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hollysoda · 1 year

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HOT TAKES ON THE NEWLY LEAKED SV POKÉDEX

I didn’t mean to see the leaks but I’m wayyy too curious oops. I’m trying to judge these evenly because the pictures we have of the unannounced Pokémon are low quality but I will review this when the game releases!

This post obviously contains spoilers so be warned!!!!

Overall I think the starters are pretty cool! Meowscarada owns my heart and soul I love it’s design soooo much. I never cared if it was bipedal or not and although I would’ve preferred a badass bipedal lynx I’m so happy with what we’ve got (ITS A MAGICIAN GUYS!!!! A MAGICAL CAT!!!). Quaquaval is also really cool, especially the colours omg. I just wish it was a pirate or sailor because as far as I’m aware we don’t really have a pirate inspired Pokémon (also we’ve had two skinny water types in two generations, huh). Skeledirge is probably the most disappointing. A lot of people were correct in predicting a skeletal ghost crocodile but the execution of the final design is just awkward?? I hope when I see it in game my opinion is changed because Fuecoco deserves the world.

The regional(?) birds look kinda boring (they actually look kinda like Tailow and Swellow) but I’m comparing them to how cool Corviknight looked so it’s a little unfair. Their names are super cool though

Nymble and Lokix are not my favourite regional bugs but I guess I just prefer cuter bug friends

Squawkabilly are interesting. When they were snuck into one of the trailers I hoped they’d evolve into a proper Elvis-like bird so I could name one Kass but nope it’s just got different colours which I guess is kinda cool?

Lechonk,,, what did they do to my boy,,,

We don’t need anymore spider Pokémon - sincerely, an arachnophobe

I’m sorry but what the hell is going on with Pawmi. It just stands up and gets taller as it evolves with barely any design changes??? Like come on what’s the point on having it evolve three times if it’s barely going to change.

Smoliv on the other hand was done justice. Dollive is SUPER cute and it’s final unnamed evo is fine but it’s kinda hard to tell what’s going on. If I wasn’t choosing Sprigatito I’d have one on my team

Haha they put Minecraft in Pokémon and it’s really fucking uncanny how much Naclistack looks like a Minecraft pig

DACHSBUN MY BELOVED!!! SHES SO CUTE I WANT I WANT I WANT!!! Maschiff and Mabosschiff are fine ig and Houndstone is also fine but goddamn that is one big ass chin, could be a lot cuter. Also why the hell do we have so many dogs (not complaining)

Flittle and Espartha look like Lady Gaga and I can’t decide if I like them or not . The colours are just weird

WE DID IT LADS!! WE HAVE A DOLPHIN POKÉMON!!! I won’t talk too much about Finizen’s evo because I can’t tell what it actually is but Finizen is 🥺

Gimmighoul is a Neil Cicirega lookin ass or something straight out of Invader Zim, same with it’s weird evo

So glad everyone was right in thinking the engine on Team Star’s big car was a Pokémon and honestly I think it’s design is really cool! We haven’t had a mechanical Pokémon like this since KlingKlang and it’s a big step up

Tadbulb 🥺 the name itself makes me love it. I’m really considering Bellibolt for my team and naming it Jello

Cetoddle is just a silly little friend d’aww (I still don’t really care for it’s evo though)

Tinkatink, Tinkatuff and Tinkaton literally look like those AI generated Fakemon but they’re kinda cute, especially Tinkaton with its big ass hammer?? Definitely considering for my team

Dondozo looks like a Water Temple boss from a Zelda game

We also finally get a dung beetle Pokémon and it evolves into a godlike scarab beetle which is just *chefs kiss*

That’s literally a bush?? What fucking designer at Gamefreak said “oh yeah let’s make a Grass/Ghost type and make it a literally patch of brambles. Call it Bramblin.”

“We finally get a Grass/Fire type” 😄

“It’s Scovillain” 🫤

THATS LITERALLY JUST A LAWN FLAMINGO???? COME ON GAMEFREAK I WANTED A COOL FLAMINGO FLAMENCO DANCER FOR THIS REGION

I have no clue what Glimmet and it’s evo are meant to be but cool colours

I will hold Charcadet gently in my hands for he is my son

I remember someone saying that they thought the mouse Pokémon snuck into the trailer were placeholders for a model that wasn’t complete yet but nope. It’s just a cluster of mice. They’re still kinda cute though

Shroodle??? SHROODLE??????? WHAT IS HE???? A SCRUNKLE??????

Why is Wugtrio pink? Dudes looking even more phallic than he already did

Everyone gangsta until the Tentacool starts walking. Toedscool and Toedscruel are low-key kinda cool tho

Orthworm is a big ass fucking worm and I can respect that

I’m assuming that Bombirdier is one of those baby delivering cranes but instead of delivering babies it drops bombs??? That’s kinda cool. It’s like that one white angry bird

What even is Veluza I don’t even know

Sushi Pokémon?? Aw hell yeah (I don’t like sushi)

I’m gonna assume that the Arbolovia line is our psuedo line and yeah I can vibe with that. Ice/Dragon is a sick type combo and Baxcalibur looks awesome. Another consideration for my team

I’m also going to assume that Anihilape is some sort of Primeape evo? Or alternate evo? He looks feral and I love it

I want to hold Clodsire like a burger 😭

They finally did it. They gave Dunsparce an evolution. And it fucking sucks

Bisharp is honestly one of the coolest gen 5 Pokémon and I’m so happy it gets a new evolution!! Dude looks badass

I’ll stop there since the rest of the Pokemon either have already been revealed, are alternate forms or unnamed and besides I’ve been through loads already so I can’t be bothered

Overall opinion: yeah this Gen isn’t great. I wasn’t wowed by all the designs like how I was when SWSH came out. My favourites are Meowscarada, Quaquaval, Dachsbun, Dolliv and Baxcalibur and that’s pretty much it for the new Pokémon shown in the leaks. Gamefreak missed out on a lot of cool design opportunities and instead chose the lazier route (and I’m usually not one of those Pokémon fans that scream at Gamefreak for cutting corners but I will admit it’s kinda shit)

Well done if you read this far lmao

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet #pokemon violet #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon leaks #pokemon scarlet and violet leaks #pokemon scarlet and violet spoilers #spoilers #pokemon spoilers

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asksoldieron · 7 months

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WTF Are We Doing Here? (Pinned Intro Post!)

This is my website!

My comments are broken! You know what works slightly better than WordPress comments? Tumblr! My few readers are already here and I'm lookin' for more! So, screw it, time for a side blog!

HEY, TUMBLR! FREE BLORBOS RIGHT HERE! AND NARY A ONCELER AMONG THEM!

"Are they traumatized?" I hear you say. YES! God, yes.

"Are they neurodivergent?" I hear you say. YES! AND SO AM I!

"Do they fuck?" I hear you say. YES! But not here, because the algorithm will eat me if they do. I want to be seen! There will be language and probably violence and queerness and political opinions, but don't get me in fucking trouble, Tumblr. I'm gonna get enough flack for the queerness. I'm very fragile. Be nice.

So! Let me babble for multiple paragraphs trying to explain myself to strangers on the internet, like usual!

This is Milo. If this blog functions the way I want it to, I'll make you some nice reaction images eventually, but Milo in shadow-puppet form will suffice for an example.

Milo says: I don't want to be an example!

Too bad! If you want to talk to Milo, use the ask button and address him by name. He lives in my brain, they all do. I'll get him for you. I'll make him talk.

Milo says: WHAT? *faints*

Well, Milo prefers to communicate in text and images for the time being, so we'll omit the quote marks for him, unless something changes.

Milo says: What? WHAT COULD POSSIBLY CHANGE?

Who knows? It's a very long serialized story and there's lots of character development. That's the fun part! Fixate on, I mean, be very normal about a character and get more and more and more content about them, watch them grow and change and develop relationships, scream at me and at them when you feel like it, and just keep doing that until I get bored or die. What's not to like?

For the moment, I'm the only one working on this story, and I can't afford to hire help, so we're not talking about flawless quality here, but it's free! (Or pay what you want.) So, please,

🌈Lower Your Expectations!🌟

Yay! There are a lot of site issues and there's only so much I'm able to do to fix it. Typos that look like words are my moral enema. If something is so broken you can't read it or understand it, or if I've really hurt you, please drop me a line (via the message box, if it's not for publication) and I'll do what I can. Otherwise, if you like this content and want more, be kind.

I'm autistic and high-masking so you will be speaking to the public-relations version of me. It's as buggy as my site! I'm just gonna be relentlessly positive about everything! Unless I can't. That's not necessarily your fault, but sometimes I can't. So if you're a little ND too, and a lack of response makes you crater - If I don't answer it's probably not because of anything you did. I got a lot on my plate and social ability is always the first thing to go.

Milo says: Preach, Sibling.

The versions of Milo and the others you'll meet will not be the canon versions, nor will their interactions here affect the story. So go nuts!

Milo says: What? No! Be nice to me too!

And, naturally, these versions exist in a context-free void where they can chat happily with strangers from another universe, even if the real ones would freak out and scream

Milo says: You can't mess around with my brain so I can't feel fear! Oh, my gods! I NEED my brain!

No, no. I'm only making sure you don't have an existential crisis due to the context-free void.

Milo says: Oh. Yeah. That's not a big deal. The context-free void has hot chocolate and snacks.

Right, so we're not hurting them. It's fine! It'll be perfectly safe!

Milo says: Yay❤️!

I'll do another post and give you the lowdown on myself and the main cast, including aliases and pronouns. Or, if you've tripped over this out there in your feed, you could always just go read the darn story. It'll take a while. There's a lot of it already. But we'll be here waiting for you! (Don't comment at the site. Are you reading me? You're on Tumblr, you are here to read. Maintain your reading comprehension at all times! The comments are fucking broken.)

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petitmori · 8 months

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How do I know if I let you stay? How do I know if we did it your way? You wouldn't take my place Put me away, I'd die lookin' up at your face How do I ever know? Who can I trust? Feelings of emptiness Only love could kill me, God bless

Indie Astarion Ancunín from Baldur's Gate 3. Non-selective and open to AU, OC, and crossovers. Discord given to mutuals only. Personals do not interact. Rules under readmore. ( Sideblog @illintent )

RULES

First of all, thank you for visiting this page. Even if you only skim this, I’ll love you forever. Most of these rules are pretty basic, common sense stuff, but I would really appreciate it if you read them. I know it’s long, but I’m just trying to make sure no one is offended or uncomfortable. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Bear with me. I’ll try to bold the basics.

— the basics.

I have a few verses to choose from, and I’ll probably place you in the one that will most easily fit with your character’s canon unless otherwise specified.

Astarion isn’t always the most pleasant person. Please know that anything mean said is not a reflection of the mun’s feelings. IC =/= OOC.

Don’t god-mod.

OC and Au friendly, but please have an about page so I can gauge whether our characters will be able to interact.

Memes and opens are free game – anyone can send one or respond to one. However, I may not respond for some reason or another: it may be in violation of one of my other rules, or due to external factors. If you’re worried that I missed something, feel free to come to me about it, but please don’t constantly badger me for replies. It’s rude.

I reserve the right to refuse to roleplay, especially if I’m uncomfortable.

DO NOT under any circumstances try to bring me into out of character drama. If you have a problem with me, contact me privately or just unfollow. Vague blogging, callout posts and the like are annoying, and I ask that you would tag them. This is something I will unfollow over if I so please.

— on selectivity.

I will be selective with my threads and who I interact with. I would love to interact with everyone, but I’m very busy with school and other blogs, and I don’t want to overload myself. If this bothers you, feel free to unfollow. If you have any questions about whether I have time, feel free to jump into my ask.

Also, I am far more likely to RP with mutuals. That’s not to say I won’t RP with those I don’t follow or those who won’t follow me, there may be exceptions. But it is far more likely. That being said: if I follow you, I want to write with you. Probably a lot. I’m just too shy to say anything because I’m a weenie pissbaby.

Starter calls, unless otherwise specified, are for mutuals only.

— on content.

I’m 20+, so mature content is cool with me. NSFW and triggering content will be present on this blog, but it will also be tagged in the following manner: n.s.f.w., tw:

As for smut: first of all, I will not smut with anyone under the age of 18. Don’t ask me to; the answer will be no. And just in general, don’t come to me looking for smut. I’m not terribly good at writing it, so it’s very unlikely that it will occur on this blog. I need to be pretty comfortable with someone to smut with them. If by some miracle a thread is looking like it’s going to get smutty, feel free to hop into my ask and talk to me about it. We’ll figure something out.

In relation to that, please do not send me overtly sexual memes if we have not interacted. Kissing memes are fine, but I tend to get uncomfortable with anything beyond that. Please respect this.

— on replies.

I’m an adaptive roleplayer, meaning I’ll likely respond in a manner similar to yours. If you format, I’ll format. If you don’t, I won’t. That sort of thing. I also try to match length with my replies, but some days I struggle. If you’re ever unhappy with the quality or length of a reply, please let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it.

I don’t always get to things right away. I’m notorious for avoiding drafts, and especially right now, I’m pretty busy with schoolwork. However, sometimes I’ll reply at the speed of light. It’s really varied, and I’m sorry about that.

Sometimes, I’ll drop things that’ve been in my drafts for too long, or things that I feel aren’t going anywhere. If you think I’ve dropped/missed/lost something that you wish to continue, come to me politely and we can talk about it.

— on shipping.

