. For good measure, she shimmied out of her own as well, before making her way back up the bed to Aiden’s cock. It was flushed dark red, precum already beading at the tip, and as she drew her fingertip up the bulging vein on the underside, it twitched under her touch, Aiden’s hips jerking with the sensation.

“You like that.” It was a statement, not a question. She had learned some things over the course of their intimate relationship, and she was definitely learning to identify the noises that Aiden made when she touched his cock like this. She made very similar noises herself when his hands were busy between her thighs, and after all, he’d said that what felt good to her would likely feel good to him too.

“Oh, Belle…” His voice was low and gravelly, almost as if he was struggling to get the words out. She curled her fingers around his cock and stroked him again, eliciting a long groan. He was slumped back against the pillows, eyes closed, and Belle smiled to herself. Maybe she was better at this whole thing than she thought she was. “Oh, Belle, if you keep that up then I’m not going to last.”

She said nothing, but continued to stroke him up and down, touching one fingertip to the quivering head and smearing the pearly liquid there. There was something in the sight of him, so vulnerable and so undone, that made Belle’s stomach turn somersaults, and as she shifted her position on the bed, she could feel the wetness of her own arousal between her legs. Something told her that she shouldn’t be feeling such want at the sight of this; that it was somehow voyeuristic, but she pushed that voice to the side. She was enjoying herself too much and she had come too far this evening already for her old anxieties to start creeping in again now.

“Fuck, Belle! I want to be inside you, my love. May I?”

“Yes.”

She moved up to straddle his hips, and Aiden brought a hand down between them to help line himself up with her entrance, but she paused, the tip of him just inside her.

Being on top couldn’t be that different, surely.

She sank down onto him, slowly, carefully. It was a different angle; it felt deeper than it had done before, but she was not uncomfortable, and she began to move, rocking her hips a little. Aiden’s hips thrust up to meet her, his hands grabbing her ass for leverage, and she braced herself against his chest. There was something about this time that made everything feel more urgent, more heated, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Whatever it was, she wasn’t complaining. This was the kind of sex she’d read about in her illicit romance novels, or at least, she’d read as much as she could before she started squirming and blushing too much to be able to continue. This was what she would describe as passionate. Not that there had been no passion in their previous encounters, but it had been far gentler. This felt more like something out of a Harlequin.

Aiden’s fingers dug into her ass cheeks as he came, the motion of his hips stilling and his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Belle, I think you’re incredible,” he murmured as she raised herself up on shaking knees and let him slip out of her. “You’re a natural at this.”

Although some of her earlier misgivings were still there – she wasn’t sure that they were ever going to go away completely – Belle allowed herself a moment to preen. Yes, she was definitely learning.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: Pure

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josieandthepussycatsofficial · 5 years

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i have done my classic thing: i have started pride and prejudice 2005, i am 7 minutes in, and i am disgusting with this bastardization of the text

my liveblogs below the cut

elizabeth is a man-hating love-hater? not according to any book jane austen wrote!

elizabeth is too silly and improper, mrs bennet, kitty, and lydia are not at all silly enough

this sucks

lizzy is upset that mr darcy didnt find her attractive? that is a devastating mischaracterization and sets the whole plot and their relationship off on terrible and incorrect footing.

also wtf are they sitting under some benches at a dance?

hate that darcy immediately looks at elizabeth (in a way we’re meant to assume means he finds her attractive) as if his attraction to her comes from her initially from her appearance. he really was not interested in her until he began observing her behavior and interacting with he

when mrs bennet says, “it’s a shame [charlotte lucas] isn’t more handsome,” a terribly improper and humiliating thing to say, mr bingley snorts a laugh. mr bingley is not supposed to be improper at all. he has good breeding, he’s rich, he’s just also very nice and friendly. he would never laugh at that

i do not know enough about the regency era to comment, but it seems to me that there are certain liberties with historical accuracy wrt clothing and such in this film that you don’t see in the bbc miniseries. for instance, elizabeth coming to netherfield with her hair down? i don’t believe women ever wore their hair down at this time (*edit* the bbc series and this movie take place in different periods. bbc series: 1813, movie: 1797)

why is mr bingley so awkward? i mean i know why, it’s to make him seem charming and unthreatening and cute and relatable or whatever, but it’s just inconsistent. his character is extremely warm, friendly, polite, not terribly intellectual, but not a bumbling mess who can’t execute a thought without backtracking because he’s so nervous around his lady love

the book has comedy to spare, you don’t have to cheaply manufacture it in this way just because the director’s scared that his audience won’t understand the original humor/scared that he won’t have the ability to make the original humor understood/doesn’t understand the original humor himself because he doesn’t understand the source material!!

i also hate the sharpness and vitriol that this darcy puts in his language. he’s supposed to be uber-polite but cold and haughty. propriety doesn’t permit active hostility (such as when he’s bemoaning the liberal use of the word “accomplished” when applied to women) in regular conversation. that’s intense and insane

why does he speak so quickly? also they really should not have cut the whole netherfield drawing room scene, at least not the conversation between darcy and elizabeth about teasing and pride. they actually now that i think about it cut his whole thing on how a great man can never be too prideful. that’s really fuckin important character stuff! for both of them!

the comedy in this mr collins scene is not landing. they’re like laughing at him before he’s gotten too outrageous. and the actor is such a quiet, mild-mannered dude that he’s not really grating as he should be. this is supposed to be an extraordinarily annoying character, so annoying that the bennets can’t stand him for literally one meal.

