#and it looks doubly out of place in casual wear like come on you did not need to buy a prada bucket hat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatavery · 1 month

Text

Sweet Defeat

Just a little followup to Hot and Cold that I wrote for fun. More gay cats, yay!

-----

“Ah, good evenin’, cher!” Mordecai felt himself tensing up immediately, even though he already sat with his back straight as a board. He didn’t even need to turn his head to know who it was. He felt two massive mitts place themselves on the backrest of his chair. “Sittin’ up here all alone? Why’s that, I wonder?”

“I am merely saving a seat for Mr. Sweet, Mr. Savoy…” Mordecai told him, feeling himself growing slightly annoyed, though he tried his best to stay levelheaded and calm. The memories of the previous night’s… events hadn't left Mordecai's mind. He knew for a fact Nicodeme hadn't forgotten either.

“Mr. Savoy…? You hurt me, cher,” he said in an exaggeratedly pouty tone. Mordecai gave a jolt when those big, strong hands came to settle themselves upon his shoulders, doubly so when Nicodeme started rubbing them.

“Stop that – unhand me,” he snapped immediately. Mordecai's green eyes searched the nearby area, but no one else was sitting near the table he'd been stationed at. The upstairs area of the Marigold Room usually wasn't quite as crowded as the floor below with its gambling, the bar and the often busy dance floor. “What do you want? Did you come to make fun of me for… for being cold?”

“Alohrs pas, I’d never… I was wantin’ to ask if you wanted to come sit with me ‘n Serafine…” Nico almost purred as he leaned down towards Mordecai. Mordecai’s right ear gave a twitch as he felt the fluff on Nicodeme's cheek making contact with it.

“I’d rather not. And besides, I’m saving this seat for Mr. Sweet.” Mordecai glanced to the side towards the railing that lined the upper floor of the room. Mr. Sweet was nowhere to be seen down below; as a matter of fact, he didn’t even know when the older cat would be back.

“Well, I’ll sit and wait wid you, so ya’ don’t feel alone, cher.” Before Mordecai could protest, Nicodeme sat down on the chair on Mordecai’s left. Unlike Mordecai who sat with his back as straight as he could, as though he had a needle inside his collar, Nicodeme slouched over the table in an awfully casual manner, elbows resting on the white tablecloth.

Of course, his outfit too was rather casual, though not as casual as it usually was. He'd taken to wearing a black two-piece suit, but his jacket was left fully open and the top buttons of his white shirt were undone, exposing his chest. And was that-… did he wear his bow tie over his shoulders like some kind of scarf?! Mordecai scoffed with disapproval.

“Dare I ask what made you consider turning up here looking like such a mess?” the tuxedo cat asked in an exasperated tone.

“Oh? I thought you’d like it if I dressed up a bit…” Nicodeme said in a falsely hurt tone, though he still smirked.

“You look disastrous…”

“Well, what are you gon’ do about it, cher?” Nicodeme winked at Mordecai and although Mordecai knew it was obviously an attempt to bait him, he couldn’t help himself. He rose to his feet and moved towards Nicodeme, who seemed taken by surprise as Mordecai stepped in. Trying to ignore the feeling of Nicodeme's chest fur tickling his fingers, he promptly buttoned his shirt.

“If you're going to wear a suit, at least wear it properly…” he grumbled as he set about tying the bigger cat’s black bow tie next, doing so with almost surgical precision. As Mordecai adjusted his collar as well, he suddenly felt the bigger cat’s hand grabbing his tie. Mordecai let out a choked grunt as he was yanked down towards the bigger cat, their lips making contact in a firm, but very brief kiss.

“I knew you cared,” Nicodeme chuckled, winking as he released Mordecai's tie. The tuxedo cat looked as though Nicodeme had smacked his face, but regardless, he silently set about finishing what he’d started with the other cat’s clothes. Once Mordecai was finished, he left him looking remarkably more polished.

“… There.” Mordecai could feel the burning sensation again, not just in his face, but his entire body. As he set about adjusting his own tie, he stepped back and did his best not to make eye contact with Nicodeme. Two gray-furred hands gently swatted Mordecai’s away. He glared at Nicodeme, but when those gray hands set about properly adjusting his tie, putting it back inside his vest and smoothing it out, Mordecai's expression softened. He blinked as he watched Nicodeme working with a surprising level of gentleness and exactitude. He never would've guessed someone who had shown up looking the way Nicodeme had to be capable of such.

“There, all better now, boo,” Nicodeme said, one of his massive, warm hands caressing Mordecai's cheek. He grinned when he seemed to notice how warm it was. “Sure you don’t wanna come wid us?”

“Quite certain…” Mordecai insisted as he sat back down, still looking at basically anything other than Nicodeme's face.

The Cajun cat chuckled and sat down beside Mordecai yet again. “Want me to leave? I wanna stay, but not if it bothers ya’, cher…”

Mordecai looked over and their eyes met, the yellow and the green. Mordecai gave a snort, but said nothing. He returned his gaze to the table before him, counting the creases of the tablecloth in his head as he put his hands together. When he saw two big hands doing the same beside him, he turned again, seeing Nico imitating him, the bigger cat grinning. “… What?”

“You want me to stay, just admit, cher… No shame, I know ya’ like me…” Nicodeme practically crooned, grinning broadly as he watched Mordecai. He winked and blew a kiss at Mordecai, who sighed.

“Your company is acceptable now that you don’t look like you just woke up in a ditch,” Mordecai noted with a frown. When he averted his gaze again, he felt the lightest of pecks on his cheek, setting his entire face ablaze yet again. “S-Stop doing that-”

“Why? You don’t like my kisses, cher?”

“Not in public…” Mordecai hissed. “Someone might see…”

“Oh, lagniappe, lagniappe… Well, where would you like to go kissin’ then, cher?” Nicodeme’s question caught Mordecai off guard to the point where he whirled around and rose to his feet, just as Mr. Sweet approached the table.

Mordecai cleared his throat once his boss was closer. “Ah, Mr. Sweet. Please do excuse me, I need to head on home… I’m not feeling well.”

“This early? What, the tablecloth so wrinkly it’s giving you a migraine? Hah!” The golden-furred cat barked with laughter. He was accompanied by a small group of men his age, all dressed to the nines. How much had they seen…? Hopefully they hadn't seen Nicodeme pecking his cheek… they could have just looked as though they were conversing in secret, right?

“Yes… something like that. Do have a good night, Mr. Sweet, Mr. Savoy…” Mordecai hurried from the table, rushing down the steps to the main floor. He walked with fast, intentional strides as he hurried along, finally pushing the door open and making it out to the hallway beyond the Marigold Room. He hadn't even reached the first bend in the hallway when he heard the door opening again behind, seeing Nicodeme there. He stopped. “What is it? Does Mr. Sweet want me to come back?”

“No, not Mistah Sweed – I do,” Nicodeme proudly told him, smiling. Mordecai stared at him in disbelief. “I wanna apologize, cher.”

“Apologize? For what exactly?”

“Oh, I can tell you ain’t used to all dis…” Nicodeme had caught up to Mordecai and now walked down the hall with him, away from the speakeasy. He offered his arm to Mordecai, which he didn’t take. “Nevah did have yerself a man, did ya’?”

“No,” the black and white cat replied shortly. He scoffed. “I’m not in this business to make friends or… fraternize with my coworkers.”

“Well, we ain’t at work now, so… Consider me a friend… maybe a little more. Friends don’t go kissin’, ya’ know.” Nicodeme chuckled when their eyes met briefly. Mordecai sighed and shook his head. “But if ya’ really want me to stop and leave ya’ be… tell me now, cher, and I’ll go back.”

Mordecai stopped and so did Nicodeme. The lobby was just one bend away on their left, Mordecai able to see light from the chandelier spilling onto the carpeted floor. The two stood in silence before Nicodeme moved closer to Mordecai, guiding him down a hallway on their right away from the lobby. Once they were behind another bend, Nicodeme pressed Mordecai towards the wall, leaving a few inches of room, not actually pinning him.

“Tell me to leave, if ya’ want me to,” he whispered, his breath surprisingly sweet as it washed over Mordecai's face. “Tell me to leave and I won’t do this again… I will respect yer wishes, cher…”

Mordecai opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. All that left him was a choked sort of gasp. “Mr.- Nicodeme…”

“Oui, cher?”

Mordecai felt his body shaking, like he was back in that dark, frozen car, when he put his hands on Nicodeme's cheeks. “Please stop…”

“Stop? Yer touchin’ me so tenderly, I’m not sure what to think, cher…”

“No… Stop making me-… Making me…” Mordecai saw the bigger cat leaning in closer, their lips meeting in the relative dark of the hallway. Mordecai tensed, his entire being shaking like he was having being electrocuted. And yet, he didn’t pull back, nor did he push Nicodeme away. “Stop it…”

“Stop what?” Nicodeme asked once they parted, looking at Mordecai, genuine concern on his face.

“Stop making me feel-… I feel sick – faint. I feel feverish, my chest hurts and I feel as though I’ve been running, even when all you do is just… look at me.” To Mordecai's surprise, Nicodeme chuckled. The black cat raised an eyebrow. “What is it now?”

“Them’s just feelings, cher… Yer not used to ‘em, huh?” Nicodeme asked playfully. He kissed Mordecai's lips once more, before rubbing his nose against his. “It’s a good thing, cher. Just… relax. Feelings won’t hurt ya’…”

Mordecai didn’t like these feelings, the way he felt around the bigger cat. He wanted to argue that feelings could in fact hurt him, but… The gray cat’s lips met his again, and this time Mordecai made no attempt to stop him. His heart felt as though it was going to explode, but Mordecai endured the feeling of warmth it brought him, the heat radiating outwards from his chest and filling his body. His hand found Nicodeme's chest where he felt a similar fast pulsating through the fabric and through his skin, their hearts beating in near perfect sync.

Perhaps this wasn't so bad…

Yeah, Mordecai could get used to this… maybe…

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy mordecai #mordecai heller #nicocai #lackadaisy nico #nico savoy

16 notes · View notes

insaneoldme · 3 years

Note

Can you rec buddie fics? Pretty please?

OMG it's my time to shine, bitches!!!

Sorry if I went a little nuts, but this fandom has some of the best writers I've ever seen. I have 186 Buddie fics bookmarked in my AO3,

I'll link here if you are interested in taking a look cause if I put them all here it would be too long. Also, I tried to show here some fics I very rarely see recced, and a little bit o the classics. This fandom has some very underrated authors, everyone in my bookmarks is worth taking a look really.

Please take a look at the warnings before reading, enjoy!!!

I Hate Accidents (Except When We Went From Friends to This) by morganofthefairies (Rated E )

Buck and Eddie had always been unconventional. Neither of them gave it much thought – they were just them. Buck and Eddie - partners, best friends, co-parents – just as entangled in each other’s lives as any actual couple in the 118.

Or, the story of how Buck and Eddie went about their relationship in entirely the wrong order.

My Heart's Been Borrowed by ElvenSorceress (Rated E)

aka the one where Taylor gives Buck his ultimate fantasy and uncovers far more than either of them expected, forcing him to confront his long held feelings for Eddie

Half Awake in Our Fake Empire by HMSLusitania (Rated E)

Buck 1.0 fathered a child and Buck 4.0 comes into custody.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) (Rated E)

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

Keep It On by R_E_R6 (Rated E)

When Eddie walks in on Buck, bent over in nothing but a hoodie, their plans for the night immediately change. Buck's outfit though? Well, Eddie requests that it stays the same...for reasons.

Heart of Flowers / Heart of Gold by ElvenSorceress (Rated T)

Buck nearly loses everything and Eddie has to follow his heart

hungry for your love by evcndiaz (Rated G)

prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

or; breadsticks are a metaphor for love and boning

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests (Rated M)

A glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

when things fall into place by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Eddie asks Buck to move in with them during lockdown to help look after Christopher, which leads to certain unresolved feelings being resolved.

Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.

Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.

Except for how... he might not.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates (Rated E)

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.

But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back.

He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.

ripples all the way down by iriswests (Rated M)

christopher partakes in some parent trapping

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings (Rated M)

Evan Buckley is lost.

It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door.

Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name.

Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Relationship Advice from Complete Strangers Online by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Hi, I’ve never made a Reddit post before and I’m not 100% sure what I’m doing but I need advice and can’t ask anyone in my real life. So, I [30M] have this best friend [34M]…

Leading with the Left by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico."

And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?"

In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

fireflies where my caution should be by littlesnowpea (Rated M)

“You never talk about your parents,” Eddie says, which is not even remotely what Buck expects Eddie to say. He frowns, tilts his head, but it isn’t a question, as evidenced by Eddie charging on. “I never asked because I figured it was your business, but the look on your face any time they’re brought up tells me you don’t get along.”

Buck swallows hard, against a lump in his throat. His parents? Eddie’s right, he never talks about them, for good reason. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, not sure what he’s even going to say.

Eddie takes it as the answer Buck is trying to make it out to be. He squeezes Buck’s wrist again, takes a deep breath, like he’s on a call with someone who’s panicking. Buck finds his breathing slowing to match Eddie’s, and Eddie nods as Buck gets it under control.

“There are people on the porch,” Eddie says, voice even. “Saying they want to meet their grandchild.”

Asked, Offered, Given, (He's) Taken by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

People like to flirt with Buck on calls. It kind of makes Buck uncomfortable.

And that makes Eddie frustrated.

I Hit the Accelerator (But the Car was in Reverse) by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Rated E)

When Buck is forced to confront the truth about his breakup with Abby, having casual sex with his hot new coworker seems like the best rebound idea.

Unfortunately, that hot new coworker turns into his best friend. But best friends can keep having sex with each other, right?

There's no way this could possibly go wrong.

Memorable by JessicaMDawn (Rated T)

Six times Buck got recognized by people he saved during the tsunami, and how his team realized he was a hero.

All Bets are Off by NobodyKnows_U (Not Rated)

Or, the five times the firefam realized Buck and Eddie were in love, and the one-time Eddie finally did something about it.

fire on fire by extasiswings (Rated T)

Or: Buck and Eddie get in the habit of sharing a bed while living together during quarantine. It's platonic until it isn't.

Better Together by Randomfandombloggs09 (Not Rated)

5 times Eddie sees Buck wearing his last name and 1 time its not just his

Daddy and Pops by EdithBlake (Rated M)

When Christopher calls Buck 'Pops' things get a bit confusing. Buck and Eddie have a talk with Christopher that ends up with both of them being even more confused by how right it sounds.

the meaning of the words you see by florenceandthemachine (Rated E)

unknown sender: Hi!

unknown sender: Just wanted to say thanks for letting me buy you a drink, and for your number. Sorry I had to run.

unknown sender: I’m Eddie by the way.

sent: hey um

sent: i don’t want 2 be this guy but

sent: i think u mayb put the wrong # in ur phone

the dream you wish will come true by woodchoc_magnum (Rated M)

In which Christopher Diaz cannot understand why his father would want to date his former teacher when Evan Buckley is right there.

vienna waits for you by mottainai (Not Rated)

Eddie doesn't deserve a soulmate.

Work Husband by hideeho (Rated T)

“What...what have you done with Buck?” Eddie is going to kill him for messing with his phone. No, that’s too extreme. He’s going to maim him. Just a little.

“Check under H,” Chim offers helpfully, shooting a look over to Hen with a smirk.

Why the hell would he be under��

Then he sees it.

Husband.

Bad Neighbors by firstdegreefangirl (Rated E)

Eddie's new neighbors are keeping him up all night. He calls on his best friend for a little taste of their own medicine.

Cross the Line by Sirencalls (Rated E)

Eddie laughs, short and quiet and almost to himself. “No. If you want to learn, then I’m gonna be the one to teach you.”

Buck is pretty sure his brain stops working. “What? Why?”

Eddie turns to look at him and steps closer, their chests only a few inches apart. “Because there are people out there who will take advantage of how naïve you are. They’ll hurt you, and I won’t.” Eddie’s eyes are so intense that Buck doesn’t have any choice but to believe him. “If you want someone to do this for you, to—to dominate you, it has to be me. I don’t trust anyone else to do it right.”

pretty in pink by dykeevans (Rated E)

Buck forgets that he and Eddie made plans to hang out until Eddie shows up and Buck's in the middle of laundry day.

His laundry day outfit consists of a small pink crop top and grey sweatpants.

Eddie loses his damn mind. Me too, though, me too.

the distance to the stars by cloudydaisies (Rated G)

“Didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

Buck just laughs. Like, honest to god giggles. Eddie is stuck fighting off doubly massive waves of butterflies and confusion, all while Buck just gazes down at him.

“That’s cute,” he hears Buck mumble, just before climbing into the truck, calling Eddie after him.

-or, everyone knows eddie is dating buck except for eddie, literally.

Something Old, Something New by dumbhuman (Rated E)

“Damn, I love weddings!” Buck’s face lit up as he closed the door.

If asked later, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to explain what came over him in that moment to make him ask the question. Or, at least, he wouldn’t have wanted to explain. The exhaustion was an easy excuse, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t a real one.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

one of the few things by thatnerdemryn (Rated G)

five times that Eddie tells someone else that Buck is Christopher's legal guardian plus one time he finally tells Buck.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Til I Saw Your Face by HMSLusitania (Rated T)

Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

things we shouldn't do by Ingu (Rated T)

“Why is everybody taking my relationship status so personally? Can’t I be fine with being single?” Buck said.

“Hey, you don’t have to say yes, be sad and alone if that’s what you want,” Josh replied. “But, I’m just saying. I’ve seen photos and this guy is volcanic levels of hot. Also, single dad, super cute kid. Saves lives for a living like you. I think you should give it a go.”

(the one where Buck and Eddie accidentally get set up on a blind date with each other, and everything snowballs from there)

Keeping It In The Family by Wolves_of_Innistrad (Rated T)

A young man shows up at the firehouse looking for Buck. Turns out Javier was a Bartender with Buck in Mexico. He’s back in LA, looking to reconnect and very flirty. Cue Eddie realizing Buck is not as straight as he thought.

kiss me (like your ex is in the room) by rebeccaofsbfarm (Rated E)

Eddie Diaz gets drunk and protective and signs up for a fake double date to get back at his friend's ex.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania (Rated M)

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is… missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home

All my Buddie AO3 bookmarks

As I said this fandom has some very talented people, some of my favorite Authors's Tumblrs below, I recommend all the things they wrote and their blogs are very good.

@elvensorceress, @hmslusitania, @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings

For gifs:

@arrenemris, @skylessnights (very lovely AU gifsets)

@from-nova(good gifs & content)

For Podfics: @mistmarauder everything she ever read is amazing, her podfics are high quality and she has a very lovely voice and her presence calms me down lol I recommend it

I'm sorry there are a lot more people but I'm kinda in a rush haha most of the people I follow are amazing, but the ones I mentioned here are enough to get you started or entertained for a while.