I’m admittedly kind of a ship-whore. If there are sparks, I likely ship it. I ship Astarion/Chemistry, but again, it’s rather unlikely that Astarion will engage in a sexual or even a romantic relationship. Them’s the breaks. BroTPs are great though. Also, I’m only human: I sometimes play favorites with my ships. Sorry.

Please please please DO NOT force a ship on me. It makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I will not hesitate to unfollow or even block you. I will try to politely let you know if I feel that our characters do/do not have chemistry.

— on credit.

Most icons, art and edits are made by myself, and are usually tagged as #my art or #my edits. Otherwise, I do not own anything!

— on the mun.

My name is Élise, I’m 20+, living in Midwest America, EST. Feel free to contact me via ask at any time. I love talking to you guys! Skype/discord is available to mutuals upon request – again, I reserve the right to refuse to give these for whatever reason. I have no triggers, so as long as you talk to me prior to introducing something triggering to a thread, I’ll be cool with it. Just talk to me about it beforehand and I should be fine, but if I’m not feeling it, please respect that.

That’s about it. Thanks so much for reading these. Smooches! <3

#ooc #pinned post

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whitherwordswither · 8 months

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Logs from the Starfields, IV

Captain's Log #0.04:

So, sometimes, when I'm visiting New Atlantis I like to take a stroll down through The Well. Sure, the air quality ain't all that great but… there's some decent shops down there. And the Trade Authority allows me to drop off a lot of random lost and found items I come across.

One shop though, the surplus market Antonio runs. I was mindin' my own, browsing his goods when a customer comes in demanding a refund for some boots. Because they bring her bad luck? What did she say now? Somethin' about… "It's like walking under a ladder with a broken mirror in my pocket!" …And he gave her a refund! I ain't ever seen this man give refunds. So, after she leaves I decide to ask him about the boots.

Turns out she's not the first to return them. Apparently these unlucky boots are cursed. Hah. Like, are ya kiddin' me? Cursed space boots? Sounds like something straight out of one of them Tamriel Adventure novels. So anyway. Apparently these boots are so unlucky Antonio just wants to get rid of them and offers to pay me some decent creds to take them to a whole 'nother system and stash 'em away somewhere.

Well, shit. I didn't have any plans when I woke up this morning so why the heck not! Looks like we're going to some place called The Den. Pretty specific locale, if ya ask me. He could've just said to drop 'em in any 'ole corner of the galaxy. Guess we might find out why once we get there maybe? I'm kinda curious m'self.

So off we go! The Wolf System. I dig the name.

…

Turns out The Den is an old UC station. According to the Vanguard folks posted here it ain't seen much action since the war ended. Fine by me. I enjoy the calm. I mosey my way around and find a nice lookin' crate to stash the boots in back in a corner down some janky hall. Surprisingly, there's some young buck here, eyeballin' me.

Real good eyes too. Spots the boots. Can tell they're his size and everything. Even offers to buy 'em off me. Tempting. But I can see the risk comin' a mile away. Antonio's an alright guy. I don't want this to somehow blow back on him. So I decline and stash the boots in the crate. I mean. The guy could just as well pilfer them from the crate when I'm gone. It's the principle of the matter. Plus… well. I ain't gonna do my contract dirty like that. And sure as hell not for 500 measley creds.

But that was it. I'm still not sure why the boots had to be put in this specific location. Suppose it will remain one of life's great mysteries.

With that out of the way I decide to explore the station a bit. I find some cute plushies in an unoccupied room past the hall and I… Sigh. …Ok, ok. I admit. I might have a tiny problem. Ya see. I love all these cute lil plush toys. I can't keep my hands off 'em. So, yeah. Frown on me all ya want. I takes 'em when I sees 'em. Have you seen how frickin' adorable the plushie Parsec Pooch is? C'mon now. Ya'll'd be nabbin' 'em for that sweet five-finger discount too!

Anyway. The Den is… has a disappointingly small interior to explore. Besides the bar on the lower deck the only other post of any interest is the Trade Authority. Though the man here does have a charm about him I kinda like… I'd almost like him to invite me to see the special stock in back, if ya get my drift. Ahem.

Well. While we're here, I do a cursory scan of the system. Nothing really of interest. It really is the ass end of nowhere. I scavenge a couple wrecked ships near the old Den station. Would've liked to board the derelict, but. Didn't see any ports to dock to. Ah, well. I jump back to New Atlantis and give Antonio the good news. He gives me credits. All is right as rain.

As I'm pondering what to do with my day next I decide to pay a visit to my scientist friend and see if he's learned anything new about his tree. He seems to think the vibrations it is sending out are like a matin' call or whatever. All that science-y stuff is a bit above my pay grade. What he needs to test his theory though, that. That I can go and get. Seems like an old tree was given when the colonies were first established here as a peace offering to Akila. Though that tree died, it's branches are still in the museum there and apparently my friend may be able to science up some of its DNA and reciprocate a response to get the tree here to calm down its ponies.

I was wantin' to visit Akila anyway so this works out! Ain't been to the Cheyenne system in a long while. Not since before I lost my haulin' ship.

…

Akila's got some nice folks. Bit of an old Earth west feel to the place. That's kinda helped by it bein' on a rocky, desert kinda planet. I don't care too much for the area around the port though. Too muddy. I'm not a big fan of mud. Gets everywhere.

Soon as I hit the outer gate of the city a guard advises caution. Some ruckus happening at the local GalBank branch. Because of course there is! And it's a hostage situation. Sounds like my kinda party to crash and wouldn't ya know. I can see it from the gate. So of course I'm gonna mosey on over and offer my assistance since the sheriff ain't makin' any headway. It don't take too long before I've persuaded the gang to release the hostages and come out all quiet like without a fuss. It's almost like I'm the main character in a sweet intergalactic space opera. Maybe I should be sheriff. Hahah. Wouldn't that be cute? But I got things to do. Did I mention Akila has one of my favorite little bookshops? No digital content. Purely physical. I could spend hours in there. The owner's a nice gal.

I swing by the museum and manage to convince the owner to let me take the tree branch out of storage and back to New Atlantis with me on the contingency I bring it back in one piece. So. I hope the science won't damage it. Before I head out I take some time to wander around the city. There's a couple cheap properties here I can afford and I just might. I run in to another little squabble between a couple of guards and a woman who has some ideas about making security safer from the local beasty population outside the gates. The head of security doesn't want to listen because "Gosh darn I done it this way for years and it works so I ain't changin'!" blah blah. It's that kinda stuck-to-my-dusty-old-guns no-woman-gonna-tell-me nonsense I don't really care for. It don't hurt no one to listen to some new ideas. Especially if the new ideas could actually increase safety. And in the end, ain't that what this is about? So I end up helpin' the lass on the sly. She gives me some modules to set up along the perimeter of the town wall and then I casually occupy the attention of one of the guards near their security tower while she adjusts some settings on one of their computers to work with the modules. Technically, she's not really allowed in there.

Might be a bit shady but… like I said. If it's something that could keep people safer, what's the worst that could happen? She'll need a good 24hrs to collect a decent amount of data. Which works for me since. Since I got a date. With science. Back to Atlantis!

…

I touch down and jog my happy ass over to give my scientist friend the branch. He does his science stuff. And then figured the best way to serenade the tree is to have the audio he's created play from a near kiosk.

I offered to sing it, but. Apparently. My chops ain't cut for it. Pfft. Figures. So anyway. I skidaddle on over to the SSNN and upload the vibrational-sound-DNA-data or whatever. Which apparently, I can just do. From a weird little wall terminal without askin' nobody. Maybe MAST is authorized to just change up the tunes? I dunno. Again. Logisticalities are above my pay grade.

According to my friend, this method seems to be working. Visually, the has tree stopped dripping its drippy stuff. But otherwise still looks like the same ole tree its been. A win for science! Or somethin'. I guess. Well. Credits for me and my science friend is sporting a bigger smile. I suppose we saved the day and no one is the wiser. And no trees got to get harmed. Sometimes good happens quietly. Roll with it.

After that's all said and done I finally decide to head back to the Lodge and talk to Sarah. She's got a lead on an artifact and wants me to accompany her to pick it up. I'll spare you a loooong story about how this led us on a bit of a system-hoppin' goose hunt full of spacers and laser fights, bouncing around the Sol system from Mars to Uranus and boy… it was a mess tryin' to get ahold of this thing.

We finally save this poor lad from being spaced in his own ship. And here we find out he had been trying to hawk the dang artifact for extra creds! Well, lucky on us since we pulled his toasty rear outta the fire he just gave it up without a fuss at that point. Sarah got to bite off a bit more than she wanted to chew. I ended up dragging her down to some crashed ship remnants I wanted to check out on a nearby moon. And then we found a secret bio-research facility. And ya'll know I just had to waltz on in and check it out. Ran in to quite a few more pirates in there. Since I'm writing this, obviously, we made it out. And there's one group less of pirates in the galaxy to pirate. Another win for the day. Found a lot of good loot. Didn't really find out a whole lot of what the facility had been used for. Just some hints. Lots of frozen bodies. Apparently attempting to alter human DNA to better acclimate to hostile planet environments. Seemed sketch.

And hey, on the way back to New Atlantis those bounty hunters caught up to me again! This time, hopefully, I sent them a clearer message. By blowing their ships up. We'll see how that comes back to bite future-me in the ass.

Got to meet a couple other members of Constellation. A father and his kid. They seem nice enough. Kid seems like a smarty. I like 'em. Sarah points me to three new leads to follow up on. But that's enough artifact chasing for me for a minute or five. I still got a whole log of stuff that seems to keep getting bigger I want to look in to. Not to mention a whole mess of loot to sell. One step closer to a better ship!

I've managed to amass almost 200k. My eye is still on that Shieldbreaker they have in the shipyard. Just wait for me a little longer, darlin'…

End log.

#creative writing #queer writers #writing community #sci-fi #space #starfield

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unknownjpegs · 3 months

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8-bit

Nomi is sat at the end of their couch, one long leg stretched out across his lap. They’re about to do a marathon of a new game, but when Maran reaches over the edge of the couch for his headset, Nomi gasps.

“What?”

Instead of explaining, she leans across the gap between them (the neckline of her shirt briefly opening with gravity, which Maran looks pointedly away from) and snatches them up.

“These.” She says, and nothing else. Shakes the ancient, sad, duct tape-wrapped pair violently between them.

When he pouts, Nomi stands and snaps them over her knee. Something jagged and metal on the now really broken headphones drags through the thin fabric of her black tights, leaving skin on her inner thigh visible through the tear. Maran looks away from that too, right up to the ceiling.

“They were lookin’ fine for me, Noms,” he whines at it.

“Okay, but they’re horrendous.” She plops back down into place, tucking her feet under his thigh. A spare set is placed into his lap — Maran wonders about that, wonders when she started carrying two. Probably around the time he’d begun complaining about the poor quality of his own. He grins, despite the property damage.

“And,” she says, her pretty tea-brown eyes lighting up with the colors of the game’s title screen, “I can’t hear you well when we’re not playing local.”

Maran twists to lean close, knock his shoulder against hers. She puts the spare headphones on his scalp and adjusts them the way he likes.

“Oooh,” he starts to tease, interrupted by her slim, warm palm spreading over his face. He’s shoved unceremoniously away.

“I like your voice. And I want to hear the calls all clear-like. So.” Her cheeks look pink when she glances over at him, and Maran has a sneaking suspicion his are a little red as well. “Just say thank you and try them out, yeah?”

“Thank you,” he says a bit stupidly, because she pats a hand over his scalp and that feels enough like praise to make him liquid-hot on the inside.

Nomi doesn’t allow him to settle for her spare pair. A delivery box rests against the exterior wall of their flat’s building He’s running his knuckle over the smooth, textureless cup of the headphones, playing something alone and waiting for the gray-screen death timer to count down when Benji notices the gift.

“Nomi?”

Maran glances side-long at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. When Benji mentions her, there’s a fifty-fifty whether it will be a compliment or a rancid tease of Maran’s obvious crush.

So Maran turns his nose delicately up in denial, hmphing.

“Come off it.” Benji snorts, dropping heavily onto the couch next to him. “What’s the occasion?”

Maran drops all pretense immediately. “Is it weird? I mean, yeah, it’s a gift. Sure. Normal, yeah? No reason, is the thing. No occasion.”

“You sound like you’re trying to solve some fuckin’ equation up there, mate.”

“Well…am I wrong for just taking it?”

Benji’s second snort earns him an elbow to the ribs. “Oi! Ow, wanker. Naw, it’d be weird not to accept it.” He sniffs, crossing his arms but leaning into Maran to get comfortable. The game picks back up, and his focus drifts back to the action.

Next time he dies, he nudges Benji, who grumbles sleepily, away from his side to make eye contact.

“But do you think —“ he starts, wringing his fingers together. “Am I overthinkin’ it? Nomi is…I mean she’s —“

“Way out of your fuckin’ league.”

“Dickhead.” Maran declares. “Listen. Do I —“

“Ach!” Benji snarls, tossing the phone in his hands suddenly aside. “Fickle fuckin’ thing, fuck that game, swear.”

Maran frowns. “Are you payin’ attention? Or should we have a chat about addictive behaviors?”

“I’m tryin’,” Benji huffs, sitting upright on their uncomfortable garbage comes Wednesday, rains tomorrow morning, please take this, free if you pick up TONIGHT! curbside couch. “To beat this level for Xavier.”

He jerks his chin around the corner, peers into the kitchen. “He here?”