ugh they have mrs bennet suggest to mr collins that he should pursue lizzy instead of jane. that’s not out of character for her at all but it misses the opportunity to show how scuzzy mr collins is, and also how fucking little he cares about who his wife is, assuming she meets the criteria of lady catherine de bourgh

ew mr wickham is so skeevy! lizzy’s into him because he’s hot and picked up her handkerchief? that’s it? is she an idiot? he’s not charming or good-natured or fun or funny at all. lydia: he’s a lieutenant! wickham: an enchanted lieutenant (referring to being enchanted to meet lizzy). like scream! what a gross pick up line!!!!)

and their flirtation is based on banter (no!) and him being self-deprecating (maybe, but not in such an obvious way “ignore me i’m next to nothing” what a fucking weird thing to say)

he literally charms her by pulling a quarter out of her sister’s ear. are you kidding? is she 8?

this dance scene btw elizabeth and darcy is all wrong. she immediately jumps on him with “it’s your turn to say something” after it’s been .1 seconds since he last spoke, and he spoke way more amiably (”indeed, most invigorating”) than would be his wont.

oh my god they’ve stopped dancing to angrily talk to each other in the middle of the dance floor? this is so incoherent with the characters (so improper!) and the time period. just cultivating more drama. this scene’s already juicy, they don’t have to be spitting angrily into each other’s mouths for it to come across

so silly and melodramatic that twice in this movie the entirety of a loud crowded drunken ballroom has screeched to a halting silence immediately for some minor drama. the first being the bingleys and mr darcy simply entering the room. the second being mr collins introducing himself to mr darcy (that one is especially ridiculous)

oh god why are they portraying mr collins as so sympathetic and sweet? he’s a fucking asshole! he’s not just annoying he’s a dick! that’s important, otherwise elizabeth is really unjustly mean to him, especially while she’s rejecting his proposal

oh i disagree with the way they play charlotte’s reasons for marrying mr collins. instead of her just not being romantic and marrying for practical reasons because that’s her nature, they make it a biiig thing like she has to marry because she’s old and ugly and otherwise she’ll go to the poorhouse

it’s not surprising that a lot of my critiques have to do with them pumping drama that doesn’t make sense into the story. making characters shout or spit words etc, because of course that’s what a hollywood film was going to do with a 19th century novel of manners

i guess i should say some good things about this movie. the cinematography is very lovely, obviously. i think it’s well cast, especially judi dench, with the exception of kiera knightley and the actor who plays mr collins. i think matthew mcfayden could’ve been a great darcy had he actually known anything about the character beyond the script

actually i take it back, judi dench isn’t quite amping up the ridiculous nature of this character like she should. they keep a lot of her silly lines but she doesn’t hit them to emphasize just how silly they are. she’s almost too stately to play this woman who, despite her great rank, enjoys spending her time being condescending to lower rank people

here comes my agreement with the grand critique of this movie: they make darcy out to be socially awkward rather than a haughty ass. he’s leaning in and whispering that he has trouble conversing with people, as if he means he has social anxiety and doesn’t mean, “small talk with simpletons bores me”

oh no they cut the delicious piano practice scene! they rewrote it and lizzy just says, “you should practice,” and we don’t get to have this famous, witty misunderstanding that elucidates darcy’s character so well!!!

oh no no no in this scene where colonel fitzwilliam tells lizzy that darcy split up bingleys attachment he tells her that the problem wasn’t the lack of fortune but the family! why?????? that’s half of the big reveal of darcy’s letter????? it’s when she realizes that oh his intentions weren’t so bad

i know i already said it but fuck darcy speaks fast. it sounds like shit. why doesn’t he just shut the fuck up and slow down? it’s weirdly inconsistent with his character. though i guess if they’re trying to rewrite him as socially awkward this could be part of that. but they shouldnt be! because it invalidates the whole premise of the story, their romance, and his character arc!

whoa whoa whoa and in the proposal scene when she says “why did you propose by telling me you’re doing this against your better judgement” he interrupted apologetically, trying to explain. what!!! no!!! he is an asshole! he’s insulted that this low rank woman would dare reject him. he didn’t suspect for one instant that she would. he’s fucking fuming from her first word

wow they’re chopping up this iconic proposal scene huh. i guess to make darcy still seem like a Nice Guy. he didn’t get to accuse her of only rejecting him because she was insulted by his proposal, she had to say that line. this movie is like, let’s make lizzy seem as insane as possible, and darcy as sweet as can be.

you’re not supposed to realize how wrong lizzy is, it’s supposed to creep up on you very slowly. youre supposed to feel like she’s been very reasonable up to this point, and you’re as shocked as she is when she reads the letter.

even his face! so shocked and sad like a kicked puppy standing there in the rain (we won’t even touch why the fuck they’re standing outside in the pouring rain). he’s angry right now! he’s so mad! he’s supposed to be fucking mad, because he’s a proud, arrogant, asshole!