Buddie fics are amazing, this pairing has spoiled me so much, everyone I met because of it is nice and so active and talented.

Sorry mutuals if I forgot someone!

I hope I helped Anon, have fun!

(Tell me if any link is wrong please, thanks)

#buddie #buddie recs #recs #fic recs #911 on fox #911fox #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #ao3

144 notes · View notes

ask-whitepearl-and-steven · 4 years

Text

Alright alright alright

You’ve all been asking for it, so here it is!

This will be (edit: HELLA) long and obviously spoiler-y, so everything is under a cut.

Are you ready?

Before we get to it, I want to mention that for the sake of keeping things organized, I will NOT be talking about my AU (@ask-whitepearl-and-steven) in this post. I want to just analyze the show as a viewer and a fan first. I’ll make a seperate post for AU-thoughts a bit later.

Without further ado:

EP 1: LITTLE HOMESCHOOL

This is a great way to open up the episode and show the changes through the lens of someone who has been a bit out of it for a while (we are all Cherry Quartz, fresh from the hiatus, aren’t we?) but I’m sorry, this post still takes the cake:

Okay, okay, back to the program.

“That used to be a loaded question...“

Right off the bat, Steven is SO much more confident about saying that he’s... HIMSELF! What a good feeling. I’m very proud of our boy.

I love the name “Gemglyph” for the gem language! I’ll need to know who wrote these, though. And who the heck drew the diamonds? Hopefully it was BP.

And I’m not the first one to point this out, but MORE ANIME REFERENCES!

Which can be seen as either a reference to the Chill Low-Fi Hiphop Beats to Study To OR Whisper of the Heart.

And absolutely no one cares but something that caught my eye is the fact that they have an EARTH FLAG at Little Homeschool! How cool is that!

Earth 4ever!!!

Off-note - I love how INVESTED they are in this conversation Pearl is having with Holo-Pearl.

Peak entertainment.

I love Professor Amethyst and I love the random human who snuck in to apparently take lessons on Not Giving A Single Shit About Anything, Ever.

And here we FINALLY are in the FUTURE

Where we FINALLY get Jasper as a functioning character

And

She’s

SO DRAMATIC, I LOVE HER.

This is literally SO funny like she... she was just... laying on top of her house... under a blanket..... FOr WHAT? To stand up dramatically and throw it off when Steven inevitably paid a visit?

Is that just what she dOES?

“It’s FINE I don’t need any HELP, I’m FUNCTIONING, I’m just having a SELF CARE DAY OK”

Also I’m sorry but

Jasper: “It took forever to yank those puny green earthlings out of the ground.”

Steven: “You mean grass...?“

THIS. RIGHT HERE. is peak Jasper.

It’s also curious how INVESTED Steven is in this:

“I’m TRYING to give you [a purpose]!“

Why are you... trying to do that, though? Isn’t the whole idea for gems to surpass their ‘purpose’ and just kinda... do whatever? Isn’t Jasper just kinda... doing whatever?

I mean, sure, it’s not useful to anyone, but she seems relatively happy. Aside from. You know. The whole laying on rocks under blankets until she’s disturbed thing and-- okay, you’re right, maybe an intervention would be healthy.

I’m not gonna talk at length about the rest of the episode - although I think it’s really good, I don’t know what I can say about it that hasn’t already been said. Jasper is definitely poking Steven’s buttons and rephrasing a LOT of what WHITE has said to Pink: “You surround yourself with inferior gems because it makes you feel better.”

And Steven REACTS to this. The taunt WORKS.

And yes, he gains some extra powers for it, but something tells me this AIN’T the only thing he will get. It feels like a two-edged sword. Like it’ll be his own downfall somehow....... maybe at the end of the series.

Ashes to ashes.... hole to hole.

And oh wow I thought they were gonna bond but LMAO

“Consider your fight back there your first and ONLY lesson.“

Basically:

I love you Jasper.

EP 2: GUIDANCE

I LOVE YOU AMETHYST.

sHE’S doing SO much and she’s SO good at it!! Look at her!! Organizing stuff!!!!

RUBIES IN SUNGLASSES. IN SQUARE SUNGLASSES.

I need 20.

And I also need 20 of Larimar because holy shit that’s hilarious.

Larimar: “I want to hear the human screams forever.”

Steven: “Okay that’s kinda troubling.”

I love the reference to Monsters Inc here and I love the callback at the end of the episode when Larimar switches to Human Laughter to get her fill of that particular erm... need.

And honestly the ensuing chaos is equally predictable and entertaining.

I’m SO glad to know that Rubies are just... Like That and that actually Navy is not a deviation from the norm but rather a different flavor of the chaotic energy all Rubies naturally seem to possess.

Amethyst is also super relatable:

“Ah yes, the fool comes crawling back. Come to beg for forgiveness, have you?”

In fact, the episode’s WHOLe HUMOUR is just very much My Brand

“Sometimes you save all the people but the rollercoaster still crashes into the ocean...... and that’s okay.”

Including the Running Gag that is Onion. Who... does not appear to have aged. At all. And that’s okay.

EP 3: ROSE BUDS

Okay where do I even begin with this one. Um.

I have to openly admit that I spent the majority of this episode wheezing with laughter. Let’s start with the Zoomans:

Who are CLEARLY STILL SUPER SALTY AT GREG ABOUT REJECTING THEM??? Which is hilarious.

And also this paradise is fascinating in and of itself.

But the next scene is basically where I started losing my shit.

Okay, okay, alright so. Uh. I have... a few questions.

Like Why. WHY. Does she look. SO MUCH like Rose?

Clearly Rose Quartz differ in coloring and etc. But She literally looks. Like THE Rose. VERY explicitly.

So here’s several options here:

1) Pink made Rose Quartz way before any of the Rebellion happened and Pearl just basically pigeonholed her into THIS specific Rose Quartz appearance because she (???) had a crush? Or somehow saw this specific Rose, thought ‘hot, i can make my sympathetic Diamond wear this exact costume and that would be EXCELLENT fanservice for ME’

2) Pink didn’t have any Rose Quartz until the Rebellion, and thereafter quickly decided ‘I need these gems as an alibi, so we’re just gonna make them” and she and Pearl basically inclubated Rose Quartz like a pokemon trainer hatching for a Shiny until they got one that looked Exactly Like That.

3) There was no Thinking involved because this is Pink we’re talking about, and it was all just a huge coincidence for the sake of this Very Hilariously Uncomfortable Episode.

While we ruminate on that, let’s look at some Relatable Reactions.

And here we have the holy trinity of “I have just seen the clone of my deceased parent/parental figure/lover.”

Featuring: Bonus ‘I’m Almost Over It’ Pearl

Also, I need y’all to make this into a meme:

For example:

Anyway, alright, alright.

That relatable feel when your (hot) dead lesbian lover’s clone asks you if you’re okay after another one of the (less hot?) clones offers you a whole ass stick of butter to eat.

And then you and your friends all hide in the bathroom to talk about your feelings:

Okay, the rest of the episode gives me FEELINGS and I love how hard Steven is trying, so I’ll just close it off with:

I LOVE THEM. Unironically, they are EVERYTHING I had hoped Rose Quartz would be. They’re SO MUCH like Rose herself - did she model her personality after them? Or are they just like her because she WAS like that, and they’re made from her essence? WHO KNOWS?! They’re adorable!

And the conflict between them and Steven is honestly so gooD! I don’t know if it’s completely relatable but I’m glad they ended up talking it out.

I wonder if we’ll ever see Her again... you know who I’m talkin’ about.

Her....

I’m madly in love with Rose, ok, I don’t need a callout post. Just leave me be.

EP 4: VOLLEYBALL

Alright, alright, alright.

OKAy,.... It’s fine. It’s FINE. I’m fINE.

Confirmed: 8000 years. That’s. UH. A LOT? That puts our timelines quite a ways back. We kind of estimated as much, but still, it’s so jarring to think about. And PP is VERY casual about it.

She’s also VERY casual about the injury.

“This is all Pink Diamond!”

It doesn’t seem like it bothers her to talk about it at all. She’s not even trying to keep it a secret. So I’m almost wondering - was there a connection to her being taken by White and the injury at all or not?

She came to Steven to get healed - she clearly wants it gone. At the time she was injured, did Pink not even attempt to heal the injury?

Follow up question: If she DID care, why didn’t she try to heal it?

Follow up to the follow up: Was it because she didn’t know she could? Or did she simply not have the time to (White removed her before she could)?

When Steven goes pink, she gasps - but makes no further comment. It’s presumably because she’s seen this happen before. She doesn’t try to move away, weirdly enough - she asks him if everything is alright. Perhaps the context is too different for it to be triggering for her. Perhaps there’s more layers to it? HMMM.

What follows is, perhaps, the SALTIEST we’ve seen Pearl since Greg rolled around.

“Did you come to compete?”

This is doubly curious to me because Crewniverse has previously explicitly stated that Pearl was NOT in love with Pink Diamond. She was in love with Rose. So if this is true, why would Pearl care about her place as Pink’s Pearl? She is supposed to be past all that, isn’t she?

And yet as time goes on, the salinity grows exponentially. Alright, you two, I know you’re Pearls but tone it down with the sass.

(Also, I’m sorry but I will NEVER call her Volleyball. That’s all. Bye.)

Also it’s worth noting that... PP is clearly VERY much in love with Pink.

This is, perhaps, where the lack of a grudge plays into it. She’s completely enamoured.

Moreover, she’s VERY casual about how she talks here. This isn’t exactly how one talks of their Diamond. This is how people talk about their romantic partners. She calls Pink silly, calls her ‘funny’. That’s not exactly a term of respect - it’s way more intimate than that.

Also, did anyone else notice how, although CG Pearl’s gem is usually shaded in teal, it’s in Pink in this episode? VEEEERY subtle, Crew.

Also, we can’t quite see Pink Pearl’s expression fully here because her working eye isn’t visible, which makes it hard to get a read on things like

“I’m older than you.“ Is she just saying it casually? Or is she fully aware that she’s poking fun at CG Pearl?

HI SHELL. ISN’T IT FUNNY HOW YOUR VOICE AND YOUR NAME ARE A SUBTLE NOD TO PORTAL, WHICH IS FORESHADOWING HOW BADLY THIS IS GONNA END.

Meanwhile, Pearl continues to be in character.

“No need to be overly... attached.”

And this has nothing to do with anything but

she cute

Aaaand now it’s creepy again.

The rest of this is super important so let’s get to it:

“Oh, no. Pink did this.”

“What did you say?”

“It’s a funny story, really. Once, Pink got tired of asking Yellow and Blue for her own colony, so she went straight to White. Of course, White told her she wasn’t fit to run one... and well! That set her off.”

“Set her off? What are you talking about?”

“You remember how she was! With her destructive powers, throwing tantrums left and right! She had a scream that could crack the walls. She didn’t mean to hurt me! (giggle) I just happened to be standing too close to her that time and--”

And then Steven interrupts.

We get more CG Pearl arguing for how wrong this image of Pink is to her. What CG Pearl knew was a totally different (or, well, same, but VERY changed) Pink.

But what we have to prove our point is Steven himself. He rolls into the EXACT same state as Pink presumably did - and begins to over-use his powers.

(This isn’t the first time we have seen him use this attack.)

The reactions from the Pearls are telling - this is clearly not Pink Pearl’s first rodeo with this type of Mood.

And it’s important to note that Steven clearly didn’t direct any attack AT them. He simply yelled - and the whole dang place literally started to crack. There’s weight to the argument that possibly, Pink really DIDN’T mean to hurt her Pearl - that she was just collateral damage.

Which doesn’t make it any better, obviously. Even if Pink had no direct intention of hurting her Pearl (and there are theories that Pink purposefully hit or threw Pink Pearl or somehow physically acted directly to damage her, which I was skeptical of) the result of it is still the same.

If you raise your voice and yell, even if you’re just yelling because YOU are hurt/have feelings, you might still hurt the people around you. If you throw a tantrum, even if your direct goal was just to let off some steam without aiming to harm anyone, whoever gets in your way is still the victim.

And this is all very much On Brand for Pink’s timeline as we know it. We already knew this about her - we KNEW she tended to throw tantrums (like in the flashback on Jungle Moon) and that she was childish. The fact that she accidentally hurt her Pearl in the process because she had no self-control at that period in her life comes as no surprise.

(Although it’s important to mention that perhaps hurting her own Pearl WAS the breaking point during which she finally realized how her emotional outbursts could have negative consequences on those around her.)

And this is a very beautiful message - even if Pink Pearl still doesn’t want to blame Pink for what was done to her (”But... she didn’t mean to!”) Pearl brings the point of it back around to her (”But you were still hurt!”) The point isn’t the person who did the hurting - the focus is on the victim and how they were affected.

And the rest, I daresay, is history.

I like the fact that they managed to still bring it back around to the main message:

It isn’t about just “Pink was bad”. It’s about how she did bad things. And there were multiple sides to her - multiple stages. And the Pearls who knew her knew different sides of her - the side that didn’t know how to be a good person, who was selfish and childish and unrestrained... and the side that was, arguable, too restrained. Who hated her own past, her own character and her own mistakes so much that she would rather bury them and keep secrets from everyone.

And neither of those things were good, and neither were healthy, but they are a GREAT contrast to a GREAT character arc that is, arguably, still being unearthed. And we have so much more context for it all now.

I, for one, can’t wait to see and discover more of Pink through Pink Pearl - no matter how ugly that side of her might be. I think it gives great perspective to her later growth.

And if you ship the Pearls.. .well, I get why.

Personally I’m not interested in it that way. Call me unromantic - I don’t think their relationship NEEDS to be shippy in order to be satisfyingly deep. I love the idea of them having a deep bond over this - a shared past, a shared experience, and gaining confidence through one another.

Cheers and thanks for listening!

#steven universe future #steven universe: future #steven universe future spoilers #su:f spoilers #suf spoilers #su spoilers #steven universe spoilers #spoiler warning #pink pearl #volleyball

4K notes · View notes

amydancepants-peralta · 3 years

Note

in the spirit of 4/28: if you’re willing to write non-peraltiago POV, could you maybe write the moment(s) that leas terry to decide he needed to tell jake to propose?

Terry loves love ♥

It all comes to Terry a few weeks after the squad captured the fugitives, on what seems like just another Friday night at Shaw’s.

(Which hardly feels like the ideal setting for an epiphany, but Terry supposes that’s what makes it so … epiphanic.)

It had been a long week - New York seemed to be feeling particularly felonious lately - and he was doubly tired from spending his Wednesday off helping Jake move apartments. With Sharon and the kids staying overnight at her mother’s, and high odds for a sleep-in the following morning, Terry’s plans didn’t stretch much further than washing his week away with a glass of whiskey or six.

That is until Terry noticed, about an hour into the squad’s drinking session; that a suddenly quiet Jake had removed himself from their booth, relocating to a seat by the bar where he could keep a close eye on the entrance. Amy was late - a rarity for any Santiago, but doubly so for Amy - and as Boyle plonks a fresh glass in front of him; Terry remembers watching her bolt out of the bullpen a few hours ago, a sudden lead on an otherwise dormant case too important to delay.

Terry hadn’t heard any updates since then; but given the lack of detailed reports landing in his inbox, and the look on Jake’s face whenever he checked his messages, he would have to assume the lead hadn’t panned out the way Amy hoped.

He’s in the midst of an argument with Rosa over which Friends character was superior (clearly Ross - Terry does not get all the Ross Hate) when Amy arrives ten minutes later, and Terry watches from his position in the corner as she heads straight towards Jake’s outstretched arms, her sense of defeat stretched clearly across sunken shoulders.

As though reverting to his detective days, Terry continues to observe the couple as Jake orders his girlfriend a beer, leading her over to another booth and sliding alongside her until their heads bow in quiet conversation. He thinks, as they talk and he sips, that there was once a time where Amy would have spent the rest of her evening at the precinct, pouring over paperwork, certain it’s the reason why they can’t catch the perp. Just as Jake would have taken the opportunity to boldly declare how he could have done it better - consequences (and unintentionally, feelings) unconsidered.

But now, Amy laughs with her head thrown back while Jake beams with pride; and in the past year or so has been known - after three drinks - to steal her boyfriend away to a slightly more secluded corner of the bar, dancing cheek to cheek to music only the two of them can hear.

It truly was the greatest thing to see, and part of Terry wishes he’d picked up on it sooner.

He watches Jake and Amy for the rest of the evening - even if they weren’t in the bullpen, these people were his work family, and Terry would look out for them anywhere - and as the empties begin to pile up at the squad’s table, the most simplest of truths comes to light. Somewhere along the way - in-between fire extinguisher roller chair derbies, robot captains and covert jimmy jabs - Jake Peralta had transformed into the man that Terry had always known he could be.

Gone was the promising detective that hadn’t quite figured out the puzzle on how to grow up, monopolising too much time in Terry’s therapy sessions. And in his place was one of the 99’s greatest detectives: a brilliant mind at solving puzzles, and a gentle soul who brought two extra gifts to last year’s Secret Santa, ‘just in case Scully and Hitchcock forgot again’.

Who's grin grew impossibly huge each time he’d said the words ‘our apartment’ since the move three days ago. A man who couldn’t get over Amy after that very first crush - no matter how hard he tried - because just like when Terry met Sharon, and they talked about Meatloaf until the bar closed around them; your heart always knows when you’ve found The One.

Jake had grown into someone that finally understood how worthy he was of love, and had a world of it to give in return. A man that was clearly ready to marry the love of his life - the one and only Amy Santiago - and her eyes already sparkled with an unspoken yes to any question of forever.

He thinks about the conversation they had that day in the squad car, racing to find escaped convicts and venting about wasted acrylics; and Jake’s muttered ‘Cool. Basically telling me to never get married or have kids’ in response. Terry hadn’t been lying - a march towards the closet does begin with a single step - but he’d neglected to mention all the great things that came with that closet.

Like coming home to see Sharon and the girls dancing to Destiny’s Child in the living room, or late afternoon naps with tiny heads snuggled into your side. Chaotic mornings filled with stress that melted away the instant you heard “I love you, Daddy”; and treasured moments of peace with Sharon, the couch, and a bottle of wine.

Terry would give up all the acrylics in the world for a hundred more moments just like that - and as the last drop of whiskey drains from his glass, he knows exactly what he needs to do.

***

Terry calls Sharon on the way home - waiting until he’s said goodnight to each one of his angels before telling her his plan. “So. I think Jake should propose to Amy.”

He can almost hear her smile down the phone line, and it makes him wish they’d be back from Sharon’s mother’s sooner. “You do?”