“Showering.” Benji says, and purses his lips thinly when Maran’s eyebrows raise. Xavier rarely comes to theirs, and rarely is the shower used by anyone who isn’t a visitor, of sorts. Benji’s cheeks start to go a bit darker, which makes Maran bark out a laugh. “Field was still muddy from last night, and we got a bit carried away with the game, so — oh, fucking shut up, will you?”

“And I’m the one with the crush, hey?” He yelps when a pillow catches him in the face. “Oh, rancid little wanker! I’m being vulnerable askin’ for advice —“

Benji huffs and makes an obscene gesture, falling back to the couch and picking Xavier’s phone up again. “What advice can I give you, other than open your fuckin’ eyes?”

There’s a bit of a crash from the hall, and both of their focus snaps aside. Xavier stands there with a sheepish look on his face — and not much at all on his chest other than a rolled towel around the shoulders. His hair looks darker wet, stuck to his humidity-flushed cheeks.

“What aren’t you opening your eyes about?” He asks, casting a look between the two. “Also, sorry. Bumped into the door on my way out and I think the knob snapped off?”

Maran’s mouth curls in a knowing, shitty grin. On the couch, Benji has thrown an arm over his face as if he’s napping. Unconscious — or would like to be.

“Hey, hear that Benj? Knob snapped off, didn’t it?”

“Off a cliff,” Benji suggests. “Take the headphones and your thick fuckin’ skull with you.”

The three of them end up in a bit of a pissing contest with a couple of teenagers over the game’s voice chat. The barrage of insults isn’t unexpected. Norm, really. Kid on the other end gets real loud with it — funny, too. They’re crowded around the new headset’s mic together, laughing and volleying back quips of their own, when Benny lets himself in their front door.

“I don’t w-want to know.” He says, holding both hands up as he retreats into Maran’s room. Who, of course, follows almost immediately with two middle fingers raised behind his back; Benji and Xavier whisper-shout suggestive, teasing commentary from the couch.

He fills Ben in on the headset, the kid, and the insults.

But like he’d The barrage of insults isn’t unexpected. It’s the norm, reall

“Why’s it always the knees?”

Benny doesn’t turn from his position on Maran’s bed, notebook in his lap while he scrolls through something on his phone. But he does offer a thoughtful go on, I’m listening sort of hum.

“Feel like there’s an easier angle for it.” Maran continues just as thoughtfully. He kicks his feet off one side of the bed. He’s situated himself eye-level with Benny’s shoulder, temple resting against it. He imagines the tattoo there leaving a print on his scalp, like newspaper ink, and bites his lip not to laugh.

“Hm?” Benny sounds slightly more interested, but the study material retains most of his attention. Every so often, he’ll glance up in has it got exciting yet? interest at his boyfriend’s game, quickly decide nope, and then refocus his attention on the smaller screen. Maran pouts. Maran wants it on him. So he props up on an elbow, leans over until Benny can’t not look at him, and makes an obscene gesture with his tongue tucked into a cheek.

He pauses tactfully, smirk widening at the icy focus where it’s meant to be, before chirping: “Like, right, y’want to get it in as much as possible?”

His boyfriend blinks several times. “Get…what.”

“Cock, obvs.” He scrunches his nose, as if Ben’s the one at fault; daft, silly, obtuse. “What else?”

Benny stares at him. Wide-eyed, eyebrows up, pink on his cheeks. Blushing. Benny, fucking blushing.

Nice. Maran thinks with a dangerous grin. Good to know. Follow that thread and yank.

The fact of he matter is that Maran has to approach it with false bravado. He has to act more confident than he is. It helps that everything between them has been hot and new; in the moment, it’s hard to stay in his head with Ben guiding him along. But that? All on Maran. Up to him. And he can fuck it up. It’s a skill, after all. Certainly not one he’s honed on this particular grindstone.

So he lets bravado take over. Equips it to let him say things such as: I like it this way. Wha about you? Is it supposed to be like this? What makes it hot, for you? I want to do that. How, when, why — like this? Like that? How do you want it?

However you want, is usually what he gets in response. That or a desperate kiss. And fucking hell, are both good. Both are great. Real sweet. Maran appreciates good and sweet. Thinking good and sweet makes him think about Ben dropping his voice low, soft, and calling him those things. Maran realizes he’d like to be told. Guided. He thinks of how nice it’d been to have Nomi declare something shit, get him properly squared away to have fun. He doesn’t know how to tell that to Benny. Doesn’t have a clue how to make him understand that gifted a headset and tell me how to blow you are somehow connected, simple and warm and exciting, in his chest. Sometimes, things make better sense in his chest.

So, he has to approach it a different way. Has to take all that bravado, mash it solid in his palms, and be direct.

“I need you to tell me what to do,” Maran blurts out, eyes locked to Benny’s as he balances with palms on the other man’s shoulders. He’s sat in his lap, both their shirts off, mouths swollen from kissing so much and for so long. They do it that way, sometimes. Nothing but kiss. His bed, his flat; Benny’s, or the couch, at the trio’s place. Touch and grope and appreciate, slow or fast or however Maran wants it. His hands slide down, paw appreciatively at biceps, and then return to broad shoulders.

Benny offers him a sleazy grin, although there’s a hint of surprise to his tone. “L-like in general, or is there something specific you have in m-mind?”

“Like, when I suck you off.”

The grin falls off, his mouth going slack and eyes wide, glossy. Almost blank. No hint, anymore.

“It’ll be daft otherwise, Ben, swear. I’ll just sit there with it my mouth or something like a —” Suddenly, a palm slaps over his mouth.

“Stop m-moving. Stop f-fucking talking.”

He does immediately, nodding. He’s smiling beneath it. The bravado travels up his arms and settles, just as solid, next to the strange feeling in his chest.

It doesn’t happen then. Something does, something proper fucking pleasant wrung out of him by Benny’s skilled, tattooed fingers and swollen-pink mouth traveling his chest. But not that.

And yet Maran’s thinking (in tediously, torturously explicit detail) about that the next morning as he watches Benny in the lab. He stares with bored, distant awe at his hands. Stares at them for a whole hour. He’s thinking, after all, but as the second tick past it becomes less fizzy-anxiety of a hypothetical and more the excitement of a I’m going to make this happen.

Plans into motion, and all that.

From the lab, they head to Benny’s office. When he announces the destination, Maran perks up. For awhile, he hadn’t known there was an office. Had been a cute little tidbit to wrap around his concept of Benny. Made him, somehow, even more fit in his head.

Office. Has an office. Nice. Another place to spend time together.

The door to it is pushed open with a Benny-signature flourish, his jazz hands earning a grin from Maran for how despondent the motion appears alongside Benny’s own crooked grin.

Maran feels his smile falters as he peers inside the room.

Benny’s voice in his ear: “Illustrious, right? Exactly like you pictured?

“Oh.” He says it too high. Benny’s expression furrows. “It’s… nice.”

The room — because it’s that, barely, and definitely not an office — is just wide enough Maran could lay on the floor, keep his feet against a wall, and stretch his arms out to the other. It’s not nice. Even in the darkness, Maran can see how absolutely cramped it is by just a desk, shoddily hung metal shelves on the wall, and a single chair. There’s a thin, strangely shaped window a quarter of the way down the wall; a tiny fake succulent is perched dangerously unstable on the ledge. It looks like it might be dead.

He blinks over at Benny guiltily. “Sorry, Ben. It’s a broom closet.”

“Isn’t it?” Benny sighs wantonly. He nudges Maran aside to get at the light switch. “All that tuition m-money goes right here.”

Maran, who knows this rant well by now, tucks his tongue in front of his teeth and plops into the chair. “Right. And they let you pick the decor, yeah?”

Benny narrows his eyes. He’s doing that sneering, mean grin that means Maran stumble about five millimeters closer to losing brain function. The door slams behind them, and he turns to look at it.

“Assholes don’t get t-tours.” He points a finger at Maran when his eyebrows raise saucily. “Ah-ah. Leave that one alone. Low hanging fruit.”

They stare at each other a beat, Maran’s smile curling dangerously.

“Don’t.”

Maran bursts into motion, a slinking glide across the tiny office space to press up close. Angled severely over Benny where he leans back on the desk, balanced on his palms. Maran slides his hands up them from behind slowly, their chests pressing together as he stands upright.

“Aw, but I had a real good one about —”

Benny jerks him forward for a kiss that Maran whines into. It doesn’t last long, but it’s immediately filthy. Tongue to his, swipes of it on each shift of their heads. The slick spit on Maran’s lip makes him shiver as it cools, so he licks it off to get that feeling again.

“Don’t.” It’s much less a tease and more a warning, now. Ben pushes him gently away, although his hands curl atop Maran’s shoulders. After a beat, he turns to gather a textbook and notes from his backpack.

“You worked me up to study?” Maran pouts. “Again?”

“You’re cute when yo-yo-you’re frustrated.” Benny purrs. All of him screams sharklike. Sharp, intense. It’s starting to fade, though, because Maran can tell he’s shifting gears into buckle down, study. “And all the other times. You’re just fucking cute.”

“How long?”

His icily eyes slide up the wall to the clock, then just as sleazily slow back down, trailing over Maran top to bottom to top. He blinks at him in what he hopes comes across as translatable code: Please, Ben, you’ve got to be fucking kidding. Take it easy on me, man. Pleas take it fucking easy. Look at you. You’re so—

“Hour?” He negotiates, wiggling his eyebrows theatrically. Maran sighs with just as much silliness, chest full of something sugary. “I’ll g-get you a chair.”

“Here’s fine.” He laughs, dropping to his knees beside Benny’s. “Slept on the floor all the time, growing up. Benji’s mum says it’s good for your back. I’m tough.”

He doesn’t expect it to be as comfortable as it is. By the time Benny deems enough review has happened, Maran’s actually a little sleepy. He always finds comfort around ben, but now with the scratch of pen over paper, notes being taken, and Benny’s repeated, low-timbre working through problems aloud, it’s almost hypnotizing. Lullaby. Maran’s knees don’t ache as much as the thought they would, his cheek warm from where it’s been resting against Benny’s thigh.

He glances down. The tired smears under his eyes make Maran want to rise and kiss them gone.

“F-Food and then back?”

“Fucking finally.” Maran says down to his phone’s screen, where a game blares its tinny theme. Without headphones, the sound obscures. It’s strangely pleasant in its reedy, frayed high-notes. Like something eight bit. Maran silences it anyway, standing to stretch out his legs. He puts his hands to the small of his back and stretches his spine, too. “I beat like, fifty levels.”

Benny stares up at him owlishly. “What’s the m-matter with you?” He sounds strained. “You were just… sitting there that wh-whole time? Like that?”

Maran frowns. “Well where the fuck else would I go, Ben? The pissin’ moon?”

And that’s all it takes for him to be snatched up into another kiss. This one makes him stumble forward, catch himself with his hands to Ben’s chest. It gives slightly, that layer of muscle and fat pleasant beneath his fingers, which flex and then slip lower.

Ben shifts forward in his chair, knows spreading around Maran’s ribs. His hands cup shamelessly to Maran’s ass as he bows forward. As they kiss, one chases the shiver up his side, over his neck, to cup the back of it. That thumb strokes over his jaw in slow swipes.

When they part, Maran pants and watches a glittery strand of saliva rest on Ben’s smirking mouth. He groans quietly and leans in, eyes trained to it — but the kiss has done him in so well, so throughly, that he feels dizzy.

“Okay?” Benny checks when he sways. The question snaps the strand of spit on his mouth, making it disappear. Maran blushes. Thinks about how he’d like to have licked it away himself. Would be a fantastic little segue into — warm gaze lingers on pink lips before fluttering up.

“Want it.” His gaze lingers heatedly on Benny’s mouth before fluttering upwards. His half-lidded stare meets winter blue. “Ben, I — oh, fuck. I want it.”

Benny swallows hard. The movement makes the tattoo on his neck jump. Invitingly, Maran decides. Invitingly for him. Just him. Put your mouth there, his brain cajoles. Put it there. Kiss there. Right there, on that muscle. Maran slowly stretches out of his crouch, hands on either armrest of the chair, to press his mouth to the ink.

“Want w-what?”

As words alone, they don’t mean a whole lot to Maran. But it’s not words alone, is it? He’s being asked something specific. Asked to do something. He’s got the answer easy in his head, even if it, sorta rambles on: want it. Want you. Whatever that means, however many ways. Right now? Want your cock in my mouth. I’ve never really wanted that before, but oh fuck, do I want it with you.

All that has to show on him because Benny’s stare intensifies but remains patient.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” Maran admits shyly, rubbing shaking hands against denim like that will coax his muscles quiet. He’s not used to feeling so nervous, but it’s Benny and he fucking wants it. He wants it. He’s shaking, that’s how bad.

“God, I can t-tell.”

“A lot.” He tacks on in a quiet admission. “And I’ve been thinking way too much. It’s making me nervous. I want to know how to do it.”

A hand touches to his jaw, knuckles petting over the hinge before his chin is cupped between cool fingers. Maran thinks about the hand warmers in the glovebox of Xavier’s truck, reminds himself to pinch them next time he’s in it to bring here. Office runs too cold for Benny to be in it this long.

He reaches out to gather up Benny’s pale wrist, dragging it from his cheek across his mouth. Kisses right in the center of the his hand, tongue along a crease. Benny makes…a noise. He’s not sure how to classify it. Not quite a moan, but something dark and deep from his gut. It’s one he hasn’t heard before, pitched and gravely; he loves discovering new sounds. One day he’ll get the nerve to admit how hard they make him.