oh my god and look he’s saying the lack of fortune of the bennets had nothing to do with it, and lizzy wow she’s sooo crazy for suggesting it, even though 20 seconds ago he just said it sucks that i’m in love with you ‘cause you’re so low class. god this scene sucks

there’s a reason this is all written in a letter in the book, it works much better that way. this is not a back and forth, lizzy doesn’t get to ask questions and poke holes. he offers his defenses and is still kind of a dick, and lizzy has to read it all without responding or rejecting it, really has to sit with it, the way you can’t do in a fight

oh and he just apologized for accurately noting that elizabeth’s family is often really disgustingly improper! how fucking out of character! both in general and in the scene because, and i can’t stress this enough, HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE ANGRY

oh ok i have to redact some of my former criticism. he finally gets mad at the very end here, and makes the comment about “did you expect me to rejoice in your low birth?” though he still didnt say the crucial “perhaps you would have accepted had not the manner of proposal offended you”

wait what the fuck??? did they just lean in for a kiss and lean away?? like a whole, i’m angry at you i’m hot for you let’s fuck thing? what the fuck? not only is that cheap romance melodrama but also lizzy HATES this man. not like oops i love-i mean hate you but really hates him

why do they choose to have elizabeth not tell jane about the proposal? i can’t imagine there being any reason? except of course that’s she’s secretly already in love with him and doesn’t want to admit it! gag

this scene between elizabeth and mr bennet about lydia going off with the forsters is well done imo

ugh god but they’ve given lizzy’s “what are young men to rocks and mountains?” line to mary, making it seem stupid and platitudinal, because that’s mary’s character

oh good, elizabeth is going on another “all men are trash” rant that is a thinly veiled reference to darcy. they’re just fucking taking a wrecking ball to this character’s credibility and intelligence huh?

this is really devastating actually because at this point the movie is telling us that lizzy is fighting through the anger and hate and realizing she loves darcy, after their sexy confrontation and his letter. in reality, she’s realized she was wrong and is doing some deep self-reflection.

she feels a little sheepish about how she boldly she accused darcy of things she was so wrong about but she still isn’t in love with him because he’s still a fucking proud ass! he just happened to be right about some shit that she was too prejudiced to realize

it doesn’t make sense if she falls in love with him before he grows and becomes a good person. it shows a weakness of character on her part and makes his eventual character growth just a cherry on top. oh that’s nice, they’re in love *and* he’s not gonna treat her like shit. totally invalidates the whole point of the story, overcoming personal defaults and finding healthy love that way

wow they make lizzy so stupid! she objects so stupidly to visiting pemberly! oh let’s not. he’s so…. he’s so… he’s so rich! wtf are you talking about? in the book she’s just kind of like eh idk…. do you really want to go? i guess if you think we should go… oh he won’t be there? oh cool let’s do it

ok so i’m 1:21:54 into the movie. i have 45 minutes left. i’m stopping. i’m angry and getting no joy from this so. this was a humiliating project for me, thinking i could enjoy this movie. never again

#pride and prejudice

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rissa-posts · 5 years

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Favorite quotes from each episode season 1

1: Echos of Thunder (first of all- the more you think of it, the more chilling this episode title is)

-"In the old times, there were only the six primal sources of magic: The Sun. The Moon. The Stars. The Earth. The Sky. And The Ocean."

What a way to set up the world. Just enough information to explain that there is a magic system, but it doesn't infodump you with rules. Also the animation timing and Aaravos narrating makes it an amazing shot.

-(after Callum stops Claudia from running into a tree) "You're no fun"

This depiction of siblings is just so accurate.

-"You let him live, but you've killed us all."

This sent chills down my spine the first time and all the times after that. It reminds me so much of the Trolly problem. Sparing Marcos is a great way to introduce Rayla, but it led to her teammates getting killed and her father figure being captured.

2: What is done

-"I brought you because you're talented. Maybe the fastest and strongest of any of us. But it takes more than that. There's an instinct. A moment of truth. And in that moment, you hesitate."

This is another that really brings out Rayla's characterization without showing you much. It tells you very well that she is able to fight, but not willing to kill.

-"Yesterday, I had two eggs for breakfast and I was starving. Today I had four eggs and I'm stuffed. So, tomorrow-" "Three eggs, I get it. We don't need to talk." "I was going to say two eggs and one sausage."

Come on. This was hilarious. Also- the introduction of female side characters just being there instead of a bunch of copy-paste male guards.

-"There are centuries of history. Generations of wrongs and crimes. On both sides. I am responsible for some of those wrongs."

Enter the grey morals of the world. There is no clear cut good and evil. Just a war because both sides believe the other is in the wrong.

-"I am Prince Ezran."

Callum! Loves! His! Brother!

3: Moonrise

-"If I told you, you would try to stop me." "So, shouldn't I just try to stop you then, even without knowing?" "Goodbye, Claudia"

This is literally the one scene that makes me question if something happened to him when he talks to Viren. Before, he was decent, even with deranged morals. After, though, he is just evil.

-"It's not a weapon. It's an egg!"

This brilliantly show the difference in how the elves and humans view dragon. The humans see them as weapons because dragons defended the border against them. The elves see them as just other creatures because dragons worked with them.

-"But if today is my last day as king, you will know your place."

Before, I saw Harrow as the wise king (especially because he was able to admit his mistakes in ep 2). But here, you can see that he is also powerful, someone you do not want to mess with.

-"I will kill you." "Probably."

Rayla rushing into battle to protect the princes? Yes please! (I would say to protect the egg, but Runaan would not have hurt the egg)

-"Say the word and I'll go back into that tower with you"

You mean, the exact moment I fell for Rayllum?

4: Bloodthirsty

-"Unbind yourself! Unbind... thyself. UNBINDO!"

Rayla you dork. (Also this quote was my first popular tumblr post, so it has a special place in my heart)

-"It is tradition to mourn fallen kings for seven sunsets. You've not even given him one."

Evil Viren... begins. Also Opeli is an amazing minor character.

-"Just no more detours, all right? Or heartfelt speeches."

