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cynnied-writes · 3 years ago

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i like me better (when i'm with you)

○ fandom: deltarune

○ main pairing: kralsei (kris x ralsei)

○ characters: kris | ralsei | rouxls kaard

○ genre/warnings: romance (mostly fluff… for now) | a bit of coming of age angst || tw: parental deaths, car crashes

○ chapter word count: 4,661

→ summary: Kris Dreemurr, the eccentric musician SilentKnight on TikTok, hadn't meant to trespass through Ralsei Prince's backyard and fall into his pond. But to be fair, they were utterly plastered at the time.

○ note: Hey, everyone! Ready to get into this scandal? Before we head in, I want you to know this chapter is a bit heavier than the last one. So a bit of a content advisory/TW; this chapter deals with themes of parental deaths, car crashes, and the trauma that comes with it. Please stay safe.

Oh, and quick ps. I made all the tweets myself! Painstakingly I might add. Any resemblance to a real person means that I'm better at this than I thought. Like, I had to reverse Google image search a Kpop Idol to figure out who a fake Twitter user would stan. What have I gotten myself into? 😂😂 Anyway, Stan Taeyong or whatever. Let's get onto the fic!

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Chapter 2/22: Baking Muffins and a Twitterpated Twitterverse

Ralsei

Was there anything more distressing than biting into a baked good and having it taste awful? It’s one thing for it to look unseemly yet actually taste amazing, but to find out that its insides were rotten?

Ralsei Prince could only imagine it was the same with people too. Finding out the horrible things beloved idols and thought-to-be wholesome icons have done, finding out who they really are? Utterly sickening. Reality altering. It was something that made you sit back and wonder about yourself and your morality.

Truly, Ralsei could only hope for his fans’ sakes that they never found out about him. Because he was a mess.

Not unlike his kitchen currently. With a sag of his shoulders, Ralsei sighed as he leaned back against the flour-covered island. Then, lifting his rounded glasses from his face, he dragged a paw down it. Digging the heel of it into his eyes, not wanting to face the physical manifestations of his failures just yet.

Not the dozens upon dozens of batches of atrocious apple muffins scattered across the kitchen island behind him. And all across the counter space. And the breakfast bar. Not the clock on above the stove that would no doubt tell him that he’s been at this for far too long. And for Darkness’ sake, there’s no way he could even glance at the family portrait that sat nestled by the teapot and landline. That last one didn’t matter all that much, actually. He didn’t need to glance at it for him to feel worse. The photograph was burned into his mind.

Five-year-old him sitting on his mother’s lap with his father standing tall behind the both of them. Little Ralsei had been smiling a bit too wide in the way all kids do, his glasses a bit askew. A mess, but it was still cute back then for him to be one. His parents, on the other hand?

Flawless.

There wasn’t a hair out of place on his father’s mane and beard as he smiled a knowing, confident smile. The one that had snagged him everything he’d ever auditioned for. And even things he hadn’t. Meanwhile, his mother was the picture of grace and poise. Her glasses only added to her high-class British charm, along with her pearl necklace and shrewd gaze.

Regaso and Lorité Prince.

Practically perfect in every way.

The perfect actors and entertainers. The perfect Monsters. The perfect couple. The perfect man and woman.

The perfect Mom and Dad.

Ralsei did his best to swallow down the lump in his throat.

That’s all they’d ever be to him. They were dead, after all. A car crash. Ten years ago, today. Drunk driver. He doesn’t know their name, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to. He’d been much too young to retain frivolous details like that. Now, he’s much too old to brave a google search.

What good would reliving that night over and over again, through the words of strangers, do for him?

That’s why he all but turned off his phone for the day. He knew what was expected of him. To write out a longwinded eulogy in their honour and post a photo of the three of them. Showcase how much he missed them. Perform his role as Sad Little Orphan for the masses, the role he’d been shoved into since he was eight. But shouldn’t it be obvious? They’re his parents! Sure, he might not know them as well as everybody on the Internet seemed to. Or as well as every old-timer in Hollywood seemed to, but… Ugh. It had been a long day, okay?

Just after waking up, he’d received two calls. One surprising, a check-up ring from both his aunt and uncle at the same time. (It must’ve been Lancer Hand-off Day). And one not-so-surprising, from his uncle/Manager (Unclger for short). Reminding Ralsei of his busy schedule for the day before asking if he needed to contact his therapist. After assuring his Unclger that he was mentally and emotionally okay, he called Ritter. Meekly asking the gruff, silent driver to pick up a few baking ingredients for him before officially starting his day. Knowing that the idea of eating a plate of apple muffins at the end of the day would propel him through his schedule.

Positive and pleasant; that’s his mantra. Stay positive and pleasant, and nobody will think twice about how you’re a hairs’ width from breaking down.

For the most part, he managed to keep the raging storm of grief and despondency inside at bay. Even throughout a quick interview and the many hours filming a Holiday short with his old Portalkids castmates. Clover, ever bickering and pushy, knew better than to mess around with him today. He did get close, though, just after wrapping up for the day. When a producer asked him to pick up a few lines of dialogue, they’d expressed their condolences. They’d worked with his father way back in the eighties, called him good people.

“He was a good dad, too.” He’d said with a practiced smile and lightly jesting tone before heading over to the VO booth. Thankful nobody else chimed in before they started the session.

Oh, and don’t worry, he’s not lamenting the life he has. On the contrary, he’d always been ever so grateful for all the blessings the Dark Fountain had bestowed him. With enough wealth to live comfortably and have all the opportunities for a well-lived life that one could want. He’d never gone hungry or cold. Never unloved or abused.

Really, it’s not everyone else’s fault that he’s feeling extra sensitive. It’s his problem. It’s only… by the end of the day, all he wanted to do was bake his and his parents’ favourite muffin recipe. But no matter what he did, they came out wrong.

And, if it’s Honesty Hour right now, he’s about this close to collapsing in a sobbing heap on his kitchen floor. His big empty kitchen floor. In the big empty house that couldn’t be called a home ever since that night.

God, what would his parents thin—

CRASH!

In less than a second, his whirling mind goes quiet at the rattling sounds emanating from his backyard. But then, all at once, it was silent again. Frozen in place, he waited for a few beats before setting his glasses back in place and daring to look behind him. Most of the windows to the backyard had their blinds drawn, all except one. The lone parted curtain was askew enough for him to watch a figure stagger to their feet.

Oh no. Oh, Darkness preserve him. There’s an intruder. He has an intruder! Shoot, what does he do? It feels like he should know what to do.

Slowly, he reached up, grabbed a frying pan from the hanging rack, and dug out his cellphone before he crept towards his backdoor. His claw hovering over his Uncle Spade’s number, the one he told him to only use in emergencies. A potential robber is an emergency, right? Uncle Spade couldn’t fault him for that. Guess he could call the police. Ugh, but he never felt all that comfortable around them ever since—

Just as he eased open one side of his backdoor, a large splash sounded out, followed by flesh hitting rock. With only the thought of “Shoot, that sounded like a trip to the ER,” he jolted into action. Throwing the backdoor the rest of the way open and bolting outside.

Yes, it was dumb to run towards the danger looking to help someone who could’ve been a murderer. But once he saw a soaked, gangly Human struggle to pull off their binder in a state of complete fear, he knew he made the right choice. His soul was telling him that they meant no ill will.

So, that’s how he ended up harbouring an intoxicated Human named Kris for a couple of hours. All in all, they were pretty odd but sweet… in a weird way. The threat of disrobing was interesting. Not to mention those eyes.

Ralsei knew that Kris was trying to be intimidating, but he couldn’t help but get lost in those pools of red. Like twin red giants, fiery and profound. Mesmerizing. Unfathomable. Truly.

After the day he had, their quiet, brief interactions had left him feeling quite a bit better. Even after he bade them goodbye just before sunrise, sending them on their way with his personal driver, Ritter. Well, Ritter was more of his Uncle Spade’s driver that he’d given free rein over. Excuse him for the horse pun. He digressed.

There was a pep in his step as he strolled back inside and into the kitchen. A certain determination within him thanks to not only Kris’ intriguing company but their culinary suggestions, as well. Shaking out his hands and cracking his knuckles, he looked at the ingredients he had left. Deciding that he’d give these muffins one more go.

Cleaning up the bowls and utensils and wiping off the counter with a resolute smile, he began his last attempt. Prepping the baking tin. Chopping up an apple into tiny pieces. Taking extra care to add Kris’ suggested ingredients of butterscotch and cinnamon. Savouring all the nostalgic smells swirling around the kitchen. Memories of standing next to his father as he baked flashed in his mind. He tried to tamp down on the excitement bubbling in his chest, but he couldn’t stop from bopping around his kitchen. Humming one of his mother’s old lullabies as he went. Yes, yes! He was onto something.

Just as he was about to mix it all together, his pants began to ping. Oh, yes, he had switched his phone off do-not-disturb so that he’d know when Ritter arrived and never put it back. It wouldn’t be so much of a problem if it were a one-off ping. But it hadn’t been. Another ping rang out moments later. Then another. And another.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

When he finally pulled his phone out to investigate, he found his notifications in complete and utter disarray. Notices appeared and then got replaced so quickly he couldn’t even read them. It didn’t take much brainpower, though, to guess that the Twitterverse was twitterpated about him. Again. But for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what about.

