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pawprintsmoon · 3 years

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You and me, Part III

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30337365/chapters/74893146#workskin

The proposal

After a shower and clean pajamas, Alex finished packing his suitcase, tucking the ring safely inside. The next morning, he was so focused on not losing it again that he ended up misplacing his coffee filled travel mug. He had put it down for one second, and suddenly it was nowhere to be seen. Henry found it in minutes and they left for the airport. Distracted beyond reason, Alex had to hop out of the car to race back inside to grab his wallet. Then he had to hop out of the car again to run inside and get his phone.

After speeding to the JFK airport, they crossed the Atlantic and spent one night in Kensington recovering from jet lag. They spent their first full day at a trans* equity conference. The English press greeted their visiting prince with union jacks and rainbows. Naturally, they responded with charming comments and smiling photos. Alex took the opportunity to livestream a message to his followers: ‘of course transgender high schoolers should be allowed on the sports team that aligns with their gender, and here’s why…’

Privately, in the car back to the palace, Henry expressed the opinion that public schools ought to have polo teams, because it’s a coed sport and ideal for nonbinary teens who don’t like to rock the boat. Alex responded with similar sentiments about quidditch. The rest of the drive they shared a familiar rant about how Harry Potter belongs to the fans (including the trans* fans) and not only to JKR.

That night, just past 2am, Alex turned over in bed to ask, “You awake?”

“Always.”

“Good. We’re going on a fieldtrip. Come on.” Alex pulled them both out of bed, and they got dressed, Alex swinging on his Gucci jacket. He would have worn a hoodie, the incognito uniform of the internationally recognizable, but tonight he didn’t want to hide himself. It was worth the risk. Besides, they didn’t really need to sneak around anymore, did they? Old habits.

He led them out of the palace, down Prince Consort Road. He stopped for a selfie with the sign, because he really had wanted to last time. A second selfie included them both, looking goofy and not caring. When they reached the back entrance of the Victoria and Albert Museum, they kissed lazily against the wall. Once Henry’s lips melted Alex’s nerves, he drew back to take the next step.

“Thing about dating the prince,” he said, holding up keys, “is that you can borrow pretty much anything he owns. And he can get the keys to anywhere if he asks nicely.”

“You’re a thief,” snarked Henry, walking through the door that Alex held open for him. “And a knave, and a scoundrel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex gave the security guard a wad of cash. “Thanks, Gavin. It’ll be Renaissance City.”

They walked past sculptures, artifacts, and paintings, surrounded by the history that they were a part of. They got to the piazza, Henry’s sacred place. Just like last time, the first statue, Samson Slaying a Philistine took away what little breath Alex had, and he had to lean on Henry for support. Like windswept magnets, their lips met, for no reason at all.

Most of the time, Alex had a strong sense of Henry and himself being part of the current moment of history, changing the world in the here and now. But right then, time seemed to melt, and they were surrounded by historical sculptures telling timeless stories. Zephyr the Greek god of the west wind, Proserpina in the underworld, and Jason and his golden fleece. Archetypical and expansive.

And then there was Henry: the national gay landmark, prince charming, an obtuse fucking asshole. Hopefully his future husband. Sticking with his plan, he pulled away from Henry and got out his phone to open Spotify. Taking a deep breath, he pressed play. “Your Song” came from the tinny speakers.

“It’s a little bit funny, these feelings inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.”

“Why am I getting deja vu?” Henry asked, as Alex wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist.

“No clue.”

They began to sway, slow and intimate, cheek to cheek. He recognized the swelling in his chest as the same ache he’d felt when Henry first played this song for him years ago in the music parlor. Back then, he’d been trying so hard to repress his love for Henry, gripping the settee and wondering how long they would fly across the world to touch each other without talking about it. Now they let love dance around them, unbridled and openly declared in front of the world.