Rayla was trying to kill Callum one day ago, and is now listening to him? Putting herself in danger for him? I love them so much

-"I don't believe in locks"

GREAT introduction for Amaya, I love her. Also, the way Gren said it with such enthusiasm even though he did have to makes me so happy!

-(in ASL) "He says, if we don’t let you go, you'll kill them and drink their blood"

This was pretty heartless of Callum. But it got them out of that situation I guess. But like, poor Rayla.

-"You called me a bloodthirsty monster. You have no idea how that feels." "But I don’t actually believe any of that."

It was still heartless, Callum. I'm glad this conversation took place though, it allows Callum to understand why what he did was wrong.

5: An Empty Throne (I'd like to start by saying this is by far my favorite episode)

-"Know what? I'm just gonna throw it." "What? No!" "Yeah, I'm gonna throw you the Primal Stone."

Is Callum channeling Sokka here or something? (Also this foreshadows the finale)

-"What? I have nice legs."

Ezran you are adorable!

-"Are you, like, this black-flippin', tree-climin', sword stabbin' elven worrior, but scared of a little splish-splashin'?"

Rayla: Nooo! that's what I'm sensitive about!

-"I am a servant of Katolis! I am a servant!" "Those are awfully nice clothes for a humble servant, Viren."

You tell him, Amaya! What a way to shut down Viren! I'm here for sassy Amaya.

-"I admit it. I hate water. I'm afraid of it. It makes me sick. All of the bad feelings."

I just love how Rayla decides she can tell Callum and Ez these things. She trusts them so much I-- I love her so much.

-"Come on, Rayla, do it for the frog. The grumpy frog that hates you."

Rayla protecting Bait for Ezran! Even though she is afraid! How can you not say that is cute!

-Amaya's sign language to the statue and Gren

You don’t have to know exactly what she is saying to know what she is saying. I love the show for being able to convey that so well.

-(kicks boat away) "Goodbye, boat."

Callum respecting Rayla's fear? I'm here for it!

6: Through the Ice

-"They're not prisoners. They choose to Travel with me."

I know no one is going to believe her, but it is true. Also, I believe this sentence is why Corvus doesn't attack them again and instead helps. He decided to watch them and see if it was true.

-"You are to return with the terrible news that both the princes have died."

Aka the exact moment Viren became an irredeemable villan to me.

-"I'm habsolutly hurious."

Rayla has my exact sense of humor! I laugh so hard at this every time!

-"if you have to choose, choose the egg"

Viren was already irredeemable. This just dug the ditch deeper.

-"Because it has to come from you. Human Princes, returning the egg to the Dragon Queen. That's the gesture that matters. That could end the war, and change the world."

This is so true. Rayla doesn't want to be a hero, she wants this war to end. Just like Callum.

-"He'll get it. He'll save the egg. We have to believe in him... He's brave and strong. He can do this."

This is so wholesome. Rayla believes in Ez so much! I love how there is no bias of 'hes just a kid.' He is capable in Rayla's eyes.

7: The Dagger and the Wolf

-"She's beautiful. She's your mother?"

Rayla simultaneously hints that she is bi and flirts with Callum. Indirectly calling him beautiful. (I don’t care if it is a reach).

-"Get ready to meet... Human!Rayla!"

Rayla is such a dork oh my gosh.

-"If I fail, I don’t know what dad will do to me!"

I feel so bad for Soren. This, to me, solidify that Claudia is the favorite.

-"You're one of them!"

Hearing a human call elves 'them' hit me so hard.

-"Just take the dagger! Don't hurt me, please!" "I'm not going to hurt you. And I'm not going to steal from you, either."

I was hoping this would make dagger guy rethink his beliefs.Unfortunately, he raised a mob instead.

-"If only... I weren't... so muscular."

Soren, I love you.

8: Cursed Caldera

-"Wait I've got it! Flash! Woof! Whoosh! Slish-Slash!"

This was big Sokka energy don’t lie.

-"No way. That won't work. This is my slish hand." "Uh, really?" "No, not really, dummy."

Callum having to clarify if she was joking or not gave me life.

-I'm going to have a whole post about the children encouraging Callum and Rayla.

-"That mirror? You have found something worse that death."

This foreshadows Aaravos, sure. But it also foreshadows how potentially powerful/dangerous he really is. And we haven't seen Aaravos in action all that much!

9: Wonderstorm

-"You might say it's... the Kaltallest."

Puns! I love Puns!

-"I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Callum admitting he was wrong says so much about their relationship. And the jerkface dance! Callum is willing to do it even if he was embarrassed!

-"I know what I have to do."

Callum gave up his magic for the egg! After an entire season of him being excited to be a mage, this honestly surprised me. His sacrifice is huge.

#rayla #the dragon prince #tdp callum #tdp #tdp ezran #tdp gren #tdp runaan

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bnrobertson1 · 4 years

Text

Best Tunes of ‘19

Albums:

10. Squid- Town Centre - 4 songs, the first of which is a mood-setting throwaway. But the rest- especially the one-two punch of “Match Bet” and the funk by way of Parquet Courts of “The Cleaner”- make it easily one of the most exciting debuts in recent memory. I look forward to their LP- and obsessing over this band for years to come. (Song: “Match Bet”)

9. Weyes Blood- Everyday- Alternating between lush and orchestral Sufjan-isms and quiet and direct, well, Sufjan-isms, this album makes a definitive statement of the boundlessness of Blood’s talents. (Song: “Everyday”)

8. Malibu Ken- S/T- The matching of Aesop Rock’s hyper-verbose lyrics and TOBACCO’s warped soundscapes proves alchemic, especially for two artists known for their eccentricities. (Song: “Acid King”)