His last big media appearance had been weeks ago at the Teen Choice Awards. It had been the night he’d won Choice Summer Movie Actor for his work on Sky Full of Stars. Very prestigious, he knows. But he’d thought all the fervour around that had settled. There were only so many times he could be called a short king or be praised by his GNC clothing choices. Scrunching up his nose, he finally unlocked his phone and logged onto Twitter. So, what’s their problem?

It wasn’t long before he got his answer. And it was…it was something else.

Eyes going wide, he slammed his phone face down onto the counter. His paws shot up to cover his mouth as he tried to comprehend what he had read.

They couldn’t have been talking about him. They must’ve tagged him by mistake, right? Why would they even assume that of him? And why now? Why all at once?

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and dove back into the fray.

Okay! That’s enough out of Twitter.

Placing his phone back on the counter, he stared off into oblivion. His mouth agape as all those tweets ran rampant in his mind.

WHAT. IS. GOING. ON.

He had WHAT with WHOM? Why would everybody suddenly start speculating and wisecracking about his sex life!? And to correlate it to his parents’ deaths? Sure! He’d been acting since he could talk. He was no stranger to rumours like these. They’d been coming since he hit puberty. Pages of teen magazines filled with his “romantic entanglements” with his fellow Disney Channel kids, but this? THIS! This is crossing a-a-a line. It had to be. What set all of this off?

Braving the depths of Twitter once more, he finally found his answer after a fair amount of scrolling.

Kris Dreemurr. Kris is the, uh, mangy TikToker in question.

He hadn��t known that, but he lived in Los Angeles. Everyone was a Something, whether an actor, musician, dancer or social media creator. So, it wasn’t surprising to find out that they were Something too. Honestly, Ralsei should’ve put two and two together sooner. Henry Burkes was a Toker, too, the last time he checked. It was his party that Kris had come from. And Ralsei had heard them talking to what sounded like someone else, but he’d brushed it off as a concussed thing. So, yes, he should’ve known.

But what he couldn’t have known was that they had a pretty decent following. Decent enough to get quite a few people to tune into their drunken late-night ramblings. Which is what all that talking to themself stuff they indulged in while he was busy drying their clothes and finding his first aid kit.

Watching it back on YouTube, it wasn’t as bad as everyone said. It should’ve passed under the radar. If it hadn’t been for the bright, shiny Teen Choice Award for 2022 standing proudly behind them. And, if you enhanced a particular shot enough, which he’s sure some enterprising person did, you could make out which category was labelled.

All very incriminating.

But not as half as incriminating as their brief conversation with himself about their binder. And Kris’ following joke about their inevitable walk of shame. Combined with their half-nakedness and almost smug attitude, he could see how people thought Kris was riding the high of having sex. And sex with a Disney Channel star at that.

Turning off his notifications, he slid down the side of his counter until he hit his floorboards. Burying his face in his paws, he let out a muffled shriek. His life is falling apart at the seams and all because he was trying to be a good person. A louder scream echoed throughout his house.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself with his therapist’s grounding techniques.

“I’m Ralsei Prince. I’m eighteen years old. I live in Beverly Hills, California. Today is Sunday the twenty-first of August. It is seven thirty-six in the morning. I’m sitting on the floor in my kitchen. There’s only me in here. I’m tired, I haven’t slept since yesterday, but I can’t go to sleep yet. I have a problem I need to fix.”

But how?

Why is everyone making such a big deal out of this?

No, no, no, go back. That one was something Ralsei could focus on. How? How does he fix this? Should he say nothing? Just let the blistering winds of Trending on Twitter hound him until they settle?

Or should he make a quick tweet dispelling all the rumours? Would people think he was lying if he made a post too soon? What if he makes one too late? Are they going to hate him for something he didn’t even do?

Oh, Darkness, would Disney be upset? For Dark Fountain’s sake, he did not want to deal with the Mouse and other corporate entities blacklisting him for something he didn’t even do! And once Uncle Rouxls caught wind of something like that happening—wait.

You know what? He needed help. Adult help. And the closest thing to it is his Unclger, Rouxls Kaard. But, if he’s honest, Uncle Rouxls is…a bit strange. Okay, the man was a lot strange. Stranger than anything, but he’d always been there for him, in his own weird, awkward way. And as his manager ever since that night, this was his problem too.

Rising to his feet, feeling a little calmer, he went back to his nigh-forgotten baking begins to mix his batter together. Letting the repetitive motions soothe him. Once he found his voice again, he took another breath and called up his uncle.

Or at least he tried to.

Yesterday morning must’ve been a fluke because apparently, contacting his darling Uncle is much, much harder than it sounds. Did he forget a rule about not waking up in single-digit hours on Sundays? Was there a memo he wasn’t emailed? Letting out a groan as he listened to his call ring and ring before being sent to voicemail.

“Harken, simple worm. Thoust hast reachest Rouxls Kaard. Weep! For I am unable to takest thou’re call. Leavest a missive with thine name and personale numbre, if thoust must. Beep.”

Yes, he does talk like that. No, he isn’t joking.

As far as Ralsei knows, Uncle Rouxls was quite a prominent Shakespeare actor in London’s West End back in the day. That’s how he and Ralsei’s mother, Lorité, had met. But at some point, he had left the Stage for good and went into Law. Lorité, for some reason, kept in touch. And whenever she needed legal advising, he was who she turned to. Now, with everything you know about him, you might think he’s awful at it, but… he’s not. He’s really not.

Don’t let his peculiar speech patterns fool you.

Uncle Rouxls had graduated top of his class and could rules lawyer his way out of anything. His contracts were watertight. Priding himself on having ones with not a single loophole in sight. Unless, well, he wanted one to be there.

His skills are presumably what also endeared him to his Uncle Spade and Auntie Queen. Both were the kind of business people who needed that sort of thing. But never mind them, Uncle Rouxls was another reason why Ralsei was blessed. He’d stepped in after that night and looked after him, handling all of Ralsei’s affairs and work in his parents’ stead. And when he was busy, he replaced himself with only the best nannies.

Really, he was a good Uncle and manager.

He’d be a better one if he picked up his gosh darn phone, though.

Thirteen times. It took calling him thirteen times before he, at last, picked up.

“Ugh, it’s too damned early for this. It’s only seven o’clock, dear nephew. On a Sunday. Why are you ringing down mine phone?” Uncle Rouxls’ plumy, English accent, groggier than ever, came through the speakers. Finally!

“Morning Uncle Rouxls,” Ralsei said, positively chirpy as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Shifting his phone underneath one of his floppy ears, he went back to mixing his batter. Getting in the rhythm as he continued on, “Apologies for waking you, but I have a little, uh, Twitter problem on my hands. Our hands, really.”

A tiny giggle escaped Ralsei as he heard his uncle groan as he shifted in his bed.

“Is there such thing? A ‘little’ Twitter probleme?” Uncle Rouxls asked, his inner cynic coming out to say hello before being shoved back inside. It took him a moment, but his fatigued brain must’ve soon realized how bad a Twitter problem could be. There was a rustle of fabric before Uncle Rouxls begged. “Oh Darkness, please, mine precious nephew, please tell me that thou hast not gotten thineself cancelled.”

“No! No, that’s not it. I’m not getting cancelled or anything.” Ralsei quickly answered back. Dropping his mixing spoon to wave his paws as if Uncle Rouxls could see him. Okay, so his Twitter problem wasn’t that bad, but… How should he put this? Wringing his hands together, Ralsei went on. “It’s just that, oh, you know, my reputation as a Boy Next Door may be in a teensy bit of jeopardy.”

“How?”

Ralsei winced at his uncle’s abnormally grave tone. “Well, it’s kind of a long story.”

“Nephew.”

“Okay, so last night I helped someone out and even though it seemed like a good idea at first. But now Twitter is convinced that I had a one-night-stand with an—” He would not call Kris mangy or twink out loud to his uncle. He just wouldn’t. “—Unsavoury TikToker.” He finally said, finding an accurate, if a bit insulting, word. All Ralsei got in reply was a loud silence emanating from the other side of the call. “Uncle Rouxls?”

“Holdst on.” Uncle Rouxls said. More fabric rustling sounded out before the sound of faint phone scrolling hit Ralsei’s ears. Then, suddenly, Uncle Rouxls gasped. “Oh, Darkness preserve me and give me thou’re strength.”

Darkness, damn it all, he must’ve found all those tweets. “Look, I know it seems bad, but I think we might be able to—”

Uncle Rouxls interrupted. Ralsei could nearly see him clutching his invisible pearls in woe and hear him request a fainting couch. “And onst the anniversary of dearestest Lori’s—Oh, mine poor nephew. You must be -eth in utter distress.”

“No, no, you’ve got it wrong. I’m totally fine.” He said, abandoning his batter altogether in favour of pacing around the kitchen.

“But how couldest you be, all by thou’re lonesome all night in that big house. I knewest I should’ve come over yesterday, but I said to mineself—”

“Uncle Rouxls.”

“—Now, Rouxls, you know that boy is hardly even a boy anymore. You need to—”

“Uncle Rouxls.”

“—Give him space. Yes! Space! Imagine if thine own’s parents hovered like horseflies whenever you were a trifle melancholy. And I couldn’t even imagine it! How dreadful! It doesn’t bear thinking about even! So, I left you. All alone—”

“Please, I’m fine.”

“—Wasting away to practically nothing. And now thou’re being tormented by Twitter, the horrid beast. Well, fear not, mine darling nephew, I’m on minest way.”

Wait. What?