He shrugs into the otherwise empty interior, flexing his grip on the steering wheel out of habit. “Yeah. They’re clearly in love with each other, and … you know. He has that look.”

Sharon laughs - the same laugh Terry heard from his kitchen one morning, a year into their relationship, and just knew that he wanted to hear it for the rest of his life - before asking, “What look?”

“You know. The one I kept giving you when we first started dating. Like I’d finally found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. So excited and completely scared that somebody could try and take it away.”

“Mmm, I know it well. And when it comes to Jake and Amy, somebody almost did .. right?”

Nodding, Terry thinks of the afternoons he’d find Amy crying in her car, the devastation of another day not knowing where Jake was hiding too hard to conceal for another minute. “Yeah. Almost.”

“Well … if you didn’t try and play cupid, you wouldn’t be the man I married, Terrence Jeffords.”

Terry’s shoulders bounce as he breaks into a tiny happy dance, and he grins. “Terry loves love, baby. Almost as much as Terry loves Sharon.”

“I love you too, baby. And we’ll be back home the day after tomorrow, just in time for you to hatch a plan on how to play matchmaker with my god-husband. I have a pretty good instinct he’ll make a great actual husband … and hopefully it’s someday soon. I am ready for a night of serious dancing.”

* * *

Terry wears his lucky red tie the following Monday, settling into his desk to focus on paperwork as the question of exactly how his plan will unfold remains unanswered at the back of his mind.

Before it’s even 10am, he manages to catch five not-so-secret glances between the two lovebirds (a private joke of some sort dancing in their grins); and pretends to be pre-occupied with his work when Amy sneaks in a quick good luck kiss before Jake leaves for the interrogation room. Terry watches it all with a suppressed grin, switching between several versions of his How To Encourage A Proposal plan as he signs off on the last form in his tray.

These two were clearly in love - and Terry couldn’t wait to see them take that next amazing step.

He catches Jake in the kitchen an hour later, watching as the detective rescues the puzzle section of Scully’s newspaper from certain destruction, placing it on Amy’s desk with a grin. As they stop to discuss Ocampo - a dealer that Jake and Rosa have just begun to tail - all of Terry’s pre-conceived plans of a casual topic change fall quickly by the wayside. As it turns out, telling a person they should propose is not something that comes up easily on it’s own.

And then he opens the fridge for his next scheduled snack, and realises that all this time, Terry’s inspiration was waiting in the very things he cherished the most.

The blueberry and vanilla yogurt containers feel cool against his fingertips, and with his stomach growling at the promise of a delicious meal, Terry nudges the door shut with his hip and calls out to his detective.

“Hey, Jake. Let me show you something amazing.”

(Terry really does believe that yoghurt is the solution to everything.)

#is this a good 14mths late? yes #2020 was ... a year #this prompt was my Everest #anyway v sorry for the late reply anon ... I hope you enjoy!#b99 fanfic #feels like it's been 84 years

36 notes · View notes

gondowan · 3 years

Text

Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Paz Viszla x f!Reader

You're used to working for others. As a freelance armstech, you flit from contract to contract, never staying too long in one place. Although the freelancer life is fun, you kind of wish you could trade it all for a little bit of stability. As the maker would have it, that stability shows up in the form of one (1) Paz Viszla.

Tags/Warnings: nothing right now, but future loving degradation, Good Communication Is My Kink, daddy kink, and other sexy consensual shenangians. Reader has slight self esteem issues.

Notes: I haven’t written for fun in forever, but new year new me! If you know me in real life never bring this up because I will combust lol. I was going to fire off a brief smutty one-shot pwp thing but of course I couldn’t resist adding ~ b a c k s t o r y ~ so here you go. Subsequent updates will probably just be pwp.

Chapter 1: All The Grass is Greener Everywhere You Look

Nervousness, you assumed, was a regular feeling for anyone who was newly married. Doubly so for the new spouse of a Mandalorian. Unlike the rest of the galaxy where marriage vows were somewhat loose, Mandalorians took their vows very seriously. Forever, generally meant, forever.

Your relationship with Paz Viszla was strange in and of itself. As a freelance armstech, you hopped from planet to planet offering your repair services, never staying in any one place for too long. While on Bothawui, you had let slip to a client that you were headed to Nevarro next. Greef Karga, the head of the Guild, had put you on a retainer for services to guild members for a few cycles. The pay was good, and he had promised you a steady supply of commissions from the local bounty hunters who frequented Nevarro in need of new weapons and repairs on top of the already nice stipend.

The Bothan, a short humanoid by the name of Eesk, perked up when you mentioned Nevarro, and the next day he came over as you were on your way to the spaceport.

“Can I ask a favor? Do you mind making a delivery for me while on Nevarro?” he asked, pulling a datapad out from his robes.

You looked up, eyes narrowing. Bothans were famous for their information network, and were instrumental to the destruction of the first Death Star, but still, you were understandably nervous. “ Eesk, I’m not interested in looking for trouble. I don’t need the New Republic or any Imp remnant breathing down my neck for delivering that for you,” you said.

Eesk laughed, “Relax, I promise you this isn’t serious. Just deliver this to a Mandalorian on Nevarro. It’s nothing classified, I’m just returning a favor for a friend,”. He slid over a stack of credits. “I’d take it to him myself, but unfortunately I’m held up on New Republic business”.

You reached over and tucked the datapad into your bag along with the credits, “Fine, but you owe me”.

“Next time you’re here, drinks on me.” he said as he walked away.

It was only until you had boarded the transport ship that you realized Eesk had never actually told you were to meet this Mandalorian. ‘Oh well,’ you thought, ‘he’s not getting these credits back’. You leaned your head against the wall of the ship, tired from hauling all of your luggage to the spaceport, and fell asleep.

You were three standard weeks into your contract with Greef Karga and the Guild, and still no Mandalorian had shown up to collect the datapad. It was nice to be somewhat settled in one place for longer than a week, and you had enjoyed the steady stream of work. You had also learned from Karga that the Mandalorian covert scattered from Nevarro, and he hadn’t seen one in a while. For all of their information trafficking and spy network, perhaps Eesk had gotten it wrong for once, and you didn’t really care to ask. After all, it would be nigh impossible to miss a person wearing head to toe armor, especially on Nevarro.

One morning, as you had returned from your walk to the lava plains, you discovered the door to your apartment was unlocked. Strange. Not a good sign. None of your alarms were triggered either. Carefully, you pulled your blaster out its holster before quietly pushing the door open.

“There you are. Been looking all over for you.”

A large man, clad in blue armor and covered in more weapons per square inch that any other being you had ever seen, sat next to your workstation. Despite the blaster pointed at him, he seemed unperturbed, posture open and relaxed.

“What do you want?” you asked, blaster raised, "You picked the wrong house to rob,". You had fended off your fair share of robberies, the expensive equipment you lugged around as an armstech was attractive to petty thieves, and not cheap.

“The datapad.” he said.

“I take it you’re the Mandalorian that Eesk spoke about.”

“Correct,”.

You rummage through your toolkit and dust off the datapad. “Here you go Mr. Mandalorian, although I suggest next time you knock during business hours. Breaking and entering is reserved for long term partners, and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet”. You wince a little inwardly, maybe this dry spell was affecting you more than you thought.

You tap the edge of the datapad on the Mandalorian’s chest plate. “Oh and you might want to get the blaster strapped to your thigh checked, those scorch marks are usually a bad sign,”.

The blue hunk of armor stood up and took the datapad from you. “Thank you for this,” he rumbled before heading out the door.

“Ah, so you do have manners,” you teased before moving to shut the door.

You can’t see the expression on his face, but you hear the huff of a laugh through his modulator accompanied with a shake of his shoulders.

You were pretty sure you’d never see him again.

Wrong.

The next day right as you returned from dropping off a box of repaired pistols, there he was again, blue armor and blank expressionless helmet, sitting in the same spot next to your workstation.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a second, before remembering the comment you made yesterday. “I can take a look,”. You cross over to your workstation, turning on the light and the magnifying glass and grabbing your toolkit. It was an easy but time-consuming fix, and you quickly busied yourself with disassembling the rifle.

“You’re not from Nevarro,”. A question, posed as a statement.

You didn’t look up, “Nope, I’m just passing through.” Hmm, that power cell did not look too good.

“Where is home for you?”

“Nowhere,” you said matter-of-factly as you tinkered away, “Like most people, the Clone Wars and the Empire destroyed what little of a childhood I had. Got taken in by a kind armstech who taught me the trade, and now I hop from planet to planet making a living. What about you? I heard about what happened to the Mandalorians on this planet,”.

“Also nowhere,” the man grunted, and he remained quiet. You finished your work, and handed him the blaster, butt end first.

“You owe me two drinks now, breaking into my place like that.”

He took the blaster from you, two gloved finger tips drawing a line from the middle of your forearm down your wrist. An unnecessary movement, he could’ve just taken the blaster. You gulped. He put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward.

“I might, if you ask nicely. I saw the way you sized me up the first time,”.

You swallowed, mouth going dry. “It’s uh, part of my line of work. Gotta make sure everyone’s packing-- I mean, everyone’s weapons are in tip top shape.” Your stupid lizard brain, at it again.

He cocked his head to the side, “I’m sure it is,” the mirth evident in his tone.

Every evening thereafter, the blue Mandalorian showed up at your doorstep, a new weapon in hand for you to look at. It was nice, you had to admit to yourself. A consistency in your otherwise inconsistent life, and you grew to enjoy his company. What you couldn’t handle however, was the escalating tension between the two of you. He would occasionally stand behind you, his big, all-encompassing frame brushing up against your back, and lean over you to ask about this or that. The first time you thought it was an accident, but then he followed up with an oh-so-casual touch of your wrist, and you were pretty sure it was on purpose, but you also couldn’t tell if that was wishful thinking on your part. Occasionally the two of you would strike up a conversation, but for the most part he sat in a comfortable silence while you worked. When he came over the fourth night, large gattling gun in tow, you decided it was high time to try to get to know him better.

“Uh...would you like to stay for dinner?”, eyes looking down on the (ancient) gattling gun, trying to keep your voice light.

He paused and shook his head “I can’t,”.

Oh, an immediate shut down. Great. Well it was worth a shot.

“Not for the reason you think. I can’t remove my helmet in the presence of others, that’s part of the creed,”.

That made a lot of sense. You hadn’t come across many Mandalorians in your travels, but all of them were rather cagey about their armor and helmet. You had assumed it was due to the value of beskar, but this was the first time you had heard about this creed.

You looked up at him. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” you blurted out, the words forming on your tongue before your brain could shut you down. “Nevermind-- I’m sorry I-”

He interjected, “Sometimes. There are some exceptions though,”.

You leaned forward. “Such as?”.

A pause. He stepped forward, tipping your chin up with a finger.

“ Would you care to find out?”

Ch 2 here

#paz viszla #paz vizla x reader #paz viszla x reader #2021 new year new me #and by new year new me i mean i will write the kinky caretaking fic i want #the mandalorian #mono writes #THE LAST TIME I WROTE IT WAS FOR MASS EFFECT LMAO #this is way too much buildup #but whatever!!!!!#over your shoulder fic

86 notes · View notes

ginnyzero · 4 years

Text

Does Your Story Suffer from Exposition-itus

Exposition. What is it? What does it do? Exposition according to dictionary.com is a noun and the definitions that concern us are numbers 2, and 3. The act of expounding, setting forth, or explaining. And Writing or speech primarily intended to convey information or explain, a detailed statement or explanation.

Or in author terms. Info-dumping.

It is the opposite of action. Action being the dialog and actions that move your story forward.

Now, not all exposition is bad. In fact, there are going to be places in your book where information is necessary. However, if your exposition outweighs your action, it will slow your story down and turn off readers. Especially, if your exposition is in the beginning of your book. Especially since most exposition is in passive voice. A lot of times, I find exposition to be the author starting the story in their own head and explaining everything up to the point where the inciting incident starts, and then not realizing it’s exposition and not editing it out later.

So, here are 9 symptoms of exposition-itus, a readers perspective and in author terms b/c I also happen to be an author.

1) It reads like a history book.

In fact, it might as well be a history book, as the author has decided to spend so many pages on the historical and cultural facts that have brought us to this point in the story. This can actually be disguised as dialogue, where one character is telling the other character everything they need to know whether or not the reader actually needs to know about it or not. This can include things like background, family history, asking what is going on in the other character’s life, and so on and so forth.

Boring. Yawn. Especially if this happens in the beginning of the book. There is no interaction or action, reaction going on for us to care. These are words for the sake of words and the author needs to edit, figure out when or if this information is actually important to the story and then casually slide it in there.

2) It reads like a character sheet.

This is when the author, instead of relying on their ability to show us character traits, decides to tell us the traits of these characters instead.

In the Lone Prospect, I could tell you “Gideon was a man in his mid-twenties exactly (25), fresh out of a medical discharge from the military and wearing his worn out, too thin, farm clothes from his teens that strained against his adult physique. He loved his mother and didn’t want to worry her, but he and his father weren’t getting along. Thus, leaving Gideon looking for a new place to settle down. He was mildly optimistic about it. Oh. And he was a werewolf, so it made things a tad more complicated.”

Or, I can do what I did, wait until chapter three, have Gideon write a letter to his mother while interacting with a duck and hope I conveyed the same information in a way that doesn’t bore you to tears.

In telling us the ‘traits’ of the character, the author makes it doubly difficult on themselves on top of frustrating the reader. If you tell the reader the character is competent, sarcastic, and reckless, then you have to show it too or risk not having consistency in the book. Instead, know your character traits, keep them close to your chest, and simply have your characters act. That way the reader can determine them for themselves, and character consistency is maintained.

3) It reads like a scene summary.

So, you’re reading along in the story and there in the middle of what could be a good scene of character interaction is a paragraph about how there was character interaction because these are all great friends, really! But instead of showing you, the author instead has decided to tell you.

Which completely ruins the point of the reader figuring out these people are good friends.

Again, in the Lone Prospect, I have a scene I could have summarized. Gideon has just been accepted into the pack after a potluck dinner. This turns into a party. And I could have summarized the party; people having motorcycle races over here, the hand to hand combat spars over there, people dancing to loud techno-metal music over here, what is the pack doing with a military grade drop ship in a hangar? Oh wait. Instead, I turned it into a several page scene where you see this all from Gideon’s point of view and actually interact with people.

4) It reads like a list.

Description. It’s difficult. It’s especially difficult when you aren’t sure how to do it. So, authors will often resort to lists in order to get it out of the way so they can get on with the exciting bits, the story. Without considering how much or if the character their using as a point of view character is going to notice such things, or if the reader is going to care.

Most readers will not care about detailed descriptions of clothes. They just don’t. As a person trained if fashion, this is painful, but I’ve come to terms with it.

A list description reads like this, “Gideon was six foot even with light olive skin, short brown hair growing out of a buzz cut and two days worth of stubble, and golden brown eyes that were best compared to aged whiskey. No one gave a damn if he shaved anymore, so why bother. He wore a too thin white t-shirt straining against his military physical trained muscles, and stone washed jeans that were spattered with bleach spots and worn around the knees. His black combat boots were all he had left of his uniforms, outside a few tailor made dress blues he only got to keep because they were tailored, and a mess of ribbons and awards he didn’t give a damn about. The boots were broken in and comfortable and one of his two pairs of shoes. Thus, why he was wearing them with his jeans.”

There are better ways to work in description. This is boring. In fact, it’s probably not even relevant. I don’t think I’ve mentioned he’s six foot yet. I may have mentioned Savannah is 5’2”. Or just that she comes up to his chin and it amuses him.

5) It reads like the author is telling themselves the story up to this point.

Instead of opening with some type of action or dialogue, the story instead opens with a ramble of words about the location, the history, or the characters, or combination thereof. What I mean is, the author doesn’t jump straight into the scene, they are instead setting the stage a lah ‘it was the best of times, and the worst of times, on a dark and stormy night.’

Maybe you could get away with that a hundred or more years ago. You can’t today.

Get to the point.

(This is especially frustrating when you’ve had a decent straight to the point prologue and a chapter, and then chapter two or three we’re on our third hook and it becomes an author ramble.)

6) Passive voice. Passive Voice. Passive voice.

You might notice in most of the points about, there is a lot of the use of the verb ‘to be.” Or it sounds like a newspaper story where the author is rattling off the facts of the incident.

Usage of the verb ‘to be’ slows the story down. Telling us things. Summarizing things, instead of ‘speeding’ the story up, makes the reader feel like the author thinks we’re stupid and can’t read between the lines. (Yes, it’s better to show AND tell emotions. Like, I said, exposition isn’t always bad.) Or, the author simply doesn’t know how to write. Because why would you skip the fun, and yummy character interaction scenes.

Go through your manuscript. Find the verb to be, kill it without prejudice as much as possible. Look for summarization and flesh it out! Then, figure out if you really need that scene or is it a ‘darling’ and needs to be excised with fire. (Or lovingly saved into a separate document for later. Yes. Yes. My precious.)

7) It’s irrelevant to the story at hand…

Many times, when your story suffers exposition-itus. It’s because the information you’re explaining or giving is simply not relevant to the story right that moment. The reader doesn’t need to know the information to get full enjoyment out of the book. And the information given is more or less to show off their world building or sometimes to simply up the word count.

As an author, I recommend taking all your exposition and creating a world building document called a “bible.” This will put all the world building into one place, get the urge to explain everything out of your system, AND give you the benefit of seeing places your world building might be weak. Then you can while you’re writing be able to put the relevant information into the book as the reader and character needs to know it.

Especially if the character doesn’t know the information yet or can’t know the information.

8) It answers all the questions the reader is asking.

This is where the author feels the need to explain everything. The character is in a new situation. So, there is another character who knows what is going on, but can’t get involved for ‘reasons’ training the character. So, the author tells the character and the reader all the information including motivations and enemy capabilities.

And, well, there is the entire book and mystery ruined.

That is only one scenario mind you.

Your job as an author is to set up questions about the character, and the world, and the situation. The character and the reader go on a journey to answer these questions. These mysteries keep the reader turning pages and buying the next book. If you answer these questions in the prologue, or the first five chapters, then the reader has no reason to keep reading the book.

9) The story isn’t moving forward.

One thing about exposition is it stalls the plot.

Your story is like being in an elevator. The scenes that move the story along are like the elevator moving between floors with the chapters being the elevator stopping and opening the doors to let people on and off. Exposition is the elevator stalling between floors.

You’re hanging there, precariously over a long shaft by wire cables, and the elevator has stopped without any way for you to leave as the soothing and yet aggravating music drones on and on. Eventually, you hope, things start moving again.

And so, when the elevator stops at the next floor, the reader gets off and refuses to get back on. Or if they’re really aggravated, they will figure out how to crawl out the top of the elevator and pry open the doors to get out.