“However y-y-you want.”

He pouts. “No.”

“Sorry?”

“I mean… gonna have to teach me, huh?” Maran hides the absolutely nasty smirk into his neck, face tucked against the scorpion’s claw. His hand lands on Benny’s chest, slipping slightly under the neckline to touch bare skin. Beneath his palm, he feels the suddenness of that inhale and can’t help the snicker. “Ha, thought so. I want you to tell me.”

“Maran —” Benny’s newly gathered air rushes out harsh as Maran presses teeth there. Not a bite, but a reminder. “Okay. Yes. Fuck, Mar. Okay.”

The tip of him catches on Maran’s bottom lip as he looks up, parting them as their eyes fit together. A noise bubbles up his chest, slips out. Makes Ben shiver and tilt his chin back, hands framing Maran’s face.

Fucking hell. Oh, fucking hell.

His eyes flutter. Threaten to close. Warmth spreads over his cheeks as he fights them open, can’t manage much more than narrowed slits. Enough to see Ben, see him like that, fucking above him, looking down, he’s so — Maran tilts his head back a little, tongue poked to replace his mouth. He pauses with it out because he goes a little dizzy with the taste, the weight of it (Benny, his brain offers helpfully, Benny’s cock) there. Just the salt of sweat and skin, nothing special. Except — bit heavier than he imagined, and then it all makes him go…floaty. It is special. He thinks about how weirdly comforting everything is: that he’d be content to sit here like this, too, for an hour. On his knees, even if they hurt a little.

“Am I going too slow?” He pulls back with a whisper. His lips brush against the tip and Ben makes a sound close to a wheeze when Maran keeps the motion going. It’s smooth and slick against the seam of his mouth in a way that feels pleasant. Hypnotizingly so. Hot, sure, but mostly just pleasant. He’s enjoyed finding things like that: simple things, overlooked acts for some people, maybe. Good things he enjoyed doing because they felt that way — good.

I want you to tell me I’m being good, Maran blinks up at Ben. And tell me if it’s too slow. And tell me how I should move my tongue. And when to go harder, and when to try taking more again, and how to do that so I don’t gag —

A heavy palm brushes over his shoulder, gives him a fondly comforting squeeze. It’s a little too hard, grinds the bone, but even that feels good right now.

“G-Go as slow as you w-want, Mar.” His chest’s still heaving, knuckles of his other hand gripped tight into the chair’s armrest, but there’s such a fucking softness to the words that he blushes and sways forward. There’s a rush in his ears like blood that mingles hotly with the noise of their mutually hard breathing. Maran’s gaze slowly drops, roving over the heaving chest, windows between buttons offering him teasing glimpses of skin.

It’s hard to get his mouth down without breaking eye contact, so he lets his eyes flutter close and feels it all.

He isn’t sure if this will have to be something he focuses on, or if it’s a skill. The idea of building it, of practicing, makes his head too fuzzy with shyness to think about. So he tries to focus instead on picking his breathing back up, giving himself a break while his hand jerks a bit roughly. Hard to maintain something nice and enjoyable, as fucking gone as he feels. Hard to maintain a rhythm. He’s read, on embarrassing forays into online threads, that rhythm is important for this.

His eyes bounce away and then land on skin; this quick flash of creaminess tucked between Benny’s patterned shirt at his hip and sloppily pushed down jeans. There’s a flash of ink there, a bold neighbor of the shitty hip gun — whose trigger Maran sometimes like to teasingly prod at with pew noises until he gets a swat.

Maran sits up with a grin at the thought, tugging at the waistline of Benny’s jeans enough to reveal thigh. He goes about redirecting that gentle sweep of affection with a kiss to the flesh, hair tickling his mouth. Tickles enough that he laughs, a gentle huff of air that parts his lips and makes Benny grunt above. The noise deepens into a moan when Maran’s teeth scrape there, and then cuts off into something angry as he bites down.

There’s a jostle and then the sound of wheels on tile. Maran suddenly has to catch himself against cold linoleum with a whine.

“Ow,” he huffs dramatically. “Almost had my fingers —”

“Shhhh,” Benny interrupts in a loud hiss.

When Maran turns to look at him, he’s tilted back dangerously far in the office chair, facing away with his head towards the ceiling. Both hands are set over his eyes in a frustrated blindfold, heels digging in. Maran watches him take a few deep, slow breaths. It feels like ten whole fucking minutes passes. He scoots a palm forward.

“Do not fucking s-speak. And whatever yo-you’re about to do, fucking don’t.” Benny snaps out. One of his hand lifts, eye sliding towards Maran and then immediately shut. “Oh fuck. If you crawl across the goddamn ground right now—”

Maran sits back on his heels, head tilted. He’s trying hard not to grin. “Come back over here so I don’t have to?”

Benny walks himself slowly back over with the energy of someone who tiptoes around the water’s edge, wary of snapping jaws. Maran hasn’t felt dangerous before, and finds he likes it.

Valiant fucking effort, Maran thinks, from Ben. He tries as hard as he can to grit his teeth and take it, make everything last.

But Maran’s trying his best. He’s trying his enthusiastic best.

“N-Not always…fuck. Uh, the end all, b-be all.”

Maran’s mouth curls in a crooked, amused sneer. “What?”

“You know, GPS shouldn’t always be s-set to heaven.” He rotates a wrist. “F-Fun in the journey, every m-moment’s a blessing, live la-laugh love, each day’s an adventure, enjoy the little things—” Benny’s chin snaps quickly down at that, one eyebrow quirking. “I mean…not that little, right?”

He snorts, a slight shake of his head that provides as much an answer as no, I do not fucking know. That’s part of the fun with Benny a lot of the time. Following a wild bit of info or a reference. Piece it together by discovering how the dots connect in his head. Good sense of humor, Maran thinks with the guy’s cock against his mouth, real quippy, good sense of humor. Just makes you work for it, sometimes.

Part of the fun.

“Ben, shut th’fuck up.” Maran laughs, lifting his chin. Benny’s own jerks back, his jaw dropping, because the motion brings Maran’s lips right under the sensitive head — and he doesn’t stop talking. “I’m just trying to make you cum, a’right? I want you to. So can we raincheck on the philosophy?”

He offers Benny’s cock a wet kiss in punctuation.

“Jesus f-fucking—” His eyes tip up, catching icy blue as they roll back. “Mar.”

“Oh, are you —?”

Benny’s breathing hard, so the laugh that earns slithers out shivery and low. Wraps around him as a living thing; a hot, agile little snap around his neck. Ah, no, maybe not that. Can’t think about things around his neck.

Can’t think about anything, really, because he’s watching Ben be yanked over the edge without preamble. A thick smear of white lands on his stomach and Maran stares at it for a moment before darting forward, hands firm on Ben’s jean-bunched thighs. He chases the release with his tongue and then coasts his mouth up the side of his twitching length, sighing and moaning softly alongside the chorus of grunts and bitten-off filth that pours from Benny’s mouth. He doesn’t mind the taste or texture in the slightest, and wonders vaguely how it would feel hitting his tongue.

When it’s largely over, the aftershocks trembling flesh beneath his palms, Maran smiles and tucks close to wrap his lips around the head. He’s not thinking about it, just as he hasn’t thought about anything with the helpful barrage of guidance and hitching, throaty advice from Ben throughout the whole thing. Just acting. Just doing exactly the thing that comes to mind, which feels nice to be able to indulge. To do something because he’d like to.

Something that Benny, evidently, also would like Maran to do. Or — maybe not. Because the look on his face…

Maran gasps as his jaw is snatched harshly up in a locked grip. The motion settles the nested, solid mass in his chest into something liquid hot. Something that slides across his insides into his gut, into the messy heat that already lives there. Ben hadn’t been the only one enjoying himself, anyway.

Maran allows himself to be pulled upward slightly, his head tipped back so that their eyes have no choice but to lock together.

“Well? Go on, Mar, if you want it all that fuckin’ bad,” Benny seethes. “Open.”

He gives Maran a little shake by the jaw, whose watery brown eyes drifting side to side with the motion — keeping Benny centered even at a turned away angle. He can’t look away. Doesn’t want to. Ben’s still panting, still prettily flushed and still soft at the edges with the pink of exertion, a sheen soft sheen at his temples. And yet his eyes are steel, brow pinched almost angry. Hot. As hot as the weight of his spit-slick cock had been.

Maran drops his jaw. He must be stuck there, silent and motionless, for a beat too long. Because Benny leans down once more. Closer and closer, until it seems like a kiss might be coming. So he tilts his head back for it, eyes lidding, accepting — except Benny’s other hand rises slowly to flatten in a gentle cup around his neck. A noise shivers up beneath that touch, a moan trips from his open mouth.

He absolutely says something mindfully present and eloquent about it as it happens. Certainly nothing along the lines of fuck, oh fuck, Ben? while he folds over, bringing their faces together, and spits onto his tongue.

Maran whimpers.

“Do it,” Benny whispers roughly, punctuates each word with a barely-there squeeze. “Fuckin’ swallow that too, since you want to be nasty.”

All he’s wanted is to be told. So Maran does as asked without hesitation. Tucks his tongue back in his mouth finally and closes it. Like syrup, sluggish muscles after sex, Maran finds the smile stretching his sore mouth happens without his say in the matter. Just fits there lazily, because it feels good. It’s fucking filthy, and maybe that’s the fun of it. The point, that letting him do that is filthier and more obscene.

But it’s also good and sweet. Maran doesn’t try to explain the headphones or the desire to be told what to do or that the command would be welcome even if it was filthy. Because it’s Ben doing it, Ben pulling him off his aching knees from the linoleum into his lap, Ben holding him upright with an arm around his back while his other palm sneaks down the front of Maran’s jeans to press against him, let him rock against it noisily into a good, sweet orgasm.

“There y’go, Mar. Holy sh-shit. Holy fucking shit.” Ben whispers into his neck as it rattles through him, as the blood rushes in his ears — so loud and distorted it sounds eight bit.

#writing #ua #mgc #jlb #mgc x jlb #college au

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therealityhelix · 1 year

Text

By Talos, This Can’t be Happening pt 14

It’s Tamriel Tuesday! Time to go out on the town.

Rated PG13 for: Blood, violence, sexual situations, bad puns, and other poor life choices.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions

?~?~?~?~?

To the west, and green. To the west and green. Starlight, dyed red, a luminescence hovering in his hands. A caged lizard in a ruined cave. A field watered with blood. Layers of paint obscuring the face of a loved one.

“Challenge.” a feminine voice, everywhere at once, inside. “You bring it on yourself.”

A shadow under the great oak outside the mages guild. Lightning striking a mountaintop. The path rolled out in rays like-

“Starlight...” he mumbled.

“Hm?” Helix mumbled back, not really awake, but merely responding to his voice.

“Nothin' babe. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm.”

Sometime later, he dragged himself out of bed, realizing she'd gotten up earlier than him. There was a basin of warm water and their soap in one corner of the room, waiting for him, a plate of fruit and what looked like a medieval muffin. There was also a full change of clothes. Swag held up the new garments-black with a very decorative silvery trim. Looked like they'd fit, though the trousers might be a bit short. It wouldn't matter if he tucked the hems into his boots. But would that look good? And where had these come from? He couldn't imagine they'd just been left lying around; they looked to be very high quality, like that incredible linen that had been wiped out of history by industrialization.

It did fit well, a little padded at the shoulders, but nothing blocky, and surprisingly breathable and flexible. And yes, the hems were a bit short, but not as noticeably as he'd predicted. He ate, got his hair at least partially tamed, and went in search of Helix.

She was just outside the bedroom, heating one of her alchemical mixtures in what he could only describe as a 'contraption', an elaborate alembic setup dripping hydrosol into a potpourri of salts and ash.

She had also come by a new set of clothing, a confection of green velvet and silk patterned like the leaves of the oak outside. In fact, it was quite similar to the getup Earana had been sporting, but Helix, in his opinion, wore it so much better.

God, that color looked so good on her.

He caught her staring back, and he knew that look. He held his hands up in front of him.

“Hey, I just got these on.” he joked, and she grinned.

“I've got to keep an eye on this anyway.” she said. “Maybe later.”

“Whattaya mean 'maybe'? I see you lookin'. Where'd these come from, anyway?”

“Oh, Anthragar thought we looked a bit ragged, I reckon. He pressed these on me as soon as I went upstairs. Might be custom, or might be he worried we'd make the guild look un-posh or some such. Our other clothes are off for a proper cleaning.”

“Better not damage them. That's my favorite vest.”

“You've got seven more just like it back home.”

“What can I say? I like to be on brand. And it's the only one I have here!”

“It'll be fine. Got any plans for the day?”

Figured I'd go visit the smith. Guy in Bruma recommended her for making a set of gauntlets. Prolly oughta sell off what we got that wasn't already coins.”

Oh right. Here.” She began to remove her ring.

“Uh...you know what? Keep hold of that. Might come in handy later. And I'll see if there isn't anything going on around town, any odd jobs or whatever. I'll keep myself occupied, don't worry. And I won't end up in jail again, so don't worry about that either.”

Because he knew she would.

He left the guild and had to dodge around the back to avoid being spotted by Earana, who was stalking around the great oak like a hunting animal.

The slums of Chorrol were...actually pretty nice from his perspective, basically the opposite of what they'd be in Gotham. Small, single story timber buildings, with space between them, and not a one condemned or falling down. Bright green grass everywhere, and fresh air.