Freezing in place near the breakfast table, Ralsei grabbed the back of one of the chairs and asked, “Huh?”

“Worry not, your beloved Uncle will only be but a few moments.”

“What? No!”

“Ugh, such unpretentiousness. Sometimes I amaze even me with mine child-rearing skills.” Ralsei didn’t need to see him to know that he’d smugly flipped his lengthy, platinum locks over his shoulder just then. “No need to suffer in silence any longer.”

“I’m fine!” He begged, his claws digging into the wood of the chair. “F-I-N-E. Fine. I’m not that distraught. I just want to discuss what to do with Twitter.”

“We’ll discuss it when I’m there! I’m already out the door and in the eleva—”

With a tap, Ralsei ended the call.

“GAH!” He yelled out into the emptiness of his villa.

Everything’s in one ear and right out the other when Uncle Rouxls got like this. Not even the end of the world would stop him now. He’s on his way, whether Ralsei likes it or not. And with how reckless and fast that man drove and how close by he lived (a bit south of Holmby Hills), he’d be there in five minutes tops.

Looking down at himself, he knew he looked like quite the mess compared to his usual looks. Ingredient-covered sweatpants and a raggedy old hoodie that used to belong to his father. Even now, it was still big on him. He wondered if he would ever properly grow into it…No! Not the time. He looked awful. Which meant that if Uncle Rouxls saw him like this, he’d think the worst.

He needed to change and clean up. Now.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” Muttering under his breath, he sprinted out of his kitchen. Running as fast as he could through his halls and foyer, up the large co staircase, and to his bedroom.

Throwing his bedroom door open and took it all in, eyes darting around all the cozy yet posh decor before diving in. Frantic, he stripped his comfort clothes off and freshened up the best he could. Searching through his closet and dresser drawers for a suitable, clean outfit. The best he could do was a long, pink gingham skirt, a flowy white shirt, and a soft lime green vest. Yanking them on with little care before rushing back downstairs to the kitchen.

Swiftly putting his batter away, dumping all his dirty dishes in the sink, and shoving all his failures in the green bin. He’d finish the muffins later. When his life was less of the jumbled mess it was right now. Thankfully, he finished in time to hear the revving of what Auntie Queen liked to call Rouxls’ midlife crisis mobile. Only a few seconds left before he’d arrive.

From a rack in the foyer, he snatched a floppy straw sun hat and sunglasses, pulling them on as he slid over to the front door. Managing to make it there and pull it open before his uncle.

The morning sun bounced off his uncle’s sleek, blue Mercedes roadster. Its revving reached a fever pitch as he slipped into the always empty driveway. And ever bombastic, Uncle Rouxls popped up from his convertible’s seat with a dramatic shout. “Mine dearest nephew, despairest no longer. I have arrived!”

“Hush, Uncle Rouxls. Keep your voice down.” Ralsei said, raising his voice only slightly, as Uncle Rouxls hurried up the winding front steps. Unable to shake the smile that spread across his face at the little open-armed pose he made once he reached the top. Shaking his head, he pulled the tall, lanky monster in his arms. Murmuring into his chest, “You’ll wake up the whole neighbourhood.”

“So, theyest are the ones whomst get to sleepe in, hmm?”

“Mhmm.”

“Well then,” He said, letting out a haughty little huff. “Let us venture inside.”

In a split second, Ralsei realized that he didn’t want to entertain his uncle inside his house this morning. And not just because his kitchen was still a mess, and the couch still had a wet spot from Kris’ hair. No, it just…felt wrong.

“Actually,” Ralsei said, pipping up as he pulled away from their hug. A brighter, tighter smile on his snout. “I had another idea.”

Uncle Rouxls arched a thin brow. “Oh.”

“Yes.” He said a bit too forcefully with a clap of his paws. Nervously chuckling, he leaned back through his doorway to grab his satchel from the door-side table. Slinging over his shoulder and locking the door behind him, he asked, “How does breakfast sound? You were right, I need to get out of this, uh, stuffy old house. A change of scenery and some good food might help. I was thinking about that little diner we used to go to in Oxnard. I’ll pay if you drive?”

Pausing for a moment, Uncle Rouxls’ long, midnight blue face was pulled down into a frown. But just like that, he broke out into a smile of his own. “Brilliant idea, nephew dearest. Juste brilliant!” Catching Ralsei by the wrist, he led him down the front steps and into his car. Backing them out of the driveway, he looked over and said with a manic grin, “Let us make haste then.” Before slamming his foot on the gas and taking off down the road.

Between years of therapy and driving with Uncle Rouxls, Ralsei had mostly gotten over his fears of riding in cars. Mostly. Feeling the wind blowing through his fur helped. So did remembering that millions, if not billions, of people drove cars every day and didn’t get into accidents. Just because it happened to his parents didn’t mean it’d happen to him. Breathe in and out, slow and steady, and the ride would be over before he knew it.

As they barrelled down the 101 highway, Ralsei leaned over to watch the hillsides rush by. Hoping that, when putting their heads together, he and Uncle Rouxls would come up with something before everything got out of hand. He’d hate for poor, unsuspecting Kris to wake up and think that they had to deal with all this nonsense by themself.

If he had it his way, he’d have this all taken care of by the time Kris opened their mystifying ruby eyes this morning.

Why, hello! Fancy seeing you here!

No, seriously, thanks for making it through another chapter and leaving the loveliest comments here and on Tumblr. I hope you know that I cherish them dearly and will strive to dazzle you with more tropey Kralsei goodness.

Storywise we're still a bit away from some fake dating shenanigans, but don't worry. Even though they aren't in the same room, it doesn't mean they won't be on each other's minds. Especially since we'll be delving into Kris' reaction to the whole scandal in the next chapter. While also formally introducing Susie and two others who'll help Kris try their best not to get cancelled too badly😂. Cross your fingers.

Thank you so much again for reading! I hope you'll stick around a while longer. See what these two clowns get up to. As always, comments of all kinds will be admired like fine art. That's all for now!

Later Days!

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#kralsei #kris dreemurr #ralsei #deltarune #fanfic #kris x ralsei #i like me better (when i'm with you) tag #whooo! the adventure continues!!#also rip me while i was writing Rouxls' dialouge #spell check was not pleased #check the notes if you want to read on ao3 or ffn!

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1-800-hellraiser · 3 years ago

Text

The Other Side Of Paradise

Requested by: No one

Words: 1,841

Aged up: Nope

Song: The Other Side Of Paradise- Glass Animals

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Pairing: David x Counselor!Reader

!TWS!: A small bit of swearing and mentions of suicide and manslaughter at the end.

(A/n: This chapter is kind of an alternate ending to The Order Of The Sparrow (s1ep12). Essentially what I think would happen if another counselor (aka Y/n) was there with David and Max. Also sorry if Max is a bit ooc, I can't write him well.)

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

"I know you don't but I, I know you don't but I still try. My thunder shook him down. My thunder came and shook him down."

When things couldn't get any worse, it started down pouring. "David, just let it go." Gwen says, standing beside you. "No no no! I can still light it, You'll see!" David says, as he goes back to trying to light the bonfire. The kids just stare at David with bewilderment. You hear Neil say "I can't belive I frenched a platypus for this!" Gwen sighs and starts herding the kids into the mess hall. "Come on kids...you coming, Y/n?" She asked, you shook your head. "I'll call for you if anything happens." You say as Gwen nods.

"Y/n! You understand, right?" David asks you with a desperate tone. "I do David, but-" you cut yourself off with a sigh, not knowing how to word the next sentence. You crouch down next to David, as he still tries to light the fire. You're about to speak but a certain jaded ten-year-old cuts you off. "Well David, you were right! This is amazing." You glare at Max, standing across from where David is crouching. "Max, you should be in the mess hall with Gwen," you say to the child. "If I could just, show you." David says, with a hurt look on his face.

"Do you really think a big fire and an outdated and honestly racist tradition is going to make anyone care about anything?" Max questions sarcastically. "Max..." you warn the small Indian boy. You stand up from your crouching position and kneel in front of Max. "If you don't go to the mess hall this instant, you will have double chores for a week and no pudding cups for the rest of the month. Got it?" You explain in a stern, yet calm voice. Max rolls his eyes and makes his way to the mess hall. You sigh and go back to David.

"I just wish people understood." David mumbles after an extended period of silence. "I may not understand what you're going though, but I understand what you're doing for the kids. It's admiring that you put in one hundred percent every day for these kids." You say, putting your s/t hand on David's shoulder. You feel his shoulders sag under your touch, your heart sinks to your feet. "It's just...times have changed. Whether I like it or not. The campers don't care, Gwen doesn't care, even the founder of this place has better things to do. That's why I'll never stop trying. Because somebody fucking has to." David says, you stare at him in disbelief.

"Davey, please...why don't we do this tomorrow? The wood won't be wet and you need a break from the kids." David sighs and nods his head. You two both get up and you walk David to the cabin. It wasn't exactly the end of the day just yet so Gwen was still in the mess hall with the kids. After you drop David off at the counselors cabin, you tell him you'll be right back. You open the doors to the mess hall and walk over to Gwen. Gwen was ranting to the kids about how they should respect David and everything he does to keep them safe and happy.