Exposition is the ‘dead spots’ of your story. They’re places where the reader starts skimming hoping to get to the next bit of action or character interaction that is relevant. Exposition kills your tension and makes readers set down your book.

If anything, put exposition near the end of your book, “Dumbledore Explains” style or “Elementary, my dear Watson,” mystery style. By this point, you have your readers so invested into the plot of the story, they’ll be more likely to forgive you a momentary ramble or history lesson.

I know I have exposition at the end of the Lone Prospect about different types of motorcycle clubs. One. This is actually relevant information that given the book is about a motorcycle club, you the reader need to know. And two, I’m not planning on addressing it directly by showing the differences until book five! Three, Gideon needed to know this information as it influences his decision on if he’s going to stay or not.

So, I’m hopeful, as an author, you can forgive me for my ramble about motorcycle clubs in the form of Hunter telling Gideon a story. Well, Hunter and Brand because Brand had to get in on it.

Anyways, here are 9 symptoms of exposition-itus. I hope it helps. Please remember, your action ratio should always outweigh your exposition ratio by a large margin. Be precise and be concise. Especially in the beginning of the book where you’re trying to keep readers reading your story.

#writing tumblr #writing advice #writrblr #exposition #info dumping #writing tips #show don't tell

21 notes · View notes

superspookyjanelle · 4 years

Text

Got board and wnd up writing a sample for a possible fic. Don’t knew I’ll actually do it, but definitely was fun to entertain. Please respond to this post if you think you’d read a full fic on these love idiots 💕

𝖁𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝕳𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 was looking herself over in the mirror, of course, she was not wearing anything fancy just a grey shirt with some comfortable jeans; the brunette violinist was damn sure that both Allison would no doubly be overdressed but still, this was their fathers wake they really should wear more casual clothes. Vanya honestly didn't feel like she had the right to attend the funeral, after all, she for sure upset everyone with the story that she published about her life as number seven but it was her truth so why were they so upset? Would they be happier if she lied throughout the entire book? She just doesn't know and she supposes that no matter what she does she'll never be enough for her adopted family. They never truly cared about her as an individual and her book was just their new valid excuse as to why they ignored her. In a really odd and probably fucked up way, she glad that their not her life as much. It's given her time to grow and heal as a person; it has given her time to find people who truly value her and want to build this beautiful life.

Vanya definitely would have chickened out of seeing her adopted family after so many years if it wasn't for her two gorgeous girlfriends...if it wasn't for Morgana and Kai. As she was sure that the did care about her on some weird level, but they often we're so cold towards her that it was unbearable; Vanya remembers to vividly how bad her mental health was when she had first left the Academy. She remembers just how anxious, depressed, and suicidal she truly was. All of Vanya's adopted siblings, whether knowingly or not, had violently hurt her both emotionally and verbally. It was to point to that made her feel like she was just barely grazing the mere edges of utterly broken and unfixable. That she was the biggest burden in the world. But, with all of Morgana's unwavering kindness and all of Kai's strength, they're able to help her rebuild herself, but this version of herself was a better and truer version of what she always been. She's never felt safer, loved, and special...

Hearing a small creek on the old floorboards of her bedroom, she looked over giving a small smile towards the blonde that leads into their shared bedroom. "Are you sure we can't just send your family flowers with a card and stay home. We could watch a movie or something?" Morgana asked before she moved from the door frame and approached her brunette girlfriend of six years. The blonde climbed into the bed before draping her pale arms around the other women's shoulders. Morgana placed a small kiss on Vanya's neck as she let out a small hum of consideration of the idea. Vanay instantly felt herself relaxing when she felt the other women's arms around her shoulders and she ended up leaning into her loving the comforting embrace. "No, I really should be there in person...even if no one wants to see me. I'm sure they would be even more pissed off with me if I didn't show up or throw it back in my face. Besides as least I know my mom and Pogo will be happy to see me," she replied, which earned a small sigh from her girlfriend. " Alright. I won't argue there, but don't think me and Kai aren't coming. I won't have you be completely miserable at that funeral." she tells her girlfriend sternly.

#my oc stuff #fanfic #fanfic aesthetic #the umbrella academy #my babies #vanya hargreeves #secret garden #lesbians #polyamory #fic sampler #should i write this?#roughly edited #Spotify

3 notes · View notes

nightskythoughts22 · 4 years

Text

Not What It Looks Like

Based off the prompt from @rauzadian. It was supposed to be more Jack/Sam-y than it came out, please forgive me! Maybe I’ll do a shippier one later in the year. Hope you like it! ---

It was beautiful day and Daniel was damn sure going to enjoy it. SG-1 had a whole week off, essentially ordered off-base by General Hammond to “relax, unwind, and enjoy yourselves”, and Daniel was going to do just that. Maybe he’d go to the park down the street and read. No, he thought, a walk sounds better.

He missed the openness of Abydos, the vastness of the desert with its ever-reaching hills. He missed strolling together with Sha’re, teaching her English and learning about her childhood, her family, her hopes, just her. He could listen to her speak for hours, in English or Abydonian, it didn’t matter. She was so free with herself in every way.

Speaking of free, Daniel thought, pulling himself from his memories. He hated feeling cooped up and he often walked around town for hours, stopping at various parks or benches to people-watch. It wasn’t that same as Abydos but it was fun in its own way. He may love history and cultures of different planets but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the culture and people of today here on earth.

I wonder what Sam’s up to, Daniel thought. He’s walked to her place many times and convinced her to walk with him. She didn’t enjoy longer walks, being much more of the mindset that if you’re going to cover 5 miles in an afternoon that you might as well knock it out with a run. But she humors him when she’s not busy, still liking to get out and enjoy the company and fresh air for a little. Sam often teased him about walking so much on his downtime when that’s what they do for a large percentage of their time working.

But then again, I like doing all aspects of my job, on or off the clock, he thought.

Daniel picked up his cell phone and checked the time, 0930, good, late enough.

He called Sam’s cell and it immediately went to voicemail. He tried her house phone next but that just rang several times and then went to her answering machine.

Deciding he had nothing better to do, he poured his coffee into a travel mug and went to the door to put on shoes and a light-weight jacket. About 30 minutes into his walk he decided he may as well drop by Sam’s and see if she’s home. Maybe she was just running errands, he thought.

About 45 minutes after that decision, he strolled up the path to her door. He noticed her plants on the porch were looking a little worse for wear as he knocked. He went and nudged them forward into the sunlight, out from the shade of the overhang.

Huh, where is she? He knocked again and this time placed his ear up to the door. He could faintly hear some music coming from inside the house.

Well that explains her not answering the phone. Chuckling to himself, he got his keys out and unlocked her door. Walking inside he could more clearly hear Fleetwood Mac coming up from the basement. He shook off his jacket and threw it over the back of her couch and started to take off his shoes.

He knew her place almost as well as his own at this point. The living room was pretty but not really lived in. Her favorite part of the house, and his if he was being honest, was the furnished basement. It had one side with a computer and work area for all her personal projects and a large TV and comfy couch on the other. He has spent many nights on that couch, watching movies, talking, or just sleeping after drinking too much while doing the first two. He wasn’t surprised that she was lost to the world down there.

He walked over to the open basement door and shouted down over the music, “Sam!”

There was a little bit of shuffling and then the music was turned down and a slightly confused “Daniel?” floated back up the stairs at him.

“Yeah it’s me. You need some coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll be right up.” She responded.

With that he moved into the kitchen as he hummed along with the music. Daniel moved confidently around her kitchen, pouring out the remnants of what had to have been Sam’s breakfast coffee brew, and set about making a fresh one.

As Sam’s footsteps on the stairs rang out, Daniel pulled two mugs down from the cabinet over her sink.

“Good morning, Daniel.” Sam said as she walked into the kitchen.

“Hey Sam, coffee’s almost ready.” He replied with a quick glance over his shoulder at her.

“Great. So, what’s up?” Sam asked him. It wasn’t completely unheard of for him to come over but usually he would call first. She wished he would have since her calendar isn’t exactly free this morning.

He turned around and leaned back against the counter as the coffee dripped on behind him.

“Nothing. I was out for a walk and wanted to know if you’d like to join me.”

Sam smiled at him, “I’d loved to but I’m kind of busy this morning.”

He chuckled as he took her in completely. She was wearing lounge pants and a grey t-shirt. Her hair was different, sort of fluffier than usual, probably not doing much more than running her hands through it after showering. He noticed a small grease spot near her temple. He seen it a thousand times, both on world and off, Sam engrossed in her work and absentmindedly pushing her hair away from her face with oiled or greased up hands.

“I can see that.” He replied as he walked up to her and wiped at the smudge with his thumb.

“What?” She questioned, though she didn’t shy away from his touch. The entire team was casual and free with their touches. Teal’c had to qualms about placing his hands on their shoulders to gently nudge them away from their off-world discoveries for the night. The Colonel was quick with a pat on the back or the head, that really should seem condescending but never did.

That went doubly for the experts of the team. They worked so closely together that it was second nature for him to help pull her out from under a machine or for her to push his glasses up after they had slowly slipped down his nose. Not to mention the times spent lounging on her basement couch, watching a movie with her feet in his lap, or his head on hers. They were close by profession but comfortable by choice with each other.

“You have grease on your face. See?” He showed her his thumb and the stain on it.

“Oh jeez. I’m a mess.” She laughed.

His thumb went back to her head as he laughed with her. “It’s alright, we’ll have you back to normal in a second.”

Their conversation and laughter had drowned out the sound of a key turning in the already open lock of her front door. And the footsteps that brought Jack to the doorway to the kitchen.

“Uh, hey guys.”

They jumped and both turned towards the intruder.

“Sir!”

“Jack, hey!”

Jack just arched an eyebrow and cocked his head looking them,

It was then that Daniel noticed that in their surprise, his hand had traveled from the side of Sam’s face to her hair. With a sidelong glance at Sam, he slowly brought his arm down to his side. Sam’s eyes widened in realization. They looked at each other and then Jack with smiles emerging on their faces.

With a smirk, Daniel said “This is not what it looks like.”

Sam joined in his laughter as Jack just shook his head at two of the stupidest geniuses he’s ever known.

“Well, it looks like you were almost successful at removing that grease stain from Carter’s head.”

Calmed down but face still glowing in laughter, Daniel said “Ok, it is what it looks like.”

With that, Sam went and grabbed a paper towel, wet it in the sink and started to scrub at the spot on her face.

Daniel walked back over to the coffee pot and once again leaned back against the counter.

“So, what’s brought you over here?”

“Well, Carter-“

Sam interrupted, “The Colonel was bringing me over something that I needed for the project I’m working on.”

Daniel’s eyes immediately went to the grocery store bag in Jack’s left hand. It was twisted as if Jack had been spinning it around, which knowing Jack was probably the case. Daniel could just make out a black box through the plastic.

“Oh yeah?” he replied.

Jack slowly smoothed the bag and reached into it.

Jack cleared his throat and said, “This is not what it looks like,” as he pulled out a box of Trojan Magnum condoms.

Sam immediately starting rambling about small electronic parts and organization methods. After a few seconds, both men erupted in laughter.

---

#stargate #sg1 #fanfic #rauzadian #52 project #1/52 #daniel/sha're #sam/jack #if you squint #and just know the love each other even though they can't be together #team dynamics

7 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Text

Hope in Change - Part Three

Part One, Part Two

Murtagh insisted they wait for a while after Roger left the inn to return to the ship. The innkeeper gave Murtagh a signal when Bonnet’s view of their back corner table was conveniently obstructed and the three of them slipped out the back where several of the Regulators were waiting to help with Brianna and Lizzie’s things.

“Where are we going?” Brianna hissed as she followed Murtagh, easily keeping pace. “And who are these men?”

“We’re goin’ to the house of a friend,” Murtagh responded vaguely. “That’s all ye need know until we get there and I have a chance to speak wi’ him and several other acquaintances. Glad as I am to see ye, Bonnet’s interest in ye and yer lad makes me uneasy and I need to change some of my plans to keep ye from bein’ entrusted entirely to strangers.”

Upon reaching their destination, the lady of the house ushered Brianna and Lizzie into her parlor for a cup of tea and polite conversation. Brianna frowned at Murtagh, fully aware and indignant at being excluded from whatever his business might be.

The three men who’d accompanied them from the inn, keeping their distance as best they could to remain inconspicuous, gathered in the kitchen doorway smoking their pipes and casually watching the road.

“Ye’re no goin’ to cancel the raid tonight, are ye man?” the youngest of the three asked.

“We’ll no get a chance like this again,” Murtagh said shaking his head. “It goes forward as planned but I’ll need someone to go in my place.”

“Who’s the lass to ye that she can make ye miss it?” one of the others pressed.

“She’s family and I’ll no leave her till I deliver her safe to her parents’ keeping,” Murtagh explained. “I’ll wait here for word from Abercrombie about the raid. Tomorrow I’ll leave wi’ her and it’ll no be but a few days before I can circle round again to help wi’ distribution. If anyone needs hidin’... I’m sure my forge is bein’ watched but there’s a sympathetic house or two I can get folk inside if there’s need.”

“I’ll take yer place at the head of matters,” the third man asserted. “Abercrombie and the others’ll heed me well enough.”

Murtagh looked to the other two men but both nodded their agreement.

“Then ye’d best get to it, lads,” Murtagh said with a sly grin. “T’would be rude to keep the taxmen waiting.”

The trio disappeared into the night and Murtagh reluctantly turned back to the warmth of the kitchen. Even if his body rejoiced that he wouldn’t be crouching in the cool and damp evening, another part of him itched to take his place leading the raid. Being left behind made him feel… old.

At last he closed the door and turned to find Brianna standing in the entrance to the parlor, watching him closely like she was deciding whether or not to trust him. Too late given she was in one of the Regulators’ safe houses and was under the protection of one of the group’s key leaders.

“Is there somethin’ ye’d like to say, lass?”

Her face softened and she took a few steps into the kitchen. “It’s just… Mama talked about you after she told me about Jamie. She didn’t say much—not as much as she did about Jamie. It’s strange… meeting you now and trying to make it all fit. I didn’t get to spend much time at Lallybroch and Jenny was away. Uncle Ian was… pretty much what I’d expected. But you…”

“A lot can change in twenty years,” Murtagh admitted with a sigh. “Especially when ye’ve been through what I have. I’m no discountin’ what they endured at Lallybroch… But I’ve been captured, imprisoned, shipped across an ocean and indentured, learned a new trade and built a business for myself… I lost many… many friends. Yer mam was one of the for a long time, and yer da… When they separated him from the rest of us when they closed Ardsmuir, I thought they were takin’ him to hang him and that it was the last I’d see him on this earth.”

“Do you think… Are they happy?” Brianna asked. “They’re… together, I know, but is it—are they—like they were before? It was one of the things Mama worried about before she came back.”

Murtagh took one of the chairs from the table and set it near the hearth, then watched as Brianna followed suit.

“Yes and no. I do think they’re happy, but no, it’s no in the same way as before. How could it be wi’ the time and all that passed? Ye’re no the same as ye were twenty years past, are ye?”

Brianna looked worried. “He still loves her though, doesn’t he? I know he left… I know he had a different wife before Mama came back and he chose Mama…”

“Well, tha’s one thing hasna changed—there’s no choice about it, for either of ‘em,” Murtagh chuckled. “It’s funny, what loss can do to ye… It can make ye reckless, make ye ruthless. And then getting back what ye’d thought lost… Makes ye doubly fearful, doubly cautious. Ye ken better then, how much ye took what ye had for granted and ye swear ye willna do the same again for fear ye’ll suffer again the pain ye dinna ken how ye survived before.”

Murtagh looked up to see Brianna staring at him intently. The attention brought heat to his cheeks and he looked away, into the fire.

“What was Mama like?” Brianna asked, her voice quiet. “When she finally told me about Jamie, it was like she became a completely different person. I… didn’t recognize her. Or at least, not all the time. Sometimes she reminded me of how she was with Daddy and the way there was always this… thing, between them. But what she said they did—you did… Meeting royalty and dining at Versailles…”

Murtagh choked on a laugh. “They wore so much powder in their hair ye couldna help breathin’ it in and feelin’ like ye had mud stuck in yer lungs and coatin’ yer nose. And tha’s nothin’ compared to what some of them wore—or neglected to wear… Yer mam didna go in for much of that—couldna to an extent wi’ her condition…” He stopped suddenly and looked to Brianna.

“I know about Faith,” she informed him. “She didn’t say much, but I know…” She cut herself off and shook her head. “I still can’t believe she lied to me for all those years—she and Daddy. I had a right to know.”

“And what about them and their rights?” Murtagh challenged her, albeit gently. “Did yer mam no have a right to her pain? To her grief? When all ye have is memories and hopes, ye guard them. Sharin’ them wi’ those what can’t appreciate them… When tha’s all ye have…” He narrowed his eyes at her. “And what of you? Do ye expect me to believe ye dinna have secrets of yer own? If I asked ye to tell me all that had ever passed between you and yer man from earlier, would ye no keep some of it back or shy from tellin’ a word of it? I didna think so,” he said with satisfaction as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

“Do I get to ask what it is you and your men are up to tonight? Or is that something you’re going to keep back?” Brianna countered.

“Wi’ the likes of you and yer mam, any time I think to talk of what I’m about, I have to decide is it somethin’ I want to ken how it’ll turn out,” Murtagh mused but Brianna remained silent. “She’s told me of the war to come, but she didna ken anything about the present conflict many good citizens of North Carolina have wi’ our esteemed governor. There’s a group of us objects to the current tax system and how it functions.”

“And you’re going to strike against the governor tonight,” Brianna guessed.

“I’m stayin’ put here waiting,” Murtagh reminded her. “But aye, there promises to be trouble tonight, though wi’ a bit of luck it’ll all be on Tryon’s side.”

Brianna didn’t push for further details and they slipped into an easy silence, both watching the flames in the hearth as they danced and mesmerized.

They must have dozed for when a fervent knocking pulled them back to general awareness, there was barely more than embers left.

The younger man from earlier was out of breath.

“Ye must come quick. There’s a man came to warn us off the raid just as the wagon were comin’ down the road. He said it was a trap and MacMurphy took him as a prisoner.”

Murtagh moved to stand too quickly and had to shake his head to wake himself up fully.

“Did ye get—”

“Didna make our move,” the young man interrupted. “Murph said we ought to be safe rather than sorry and called it off. He’s got the fellow waitin’ for ye to see do ye think he’s one of Tryon’s spies or if ye believe his tale of having been sent to warn ye.”

As Murtagh moved to follow his comrade to whatever room the thwarted raiding party was holding their prisoner, Brianna made to join them.

“You said you weren’t going to let me out of your sight till you delivered me safely to my parents,” Brianna reminded him. “So, I’m coming with you.”