Other memories stirred up unbidden. Henry ghosting him after their first kiss, leaving him out in the snow and questioning everything. And then again when Alex hinted at love, leaving him in the lake with his heart carved out. Twice is not a pattern though, is it. Ever since the last time they were in this museum together, Henry had given his entire self to Alex. He had decided to be with Alex for real that night. That had been when they decided to love each other on purpose.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words. How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

For several beats of silence, he just looked at Henry. And Henry looked at him, and the museum disappeared. The whole world faded away except Henry and himself. It was now. He knelt down to one knee slowly, never losing eye contact. Henry’s loving smile showed no surprise as Alex spoke.

“Henry George Edward James Fox-Mounchristen-Windsor,” he said, making Henry roll his eyes. “I have a question to ask you. You see, my mom asked me, back in our early days, if I felt forever about you. I knew it then, and I know it now. I want to spend my life with you. So... ”

He paused, reached into his jacket, and pulled out the bedazzled box, rhinestones spelling out ‘love.’ Henry had probably guessed that it was never intended for June’s earrings, because he laughed like the box was an inside joke. Despite knowing what was coming, he inhaled audibly when Alex opened the box to reveal a simple silver ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Henry laughed again, a laugh like the birds of sunrise. “Yes, Alex. I will marry you.”

The prince reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather box, the same size as the one Alex held. Then, he knelt down on one knee as well, mirroring his fiancé. He opened it to reveal a thick antique gold ring inlaid with a gem that Alex couldn’t identify. Beautiful. “Alex Claremont-Diaz, will you spend forever with me as your partner, confidant, and best friend?”

“I,” Alex choked, “yeah, fuck, of course-”

Henry cut him off with a swift and passionate kiss, both of them on their knees, fumbling the engagement rings onto their fingers. Alex felt like the deceased king that had probably worn his engagement ring. They kissed until their knees grew sore, and they collapsed on the tile.

“How did you think to bring a ring and everything?”

“Believe it or not, I somehow predicted that you might do this,” Henry teased.

Their buzzing bodies urged them to get back to the palace, to Henry’s room, to the bed. So they pulled each other to their feet, both dizzy and desperate. Before leaving the piazza they held each other for just a little longer.

“I love you,” whispered Henry.

“Fuck, I know you do.” It’s an amazing thing, to know completely and utterly that somebody loves you. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Henry held him around the waist and their foreheads pressed together. “Hey, so, I know we’re going to have to have a big, gay, traditional, royal wedding and all that -”

“Which we’ll make fun!” Alex said, with the positivity of a camp counselor. The world could really benefit from a big, gay, royal wedding. “There will be so many rainbows, even only if the crowd brings them.”

“And we’ll definitely have an adequate number of champagne fountains.” Henry winked at him. “But you interrupted-”

“Sorry!”

“-me. I was saying that I know we’re doing the public wedding for the audience, and the press, but...” Suddenly Henry looked nervous. “Well, would you maybe want to…”

“Spit it out babe,” Alex kissed Henry lightly on the lips before pulling back to show that Henry had his entire attention. “I’m listening, for real.”

“Would you, would you maybe want to elope first?”

“I… um. Would we, you know, still do the royal wedding afterwards?” Alex asked. “Keep it a secret?”

“Well, yes.” The words tumbled out. “But it would be a secret that we’re keeping for ourselves. We wouldn’t be keeping a secret for an election, or family expectations, or our god damned publicists. It would be ours, and we would keep it because we want to.

“Because I want to keep you to myself, just a little bit.” Henry shrugged, sheepish. “You give so much of yourself to your country, to the world, and I love that about you, but I want this to be just us. I’d be open to inviting Bea, Pez, June, and Nora, and our parents too, if you want.”

“And honestly, I don’t really want there to be a minister or priest… maybe Pez could do it?” Henry continued. “It doesn’t even have to be legal, so people don’t find out. I don’t know, I just thought, it could be just us, making a promise. Not with the crown, not with the church, not with all your adoring fans. Just the people that really matter.”

“I…” A grin spread slowly across Alex’s face. “I love it. Yes. Hell yes. Where? Not Vegas. Paris?”