"Hey Gwen, just wanted to let you know David is at the counselor's cabin and he's taking a break from the camp tomorrow." You say, Gwen nods in agreement and continues to talk to the kids. You duck out of the mess hall and make your way back to the cabin. You open the cabin and notice that David is sitting in his bed, running a lanky hand through his hair. You gently close the door and sit next to him. Putting your hand on his back, you rub comforting circles into his back. David lets out a shakey sigh, "I just wanted to show them something cool, and they don't even care...what's the point anymore?" You almost stopped rubbing David's back when he says that.

"I mean, the kids don't care, Gwen doesn't care, Mr. Campbell doesn't care, you don't care, what's the point?" David sighs out, tears welling in his eyes. "David look at me." You say, putting a finger under his chin and gently moving his head to make eye contact with you. "I couldn't care more about you and everything you do for this god forsaken camp and these kids." You say, wiping a tear from David's eye. Without warning, David envelops you in a hug, sobbing uncontrollably into your shoulder. You continue to rub his back with one hand and you start to run tour hands through his hair with the other. You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, trying to get him to calm down.

After an hour of consoling him, David falls asleep in your arms. You gently move him onto his bed and pull his blanket over him. Gwen came into the counselor's cabin about a half hour ago. You tell her you'll be right back, as you forgot something in the mess hall. You exit the cabin and see Max, leaning on the right side of the door. "Max, what are you doing up past eight? You've been here long enough to know no-one can roam around past eight pm." You question, Max sighs.

"Yeah I know the stupid rules, I just wanted to talk real quick." You cross your arms and raise a brow at him. "Okay, walk and talk with me, I forgot something at the mess hall." You say as you proceed towards the mess hall. "I know how hypocritical this sounds coming from me, but I feel...bad. Bad about what I said to David earlier. And I want to make it up to him." Max says hesitantly. "Go on..." you say, pushing him to continue. "I want to do the dumb 'Order Of The Sparrow' thing." You smile, and ruffle Max's hair. He grumbles and sho's your hand away from his hair.

"Wait, Max, how are we going to do this if the other campers don't know?" You ask, looking down at the ten year old boy. "After Gwen left, I talked them into doing it. We'll wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and Preston will make the outfits and I already taped the staff back together. You just have to let Gwen know about the plan and wake David up at around five thirty am. Got it?" Max finishes, you nod. "Yes I got it, now get to bed kiddo, we have a big day tomorrow." You say, walking into the mess hall. You return back to the cabin, Gwen is awake and writing in her journal, and David is still passed out. Perfect. You let Gwen know about the suprise and ask her if she'd be willing to do it. She agrees and you both head to bed.

"Wake up Davey." You whisper, gently shaking his shoulder. His eyes flutter open "wh- Y/n? Why are you up? It's five thirty, we don't get up until six. " You blush at how deep David's morning voice is "I know today's you're day off, but I have a suprise for you!" You whisper excitedly. David rolls out of bed and you take a black piece of fabric put it across Davids eyes. "Y-y/n?" "It's a pretty big suprise, don't worry, I'll guide you there." You say as you take Davids hand and lead him out of the counselors cabin and back to the bonfire pit from last night.

As you and David make it too the spot, you quietly motion for everyone to get into position. Nikki shoots and arrow past David as you're taking his blindfold off. "Nikki! No. More. Arrows!" Gwen yells, "You can't control me, white devil!" Nikki yells before running off. David looks around at the campers and Gwen stunned. "...you're all dressed up as-" "Indians, like you said!" Neil cut David off. "We designed zie outfits ourselves!" Dolf added. "Do you love them?! I love them!" Preston interjects. "But, why..?" David asks.

"Alright I fixed it, everybody hurry up and...oh shit he's awake." Max says, holding the taped up staff. "Y/n, Max, did you-" "DO NOT LOOK TO DEEPLY INTO THIS!" Max says, pointing the staff at David. "You suck, this world sucks, and one day, we're all going to die and none of it will matter. But if we didn't do this, I'm pretty sure you'd kill yourself or something." Max finishes, David sniffs and wipes away a tear. "Oh you two..." "Or shoot up the camp, I don't know it was a possibility." Max says, shrugging. "Max!" You scold the boy.

"Thank you." David says looking at you and Max. "Whatever, just take your stupid stick." Max scoff as he tries to hand David the staff. The staff breaks in half for the third time. David pushes the staff back to Max with a heart-melting smile on his face. "Awww....lucky." Space kid says next to Max. Max smacks Space kid in the face with the staff, making him fall backwards. You stifle a laugh. You and David walk over to the raging bonfire. "Y'know, this is kinda nice." Neil says, staring at the fire. You hear the strum of a guitar and look over to Quartermaster and Gwen.

"There's a place I know that's tucked away, where we can go to laugh an play."

You look around at the smiling campers and they all crowd next to the bonfire. You and David glance back at Max. He rolls his eyes and smiles as we walks over to the fire as well.

"And have adventures everyday. I know it sounds hard to believe, but guys and gals it's true..."

"Hey Max, how'd you start a fire with wet wood anyway." You ask, looking down at the boy. "I'm not an idiot Y/n, I used gasoline." He says, your and David's face drops. "Wait what?" you both say in unison as the campfire literally fucking explodes. "WHOOO! DO IT AGAIN, DO IT AGAIN!" Nikki cheers, you chuckle and wrap your arm around David's shoulders. "So, do you like it?" You ask. "Like it? I love it. Thank you, Y/n." He says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Camp Campbell is the place for me and you."

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camillemontespan · 5 years ago

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the history of us [drake x camille] [final part: i love him]

Part Thirteen if you want to catch up.

Drake’s Mind Over Matter Magazine Interview

FINAL PART! Ahhhh thank you to everyone who stuck with me throughout this series of angst! I’ve loved all your comments. I’m so glad this resonated with you.

@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @burnsoslow @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @symonde @notoriouscs @katedrakeohd @emichelle @rainbowsinthestorm @stopforamoment @iplaydrake @gardeningourmet @mrsnazariowalker @be-still-my-aching-heart

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

Seven months later

'Are you ready?'

Drake broke out of his thoughts and looked down at his wife who had placed her hands on his shoulders. She was smiling and looked so hopeful. Drake smiled back, grateful that she was by his side.

'As ready as I'll ever be,' he told her.

'If you get nervous, just picture everyone naked,' Camille joked. Drake chuckled and brought her into him, his arms wrapping around her body. 'Forget everyone, I'll just picture you.'

Camille blushed. Drake loved that he still had that effect on her.

'Okay, go,' she ordered. 'We'll be sat in the front row cheering you on.'

Drake grinned and watched her leave. He took a deep breath.

He made his way from the dressing area and found Samantha standing outside waiting for him. 'You ready?' she asked.

Drake nodded.

'You'll be brilliant,' she reassured him. They walked together down the hallway and Drake opened the doors, letting Samantha go first. He was on the side of the stage and he watched as Samantha made her way over to where Camille was sat in front row.

Lily was sat beside Camille, her feet inches off the floor. She was wearing a red satin dress with sparkly black tights and Mary Jane shoes. A little red bow was in her hair. Red was still her favourite colour, thanks to her Aunt Olivia. Olivia was sat on Lily’s other side and she was also wearing red. She had taken a look at her goddaughter’s outfit with approval. ‘I love the red, babe.’

Camille was holding Luna.

Luna was only 4 weeks old. Yet again, they had a baby who resembled Camille with her caramel skin and downy dark hair. Except for her eyes. Luna had inherited Drake's brown eyes that looked green in the light.

She was a quiet baby who watched everything. Always concentrating, always making sense of the world around her. Drake had a feeling she would grow up to be like him.

They had named her Luna after the moon, because even in the darkest of nights, if you looked, you would see the silver face of the moon shining down, bringing hope and light; something which Drake had struggled to find months ago. Until now.

Samantha sat down beside Bertrand. Maxwell, Leo and Hana were also there. Drake knew the King was there too. He was up on the mezzanine, not wanting to distract attention away from Drake. This was Drake's moment.

He stood at the podium and the room hushed. It was full of nobles and commoners alike. Drake swallowed and his eyes found Camille's. She smiled at him encouragingly and gave him a wink.

Drake cleared his throat and began to speak.

'If you told me five years ago that this would have been my life, I'd have laughed and continued to drink my whiskey,' he began. 'I never visualised myself having a wife or children. I never even thought I would become a noble. I truly believed that I was destined to spend my life in the shadows at Palace balls, a loner, without happiness. That all changed when I met my wife. She changed the way I thought and I began to think that maybe I could change the course of my future.'

He stopped for a moment to gauge reaction. Everyone was still listening, thank God.

'I got the woman of my dreams and I have two beautiful children. I should have felt like I had made it. But I didn't. I know to many people here, it will sound like I'm ungrateful. That these are first world problems. But seven months ago, I had to admit to myself that I was an alcoholic.'

The room gasped. Drake closed his eyes, bracing himself. He had said it.

'I felt under so much pressure to be a good father, a good husband and a good Duke. I'm well aware that I don't exactly fit expectations for what a Duke should be.. I don't wear fancy clothes, I don't like palace balls, I hate etiquette and I can't stand fancy finger food. I am much better just being outside, camping and making smores with my family. So I began to feel that even with my title, I still didn't fit in. I felt like a fraud. I wanted myself and Camille to be the most normal Duke and Duchess, but this idea rubbed many people up the wrong way.'

He hadn't lost the audience. They were listening intently.

'I hate the paparazzi. I hated how anytime we went anywhere, we would get hounded. I wanted to keep my family safe and each time they were photographed, I felt helpless. My daughter broke her arm and the paparazzi were camped outside the hospital. I lost my temper which made headlines. I began to feel out of my depth and began to hate my life.'

