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armageddon-generation · 3 years

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Articulating Why His Dark Materials is Badly Written

A long essay-thing with lots of specific examples and explanations of why I feel this way. Hopefully I’ve kept fanboy bitching to a minimum.

This isn’t an attack on fans of the show, nor a personal attack on Jack Thorne. I’m not looking to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the show, I just needed to properly articulate, with examples, why I struggle with it. I read and love the books and that colours my view, but I believe that HDM isn’t just a clumsy, at-best-functional, sometimes incompetent adaptation, it’s a bad TV show separate from its source material. The show is the blandest, least interesting and least engaging version of itself it could be.

His Dark Materials has gorgeous production design and phenomenal visual effects. It's well-acted. The score is great. But my god is it badly written. Jack Thorne writing the entire first season damned the show. There was no-one to balance out his flaws and biases. Thorne is checking off a list of plot-points, so concerned with manoeuvring the audience through the story he forgets to invest us in it. The scripts are mechanical, empty, flat.

Watching HDM feels like an impassioned fan earnestly lecturing you on why the books are so good- (Look! It's got other worlds and religious allegory and this character Lyra is really, really important I swear. Isn't Mrs Coulter crazy? The Gyptians are my favourites.) rather than someone telling the story naturally.

My problems fall into 5 main categories:

Exposition- An unwillingness to meaningfully expand the source material for a visual medium means Thorne tells and doesn't show crucial plot-points. He then repeats the same thing multiple times because he doesn't trust his audience

Pacing- By stretching out the books and not trusting his audience Thorne dedicates entire scenes to one piece of information and repeats himself constantly (see: the Witches' repetition of the prophecy in S2).

Narrative priorities- Thorne prioritises human drama over fantasy. This makes sense budgetarily, but leads to barely-present Daemons, the Gyptians taking up too much screentime, rushed/badly written Witches (superpowers, exposition) and Bears (armourless bear fight), and a Lyra more focused on familial angst than the joy of discovery

Tension and Mystery- because HDM is in such a hurry to set up its endgame it gives you the answers to S1's biggest mysteries immediately- other worlds, Lyra's parents, what happens to the kids etc. This makes the show less engaging and feel like it's playing catch-up to the audience, not the other way around.

Tonal Inconsistency- HDM tries to be a slow-paced, grounded, adult drama, but its blunt, simplistic dialogue and storytelling methods treat the audience like children that need to be lectured.

MYSTERY, SUSPENSE AND INTRIGUE

The show undercuts all the books’ biggest mysteries. Mrs Coulter is set up as a villain before we meet her, other worlds are revealed in 1x2, Lyra's parents by 1x3, what the Magesterium do to kids is spelled out long before Lyra finds Billy (1x2). I understand not wanting to lose new viewers, but neutering every mystery kills momentum and makes the show much less engaging.

This extends to worldbuilding. The text before 1x1 explains both Daemons and Lyra's destiny before we meet her. Instead of encouraging us to engage with the world and ask questions, we're given all the answers up front and told to sit back and let ourselves be spoon-fed. The viewer is never an active participant, never encouraged to theorise or wonder

Intrigue motivated you to engage with Pullman's philosophical themes and concepts. Without it, HDM feels like a lecture, a theme park ride and not a journey.

The only one of S1's mysteries left undiminished is 'what is Dust?', which won't be properly answered until S3, and that answer is super conceptual and therefore hard to make dramatically satisfying

TONAL INCONSISTENCY

HDM billed itself as a HBO-level drama, and was advertised as a GoT inheritor. It takes itself very seriously- the few attempts at humour are stilted and out of place

The production design is deliberately subdued, most notably choosing a mid-twentieth century aesthetic for Lyra’s world over the late-Victorian of the books or steampunk of the movie. The colour grading would be appropriate for a serious adult drama.

Reviewers have said this stops the show feeling as fantastical as it should. It also makes Lyra’s world less distinct from our own.

Most importantly, minimising the wondrous fantasy of S1 neuters its contrast with the escalating thematic darkness of the finale (from 1x5 onwards), and the impact of Roger’s death. Pullman's books are an adult story told through the eyes of a child. Lyra’s innocence and naivety in the first book is the most important journey of the trilogy. Instead, the show starts serious and thematically heavy (we’re told Lyra has world-saving importance before we even meet her) and stays that way.

Contrasting the serious tone, grounded design and poe-faced characters, the dialogue is written to cater to children. It’s horrendously blunt and pulls you out of scenes. Subtext is obliterated at every opportunity. Even in the most recent episode, 2x7, Pan asks Lyra ‘do you think you’re changing because of Will?’

I cannot understate how on the nose this line is, and how much it undercuts the themes of the final book. Instead of even a meaningful shot of Lyra looking at Will, the show treats the audience like complete idiots.

So, HDM looks and advertises itself like an adult drama and is desperate to be taken seriously by wearing its big themes on its sleeve from the start instead of letting them evolve naturally out of subtext like the books, and dedicating lots of scenes to Mrs Coulter's self-abuse

At the same time its dialogue and character writing is comparable to the Star Wars prequels, more childish than media aimed at a similar audience - Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Avatar the Last Airbender etc

DAEMONS

The show gives itself a safety net by explaining Daemons in an opening text-crawl, and so spends less time showing the mechanics of the Daemon-human bond. On the HDM subreddit, I’ve seen multiple people get to 1x5 or 6, and then come to reddit asking basic questions like ‘why do only some people have Daemons?’ or ‘Why are Daemons so important?’.

It’s not that the show didn’t answer these questions; it was in the opening text-crawl. It’s just the show thinks telling you is enough and never shows evidence to back that up. Watching a TV show you remember what you’re shown much easier than what you’re told

The emotional core of Northern Lights is the relationship between Lyra and Pan. The emotional core of HDM S1 is the relationship between Lyra and Mrs Coulter. This wouldn't be bad- it's a fascinating dynamic Ruth plays wonderfully- if it didn't override the Daemons

Daemons are only onscreen when they serve a narrative purpose. Thorne justifies this because the books only describe Daemons when they tell us about their human. On the page your brain fills the Daemons in. This doesn't work on-screen; you cannot suspend your disbelief when their absence is staring you in the face

Thorne clarified the number of Daemons as not just budgetary, but a conscious creative choice to avoid onscreen clutter. This improved in S2 after vocal criticism.

Mrs Coulter/the Golden Monkey and Lee/Hester have well-drawn relationships in S1, but Pan and Lyra hug more in the 2-hour Golden Compass movie than they do in the 8-hour S1 of HDM. There's barely any physical contact with Daemons at all.

They even cut Pan and Lyra's hug after escaping the Cut in Bolvangar. In the book they can't let go of each other. The show skips it completely because Thorne wants to focus on Mrs Coulter and Lyra.

They cut Pan and Lyra testing how far apart they can be. They cut Lyra freeing the Cut Daemons in Bolvangar with the help of Kaisa. We spent extra time with both Roger and Billy Costa, but didn't develop their bonds with their Daemons- the perfect way to make the Cut more impactful

I don't need every single book scene in the show, but notice that all these cut scenes reinforced how important Daemons are. For how plodding the show is. you'd think they could spare time for these moments instead of inventing new conversations that tell us the information they show

Daemons are treated as separate beings and thus come across more like talking pets than part of a character

The show sets the rules of Daemons up poorly. In 1x2, Lyra is terrified by the Monkey being so far from Coulter, but the viewer has nothing to compare it to. We’re retroactively told in that this is unnatural when the show has yet to establish what ‘natural’ is.

The guillotine blueprint in 1x2 (‘Is that a human and his Daemon, Pan? It looks like it.’ / ‘A blade. To cut what?’) is idiotic. It deflates S1’s main mystery and makes the characters look stupid for not figuring out what they aren’t allowed to until they did in the source material, it also interferes with how the audience sees Daemons. In the book, Cutting isn’t revealed until two-thirds of the way in (1x5). By then we’ve spent a lot of time with Daemons, they’ve become a background part of the world, their ‘rules’ have been established, and we’re endeared to them.

By showing the Guillotine and putting Daemons under threat in the second episode, the show never lets us grow attached. This, combined with their selective presence in scenes, draws attention to Daemons as a plot gimmick and not a natural extension of characters. Like Lyra, the show tells us why Daemons are important before we understand them.

Billy Costa's fate falls flat. It's missing the dried fish/ fake Daemon Tony Markos clings to in the book. Thorne said this 'didn't work' on the day, but it worked in the film. Everyone yelling about Billy not having a Daemon is laughable when most of the background extras in the same scene don't have Daemons themselves

WITCHES

The Witches are the most common complaint about the show. Thorne changed Serafina Pekkala in clever, logical ways (her short hair, wrist-knives and cloud pine in the skin)

The problem is how Serafina is written. The Witches are purely exposition machines. We get no impression of their culture, their deep connection to nature, their understanding of the world. We are told it. It is never shown, never incorporated into the dramatic action of the show.

Thorne emphasises Serafina's warrior side, most obviously changing Kaisa from a goose into a gyrfalcon (apparently a goose didn't work on-screen)

Serafina single-handedly slaughtering the Tartars is bad in a few ways. It paints her as bloodthirsty and ruthless. Overpowering the Witches weakens the logic of the world (If they can do that, why do they let the Magesterium bomb them unchallenged in 2x2?). It strips the Witches of their subtlety and ambiguity for the sake of cinematic action.

A side-effect of Serafina not being with her clan at Bolvangar is limiting our exposure to the Witches. Serafina is the only one invested in the main plot, we only hear about them from what she tells us. This poor set-up weakens the Witch subplot in S2

Lyra doesn’t speak to Serafina until 2x6. She laid eyes on her once in S1.

The dialogue in the S2’s Witch subplot is comparable to the Courasant section of The Phantom Menace.

Two named characters, neither with any depth (Serafina and Coram's dead son developed him far more than her). The costumes look ostentatious and hokey- the opposite of what the Witches should be. They do nothing but repeat the same exposition at each other, even in 2x7.

We feel nothing when the Witches are bombed because the show never invests us in what is being destroyed- with the amount of time wasted on long establishing shots, there’s not one when Lee Scoresby is talking to the Council.