Swag didn't know how much longer he could survive without microdosing on minerals with every breath. And the water not tasting of metal, surely that wasn't how nature had meant it. Where would he get his daily cadmium?

The street, still scrupulously clean, even here, curled around another large cathedral, which he walked straight past, and back into the main thoroughfare. A large statue dominated this end of town, a woman holding a fallen soldier in her arms. Close by, a cute little Rennfaire styled sign declared 'Northern Goods and Trade', a place he definitely wanted to check out.

Inside was another lizard in a dress. An actual dress this time, not a mage robe. Perhaps it could be assumed this one was female, the dress, the smaller size, and the somewhat higher pitched-though still rough-voice might lead to that conclusion. But otherwise, it wasn't that easy to tell. He couldn't help but wonder about the evolutionary story there, unless what Helix had told him was correct, and there was no evolution here.

She introduced herself as Seed-Neeus, because that was just how Argonian names were, apparently. She was also a shrewd businesslizard, and Swags haggling over the mediocre potions didn't go at all as well as he'd planned. He did get a good price for the pearl, the bronze ring, and the green gems-tourmalines, she informed him-though he kept one back for himself. The silver just went by weight, but it was worth quite a bit, and he chatted with her about local affairs, and the rest of Cyrodiil. He was from so very far away after all.

He got the feeling she was not impressed with his attempted compliments on her weird head fin things, but he was trying. He had no way to tell how old she was; maybe she'd just heard it all before. Or maybe he just wasn't her type, which, like, yeah.

But she did mention that a fellow named Guilbert Jemane had gotten some disturbing news, and was acting more erratic and drunken than usual, that there was some kind of trouble brewing on a farmstead just outside of town, and that there had been a large flush of newcomers to the city recently, including a small group from the nearby Weynon Priory; humble monks that were usually so self sufficient that they rarely ever visited.

He headed across the street towards the Fire and Steel, passing by a man arguing loudly with a gate guard that he'd never even been to Cheydinhal, but he was thinking of going just so he could lay a beatdown on some guy who was pretending to be him.

Inside the smiths shop, his eyes were first caught by a huge, olive green woman with short, spiky hair. She had large tusks and small eyes, but she barely looked at him. That must be an orc. Huh, not too bad. She was engaged in conversation with a jovial, dark skinned woman and an elf who was sporting the most gorgeous set of crystalline green armor.

Swag was instantly smitten. Where could he get a set of that? He would look like a god.

Imagine rocking up to the mages guild in that.

“Welcome!” the smith called to him after the orc and elf, an adventuring pair, had left. “Welcome to the Fire and Steel! You're new in town too, aren't you? Well met! I'm Rasheda. Is there anything I can interest you in? At all?”

Her eyes swept up his form in approval. Swag grinned.

“Maybe, maybe. First of all, that green armor the elf fellow was wearing; was that yours?”

“The glass armor? No, I didn't make that. No one can make that. He found it in a ruin somewhere.”

“Glass?”

Rasheda laughed.

“Sounds bad, doesn't it? It's not actually made of glass, its some magical alloy the Ayleids came up with thousands of years ago. It just looks like glass. Tough as steel though, and less than half the weight! Imagine if we could someday figure it out! But for now, the only way to get any is to find it in one of the Ayleids ruins, or to get it off of someone else who did. If you do, bring it back here, I can make sure it fits you right. Remarkable stuff, it can be formed like steel too, reshaped for a better fit.”

“Only in the ruins, huh? Pretty rare then.”

“Yeah, but I see more of it than you might think. We get adventurers in pretty regularly, due to all the ruins in the Great Forest outside of town. The Ayleids were populous here, and there are quite a few mines and caves, and remnants from the Alessian Empire too. There's a lot out there to be reclaimed.”

“Any to the North of here?” Earana had said that the book she wanted was located in an Ayleid ruin.

“Yes, a few. And there's Sancre Tor as well. Huge place, three ruined towers. Most of the wall has fallen down, but I here its not uncommon for people to just disappear around there.”

“Uh...I might have seen it, yeah. Creepy place.”

“Well, that's the best I can give you when it comes to glass. Is there anything else?”

She was looking again, unabashed interest in dark eyes.

“Yeah, actually. Two things. What would you recommend for someone who's never worn armor before? And also, the smith in Bruma recommended you for a pair of custom gauntlets. Was he on the level?”

“Bruma? Wait, you mean Fjotreid? He remembers me?”

“Had nothing but praise for your work. Said you could make a pair of gauntlets so fine, they might as well be my own skin. Sure like to see that.”

“He said that?” her huge smile flashed white, even as her cheeks darkened with flattered pleasure. “What a sweetheart! And he's not wrong, either. I can do that. Let me see your hands.”

He held them out, and she flipped them over, spread the fingers out, commenting cheekily about their length and shape.

“You seem like the sort who likes to be light on your feet.” she said, lapsing away from flirtatiousness and into the more serious part of her job. “Reinforced leather jerkin, something in the Khajiti style maybe. Quiet. Flexible. Blued steel for the gauntlets; you'd want a solid strike for those. Not the mitten type, I'm assuming, more like the elven glove type, right?”

“Sounds right.”

“I have some leather already mostly put together, I could get some measurements and alter something for you right now. The gauntlets have to be bespoke though. Everybody's hands are different, and most pugilists' aren't as graceful as yours.”

She quoted him two prices, the armor quite reasonable, but the gauntlets quite a bit outside his current price range. It made sense; all the little pieces, specially treated, carefully fitted.

He agreed to have measurements taken for the armor, and the frisky attitude returned, her hands lingering longer than strictly necessary, a little bit of shared innuendo.

“You know, I have a lot of free time today. Anything I can do around the place to maybe shave a few coins off those gauntlets?” he suggested.

Rasheda grinned wide.

“Well...” she drawled.

Then she locked the door.

Swag laughed.

?~?~?~?~?

#sartorial sorcery #Swag!Riddler #Riddler Family #elder scrolls

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the-himawari · 2 years

Text

A3! Settsu Banri - Translation [SSR] Guide Your Destiny (2/3)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Izumi: …And so, we’ve received a request to assist the guests as a king, bishop and knight like last time. Last time, we each discussed and decided on the roles. But what should we do this time?

Kazunari: Alrightey~! This is the moment where this comes in!

Izumi: A lottery box?

Banri: Where’d you pull that out from?

Kazunari: Wouldn’t it be fresh putting slips with the roles written on them inside and then choosing who’s in charge by pulling them~!?

Banri: Well, I guess that’s a good way to decide without any biases.

Masumi: Whatever, I’m fine with it.

Kazunari: ‘Kay, I’ll make the lottery then.

-pause-

Izumi: …Alright, Banri-kun’s the king, Kazunari-kun’s the bishop, and Masumi-kun’s the knight. Does that sound good?

Kazunari: Okay~!

Banri: No objections here.

Masumi: I’ll become your knight.

Banri: Hold up, Sakyo-san was the king last time. We got dragged into his role study back then and it was a huge ass mess…

Izumi: His profile sheet last time specified “a tyrant king who rules over a country”… I got profile sheets again this time, so I’ll hand them out later.

-pause-

Banri: … (Although I got the profile sheet…) (“A king beloved by his subjects”, eh… Sounds like it’ll be a totally different king from Sakyo-san.) (Well, I’ll figure it out.)

Taichi: Ban-chan! What are you lookin’ at? Ah, could that be for your role study!?

Banri: Yeah.

Taichi: I’ll help you prepare for your role!

Banri: You’ll help me… what’re you gonna do?

Taichi: Umm… maybe the Autumn troupe guys and I can fawn over you like your subjects?

Banri: …

*imagination starts*

Taichi: Ban-chan!

Banri: ? …All the Autumn troupe members are together.

Sakyo: If it’s for you, Settsu, then we’ll do anythin’.

Juza: Just say the word if there’s somethin’ you want us to do.

Banri: Haa? The hell are you sayin’ all of a sudden—.

Omi: Here, Banri. I’ve made your favourite California rolls. There’s lots so eat as much as you’d like.

Banri: Err, I can’t finish this huge pyramid of food! Geh, that’s cold!? The hell’s this!

Azami: A super high-quality face mask chock-full of a mixture of beauty ingredients. I wanted to take care of our precious Banri-san’s skin.

Banri: Dude, don’t just stick it on my face!

Sakyo: Settsu, shall I rub your shoulders?

Juza: I’ll rub his feet then.

Omi: Alright, I’ll take his arms…

Azami: I’ll massage his scalp.

Taichi: That’s not fair, guys! I wanna do something too~!

*imagination ends*

Banri: …Gross.

Taichi: Eh?

Banri: Nothin’. Anyways, I’ll prepare by myself for now—.

Citron: Hold it right there!

Banri: It’s just one after another!

Citron: It’s important for kings to treat everyone the same way. A true king bestows their love upon all equally!

Banri: Since when were you listening…

Citron: That’s what it takes to become a great king!

Banri: So that’s the mindset, huh?

Taichi: It sounds deep when Citron says it!

Citron: Those who believe shall be saved!

Banri: …I mean, you’re the real deal, so I’ll keep your words in mind for now.

---

previous | next

#a3!#a3! translation #settsu banri #act! addict! actors!

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 6

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

EXTRA WARNINGS - this chapter is pretty much unrelenting whump and the violence and consent issues (past) tags strongly apply. I have put more detailed (spoiler heavy) warnings at the bottom so if you’re particularly sensitive to that stuff and want to scroll down to check before you read you can do so.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

In a tavern just outside of Leovan the crowd roars another! And Roman laughs and gamely starts to play another jig. He’s been playing for hours and he drinks in the attention happily, even as the cheers of the crowd become a ringing in his ears. The night is long and his throat is raw and his stomach empty and it’s harder and harder to keep his eyes focused, but his hands are steady on the strings. He sways in place, sweat dripping into his eyes, but it doesn’t matter- the crowd adore him. They sing and dance and laugh along, and after each set they call another, another, another until the room is spinning and his throat is bleeding and the audience’s laughter had turned cruel and high and lilting and-

Roman woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it.

The underground room was still pitch black, the humidity still cloying. At some point during his fitful sleep he had slumped to the floor, Lucius’ ill-attempt at binding having come loose enough to allow him to slide his arms down the length of the pipe. He was awkwardly sprawled at the base with his wrists still pinned above his head and his legs twisted underneath him. He tugged experimentally at his binding and got a sharp spike of pain down his shoulders and spine for his trouble. Whilst he had wasted time sleeping, the silk had become sodden from the moisture of the room and shrunk tight against his wrists, making even Lucius’ knotwork impossible to pull apart.

Not that it would have made much difference if he could get it loose.

Stay here until I come back with your transport.

Grunting with pain, he managed to untangle his legs out from under him and sit up. He pushed himself up on his knees as best he could, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, but gave it up quickly as the pain lacing down his shoulders intensified.

This was bad.

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think, but the heat was making it almost impossible. The black of the room kept swirling back in to crowded tavern, the rush of water into the jeers of a crowd…he could feel the raw burn on his throat and his mind scrambled desperately for another song-

Except it hadn’t happened like that. He shook his head furiously, his hair flicking sweat into the room, trying to banish the tavern from his mind. He had already started traveling with the others by the time he sang in Leovan and if he’d tried to perform so late into the night Virgil would have come stomping down the stairs to tell him he was being ridiculous and to go and get some sleep.

Or Patton would have sat up listening, playing bodyguard, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open and sweetly suggested that the crowd might want to be getting home to their own families.

Or Logan would appear, pocket watch in hand, demanding he finish within a set time frame in order to allow for optimal sleeping hours.

Roman could almost hear the lecture, relief at a chance to escape the crowd mingling with exasperation at the scholars ridged scheduling.

In the dark Roman glanced over to where he thought the door should be.

The only sound was the gentle hiss of water.

He tried pulling at the rope again.

***

“Hey! It’s you!”

The man blocking Roman’s path back to the ballroom was clearly drunk. He stumbled towards Roman, half leaning on the hallway wall for support, a big dopy smile on his face. “I saw you- I saw you back there – wow!”

“Thank you friend.” Roman smiled brightly and took a step backwards, but not quickly enough to prevent the guy from grasping onto his sash.

“You’re so pretty.” The guy breathed, his eyes unfocused but his grip firm, “I saw you lookin’ at me when you were singin’.”

Roman squirmed. He was almost certainly better trained than his admirer, and he had had a lot less ale, but he was also shorter and skinnier. With the man pressed so close in the narrow hallway it was almost impossible to find the leverage he needed to push him off.

And. This was a nice place. And by the quality of the man’s clothing he was an honoured guest not a servant. Roman had been the one to convince his new companions to accompany him to the local lord’s house for the ball, he had wanted to give them to a chance to relax whilst he performed. He didn’t want to get himself, and them, kicked out by causing a scene- not when he was half hoping they would allow him to continue to travel with them even though the job he’d been hired for was done.

“I look at everyone-” he said, smile fixed and polite ”– engaging the audience is actually very important for-“

“Shush.” The man whispered.

Roman shushed. Grinding his teeth in frustration.

His assailant brought one hand up to paw at his face in a clumsy attempt at seduction, thick rings knocking against Romans jaw. His other hand released the bard’s sash to grip his wrist instead.

“Kiss me,” the man breathed, the stink of ale on his breath making Roman gag.

Face burning with mounting frustration and embarrassment, Roman attempted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but the man twisted his head at the last moment to meet his lips with his own. Pressing Roman back against the wall with a slobbering assault as he attempted to pry Roman’s lips open with his tongue.