He focused on Camille. She knew his thoughts but he hadn't exactly expressed them in this sort of way before. But she was smiling softly, supporting him.

'So, I turned to whiskey. I used it to block out thoughts that I wasn't cut out for this life and it numbed me. It's only when my wife and daughter left me that I realised how badly this had gone. So, I decided to fight for them. I am still fighting.’

Drake kept his voice steady even though his heart was hammering from nerves. ‘I have been going to AA meetings and working through personal stuff with my therapist. My wife encourages me to talk to her if I feel overwhelmed, which I’ve been doing.’ He paused. ‘You might wonder why I’m telling you this. There’s a reason, trust me!’

The audience chuckled.

‘Months ago, I felt I had no purpose, that I brought nothing to the table. But by making steps to improve myself and get better, I realised that my problems stemmed from myself. My inner thoughts. My walls were built back up and I lost myself in this dark place. Now, I’m back into the light, but I have learned that there could be many men in Cordonia who are struggling with mental health issues, such as anxiety, depression, hey, alcoholism, every thing else in between. If I, a guy who became a Duke, married the woman of my dreams and had two kids can be struggling, then anyone can. So, I’m talking to you today to introduce my first campaign as the Duke of Valtoria.’

He stepped out from the podium and the screen behind him burst into life. Maxwell had mixed a soundtrack for the presentation while Samantha had given Drake pointers in how to make it look interesting.

‘Mind Over Matter,’ Drake said, enunciating every word. ‘This is my new campaign for all men in Cordonia. Let’s get rid of toxic masculinity. If you’re struggling, be honest. Talk. Show your demons. Now, I know how difficult it is to talk about feelings and ask for help; I’ve been there. Consider this as me paying it forward to you.’

He began to walk around the stage, getting comfortable.

‘The campaign will involve myself, my fellow Dukes and the King and you. You. Everyone knows I like getting outside. It’s freeing. So, next month, sign up to join us as we go on a week long adventure trail in the mountains. We will be hiking, kayaking, abseiling. Every outdoor thing you can think of, we will do. The idea is that if you are about to launch yourself off a cliff into a lake, sure, the height is scary. But you are pushed to just confront your fears and jump. The same idea goes for your emotions. It’s a symbol. Confront your emotions and let go. Mind over matter.’

There was a silence. Drake ignored it; he was on a roll now.

‘While we’re doing all this fun, outdoor stuff, we will be talking. It’s like a free therapy session except instead of being stuck in a room for 60 minutes, you are navigating nature and working together, while talking about the stuff inside your head. Meanwhile, we will be filming our activities and live streaming them online so people can donate to the campaign, which will split money donated to mental health charities.’

He faced the audience. ‘Men like me are too quick to shut down. We build a wall so nobody can see how we feel. We are told that to have feelings is to be weak. You have to be macho all the time. Fuck macho! Honestly, fuck it. I know I love making fires outdoors and hiking and other ‘macho’ things, but one of my favourite things to do is to take part in my daughter’s tea parties because it makes her happy -and myself, actually. That’s not macho!’

Camille grinned, her eyes shining as she listened to her husband. Lily was beaming, her legs swinging as she listened to every word her daddy was saying. She made a mental note to ask him to join her for a tea party when they got home.

‘Sometimes, she makes me wear a plastic tiara on my head because it might be a princess tea party. Do I care? No! Because it’s quality time with my little girl. Seriously, we need to put aside these tired notions that we NEED TO BE MEN AND BE SERIOUS AND STOIC. If you’re feeling vulnerable or sad or depressed, anything at all, then please, join me on this campaign. I have big plans for it and I would love it if you could join me on this ride. Thank you.’

Camille was the first to stand up. She couldn’t clap because she was holding Luna, but she gave a loud ‘whooo!’

Lily jumped up and down, while Maxwell stood up and shouted, ‘FUCK TOXIC MASCULINITY!’ He turned to highfive Leo who then fist pumped the air.

Drake bowed then spoke again. ‘You can sign up on our official website which has launched NOW. Let’s get out there.’

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

‘I need... to sit down..’ Maxwell panted, stopping to get some breath back. Bertrand turned to survey his brother. ‘Come on, Maxxie! We’re nearly at the top!’

Drake, Maxwell, Bertrand, Liam, Leo and some ten other nobles and fifteen commoners were hiking up the Cordonia Pass. They were dressed in hiking gear with huge backpacks on their backs and each of them was sweating profusely.

Maxwell had his video camera. He turned it so he could film himself. ‘If I don’t make it back, please leave my estate to the Hippo Sanctuary..’

Leo chuckled and took the camera from the ailing Beaumont. ‘Right, guys, let’s keep moving. Drake, how ya doin?’

Drake turned to look at Leo. He looked in his element. ‘I feel exhausted but I’ve got tons of adrenaline. We’re nearly there!’

‘How do you hike like this all the time, Drake?’ Liam asked, panting as they hiked further up. ‘What’s wrong with using a gym?’

‘Because you get good views!’ Drake replied, casting his hand out over Cordonia.

Leo shook his head. ‘You get good views at the gym, buddy. Just think: you’re on the treadmill, you’ve got some gym bunny in tight lycra running on the treadmill in front of you..’

‘You realise we’re livestreaming this and Olivia’s watching, right?’ Drake said dryly.

Leo let out a gasp in mock horror and turned the camera to face him. ‘Olivia, that wasn’t me talking! That was... Bertrand!’

Bertrand kept hiking, his eyes fixed on the ground, concentrating on not slipping, but he still managed to say, ‘As if I would ever look at gym bunnies, I have some decorum..’

The group continued to hike until they finally reached the top.

‘Ah! Thank God!’ Maxwell shrieked, falling to his knees.

‘Right, water break. Let’s take in the view,’ Drake said. ‘Rest up, gents.’

They all settled down on the ground, happy to be resting. Drake handed out bottles of water; Maxwell opened his and poured it on his head. They all looked down at Cordonia. The camera was placed outside the circle, filming them.

‘I feel like we’re on top of the world..’ a commoner, Matthew, said.

‘Are you guys enjoying the campaign so far?’ Liam asked.

The group nodded. ‘It’s different,’ a noble, Theo, told him. ‘I never get out and do this sort of thing. I’m always in the palace, trying to look like part of the furniture.’

‘You’re all different to how I imagined,’ Matthew said, gesturing to Drake and his core group of friends. ‘I thought you would be all stuck up because you’re noble.’

‘Dude, the day I become stuck up is the day I’m no longer myself,’ Leo said, taking out a sandwich from his bag. He spotted Maxwell eyeing it hungrily and so tore off a piece for him to have.

‘So, what are your demons?’ another commoner, James, asked. He had the Mind Over Matter brochure in his hands and was reading it seriously.

‘Oh god, is this when we sit round a circle like the fucking Breakfast Club?’ Theo groaned.

Drake smirked. ‘It’s what you signed up for. Okay, so obviously, I’m an alcoholic and I’m working every day to fight my addiction and be a better husband and father.’

He gestured to the group. ‘Feel free to be the Breakfast Club.’

‘I feel like I’m only just keeping my head above water,’ James admitted quickly. ‘I work two jobs, have a wife and kid, I’m in a shit ton of debt and I’m always exhausted.’

Maxwell turned red and looked down at his hands. ‘That’s actual real people issues. I’m a Beaumont, so anything I say is a problem really isn’t.’

‘Maxwell, just because you’re noble doesn’t mean your issues aren’t valid,’ Liam reassured him. James nodded eagerly. Bertrand was studying his younger brother. ‘Maxxie, be honest.’

Maxwell sighed. ‘I feel like I constantly have to be the joker, the fun one. Since our parents died, I’ve pushed myself to make sure that you’re happy and that means trying to be positive and a ray of eternal fucking sunshine. But sometimes, I don’t want to do that. If I feel upset, I can’t say anything because I don’t want to bring us down. My job is to keep us happy-’

‘Maxwell, that’s not your job,’ Bertrand interrupted. ‘If anything, my job is to look after you and keep you right.’

There was a silence. Leo cleared his throat. ‘Eh, sometimes I think marriage would be nice.’

They all turned to stare at Leo, a look of complete bewilderment on their faces.

‘But.. but you are a former manwhore!’ Liam cried, forgetting the camera that was filming them. ‘And you’re with Olivia who hates all that stuff.’

Leo shrugged. ‘So do I normally. But I see Drake with Camille and sometimes I wonder if I should take the leap and just.. ask her.’

‘Oh my God..’ Maxwell breathed. ‘Are you proposing to Olivia on our livestream?’

Leo bolted up to grab the camera, his eyes filled with panic. ‘Fuck, can I like, delete what I said?!’

They all burst out laughing. Leo turned to them, seething. He left the camera on but he sat back down and became uncharacteristically quiet.

‘Well, since we’re all being a really cringey version of the Breakfast Club right now,’ Liam said, smiling, ‘I guess I should say that as the King, I’m always thinking that I’m not serving my country right. I always wonder if I am cut out for the role.’

‘I think you’re a good king,’ James said. ‘You’re fair and it’s obvious you want to push the country into being more modern.’

Liam gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘I hate wearing sweater vests,’ Bertrand suddenly said. ‘I hate them. I look like a fifty year old librarian, when in reality, I’m in my mid thirties.’