7. Thee Oh Sees- Face Stabber- If you don’t like them, 22-minute jam “Henchlock” won’t convince you. But for us knuckleheads, there are few things as life-affirming. (Song: “Fu Xi”)

6. Crumb- Jinx- A surprisingly underloved debut, I (think I) hear in this neo-psych-soul group what others do the XX. (Song: “Nina”)

5. Fountaines DC- Dogrel- Seeing these intense Irishmen live I had no idea their album would have the nuance it does (both verbal and sonic), all-the-while never losing an ounce of that hypnotic feral focus (Song: “Boys in the Better Land”)

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4. Nolan Potter’s Nightmare Band- Nightmare Forever- I’ve gushed about this band to anybody who’ll hear it but the record itself is far more convincing. (Song: “Seahorse Retreat”)

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3. Purple Mountains- S/T- While it’s impossible now to listen to it without thinking “suicide note,” it’s still about as beautiful a send-off from this mortal coil as could be written. (Song: “She’s Making Friends, I’m Turning Stranger”)

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2. DIIV- Decider- In many ways the yin to Purple Mountains yang, Smith & co. dealt with similar demons by changing styles (yet again) and reaching for Guitar God glory (they achieve it: see “Skin Game”)

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1. Mike Krol- Power Chords- Every decade needs its own Blue Album and the ‘10s finally got theirs with these eleven tunes of rowdy, joyous heartbreak. (Song: “Left For Dead”)

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Shows:

12. Rolling Stones- Reliant Stadium (Houston)- It wasn’t without disappointment (“Heartbreaker,” indeed), but they hit the highs when they needed to, and their scorching “Midnight Rambler” made you debate buying tickets for their 2039 tour now.

11. Iron Maiden- AT & T Center (San Antonio)- What can you say about a concert that featured Bruce Dickinson sword fighting a 15-foot tall skeleton? (Besides “awesome” about 100 times, as a I did) The show that made me debate burning all of my clothes and exclusively buying tight black jeans and white high top 80s Nikes.

10. Bob Seger- Frank Erwin Center- Not the coolest concert by a long shot, but easily one of the year’s best. MAGA Hats were present (not a problem per se, just noticeable to someone who mostly attends shows that could be subtitled “Fuck Donald Trump”), but so was the fire inside the 73 year old Seger’s soul. A small aside: my personal favorite part of the show was the kind of uninteresting anecdotes he’d tell during songs. Example: “Against the Wind” is about how he would literally run against the wind in high school track. That’s it.

9. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard- Stubb’s- These Australian rockers have been permanent fixtures in my headphones since I first saw their name 6/7 years ago. This was the live show where it all really came together to me (even if many of the attractive people there were confused/ intimidated by the thrash of their newest album).

8. Peter Hook and the Light- Emo’s- A concert I almost skipped after a weekend full of Levitation, this set full of New Order songs (including a front-to-back of their classic Technique) was the best Monday show I’ve ever attended.

7. Nolan Potter’s Nightmare Band- Hotel Vegas- a nine-piece psych band fronted by a polymath flutist, this band is for lovers of 70s Rock (any/ all of it). Their live show, faithfully captured on their debut album, feels like the past and future simultaneously in the best way possible.

6. Thee Oh Sees- 2nd Night- Hotel Vegas- No song touches “I Come from the Mountain” as an opener in its effectiveness to make your blood vessels turn into the autobahn.

5. DIIV- Mohawk- It felt like a triumphant exclamation point to their newest album. Also, “Under the Sun” remains one of the prettiest songs ever written.

4. Yeah Yeah Yeahs- Moody Theater- Entered drenched with rain, left drenched with sweat.

3. Chemical Brothers- Bill Graham Arena (SF)- I’ll spare you the specifics but had a spiritual epiphany with “The Private Psychedelic Reel.” The best combo visuals/ music I may have ever seen?

2. Stereolab- Paper Tiger (San Antonio)- The first of three shows, I’ve been working on a larger piece to discuss the entire experience, but I’ll say that crowd members were profusely thanking the band in between songs- I’ve seen thousands of concerts and never seen that happen before.

1. Beak>/ TOBACCO - Empire Control Room (Levitation Fest)- I’ve long dug their music videos, but I had no clue Beak> was that fantastic live. A minimal mix of krautrock and trip hop, I vividly remember looking around for about 25 seconds when they started “The Meader,” (featuring the best baseline of the young century) making sure I wasn’t hallucinating this moody masterpiece. (I wasn’t). “RSI” is as good a song as anything Neu! wrote. On a personal note, I saw this show the day after getting some rough news and it reminded me of music’s curative powers, full stop (”RSI,” man, “RSI”). That said, I hope there is little footage of the concert because to say I was dancing a fool would be an insult to fools everywhere. Plus, I got to meet the incredibly friendly, funny Geoff Barrow, an experience I’ll forget about as soon as I forget the concert (read: never).

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creative-type · 6 years

Text

Murder of Arthur Wright IX

First Previous AO3

AN: Sorry again for the lack of updates. I kind of hate poetry and have no idea how some got into my story

Also hawkshaw is Victorian slang for detective

Chapter Nine: Child of Sorrow

Margot reached the Red Griffin Inn as the bells struck noon. She scanned the streets for a familiar face, but Cain was nowhere to be seen. With a mild sigh of irritation she settled outside to wait. It was a cheerful and bright Sunday afternoon, and the traffic showed it. It was the sort of day to spend relaxing outside with loved ones, not investigating gristly murders.