With apparently no time to be lost, Murtagh yielded and held the door for Brianna.

#;mod lenny #Hope in Change AU #featuring: murtagh #featuring: brianna #more familiar faces next installment #and then there'll be some reunions shortly thereafter #(and first meetings)#only a few more installments in this series planned

102 notes · View notes

pi-cat000 · 5 years

Text

MSA shorts (Lewis and Arthur)

Summary: Arthur gets into trouble. Lewis gets him out again. (Lewis and Arthur friendship piece)

Context: So this is a discarded scene from the ‘msa time travel idea.’ It’s set before canon and was originally going to be a flashback. You don’t have to read the ‘ msa time travel idea’ to enjoy it.

...

Arthur immediately notices the motorbike when it pulls off the highway, engine revving, ties squeaking across the pavement. It slides right into the only vacant spot outside Pepper's Paradiso, taking up all the space, leaving no room for additional vehicles.

Though the muscle-bike is impressive, heavy, built for long distance travel, it’s not that which draws his interest. As the bike's leather-clad rider kills the excessively loud engine, Arthur’s attention is pulled to an incongruent rattle, signalling a loose bolt or screw. Not immediately noticeable, drowned out by other motor noises, Arthur strains to place the potential fault. He squints up at the engine, scanning the bike's frame. He can’t tell from where he’s sitting, but the impressive array of exhaust piping seams off.

The staring earns him a harsh glare from the bike’s owner who stalks past. Arthur averts his gaze down to the pavement, unwilling to provoke someone who’s either in a bad mood or generally spoiling for a fight. A familiar bell chime, the diner doors open, and the man disappears inside. Casually, Arthur stands, pauses for a beat, then meanders away from the entry in the direction of the bike.

He is in the middle of waiting for Lewis to finish his shift. It’s taking longer than usual, the dinner seeing an abnormal increase in customers for this time of day. Of course, Lewis has to hang back and help his parents deal with the sudden rush. It has left Arthur with little to do but loiter in the carpark, watching patrons come and go. Despite his friend’s insistence that he take a table inside, Arthur’s not a fan of crowds or noise and doesn’t want to occupy any space or attention when they’re so busy. Thus, outside, sitting on the curb, fiddling with his phone, is where Arthur’s been.

The bike is the first exciting thing to happen in the last thirty minutes. Nonchalantly, Arthur glances over his shoulder, but there is no sign of Lewis or the bike’s owner. He really should leave this alone, that leather-guy looks like a person he doesn't want to piss off. Arthur circles the bike, ignoring his better judgment. He’ll make this quick. After he confirms his suspicions, he’ll resume his patient sitting.

The bike is doubly impressive up close.

One of the band-clamps, connecting the exhaust piping to the collector, is loose. Arthur eyes it critically, crouching down to get a proper view. Shoddy maintenance work, he concludes quickly. Someone has obviously taken the whole bike apart, replaced several pieces, then rushed putting it back together. The error, not something immediately noticeable, will inevitably screw things up in the long term. It’s a shame because the bike is really nice. He stands and takes a step back. Okay. Suspicion confirmed. Time to bug out and mind his own business.

Quickly, Arthur powerwalks over to his van on the opposite side of the parking lot, pulls out his toolbox, snatches the correct wrench and powerwalks back, crouching back down. If he quickly tightens that bolt there and moves this a bit here, it’ll shore-up the pipe’s integrity and prevent a major failure.

“Oi. What the fuck are you doing.”

Arthur doesn’t even manage to tighten the first bolt. A hand grabs the back of his vest and yanks him away hard. He goes sprawling across the concrete, getting his arms under him, so he narrowly avoids hitting his head. On his back, Arthur squints up at a bulky, leather wearing, very angry, bike owner.

Rattled from hitting the ground, Arthur blurts, “Nothing!” An angry scowl is his unfavourable response.

“I mean,” He rushes to clarify, holding up his incriminating wrench, “I’m obviously doing something, but it’s nothing bad. I swear. “

“Sure kid,” Knuckles are cracked, “and I’m a priest spreading the good word.”

Damnit, why couldn’t he have just left well enough alone? Quick, talk fast, explain the situation.

“The exhaust pipe is super screwy. Whoever put it together is an idiot, they obviously don’t know what they are doing…ah…”

“What did you say…” The man steps over him, casting a threatening shadow. Okay. That was the wrong thing to say. The guy is probably friends with the mechanic or is the mechanic. Arthur is very aware of how his downed position places him in a precarious spot. Regret. He regrets everything!

Before the taller man can take a proper swing a foreign hand flashes out from behind, catching his arm.

“Is there a problem?” Lewis steps around into view, still dressed in his chef uniform, shooting Arthur a puzzled glance. Arthur shrugs helplessly, having no excuse for the current situation.

“Fuck off, this isn’t none of your business,” The leather-guy continues to scowl at Arthur, yanking at the grip.

“I work for this diner. And that’s a friend of mine,” Lewis steps forward, so he’s hovering near Arthur’s head. Slowly, he releases the other’s arm. The leather-wearing bike owner shifts in response, giving Lewis a critical once over. Unlike Arthur, who is wiry, athletic and generally unthreatening, Lewis is tall, heavy-set, and very intimidating when he wants to be. Usually, that’s enough to deter a fight, and deterring is important because Lewis hates physical confrontation.

There are a tense few moments while leather-guy considers Lewis like he’s weighing up the pros and cons of starting a brawl right then and there. Luckily, the guy’s not a complete nut-job and, after some inaudible grumbling, steps away.

“Little punk insulted my baby,” Is groused as the guy stomps back towards his bike, dismissing both him and Lewis.

“Ah, your exhaust pipe is loose. I was trying to fix it,” Arthur calls after him, sitting upright now he’s not in danger of being punched. Lewis, who is in the process of helping Arthur up, gives him a withering look.

The leather guy turns slowly, growling, “Like I believe that shit.”

“Arthur’s a mechanic,” Lewis explains diplomatically, pushing Arthur behind him and out of sight, “A good mechanic. If he says there is something wrong with your engine, then there probably is.”

A disbelieving grunt, but the other man doesn’t come back towards them, “Whatever kid.”

The leather-guy mounts his bike, calling, “A word of advice. Don’t start fights when ya can’t follow through.” The engine roars and both rider and bike tear out the car park and onto the highway. A second later and they are gone. Lewis breaths out a sigh and turns to give Arthur an exasperated frown. He is tense, not entirely happy.

“What was that about?”

Arthur grimaces, feeling a bit guilty for dragging Lewis into a potentially dangerous situation, “Yeah. Okay. So that wasn’t my brightest moment, but there really was something wrong with the exhaust pipe.”

“And what. You just decided to fix it without informing the possessive owner?” Lewis gestures at the wrench he’s still holding. Now the adrenaline is fading, Lewis is relaxing, sounding a mix of amused and exasperated.

“It was a nice bike,” Arthur defends, “and I thought he would be in the diner for longer.”

Lewis shakes his head, “Nope. Only here for the restrooms. Saw him leave one as I was finishing.”

“I sort of figured,” Arthur mutters, examining the grazes running up both his elbows. Blood is pooling just under displaced skin. Probably a result of hitting the pavement. Lewis watches, wincing in sympathy.

“Do you want…”

“I’ve got gauze in the van,” Arthur anticipates the question, “Ugh. Some people have zero chill. What do you think? A gang member or something.”

“Not sure. He’s staying in the Tempo Motor Inn. So, we at least we know where to avoid for a while.”

Arthur pauses his inspection, glancing at Lewis, a question on his lips.

“The perks of grocery shopping multiple times a week. Mrs Burton mentioned seeing an ‘unpleasant man in leather around the motel.’ How many men in leather can there be?” Lewis elaborates, walking over to pick up his bag, which lying discarded near the diner’s entrance.

“Lots. If it’s a gang.” Arthur jokes, adding, “And Vivi says there are no benefits to gossiping.”

Lewis laughs, finally losing the last vestiges of tension, his shoulders relaxing. He slings his bag over a shoulder. Likewise, Arthur also lets himself relax, thankful his dumb idea hadn’t caused irreparable harm. They both start walking towards his van. Vivi’s still needs to be picked up. Arthur has already texted her, but he doesn’t want her to wait any longer than necessary. While Arthur pulls out his first aid kit, Lewis pulls off his work clothes, messing around with his hair till it sits right.

“At least it’ll make an interesting story,” Arthur remarks, wincing as he applies disinfectant to the injury. Lewis takes the driver’s seat, Arthur being preoccupied. Not long after they hit the town proper, quickly navigating the sparse streets. Vivi is easily spotted, a blue blob, sitting on the steps outside her workplace, eyes glued to a thick book. Lewis sounds the horn to get her attention, causing her to glance up, frown quickly turning to a grin.

NOTE: Hey look I wrote something that’s not angsty

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur kingsmen #Lewis pepper #friendship #outtakes #pre-canon #coarse language

44 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

blouses (pt 1) (rajila) - evan

“I said I was a blouse, bitch, a blouse. A blouse is a feminine top. It’s silky, it’s smooth, it’s got a really beautiful blushy color to it, but it fucks you the hell—it’s a blouse, you know what I mean? It’s a blouse!” (x)

“And Manila, we’re both… I think she’s a blouse too. She might be an off-the-shoulder blouse.” (x)

In which two tops don’t make a bottom. Raja and Manila non-au smut. 5.2k words. Part one of two, with eventual Ravjila ;)

Find me on my blog or ao3, both @formercongressman! I’d love to hear your feedback. xoxo evan

An accidental kiss backstage. That was how this whole fiasco started.

They were performing back-to-back at a club in San Francisco. Raja had just finished her last number, giving one last twirl in the long luscious dress she had made before blowing a kiss to the audience and ducking behind the curtain. She quickly found Manila in the darkness.

“You were absolutely amazing,” Manila told her, leaning in to kiss her cheek. However, Raja turned unexpectedly, and their lips met. Manila opened her eyes, doubly surprised as she felt Raja’s mouth soften against hers in an honest-to-god kiss. Something, and she wasn’t quite sure what, clicked in her gut. Oh.

“Next up, everybody give it up for miss Manila Luzon!”

They broke apart as Manila heard the host read her name. Her music started playing and she felt like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. Raja smiled at her, almost as if nothing had happened. “Well? Get out there!” she laughed, pushing Manila towards the stage.

She walked out, put on a brilliant smile, but inside her head was racing. She started lip syncing, mostly running on autopilot. What was that? She tried to push past it, but the memory of Raja’s lips warm and willing against her own still lingered. Part of her wanted to walk back off stage, back Raja into an unlit corner and lick her way into that mouth, wrap her fingers tightly in that long hair, and—

Her mind suddenly caught up with her body and she realized her mouth wasn’t moving. She was at the top of the second verse of the song, but couldn’t for the life of her remember the words. God damn it. She faked it as best she could as she tried to listen to the track over the booming bass and the shouting from the audience. She quickly hopped back on the words once they came to her, but she knew people had noticed. There would be a video online tomorrow. She threw a smile back on her face, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.

The song ended and she waved at the audience before quickly ducking off stage. Raja had disappeared and her skin was crawling, though she wasn’t sure if that was from the post-performance rush, the embarrassment of fucking up the words, or from being just a little turned on. Embarrassment. Frustration. She told herself to focus on that as she marched back towards the dressing rooms, intent on giving Raja a piece of her mind.

Their shared dressing room was less of a room and more of a converted supply closet where someone had set up a card table and a full length mirror as overflow space from the regular dressing room. Manila walked in to find Raja leaning over the mirror, long hair pushed to one side as she removed her 301s.

“You were great out there,” Raja said, her eyes flashing briefly to Manila in the mirror, though she remained focused on her lash.

“You think? Did you see the part where I completely blanked on the words?” Manila shut the door and crossed her arms.

“Yes I did.”

“And you thought that was great?”

Raja smiled. “I thought it was cute.”

Manila sighed and settled into a folding chair, not flattered. “I looked unprepared. You picked a really weird time to try to tank my career, bitch.”

Raja turned around and raised an eyebrow, her small smile still hinting at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You kissed me out of nowhere!”

“I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Was it really that bad? That it threw off your whole performance?” Raja turned back to the mirror to wipe away some makeup.

Manila was silent, looking down and picking off her nails. She knew Raja was joking, but she couldn’t tell why something still felt off. She could sense the ghost of the kiss on her lips again, and a kind of sudden and all-consuming enchantment that tugged at her insides, that she had never felt for Raja before. They had kissed once at a show right after season 3, a drunk and sloppy moment she now struggled to dig up fully from her memory. That had been what, more than five years ago? They had never been more than friends after that, though Manila found Raja to be one of the most talented, brilliant, and beautiful friends she had ever made.

Of course, Manila knew Raja was attractive. Sutan was attractive. That was just a rudimentary, essential fact of science and art. But mixing business and pleasure in this case just felt off the table. After knowing her for so long, Manila thought she was maybe immune to whatever psychosexual witchcraft Raja did every time she performed.

Well, maybe not.

“I think it’s the opposite, actually.” She stood up and walked towards the mirror, mustering the extra courage she needed to speak. The kiss, small as it was, kept playing in her mind over and over, and all she could think about was more.

Raja froze before slowly wiping away the last bit of eyeshadow on her face. She turned around, propping herself against the card table, her face worryingly blank. “What do you mean?” she asked.

What was Manila supposed to say? ‘I’m not sure why but I really want to fuck you’ seemed a bit heavy handed, so instead she listened to the whirring energy rolling around in her chest. It pushed her towards Raja as she cupped her jaw and pulled her back into a kiss.

Manila immediately felt Raja smile against her mouth. This coy bitch, Manila thought to herself. As oblivious as Raja might act, she knew exactly what was going on.

Raja kissed her back with the kind of certainty that made Manila wonder if maybe this had been part of her plan all along. She felt Raja’s hands grip tightly on her waist and pull her closer. It was then she realized that they were both in varyingly deconstructed stages of half-drag, but that wasn’t her primary concern at the moment. Raja’s tongue crept into her mouth, predictably confident yet surprisingly sweet as she ran her thumb along Manila’s jaw.

The thing that hit Manila hardest, though, was that even though she and Raja had never been this intimate before, it didn’t feel like kissing a stranger. Of course Raja’s tongue was precise and insistent, of course her touch was like water, of course she seemed to be drawing Manila into her with some kind of magic. That was just… Raja.

Raja’s hand was on her thigh, and she didn’t realize it was slowly creeping further up until her fingers hooked under the edge of Manila’s short dress.

“I need to…” Manila pulled back, now painfully aware of her tuck and her pads and her smearing makeup. What was a tactful way to say that she wanted to touch every inch of Raja’s skin but not in this broom closet? “I need to wash this off of my face.”

There was a pause. Raja stood and righted herself, twisting her disheveled hair back into place. Manila could hear her catching her breath. After a moment reassessing where they were, Raja finally spoke. “My hotel isn’t far from here. Couple of blocks, we could walk. If you wanted to shower.”

Raja’s eyes said so much more and Manila felt weak. She felt hungry. The distance between them now was acutely unbearable. Raja was wearing a long, sheer cape, and Manila caught herself thinking about crawling inside it with her.

“Yeah?” she asked instead, noting her own ragged breath. “Just to shower?”

“If that’s all you want.”

Manila stepped towards her, slowly tracing a single finger from Raja’s cheek down her neck, over her collarbone, and across her chest. The air was thick with so much unsaid and the heat radiating off of Raja’s skin.

“That’s not all I want.”

Raja smiled broadly, confidence brimming at the edges of her eyes. “I know. Let’s go.”

–

There was no such thing as a casual walk to a hotel to fuck your friend. Sutan knew this from experience. No matter who it was, he could always feel the anticipation that would hang tangibly in the air between them. He loved that tension, though, that almost-but-not-quite, and he let it carry him down the street to the hotel.

He wasn’t quite sure what had come over Karl, but he liked it. Maybe a lot. That first kiss tonight had been nothing more than a peck, but he was amazed by how little it had taken to send Karl into this state. If he had known that earlier, he would have “accidentally” kissed him long ago. There had never been that mutual alignment of desire with him like there had been with Raven or Detox or Morgan, so he figured that Karl wasn’t into him like that. But he had thought about it, wanted it, even. And now Karl was dripping with chaotic energy and Sutan was always, always willing to fall into bed with a friend.

Sutan worried briefly when Karl tensed as Sutan draped a protective arm around his shoulder as they got to the hotel, wondering if perhaps he was second guessing himself. However, his fears dissolved as soon as the elevator doors shut and Karl pressed him into a corner and kissed him again, mouth hot and assertive, as the floor numbers climbed. He felt for a moment that this might be a dream, and leaned into it, kissing him back.

As soon as the elevator slowed to a halt on his floor and they pulled apart, Sutan felt a smile creeping across his face. He covered it but failed to suppress his laughter.

“What?” Karl asked, cracking a smile of his own.

I just can’t believe this is finally happening.

“Nothing. It’s this one.” Sutan pointed across the hall and swiped them in with the hotel keycard.

He had barely had time to toss his luggage into the room before the gig, and it was the first time he was getting a good look at the room. It was standard but roomy, with a substantial bed and, he realized as he flicked the lights on, a beautiful view of the alley.

“Do you mind if I just…” Karl motioned towards the bathroom.

“Go ahead,” Sutan said. He relaxed into the bed and listened to the water come on.

For a moment he thought about joining Karl in the shower, as both a chance to freshen up himself and maybe eat Karl’s ass, but shower sex was always better in theory than in practice. Instead he grabbed a robe out of the closet, stripped off his post show garb, and slipped into it. Intrigue. Mystique. Comfort.

“I forgot to grab clothes, can I borrow some of yours?” Karl called from the bathroom. He poked his head out of the door in a cloud of steam, all of Manila washed off his face and his black hair wet and hanging over his eyes. “Oh my god, of course you travel with a robe.”

“It’s the hotel’s. There’s another one. Want it?” Sutan got up, wrestled the other robe from its hanger, and thrust it towards the bathroom door. Karl had narrowed it to just a sliver open, but Sutan could see a long line of his skin, stretching from his ass to his collarbone.

Of course he had seen Karl naked before, but only to then throw on pads and tights. He had never seen his body and wanted it like this, though, and he felt a tightness stir below his stomach. He would be putting on a hotel robe just to take it off, and certainly it would just be more efficient to push right into the bathroom and take him right there—

“Thank you,” Karl said as he took the robe, his small smile just briefly visible through the crack in the door before he pulled it shut again.

Sutan laid back on the bed, trying to keep his mind from running away from him. Easier said than done. He thought about that sliver of skin and how much skin surrounded it, and all the places his mouth could go.

When Karl walked out of the bathroom, he perched on the end of the bed, still too far for Sutan to touch. Though it had been for just a moment, Sutan caught a quick glimpse of the outline of Karl’s erection, which the robe was doing no favors to hide.