‘You do have a Hugh Jackman look about you,’ Maxwell mused. ‘You should play into that. Hugh Jackman doesn’t wear sweater vests.’

‘What would you wear instead?’ Drake asked. ‘And why do you wear them?’

Bertrand sighed. ‘They’re a serious item of clothing, traditional, makes me look the part. I often feel like I’m failing House Beaumont and I don’t want my parents reputation to be destroyed, so I try and act like I’m more serious and professional than I actually am when really..’

They all waited with bated breath.

‘I have..’ Bertrand said, hesitating. ‘I have.. oh dear God, do I have to say it? Uh, okay, I have... a kimono collection.’ His voice trailed off.

Their mouths dropped open. ‘WHAT?!’ Maxwell shrieked. ‘I KNEW IT. I knew you were a flamboyant peacock hiding inside the body of a boring pigeon!’

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

4th July 2024

I’ve started a new diary! Writing helps me reflect and get my thoughts in order. So without further ado...

Today was the Walker Family 4th July. We’re in Texas, spending the whole summer here. The whole summer.

Things are different to last year. Last year, we brought our pagers and answered work emails so we could still be the Duke and Duchess. Not this time. We’ve left our work stuff in Valtoria so we can spend four months in Texas just being a family. No worries, no responsibility. Bertrand visits the manor once a week and our publicist, Samantha, is keeping our image afloat. She checks in once a week to ask how we’re enjoying our time off, you know, like a normal person *cough* Madeline, take note *cough*.

Drake is still attending his AA meetings and is making huge strides. On top of that, he is making his campaign Mind Over Matter into a powerhouse; he’s already thinking about starting a foundation. He’s found his feet as the Duke of Valtoria. He finally feels he is doing some good.

Not that he wasn’t before. He does good when he is also a husband and a father.

Lily was a little hesitant about Luna at first but Drake sat her down and told her how good it is to have a sibling; someone who is in your corner, someone who is your team mate. As an only child, I can’t impart such wisdom, so Drake took that issue and helped her see that Luna is not replacing her; Lily is still as loved.

Now, Lily is stuck like glue to her little sister. She always asks if she’s had enough milk or enough sleep. Lily is so caring anyway, it’s beautiful to see her taking to her new role with such vitality.

Tonight, Drake was as excited as always about the fireworks. He found more M-80s which filled me with dread but as always, he was careful with them while still looking like a child on Christmas morning. He had bought Luna some baby earplugs so the fireworks wouldn’t hurt her hearing and she looked up at the sky in wonder as Drake set off the Catherine Wheels.

He’s going to make our children 4th July nuts and I couldn’t be happier about that.

When Lily and Luna were put to bed, we sat out on the jetty together with Drake’s arm around me. ‘I’m so happy you’re still with me,’ he whispered in my ear. I smiled and kissed him.

I will always be with Drake Walker. He’s my family. He’s mine.

As life goes on, we will go through more hardship, more challenges and more joy; but we will have each other through it all.

I love him. I love him. I love him.

#trr fanfic #the royal romance #drake walker

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faveficarchive · 5 years ago

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Reality Check

Sequel to Creative License

By Ella Quince

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: PG-13

Synopsis: Xena and Gabrielle start out on their new life together after Darphus buys (kicks) Xena out.

The woodland glade was restored to tranquility in the aftermath of that morning's battle. Only one combatant, and her companion, remained in the arena. Just as well, since there was only one felled log on which to sit and the warrior was in need of a resting place.

"I wish you'd warn me before you start re-enacting my stories, especially the really bloody ones," said Gabrielle, dabbing at the wound on Xena's forehead.

Xena winced as the stinging salve took effect. "This wasn't exactly 'The Gauntlet,' Gabrielle."

"Maybe not," said the bard, swallowing audibly as she wiped away a thin rivulet of blood. "But greed triumphed over honor, delivering your army into the hands of a despicable minion of Ares."

"Oh, Darphus is all right, even if he did force a change of management. And he only whacked me because we couldn't agree on the sale terms. He gets a little aggressive when he's frustrated, which is a useful trait in an up-and-coming warlord."

"Uh, Xena...I'm—I'm not feeling...so good..."

"Oops!" Xena jumped to her feet, catching the swaying bard in her arms. "Here, sit down and put your head between your knees." Rubbing Gabrielle's back, she said, "You're not used to all this blood, are you?"

"No," admitted Gabrielle weakly.

"That's probably why you can tell such gory stories. It doesn't seem real to you."Thank the gods.... Xena smiled fondly at the pale-faced young woman, then leaned down and gently kissed her on the forehead.

"What's that for?"

"A remedy for fainting."

Gabrielle smiled, color returning to her cheeks. "It does seem to help." She sat up with an enthusiastic gleam in her eye. "Maybe we should—"

"I wouldn't want to overdose you," teased Xena.

"Too late for that," replied Gabrielle smugly. "If too much kissing is bad for us, we're going to die young."

"But happy," said Xena cheerfully. "Very happy."

"I'm sorry about your army, though."

"I'm not." The warlord bent down and scooped up the small purse of gold coins Darphus had finally thrown at her feet. It was lighter than the sum she had asked for, but considering he could have killed her instead, it was a generous settlement. "As business ventures go, my army wasn't a resounding success. So it's time to move on and put my skills to better use."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I dunno." She whistled for the chestnut gelding grazing on the meadow grass at the edge of the glade. "We'll just have to see what turns up."

"Now that I think about it, this is going to be fun," said Gabrielle, determined to find some good in their reversal of fortune. "Traveling on the road together, having adventures just like Gabrielle and the Warrior Princess. What more could a bard ask for?"

"Aw, Hades!" hissed Gabrielle, squirming yet again to avoid the pointed rocks that littered the hard ground beneath her. Unfortunately, the chains on her wrists and ankles severely restricted her movement. On top of that, she was hungry and cold... and even just a little scared.

She studied the scruffy trio of men who were bunched around the blazing fire, a fire that was too far away to offer her any warmth. They were deep in furious discussion, but she couldn't make out their words. "What do you think is going to happen to us?" she whispered to the woman lying beside her.

Xena tried to shrug, but her bonds were too tight. With a frustrated sigh, she said, "Well, considering that I don't really have any mortal enemies, he just thinks I do..."

"It could take awhile for him find someone who wants to ransom the Warrior Princess," realized Gabrielle. "Oh, Xena, this is all my fault!"

The warlord shook her head. "No it's not, Gabrielle. These are thugs, so they would have robbed us anyway, then probably killed us if they hadn't recognized me. Besides, it doesn't matter why they attacked — I should have been able to protect you. Some warrior I've turned out to be," she said glumly. "More like a scroll-pusher with delusions of grandeur."

"Xena, you were outnumbered three to one. I thought you were splendid. If there'd only been two of them, you would have won for sure."

"The Warrior Princess can rout an entire army."

"Yes, but she has me as a choreographer. And I'll have you know it took me days to work out that fight scene against the Persians. If the guys who jumped us had made an appointment ahead of time, I could have written one for you too."

And despite their desperate situation, they began to laugh...

"This is a trick, right?"

Startled, Xena looked up to find the burly leader of their captors looming over her. He appeared to be the only one of the men still left in the campsite.

"It was too easy," he said, nervously licking his lips. "You just let us take you, even though there were only three of us. Which means you wanted to be captured." He broke out into a sweat and began to fumble in his pockets for the keys to the locks. "I'm no fool. It just isn't worth the risk. You might not believe this, but I have a wife and children, and I really want to get back to them. Alive, not in pieces."

Xena and Gabrielle exchanged incredulous looks as he jumped back, anxiously waiting for them slip off their chains.

"Please, Xena, don't hold this against me," he pleaded. "According to the bards, you've changed, you're merciful now, right?"

"Uh, yeah," said Xena as she and Gabrielle scrambled to their feet. At a prod from her companion she assumed a dour expression and growled, "But it's a good thing you let us loose, because what I had planned for you..." She trailed off, her brow wrinkling in concentration.

"Whooo, you don't want to know!" interjected Gabrielle quickly, before Xena's lack of imagination became too obvious.

"No! No, I don't!"

"Good save," whispered the warlord as their captor turned heel and ran.

"That's what bards are for," said Gabrielle.

By dawn they were on the road again, walking side by side, with the gelding ambling in their wake. It was, reflected Gabrielle, an eerily familiar scenario, as if she'd stepped into the middle of one of her own tales. Except, of course, that this Xena was much too good-natured to bear any resemblance to a brooding, haunted mass-murdering warlord with a hair-trigger temper and lethal killing skills. Upon further reflection, the bard decided this was probably a good thing....

"Tell me another one," said Xena, still chuckling at the thought of a royal princess who was her mirror image.

"Okay, how about the Callisto trilogy next?"

"Great, that's one of my favorites... only leave out Joxer."

"Hey! I'm in those scenes with him, too, you know."

"Necessary collateral damage," said the warlord, dismissing Gabrielle's protest. "If he'd tried to join my army I would have gutted him on the spot."

"I thought you were a kinder, gentler sort of warlord."

"Not that kind, not that gentle."

"I think you're being very close-minded. Joxer is the comic relief, an advanced literary device only recently introduced into contemporary oral narratives."

"Too advanced for me," said Xena flatly. "Besides, it's not as if his scenes further the plot."

"Everyone's a critic," muttered the bard.