Panic flickered in Roman’s belly and then just as quickly dulled. It was generally easier to let these things run their course.

And then, suddenly, the pressure on his mouth – and wrist and chest - was gone.

Roman blinked open eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Patton with an expression so furious Roman had to fight the instinct to cower.

“What.” Patton snarled “Do you think you’re doing?”

“I di-didn’t mean to-“ Roman started.

“Well?!” Patton roared and Roman realised he wasn’t speaking to him – but rather the rich man who appeared to be rapidly sobering up in Patton’s grip. The warrior held him by the scuff of his neck, his toes just scraping the floor. When Patton shook him, the plethora of chains around his neck clinked together musically.

“Roman,” Patton asked, his voice still shaking with an anger that made Roman draw his shoulders up instinctively “do you…know this man?”

“Well…no.” Roman glanced at the chains again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his heart rate started to return to normal “I think he might be the mayor though Pat, put him down!”

“I don’t care if he’s the King of the elves! Did you want to kiss him?”

“Well no, but – but its fine! These things happen!”

“You call yourself a Prince and this is how you carry on?”

Wait. What?

Roman blinked, feeling strangely hot in the cool hallway.

Patton wasn’t supposed to say that. Patton was supposed to ask what he meant. And Roman would backtrack and feed him some lines about people often feeling entitled to performers time off stage – which was not untrue – and Patton would look at him wide eyed and tell him that would never happen again –

“You’ve been told over and over, to keep yourself to yourself.”

- that Patton would stand guard at every performance from now on if that’s what it took.-

“If you insist on putting yourself into these situations, don’t come crying to me when the inevitable happens.”

-And Roman would be so elated at the implication that they were to keep travelling together that he would almost forget to feel embarrassed at the situation.-

Patton’s lips narrowed into a thin disapproving line, “Don’t be naive. You are far better off alone, Romulus.”

“Dad?” Roman whispered.

“He doesn’t look much like the Prince.”

“Oh, like you’ve seen him.”

“Well he’s meant to be handsome right? This guy’s not winning any contests.”

Roman opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Three men stood around him, illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. For one wild moment elation flooded through him - his friends had found him after all!

And then their conversation registered and he scowled. Disappointment robbing him of a witty comeback to their insults.

Still. Let them travel almost non-stop for three weeks, spend a night standing out in the middle of a field whilst an old woman sang at herbs, march for five days through a forest - including a detour through he thickets brambles known to man- and then follow that up with an entire day wandering around the city, have two panic attacks and be left to sleep tied up in caller. And then see if they looked their best.

With the gag still in his mouth, Roman’s attempt to covey this sentiment were mercifully muffled.

“I don’t know.” The biggest of the three stepped forward, grabbing a handful of Roman’s hair and yanking his head back painfully, abruptly cutting off his complaints. “I can kinda see it.”

“Be careful Niki,” the one who had first spoken whispered, he was holding the lantern and keeping well back from Roman. “His nibs thinks he’s got devils with him.”

“In here?” Niki cast a glance around at the iron cage of pipework that covered the room. “If he does they’re not coming out.”

“Still.” Lantern-boy whined.

“Well let’s test it.” Niki grinned down and Roman spitefully and released his grip on his hair. In one quick movement he had produced an iron dagger, not unlike Roman’s own, and pressed the flat of it to Roman’s cheek.

Roman stared at him.

“There you see? If was possessed he’d be screaming.” Niki said smugly and pulled his knife back, twisting it slightly as he did so, leaving a shallow cut along Roman’s cheek, making him wince.

“Careful,” lantern-boy said meaningfully “he’s still the Prince’s brother.”

“Oops.” Niki smiled cheerfully down at Roman. “My bad.”

“He needs to drink.” The third man stood far enough back from the lantern that Roman couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way the other two responded to his soft voice, their posture automatically stiffening.

“Here,” lantern-boy stepped forward after a moment, holding out a water skin to Niki who rolled his eyes but reached down to rip the gag from Roman’s mouth.

Roman coughed, swallowing air greedily. His throat was painfully dry, all moisture sucked out by the silk, but he still hesitated when Niki held the skin up to his mouth.

“Listen to me.” He croaked “you-“

“Just drink it.” Niki snapped and Roman surged forward despite himself, swallowing a few precious mouthfuls before the skin was yanked away again.

“You’re from Notaleveale.” he whispered. “Right?”

“Obviously.” Lantern-boy muttered, taking the water skin back from his companion.

“Well then,” he drew himself up as much as he could, ignoring the pain the movement caused “ – as true men of The North I must implore you to assist me. The Marquis has been embroiled in some- some conspiracy of untruths, is perhaps plotting against the very crown itself and-“

“The Marquis de Orenlla couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.” Niki snorted contemptuously.

Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Isn’t he your Lord?” he asked eventually feeling bizarrely offended on the Marquis’ behalf. Niki and lantern-boy were both wearing chest plates embossed with the three peaked mountain range that signified allegiance to Orenlla, the royal kraken of Notaleveale floating above. They were clearly guardsmen brought with Lucius on his journey south.

The third man, who hadn’t spoken since he mentioned Roman needing to drink, wore no identifying uniform.

“It’s not an insult.” Niki shrugged, “personally I prefer an employer too daft to organise a coupe.”

Lantern-boy nodded in agreement, “It’s a, whatcha call it - a positive working environment, innt?”

“…alright.” Roman decided to change tactics. “I’ll double what he’s paying you.” This time both men laughed.

“With what?”

“Well, I. I’m still a Prince I’ll have you know - I have many rich and influential friends who would gladly-“

“Oh really. Where are they then?”

There was an unpleasant pause whilst Roman desperately tried to get his brain to think. He was supposed to be more creative than this!

“You’re no Prince of ours anyhow.” Lantern-boy stepped a bit closer to glare into Roman’s eyes. “Traitor.”

Roman flinched back at the pure look of venom on the young man’s face.

Little fae touched traitor.

“Listen to me. Whatever you’ve heard – it’s not true. My father-“

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Niki surged froward, pulling Roman up by the neck of his tunic. Their faces were close enough that Roman could feel the spittle from the man’s mouth land on his cheek as he shouted: “After your despicable actions you would dare to-“

“Nicolas. Don’t upset yourself.”

The third man was barely visible to Roman over Niki- Nicholas’- shoulder, but as soon as he spoke the large man stilled, lowering Roman slowly back to the ground.

“Marcus. Some more light if you will.”

Lantern-boy -presumably Marcus– quickly produced a box of long matchsticks, almost tripping over himself in his haste to light more lanterns around the room. By the time he was done the room was brightly lit, the glow from each lamp bouncing off the metal pipes until it filled every corner.

The third man did not look especially Notalevealean, with skin almost as white as Virgil’s and pale white blond hair. He was dressed plainly, with pale grey robes and soft shoes, and carried only a thin walking stick. If he hadn’t spoken, he could have quite easily faded into the background - camouflaged against the dull back drop of pipes.

“Nicholas. Marcus. Go and guard the passages.”

“But we already have a dozen men out there-“

“And I’m sure they’re in need of leadership. Go now.”

The two men glanced at each other. Roman thought for a moment that they would stand their ground, but then Marcus snatched up his original lantern and headed for the door, Niki following after one last reluctant glance back.

“W-wait.” Roman called. “Is my Father alive?”

They disappeared into the gloom of the next room.

Left alone with only the quiet grey man, Roman found himself wishing they’d stayed.

The grey man smiled at him as he shuffled towards the kneeling prince. His smile was an awful thing that did not touch his eyes.

“The young Marquis de Orenlla is a rather silly boy.” He told Roman in his soft papery voice. “Much like yourself.”

Despite himself Roman let out an offended squeak, but the grey man continued unhindered. “He has very little idea how to survive alone, can barely function without his servants.”

Roman caught himself staring at the floor and snapped his gaze back to the grey man’s face. He didn’t want to miss any information he might let slip but looking at him was-

It was difficult.

When he tried to look at the details of his face they seemed to slip away. Was he young or old? What colour were his eyes?

The whole time he had been talking, had his mouth actually moved?

“What are you?” Roman whispered.

The grey man smiled again, Roman shuddered.

“But also like you, he is not wholly stupid. He has started asking some inconvenient questions.”

Within the blink of an eye, the grey man was next to him a knife in his hand. Before Roman had a chance to do more than flinch, he had cut the ties biding his hands, and was back across the room.

Dazed, Roman rubbed his wrists, trying not to wretch.

Up close, the grey man smelt of death.

“Now. Sit there, and listen to me until I finish.”

Romulus whimpered.

“Your father is dead.” The grey man told him bluntly. “You killed him.”

“No.” Romulus- Roman shook his head. Used his newly freed hands to cover his ears. “He was sick.”

“You poisoned him over many weeks.” the grey man whispered. “Disguised it as a common sickness. You tried the same on your brother but he was too strong to succumb.”

Roman lowered his hands. They were pointless anyway- the grey man’s voice seemed to be inside his head.

“That’s not how his strength works!”

“And so instead, you allied yourself with a traitor to the fae court and placed a curse of madness on the crown prince, rendering him unable to rule. You hoped to take over in his place, but luckily your father’s advisors found you out. You were forced to flea with your fae companion.”

Roman stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s insane!”

“That’s the truth.” The grey man insisted. “When The Marquis asks you for the truth, that’s what you’ll say.”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “No, no, no.”

The grey man reached forward, resting his hand gently against Roman’s cheek. Romulus stared up into his eyes.

“Julius?” he whispered.

“In a way.” The grey man’s face seemed to twist. For a single moment, it was Julius’ face that looked disdainful down at him, rendering Romulus mute with terror. And then with another twist to reality it was gone, back to the grey man’s blank visage.

“I’ve had eyes all over looking for you Romulus. I was so sure you must have died in the mountains and yet –“ His fingers tightened on Roman’s face, nails digging cruelly into his skin. “Here you are. Like a little cockroach.”

With a shove he released Roman’s face and walked swiftly to the centre of the room, where the largest pipes rose out of the floor. “Stay on your knees and come here.” he ordered. Face burning, Roman shuffled after him, knees bruising on the stone floor.

“Put your hands here.” He gestured to one of the larger pipes. Even before his hands touched the surface, Roman could feel the heat radiating from it. It was far hotter than the one he had been tied to and although he braced himself he couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain when his hands made contact.

He snatched them back quickly, his palms an alarming shade of red. And without pausing, sprang to his feet, aiming a punch directly at the grey man’s immobile face.

“Stop moving.”

Roman felt his muscles lock, momentum sending him crashing to the ground as the grey man easily sidestepped his swing.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.” The grey man added, leaving Roman frozen on the ground where he landed.

Slowey the grey man stepped around him, crouching down by his head. “Look at me, Romulus.” Roman did so, only moving his eyes to stare at the flickering mirage of the grey man’s face.

Up close, the smell was so bad Roman felt the remains of his pastry threatening to make a reappearance.

“I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to tell me the truth. Nod if you understand.”

Slowly, Roman nodded. The grey man – Julius – whatever it was, had already told him what it wanted him to consider the truth. But even so, ‘tell the truth’ was an easy enough order to get around. Truth being in the eye of the beholder and all.

“And if you don’t, I am going to tell you to hold onto that pipe again, and I am going to tell you to keep holding it until I am satisfied with your answers. Do you understand?”

Roman swallowed. He nodded again.

“Did you kill your father? Tell the truth now.”

“No.” he said quickly and then bit his tongue, cursing. Franticly he looked up at the grey man “You, you said that was a truth for The Marquis, not for everyone I can’t just –“

“Raise your left hand.” the grey man said mildly. “Bring it here.”

Romulus felt tears of frustration and fear spring to his eyes. He was stupid for thinking he had a chance at this. Julius’ tests were never designed for him to pass.

***

Roman wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the grey man seemed satisfied.

Fortunately, he had methods of persuasion beyond just the pipe. When Romans’ left palm had become completely coated in blisters the grey man had handed him walking stick and instructed him to bring it down hard on his own back instead. And then his shoulders. The side of his face. His left palm.

The grey man never touched him himself.

He didn’t have any need to.

Whenever there was a pause between punishments he ordered Roman to stillness. Time which Roman happily spent fantasising, first of smashing the stick down across the grey man’s head, then of pressing his own eyes to the hot pipe.

Even if they took him home – he could not allow himself to lay eyes on Remus. That was the one thing he could not fail on.

“Did you kill your father?” asked the grey man.

“Yes.”

The stress of raising Romulus, of hiding the curse; there was no doubt he’d contributed to his fathers early death. It was true, at least to him.

“Did you curse your brother?”

“Yes.”

When he was a little boy there had been a phase where he tried to put a curse on Remus daily, and Remus him. The kind of curses they dreamed up were for itchy feet and stinky farts, and none of them had worked, but it was still technically true.

“Why?”

“I was jealous of my brother.”

If Roman had only been born a half hour earlier he could have avoided a lifetime of being second best. He could have avoided his curse. Grown up with his Father instead of Julius. Not that he would wish any of that on Remus but. It was natural, surely, to be a little jealous of his brothers freedom.

“Good.”

Julius’ face smiled down at him. He reached out with the grey mans hands to stroke Romulus’ hair, like he sometimes did when he was a child. “You see Romulus, there is always a way to work within the confines of your curse, so long as you are willing to look for it. I taught you that.”

“Where are you?” Romulus whispered.

“I am waiting for you.” he smiled. “I have no sons Romulus, no one to pass the Stewardship to. And we must think about the future of our kingdom. When you are back, we can write a new story.”