“What are you thinking about?” Karl asked.

“You, mostly.” Sutan propped himself up on his elbows.

Karl turned and climbed on the bed. “What about me?” He threw a leg over Sutan’s knees, effectively straddling him, and settling into his lap. Sutan was very aware of his own erection now, and he wondered if Karl was too.

“Just this.” Sutan eased up and brought his hands softly to Karl’s back, reveling for a moment in how well they seemed to fit, and then ever so slowly guiding him down to his lips.

This kiss was tentative, soft, and wholly overwhelming. It was nothing like the rushed, quasi-frantic kisses that had led to this point. They kissed like they had time. The newness, the freshness, the incredulity of it all coagulated in his chest, thickening with every slip of Karl’s tongue against his.

Karl smelled like lemon verbena hotel shampoo and, well, Karl. Something familiar.

They broke as tenuously as they had come together. Their mouths hovered a centimeter apart, and Sutan breathed in that air thick with need and willingness and tension, a voice calling out for more, a thin sheet of ice ready to crack

“You don’t have to be gentle,” Sutan whispered, and in that moment the earth could have split in two below them and he wouldn’t have noticed. Karl pushed him firmly back into the pillows and he was falling, falling, falling.

Karl kissed him with a kind of voracity he hadn’t thought to expect. He bit Sutan’s lower lip, then his jaw and down to his neck, definitely strong enough to leave marks. Sutan surged up to match him. It felt like trying to steer a tornado, but he knew he could do that and more. He fixed a strong hand on the back of Karl’s neck, holding him in place and dragging his tongue against the back of Karl’s teeth. He felt Karl’s back arch as he tried and failed to suppress a moan. Exactly.

Karl worked open Sutan’s robe, tracing hands over his body, and Sutan shuddered at how good it felt to be touched by him like this, to have Karl’s hands in places he had never felt them before. He pulled off Karl’s robe as well, breaking away momentarily to marvel at his skin, the places where it creased, and suddenly Sutan couldn’t be touching enough of him at once.

He pulled Karl’s body tightly against his, feeling him hot and firm and right there. Sutan rolled his hips up and they both let out a breathy oh at the feeling of skin against skin, and Sutan nearly pitched forward at the much-needed contact against his cock.

Sutan seized control of the moment, flipping them so that he was pinning Karl down, pressing his wrists into the mattress.

“Please, I need to touch you,” Karl practically whined, straining against Sutan’s grip.

“I want to look at you. Don’t move.”

Karl sighed but stayed put. Sutan drew his fingers down Karl’s body, softly tracing the lines he had seen glimpses of earlier. He was so compact, yet lithe, and he savored the way Karl seemed to lean his body into Sutan’s touch. His hands settled on Karl’s ass, and he could only think about how hard he had tried not to fantasize about doing exactly this for so long. Even better, Karl’s whole body jerked when Sutan finally wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, in time with Karl’s little breathy sounds.

“Please, Sutan, you look so beautiful and it’s actual torture not to let me touch you.”

“You’re lucky that flattery works on me,” Sutan smiled as he relented, softening back down onto Karl’s body, meeting his mouth again. He felt Karl’s hands on his back, nails surprisingly sharp as his fingers dug into Sutan’s skin. He hoped that left a mark as well. He picked up the pace, pumping Karl faster. He bit Sutan’s lip so hard when he circled his thumb to gather the wetness forming on the head of his cock that Sutan almost cried out himself.

“Let me try something,” Karl managed, and surprised Sutan when he pushed his hand out of the way. Karl repositioned himself so that their cocks were side by side, and encircled them both with his hand.

Sutan was immediately hit with a rush of the newness of Karl’s grip. He had been so focused on Karl that he had almost forgotten about himself. Karl rolled his hips as he stroked them both, and that was the sensation he had been craving.

Sutan buried his head in Karl’s shoulder, now unable to hold back noises he knew were obscene. The drag of their cocks together was unbelievable, the pace of Karl’s hand was only quickening.

“So beautiful,” Karl whispered in his ear.

He felt a tension welling in his hips, threatening to release, and he knew he needed to be deep inside Karl now.

“I’m – fuck – I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep this up,” Sutan managed to choke out.

Karl pulled back with a smile, obviously proud of himself. He pulled back his hand, leaving Sutan on the edge. “Do you have condoms? Lube?”

Sutan tried to catch his breath and pointed across the room. “That suitcase, outer pocket.”

As Karl went to retrieve them, Sutan lay back and caught his breath, letting the electricity he felt dazzling on his skin settle in. This is what it felt like, planets coming into alignment at just the right time, possibility and promise opening up.

He thought about Karl rolling the condom onto him with his mouth, of getting to work him open slowly, Karl lowering himself onto Sutan’s cock and riding him while Sutan rolled his hips slowly, too slowly, before flipping him over and fucking him into the mattress. He got so swept away in this, in fact, that he didn’t realize until Karl was hovering over him again that Karl was rolling the condom onto himself.

“Woah, wait, hold up.” Sutan sat up, forming an uncomfortable gulf of space between their bodies. “Karl, are you trying to fuck me?”

Karl’s jaw dropped as he looked between them. “Bitch, what did you think was going on here?”

“I mean, obviously we’re having sex but… I don’t bottom.” Surely he and Karl had talked about this at some point, right? Sutan had been saying he was a blouse, a feminine top, for a while now; in fact he said it often because he thought it was clever as hell.

“I thought you did sometimes.”

“No. I mean, it’s been…” Sutan didn’t want to say more than a decade out loud. “I haven’t since before Drag Race.”

“Oh. Well.” Karl looked uncomfortable, and he pulled the half-applied condom off self-consciously.

Sutan tried to look at him hopefully, though it felt like something was slipping away. “But I’d still really like to—"

“I don’t bottom either.” Karl cut him off abruptly. “I know I might not seem like it right now, because… well, god, Sutan, you make me nervous and when you touch me I feel like I’m going to explode and I just want to make you feel good, but… I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Do you want to stop?” The pit had dropped out of his stomach and he scrambled to find what had gone wrong. He had been too coy. He had led him in to thinking this would go differently. Fuck. “Or do you want to try it?”

“Well, I mean…” Karl hesitated, clearly conflicted. “Yeah, I mean, I guess, sure. You can fuck me.” Karl forced a smile but there was none of the same light in his eyes.

“No, no. If it makes you uncomfortable, no.” Normally, Sutan would have tried a bit harder to encourage someone to try something different, to make someone want it, like he had that first time with David. But this was Karl, and Karl was different. “Come up here.”

He felt Karl relax as he settled in next to him, tucking his head against Sutan’s shoulder. He slipped his arm around his friend’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Karl whispered. “Was this a bad idea?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sutan was being honest.

“If I made exceptions, I would make one for you.” Karl’s voice was soft. “For what it’s worth.”

“Same here.”

They lingered in the silence for a moment, Karl tracing absent patterns on to Sutan’s chest.

“I still want you,” Karl said finally.

Sutan kissed him in response, slow and solemn. That electricity on his skin still tingled. He wanted Karl too, badly, any way he could have him.

“I might have a compromise. For right now. If it’s okay.” Sutan kissed his way down Karl’s body, reveling in the drag of his lips against Karl’s skin, biting lightly on his hipbones before turning to his still half-hard cock. Karl moaned as Sutan ghosted his mouth over Karl’s length, his tongue just barely grazing it experimentally.

“Yes, please,” Karl breathed, his hips fighting against the tight grip of Sutan’s hands. “I want that, I need that.”

He took Karl fully in his mouth, smiling around him as Karl gasped and pushed further into his mouth. He sucked slowly, working his hand and mouth together, finding so much pleasure in the way Karl jerked and shuddered beneath him. And god, it felt right to have Karl squirming underneath him, but he was taking things a different direction. Sutan pulled back from Karl, leaving him frustrated and needy.

“I want you to fuck my face.” The corner of Sutan’s mouth crept up in a smile as Karl’s hips cut forward at his words alone.

Karl looked stunned but delighted, more than ready to run with it. “You’re sure?”

Sutan guided Karl’s hand to his hair, lacing Karl’s fingers in a tight fist. He nodded yes, his mouth full of Karl’s once-again hard cock.

Karl experimentally pushed on Sutan’s head, bobbing him up and down. He wrapped his hand tighter in Sutan’s hair, and Sutan hummed appreciatively. Karl pulled him in deeper, and then deeper still. It was a beautiful day to not have much of a gag reflex, Sutan thought, as he felt Karl’s cock graze the back of his throat.

Karl began moving his hips and Sutan relaxed his throat, letting the quickening rhythm of Karl’s thrusts grow. He looked up at Karl and god his face was so expressive but he had never seen it contorted in pleasure like this before. Sutan could almost read his mind, or thought he could. He moaned through the times he couldn’t quite breathe, which only pushed Karl on further.

Normally Sutan didn’t get off on the whole dynamic of being used. But that was not quite what this felt like. It was the thought of telling Karl what to do, guiding his hand to his hair, showing him just how hard to pull… that was control in its own right. That thought lodged in his chest and throbbed with every movement of Karl’s hips.

Karl pulled back briefly and Sutan was able to pull in a full breath. “Sutan, I think I’m gonna—"

“Cum down my throat,” Sutan commanded, noting that his own voice had gotten raspy.

“You’re serious?” Karl’s eyes already blown wide only got wider.

Sutan just smiled as he took Karl back into his mouth, sinking as far down as he could. Karl nearly growled as he started thrusting almost frantically, and Sutan let himself be pulled along at Karl’s will.

“Fuck, fuck,” Karl keened and then he was coming, slamming hard into Sutan’s mouth once more, pulling painfully hard on his hair. He felt Karl spill inside of him, his cum seeping down his throat and spreading white hot through his whole body. Sutan could have sworn the lights flickered in the room as a rush enveloped him.

“Oh my god,” Karl breathed, releasing Sutan as he collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. “That was…. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Sutan took a much-needed deep breath. He wiped a spot of cum off the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it clean, savoring the salty and heavy and uniquely Karl taste on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Probably.”

Sutan chuckled, proud of how absolutely wrecked he had left Karl.

“Do you… want the same thing?” Karl asked after a few more heavy breaths.

“Maybe, but I kind of like watching you do all the work.”

Karl rolled his eyes, smiling.

“What? I like it! You’re an enthusiastic lover.”

“Lover.” Karl shook his head as he repeated Sutan’s words. A breathless shudder crawled up his chest. “You’re doing something to me,” Karl whispered. He leaned over Sutan and kissed him gently, graciously, and then fiercely.

When Karl pulled Sutan’s cock into his mouth, Sutan felt the whole room slip away. There was nothing more than their bodies sliding together, the tight, wet heat of Karl’s mouth, his nails clawing just above Sutan’s ass. The surge of pleasure almost forced his eyes shut, but he struggled to keep them open, to keep them locked on Karl.

“God, you look so good like this,” Sutan growled, tracing his hand over Karl’s hollowed cheeks. His eyes were bright, and Sutan wondered if Karl was getting off on this the same way he had when he was in Karl’s position.

He rolled his hips, pushing deeper into Karl’s mouth, feeling his throat tighten around him.

“You’re being so good for me, babe, so good,” he murmured encouragingly,

“I’m gonna—oh—” Sutan barely managed to get the words out. Karl pulled him out of his mouth and worked him at a blistering pace, exactly what Sutan needed. The world behind Sutan’s eyes flashed deep red, black and white, and silvery lavender as his orgasm hit him hard. He watched as Karl guided his cock so the cum splashed across Karl’s face, dripping into his slightly parted lips and pooling on his chest.

Sutan ran his palm flat over Karl’s chest, smearing the cum across his chest in a long, sheer arc.

“You’re disgusting,” Karl teased.

Sutan smiled as the room started to come back to him. The bed, the walls, his best friend. “Let me clean you off,” he offered, trying to stand on shaky legs.

Karl made a small disapproving noise, grabbing Sutan’s wrist. “I’m taking another shower and you’re coming with me.” He smiled and Sutan let himself be led to the bathroom, still partially on a different, post-orgasm plane.

Sutan had cum on a lot of faces in his life. Many of those faces weren’t necessarily attached to names, and many of them walked out of his hotel room door after wiping themselves off on a pillowcase. He couldn’t remember a single time when it had resulted in him rubbing slow, soapy circles across another man’s chest, both of them laughing at the wonderful absurdity of their situation. Karl’s kisses on the back of his shoulder mixed with the warm drizzle of the shower and Sutan was so swept away in serenity that for a brief flash of time he couldn’t imagine things any other way.

Sutan crawled back into the bed, wet hair wrapped in a towel, burying himself in the comfort of the many pillows.

“It’s three in the morning,” Karl remarked as he looked at his phone.

“Mmm, bedtime,” Sutan murmured.

Karl shifted uncomfortably in the corner of Sutan’s vision. “Um, can I borrow some real clothes this time? To walk to my hotel?”

Sutan sat up, suddenly alert. “You’re leaving?”

Karl didn’t meet his eyes. “I mean, I figured you’d want—"

“Come here.” Sutan reached out towards Karl, willing him to come to bed. Karl crawled in next to him with a small smirk, and they were skin-to-skin again.

Karl nuzzled in under Sutan’s arm and Sutan pulled him closer, and he was hit with a sudden wash of familiarity. They had laid together like this many times before, sometimes in the back of an Uber when the sun was coming up after a night out, or when they were stoned on Sutan’s couch as they dreamed up new costume ideas. The gentle kiss that Karl now pressed to his throat didn’t feel so uncharacteristic.

“I’m sorry I tried to put my dick in you.” Karl’s sleepy voice was soft in his ear.

“I’m sorry I thought you were a bottom,” Sutan chuckled. He thought of Karl’s frantic energy, his tight grip on his hair, his confident hand around both of their cocks. “I get it now.”

A million more thoughts ran through Sutan’s mind. What could he say to show him that he wanted more without sounding like he was assuming there would be a next time? He really wanted a next time. He hadn’t had enough, and wasn’t quite sure what would be enough, but he wanted to chase after that concept if Karl would let him.

“I’m trying to think,” Karl started, “of a way that it would be possible for both of us to, like… Well, for both of us to top at the same time. Is that mathematically possible?”

Sutan tried to think, coming up mostly blank. Maybe they could try sixty-nining, see if they could get each other off at the same time. That had been fun with David, but he loved watching Karl’s face so much and there had to be some other way.

And just like that it came to him. Of course. It was a devious idea, definitely on the outskirts of the conceivable, but their whole situation was just outlandish enough to require an equally outlandish solution.

“Okay. I have an idea and it’s crazy.”

“Oh yeah?”

Sutan paused, turning over in his mind the best way to go about this. “What are your thoughts on threeways?”

“Generally positive?”

“Well, imagine…” Sutan himself tried not to imagine too vividly, “Imagine somebody in between us. Somebody for both of us.” He couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of feeling Karl fuck somebody else and tried to suppress it.

A smile crept up into Karl’s eyes. “That’s brilliant. Yes, oh my god, I want that.” He kissed Sutan’s temple and nuzzled closer. “Honestly, I thought you would say something crazier.“

“That’s not everything.”

“Oh?”

“Because there’s a question of who, right? Whatever’s going on here is already weird enough, and if this is going to happen we have to be careful.”

“We could hold auditions,” Karl suggested.

Sutan partially hoped Karl would just guess so he wouldn’t have to say it. “There’s somebody who I am also… engaged with… who owes me a favor.”

Karl hesitated. “Who?”

Sutan bit his lip and went for it.

“How do you feel about Raven?”

#raja gemini #manila luzon #rajila #smut #evan #rpdr fanfiction #blouses #canon compliant

39 notes · View notes

kirilisms · 6 years

Note

Not sure if you’re still accepting Drabble prompts but Therius with the prompt of “Is that my shirt?”. Lol it’s been on my mind lately.

I would like to apologize in advance for how off-prompt I went. I know the prompt itself was vague, but it always brings to mind fluffy boyfriend shirt scenarios and this.....is almost the exact opposite of that.

(It’s also a little bit over 2,500 words, so I think I got a little too.......excited over this particular scene.)

Either way, I’m super sorry, I had meant to get it out by Thursday but here we are on Saturday and I’m just now sending this out. I hope it’s still okay!

PSA: Formatting goes away when I copy-paste from Google Drive, apparently; this’ll be up on AO3 in a handful of minutes, too, if you want it with the italics intact.

Cyrus has never seen his lover shirtless. That may seem odd for some, since intimacy plays a large role in most relationships, but it's a level of comfort that Therion isn't at, and Cyrus doesn't want to push him.

It is ridiculous, however, when Cyrus returns to the inn one day after helping Ophilia with a request, turns the doorknob to their shared room, hears a loud crashing noise followed by a distinctly Therion-esque curse, and walks into the room in time to see the thief leaving casually against the wall, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and......

Wait.

“Therion, is that my shirt?”

He even has the audacity to look mildly surprised upon glancing up at Cyrus. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there.” Therion looks down at the shirt he's wearing - long sleeved, too big for his small frame, yes it’s most definitely Cyrus’s - before replying. “Before I stole it? Possibly. It’s mine now, though.”

“I should have known you would say something of the sort.” He’s well aware of Therion’s ability to dodge questions, and it seems like the thief just isn’t going to let up. Instead of pushing the subject, however, he simply moves further into the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t fail to notice the way Therion moves away from him ever so slightly, but tries not to think on it too much. Instead, he turns his attention to what looks like a splotch of dampness on the cloth covering Therion’s side, turning the usually pristine white fabric a faint green. His first assumption is a salve of some sort, which is corroborated by the small tub of pale green cream sitting on the bedside drawer. “Did you get injured?” He’s not particularly worried at that moment; yes, seeing his boyfriend hurt isn’t high on his list of welcome sights, but Therion can take care of himself, and seeing as he’s safe now, Cyrus can only do so much to fret over what was apparently already taken care of.

However, Therion shakes his head in response, denying Cyrus’s assumptions. “Nah. It’s just old stuff. Alfyn usually......” He trails off, and shakes his head again. “Never mind.”

It’s suspicious enough that Therion is so talkative, but even more so that he stops himself, and Cyrus frowns. “If something is the matter, then perhaps I can be of assistance?” He reaches out to at least place a hand on Therion’s waist, but stops, shocked when Therion pulls away even further.

“I’m fine.” His hands are at his sides, agitatedly resisting from curling into fists, and he glances away from Cyrus. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

Cyrus can't help the confusion that laces his voice; once more, he's dodging a question, but it’s one that he already had half a mind to answer. As Therion moves to brush past him, Cyrus grabs his wrist, forcing Therion to stop. “What is possibly so important that Alfyn is allowed access but I....”