Xena's reply was cut off by the gelding snorting loudly and pulling at the reins in her hands. "Steady, steady," she soothed, trying to calm the horse, who appeared to be on the verge of bolting.

"What's wrong?"

"Beats me."

"I don't suppose it has anything to do with the smoke that's blowing our way?" asked Gabrielle.

Xena sniffed loudly, then frowned. "Damn sinuses...."

Gabrielle stared at her companion. "Just what are the minimum qualifications for a warlord these days?"

"I had scouts, okay?" snapped Xena. "I paid them good money to notice details like that."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Gabrielle tactfully. "So," she continued with a bright smile and a shiver of anticipation, "what do we do now?"

"Do?" Xena looked at her blankly.

"About the fire."

"We go around it," said the warlord.

"Xena, we can't ignore a town that's been set ablaze by a ruthless conqueror! We have to help them fight—" Gabrielle broke off, unsettled by the smirk on the warlord's face. "What?"

"There's no town in that direction. Some farmer is probably burning the stubble in his fields."

"You don't know that for sure," said the bard with a stubborn jut of her chin. "There could be rapacious raiders just over that hill, rampaging in a frenzy of blood lust as they loot and pillage a defenseless farm."

"Wrong time of year for looting farmers. The harvests are over and crops have been taken to market by now. Rapacious blood-lusting raiders are off attacking city granaries instead."

"Oh."

"But it does make a good story," said Xena kindly. Then, with a sudden start, she cocked her head, listening intently. "Someone's coming."

"That's more like it." Gabrielle was suitably gratified by this proof of her companion's keen hearing. Bouncing on her toes, she tried to peek over the hill to see the dangerous assailant who was approaching. Her face fell at the sight of a stoop-shouldered figure in worn clothing.

"Uh, oh," whispered Xena under her breath. "Trouble."

"Really?" The bard's pulse quickened as she studied the peasant who was shuffling his way toward them. "He looks harmless, but obviously you've seen through his disguise. Who is he: a warrior, an assassin, a god in mortal raiments?"

"Hurry up, Gabrielle," said Xena, panic edging her voice as she grabbed the bard's elbow and yanked her into motion. "I've seen that look before. He's a lecherous old man who's going to want to keep us company all the way to Athens."

But it was too late. The man's gait was faster than it looked.

"Hey, don't I know you?" called out the peasant as he fell into step beside them.

"Umm, I don't think so," said Xena, tugging at the gelding to pick up his pace.

"Yeah, yeah, sure I do. You're that warrior princess gal... Xener."

Gabrielle winced. "That's 'Xena.'"

He nodded sagely. "That's what I said, Xener."

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings," proclaimed the young bard, assuming a dramatic visage of grief and woe, "but the Warrior Princess is dead, crucified by the Romans."

"She looks like a pretty lively corpse to me," cackled the man. His eyes fixed on the warlord's breastplate. Peering more closely, he added, "You been eating enough lately? You're skinnier than I expected."

"Death will do that to you," muttered Xena through a clenched jaw.

"This is my lucky day," the peasant crowed, his gaze shifting over to Gabrielle's generous bustline. "Two lovely young ladies and me with a full week's pay. So, what's the going rate for the both of you, dearie? And don't try to charge me those big city prices. We're still a half-day's walk from Athens, and I know what's a fair rate around here."

Oh, gods...we're doomed, thought the bard as she began to realize the full magnitude of their peril.

"I wouldn't have held it against you," insisted Gabrielle as they wound their way through the crowded city streets. "One little jab with the sword, not enough to disembowel him, just enough to draw blood and slow him down."

Xena shook her head, her mouth twitching with restrained laughter. "Occupational hazard, my bard. If I attacked every obnoxious man I met while traveling, I'd have to lay waste to half the countryside."

"And this is a problem, why?" prompted Gabrielle. Four hours in the company of a garrulous, doddering lecher had seriously eroded her temper. He had stuck to them with the tenacity of a starving leech until the last mile of their journey, then pinched her on the butt when he left.

"Now do you understand why I loathe Joxer?"

"Touché," said the bard. "I'll kill him off in my next story. That's a promise."

"Remind me to make an offering to Athena," said Xena gratefully. "She's obviously heard my prayers." Then, with a cluck of encouragement, she led her horse off the road and into a tidy stable yard.

A lanky young stablehand stopped pitching hay and ambled over. He nodded a polite greeting to the warlord, but then his eyes sidled to the belly of her horse. "That's a gelding," he said in an accusing tone.

"Uh, yes, the last time I checked he was," agreed Xena.

"But where's Argo?"

She sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day. "I'm not Xena. At least, I'm not that Xena."

The lad guffawed. "Yeah, right. She's okay isn't she?"

"Who, Xena? Actually, she's dead."

"No, Argo," he said stubbornly. His forehead creased with worry. "She didn't get hurt or anything, did she?"

"But I don't have—"

"I've always wanted to meet Argo," he continued anxiously.

"Argo is just fine," said Gabrielle, deciding this wasn't a battle she and Xena could win. "We left her with... Xena's mother."

"Oh, that's okay then." He hoisted their saddlebags and bedrolls off the gelding. "Guess we can count on Cyrene to take good care of her."

Xena stared at him incredulously, but the bard just nodded in agreement. "Yes, Cyrene is pretty reliable."

As the stablehand led the gelding into the barn, Xena shook her head in amazement. "But I don't have a horse named Argo. I don't even have a mother."

"Well, you do now," said Gabrielle wearily, "so just go with it."

"I thought I'd be anonymous in Athens," complained Xena as they carried their packs to the adjacent inn. "Or at least inconspicuous. Surely the citizens of the most cosmopolitan city in Greece can tell the difference between fact and fiction?"

"Now, now, don't judge the entire population based on the reaction of one illiterate stablehand." Gabrielle smiled brightly at the dour-faced innkeeper who was slumped against the doorway of his establishment. "We'd like a room, please."

"Yeah, I figured that. One bed or two?"

Xena blushed at the drawled inquiry, but Gabrielle answered calmly. "One bed is fine."

"About time," muttered the innkeeper, his expression softening slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing." He opened the door for them and pointed to a flight of stairs. "Second room on your left."

"Am I imagining things or did he wink at us?" asked Xena as they climbed up to the second floor.

"I'm sure it was a trick of the light."

"Like Hades it was. I'll bet he also thinks we're Xena and Gabrielle—I mean, that Xena and Gabrielle — and that we... they... are finally lovers."

"Well, we are."

"But we're dead."

"Love endures!" proclaimed the bard as she flung open the door to their room.

They both stared in dismay at the cramped space and its drab furnishings, then took a hesitant step inside. There was barely enough room to take yet another step.

"They need to dust more often," said Xena critically, wiping a finger across a tabletop. She rubbed off the resulting smudge with a shiver of distaste. "At least once a year."

"I've seen worse...somewhere," muttered Gabrielle.

Sitting down on a bed with a decided absence of any bounce, Xena judged the mattress to be slightly softer than a granite slab. "By the way," she asked curiously, "just how many times have you done this?"

The bard suddenly became intently absorbed in unpacking their bedrolls. "Done what?"

"Checked into an inn...with another woman."

Gabrielle shrugged and kept her face averted. "I'm a bard...I travel a lot...meet lots of people...."

"I'm not complaining," said Xena softly. "It's just that," she took a deep breath and confessed, "I was always so busy running my army that I didn't have much time for... socializing. So sometimes I worry that I don't... measure up."

"Oh." When the young woman turned around, there were tears running down her cheeks. "Xena, I fell in love with you the day you rode into Potidea, and you've been worth every minute of the years I've waited for you. No one has ever made me feel as wonderful, or as beautiful, as you do."

"Oh." The warrior blinked, then cleared her throat, but no words came out. So she pulled the bard down onto her lap and enveloped her in a fierce hug.

Her face buried against Xena's chest, Gabrielle whispered, "But if you're still worried, we could get in some practice before lunch."

Not many patrons were left in the common room by the time the two women wandered downstairs again.

"There's plenty of food," yelled the innkeeper from the depths of the kitchen, "as long as you want stew."

"Stew?" said the warlord under her breath. "It smells more like dirty laundry,"

"Hush, Xena." Gabrielle mustered a polite smile and called back, "Stew will be fine!"

"Delius was here," Xena read off the top of the trestle table in the middle of the room. As they settled onto a low bench that wobbled ominously, she continued her perusal of the words etched into the wooden surface. "Fiscus loves Antonio...Gratius has a twelve-inch—"

"Here ya go!" barked out a busty woman who emerged from the kitchen with a tray of food balanced on her hands. Then her eyes fixed on the leather-clad warlord. "Oh my!" Setting two bowls down in front of her customers, the waitress leaned over at a strategic and obviously well-practiced angle that displayed her breasts as if they were a special on that day's menu. "You're Xena, the Warrior Princess, aren't you?"

Xena smiled broadly. "Why, yes—"

"Yes, there's a strong resemblance," interjected Gabrielle. "How sweet of you to notice. But hadn't you heard? The Warrior Princess is dead." Leaning closer to her companion, she muttered, "Or she certainly will be soon."

"Yup, dead," said the warlord with sudden conviction. "Nailed to a cross, they say. Nasty way to go, but very thorough."

The waitress shuddered, which only served to accentuate her assets. Then she looked at the young bard, coolly measuring her appearance. "Well, you're obviously not Gabrielle. Is she dead, too?"

"Yes," said Gabrielle through gritted teeth. "She died with Xena."