BEARS

Like the Witches; Thorne misunderstands and rushes the fantasy elements of the story. The 2007 movie executed both Iofur's character and the Bear Fight much better than the show- bloodless jaw-swipe and all

Iofur's court was not the parody of human court in the books. He didn't have his fake-Daemon (hi, Billy)

An armourless bear fight is like not including Pan in the cutting scene. After equating Iorek's armour to a Daemon (Lee does this- we don’t even learn how important it is from Iorek himself, and the comparison meant less because of how badly the show set up Daemons) the show then cuts the plotpoint that makes the armour plot-relevant. This diminishes all of Bear society. Like Daemons, we're told Iorek's armour is important but it's never shown to be more than a cool accessory

GYPTIANS

Gyptians suffer from Hermoine syndrome. Harry Potter screenwriter Steve Kloves' favourite character was Hermione, and so Film!Hermoine lost most of Book!Hermoine's flaws and gained several of Book!Ron's best moments. The Gyptians are Jack Thorne's favourite group in HDM and so they got the extra screentime and development that the more complicated groups/concepts like Witches, Bears, and Daemons (which, unlike the Gyptians, carry over to other seasons amd are more important to the overall story) needed

At the same time, he changes them from a private people into an Isle of Misfit Toys. TV!Ma Costa promises they'll ‘make a Gyptian woman out of Lyra yet’, but in the book Ma specifically calls Lyra out for pretending to be Gyptian, and reminds her she never can be.

This small moment indicates how, while trying to make the show more grounded and 'adult', Thorne simultaneously made it more saccharine and sentimental. He neuters the tragedy of the Cut kids when Ma Costa says they’ll become Gyptians. Pullman's books feel like an adult story told through the eyes of a child. The TV show feels like a child's story masquerading as a serious drama.

LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA

Let me preface this by saying I genuinely really enjoy the performances in the show. It was shot in the foot by The Golden Compass' perfect casting.

The most contentious/'miscast' actor among readers is LMM. Thorne ditched the books' wise Texan for a budget Han Solo. LMM isn't a great dramatic actor (even in Hamilton he was the weak link performance-wise) but he makes up for it in marketability- lots of people tried the show because of him

Readers dislike that LMM's Lee is a thief and a scoundrel, when book-Lee is so moral he and Hester argue about stealing. Personally, I like the change in concept. Book!Lee's parental love for Lyra just appears. It's sweet, but not tied to a character arc. Done right, Lyra out-hustling Lee at his own game and giving him a noble cause to fight for (thus inspiring the moral compass of the books) is a more compelling arc.

DAFNE KEENE AND LYRA

I thought Dafne would be perfect casting. Her feral energy in Logan seemed a match made in heaven. Then Jack Thorne gave her little to do with it.

Compare how The Golden Compass introduced Lyra, playing Kids and Gobblers with a group of Gyptian kids, including Billy Costa. Lyra and Roger are chased to Jordan by the Gyptians and she makes up a lie about a curse to scare the Gyptians away.

In one scene the movie set up: 1) the Gobblers (the first we hear of them in the show is in retrospect, Roger worrying AFTER Billy is taken) 2) Lyra’s pre-existing relationship with the Gyptians (not in the show), 3) Friendship with Billy Costa (not in the book or show) 4) Lyra’s ability to befriend and lead groups of people, especially kids, and 5) Lyra’s ability to lie impressively

By comparison, it takes until midway through 1x2 for TV!Lyra to tell her first lie, and even then it’s a paper-thin attempt.

The show made Roger Lyra’s only friend. This artificially heightens the impact of Roger's death, but strips Lyra of her leadership qualities and ability to befriend anyone.

Harry Potter fans talk about how Book!Harry is funnier and smarter than Film!Harry. They cut his best lines ('There's no need to call me sir, Professor') and made him blander and more passive. The same happened to Lyra.

Most importantly, Lyra is not allowed to lie for fun. She can't do anything 'naughty' without being scolded. This colours the few times Lyra does lie (e.g. to Mrs Coulter in 1x2) negatively and thus makes Lyra out to be more of a brat than a hero.

This is a problem with telling Northern Lights from an outside, 'adult' perspective- to most adults Lyra is a brat. Because we’re introduced to her from inside her head, we think she's great. It's only when we meet her through Will's eyes in The Subtle Knife and she's filthy, rude and half-starved that we realise Lyra bluffs her way through life and is actually pretty non-functional

Thorne prioritises grounded human drama over fantasy, and so his Lyra has her love of bears and witches swapped for familial angst. (and, in S2. angst over Roger). By exposing Mrs Coulter as her mother early, Thorne distracts TV!Lyra from Book!Lyra’s love of the North. The contrast between wonder and reality made NL's ending a definitive threshold between innocence and knowledge. Thorne showed his hand too early.

Similarly, TV!Lyra doesn’t have anywhere near as strong an admiration for Lord Asriel. She calls him out in 1x8 (‘call yourself a Father’), which Book!Lyra never would because she’s proud to be his child. From her perspective, at this point Asriel is the good parent.

TV!Lyra’s critique of Asriel feels like Thorne using her as a mouthpiece to voice his own, adult perspective on the situation. Because Lyra is already disappointed in Asriel, his betrayal in the finale isn’t as effective. Pullman saves the ‘you’re a terrible Father’ call-out for the 3rd book for a reason; Lyra’s naive hero-worship of Asriel in Northern Lights makes the fall from Innocence into Knowledge that Roger’s death represents more effective.

So, on TV Lyra is tamer, angstier, more introverted, less intelligent, less fun and more serious. We're just constantly told she's important, even before we meet her.

MRS COULTER (AND LORD ASRIEL)

Mrs Coulter is the main character of the show. Not Lyra. Mrs Coulter was cast first, and Lyra was cast based on a chemistry test with Ruth Wilson. Coulter’s character is given lots of extra development, where the show actively strips Lyra of her layers.

To be clear, I have no problem with developing Mrs Coulter. She is a great character Ruth Wilson plays phenomenally. I do have a problem with the show fixating on her at the expense of other characters.

Lyra's feral-ness is given to her parents. Wilson and McAvoy are more passionate than in the books. This is fun to watch, but strips them of subtlety- you never get Book!Coulter's hypnotic allure from Wilson, she's openly nasty, even to random strangers (in 2x3 her dismissal of the woman at the hotel desk felt like a Disney villain).

Compare how The Golden Compass (2007) introduced Mrs Coulter through Lyra’s eyes, with light, twinkling music and a sparkling dress. By contrast, before the show introduces Coulter it tells us she’s associated with the evil Magisterium plotting Asriel’s death- “Not a word to any of our mutual friends. Including her.” Then she’s introduced striding down a corridor to imposing ‘Bad Guy’ strings.

Making Mrs Coulter’s villainy so obvious so early makes Lyra look dumber for falling for it. It also wastes an interesting phase of her character arc. Coulter is rushed into being a ’conflicted evil mother’ in 2 episodes, and stays in that phase for the rest of the show so far. Character progression is minimised because she circles the same place.

It makes her one-note. It's a good note (so much of the positive online chatter is saphiccs worshiping Ruth Wilson) but the show also worships her to the point of hindrance- e.g. take a shot every time Coulter walks slow-motion down a corridor in 2x2

The problem isn’t the performances, but how prematurely they give the game away. Just like the mysteries around Bolvangar and Lyra’s parentage. Neither Coulter or Asriel have much chance to use their 'public' faces.

This is part of a bigger pacing problem- instead of rolling plot points out gradually, Thorne will stick the solution in front of you early and then stall for time until it becomes relevant. Instead of building tension this builds frustration and makes the show feel like it's catching up to the audience. This also makes the characters less engaging. You've already shown Mrs Coulter is evil/Boreal is in our world/Asriel wants Roger. Why are you taking so long getting to the point?

PACING AND EDITING

This show takes forever to make its point badly.

Scenes in HDM tend to operate on one level- either 'Character Building,' 'Exposition,' or 'Plot Progression'.

E.g. Mary's introduction in 2x2. Book!Mary only listens to Lyra because she’s sleep and caffeine-deprived and desperate because her funding is being cut. But the show stripped that subtext out and created an extra scene of a colleague talking to Mary about funding. They removed emotional subtext to focus on exposition, and so the scene felt empty and flat.

In later episodes characters Mary’s sister and colleagues do treat her like a sleep-deprived wreck. But, just like Lyra’s lying, the show doesn’t establish these characteristics in her debut episode. It waits until later to retroactively tell us they were there. Mary’s colleague saying ‘What we’re dealing with here is the fact that you haven’t slept in weeks’ is as flimsy as Pan joking not lying to Mary will be hard for Lyra.

Rarely does a scene work on multiple levels, and if it does it's clunky- see the exposition dump about Daemon Separation in the middle of 2x2's Witch Trial.

He also splits plot progression into tiny doses, which destroys pacing. It's more satisfying to focus on one subplot advancing multiple stages than all of them shuffling forward half a step each episode.

Subplots would be more effective if all the scenes played in sequence. As it is, plotlines can’t build momentum and literal minutes are wasted using the same establishing shots every time we switch location.

The best-structured episodes of S1 are 1x4, 1x6, and 1x8. This is because they have the fewest subplots (incidentally these episodes have least Boreal in them) and so the main plot isn’t diluted by constantly cutting away to Mrs Coulter sniffing Lyra’s coat or Will watching a man in a car through his window, before cutting back again.

The best-written episode so far is 2x5. The Scholar. Tellingly, it’s the only episode Thorne doesn’t have even a co-writing credit on. 2x5 is well-paced, its dialogue is more naturalistic, it’s more focused, it even has time for moments of whimsy (Monkey with a seatbelt, Mrs Coulter with jeans, Lyra and Will whispering) that don’t detract from the story.

Structurally, 2x5 works because A) it benches Lee’s plotline. B) The Witches and Magisterium are relegated to a scene each. And C) the Coulter/Boreal and Lyra/Will subplots move towards the same goal. Not only that, but when we check in on Mary’s subplot it’s through Mrs Coulter’s eyes and directly dovetails into the main action of the episode.

2x5 has a lovely sense of narrative cohesion because it has the confidence to sit with one set of characters for longer than two scenes at a time.