“Paris.” Relief sweetened Henry’s smile. “And I could play my vows for you on the piano, if you’d like.”

“Yes I’d like! We could do it on a sailboat with a captain! Can you bring a piano on a sailboat?” Henry shook his head and kissed Alex’s grin, nuzzling their noses together. Alex whispered, “Okay, I’ll slow down and we can figure it out together. You and me.”

“You and me.” They fell into each other, a blissful act of entropy, all lips and hands.

“Besides,” Alex said as they stopped to catch their breath. “Secrets can be kind of hot if I remember correctly.”

AN: So, I thought I'd end with the proposal, but I feel like there's maybe more here? Like, this scene was kinda building up to some 'just got engaged' smut, or it could go on to show their elopement. I'm feeling a tinsy bit uninspired for their vows though, so if any of y'all feel like writing those, I could insert to the rest of the marriage scene that could be fun. If anyone feels like doing the post-proposal smut (or the wedding night smut lol) lemme know! Otherwise, thank you for reading! Check out my other rwrb fics, if you feel like it :)

#you and me #part 3 #first prince #rwrb #proposal story #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #red white and royal blue

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hungarianrhapsodyof1986 · 5 years

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Seven’s a Lucky Number (part three)

Night Three

When Ben woke, he was in the same cab with the same man beside him: Joseph Francis Mazzello III.

“What the hell is this?” Ben muttered. He could’ve sworn it was the exact same dream he had the previous night. And he didn’t even wake to see the morning. What the hell was going on?

“Ben? You okay?” Joe asked, turning to him, his features scrunched in a look of concern. “Is it jet lag? Déjà vu? What?”

Ben placed his fingers against his temples to massage it. Oh, he was getting a headache. “No, no. I’m fine. It just feels as if I’m repeating the same night over and over again.”

Joe patted him on the shoulder. “I know how that feels, buddy. Must be boring, huh?”

“Not boring,” Ben said his arms extended, bent at the elbow. He shook his hands as he said “it’s confusing.”

“Huh, must be like Groundhog Day for you or something.”

“Ground—what?” Ben asked, clueless of whatever the heck Joe was talking about. It sounded familiar, but he just couldn’t get a grip on it.

“Groundhog Day. You know, that nineties movie?”

“Must’ve forgotten about it,” Ben said, taking in deep breaths. He felt odd. He felt as if he wanted to throw up. This was all too much to grasp, and he was desperate for answers.

“Okay, so. There’s this weatherman dude who’s supposed to—okay, whatever. Basically, the day just happens all over and over again until he does something that ends that cycle.”

“Huh. Sounds like an interesting movie, but is that even possible?” Ben asked, confused by how he was hoping Joe would say ‘yes’. It seemed impossible to him still—nothing but the stuff of fantasy—but he was desperate, and a desperate Ben was an illogical Ben.

“Could be, buddy. Could be...”

Ben took a deep breath and felt Joe’s heavy gaze on him. It was weighted for a reason he couldn’t guess, but he couldn’t think about that now. All he could think was if it was possible, if that phenomenon could happen even outside the land of imagination and creativity.

To test that theory, Ben recalled the events of the first night, asking Joe “enjoyed Catalina, didn’t you?”

Joe perked up at that and replied “yeah, sure did.” He smiled. “Especially the boat ride.”

This is impossible, the still-rational portion of Ben’s mind told him. But Ben was willing to give in to the irrational part of it all.

Yet not too quickly.

“We are not talking about the boat ride,” he said. Joe just laughed, obviously recalling how he had practically tricked Ben and pushed him off the boat and remembering how Ben was screaming curses at Joe as he treaded to keep himself afloat. “Yeah, dunno how to feel about that.”

Ben took off his blue hoodie, not seeing how Joe watched the very motion.

The sad thing was, Joe had turned away and pretended to yawn as soon as he was back in Ben’s sight.