“You…you’re ruler?”

Romulus frowned. There was a missing piece here but he couldn’t find it. The heat and pain were making his brain slosh against the inside of his skull. He found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, even as revulsion rippled through him. “If you’re ruler then where’s –“

“Where’s the serpent?”

Roman blinked. Looking up, he found that Julius was gone again, the grey mans expressionless face staring back at him.

“What?”

“The serpent. Where is he?”

“I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.” Romulus held his injured arm close to his chest, curling over it protectively.

He heard the disappointed sigh and flinched even before the grey man brought his other hand to Romans’ bruised shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Look at me.”

Romulus did, eyes bright.

“I know he has left his prison. I know he was with you at that inn. I sent that stupid boy to get him and he found you.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Romulus wailed, hating the childish wobble in his voice. “There wasn’t anyone else at the inn.”

“No?”

Julius eyes were peering out of the grey man again, a cruel glint to them. ”You were alone?”

“Yes.” Roman told him. Voice steady.

He’d entered the inn alone. He’d sat in the room alone. Climbed out of the window alone. Anything else was none of Julius’ business.

Before the grey man could speak again, a clatter from the next room made them both jump.

“Hmph. He’s early.” the grey man murmured. “Get back to your place.” He gestured to the pipe Roman had originally been tied to and, haltingly, Roman crawled towards it, sprawling at the base.

“If The Marquis asks, tell him nothing about your injuries.” the grey man added lazily, taking up his position in the centre of the room, fading back into the background.

Roman grunted. It wasn’t a bad plan: his most visible injuries – the burns on his hand which he couldn’t stand to look at – could be explained away as being caused by the very pipe Lucius had tied him to. As usual, nothing could ever be pinned on Julius.

They waited. But neither the Marquis or his men appeared.

The grey man stood across from him, gazing out into the darkness of the next room. Roman wasn’t even worth looking at.

He slumped further against the pipe and tried to focus on breathing. There wasn’t a single place on his body that didn’t hurt, though the worst by far was his hand. He shivered from cold, which, given the heat of the room, couldn’t be a good sign. He let his eyes slip closed. Exhaustion threatening to take him again.

And then he felt a soft pressure on his lap.

“Mrrp.”

Roman opened his eyes. Then he closed them again.

He opened one eye. It was still there.

“Mister Mittens?” he asked, slightly hysterically.

Romulus and Remus had grown up with dogs. He wasn’t sure if cats were supposed to be able to feel smugness, but this once clearly did. It butted it’s head against Roman’s chin with another self-satisfied “Mrrp.”

“What?“ The grey man was staring at the pair of them, looking as confused as his expressionless face could manage. “Where did that thing come from?”

Roman was saved from having to answer by a crossbow bolt. One that came through the open door, burying itself in the grey man’s skull.

Chapter 7

Extra warnings

Consent stuff – Roman relives a memory of being sexually assaulted (he doesn’t necessarily think of it in those terms). A drunk man kisses him and pushes him against a wall. The man tells Roman to ‘kiss me’ without knowing anything about Romans curse. They are interrupted before it goes beyond kissing. (whether anything else would have happened, or whether the man would have stopped if he had known about the curse, is not shown in the text). It is implied that this sort of situation has happened to Roman before, and that it has gone further, but this is not explicit.

Violence stuff – Roman is tortured in this chapter. This includes cutting, burning and beating with a stick. The majority of this is not described in explicit detail but it’s certainly going on. Due to the nature of his curse, most of this takes place due to another character ordering him to hurt himself. Roman briefly contemplates burning his own eyes (for ‘trying to get around my curse’ reasons rather than ‘self harm’ reasons) . Someone also gets shot in the head with a crossbow. Roman also spends most of this chapter dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke .

I’m not totally sure what this falls under but its grim stuff – a character from romans past spends a lot of this chapter tyring to gas light him/ manipulate him into believing a set of false memories. Roman retains his correct memories but gets hurt a lot in the process. Meeting said character causes Roman to dissociate (I think this is the correct term but please correct me if I’m wrong), he continuously switches between his name and his childhood name during the chapter and at some points reacts as if he was a child.

#ts roman #roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #creativitwins #sidespart writes

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cellard0ors · 3 years

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Fic: Movement (4/5)

Still working on this for @peachworthy. Should wrap up sometime this week or next and then the full thing'll get posted to AO3. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 here for now!

They decide to do it on a Saturday night.

Link has the weekend off from work and no classes. Rhett’s schedule is also free. They discuss the matter in terse terms, both seeming nervous about the idea, but neither backing down.

As such, Saturday rolls around with little fanfare until late into the evening. An evening that finds Link sitting on the couch, one of his legs jiggling and bouncing about as he waits for Rhett.

Rhett comes out to the living room holding a pillow and he offers it to Link. Link looks at it with some confusion and his friend clears his throat, eyes darting away, “For your lap.”

“My-?” Link looks down and then to Rhett and then…oh. Link colors, realizing that the pillow is to be used in order to cover any potentially ‘arising’ situation on his part. Feel exposed yet stubborn, he remarks dryly, “Don’t think I’ll need that.”

Rhett lets out a loud laugh and pats him in the chest with it, “Trust me. If I’ve done my job right? You will.”

“…point taken,” Link says softly and he takes the pillow, settling it over his crotch. To be fair, he probably will pop wood. After all, he sometimes pops it when Rhett’s full clothed.

Nude?

Yeah.

Link presses down on the pillow harder, even the errant thought of a nude Rhett causing a stirring. Rhett walks to the television and fiddles with the remote.

An app that Link’s noticed before, but never bothered with, is clicked on. Erotes Plus. The screenshots for the videos that come up are…certainly something. Link looks away, almost overwhelmed by all the bare flesh before him. The titles of the videos are also a bit much. Rhett notices and Link can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “Prude.”

Link scowls and glares back at him and the screen. He is nota prude. However, titles such as ‘Lonely Housewife Squirts for The First Time’ and ‘He Rides His Daddy Dry’ would take anybody aback. At least Link would like to think so – he supposes some people are more immune than others. After all, his own history with porn is on the small side.

During puberty he’d taken his healthy peeks at nude magazines and a few of his friends had snuck out adult VHS tapes to check out, but for the most part it hadn’t interested him. Granted, this was probably due to his eventual discovery that – while he appreciated the female form – it didn’t draw his interest quite like the male one did.

And finding gay porn? Where he grew up? Yeah, pretty much a completely impossibility. And then – when he’d finally managed to snag some – it had, once more, disappointed. It all just seemed so cold and callous. Like a business transaction with a boatload of grunting. Not at all to his tastes.

Rhett, scrolling through the videos, finally finds one titled simply ‘Movement’ and turns to Link with an apprehensive glance, “Still plenty of time to say ‘no’.”

Link’s throat is dry. Unlike some of the other screenshots, this one is vaguer. It’s two forms silhouetted in shadow. One of those forms is Rhett. Link feels numb as he speaks, “I’m good.”

Rhett clicks the video and it begins.

He moves over and sits near Link, lounging against the other side of the couch in an oh-so-casual way. As if an adult video starring him hasn’t just begun to play.

The film opens with a lithe redhead in a yoga outfit doing various poses. While this is being shown the title card appears followed by the starring and since Link highly doubts Rhett goes by ‘Jenessa Star’, he can’t help but chuckle at, “‘Donatello Velvet’?”

“What?” Rhett asks simply and Link gestures to the television, “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That’s the screen name you chose?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just don’t see you as a ‘Donatello’,” Link grins at him and Rhett laughs, rubbing one finger along his top lip thoughtfully, “What would you’d’ve gone with then?”

“If I was doing adult film?” Link asks and at Rhett’s nod, he crosses his arms and thinks, “I don’t know…Bevin, maybe?”

Rhett tosses his head back and laughs and Link feels a fissure of delight at that sound, just as he always does. He turns back and the redhead’s poses have become…much more complex. Almost painful looking as she contorts herself to degrees Link wouldn’t think possible and then she rises, stretching out and that’s when Rhett enters.

Or maybe it would be better to think of it as Donatello enters. Yes, it’s a little easier that way and Link does his best to cling to that, to try and stay nonchalant as he offers dryly, “Well, well – there’s a familiar lookin’ fella.”

Rhett just hums and they both watch as he walks up to the woman. He runs his hands along her shoulders and down her arms, whispering into her neck huskily, “Good form.”

Link can’t help but let out a snort. Rhett rolls his eyes, “Okay, okay – I know, I know. Dialogue’s a bit-?”

“Bad?”

“…it could use some improvement.”

“Uh huh,” Link just beams and hey, this isn’t so bad. Cheesy and kind of silly and maybe it will just stay like this. Light and fun. For all Link knows, they won’t even watch the whole thing. Maybe just some of it and then they can turn on something els-!

Rhett begins kissing Jenessa’s neck, white teeth visibly dragging along her skin and Link’s whole body tightens. A phantom sting starts along the same side of his neck that Rhett’s touching on Jenessa. Jenessa’s whole throat arches back, a pleasured moan leaving her and Rhett’s tongue is…very pink.

Link’s Adam’s apple bobs as he says (much huskier than he’d like) “N-Nice camera work…”

Rhett just hums, “Mac’s always had a good eye.”

“Mac?”

“Mackenzie, the director of this one.”

Link just lets out a sound of acknowledgement as he watches Rhett reach around Jenessa and tug at her tank top. Tug until her small, pointed breasts pop free. He cups them in his hands and he has…great hands.

They looks so tan against her skin, palms rough and big, and Jenessa lets out a full throttle moan. Rhett teases the pink tips, fingertips agile as they play along the sensitive flesh, as they circle around her areolas.

She whimpers and turns, kisses him fully, passionately, and it’s…messy. Wet. Link can feel his whole heart thump hard at the sight. Janessa’s hair is shorter than Rhett’s – cropped close to her scalp and Rhett’s hands have abandoned her chest to run through the short strands.

Link barely stops himself from reaching up and touching his own hair, instinctively wanting to mimic how that might feel. To imagine Rhett doing it to him.

He tries not to fidget and talking, talking will help, “Surprised this isn’t more, ah, instant.”

Rhett shrugs, “Foreplay’s a thing, man.”

“No, I know,” Link knows his voice pitches a little high at this, defensive, “Just…figured, mean...’s porn…”

“Some of the earlier videos on here are like that, but when EP got bought out, the new owners took the company in a different direction.”

“EP?”

“Erotes Plus. The platform these films are on,” Rhett explains and then he starts mentioning a few things about different production companies and distributors and the like, but Link is too distracted because Jenessa is now fully naked and Rhett is on his knees between her legs, feasting on her moist lower lips.

The silken tip of his tongue is parting her, dancing along the bundle of nerves that is her clit and her head is tossed back on a loud, wild whine.

Her pale body undulates and she’s gripping his long hair so hard. Link feels as if he’s having an out of body experience. This is his roommate. His friend. The man he’s secretly in love with.

And he’s pleasuring this woman with such…focus. With intensity and finesse and when he rises, his erection is clear, straining at the linen pants that are containing it. Link points to the screen weakly, “Hippie clothes.”

The comment is stupid and unhelpful, but Rhett just laughs, “Yeah – kinda the theme of this series. I’m like, a Yoga Instructor or something? Least that's the way it was explained to me, so – linen pants, cotton top – I mean, we’ve had better costumes, but for this shoot-!”

Rhett is talking some more but, again, Link is barely listening. His eyes are transfixed by what’s taking place on the screen. Janessa easily strips off Rhett’s shirt and then his pants and – No. Underwear.

Link is seeing Rhett’s dick. It’s there…thick, but not as big as his own, a visible vein running along one side. Dusky dark and with a blushing pink tip and gently curling hair hiding his full, taunt sack…

“Link? Buddy? You doin’ alright?”

“Fine.”

“Lookin’ like you seen a ghost," Rhett teases, but there’s a breathless quality to his words, “My body all that bad?”

Link just shakes his head and watches as Jenessa strokes Rhett, as his head falls back and he lets out a shuddering gasp that Link feels in his very bones.

Link is suddenly very, very thankful for the pillow that bobs some as it reacts to the situation taking place beneath it. That situation being Link’s own dick perking upwards, making his jeans tight and constrictive.

“You…?” Something Rhett said finally seems to click in Link’s head, “You said this is a series?”

“Yup,” Rhett murmurs and now the film shows him pressing Jenessa against one of the studio walls and she raises one leg high. Insanely high. It’s a very gymnastic level move and Rhett slots his cock up with her opening, sliding hard and deep into her body.

Jenessa lets out a wail of pleasure as he presses in and she holds that leg up – all strength and grace as he begins to move within her at a steady rhythm.

Her hips answer some, but it’s more about how…open she is. And how deep he’s getting. They’re eyes are locked as he picks up his pace, rocketing in and out of her, shaking her whole form with his thrusts, her tiny breasts jiggling with each movement and movement, they call this…

“Got an award for this one.”

Thank God. That one comment draws Link back to some semblance of sanity even as his body quickens with an unspeakable longing, a carnal hunger that aches, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Rhett says with no small amount of pride, “Best Sex Scene.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I owe it to her to be honest,” he waves to the screen, “She’s the one turning herself into a pretzel throughout this thing. Same for the rest of ‘em. They kept finding co-stars for me to work with who had had extensive training in this sort of body contortion. It was just my job to, uh, well…”

Rhett waves again and the answer is obvious: to fuck them through it. Link is not at all limber. In fact, he’s kind of a klutz. Nothing to match up with someone like this.