"Oh, that's so sad!"

"What's really sad is this food," said the warlord, hastily dropping her spoon after just one taste.

"Don't you worry, I can fix you something very special," gushed the waitress.

"We wouldn't dream of putting you to that kind of trouble," said Gabrielle quickly and firmly. "We'll pick up something to eat at the marketplace instead. Now!" she said, prodding Xena into leaving before the waitress could offer any more of her services.

As they headed out the door, Xena spat out a knot of gristle that had lodged between her teeth. "We really should move to another inn."

"Yeah, we probably should," agreed Gabrielle reluctantly, "only this place is so convenient. It's near the city gate and the stables and even the markets."

"But—" The warlord broke off her protest; her blue eyes lit up, fired by a sudden spark of inspiration. "Why so it is, my bard, so it is..."

"One dinar."

Gabrielle nodded and handed over a coin. As she turned away from the stall, she saw the horrified look on Xena's face. "What?"

"Gabrielle! You just paid three times the market rate for that apple! I thought you knew how to bargain."

"Excuse me, Destroyer of Nations, but I'm a bard, remember? I write fiction."

Behind them, the fruit vendor was staring at the warlord, running his eyes from her leather boots up and up to the raven-dark tresses of her hair. "Destroyer of... You're Xena, the Warrior Princess!" he yelped.

"Xena's dead," said the warlord automatically.

"But you look just like her!"

"No, no she doesn't," cried out Gabrielle, assuming a visage of obvious dismay. "You've made a mistake, a dreadful mistake. It's just a... a strange coincidence, that's all."

Startled by Gabrielle's very unconvincing denial, Xena decided the better part of valor lay in letting the bard play out this scene on her own. Setting her mouth in a grim line, the warlord maintained a steadfast silence.

"Why, if this woman were Xena," said Gabrielle, "do you think for one minute she would let you live after cheating me out of a full dinar for that mealy apple?"

Ah — that's my cue, realized the warlord. "Like the little woman said, I'm not Xena." And she let her hand drift onto the pommel of her sword.

The vendor swallowed hard. "No, not Xena... how silly of me..." Taking a deep breath, he said, "Uh, by the way, you forgot your other two apples. And here, have a pear as well. They're very tasty this time of year."

Gabrielle broke into a beatific smile. "Why, thank you — you're very kind."

As they strolled away, munching on fruit, Xena said, "And I thought you said you couldn't bargain."

"That wasn't really bargaining. It was improvisational acting. And for an amateur, you did a pretty good job of picking up your lines."

"It was fun," said Xena thoughtfully. "I haven't had a whole lot of fun in my life." She turned to her companion. "That's one of the things I like about being around you. Even before we met, I figured that you'd just naturally make life more interesting. It was one of the reasons I had you abducted."

"Really?" Gabrielle flushed with pleasure. "Just for that, I'll forgive you for that 'little woman' crack."

One advantage to having such a small room, decided Gabrielle philosophically, was that it could be lit by the single candle stub reluctantly provided by the innkeeper. She sneezed as a cloud of dust tickled her nose. "Guess the maid's been here."

During their absence their packs had been thrown into a corner of the room and the bedspread had been turned down to reveal stained, threadbare sheets.... and a whip coiled neatly on top of a flat pillow.

"What the—!" growled the warlord. Snatching her whip off the bed, she hastily stuffed it back in her saddlebag. "I'd like to get my hands on the bard who's been spreading those damn S&M stories again."

"Yeah... so would I," said Gabrielle, a speculative tone in her voice. At Xena's outraged look, she said, "Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it."

"What is it about you bards and leather?" asked Xena in dismay. "How many times do I have to tell you that armor and weapons are the tools of my trade, not sex toys. I have no intention of using a whip on you."

"That wasn't the scenario I had in mind."

"Oh no, you don't! Whips hurt!"

"Chains?"

Xena fell silent for a moment. "Well...maybe...."

This promising line of discussion was abruptly interrupted by a series of blood-curdling yells and the sound of splintering furniture coming from the room next door, followed by a rhythmic chanting that gathered force until the two women could hear the words, "Toga, toga, toga!" reverberating through the wall.

"Just a wild guess," said the bard, "but I think that's a party we want to avoid."

"And I think it's time I had a small talk with management," said the warlord, striding masterfully out of the room.

Gabrielle shivered. There had been an edge of menace in her companion's voice that the bard had never heard before. As she waited for Xena's return, Gabrielle even felt a twinge of sympathy for the hapless innkeeper. Then the candle guttered out, throwing her into darkness, and the floorboards began to vibrate from the escalating noise of the nascent orgy. "On second thought — Take the village, kill 'em all," the bard muttered as she stumbled her way out of the room and went in search of the warlord.

She found Xena standing alone in the middle of the empty common room.

"Well?" Gabrielle demanded. The dazed smile on Xena's face was starting to worry her. "Did you find the innkeeper? Did you make him give back our money so we can stay somewhere else?"

"Not exactly." Xena's smile broadened. "Actually, I bought the place from him."

"Bought it!" Without even trying, the bard managed a truly impressive dramatic visage of pure horror. "But Xena, this inn is a dump!"

"A dump with a good strategic location, which is why it's stayed in business as long as it has, despite its many shortcomings. All it needs is a good administrator and some first-class entertainment, like a bard, and—"

"...and it could be a roaring success," finished Gabrielle with awe.

"Xena, Athenian Innkeeper," proclaimed the former warlord as she surveyed her new territory. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #pg-13 #femslash #fanfiction #author: ella quince

3 notes · View notes

almaasi · 6 years ago

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reaction post typed while watching SPN 14x08 “Byzantium”

*insert gif of me with raging fireballs for eyes and a huge smile, throwing flowers everywhere*

03:45pm

WHooo a meredith glynn episode!!!!! my fave

i always hear the 10th doctor saying “byzantium” and i can’t even put my finger on why. i guess he said it once. followed by the word “crystals”. probably what powers the tardis tbh

brb gonna get a lil snackaroo

04:04pm

okay a whole mealaroo, same difference

LET’S WATCH THE THING

04:06

i like that this recap is mostly women saying important things, quoted from multiple episodes

the stars have aligned

04:08

sam: “tell them yourself, they’ll get back in a minute”

oh no the pain in sam’s eyes

i lowkey forgot jared could act

04:10

jack: what happens next, for someone like me?

sam: i don’t know

jack: then it’s gonna be an adventure

he is THE PUREST SOUL

04:11

sam: “he’s gone”

WHAT??? NO?????!?!?!

WHAT??2RF

JDFG?

/????????

NO? I WAS 0% EXPECTING THIS

WHAT THE HELL

EXCUSE ME I WANT A REFUND FOR THIS EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT

SERIOUSLY I 100% BELIEVED HE’D BE OKAY

WHO ALLOWED THIS

/frowns and continues watching because nope this will be FIXED

at some point

undoubtedly

04:14

oh nooooo

does cas always check with dean’s emotions so he can reflect them, or because he wants to check if dean’s okay before allowing himself to feel his own emotions?

because he always does this

04:16

also i wanna know why this is clearly affecting dean so much more than cas or sam when they all cared about him like parents

does he just take things to heart way more, or is jack specifically linked in his mind to something he did wrong and the guilt is overwhelming?

also i totally would’ve loved to see them all bawling their eyes out tbh

04:18

why is cas the one holding everything together

dean’s in pain, cas helps him

sam’s in pain, dean lets him be but cas wants to help

but how is cas feeling

04:21

would fresh wood even burn???? i thought you’re meant to get dead, old wood

or maybe i know nothing and you’re meant to chop down poor, innocent trees

04:24

dean: “tonight? we get loaded”

and now i’m crying ;~;

04:25

fuk u

04:26

it’s obviously misha but it’s also canon cas now and he’s smiling and i’m sobbing and i can’t handle this

okay dean needs to kiss that lil bit of caramel off his lip RIGHT NOW

100% the reason the editors used that shot

04:28

okYA THAT RIGHT THERE/ THAT’S DRUNK JENSEN

NESNEJ, IF YOU WILL

I KNOW THAT LOOK ANYWHERE

THAT’S JENSEN LOOKING AT MISHA WITH DRUNK HEARTEYES

they must’ve used real liquor somewhere in this, either that or jensen is REALLY good at acting drunk with his eyes

AND FUCK THAT’S ALSO DEAN LOOKING AT CAS WITH DRUNK HEARTEYES

SHIT

this episode is just a list of things i did not fucking expect to see right now

04:33

tbh jack’s heaven is probably very close to my idea of heaven too

endless team free will/destiel soft fanfiction where nothing is wrong and they like me

04:35

how does he look SO. GOOD.

04:37

honestly right now as they’re having this conversation about angel tablets, my bladder is straining in sympathy for dean’s

please somebody let him leave to use the bathroom

i cannot imagine how much liquid is inside him right now AND AT THE SAME TIME HE MUST BE THE MOST DEHYDRATED

save this boy

04:41

oooh is jack gonna meet his mom in heaveeeeeeennnnn

04:44

dean: “psycho ex-angel killer”

um dude everyone you know and love has murdered angels

04:50

oooohhhh yes i did recognise the black inky skeleton thing but didn’t place it until now

04:50

duma: “what does it want?”

naomi: “the boy”

unsure if that counts as a bechdel test pass but it was close

duma: “so what do we do?”

naomi: “give it what it wants”

okay THAT counts