HDM also does this thing where it will have a scene with plot A where characters do or talk about something, cut away to plot B for a scene, then cut back to plot A where the characters talk about what happened in their last scene and painstakingly explain how they feel about it and why

Example: Pan talking to Will in 2x7 while Lyra pretends to be asleep. This scene is from the 3rd book, and is left to breathe for many chapters before Lyra brings it up. In the show after the Will/Pan scene they cut away to another scene, then cut back and Lyra instantly talks about it.

There’s the same problem in 2x5: After escaping Mrs Coulter, Lyra spells out how she feels about acting like her

The show never leaves room for implication, never lets us draw our own conclusions before explaining what it meant and how the characters feel about it immediately afterwards. The audience are made passive in their engagement with the characters as well as the world

LORD BOREAL, JOHN PARRY AND DIMINISHING RETURNS

At first, Boreal’s subplot in S1 felt bold and inspired. The twist of his identity in The Subtle Knife would've been hard to pull off onscreen anyway. As a kid I struggled to get past Will's opening chapter of TSK and I have friends who were the same. Introducing Will in S1 and developing him alongside Lyra was a great idea.

I loved developing Elaine Parry and Boreal into present, active characters. But the subplot was introduced too early and moved too slowly, bogging down the season.

In 1x2 Boreal crosses. In 1x3 we learn who he's looking for. In 1x5 we meet Will. In 1x7 the burglary. 1 episode worth of plot is chopped up and fed to us piecemeal across many. Boreal literally stalls for two episodes before the burglary- there are random 30 second shots of him sitting in a car watching John Parry on YouTube (videos we’d already seen) completely isolated from any other scenes in the episode

By the time we get to S2 we've had 2 seasons of extended material building up Boreal, so when he just dies like in the books it's anticlimactic. The show frontloads his subplot with meaning without expanding on its payoff, so the whole thing fizzles out.

Giving Boreal, the secondary villain in literally every episode, the same death as a background character in about 5 scenes in the novels feels cheap. It doesn’t help that, after 2x5 built the tension between Coulter and Boreal so well, as soon as Thorne is passed the baton in 2x6 he does little to maintain that momentum. Again, because the subplot is crosscut with everything else the characters hang in limbo until Coulter decides to kill him.

I’ve been watching non-book readers react to the show, and several were underwhelmed by Boreal’s quick, unceremonious end.

Similarly, the show builds up John Parry from 1x3 instead of just the second book. Book!John’s death is an anticlimax but feels narratively justified. In the show, we’ve spent so much extra time talking about him and then being with him (without developing his character beyond what’s in the novels- Pullman even outlined John’s backstory in The Subtle Knife’s appendix. How hard would it be to add a flashback or two?) that when John does nothing in the show and then dies (he doesn’t even heal Will’s fingers like in the book- only tell him to find Asriel, which the angels Baruch and Balthamos do anyway) it doesn’t feel like a clever, tragic subversion of our expectations, it feels like a waste that actively cheapens the audience’s investment.

TL;DR giving supporting characters way more screentime than they need only, to give their deaths the same weight the books did after far less build up makes huge chunks of the show feel less important than they were presented to be.

FRUSTRATINGLY LIMITED EXPANSION AND NOVELLISTIC STORYTELLING

Thorne is unwilling to meaningfully develop or expand characters and subplots to fit a visual medium. He introduces a plot-point, invents unnecessary padding around it, circles it for an hour, then moves on.

Pullman’s books are driven by internal monologue and big, complex theological concepts like Daemons and Dust. Instead of finding engaging, dynamic ways to dramatise these concepts through the actions of characters or additions to the plot, Thorne turns Pullman’s internal monologue into dialogue and has the characters explain them to the audience

The novels’ perspective on its characters is narrow, first because Northern Lights is told only from Lyra’s POV, and second because Pullman’s writing is plot-driven, not character-driven. Characters are vessels for the plot and themes he wants to explore.

This is a fine way of writing novels. When adapting the books into a longform drama, Thorne decentralised Lyra’s perspective from the start, and HDM S1 uses the same multi-perspective structure that The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass do, following not only Lyra but the Gyptians, Mrs Coulter, Boreal, Will and Elaine etc

However, these other perspectives are limited. We never get any impression of backstory or motivation beyond the present moment. Many times I’ve seen non-book readers confused or frustrated by vague or non-existent character motivations.

For example, S1 spends a lot of time focused on Ma Costa’s grief over Billy’s disappearance, but we never see why she’s sad, because we never saw her interact with Billy.

Compare this to another show about a frantic mother and older brother looking for a missing boy. Stranger Things uses only two flashbacks to show us Will Byers’ relationships with his family: 1) When Joyce Byers looks in his Fort she remembers visiting Will there. 2) The Clash playing on the radio reminds Jonathan Byers of introducing Will to the song.

In His Dark Materials we never see the Costas as a happy family- 1x1’s Gyptian ceremony focuses on Tony and Daemon-exposition. Billy never speaks to his mum or brother in the show

Instead we have Ma Costa’s empty grief. The audience has to do the work (the bad kind) imagining what she’s lost. Instead of seeing Billy, it’s just repeated again and again that they will get the children back.

If we’re being derivative, HDM had the chance to segway into a Billy flashback when John Faa brings one of his belongings back from a Gobbler safehouse in 1x2. This is a perfect The Clash/Fort Byers-type trigger. It doesn’t have to be long- the Clash flashback lasted 1:27, the Fort Byers one 55 seconds. Just do something.

1x3 beats into us that Mrs Coulter is nuts without explaining why. Lots of build-up for a single plot-point. Then we're told Mrs Coulter's origin, not shown. This is a TV show. Swap Boreal's scenes for flashbacks of Coulter and Asriel's affair. Then, when Ma Costa tells Lyra the truth, show the fight between Edward Coulter and Asriel.

To be clear, Thorne's additions aren’t fundamentally bad. For example, Will boxing sets up his struggle with violence. But it's wasted. The burglary/murder in 1x7 fell flat because of bad editing, but the show never uses its visual medium to show Will's 'violent side'- no change in camera angle, focus, or sound design, nothing. It’s just a thing that’s there, unsupported by the visual language of the show

The Magisterium scenes in 2x2 were interesting. We just didn't need 5 of them; their point could be made far more succinctly.

In 2x6 there is a minute-long scene of Mary reading the I Ching. Later, there is another scene of Angelica watching Mary sitting somewhere different, doing the SAME THING, and she sees an Angel. Why split these up? It’s not like either the I Ching or the Angels are being introduced here. Give the scene multiple layers.

Thorne either takes good character moments from the books (Lyra/Will in 2x1) or uses heavy-handed exposition that reiterates the same point multiple times. This hobbles the Witches (their dialogue in 2x1, 2 and 3 literally rephrases the same sentiment about protecting Lyra without doing anything). Even character development- see Lee monologuing his and Mrs Coulter's childhood trauma in specific detail in 2x3

This is another example of Thorne adding something, but instead of integrating it into the dramatic action and showing us, it’s just talked about. What’s the point of adding big plot points if you don’t dramatise them in your dramatic, visual medium? In 2x8, Lee offhandedly mentions playing Alamo Gulch as a kid.

I’m literally screaming, Jack, why the flying fuck wasn’t there a flashback of young Lee and Hester playing Alamo Gulch and being stopped by his abusive dad? It’s not like you care about pacing with the amount of dead air in these episodes, even when S2’s run 10 minutes shorter than S1’s. Lee was even asleep at the beginning of 2x3, Jack! He could��ve woken from a nightmare about his childhood! It’s a little lazy, but better than nothing.

There’s a similar missed opportunity making Dr Lanselius a Witchling. If this idea had been introduced with the character in 1x4, it would’ve opened up so many storytelling possibilities. Linking to Fader Coram’s own dead witchling son. It could’ve given us that much-needed perspective on Witch culture. Imagine Lanselius’ bittersweet meeting with his ageless mother, who gave him up when he reached manhood. Then, when the Magisterium bombs the Witches in 2x2, Lanselius’ mother dies so it means something.

Instead it’s only used to facilitate an awkward exposition dump in the middle of a trial.

The point of this fanfic-y ramble is to illustrate my frustration with the additions; If Thorne had committed and meaningfully expanded and interwoven them with the source material, they could’ve strengthened its weakest aspect (the characters). But instead he stays committed to novelistic storytelling techniques of monologue and two people standing in a room talking at each other

(Seriously, count the number of scenes that are just two people standing in a room or corridor talking to each other. No interesting staging, the characters aren’t doing anything else while talking. They. Just. Stand.)

SEASON 2 IMPROVEMENTS

S2 improved some things- Lyra's characterisation was more book-accurate, her dynamic with Will was wonderful. Citigazze looked incredible. LMM won lots of book fans over as Lee. Mary was brilliantly cast. Now there are less Daemons, they're better characterised- Pan gets way more to do now and Hester had some lovely moments.

I genuinely believe 2x1, 2x3, 2x4 and 2x5 are the best HDM has been.

But new problems arose. The Subtle Knife lost the central, easy to understand drive of Northern Lights (finding the missing kids) for lots of smaller quests. As a result, everyone spends the first two episodes of S2 waiting for the plot to arrive. The big inciting incident of Lyra’s plotline is the theft of the alethiometer, which doesn’t happen until 2x3. Similarly, Lee doesn’t search for John until 2x3. Mrs Coulter doesn’t go looking for Lyra until 2x3.

On top of missing a unifying dramatic drive, the characters now being split across 3 worlds, instead of the 1+a bit of ours in S1, means the pacing/crosscutting problems (long establishing shots, repetition of information, undercutting momentum) are even worse. The narrative feels scattered and incohesive.

These flaws are inherent to the source material and are not the show’s fault, but neither does it do much to counterbalance or address them, and the flaws of the show combine with the difficulties of TSK as source material and make each other worse.

A lot of this has been entitled fanboy bitching, but you can't deny the show is in a bad place ratings-wise. It’s gone from the most watched new British show in 5 years to the S2 premiere having a smaller audience than the lowest-rated episode of Doctor Who Series 12. For comparison, DW's current cast and showrunner are the most unpopular since the 80s, some are actively boycotting it, it took a year-long break between series 11 and 12, had its second-worst average ratings since 2005, and costs a fifth of what HDM does to make. And it's still being watched by more people.

Critical consensus fluctuates wildly. Most laymen call the show slow and boring. The show is simultaneously too niche and self-absorbed to attract a wide audience and gets just enough wrong to aggravate lots of fans.