“It was hilarious,” Joe said, and Ben was stunned into silence. So this was really happening. He never thought it possible, but it was happening. “But I guess I still had to feel sorry for it.”

What could possibly end this cycle?

Ben hummed noncommittally and nodded his head, looking out the window, thinking of what he could do until he felt Joe shift beside him. Joe was leaning on his shoulder, snoring peacefully as he rested, and Ben could not help but card his fingers through Joe’s hair, the ginger strands yielding to his digits. It was a sweet moment, truth be told, and Ben found himself succumbing to lulling pull of sleep, Joe’s somewhat-feminine-smelling perfume adding to slumber’s call.

Ben welcomed the darkness.

***

Ben and Joe were in Ben’s living room.

Joe was seated on the couch while Ben was standing, gazing lovingly at the older man. It was like when he had joined Joe near the drum set, his head resting on his hip. Joe didn’t seem to notice.

“You want some wine, Joe? I’ve got some red in the refrigerator, lessened only bit,” Ben said. Joe nodded his head, his smile tired but extremely sweet. It made Ben’s heart clench in his chest.

“Sure thing,” Joe said sleepily. Ben chuckled.

“You sure?” Ben asked. “You seem like you’re gonna collapse before I enter the kitchen.”

“Nah, nah. Just go get us some wine.”

Ben brought the entire bottle back to the living room and placed it on the coffee table, sitting beside Joe. The latter’s sleep-mussed hair was entirely endearing to him, but he would tidy it if only Joe asked. After all, Joe’s wish was Ben’s command.

Ben poured the two of them a drink, and they toasted, toasting to the wonderful time they had in Catalina.

“Sure did make the fans rave, didn’t we?” Joe asked, and for some absurd reason, Ben felt hurt. Is that what all that was about? Was there not anything special behind his intention? Nothing at all but to please the fans?

He tried to keep the growing rancour out of his voice. He hid it with a short laugh. “Haha, yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. He stared off into the distance, fighting the urge to clench his jaw.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll be returning to New York tomorrow morning,” Joe said blandly.

Ben returned his attention to Joe. He was acting oddly. “Tomorrow morning? You must be joking!”

“You alright, Ben?” Joe asked. “You sound a little disappointed.”

Thinking about it, Ben did. But it wasn’t purely because he didn’t want Joe to leave. Who in their right mind would do that? He asked exactly so.

“Well, Ben, I’ve gotta return home sometime,” Joe drawled, as if it was incredibly obvious (it was, sort of).

The fight leaving him (only because he didn’t want to argue with Joe), Ben said “fine.”

The two spent their time in silence, drinking glasses after more glasses of wine. They didn’t need to say anything to each other, and the air was charged with a strange energy Ben could not identify.

Now, neither of them were lightweights, much to Ben’s surprise. Joe could handle his glasses as well as he could, and both of them were well into their second bottle of red and fourth glasses when Ben felt emboldened (unexpectedly) by the silence.

“Joe?” he called. Joe turned his head from where it was facing (out the window) and said “yeah?”

“I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Oh no,” Joe said, eyes widening. It seemed he already knew what Ben was going to say. “Oh no, no, no, no, no. Ben...”

“I lo—“

Joe raised a hand, interrupting Ben before he could say anything more. This time, Ben clutched his chest, the thin, loose white shirt he was wearing creasing underneath his fingers. “Don’t say it, please,” Joe said.

“I’m not drunk. I swear,” Ben said.

“I know you aren’t. It’s just... I don’t feel the same way.”

“You don’t feel the same way,” Ben said, then buried his face in his hands, utterly mortified. “You don’t... feel the same way.”

“I’m sorry.” Joe said, an air of finality in his voice. There was a moment’s pause before he continued. “I... I guess I should leave now.”

The couch’s cushion no longer dipped under Joe’s weight and Joe had already placed his wineglass back onto the coffee table. It was there when Ben knew Joe was serious about leaving. “No, no, Joe...” he said, “don’t leave. It’s alright. Really.” He reached out to grab Joe’s hand, but he stopped himself, realising it might be an awkward gesture for Joe.