Margot was especially dour after a poor night’s sleep, the new revelations of the Wright family churning in her mind. She was a mage, a woman of science and method, firm in both her opinions and convictions. She believed problems were best dealt with when they were small and manageable—whether that was in the workplace or at home.

The Wrights were messy. Even if Master Wright hadn’t been killed it was the sort of family drama that wouldn’t have been easily solved. In the past Margot had helped students deal with difficult situations at home, and knew on a more personal note that Lyra’s relationship with her mother was…complicated, to say the least. But this seemed different somehow, more tragic after two very preventable deaths.

She supposed part of her disappointment was with Master Wright himself. Their last interaction aside, she had always admired his work and was proud of the opportunity to play a small part in his research. A talent like his only cropped up once or twice in a generation, and with an elf’s longevity Master Wright could have contributed to his field for decades to come.

Margot was not so naïve to believe that being a good mage made one a good person, but it still shook her to have the pedestal of someone she respected—someone she had met and thought she knew, if only a little—crumble so spectacularly.

She was still mulling over her thoughts when Cain appeared ten minutes later lecturing a ratty-looking child in a newsboy cap.

“No scampering off till you make eyes with everyone in the building, then report back to me. Do you understand?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Unlike your beard, I ain’t stupid. But I’m telling ya, that’s Rockhead territory. Louis broke his arm tanglin’ with one of their gang.”

“You saying you can’t handle it?” Cain asked.

“I’m saying you ain’t paying me to scoop a building and keep clear of the Rockhead lads.”

Cain fished in his pants pocket and thrust a handful of coins at the boy. “That ought to cover your trouble.”

The boy snatched the money almost before Cain had his hand out of his pocket. “It otta. Pleasure doin’ business, Mr. Cain.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Tobe. Ever think of cutting an old man some slack?”

“Only when my purse is as fat as your head,” the boy said with a cheeky grin. He tipped his hat to Margot. “This hawkshaw fancies himself a gentleman, so don’t let ‘em work you without buyin’ lunch first.”

“Tobe!”

The boy melted back into the crowd before Cain could say anything more. He rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “I swear that boy will be the death of me.”

“Who is he?” Margot said, suppressing a smile.

“A common ragamuffin,” Cain said sourly. “A scoundrel of the highest order, pickpocket extraordinaire, and my best informant. I’m having him watch the playhouse where you first met Anansi on a hunch.”

“He’s a kid,” Margot said.

“He’s a runaway who had a very good reason not to want to go back home,” Cain said. “I make sure he’s got money to eat and a fire during the winter, and in exchange get another set of eyes and ears on the street. He’s got a knack for it, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Cain fished out a piece of jerky and sighed. “Do you have a half-penny I can bum? I just gave away all my spare change, and from what you said Anansi’s the type to stick to particulars.”

“You don’t have any in those magic pockets of yours?” Margot said.

“Pocket,” Cain corrected. “The rest are perfectly normal.”

“You never did say how it worked.”

There was a quiet snort, and Cain scratched the back of his head. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that. Shoulda known better. To make a long story short, it’s a vanishing pocket. Anything I put in there is technically in a state of existence and non-existence at the same time, which fools most spells protecting against theft—especially in old houses since the technique was only developed a couple of decades ago.”

“You’re lucky the Wright’s haven’t updated the defenses on their estate,” Margot said.

“They can’t, not without undoing a century of spellwork,” Cain said. “That house has had so many protection from fire spells on it you could douse the whole thing in kerosene and it still wouldn’t light. Would you risk taking that away on the off-chance an enterprising detective happens to have a workaround?”

“Tricky,” Margot said, impressed despite herself.

Cain tapped his forehead, grin spreading. “Mind like a steel trap.”

“And no change in your pockets, magic or otherwise.”

“Can’t deny it,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Margot said, “it’s probably best if I pay. Anansi very specifically said they would tell me a story.”

“That’s fair. Just remember, we’re trying to find out what Anansi knows about Desdemona.”

They walked inside together. The Red Griffin Inn was the type of place that, while not having the freshest paint or softest pillows, carried a certain amount of charm. It was only a few streets over from where Margot met Anansi for the first time, and catered to the same rough and tumble crowd. But the place was clean and sun streamed through open windows, carrying a fresh breeze along with the sunlight.

Margot’s attention was immediately drawn to a gaggle of children crowding the lobby. Some wore carefully mended clothing and went barefoot, while others were dressed in the crisp, clean linins of a merchant’s child. One girl, whose golden hair had been styled in the latest fashion, sat next to a boy so raggedy he made Tobe look like a prince in comparison. Every eye was glued to an orcish woman who sat at the center of them all.

She was dressed like a sailor and puffed contentedly on a long-stemmed pipe. Laugh lines framed deep-set brown eyes and a streak of white ran through a long braid. Even at a distance Margot could see the faint scars of a brawler across her knuckles.

The woman scanned the children while she smoked, a crooked smile spreading across her face as Margot and Cain settled in near the back. “Noon has come and gone. Who vould hear a story?”

As if by magic a coin appeared in each child’s hand. The woman handed around a battered cap, only pausing when she reached the ragged boy.

“For you, solnyshko, I vould speak a thousand stories,” she said, pressing the coin back in his hand along with a shiny red apple. Where she found one out of season would forever be a mystery, and the boy sat back with his eyes as wide as saucers, the fruit cradled protectively against his chest.