I’m honestly unsure if S3 will get the same budget. I want it to, if only because of my investment in the books. Considering S2 started filming immediately after S1 aired, I think they've had a lot more time to process and apply critique for S3. On the plus side, there's so much plot in The Amber Spyglass it would be hard to have the same pacing problems. But also so many new concepts that I dread the exposition dumps.

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cowboisadness · 3 years

Text

Hang Em’ High {FemOC x Arthur Morgan} Chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summary: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

.....

Today it was back to doing the ever so mundane chores around camp, conversing with the other girls whenever we got the chance and when we knew Grimshaw wouldn't scold us for not doing work. Dutch was the leader of the gang, but Grimshaw kept everything running, kept everyone in line when doing the daily duties within the camp. God forbid anyone that crossed her, whether she thought us girls were taking our sweet time or the guys lacking in keeping up with their personal hygiene, she wouldn't go easy, even on her good days. Thankfully I haven't been on the receiving end of her fury, well, not yet anyway. When supper was ready in the evening and all chores were done, I thought it best to take a bowl over to the poor boy they had tied to a tree when I arrived. Kieran, his name is, apparently one of the O’Driscoll boys. Although he didn't seem like the type that would run with them, given the information I had been given regarding the rival gang. Kieran was now able to wander the camp, under the watchful eye of the others that saw him with nothing but contempt. He wouldn't get fed if it wasn't for us ladies. He kept himself busy with the horses most of the time, they wouldn't hurt or insult him after all. I approached him with a hot bowl, disturbing him as he brushed through The Counts mane, the beautiful white Arabian belonging to Dutch. Handing him the bowl he looked to me with hesitation, a few seconds passing by before he reached out to retrieve it.

“Don't worry, me nor the stew bite.”

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Bella”

“...Miss Bella. I hope you won't get a tellin’ for giving me this. Some of the other girls have.”

“Ya gotta eat. Besides, I'd give them a tallin’ back if they do.” He smiles slightly, finally taking a spoonful of the stew.

“How's my girl doing then?” walking over to my mare, stroking her nose and getting a playful nudge to the palm.

“She's a bit feisty sometimes but she's a good one. Does she have a name?”

A name. There's a lot of meaning in a name. I'd need something strong, something steadfast and with purpose. She's feisty but that means she knows what she wants. She seems the type that will set her mind to something and be determined to get it, like a hunter. Looking up to the darkening sky, clouds clearing to present itself with the most beautiful array of blues and blacks, adorned with tiny kisses of light.

“Orion.” I say with a point, keeping my eyes on the constellations above. “After the hunter in the stars. Yeah, I quite like that.” I look back down as she nudges me again, looking for any sweet treats I may have on my person. I give her another rub on her nose before turning back, giving a bye to Kieran as I make my way back to the stew pot.

After everyone had ate and the sun had fallen beyond the horizon most of the camp gathered around the main fire to share a few drinks. Arthur and Lenny decided to head into town for a few drinks instead, promising they will be back in a few hours and to keep out of trouble. Hosea gave them a doubtful look, reminding them that they were laying low. Pearson shared a few stories of his time in the Navy, everyone listening as they drank. Abigail soon retired to bed with a tired Jack in her arms, bidding everyone a goodnight. Couple of bottles later, Hosea was now the one to share stories. Ones of gripping heists and hilarious cons they carried out many years ago before the gang grew into what it is today. Laughter shared amongst everyone over the fire, rising into the air with the smoke. Before the alcohol could hit me in a way I would regret in the morning, I left the others to their merry stories and drunken tales. Curling up on the bedroll I let the distant chatter lull me to sleep.

…

By Morning I was woken by Karen, snaking me side to side, willing to awake with a loud whisper.

“What's wrong Karen?”

“Them two idiots must have got themselves locked up last night. Come with me to get them out?”

“Why me?” Sitting up I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked to her, confused.

“The others are too hungover or are still asleep.”

“Okay, just give me a moment to get sorted.”

“Wear something instead of pants.” She ordered before walking off.

I did as instructed, donning a simple collared white blouse, sleeves stopping just past the elbow. Blue skirt and blank belt to tie it all together as one. Meeting Karen at the horses we decided to take Arthurs and Lennys horses, given that they chose to walk to Valentine last night.

It didn't take long to get to Valentine, the town quickly waking up and going about its usual business. Men tending to their livestock and other men drunkenly stumbling home, or wherever they went to sleep off the alcohol. We made our way through the mud ridden street, stopping outside the Saloon to hitch the horses.

“You a good lier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to risk the Sheriff or a Deputy noticing me. You go in and pretend you're a close relative of those fools. Flash that smile and flutter your eyes at the guy. Persuade him to release them for little to no cost.”

“Would he really fall for that?”

She began to ponder for a few seconds, thinking of something that will be easy and would with minimum effort“Do you have a ring?”

“No. I sold mine.”

“Here, take one of mine. Play as a disgruntled wife that is getting sick of her husbands' shenanigans. Sweet talk him.” She said, removing one of her rings, a dainty gold band and handing it out towards me,

“You mean flirt with a lawman?”

“Sure. He's a man it will be easy.” She could see I wasn’t unsure about this whole thing. Sure I know how to lie. Quickly learning a few weeks after being married then keeping it up for months. It was one thing to lie to that bastard and random people that didn't matter, but to lie to the law, well, that's something I didn't want to involve myself with.

“If he somehow finds out who they are and the bounties they have it will take a lot more than this to get them out.” With that I took the ring from her that was still in her outstretched hand, fitting it snugly onto my finger before turning away towards the Sheriff's building, leaving Karen with the horses and without another word. Seems like lying to the law is just something I'm going to have to get used to. Lucky for them I'm a good liar.

Standing outside of the door I inhaled deeply, putting on a slight scowl and pushing the door open. I didn't pay any mind to the man sat at the desk, instead making my way to the cells. Arthur and Lenny were in separate cells, the latter awake and looking very sorry for himself. He looked up, blinking a few times to make sure he was seeing correctly, shaking my head at him before turning to the man that was trying to get my attention while still sat at the desk. It wasn't the Sheriff, just a Deputy, a young one. This should be easy.

“I can only apologise for whatever trouble my husband and his friend caused Deputy”

“A pair of drunken fools starting fights they are.”

“It seems my husband won't accept that he has a low tolerance when it comes to whiskey. I hope it wasn't too serious.”

“We have a low tolerance for violent drunkards in this town miss.”

Placing my hands onto the table and swaying myself towards him slightly to minimise the distance between us and ignoring the chatter behind me as I looked down at my hands “I’m really at the end of my whits with him. Why couldn't I have married a decent man? I hope he didn't cause you trouble when bringing him in. Although... he might be a big oaf I’m sure you would have no trouble against him”

“Well, it didn't take much to fling him in that cell.”

“I bet you're used to more dangerous and violent bad guys huh? Your girl must get so worried knowing what sort of monsters you have to deal with.”

“I have no girl to call my own miss.”

Moving to sit partly on the desk, giving him a delicate smile and keeping my attention on the boy below. “Really? Any woman would be lucky to have a brave, principled man like yourself. Instead of a fool that spends all their money on drink and can't even handle it. A man that can take care of a town knows how to take care of his lady.”

“Bella” Arthur calls

“I’m not speaking with you!” I didn't look away, keeping my eyes locked with the young deputy, faintly trembling in his seat. Leaning over towards him, now peering at him through my lashes and lowering my voice for just him to hear. “I promise these idiots won't be any more trouble for you, But if they even cause the slightest disturbance...I'm willing to be punished personally for it.” I smirked at him then licking my lips and leaning over his desk to the point I could feel his quickening breaths on my face. He was frozen in place, looking to me like a cornered doe. Without faltering eye contact I shot him a wink, breaking him out of the trance. Breaking away from the intense eye contact he fumbled with the keys attached to his belt.

The keys rattled in his hands faintly as he went to open the cell doors. I blessed the stars that it was a naive deputy I faced instead of the Sheriff. It could have gone completely different and not as smoothly if it had been.

Leading the boys outside without a word to them, I turned to the Deputy as I approached the door, fiddling with the knob so plainly with delicate fingers. “Thank you. I will remember to hopefully repay you some time.” Shooting him a wink I walked out the door before he could say a word.

What a sad site they were. Lenny vomited on himself once outside and Arthur was sat leaning against the post. Both unable to open their eyes properly as the morning light burned and made their heads throb.

“I’m just gunna have a little sit-down and...feel sorry for myself”

“Oh no you ain't. You and a few others have to go rescue that Sean fella.” He grumbled as I stood beside him, waving off Lenny who had been found by Karen, both of them setting off back to camp.

“What happened last night?”

“Don't remember.”

I huffed at that. Alcohol does one hell of a job on folk. I pulled him up, steadying him on his feet before practically dragging him to his horse, deciding that I would sit up front to take us back to camp.

Javier, Charles, Arthur and Trelawny were the ones going to rescue Sean, who was being held at Blackwater. Everyone was on edge for their safe arrival, none of them wanted to be anywhere near Blackwater right now. It was late afternoon before the beat of hooves could be heard coming up the path. Javier had returned with a loud Irishman at his back. The camp ran to meet the two, thankful for Sean's safe return and Sean replied with a shout about needing a strong drink or five. The camp's whole demeanour was flipped on its head in a matter of minutes with crates of beer and whiskey being pulled from Pearson's wagon and placed around the fire. It was time to celebrate. Arthur and Charles arrived as the first bottles were being passed around and opened, everyone collecting around the fire. Dutch gave some words on how happy he was that Sean was finally back and safe and everyone was soon talking merrily. Javier retrieving his guitar and some joined in on his song. Sean shared stories of his capture, though obviously exaggerated. Hands waving in the air for dramatic effect. Karen sat closely by his side. Arthur came to sit in the space between me and Sadie with a bottle in hand. Looking between him and the bottle he just shrugged. It seemed the rescue mission helped him get over his hangover.

“And who is this lady?” Sean bellowed as he approached.

“Annabelle, but you can call me Bella.” I smiled up at him, raising my hand for him to shake,

“Well, well. It is my pleasure miss Bella” He took my hand but instead of shaking it as I expected he pressed his lips to the back. “Where did they find you then?”