“No, really, I think I gotta go.”

“Joe? Joe? Joe, no, please.”

But Joe was already grabbing his luggage and opening the door. Ben chased him down as Joe walked onto the road, hearing the sound of a car tire’s screech a second too late.

“JOE! NO!”

A flash of white, then Ben woke, triggering the event of his own accident. He had barely registered waking before he lost consciousness again due to the strong impact of another car against their cab.

***

A weak whisper. “Ben...”

Joe? What was happening? Why did the car stop? Were they home yet?

“Ben...”

It was dark, and Ben could not see anything; could only feel a warm liquid gush from Joe who was beside him. Joe was breathing heavily, his every inhale and exhale sounding like a weak wheeze. A cough, then another gush of wet warmth. The odourous smell of metallic blood wafted through the air.

Joe was bleeding. Quickly.

“Ben, I don’t want to die.” Joe sounded completely frightened, and that sparked a cold, cold fear within Ben.

“Joe, Joe, you’ll be alright,” Ben said, panicking. “You’ll be alright. Just hang on.”

“Be—Ben, I...” Joe coughed again. “I d—d—don’t th—think I’ll la—last long...”

Ben tried to place a hand against Joe’s cheek to reassure him, but once he tried moving his arm, a great pain lanced through him, and he cried out. He swore. He could feel blood trickling down his own cheeks, and he could now register the unbearable hurt that coursed through his body, causing his breathing to grow erratic and his heart to speed its beating.

“Joe. Listen. You’re g—going to make it—t—t. He—hear me?” Ben said, talking through the pain. “You’re going to make it.”

“Ben... I... Ben...” Each word was growing fainter. Joe was dying. Joe was dying just right beside him, and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. Nothing could possibly hurt him more than to see Joe in the scene of the accident; be beside him, totally helpless.

“No, J—Joe, no. K—k—keep talking, b—buddy. Keep talking.” Ben said, just as helpless as Joe who was already giving into the darkness of death.

“Ben.” It was nothing more than a whisper now. “Ben...”

A heavy weight fell onto his lap, and Ben registered it to be Joe. He had collapsed, and Ben dared to reach out to him, going on despite the pain and placing his ear against the back of Joe’s chest, dismayed to feel nor hear no beat coming from within.

Joe was dead. Again.

A tear slipped from Ben’s eye as he closed both, welcoming the delightful darkness as a thought passed his mind.

He had failed.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

Just a note:

The scene wherein Joe tells Ben “I just don’t feel the same way” is nothing more than Ben’s nightmare. This is will influence the flow of the next nights. Thanks for reading! :)

#joe mazzello #ben hardy #hardzello #hardzzello #fanfic #don’t worry part four’s coming very soon!

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galedekarios · 4 months

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You don't have to ship it, but they do have their similarities—enough that it really isn’t any two white dudes shoved together (unlike one pale elf and another wood elf are). Their personalities, alignments, and histories make them very different people, but some of their goals, struggles, hobbies, motives, requirements, and unpopular moral opinions align in ways that they don't with other origins. I think what similarities they do have are the reason why they butt heads at first, and why Gale later on softens up to Astarion as he becomes more comfortable with himself. They check a lot of the requirements for mirror characters, and it's a ship that's at its best when people hone in on that rather than using it to write out their yaoi punching bag Gale x perfect pained princess Astarion fantasies.

i was debating not answering this because this isn't really something of a debate for me or something that i will change my opinion on.

they share the same levels of surface similarities with everyone else in the roster, if you truly want to put your mind to it.

my point is not "don't ship" or "ship", my point is these sorts of shallow parallels can be drawn between any and all of them. it doesn't translate to them being "made for each other" or "written for each other" or being "narrative foils" or "mirrors".

some of their goals? which ones exactly? getting rid of the tadpole? regaining agency? learning to live the life they feel they lost? again, that's something all of them share.