“Now yesterday I told the tale of the great Vizard Hym’s victory over the dread pirate Roberts. Should I continue his story, hmm? Or perhaps you vould like to hear the Dwarf King’s battle against the Lords of Night?”

The girl with the golden curls shot her hand into the air. “I want to hear about the Fairy Queen!”

“No, Khrone the Unkillable!” another shouted.

The woman listened to half a dozen suggestions and discarded them all before a young orcish girl at her feet said, “Can you please tell a story about the Wasted Lady?”

A hush fell over the children as the woman sat back in her chair and took another puff on her pipe. A glint entered her dark eyes, and she smiled. “You vould hear of the Lady? Very well, den. Our tale begins long ago, ven the stars vere still young in the sky…”

It was a story that Margot had heard a dozen times before, but the children were enraptured. Cain chuckled quietly under his breath and whispered to Margo, “When you said Anansi would tell any story in the world for a half-penny, I didn’t think it was literal.”

Margot craned her head at him. “That’s not Anansi.”

“What?”

Margot pointed behind the bar where a pimple-faced and beleaguered young woman was wiping down glasses. She was so unassuming Margot wouldn’t have noticed her, if not for the faint flicker of familiar magic that hid her true form.

“That’s Anansi.”

Cain did a double take. “You’re kidding.” Margot only shook her head, and he rubbed his chin in thought. “Right. Okay then. That’s not what I was expecting.”

“I get the feeling that’s how Anansi prefers it,” Margot said dryly.

Cain grunted in agreement. His eyes darting between where the orcish woman told her story and the false barmaid. Margot could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he processed this new information.

“Alright then,” he said so quietly Margot wondered if he was talking to her or himself. “Two can play that game.”

He strode over to the bar in a way that made his coat billow dramatically behind him. Margot followed in a less ridiculous manner and took the seat next to him. Cain had yet to remove his hat, and the shadows framed his face in a way that might have been intimidating if Margot didn’t already know him.

For a moment Margot felt uneasy. Trying to bully Anansi for information wasn’t going to work, but before she could say anything the not-a-barmaid was before them.

“What’ll it be?”

“It’s quite the crowd you’ve got here,” Cain said conversationally.

“If you don’t like the kids you can leave,” Anansi said. “Gudrid likes ‘em and she owns the place. Now what’ll it be?”

Cain nudged Margot softly in the arm, and she slid her half-penny across the bar. “I hear Gudrid isn’t the only one who knows her way around a story,” Margot said softly, voice laced with deceptive sweetness. “And I’m still looking for Desdemona Wright.”

Anansi blinked in surprise. It was the first time Margot had seen them break character, and her lips curled with the minor victory. The moment was gone almost as soon as it had come, and they regarded Margot carefully, dark eyes unfathomable.

“Still running errands for Felix then? I thought you were smarter than that, darling.”

“May I introduce my associate Mr. Dashiell Cain,” Margot said.

Anansi did the unthinkable and broke character a second time. They whipped their head toward Cain, sudden smile splitting their face. “Of course!” they exclaimed, drawing a look of ire from Gurdrid. Anansi offered a bashful apology before leaning across the bar table.

“You’re Conan’s little project?” they said in a stage whisper. “My goodness, you’ve grown.”

Cain frowned. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I know Conan Westmacott.” Anansi said. “Wonderful man. Spoke very highly of you, you know. I wept when I heard of his retirement. Wept. But it seems to be suiting him well, and he’s got you to follow in his footsteps. It all makes sense now.”

“Mr. Westmacott…talks about me?” Cain said, caught completely off-guard from this revelation.

“Of course, darling! You know, when I wrote that play of his he absolutely insisted on complete and total accuracy. No skimping on details, not even for the little half-orc who helped crack the case once and for all.” Anansi shook Cain’s hand enthusiastically. “Goodness, that’s been almost fifteen years now, hasn’t it? That play was my big break. I owe my career to Mr. Westmacott, and by extension you.”

“You wrote the play about the dwarven counterfeiting ring?” Cain asked.

“Wrote, produced, and acted,” Anansi said proudly. “My first one-man show. Conan thought the illusions were too gimmicky, but audiences loved it.”

“I didn’t know you helped Mr. Westmacott on the counterfeiting case,” Margot said, looking up at Cain.

“I…well, I didn’t. Not really,” he mumbled, his cheeks darkening with a blush. “It was a happy accident. I was just a kid who happened to be in the right place at the right time.” He coughed awkwardly.

“Anyway, that’s not why we’re here,” Cain said, trying to reassert himself. But it was as if the universe itself was trying to amplify his embarrassment. Any authority in his voice was drowned out as Gudrid finished her tale and released the small sea of children back to the streets.

Once they were gone Gudrid sauntered behind the bar and smacked Anansi on the back of the head. “I let you listen if qviet. Go make trouble someplace else.”

Anansi flashed her a charming smile that looked downright wrong on the face they were wearing. “You let me listen because I’m willing to work the bar for free—ow! That was uncalled for!”

Rubbing the back of their head, Anansi turned mulishly back to his audience of Margot and Cain. “See the abuse I put up with? I come trying to learn from the best storyweaver this side of the Tributine, offering free labor and asking nothing in return but to listen…”

Gudrid let out a low growl of warning, and Anansi raised their hands in a pacifying gesture. “I’m going, I’m going! Stars and stones, you’d think I drank all your beer and punched a hole in the wall.”

With nimble movements Anansi vaulted the bar before slinging an arm around both Cain and Margot’s shoulders. “Let’s go someplace more private, shall we? It seems I owe the professor a story of my own.”