For some reason, this realization leaves him hollow. Cold. His arousal dims some, “Where’d you get the award from?”

“XRCO.”

Link makes some sound that would imply he understands, but he doesn’t. Rhett sighs, “Got nominated for Most Popular Male Performer on Pornhub but lost to Johnny Rockwell. Guy deserved it though. Performance he did that year was nuts.”

Link’s lost in the vocal cacophony that is erupting from the television speakers. Moans, gasps, grunts, cries of sheer ecstasy as Rhett and Janessa really ramp it up.

They’re in a different position now, Jenessa’s body once more arched at a crazy angle and Rhett's just...really getting in there. His hips are pumping double time, like a jackhammer, and she is loving it.

Her blue eyes are flashing with adoration, her lips curled in that moue that speaks to an almost pleasurable pain and Link can’t help but ask, “Are the others with her?”

Rhett takes a moment to process the question and when he realizes Link is asking about the other films in the series, he shakes his head, “Nah, man. You don’t usually have repeating partners. Like I said, they found other people who could bend in weird ways. The sequel to this sees me with Julian St. Croix. Great guy. Really smart. He’s actually working on another doctorate. Plans on working in the tech field when he retires, which – money he’s making, should be pretty damned soon. You want me to dial that up?”

Link just shakes his head. The idea of watching Rhett doing something like this with yet another person and with a man no less…

He feels crappy for, well, feeling crappy. This is Rhett’s job. He shouldn’t take this personally.

Besides, it’s not like Rhett knows how Link feels about him. To him, they’re just friends and he should play the part of friend – be a friend, a good friend, “I can see why you won the award, Rhett. You’re doing a…a great job. Real good acting.”

The sound of the shocked (yet oddly sharp) laughter that leaves Rhett at that actually causes Link to finally look at him.

Rhett’s face is a ruddy red, like he’s embarrassed or something, and he’s looking at Link with a bit of a wildfire in his eyes, “‘Good acting? Are you serious?”

Link finally shifts about on the couch (which feels fantastic considering his body has been fighting off a plethora of sensations for a while now) as he fully turns to him, pillow still firmly in place, “Of course! I mean, it-it seems like you’re really into this girl,” he gestures to the screen, “when you’re doing this and I imagine that’d take some acting chops.”

He chews on his bottom lip and lowers his gaze, hands ghosting over the pillow as he talks to it more than Rhett, “Un-unless you really are into her.”

“Into her?” Rhett pokes one finger over to the television, “Into Janessa?”

“Yeah, I mean…if-if you two are a couple or-or were one or-?”

“Me and Janessa?” Rhett asks incredulously and some of the heat seems to leave him. Link gets the impression that Rhett had, for a moment, been mad or affronted by Link’s well intentioned compliment, but now is completely changing track. Now Rhett seems charmingly baffled, “You think I’m into Janessa?”

“I-I was just saying if you’re not into her in this,” Link waves to the screen where (seeing as the volume is dying down) it would seem the film is reaching its conclusion, “Then the acting is good and if you are-!”

“I’m not,” Rhett confirms firmly, “I am very much not, nor was I ever, into Janessa. We’re friendly, but we’d never work as a couple, man. She likes cats.”

Rhett says the last as if it’s a blasphemy and Link can’t help but giggle, suddenly feeling bright and light even though he knows better than to do so, “Problem?”

“Not a big fan of lil demons…”

“Noted, “Link sighs and he feels much, much better. The film is finally over, he’s seen some of Rhett’s work, and he can now say the following with sheer confidence, “I’m proud of you.”

And with that, Rhett freezes. He freezes solid, back going ram rod straight, and his eyes – they’re as round as dinner plates.

Big and green and looking at Link like’s a wild anomaly and Link worries that maybe he, somehow, inadvertently offended him with the remark so he’s quick to explain, “I-I mean it, bo. I’m proud of you. Going out there and-and doing something like this. Being so…so exposed and vulnerable and for anyone to see and yeah, sure, I mean, I guess it’s just for people to-to beat off to or whatever, but when you think about it, it’s something that brings people pleasure, which is a lot better than bringing something bad into people's lives and I know some would argue that porn is like, some gateway into violent dark tendencies or whatever, but for the average person it’s a good thing to explore and the fact you can so freely provide that to them and not be ashamed-!”

Link is blathering.

He’s a blathering idiot.

But he feels like if he stops talking, Rhett might snap at him. Or be mad. Or-!

But instead Rhett just shakes his head and whispers, “You’re unbelievable.”

Link’s diatribe cuts off. His blood stops in his veins. He feels completely seized.

“I’ve been trying so hard…fighting with everything in me,” Rhett breathes and he just…eases forward, eases closer. He’s in Link’s personal space and Link wonders if he should back up or something.

He can feel the heat coming off Rhett’s skin. His breath is bathing Link’s face as he rasps, “But I can’t anymore. You’ll have to forgive me, but…”

Rhett kisses him.

Rhett. Kisses. Him.

Rhett kisses Link.

Their lips meet in the smallest, quickest, sweetest little peck. The sound of it, the quick wet click of their lips…it’s earth shattering, sound-barrier breaking.

And Link feels his whole nervous system lurch at it. And Rhett is still looking at him, searching his eyes wildly. Link blinks and licks his lips and tries to speak, but there’s nothing to say.

Rhett just grins softly, “Bad for business…that’s what you are…”

Link’s gaze dips to Rhett’s mouth. To his lips. Lips that were on his seconds ago. His eyes feel heavy lidded as he gulps and Rhett just huffs as he kisses him again. Again.

Another kiss and this one is more than just a peck. This one? This one is the one Link’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been wishing for.

This kiss is perfect.

#rhink #randl #my writing #peachworthy

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swiftzeldas · 2 years

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i was like hehe what if i posted about what i’d do if i were in charge of a the hunger miniseries and @seiyasuzuki is an enabler and gave the the only sliver of encouragement i need to be absurdly self-indulgent so here we are :) this is about to be extremely long and disorganized and all over the place sowwy

i think you COULD do a the hunger miniseries in 8 episodes, but probably ideally 9 or 10 and 10 is a nice even number so let’s go with 10 (why would you make a miniseries with 9 episodes, i’m lookin at you netflix)

i think the thing about the hunger that bugs me most, as much as i adore it, is how often we’re TOLD things happened rather than SHOWN them. so often there are a couple sentences telling us something that really we ought to have seen, and a miniseries would give the story the time to breathe and would let us see things like

halloran ill and being tended to by tamsen. in the book, his severe illness is described in a paragraph, then we immediately jump to his sudden suspicious recovery. let us SIT with halloran being sick for awhile! let us spend an episode with halloran in the back of the donners’ wagon, coughing and obviously sick but still cheerful, making friends with the donner daughters, being a friend to tamsen. we need to SEE this to make his sudden change all the more terrifying

flashbacks. flashbacks, flashbacks, flashbacks. so many of these characters’ whole being is based on things that happened to them in the past, and for a book it’s fine for that to be hinted at but i think in a miniseries i’d want full episodes with multiple flashbacks for reed, stanton, bryant, tamsen, and keseberg. you could do mary graves too but i don’t know if it would be all that interesting since she’s honestly not that sad her fiance died

i’m really delighted by this book’s themes re: stepparents and their duties. i think it would be interesting to see more of james reed’s relationship with virginia in particular (and we would HAVE to see the moment where virginia brings him supplies after he’s banished. that is a real thing that the real 13 y/o virginia reed did and it highkey saves them. i don’t know if ANYONE would’ve survived if reed didn’t survive to come back for them)

on that note, more tamsen and elitha. there’s a lot of each of them thinking about each other but that just doesn’t work on tv obviously but they’re more similar than they realize and we must....explore this

i’d also want to explore the understanding/kinship that grows between tamsen and mary, especially during and after reed’s banishment, since they both come together to help his family and to stop the group from outright killing him

ANOTHER relationship we need to see more of is tamsen and reed because i don’t think tamsen honestly likes him all THAT much and he doesn’t really like her either but by the time they get through the desert they are public enemies number 1 and 2 so i think there should be some sort of “hey, everybody hates you too, i get it, i got your back if it comes to it”

mary graves and her siblings too, mary has GOT to expand beyond her relationship with stanton i love mary and i actually like her and stanton’s relationship but she has a special relationship with her siblings that obviously will have more impact when they die if we actually SEE this stuff

finally...reed/snyder. we don’t actually see them alone together until their final one-on-one meeting and in a miniseries, we should.

this brings me to another point, which is that i think snyder is a problem that would need to be solved. overall i think the villains in this book are Pretty Good (honestly, everyone in this story has really bad qualities to balance their good ones or vice versa) but snyder is too much a cartoon villain. he’s just MEAN and there’s nothing else to him. i think snyder would have to be given some depth, some charm, some....SOMETHING to explain why reed returns to him over and over.

i’m also intrigued by the fact that it is implied halloran’s illness and change is because his dog bites keseberg. not to get ahead of myself, but if the dog passes the illness to halloran, who in the world is to say the dog doesn’t pass it to snyder when it bites him?? maybe we should see the dog itself growing more aggressive before halloran gets sick, and then snyder (who is already not a nice person) could get more aggressive and scary too which leads to reed’s decision to break things off with him, which leads to THAT whole mess. this would be a sort of significant change from the book, to imply snyder got the sickness, but.....maybe a necessary one? i just don’t love that snyder is nothing but the Homophobic Bully Is Secretly Gay trope

speaking of villains, keseberg. i think he’s a great villain but at the end there’s a hard swerve into “oh he’s also a p*dophile” and um....that will not come into this place..... i think his attempted assault of elitha is fine to keep in (obviously it’s not “fine” that he does it lol) and maybe even his attack on virginia, bc keseberg does have specific beef with these girls and their parents - he tries to hurt elitha and virginia because it will hurt tamsen and reed. also it makes him angry that elitha prefers the native american boy thomas over him or any white man. die mad about it :)

mostly i think it’s good that keseberg has moments where you feel almost sorry for him and despite all of his atrocities....the literal serial p*do shit is what is really hard to get past and it feels out of place anyway

the keseberg/tamsen relationship is also a really fun one to dig into. i don’t think the book is as clear as it could be about what happened between them, so to be VERY clear, i would show that keseberg sees what he thinks is a kindred spirit in tamsen and early in the journey he tries to forge a connection or an alliance there, but tamsen shoots him down, and keseberg gets more and more angry that she’s taken up with stanton instead, so then he tries to kill stanton and frame tamsen. great plan bro it did not work you’re the best

oh i would also absolutely include a scene where keseberg’s wife philippine finally stands up to him, she deserves that

god you know what i’d LOOOOOVE? i’d LOOOOOVE to outright show some of the members of the party changing and running off and becoming part of the pack of “shadows” hunting them. the book doesn’t show much of the Forlorn Hope snowshoe group after stanton dies and i think there’s a ton of room for action bc looking at the history, i think jay fosdick dies before they reach johnson’s ranch (don’t quote me i haven’t read the history in a while and i did not look anything up before i made this post). maybe they lose jay one night and the next night they’re attacked by the creatures and one of them is OBVIOUSLY JAY but CHANGED. i love that spooky shit :)

on that note, would love for keseberg to encounter one that he recognizes as his uncle reiner but that might be too on the nose

there’s a scene in the book where one of the murphy daughters kidnaps and eats a baby. this is like three sentences in the book but it is so horrifying i think we HAVE to unpack that a little more on the show kjdfhgfg i would lean into the gross and the gore - bc overall there’s not a ton of it, so when we DO see that bloody stuff we want it to have an impact RIGHT

i think while in the book it’s fine that after reed’s banishment we basically don’t see him again until the end, but in a show i would want more. like, maybe we go an episode or two where we don’t see him, but in the final two or three episodes we start seeing what he’s up to in california - maybe he comes together with edwin bryant and will mccutcheon and we see them starting to assemble a rescue party, maybe we see them going to johnson’s ranch and finding the remains of the Forlorn Hope, and then maybe we see part of their journey back THROUGH the mountains, encountering the creatures themselves. this is also great for reed’s arc bc he starts off as such a blustering, arrogant fool and he turns into, you know, Guy Who Saves Everybody

btw i am LITERALLY obsessed with how reed’s character arc is all about trying to figure out what love is, and i would want to be very explicit about reed learns this via his love for his stepdaughter. i mean, obviously all his children, but he and virginia have such a special relationship and what is virginia to her stepdad if not salvation???? DO THEY NOT SAVE EACH OTHER????

the final scene of the book, with reed finding his family, is all well and good but i think in a spooky spooky tv series i’d want to end on a spookier note. i think i would show the rescuers bundling up everybody they can, thinking they have everybody.....then cut back to keseberg hiding himself away in his own little tent, maybe with his creepy little stash of bodies. if you want to get real morbid maybe we see tamsen’s corpse. but that’s just me and i’m a creep i’m a weirdo

literally i could go on forever. i haven’t even talked about fancasting but i want domhnall gleeson as reed and colin farrell as bryant. recently had the thought that michelle dockery could play tamsen well but she’s too tall. stanton, idk, hire some boring hottie and you’re good to go. also, for the love of GOD cast actual teenagers as the teenagers. i think thomas is meant to be 17 in the book and you could honestly make him a little younger since elitha is 13 or 14

this post is already way too long. i don’t think i’ve talked about half of what i could.

alma katsu recently tweeted that they’re “trying” to bring the hunger to the screen. ma’am i have so many ideas tell them to hire me

#the hunger #text post

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