what struggles? overcoming an oppressive relationship? again, that's something all of them share.

what hobbies do they share? reading? because they share the same reading animation despite ast*rion never talking about books?

what motives? motives for what?

what requirements? consuming something? karlach needs infernal iron in order to survive.

what unpopular moral opinions? about what? in which respect?

people mistake where gale's "unpopular moral opinions" come from in opposition to ast*rion's: in the beginning, they come from pragmatism and being smart enough to recognise that the group is facing a seemingly unwinnable battle against an unknown entity that is controlling an entire army to later finding out it's a legendary elder brain with a macguffin on its head. it's not about hubris nor is it about being unhinged or selfish. it's pragmatism against insourmantable odds and it's selflessness by act iii that makes him offer his sacrifice even if you have convinced him to live. if we are speaking about the crown, the boat scene beats you over the head with it stemming from gale's loss of faith in m*stra and wanting to be better than her in order to help - themselves and others.

they don't check "requirements for mirror characters" in any way that the others do not. i could take any and all of these "mirrors" and apply them to every other companion in the game if that is the level of "depth" we are using.

if we look past the shallow parallels you can draw for basically all of them, we see gale shooting down ast*rion's manipulation tactics right away ("i do enjoy our walks together. don't you, gale?" "uh sure. in silence."). we see their different approaches to what the journey throws at them. gale enjoys helping people, for no gain at all, and diplomatic solutions (arabella, mirkon, mayrina, zevlor, etc.), he needs someone who is on his side, someone who is willing to accept him for who he is. gale is genuinely good-hearted and kind. that is why they butt heads early on. not because they are similar. in opposition to that, ast*rion delights in cruelty. he is so needlessly and often. towards those in need, towards children, towards animals. he is out for no one but himself. he shows little emphathy to anyone, with the exception of himself always ("the problem with what cazador has done is that he did it to me.").

ast*rion in particular is often downright cruel and degrading to people around him, he's cruel and degrading to gale, to the problems he faces and who he is as a person (just a few examples from the top of my head):

from the moment when gale reveals his backstory ("why isn't this netherese jack in a box a blip on the horizon already?") to the mystra reveal (being more focused on what it means re: controlling the cult than gale's impending death), and his casual dismissal of who gale is as a person at every other turn ("i don't care what's in every mind flayer colony, gale - nobody does. except you.").

are k*rlach and gale foils because they share a bomb in their chest?

are sh*dowheart and gale foils because they share religious trauma?

are w*ll and gale foils because they share having a relationship with an incredible power imbalance with a female entity?

are h*lsin and gale foils because they both have a library?

are w*ll and gale foils because they have their tents set up next to each other in act i?

to wrap it up: they are completely incompatible to me.

they are "mirrors" or "foils" in the same way that karlach and gale are. or gale and wyll. or gale and shadowheart: at the most there are parallels you can draw that are tenuous at best and shallow at worst. the broad same general narrative structure doesn't create narrative foils.

i've tried to engage with this ship to see what people are doing with it and the relationship usually starts in the same way over and over again in a way that gale's character a disservice.

gale isn't someone who cares about physical attractiveness, nor is he someone who is into one night stands or sleeping with someone for the sake of it. ast*rion's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you are being manipulated by him, sex and attraction as a springboard. gale's entire romance set up hinges on the fact that you accept him as he is. it's a slow burn. mystra's missive forces his hand into confessing early and sharing himself with you in what time is left to him - sex is a component of a greater whole.

gale also isn't someone to just take insults or abuse or dismissal and then still run after said someone to have a relationship.

i'm not even going to touch on the 'dubcon' aspect i've also seen a lot of forcing 'favours' from gale because he needs magical artefacts because that's a whole different can of worms.

again: this is not a don't ship post. you are free to ship what you want. this is solely a this relationship doesn't work for me, much less as narrative foils, post, and i have seen nothing that would convince me otherwise in the game or from the people who do like this ship.

#ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #text: asks #text: personal #meta: mybg3

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