“Long story. Arthur helped me escape a less than ideal situation I would say”

“Swept up another high society lady hey Arthur”

“Shut it, Sean” Sean raised his hands in mock defeat at that.

“Just jesting Englishman. But I would love to know how you do it. I'd say she's prettier than the last. Hopefully a bit wilder.” Sean began to back away, hands still in the air but with a grin on his face.

“I wish I left you hanging from that tree.”

I couldn't help but laugh slightly, pursing my lips together to stop as Arthur looked at me with disgust that I would even entertain the Irishman.

The drinks went quickly throughout the night. Everyone singing, Uncle breaking out his banjo and others got up to dance. The alcohol was starting to take effect on me too, despite telling myself to only have a couple. It was obvious that everyone needed this. Needed some good news and a reason to celebrate.

Abigail and Jack were the first to leave even though Jack was very much awake and enjoying the liveliness around him. As the moon got higher and the night was truly set, one by one people stumbled to their tents or bedrolls. Leaving only a handful of us around the fire, sharing stories of alcohol-fueled shenanigans they got up to over the years. I had none to contribute, seeing as this was the drunkest I have ever been. I was dizzy and euphoric at the same time. My balance was unsteady and I felt like I was spinning even while seated. My body felt lighter, more at ease. Any worries I had were gone and buried. Living in the joy of the moment. Arthur and Sadie and I sat in front of the log instead of on it as we all progressively got more inebriated. The log keeping us upright and more stable. The fire before us began to die down as the celebrations did, the rest going to bed. Just Arthur and I left around the dying fire, still supping what little was left of the bottles in our hands. I didn't want to sleep, I wanted the celebrations and singing to carry on till daybreak. But my eyes started to feel heavy.

“How was the rescue?” I slurred, turning to Arthur

“Fine. Didn’t die.” His accent even thicker thanks to his drunken state.

I exhaled a laugh and a loud snort followed. My hand shot up to cover my mouth, basically slapping myself in the face, eyes wide at the noise I just made. Arthur looked at me wide-eyed also, equally taken back. He began to laugh, I soon followed. The two of us giggling into the night. My eyes were getting heavier and heavier by the minute, along with my body quickly losing its feather-light feeling. Moving myself I leaned into the log, resting my head on my hands upon it. In my current state, this was more comfort than any plush bed could provide. Before I knew it my eyes were closed, sleep overtaking me.

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemtion 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x oc #rdr2 fic

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jam-knife · 4 years

Text

The Greenhouse

// a short story dedicated to @caustic-c. Here’s some context for what you’re about to read, and here is the post that served as inspiration. Very not safe for work below cut. Warnings: dub-con, a bit violent at it. The language’s very crude. (Non-explicit) mention of personality disorders.

Note: you can use this as reference for our thread, C. I’ve actually spent several hours on this already so I won’t be replying to that today, but in the meantime please accept this! Hope you enjoy it.

After that night, B couldn’t have predicted L would demand a reunion with him ever again. But, honest to his vile reputation in spite of B’s surprise, the detective seemed eager to further demonstrate the extent to which he wished to humiliate him. It seemed that robbing him of his virginity under false pretexts of youthful abandonment, and dragging his dignity across the floor while at it, was still not enough. He wanted to infect B’s memory so that the poisonous idea of him would remain when the flesh no longer did.

“Good afternoon, B.” He said, the cold bitch, as he put down the spoon and took a sip of a beverage that was more sugar than tea. Black wide eyes fixed on B, making him sick. “Will you not join me?”

“I’m still overcoming the shock.” He answered while displaying a purposefully forced smile. “I thought you said that, luckily, we would never see each other again. I was counting on it.”

“That’s funny. I made you out to be good at working under unexpected circumstances.”

“And I made you out to be too proud to contradict yourself. I guess my people-judging skills are still a work in progress.”

“Just ‘guess’?” A muscle in B’s jaw twitched, but he made a conscious effort to stay put. He didn’t want to give the man any more proof to label him an impulse-driven animal with anger management issues. “Well, since you won’t be taking a seat anytime soon, let’s go for a walk.” L put the teacup down and stood up.

The walk through the orphanage’s grounds was sluggish and silent. B didn’t feel like addressing L or recognising his existence, and L didn’t seem eager to force him just yet. It was alright, in a way, but also annoying since B couldn’t dillucidate why the detective would waste his time if he didn’t intend to talk.

However, that silence was unlike any other they had shared before. It was not the sweet awkwardness that should follow a steamy night in the sheets and several months of separation. Nor the kind that they had purposefully held during late night meetings, as curious gazes flirtatiously wandered about. This silence was thick with uncovered deception, resentment over harsh words, and the stifling awareness that giving away how much anger lingered would be more dangerous than cathartic.

“It has been a while since I last been here.” L, finally, said. “The gardens look good. Are the greenhouses new?”

“Yes. Some of the kids got interested in botany after that class on natural poisons.” B replied conversationally, as he followed L, who had stepped into one of the structures. “I wouldn’t touch anything if I were you.”

Though, knowing who this particular greenhouse belonged to, the risk of the mighty international-reputation detective being poisoned by a colorful plant was insignificant compared to the pandemonium Roger would unleash if L spotted and informed him of C’s massive cannabis supply.

“I see… I’ll choose to believe none of these are being used by the kids for purposes that are not purely educational.” L replied, definitely having spotted it. “Do you-”

“L, what do you want.”

B cut him, and the detective went carefully silent. Enough of this bullshit, he had no time for it. He had no need nor desire to engage in conversation with his predecessor, and every minute that was ridiculously wasted away was a new test of his patience.

“I thought you made your point clear last time. I’m not fit to inherit the title. I’m too volatile, and selfish. If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t shove whatever that idiot psychiatrist fed you in my face too.”

“Your conversations with Dr. Jeffrey are protected under professional-”

“Yeah, right. And now you’ll tell me my little ‘disorder’ has nothing to do with the Successor’s game being rigged.” L’s expression darkened at that. “Oh? You thought me too stupid to figure that much out?”

“No.”

Beyond looked away, and focused on his breathing. He counted to ten, then backwards, just like the aforementioned psychiatrist had advised. Lashing out now would do nobody no good. The momentary pleasure that would come with smacking the mighty L across his stupid face was not worth the consequences.

This whole situation was ridiculous.

“Why did you call for me?” It was a rhetorical question… he didn’t need or want an answer. What he wanted was to walk away and never see L again, this time for real. Fuck the title. Fuck this whole god-forsaken place. There was never a chance for him here to begin with, so the least self-indulgence he should be allowed was the right to refuse to put up with this bullshit.

But that was not the reason why L’s answer -which came soft, wary, and after a long hesitant pause- shocked him.

“I want to have sex with you.”

B froze. Blinked. Stood still for a while longer, then turned to direct an accusing glare at L… but the detective wasn’t looking back, his eyes cast down instead, his sharp cheekbones dyed a subtle pink. A fake expression. It just- it couldn’t be genuine.

“What the… do you actually think me stupid enough to fall for that bullshit again?”

One, two, three-

“I’m serious.” L retorted, growing redder.

“Why the fuck should I believe you.” In spite of how angry B was, he didn’t raise his voice, and limited his true feelings to a gelid glare. “You spread your legs and begged me to fuck you, then merely hours later you claimed it was a test, and treated me like less than shit. What makes this any different?”

“It’s not…” He was saying, but he shrank when he noticed B’s rejection written all over his face. “I… I know you don’t believe me. You’re wise for not doing so.”

“No kidding.”

“But I can prove it to you.” L moved one step closer, his eyes, full of intent, fixed on him. “I can show you-”

To the detective’s distaste, Beyond laughed. But the sound held no joy, just resentment.

“How desperate are you… seriously.” He leaned back, supporting some of his weight on the edge of the table behind him. “How badly do you plan to degrade yourself just to make a fool out of me…” L’s only answer was a bashful blush. B looked away. He couldn’t handle that sight right now. “What is this, L… what can you possibly gain from manipulating me into having sex with you again? Or what, are you still bitter that I said you’re sad? Whatever you’re trying to prove, either to me or yourself, I’m not letting you use me to do it.”

“But you liked it.” Was all the man said, after a long silence. B didn’t answer, and L, realizing this, pushed further. “I know you did. I… liked it too. I want it.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t believe I mean it.”

“Because I’ve moved on, L!” B grit his teeth, mad at himself for revealing how upset he was. One, two, three… “What were you expecting… that you’d tell me how thirsty you were and I’d jump right into it? After you delivered a whole fucking monologue explaining how you manipulated me? You can’t seriously think I let my bed grow cold without you.”

“No… I guess not.”

B blinked. L’s voice sounded lower than usual, his breath uncharacteristically strong. His eyes now mirrored some of the hostility B himself felt. This was pointless. He couldn’t take his anger out on L without fearing getting kicked out of the orphanage, and this whole ludicrous situation wasn’t even half as hilarious as it should have been in theory. Not even L’s evident irritation brought him any pleasure.

He moved, shifting his energy towards the exit -but didn’t even get one step taken before the detective’s hands were on his chest, pushing him back. The edge of the table dug a painful line on his lower back. There was a clatter, and a pot fell. It was smashed on impact spreading dirt all over the floor.

But that barely registered in B’s mind. His whole focus was on L, now on his knees in front of him, pulling B’s shirt up to expose the front of his jeans.

“What the fuck are you-”

“What does it look like?” L didn’t waste another second, and simply unzipped them, revealing B’s underwear. Long pale fingers were steadily finding their way into the elastic waistband-

B grabbed L aggressively by the collar of his oversized white shirt.

“I said I don’t want to. What is wrong with you?” He growled, his cock blatantly soft beneath the clothing. But then the detective raised his eyes, wide and glistening with lust, to his face. He stared at B, flushed and determined, from below. And against his will and common sense, B felt his lower, stupider half twitch in anticipation.

“I’m proving you how serious I am.”

“You’re sick…” B muttered, and L’s eyes gleamed when he, too, detected the decrease in his resistance.

“Push me away then.”

B wanted to. Every part of his mind was screaming, yelling at him to do so. But his hands were frozen, and it was way too easy for L to push them away and pull B’s briefs down. There was no ceremony to it. No games of seduction, no intent for tease. L simply took his semi and guided almost half of it into his hot mouth.