Anansi led them to a private table and took the liberty of ordering them drinks. When Gudrid came around Margot took a polite sip and complimented the orc on her ale. The orcish woman softened a little at that, and Anansi was able to spout a cheeky retort without getting smacked.

The relationship between the two made Margot curious, but so curious enough to risk their chance at Desdemona by asking. Once they were are comfortably settled she caught Cain’s eye, and he gave a subtle nod.

“We would like to speak to Desdemona if it’s at all possible,” Margot said. “Do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, darling,” Anansi said.

“Can’t or won’t?” Cain asked.

Anansi shrugged languidly. “As long as you work for Felix Wright, I fail to see the difference. I’m disappointed, Mr. Cain. Conan never would have taken a client of his sort.”

Cain’s features hardened, but he gave no other reaction. “What’s your beef with Wright junior?”

“He’s a pompous, self-inflated buffoon,” Anansi said. They leaned on their hand and looked at Cain with a dreamy expression. “I’ll admit I don’t know him, but what I saw at the mage’s conference was enough. The conference paid for rooms for all the speakers. I always enjoy speaking with the locals when I travel, and was having a lovely conversation the proprietor of the hotel after my show when young Mr. Wright came stumbling in, drunk and angry. It must have been near two in the morning, the day before his father’s great demonstration and he was near-shouting with the help for not having his rooms ready.”

Anansi went silent for a moment, frowning slightly at the memory. “I was aghast. Felix Wright portrays himself a gentleman, but what sort of gentleman needs his daddy to come down and get him to behave out in public, hmm? I’ve seen his type before, and I despise it. I’ll not lift a finger to aid whatever cause that overgrown child is championing.”

Cain and Margot shared a look. The story Anansi told was completely at odds with Felix’s tale of the night before the murder. But which one was telling the truth?

“What exactly did Master and Mr. Wright say to one another in the lobby?” Cain asked.

“Oh, Master Wright knew better than to cause a scene in public,” Anansi said. “But I would give one of my eyeteeth to have been a fly on the wall in their room.”

“What about the performance itself?” Margot asked. “I was told The Death of Desdemona was written anonymously.”

“You heard rightly,” Anansi said. “People often give me copies of their work. I honestly don’t recall where I picked it up. The play itself is nothing special, there was a line of verse that caught my attention. That’s the only portion I performed at the conference.”

Anansi cleared their voice, and their demeanor changed, the playful trickster replaced by the famed performer. And with the change came a new face. Gone was the comely human, and in its stead was an elven woman with long brown hair. Almond-shaped eyes were the color of emeralds, her skin a rich olive complexion.

It was not the face of Desdemona Wright. The girl in Master Wright’s photograph had brown eyes, and even at the tender age of five it was obvious that the Wright twins took after their mother. The mask Anansi wore bore little resemblance to that of Adaline Wright, but at a distance, in a darkened performance hall…

Margot tried to think of it from Felix’s point of view. It had been a decade since he’d last seen Desdemona. Her name alone shook him, perhaps enough to subliminally suggest that the woman he saw on stage was in fact his sister.

Whether the guise fooled Master Wright was another matter entirely, but Margot could believe that the name, along with a face that bore a slight resemblance to his daughter, would be enough for him to storm back stage and demand answers.

All of this flashed though Margot’s mind in the time it took Anansi to finish their illusion. In the blink of an eye she wasn’t in the Red Griffin Inn, but the grand stage of Benson Hall where Anansi stood on stage. The auditorium was dim save for a spotlight where Anansi stood.

Margot gripped the arm rests of her seat. She knew it was only an illusion. She knew. But her senses disagreed with what her brain knew to be true. She could feel the uncomfortable wooden seat, taste the familiar buzz of two hundred mages sitting in the same space.

Anansi spoke, their voice clear and ringing throughout the auditorium.

“Child of sorrow, none do mourn Alas, tis fate, now bear their scorn Lord and Lady turn their face And abandon thee in thy disgrace

Child of sorrow, none do mourn From friend and kin cruelly torn Fortune’s favorite son turns his head And finds another in your stead

Child of sorrow, none do mourn Lost in mis’ry, wandering lorn Seeking, searching as silence swallows pity’s cry Your father’s daughter bids thee die

The sun soon rises on an empty grave Though once abandon’d, hope doth save Child of sorrow, none do mourn As fire consumest dross, thou hast been reborn”

Each word was dripped in honey and hit with the power of a berserking orc. When Anansi finished Margot’s heart ached and tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she didn’t know why. She was not sentimental enough to fall apart over a melodramatic poem, but with Anansi’s performance that didn't seem to matter.

Suddenly Margot was back at the inn. Anansi offered her a kerchief, an apologetic smile on their face.

“I’m sorry, darling. I forget sometimes the affect it can have the first time”

“Hells bells,” Cain breathed. “That was…wow.”

“It’s not a great work by any means,” Anansi said. “It doesn’t scan and there’s no meter to speak of, but sometimes even a poorly written piece can have meaning.”

“A really depressing meaning,” Cain said.

Anansi raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Cain, do you know what the name Desdemona means?”

“Not a clue.”

“Ill-starred,” Anansi said. “Unlucky, miserable, and—dare I say it—sorrow. The death of Desdemona is the death of misfortune.”

“Reborn through hope,” Margot said.

“Exactly!” Anansi said. “Whoever the author was, they weren’t writing a lament. They were writing a celebration.”

#daughter of the lilies fanfiction #daughter of the lilies #The Murder of Arthur Wright #creative-type writes

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