His eyes flicker between the tub of cream, the spot on his shirt and Therion’s face, and the question trails off. Therion looks to the side, refusing to answer what Cyrus has already pieced together by himself. “Do you get it now?”

He does, but it still doesn’t sit well with him. There's a lack of trust that Cyrus doesn't want to question, but being inquisitive is in his nature, doubly so whenever his boyfriend is concerned. It doesn't help that a bubble of jealousy had popped somewhere close to his heart when Therion had mentioned the apothecary. “Why?”

“Why what?” Asked casually, but with a bit of an edge; he’s back to being defensive, and it hurts, more than Therion may realize. It’s a habit that Therion has worked on, and while not perfect, Cyrus knows he’s at least trying to be more open, especially with the man he’s in a relationship with. But hearing him close up again....Cyrus has to wonder if there will ever be a day where he doesn’t have to push to be the support that Therion knows he needs.

“Why are you hiding from me?” Because that's what Therion is doing, and they both know it. It isn't just something being swept under the rug, it's as though he's retreating back into the shell that has served more as his prison than his home.

Therion is still as stubborn as ever. “And so what if I'm hiding? News flash, I’m a thief. That's what thieves do.” It’s not an answer that Cyrus wants. It’s dismissive, as if Therion is pinning the blame on some immutable property that doesn’t exist.

“It is your choice to hide.” He tries to keep the bite out of his voice, but he can't help it if a small bit leaks through. He pulls Therion closer, noting how Therion moves willingly, even if still hesitantly. It's a battle the thief is losing, maybe even one he doesn't want to fight as he turns to face Cyrus. Still, he doesn't look directly at him, instead opting to stare at the door.

Cyrus doesn't say anything, and for a long while Therion doesn't either, trying to maintain a stalemate that he knows he'll eventually lose. If Cyrus is one thing, it's too persistent for his own good. “I didn't want you seeing it,” Therion finally relents, still refusing to look at him. “Still don't.”

Cyrus knows he has a choice. He can ask why, again, and get either a half-hearted response or a sarcastic retort back. Or he can drop it, apologize and leave with a heavy reminder that they'll inevitably have to have to this exact same conversation again.

He's about to say sorry when lithe hands move down to lift up the ends of his shirt- but not the shirt that he's wearing. “Therion,” Cyrus begins, but he's stopped by an intense look. He can't describe it as mad, or even upset, but the intensity is still equal, and it makes him pause.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it.” Therion poses it more as a statement than a question, and gives Cyrus no room to reply. “I’m not going to say it’s okay, because it’s not. But you.....deserve. To know.” The way Therion struggles to admit it would be endearing under any other context, but as it is Cyrus just nods slowly. He’s already pushed Therion far more than he usually does, but as long as it’s of the thief’s own accord, he won’t stop the rolling stone that he’s already caused.

Therion slowly lifts up the shirt covering everything he wants to hide before discarding it on the bed and looking away, and Cyrus understands completely Therion’s hesitation from before. It would be a lie if Cyrus says that they're not ugly, but his distaste doesn’t come from their appearance; instead, they’re reminders of ugly actions against the thief. Slashes of varying sizes and depths litter his chest and stomach, while more prominent - and deeper - scars line the right side of his body. The single most painful looking scar looks like nothing but a large divot in his right side, closed up but still an obvious reminder of some type of puncture. Of all of the wounds, it’s the only one slathered in green cream, and Cyrus assumes it to be the most painful. He doesn't even want to begin questioning where they all came from, but considering Therion’s history.....he can hazard a guess. “They're not exactly beauty marks,” Therion grouses softly to break the silence, but despite the casual attitude, the way he refuses to look at Cyrus betrays exactly how uncomfortable he still is.

His exact choice in words, however, is what surprises Cyrus the most. “Is that what this is about?” He's almost offended at the insinuation; he prefers to believe that he doesn't come off as shallow as Therion assumes, if his fears of rejection are based purely on his physical appearance. “By the gods, Therion, I'm more worried about your wellbeing than anything else.” He traces his fingers over the lesser wounds, and while Therion lets out a shuddering breath, he doesn’t stop Cyrus. “I would never think less of you because of these.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Therion retorts immediately, as if it’s something he’s been holding back for a while. Maybe it is, and maybe Cyrus is still too dense to realize it. It’s more than Therion has expressed before, at the very least, and he can’t help but let a bit of his shock leak onto his face as Therion continues. “You’re flawless,” he says bluntly, and Cyrus knows it’s not meant as a compliment. “Smart, attractive, basically nobility....and if you haven’t noticed, people like you are usually targets, not friends.” And much less lovers, the sentiment goes unspoken but not unheard. “Can you blame me for-”

“Yes, I can.” Therion looks at him in surprise, the first time since revealing his scars that he's even turned to face Cyrus; he’s not one to interrupt others before they finish their thoughts, the result of being a professor for so long, but Cyrus doesn’t want him to finish that thought. It can only lead to nowhere good. “You’ve known me for gods know how long now, and you still have the gall to make these baseless accusations?” Therion says nothing in response, most likely taken aback by the outburst even if the reaction doesn't show on his neutral expression.

Cyrus, on the other hand, is clearly agitated, but he's still of sound mind. Realizing that getting mad would be counterproductive, he ignores every feeling in his gut telling him to argue more and instead grabs the cream off of the table, eyeing the scars that haven't yet been covered. “Show me what to do.”

Therion doesn't react immediately, but he eventually relents, taking the cream and rubbing it into one of the deeper scars until it fades into his skin. Cyrus follows suit, gently massaging the ointment into Therion's skin while avoiding the largest wound in fear of irritating the skin around it. He works in silence for a moment, trying to focus instead on the task at hand, before finally speaking again. He doesn’t address the previous topic, but whether it's out of courtesy or fear, even he can't tell. “Do they hurt often?”

“Not really.” Therion's muscles relax under every touch, stress dropping out with every application of the salve, and so Cyrus continues as he plays closer attention to Therion's words. “This is usually just a routine, but they actually did hurt today. Last time was after the fight with that ex-boss of yours.”

Headmaster Yvon; Cyrus remembers that as the day right before he had confessed to Therion. The threat of losing not only Therese, his most earnest pupil, but also Therion, the man he loved, had shone a whole new light on exactly how dangerous his situation was, and he had believed it an important decision to make in the heat of the moment. In retrospect, Therion had been groaning in pain, and he had told Cyrus to shut up and tell him tomorrow and no it's not a rejection don't worry just go away damnit, but Cyrus had assumed it had been from his wounds sustained during the attack, not any previous afflictions. “I apologize for not noticing sooner,” he says quietly after turning Therion around to tend to the scars on his back. They're lesser in number, a good indication that he at least knows better than getting ambushed from behind, but they still look like hell, and his fingers trail over them even after applying the ointment as an unspoken regret.

“You weren't supposed to,” is Therion's equally soft reply. There’s still a lingering discomfort at that thought, but Cyrus tries to tamp it down. Therion has already endured so much from him, and Cyrus is selfish for asking for more.

“It’s not like I hate myself for them,” he continues, trying to assuage Cyrus’s worries while still feigning nonchalance, and it’s true as far as Cyrus can see. There’s no self-deprecation when he speaks of his wounds, no malice against him or anything that’s caused the scars. It’s as if they simply exist, and it’s.....comforting, Cyrus supposes, to know that Therion has come to terms with his own past downfalls, even if he still isn’t comfortable with Cyrus seeing the physical reminders. “They’re just.......history, I guess.”

“They are your history,” Cyrus interjects softly, his gaze trailing over each one individually before looking back up at Therion, who still refuses to look him in the eyes. “But everything here is proof that your story has yet to finish. Yes, life might not have been gentle to you thus far, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Therion’s still quiet, and there’s a brief pang of worry in Cyrus’s stomach that he’s said something wrong again, but it disappears when the thief finally replies. “Idiot.” He’s shaking slightly, and Cyrus can feel it under his fingertips, skin brushing softly as Therion’s sides tremble. It’s not a bad tremor, though, if the way his ears turn red are any indication. It's the first blush Cyrus has seen on him since the start of their conversation, and he hopes that it's a sign that he's growing more comfortable after the tension from before. “No wonder people like you. You always say exactly the right things.”

Cyrus wants to laugh, wants to say that it only matters where Therion is involved, but he’s pretty sure that would be playing straight into his hands, and so he just smiles. “Are you feeling better?”

There’s a beat of silence before Therion replies. “Yeah.” It doesn’t sound like a lie, at least, and that gives Cyrus comfort as he reaches over to grab his shirt again and give it to Therion. However, he’s surprised when Therion refuses it, instead choosing to sit next to him on the bed, still shirtless. “It’s still weird, though.”

He takes that as a negative, and frowns, the hand that had moved to wrap around Therion’s shoulder instead resting on the bed. “Apologies. I....it wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

Therion looks a bit surprised at the admission, before hiding his reaction under a smirk. It's a soft one, though, amused and disbelieving at the same time. “Intention or not, it’ll take a lot more than that to hurt me, Cyrus. I just need some time to get used to it.” As if proving his point, he reaches over to grab his arm and wrap it around himself, trying to relax at the touch.

It’s the most affection Cyrus has ever received from Therion, and he’s almost at a loss from the whiplash. From feeling untrustable mere moments ago to having Therion initiate contact he had been so adamant about avoiding, he doesn’t know whether or not the thief realizes just how nerve-wracking it is, not just for himself but for Cyrus as well. But it’s all right, he reasons as he holds Therion, fingertips grazing gently across tan skin and savoring the sensation as Therion shivers at the touch. After all, that’s all he’s wanted this whole time, for Therion to be comfortable around him, to not feel the need - or even the desire - to hide things from him. And if it takes more time, time spent together like this? Well.

“You have all the time in the world.”

#therius #Octopath Traveler #Octopath #s: octotrav #p: therius #w: 2k

58 notes · View notes

emilyplaysotome · 6 years

Text

Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole - The Sequel

Last year, to get out of my creative funk I wrote something just for fun that turned into a 50 chapter Voltage Crossover Extravaganza called Down the Voltage Rabbit Hole (read all the chapters here).

When I ended it, I left the door open for a sequel but I have been far too busy to even attempt to write anything. Well...I finished a massive project in my IRL life, and find myself where I was last year - creatively burned out and wanting to write something just for fun that I don’t have to stress about or overthink.

If you loved the original and don’t want to tarnish the ending by reading or if you’ve moved away for the fandom, just let me know and I’ll untag you. It’s very doubtful that I’ll find time to post the way I once did, but I’m hoping to try and do a post once a week or once every other week (and don’t be mad if I can’t stick to that!).

This story goes out to anyone who has ever been confused about their feelings...

Chapter 1 - Trouble in Paradise

I had figured that after a month of experiencing New York City in the real world, that the otome men I’d trapped here would have collectively realized that I was nothing special. After all, the women who live in New York City manage to be beautiful, smart, and witty in a seemingly effortless way as they go about navigating one of the most competitive cities in the world. Obviously a city having the nickname of “the concrete jungle” is not for the faint of heart, and as a result the population of women here exist on another level when it comes to both brains and beauty alike.

However, true to otome form Zyglavis’ eyes never strayed and Jin, Hijikata, Soryu, and Hiroshi continued to chase me undeterred by the ring on my finger. Zyglavis initially laughed off their attention towards me, but slowly their persistence started to wear on him. As Zyg had once done upon arriving in this world, the others quickly adapted as well.

Having been police officers for most of their lives, Jin and Hiroshi (despite my skepticism of their ability to make it in such a violent city) somehow managed to find their place in the NYPD. The two of them, though rivals for my affection, were also close friends and it wasn’t uncommon for them swing by my office that was only a few blocks away from the Tribeca precinct where they both worked. Initially they’d found jobs doing secretarial work, but when a serial mugger seemed to leave no clues behind and the seasoned NYPD detectives floundered, Hiroshi and Jin came together to teach their peers a thing or two. Thanks cracking the case of the Tribeca mugger, their supervisor crafted two personal recommendation letters that in turn managed to get them back to “rookie” status despite being far too old for the NYPD. I had figured that the NYPD must have a few loopholes only accessible to insiders, but it was still a surprise to see that both these men were able to reclaim the jobs that they’d been conditioned to have in their world. Because their precinct was only a few blocks away from where I spent most of my days at work, this odd couple of sorts always managed to get me to join them for lunch. Initially I told Zyg about our salad runs to sweetgreen (it was always the two of them and a few girls from my office), but as tensions grew surrounding my friendships with the guys I found myself keeping more and more to myself despite the fact that I saw them practically every day. Similar to Jin and Hiroshi, Soryu and Hijikata soon became thick as thieves.

Hijikata was someone who lived by his sword and would always be soldier at heart. His days had been previously spent training incessantly for war, yet living in the modern world provided little opportunity to fight. Training however, was something that CrossFit provided and Hijikata took to it like a moth to a flame.

Between Hijikata’s Shinsengumi code of honor and Soryu’s mob values the two normally stoic men somehow managed to get quite close, and before I knew it Hijikata and Soryu were two of the most popular instructors at a gym around the corner from me. Once they’d established themselves within the gym’s rotation, they invited me to workout with them. Not wanting to pass up access to a free gym (something far overpriced in New York), I attended in secret - worried that similar to the salad runs with Jin and Hiroshi my CrossFit participation would elicit unnecessary strife in a relationship that was far rockier these days.

I’ll admit that seeing Hijikata not only adapt so well, but confidently lead a class in a way he’d led his soldiers stirred something in my heart. It was apparent that I wasn’t the only one affected by his leadership skills, and as a result I was often forced to silently watch on as women attempted to get close to him (and Soryu for that matter). “Am I doing this right?” They’d ask, arching their backs and sticking out their rear ends with the hopes of enticing them a little. At first I could see that Soryu and Hijikata were offput by how forward women in this world were, but as the weeks went on they soon were unfazed by the behavior. I once overheard a conversation between them where they’d been keeping tally of how many women had made a stealthy advance on them – whoever had been approached more had to do the other’s laundry. I wish I could say it didn’t bother me and I knew it wasn’t fair to be possessive in any way towards these imaginary men who I’d rejected for an ex-God who seemed to grow unhappier with every day that passed in this world.

Most recently I’d seen one of the prettier women in class approach them after our hour of physical torture was up, and invite them to parties or for drinks – only to be met with polite decline. “Oh I’m sorry,” she’d said with a bright smile. “I didn’t mean to be forward. I just wanted to extend an invite - feel free to bring your girlfriends.” My eyes met Hijikata’s momentarily before I forced myself out of my old feelings for him, and exited the gym unclear as to what his response would be. It was in those moments that I questioned if choosing Zyglavis had been the right thing to do.

I felt greedy and selfish but something had happened with all of them that reminded me of the time I’d spent with them in otome-ville, and that they’d all collectively unlocked some long lost part of myself that wanted to believe in the goodness of men and possibility of romance. Naturally I would never act on the occasional flare up of feelings, but I found that despite this Zyglavis and I were arguing more and more.

“We have a responsibility to them!” I found myself yelling at him one night. “And you don’t get to dictate who I can and cannot speak with.” “This is different!” Zyglavis snapped. Leon had stopped by that night and had mentioned that with all the guys firmly settled into clear life paths, he felt that it was time for him to forge his own path in this world. He was moving out of the share house he’d found them in Bushwick and into an apartment of his own, where he could have more autonomy. He was fairly vague about how exactly he hoped to leave a mark on this world in his less-than-godly current state, but knowing Leon I wasn’t concerned for his well-being. I’d hoped that for once in his life Leon would refrain from upsetting Zyg, but naturally he found time to fan the flames right before he left our apartment by casually letting me know with an arrogant grin that my cross-fit routine was “really paying off”. I rolled my eyes at the unwanted compliment, and shooed Leon away but the second we were alone Zyglavis freaked out. I found myself trying to play it cool - noting that they invited me and it was hard to say no to a free class that normally would run for $50 a pop. Yet, as Zyg grew more and more irate and jealous, I realized that something between the two of us had broken.

Zyglavis has alluded to the fact that he believed my continued involvement with these men had meant that I was doing something wrong, and as a result I’d started keeping things from him. I could feel the tears well up and I shouted at him, “A relationship doesn’t work without trust. You either trust me or you don’t. And I guess you don’t anymore.” He froze in his tracks and looked forlorn before quietly saying my name. I tried to control my loud, ugly sobs as I packed a few things into an overnight bag and left our apartment wondering if maybe I’d made a mistake choosing Zyglavis after all.

In a group text to my girls I asked if any of them would mind housing me, and Meg offered up her spare bedroom immediately. As I headed over to her apartment, Sarita and Maya both extended offers as well, clearly concerned about what had happened.

However, when Meg opened the door I was doubly surprised, as she looked just as forlorn as I did. Giving me a big hug she broke down and I learned that Noah had broken up with her. She’d been completely blindsided by it, having been with him the past 6 years, and as miserable as we both were I sought comfort in the fact that we were at least able to be miserable together. “I’m sorry,” she said, after telling me the whole story. “I should be consoling you.” I shook my head, “No way. For years you’ve listened to my misadventures in dating. I’m just having another one - this is different.” Meg burst out crying again, “6 years. We talked about getting married. And then...I don’t even know what...” I hugged her and couldn’t help but think about my harem waiting for me back on the east side. I wondered if Meg would believe me if I told her the truth about who Zyglavis was and if she’d judge me having done the hard work with a “real man” and yet here I was sobbing over someone I knew I could live happily ever after with if I’d just apologize.

I never revealed the truth about my situation and instead we spent the night drowning our sorrows in a bottle of wine that Noah had brought back from a work trip abroad.

Though there were many tears, in typical Meg style the next morning it was as if nothing had happened. She informed me that I could stay as long as I wanted, and that she was going to purge the apartment of all things Noah before taking a week off from work and heading to Connecticut to be with her parents in order to properly re-evaluate her life and reset. “Are you sure?” I asked, not wanting to impose. “Of course. It’ll be nice to know you’re here getting the mail and watering the plants while I’m gone.”

“Consider it done!” She paused momentarily, her eyes leaving mine before she mumbled, “Don’t make the mistake I made Omi. There were so many times I thought I’d end it and never did. If your gut pushed you to leave, listen.”

I nodded and worrying she had overstepped quickly added, “But no matter what happens I’ll be here for you.” I felt compelled in that moment to hug my strong, beautiful friend that hated sentimental bullshit and unnecessary familiar contact and said, “same.” She gave me a little smirk that indicated she’d be fine despite her eyes telling a very different story and then packed a few boxes of Noah’s leftovers for Goodwill and a small suitcase for the week at home. When she finally left and the unfamiliar apartment was filled with silence, my mind drifted back to what Meg had said. I thought about everything Zyglavis and I had been through.