B cursed in his mother tongue, his hands grabbing the table so hard the wood creaked and his knuckles turned white. L’s technique for fellatio wasn’t great, but it was definitely doing something, B thought begrudgingly, when his dick hardened completely against the roof of L’s mouth. It only made him angrier… it was unfair that he couldn’t dismiss L’s ministrations with the same displeased indifference he felt for him personally. But he shut his eyes and forced himself to endure it, not wanting to kick the man off him and finding his dick scraped by teeth.

He hated this. He hated L. Hated that he couldn’t stop it. Hated even more that it felt too fucking good. A shuddering breath escaped his mouth; it was mortifying. The man on his knees was eager, compensating his lukewarm skills with sheer enthusiasm, and B grew closer to the edge as someone being harshly, forcefully dragged by the ankles against his will would.

The only idea of L bringing him to a rough, jarring climax made him taste bile. So when he felt himself pulsing and leaking, he shut his eyes tight and channeled his energy towards imagining A on his knees before him, sucking him dry. If he was going to cum anyway, he wouldn’t do it with L in his mind. He plunged himself so hard into the fantasy he found himself, in those last moments, digging his hands in raven hair -coppery in his imagination- and messily thrusting into that hot tight throat. L choked, but B paid him no mind. He was too busy having what was probably the most violent orgasm in his life so far. B moaned, long and ragged.

And then it was over. He was panting, coated in sweat, and L was coughing. His face was flushed and there was semen dripping down his chin, but he looked strangely satisfied with himself. It was irritating.

“What the hell are you grinning for.” He growled, fighting his dazed lethargy and tucking himself back inside his pants.

“Sorry, I was of the impression you enjoyed that.” The detective replied, still hoarse yet cockier than ever, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Don’t take my having functional genitalia as a personal victory.”

“Oh.” L then stood up. B realised he was incredibly close, now that he wasn’t kneeling. He had his eyes narrowed and he smelled of sex. “Would you like it better if I were writhing in pain?”

B glared at him. He had to admit, the appeal of bringing L to that state was growing stronger by the minute.

“You know what’s most pathetic?” He spat, finally, as his eyes dragged down and spotted L’s boner. “If I slammed you face first against this table and fucked your brains out until you bled, you would let me.”

“Try me.”

Their eyes locked. And fuck, B might as well do it. He could feel it itching on every nerve end of his body: the desire to hurt. To raw that fucking bastard until he tore him in half, to choke him, to get off on his screams of agony. The only thing stopping him was knowing that it was exactly what L wanted. Not the pain, but to prove he was right about B.

Beyond reached out, and cupped the bulge in L’s jeans. That caught the man off guard. He gasped, and that noise slowly melted into a pleased whine as B massaged his cock through the jeans. His hands came to rest on B’s chest, his forehead on B’s shoulder, and he rocked his hips against B’s palm. B leaned into his ear then.

“Jerk yourself off, you pathetic excuse of a man.”

And he pushed the detective away. He didn’t wait for L to regain his balance and reply; no, he simply walked away. Found the nearest wall and punched it. When A asked him about his split knuckles he didn’t answer.

#beyond birthday #roleplay #Death Note #another note #caustic-c #The Greenhouse

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aeternallis · 7 years

Text

Title: The City of Nightless Blossoms // Chapter III

Series: Owari no Seraph Pairing: Hyakuya Mikaela x Hyakuya Yuuichirou Rating: M (18+) Summary: The year is 1814. Isolated from the rest of the world, and under the strict military rule of the Tokugawa Shogunate, Japan successfully enters a period of social and economic stability, ending the political upheavals from centuries past. Even so, beneath the veneer of peace lies corruption amongst the ranks of government, excess and decadence, and the threads of the established social order slowly beginning to unravel.

Hyakuya Yuuichirou is a young samurai from the daimyo house of Hiiragi, a powerful vassal to the current shogun. Vowing his allegiance to the master who had taken him in as a child, Yuuichirou soon finds his loyalties torn when the childhood friend he’s been searching for abruptly turns up…as a member of a rebel group looking to dismantle the current regime.

AO3

Shimogyou-ku, Kyoto, Japan

May 1814 (Bunka 11)

When the first rays of the rising sun delicately landed on his face through the open window, azure eyes blinked awake in gradual alertness, lifting a hand to brush away the strands of golden hair that had draped over his line of vision. The covers of the futon he currently lain in had long twisted away from the rough and tumble of lovemaking, eventually making its way onto the cold tatami mats. His smooth legs exposed to the chill of the morning hours, the blond couldn't help but shiver, drawing his legs close together so he could maintain what little warmth his thin yukata provided.

At his side, the torn remnants of his black and gold obi were crumpled in a sad heap, and he made a mental note to inform the okami later that day to add the replacement charges onto his patron's next bill; that sash alone had cost him a fortune, and he wasn't about to let this clumsy oaf of a man he had called "husband" last night get away with his brutishness.

Mikaela bit his lip in contemplation, massaging his temples while his eyes remained sharp with sternness and precision mentally calculating how much he should suggest to the okami in regards to charging interest, clicking his tongue when he came up with a reasonable sum. Along with the fact that the cloth was no longer salvageable, and really—just for the way he was crudely manhandled last night when his patron had pulled at his clothes in a drunken stupor, nothing less than triple the original cost would do.

With a nod and a quiet, satisfied sigh, his gaze absentmindedly wandered around the luxurious, tawdry room, taking in the velvet tapestries of red and orange that hung on the far wall. At the sight, his nose wrinkled in disapproval; despite his cultured tastes with fine clothes and beauty products, he was nothing if not a traditionalist at heart. He much preferred the simplicity of a home with minimal furnishings and the warmth of a hearth, rather than the inept way at which these idiotic merchants tried to display their money.

Turning his head away, his eyes drifted to a serene painting of pelicans roaming across elegantly textured hills hanging next to the window. Somewhat surprised at seeing a painting so out of place within the room, the picture inexplicably lifted his spirits, enough to make him smile and forget about his annoyance with the torn sash.

Letting out a quiet yawn, Mikaela tried to sit up, but instead immediately noticed the sickeningly sweet scent of bean paste and sake on his client's breath, soft snores blowing through his ear drums as the older man's arms abruptly wrapped themselves around his torso, his rough fingers pulling him into a tight embrace. Spooned against his burly chest, Mika had no choice but to lay still for a moment, rolling his eyes in impatience.

Closing his eyes, he brought a hand to gently caress his client's forearms, softly calling out to the other man, nudging him awake. "Lord Goshi, it's morning. Wouldn't you like to eat something for breakfast and start the day?"

His voice was soft and tender, full of artificial concern and attentiveness; a true actor in every sense of the word, he'd liked to think. Regardless, Mikaela willed himself to believe it, if only for the sake of maintaining his act and keeping his patron satisfied. This was, after all, a falsehood of his own making, a fantasy that he'd weaved expertly with his body and his words and his allures, all of it for his client's pleasure, with himself as the center of said dream world.

"Who are you supposed to be, my mother?" the other man grumbled, half in playful banter and the other half in seriousness (although Mika feigned innocence at that).

Mikaela lowered his eyes, his expression pensive. With his back pressed against the man's chest and his face turned away, the blond found that there was no need to hide the apathetic grimace of his mouth, that if he were allowed to be blunt with himself at that very moment, all he wanted was to shove the other man away from him so he could have the chance to gather his things together and get ready to leave.

Goshi Norito's allotted time with him had only been until midnight, and that was eight hours ago. Mika was in no mood to be giving away handouts, not when he could be doing other, more productive things with his time, instead of lazing about in this gaudy room. More than this, he wanted to go home and eat something more substantial than the food they'd fed him last night, which consisted of nothing more than cheap sweet buns soaked in sake and cold tea afterwards.

The servants who attended to them last night had given him unwelcoming looks, their displeasure at having to serve someone whom they thought was far beneath their station as apparent on their faces as his client's arousal was when the blond had finally discarded his robes, to parade himself in all his nakedness when it was time for his temporary husband to claim what he'd paid for.

For which case, Mika knew to himself that he couldn't entirely blame them. While the kind and gracious mistress of their household was away visiting her parents, their master was bedding whores left and right, his desire to rut as insatiable as a dog's.

He chewed his lip, trying not to scoff out loud in exasperation. The more his thoughts dwelled on the events of last night, the more he became increasingly indignant at the entire situation; he did not sacrifice years and years of training to be an established tayuu, of the precious time he could have spent living in peace with his family—only to be treated as a common prostitute in the end.

There was a vicious vindictiveness inside of him that wanted to be let out, desiring some sort of retribution to be paid to him for having endured the servants' disdain, if only to satisfy his own pettiness. He may be a whore, but he had his own pride to uphold, not just as a tayuu, but as a samurai. He would never allow himself to lower his eyes to the ground in deference just because he used his looks and his body for monetary gain.

Inwardly though, he sighed, knowing to himself that his stubbornness would get him nowhere in his current predicament. As a "wife" to this man, he expected complete obedience from him, a perfect copy of his real spouse in terms of her daintiness and mannerisms; Mika was more than aware of the fact that in order to keep on his good side, he would have to continue the farce of submissiveness.

So he kept the facade on for just awhile longer, until the servants could arrive and they've been given the go-ahead to serve their master his morning meal, in which case, he planned to make his escape then.

"Of course not, my lord," Mika charmingly replied with practiced ease, lifting a hand to run his fingers over the other man's stubble, allowing for the latter to brush his lips past his wrist and towards his elbow. "But as your wife, it is my duty to—"

Before he could continue with whatever clever response he had on the tip of his tongue however, a loud knock was heard through the wooden shoji, and Goshi let out a frustrated sigh for having had what seemed like a promising banter with the blond interrupted, signaling for the servant on the other side to come in. The door slid open to reveal a maid holding two stacked trays of their breakfast, her eyes narrowed in an unreadable expression while she addressed her master, ignoring the other man in the room.

Not missing the glare that the maid had sent his way as soon as she opened the door, Mikaela dropped his hand to his lap as decorum demanded, hiding the amusement in his eyes while he lowered his gaze in acquiescence to her barging in on them.

His compensation for last night was given to him after all, Mika thought with some contentment. Of course, he was nothing if not fiendish for finding some level of diversion at watching the servant's evident unease with the level of intimacy that was so obvious between him and her master, but just this once, he allowed himself to indulge.

"Lord Goshi, I've brought you your meal," she stated in a somewhat passive tone, as if she were merely addressing a common farmer out in the streets. "The lady Mikaela's—that is, your guest's escort home had also arrived about an hour ago and is waiting by the front gate."

"Oh, it's you, Shigure. I didn't expect you to show your face this early," Goshi replied nonchalantly, scratching his chin as he made a move to sit up on the futon, adjusting his yukata so that he looked somewhat decent in front of his hired help.

"Not at all, sir. The mistress is due back from her parents' house in about two hours; I merely thought to remind you of it, so that you may be ready to welcome her home."

Mika's smile only grew wider, bringing the sleeve of his robe to cover his mouth, for which neither Goshi nor the servant named Shigure allowed to go unnoticed. While the master of the house tried to hide his own amusement, the latter's face could only turn red at having brought on an awkward silence between the three of them.

From the corner of his eyes, the blond noticed how the young servant had bitten her lip in embarrassment, without a doubt cursing Mikaela in the privacy of her mind.

Indeed, her timing couldn't be welcome at any other time. Mika nodded his head, turning his attention back to his patron. "Well then, my dear, it seems we will have to continue this another time then."

He made a move to stand, letting the yukata he wore fall to his shoulders, so that it would be entirely clear to the one who had interrupted their moment that by no means was he a woman, but rather all male—his flat stomach chiseled and slim, his muscles broad and smooth, diligently earned through routine physical activity, but mostly hidden beneath folds of satin and silk on a daily basis.

This time, Shigure couldn't keep the shock from appearing on her face, and she let out a loud cough, turning her head away as she bowed to Mika in begrudging deference, her hands gripping the tray so tightly she may very well have been on the verge of getting ready to hurl the food across the hall.

Mikaela tried with all his might to keep from chuckling too loudly, lightly bowing to the servant in return as he moved away from the futon and proceeded to pick up his robes and hair accessories that littered the floor, leaving her to go about finally serving her master his breakfast.

When he had finally stepped out of the gate and strode near the waiting palanquin, the bearers who would bring him home crudely whistled towards his direction upon the sight of him approaching, their expressions coy and lustful, eyeing him up and down as if he were a piece of meat for all of them to feast on. Giving them the full onslaught of his glare however, they immediately muttered their apologies, assisting him while he crouched down to climb onto the lone seat. Silently, he pulled the worn curtain across the small opening of the cart and knocked on the shutters once to let them know that they could start making their way back.

The last thing he needed was to unintentionally let these fools think that they could make catcalls at him, and that he would give them so much as an acknowledgement for unwanted "flattery." He made a move to open his coin purse and threw them all a silver coin each to keep their mouths shut, hollering at them not to dawdle.

Afterwards, he pulled out the rest of the pins and combs that had been hastily clipped together in his hair while he'd prepared for his trip back to the tea house, loosening his robes while he rolled his shoulders to let out the tension that had gathered from last night's activities. Somewhat indifferently, he dumped the handful of hair accessories on the other side of the palanquin, letting his hair hang loose for a moment, before he pulled out a silk cord from his sleeve, tying his hair together in a low tail.

As he crossed his arms in an effort to relax and ease his mind after having had to deal with a rough morning with his patron and the insufferable bearers, the gentle lull of the rocking cart eventually made him feel drowsy, and soon, his eyes had drifted closed, his breathing even and relaxed while he tried to look forward to the warm bath that would be waiting for him as soon as he arrived.

Before he could fully doze off to sleep however, he heard the heavy stomp of footsteps coming closer from outside, and he jolted awake, his annoyance coming back at full force. Letting out a loud scoff, Mika gritted his teeth, parting the curtains halfway to see the source of the noise, the ire in his eyes obvious.

Just as he'd slid the cloth away, his gaze landed on the profile of a young woman with auburn-colored hair, the emblem of the Goshi family painted exquisitely on the side of her palanquin.

She looked refined and solemn, her cinnamon-tinted eyes distant as she watched the road ahead of her, the polished gleam of her hair clip catching the sun, while the kimono she wore was of a vibrant blue silk, stitched with green lilies. She was as noble as any high-born lady was, the features of her face feminine with a heart-shaped chin and rosy cheeks, brimming with subservience.

And yet, it was but a brief moment, their carts artlessly passing by one another just as quickly as they had met in the middle of the road, the moment of the atrocious almost-meeting between wife and lover fleeting all too quickly.

Mikaela's eyes had widened in surprise, before a mixed look of curiosity and contemplation settled on his face, reflecting back on the somber lady he'd seen.

So that was Goshi Sayuri, the wife of his bed partner from last night.

Rumor has it that the Lady Sayuri had not been Goshi's first choice of a wife when he had come of age to marry eight years ago; he had been helplessly in love with another woman, a servant of his household at that, and had planned to elope with her. As a means to survive while they searched for a place to settle down, he had taken a number of priceless jade and pearls from the family treasury, along with a large bundle of silk. He hadn't been very thorough about his spoils however, so it didn't take long for his family to figure out the clumsy heist.

Eventually, his father quickly found out about the sordid affair. As punishment for his son's reckless actions, he had the servant badly beaten and thrown out of the estate, without even the wages that were still owed to her.

She had not been seen since then.

The marriage between Goshi and the Lady Sayuri's family was arranged three months after the incident, apparently as a means to quell the rumors going around town. Still, it's the nature of gossip to circulate, like a weed of sorts, no matter what the circumstances. Despite the Hanayori family's trepidations about giving their daughter to the louse of a man like Goshi Norito, the pre-offered court position that was presented to Lady Sayuri's brother by the Goshi patriarch, as well as the coveted connection with a direct link to the Emperor's family, was too hard to pass up; in the end, they had sacrificed their daughter in order to cement their social standing.

And last night, while Goshi Norito's wife was away visiting her family, her husband was having an expensive dalliance with none other than himself.

He bit his lip at the last thought, feeling only the slightest ounce of regret shadow over his heart temporarily, before he shook the guilt away, casually flinging the concern out of his mind as if it were some insignificant consequence, burying it with other trivial matters.

As a loyal and paying customer, Goshi Norito was no different from the other handful of men and women he'd been with in the tenure of his career as a tayuu. So long as they had the gold and silver to pay for his services, therefore ensuring his place within the tea house, and in turn, his family's continued safety and well-being back in Edo, he had no scruples in sleeping with married spouses. In which case, it was none of his business anyhow; whatever marital problems the Lady Sayuri and her husband had, it was no concern of his whatsoever.

In the back of his mind however, he couldn't help but feel that his childhood friend would have probably reprimanded him for such a heartless outlook. Again, he shook his head fervently, letting out a weary, tired sigh.

'One day, it would all have been worth it, Yuu-chan. I promise...' he thought with earnest, almost fanatical hope, summoning the beautiful green eyes he so dearly loved inside his mind, remembering his innocent smile. 'Just awhile longer, and we'll be together again soon.'

For the rest of the way, the journey was quiet and uneventful, just the way he'd preferred it, without the fanfare that accompanied him to Goshi Norito's estate last night. The loud procession the okami of their tea house insisted on every time he was asked to make a house call grated on his nerves, the way the onlookers stared at him with either an awed look or cruel expression on their faces, his outward appearance enough to have some of the men's wives giving him chilling death glares.

While he had no problem sleeping with married clients, by no means was he trying to encourage adulterous affairs either. On the contrary, he trained himself from the beginning not to have much preference regarding his clientele. While he had his high standards, of course, the stature of their marital circumstances were of no consequence to him (although to anyone else who would have listened to his rationale, this was probably hard to believe).

Regardless, it was no use thinking of such things, when all was said and done. Shaking his head, he let out another loud yawn, and crossed his arms once more, letting the rocking of the palanquin soothe and quiet his mind and within minutes, drifted off to sleep, thankfully that time, uninterrupted.

The tea house was in a flutter of activity when he finally arrived, dismissively waving off the bearers to help themselves to some snacks and refreshments in the kitchens. While the loud plucks of shamisens by the new trainees echoed throughout the thin walls of the large estate, several of the maids were running to and fro past him, carrying bundles of folded kimonos, boxes of makeup, and hair accessories, assisting the courtesans who were due for their appointments soon with clients.

Still, it was rare for everyone in the house to be up and about, and wondering as to why there was so much commotion, wandered into his shared quarters with another tayuu, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw the petite young woman expertly gliding her hands through her long, pink tresses in front of the bronze mirror, weaving them in intricate loops through the patterned head piece she wore. The purple shawl wrapped around her back accentuated her slim figure, her posture elegantly arched while her feet were tucked beneath her, not the slightest hint of fatigue.

"You usually let the servants do your hair, Kururu. What's the special occasion?" the blond asked pleasantly enough, sliding the shoji door closed before he settled himself beside her, helping her braid a section that was already parted.

"You mean you don't know, or you're just being coy?" the small lady asked, giving him a skeptical smile for a moment, before turning her attention back to her head piece. "That has always been one of your many talents, Mika. You know how to play naive...whenever the occasion calls for it anyway."

When the tea house had first accepted him as a member of their household, they had all been taken aback that the small, foreigner child standing in front of them was actually a boy, fluent in their language and mannerisms. They had been fascinated with him, as if he were some creature from a menagerie, the women especially jealous of his smooth skin, the ethereal countenance of his looks.

The okami however, had been a different story, instantly recognizing his worth and upon inspection, immediately set about beginning his lessons, first with dancing and the shamisen, then his reading and writing, the art of conversation and body language. Spending his time day by day in this brothel, he learned the arts and techniques required to successfully seduce a worthy lord or mistress he deemed suitable to his tastes, and much more, of course, if they had the money to line his pockets.

Two years his senior, Kururu too was a foreigner, with her crimson eyes and her hair the color of ripe plums, hailing from the distant Balkan lands in the West, some aspects of her culture very close to his native Russia, at least from what he could still remember of it. Like his father and himself, she had also been stranded on the islands as a young child, along with her brother; she had been on a ship bound for the Raj when a sudden storm had taken the vessel off course, and she found herself washed ashore months later on exotic, Oriental lands.

Sharing that connection, she had taken him under her wing, teaching her newfound friend of the unspoken rules that were the absolute creed within the tea house, advised him of the deep-seated rivalries that went on behind closed doors between the men and women here, and about those who could be bribed easily for leads on new clients and information.