I thought about why I chose him, and I thought about if I would have chosen Hijikata had he been an option back then. I thought about how Soryu had reformed and how he’d once made my heart race in a way that no one else had. I thought about leaving Jin behind because I was certain that he’d never make it in this world, and then had gotten to see firsthand how flawed that thinking was. Lastly, I thought about Hiroshi and how my coworkers were obsessed with him, insisting that I was crazy to have let him slip through my fingers.

Now that they were all here, the truth was that I could see myself being happy with all of them and it was a shame that the one man I was certain could make me happiest was making me more miserable than I’d ever been in my life.

I sighed and reached for my phone that had 10 missed calls and 15 text messages from Zyglavis. I felt badly that my silence had worried him, and even though I wasn’t sure what it was exactly that I wanted to do about our relationship I let him know that I was at Meg’s.

He instantly wrote back, “I’m coming over.”

And much to my surprise, a second later I heard a snap and he appeared before me.

“How…”

Holding up a gloved hand, Zyglavis looked like the man I’d met back in otome-ville except he looked sadder than I’d ever seen him.

“Do you remember the first big fight we had?”

“When you saw Jin texting me?”

Zyglavis nodded, “I left the apartment to cool off that night. At first I was just aimlessly walking, but my feet ended up taking me by Fairway – you know the outdoor area?”

“Sure, where there’s fruit and sale stuff stacked up?”

“I saw an old lady start to take an orange from the stack. She wasn’t tall enough to reach and as a result it started to fall and I just…muscle memory I guess…”

“Hold on – that was a few months back!”

“My powers have just gotten stronger since. Every time we fight – every argument, every positive thought you have about them and negative thought about me…”

Zyglavis looked down, pursing his lips sadly.

“…I feel it because I grow stronger.”

“That doesn’t make – ”

“Of course it does. The king told Leon to bring me home but he knew that could never happen if I still loved you…if you still loved me.”

“I…”

“Do you still love me?”

I held his gaze and we stood in silence in an unfamiliar apartment that was void of six months of our memories together. I wanted to be able to tell him that I did still love him, but Meg’s words weighed heavily on my heart. She’d been with someone for 6 years and had moments of doubt she now regretted pushing away and here I was feeling something unpleasant and uncertain that I couldn’t blindly ignore.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

Zyglavis’ eyes filled with tears, and after a moment he cried out as I watched a surge of power overtake his body. I watched on as he raised his hand and snapped, almost as if it were against his will, and with that one gesture a third being was summoned.

“Well, well,” the king of the heavens said in an amused voice. “It would seem as if I’ve won this game of love after all…”

I could feel the terror I’d felt all those months ago seize my heart once more as I realized that my uncertainty might be the undoing of the happy ending I’d once worked so hard to achieve.

Read the next chapter here.

http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/173448516237/chapter-2-the-return-of-the-king

If you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend or buying me a coffee!

Thanks for reading :)

@robotloveskitten

@111archravenue

@lxvescramble

@suzunesays

@suyi-nandar

@hifftn

@ocean-of-stars

@jasminwild

@scorpioslover

@untilsmidnight

@mandakatt

@asyasacha

@saphirepearl

@evilgreenhedgehog

@musiic-on-world-off

@frywen-babbles

@thesassyscribbler

@lexlesnik

@voltagewolfsoul

@liebengirl

@nitelotus

@kingdomzeldaquest

@kpkarlee

@wickedtiff

@chubbsmomma

@ariaspencer1028

@midnightdreamerposts

@krispycherryblossomchild

@animeangel1995

@shies322

@sone9yoona

@appletealove

@hazeldite

@lone-wolf155

@iluvsexyvoltageguys

@vasl-97

@galaxyinqkxy

@01paige01

@huntressofsheep

@rokopo2003

@callmesinner-blog

@graceyyk

@oh-well-this-is-awkward

@voltagefan195

@mrszala

@secretotomelover

@otome-newbie

@askluluberry

@speakfearlessly1989

@kiniloves-yoi

@juliettebbgamer

@hotdamnvoltageman

@ashcordova

@ticoerica

@lazura

115 notes · View notes

hookaroo · 6 years

Text

A Captain’s Heart (7 of 34?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 6

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight & @killian-whump by request :)

Awaked from an uncomfortable half-doze, Killian found himself reaching for a cutlass that wasn’t there, with no idea why. Wedged against his back, not seeming to mind the dampness of his clothing, Marvel stirred as well, making a quiet grunt of question. The hairs on the back of Killian’s neck quivered erect… but not in response to the cold.

Hours remained until dawn; Killian could see bright, unfamiliar constellations between gently swaying branches. The campfire pulsed, more a sluggish red than an excited yellow. Killian lay on his shoulder, facing the stream, but something compelled him to turn the other way. The desperate need for stealth was not powerful enough to stifle the growl that exploded from his lungs as he forced himself to his knees.

The sound echoed. At first, Killian had the absurd impression that they had fallen into a cave somehow, where noises continued to bounce from wall to wall. But if that were the case, the volume would decrease. And, no, there was no mistaking it: the growl grew deeper, louder. More menacing. His remaining hair follicles stood to attention, and without thinking, Killian lunged toward the fire.

Just as he grasped a spare piece of wood, Killian saw a flash of reflected firelight beyond the crimson glow. Concealed in a bush: two eyes. Calculating, predatory… animal. Killian thrust the end of his stick into the flame, at the same time using his hook to wordlessly beckon Marvel closer.

“Danger, Captain?” hissed the human ship as she scuttled forward on hands and knees. In answer, Killian passed her the smoldering branch, then lit another for himself. His eyes never left the dark shape hunched across the clearing.

“All alone, are you?” challenged the pirate in a casual tone. “Where are your mates?”

The warning growl continued uninterrupted, the eyes shifting as the creature carefully sized up the situation. But no voices joined in, nor was there any hint of movement elsewhere in their immediate surroundings. Killian had to assume it was the only one. He sighed, keeping up the pretense of unconcern; in reality, his every muscle tensed for a fight, his heart raced with adrenaline. He didn’t even feel anything from his wounded leg despite the awkward crouch.

“The charred flesh you smell wasn’t meant as invitation. So bugger off.”

With that, Killian flung his burning stick as hard as he could, aiming straight between the eyes. The beast’s reflexes were up to the challenge; with an angry snarl, it scrambled backward, deeper into cover. But the small flame now dancing harmlessly at the base of a bush had revealed mangy gray fur, wasted forelimbs. And gleaming teeth, of course. No wolf sighting would be complete without slavering jaws.

“What is it?” whispered Marvel. She still grasped her torch, kneeling in a protective ball, as close to Killian as she could get. Killian’s gaze tracked the slight wiggle of underbrush as the wolf stalked in a clockwise semicircle. Damn. He had hoped the animal would be too afraid to take on both of them all by itself. But by the looks of its scrawny form, it was clearly starving and desperate. It undoubtedly knew of his injury; the smell would be doubly enticing and may spur an attack where other circumstances might inspire caution.

“Bloody hell,” sighed Killian. “Where’s Red when you need her? I’d even take Granny in a pinch.” He lit another branch while murmuring instructions to Marvel. “Stay as close to the fire as you can. If it lunges for you, try and smack it with your stick. Got it?”

Eyes wide with fear, Marvel nodded and gripped her weapon in both hands. Heaving a loud exhalation, Killian surged to his feet and hopped once to regain his balance squarely on one leg. Through muted pain, he managed an exasperated scowl, though his mouth hung open in a panting grimace.

“It’s not worth it, mate; I can promise you that. Tough and malnourished, the both of us. And look at this. Eh?” He waved his hook, half in menace, half in useless banter. “Utterly indigestible. Give you terrible bellyache.”

The wolf was unfazed; in fact, it had stopped circling and was now inching forward despite deterrent fires all around. Killian drew a steadying breath and attempted to prepare his stance for battle.

“Well, if we must…”

The fire sputtered at the tip of his stick, having difficulty with its living, green center. Pathetic sparks dropped toward the earth as Killian brandished the wood like a cutlass; they died out only inches from their source. The wolf’s head lowered, its forelegs bending as it crouched in preparation. Killian set his teeth, willing himself to remain upright and alert long enough to repel the animal. Not kill it, necessarily; just convince it to search out easier prey.

The wolf gave no appreciable warning before it sprang. Reacting on pure instinct, Killian thrust his torch at the snapping jaw, at the same time slashing with his hook and yelling at the top of his lungs. Stung by the embers, the wolf yelped and cringed back, tail between its legs. But the wild swing had doused the flame entirely and left Killian with a plain, if slightly singed, club.

A frightened squeak from Marvel accompanied her captain’s clumsy attempts to recover from the one-legged action; the wolf was quick to take advantage. With less to fear now that its target’s weapon no longer burned, the animal reversed direction and lunged for Killian’s injured leg.

Desperately, Killian thrust his stick at the open mouth; the wolf snapped the wood with barely an effort, but it provided enough of a distraction for Killian to sink his hook into his attacker’s patchy pelt, between jaw and shoulder. This gave him momentary control of the snarling head, which he steered away from everything vital. But all momentum centered over his injured side, and the leg buckled beneath him. He crashed onto his hip, a hair’s breadth from the campfire, the wolf straddling his chest.

As Killian twisted and pulled with his hook, wildly jabbing his fingers in search of the animal’s trachea, he barely felt its claws floundering across his torso, raking him in an attempt to break free. Nor did he notice the abrupt howl of wind twisting fur and flame in all directions as it ripped through the camp. All he knew was the primal battle for survival, familiar to all creatures since the beginning of time.

A sudden, canine shriek split the relative quiet, and in an instant, the wolf tore its scruff free of both piercing hook and grappling hand. Killian threw his brace up over his face, expecting teeth through his jugular at any second. But the yelping arced over his body and streaked to the edge of the clearing. He opened his eyes just in time to see a glowing tail disappear into the underbrush. The breathless pirate snapped his head to the right and saw Marvel brandishing her torch and wearing a self-satisfied smile. And just behind her… a swirling, sparking portal. Stirring dirt, leaf litter, and auburn locks in a welcome whirlwind. Marvel held her hand out in offer.

“Come, love; before it returns.”

Killian huffed a relieved, incredulous laugh before accepting the help. His limbs shook in reaction to the fading adrenaline; his mind raced with a myriad of less happy outcomes. Once on his feet and leaning heavily on Marvel, Killian winced,

“Thank you.”

“No need.” She glanced around, tossed her torch toward the dwindling fire, and without further comment, all but dragged Killian into the maelstrom.

As is the way with portals, their position upon entrance did not correspond with their exit. It took Killian several moments to catch his breath before he could comprehend his state of being. Which was, predictably, sprawled flat on his back, limbs akimbo, with a pulsing headache to mark the harsh landing. But even before he opened his eyes, he knew for certain that they hadn’t ended where they had started. It was light, for one thing. He heard gulls and waves, smelled once again the brine that had receded by the time they made camp the night before. Wherever the portal had taken them, at least it was away from that ravenous wolf.

Killian felt fingers brushing sand from his face, and he groaned. The blaze in his leg was back; for a panicked instant, he wondered whether he’d moved at all since the first time. Had he dreamed all of that effort?

But he opened his eyes, and there crouched Marvel, patting him with relief. Her shock of hair appeared a bit worse for wear, matted with sand and tied in erratic knots, and there was a superficial scrape on her nose. But she beamed down at him.

“That was exciting! The travel, I mean, not the fighting. What kind of shark was that?”

Killian gave a pained smirk, then sat up. “No shark at all, my dear; that was a wolf. Quite a vicious one, at that. I’ve no doubt you saved your old captain’s life.”

Marvel shrugged off the thanks yet again. “I could not have done otherwise. But I… well, first I wished we were away from the place; you have no idea how terrified I was for your well-being.”

Killian probed gingerly at the burning scratches that adorned his torso and the underside of his arm. They were minor, barely oozing blood, though they stung like the devil. “I can imagine.”

“It must have been enough to trigger the portal. It occurs to me that the first portal was a reaction to fear, as well.”

“Sounds logical.” Killian dropped his hand and began to scour their surroundings. Looked like another deserted beach: brilliant. Just what they needed. “Did you happen to have a destination in mind as we stepped through?”

She gulped. “Well, no. Not in particular. Just… anywhere away from there.” She looked around as well. “I’m sorry, dearest; I should have-”

“No matter,” Killian told her gently, despite a strong temptation to bemoan their luck. “I was thinking of Storybrooke, but it seems the conflicting destinations were enough to confound the thing.”

“Perhaps I can create another.” But she looked doubtful, knowing that she lacked the inspiring terror of ten minutes ago. Killian, meanwhile, had spotted something intriguing… and promising.

“It’s okay, lass - look there. Do you see? Appears to be a sign, at the end of that dock. What say we investigate?”

It wasn’t quite as simple as he made it sound. Killian’s struggle with the wolf had sapped the majority of his waning strength, and renewed anguish in his leg threatened to send him tumbling into oblivion with each step. But as they neared the sign, hope surged.

Welcome to Parker River National Wildlife Refuge, it read. And in the bottom corner, in full color: an official government logo, complete with the stars and stripes of a US flag. It may not be Storybrooke… but they were as good as home.

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #the jolly roger #animal attack #portal travel #land shark #haha #a captain's heart

16 notes · View notes

rockofeye · 6 years

Text

(Suicide talk follows..)

It has been a curious week, in many different ways. Watching suicide play out in the public eye is always sort of odd, but it has been especially out of the ordinary this week. It bumps up against a lot of things for me, as a priest, as an artist, and as someone who got a little too handsy with death in the past.

Based on the public response, Anthony Bourdain was special. If he had died of natural causes, I think there would have been a similar outpouring of public sadness but the shock and disbelief would be missing. When we die old in our beds or after an illness, it’s expected that eventually our bodies wear out and become too tired to function anymore. It seems that it is a different matter when our brains or non-physical hearts wear out, and doubly so when it is someone that is held in cultural esteem.

It has been difficult and unexpectedly poignant to watch the reactions that are ‘but he didn’t seem depressed’ and ‘he was so brilliant/successful’. Yes, he was an utterly brilliant writer, orator, and probably a brilliant chef, and was pretty successful at all of those things. Maybe he was depressed, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he went on a terrible bender and it ended this way. I don’t know, and likely no one really does.

What I do know is that I know an artist when I see one, and I know what the interior life of an artist can be like. Most artists that I know, no matter what medium we work in, are tortured souls. I think artists have a unique ability to carry and store pain like camels. We hold it and hold it and hold it and in the moments where it is too painful (or, let's be real, we have a deadline..), we rip open those wound-bags and bleed it all over our chosen medium and make something that either has financial gain or satisfies the compulsion to just make something and get what is inside out. If you have ever watched a painter or a sculptor or an artist with a stick of charcoal in their hand at work, it is a moment of cerebral bleeding and utter focus. Our hands just move and time stands still and something is born from this interior cauldron of suck and bullshit. It is it's own form of mania, concentrated down into color and/or form, often delivered in silence, or perceived silence even if music is screaming in the background.

In some ways, it is a spiritual experience that defies explaining. How do you describe knowing how to conjure something up from some paint on a canvas or graphite on a page and make it reflect what you see behind your eyes? It’s more than skill; rote skill can be taught but instinct and inspiration cannot. The process is both external and internal in that it requires a special key be slotted into a unique lock slotted into your brain, and turning it to open the door takes a piece of your soul that you can never retrieve. You spend the rest of your creative life looking for that piece of your soul and translating that grasping into something that quenches the unending thirst to make and create. As artists, we understand ourselves when we can see a reflection in medium shaped by our hands.

When I would watch Anthony Bourdain on one of his shows--especially his more recent stuff when he had slipped the corporate leash--that is what I saw. I know it was largely scripted, but the pieces that were casual and how he carried those scripted parts forth were tortured and bloody and straight from the wound-bags that an artist carries. He wrote his scripting by hand in notebooks. He was an artist, and lived that interior artist life. He spent about 220 days out of 365 looking for that missing piece of his soul, and poured hours of words onto page to translate the experience of always being on the move, always consuming, always living without firm roots.

Artists burn. The most productive and creative times in my life were the times when I suffered most. I would sit in my room, put on something noisy in the background, and put my head down and lay down pencil and paint until the sun came up or I couldn't keep my eyes open, whichever came first. I would paint and think about what no longer existing would be like. Like, if everything just stopped for me and I blipped out like a faulty tv signal or, when things were really bad, what it would be like to just jerk the steering wheel to the left while gunning down the state highway and slam myself into the side of an 18 wheeler. I think, in retrospect, I was very lucky and/or blessed that, at those times in my life, there were no real cataclysmic life events or I might have done it. When I was in those places, I never told anyone about it, ever.

Interestingly, during or after those times in my life, I would get rid of all that work I had done. It would get left behind when I moved or thrown away or whatever, it just wouldn't come with me. I don't have a large body of work because of this. I left a pile of complete and half complete pieces in a shoebox of a rented room when I left for Haiti the first time. Sometimes I wonder where they ended up. In the trash? Does someone living there have them hanging up with the rest of lost art that had been acquired by the apartment over multiple lifetimes of multiple residents?

I noticed that Bourdain did something similar. It's hard to totally leave something behind when it's in bookstores or archived on Netflix, but he would distance himself from his previous work when the next project was on his plate. I think he would have preferred to leave behind Kitchen Confidential and never have published the cookbook narrative about hia daughter. Sometimes you don't want to look at what your life vomited up.

I think people are reacting the way they are because he was such a brilliant artist who showed up in such an unusual medium--how many artists have a medium of food that translates into compelling film-tv? He was so unusual in that respect that I think it left folks unable to pinpoint why they found him so compelling. If he had painted or only written books, it would be understood and his death would have been translated as we translate the self-directed deaths of a great artists: he was too brilliant to stay anchored. Maybe that's true.

And so here we are. I have been thinking about Gede a lot today, and what he might have to say about death created by our own hands. I think we conceptualize Gede as a family of spirits that ignores the realities of life and instead goes for the party, and that’s not nearly the whole picture. He knows what human pain is, and he weeps when his children can’t stand up under pain any longer. He knows what it is to suffer, and at times he suffers, too. Gede also knows the value of choice, and so choices are what we make and he finds us on the other side of the outcomes (or not). I know personally that he, when there is an option and a need to live, can go to the mat to keep that person out of the grave. I think he mourns when life is too much to continue to live, and yet also looks at things with a pragmatism that only death can bring.

I hope Bourdain went out in what felt like a blaze of glory for him. I hope he was super inebriated and didn’t feel a thing. I hope his soul rests now, free of whatever made a self-made death seem the most beneficial. I hope that, after a rest, he views things with that special death-pragmatism and finds the next best things.

#anthony bourdain #anba dlo #artist #crucible of creation #suicide

13 notes · View notes