In turn, the blond helped her with her studies, guiding her through the subjects that came more easily to him (reading and writing, no surprise), especially the numerous Chinese characters she needed to know in order to properly write and correspond her letters to her preferred clients.

It was a relationship founded on an equal need for one's own basic survival, one that eventually blossomed into a genuine reliance and indeed—respect for each other's talents. In a gilded world such as theirs where favor and gold coins were of equal weight and value, they both wisely recognized that merely being jealous of each other's strengths would achieve nothing and simply put, be detrimental to their goals.

Mikaela merely let out a smile in response to her tart remark, picking up a dark violet-colored ribbon to entwine within the delicate braid, looping it through one of the holes on the headpiece when he was finished. Standing up for a moment, he moved on the other side of her and picked up another section of her hair, casually continuing their conversation. "For once, I'll beg ignorance. I haven't seen you in a couple of days, so I honestly thought you decided to elope somewhere."

For a split second, Mikaela swore that he saw the latter's eyes darken in such a prospect, as if she'd been tempted by the Devil himself, but the look vanished as soon as it had appeared, replaced by a playful gaze, one full of amusement while the tassels pinned to her hair jiggled as she let out a snort and a chortle, although the blond couldn't tell whether she'd just taken him seriously or not. "Don't be so foolish. The okami would have my head for a large bounty if that ever happened."

Still, Mika went along with it, gently probing her a little more. "So where were you then? And where are you going now? I'm curious," he said with a more persuasive tone, giving her one of his charming, seductive smiles, one she'd personally taught him to employ more often.

She gave him one of her own sultry smiles in return, staring at his reflection for a moment, before finally answering his question—part of it anyway. "To your first inquiry, my lips are sealed. For your second question..."

She paused, the expression on her face becoming somber, unusually subdued. This time, she let out a slow, uneasy expression, bringing a hand to cover his own and lightly squeezing it, speaking once more after she'd let out an uneven sigh. "As to who I'm visiting tonight...it is none other than the Lord Hiiragi Kureto himself."

Mikaela's eyes widened at hearing the man's name, before his shoulders slumped, nodding his head in sympathy. "I see...in which case, I do hope you'll be careful then."

Kururu nodded her head and said nothing more, weaving the last of her hair through the metal band, her eyes concentrated on the reflection before her. For awhile, neither one of them said another word, while Mikaela watched her movements with appreciation; one of these days, he'll have to ask her if he can borrow the head piece, and try on the hair pattern for himself.

He stood up from where he sat, moving closer to the window to gaze out towards the streets, the throng of afternoon activity at full swing down below, geisha and street performers walking along with the crowds, the savory scent of fried squid and boiled dumplings making his stomach grumble with hunger. Perhaps in a little while, he'll go down to the kitchen and see if he can pilfer a riceball or two. While he had been invited to a private dinner with one of his clients later that tonight, and would no doubt be well-fed this time around, going with only a half-empty stomach was probably still the safer choice, in the event they chose to shortchange him too.

Nonchalantly, his thoughts drifted to Hiiragi Kureto, discreetly looking over his shoulder, his eyes quietly watching as the pink-haired woman began to apply her makeup, abruptly picking up a bell and ringing it loudly so that a servant came rushing into the room within minutes to assist her.

While he's never actually entertained the powerful lord himself, the rumors in Shimabara were rampant about the aforementioned man, half of them believable, but none of them especially reassuring. As the first son and heir to the noble family Hiiragi, he had all the wealth and privilege afforded his rank, but none of the restrictions (that was reserved for his half-sister, the yamato nadeshiko, Mahiru). A man of otherworldly tastes, he bedded both men and women, whoever had the occasion to strike his fancy. On the surface, he was a natural gentleman, charismatically mysterious and charitable to those lucky enough to earn his favor.

But there were other, seedier rumors as well; many often whispered that he was a secret spy for his family, and whatever dirt he had on someone, noble or commoner, were usually more than enough for his father, the noble Lord Tenri, to make a move against them. And to the oiran population of Kyoto, this was notably troubling, considering the fact that they have all entertained more than their fair share of the Emperor's and shogun's officials and could just as easily be incriminated, should they ever be caught in a scandal with their clients.

Many often called him the Snake of Kyoto, a dark, perplexing persona that no man or woman would ever be able to handle. And as much as it pained him to admit it, the thought of his own vulnerability against said man made him lurch with uneasiness, knowing that all that he'd ever sacrificed and worked for, could easily be overturned by his rumored shrewdness.

If he remembered correctly however, this would be Kururu's third time entertaining the Lord Kureto. While he's never had the occasion to broach the subject with her, he licked his lips uneasily, waiting for the servant to finish up her task of lining Kururu's eyes with gold paint, before he decided to carefully broach the topic.

"Are you fond of him...?" Mikaela asked quietly, moving into a corner of the room and sitting himself comfortably against the tatami once more, his eyes following the movement of her hands as she swept the brush of rouge against her lips.

"I'm as fond of him as I am with all my other clients," she replied in a monotone voice, one that the blond couldn't help but chuckle at. She tilted her gaze towards his direction, pouting when he just continued to giggle to himself.

"And what do you find so funny?"

"You," he replied without a second thought, straightening out his shoulders, folding his hands within the sleeve as he met her gaze. "You told me earlier that my talent lies at knowing how to be coy, but thinking about it now...you were my teacher, after all."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, before she laid down the brush and let out an annoyed sigh. She stood up and walked over to her chests, pretending to mull over which comb would look best with her head piece. "What did you honestly expect me to say? I neither hate him nor like him, he's quite frankly the same as all the rest."

"But is he kind to you? Is he...a good lover?" he probed a little bit deeper, refusing to turn away when she turned her head sharply towards his direction, her hair whipping, her eyes as sharp as the kunai he kept hidden in his chests.

"What are you trying to imply? That I can't satisfy him enough to satisfy me in return?"

"Nothing of the sort," Mikaela shrugged, giving her another smile of his, holding up his hands to defend himself. "I don't mean to imply anything like that. Only that...I hope you will keep yourself on your guard, for all of our sakes here."

"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"

"Of course. I know it does," Mikaela replied with playfulness in his voice, moving close to her once more and leading her back to her mirror and paints. Encouraging her to relax, he grabbed the small brush and lifted his hand to tilt her chin upwards, stroking her cheekbones with a flourish of color, the magenta rouge creating a pretty gradient with her light skin. When he was finished, he closed the case of powders and moved away, letting her do the finishing touches on her own.

After a little while, she stood and moved to tie the large sash in front of her kimono, making sure that were no blemishes or imperfections to her makeup, tightening the pins curled around her hair. She licked her lips, making the paint glisten and luscious enough to kiss.

Then she spoke, quietly this time, but all the same startling him from his reverie.

"He is kind..." she began, finally answering his question from earlier. She continued to inspect herself in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, a certain aura of vainness emanating from her desirable, haughty expression. "As kind as any man could be who chooses to openly bed a whore, while it's generally known that he's engaged to another woman."

This piqued the blond's interest, and his eyebrows lifted in response to her comment, for which she deftly ignored and continued on.

"Didn't you know, my dear Mika?"

"No, I couldn't say I do. Who's the lucky lady?" His voice was full of sarcasm, the biting wit ready to leap from the tip of his tongue.

She looked around for a moment, making sure that no servants or maids lurked outside their room, before she walked over to where the blond sat, crouching low so she could whisper in his ear. "Well...here's some piece of news you don't hear every day: in public, he's known to be engaged to the Lady Sangu Aoi."

Mikaela blinked in confusion, turning his head to look into her eyes, peering into their depths. "'In public'...? What's the purpose of a sham engagement?"

"The answer is simple enough," she giggled, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her outfit. "To hide something, obviously, for what other purpose could it have?"

"What in the world could they possibly hide behind a fake pledge of marriage, it doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't...unless..." she paused, waiting for the other man to figure it out on his own, her face not bothering to hide the fact that she was having fun with their little guessing game of intrigue. Moving behind him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her chin on his shoulder. "You're a lot smarter than this Mika. Surely you can figure it out."

The blond ignored the way the other woman made circular motions with her index finger on his chest, bringing a hand instead to his chin, his eyes concentrated on a spot on the tatami mat while he tried to wrack his brain for an answer to a situation he found very odd indeed.

Nothing in his mind could really justify anything that could be well-concealed behind a fake pledge; to be brutally honest, marriage in general was as fickle as the direction of the wind. Faithfulness in one was like trying to locate a needle in a hay stack, a thing of such rarity as to be almost considered myth in their society. If anything, a sham engagement wouldn't really be able to hide anything of value and in and of itself, could simply be a camouflage for—

He lifted his head abruptly, letting out a small gasp as his eyes widened in understanding, turning to look over his shoulder as he voiced his suspicions. "In public, he's engaged to Lady Aoi, but in reality...he's engaged to someone else."

It wasn't a question coming from his lips, but rather a confirmation. "The engagement to Lady Aoi is a front for his real marriage plans."

Kururu nodded in giddiness, twirling a lock of Mikaela's hair between her fingers. "Yes, that's right. He actually plans to marry his other half-sister, the Lady Shinoa."

Mikaela's mouth curled in disgust for a moment, before he remembered himself, letting out a loud cough while his cheeks turned red at the prospect of such a foreign idea to him; even now, there are still such things that confounded him about this island country's unusual ways. "His own flesh and blood in matrimony...it's quite difficult to imagine. Given his reputation however, it's not difficult why he'd make such a decision for himself."

Kururu giggled once more, running her hands down his chest, but before she could pry open his gi, her fingers were politely stopped by his own, and she gave him a sour expression, before moving away, her pride slightly injured. Regardless, she ignored it, her voice coming out as distant, if not somewhat impressed. "Once you've caught on, it doesn't take long for you to fit the pieces together. How enviable a talent that is."

"You flatter me, but as always, it's hard to take it to heart."

Kururu turned to look over her shoulder, her voice as seductive as the scent of her perfume. "I flatter for flattery's sake, that is all. In the end, it's up to you to take it or leave it."

Mikaela shrugged at her words, choosing instead to appreciate the color combination of her kimono, making a mental note to himself to copy it for another time.

"Well...I think it's about time for me to go and entertain my dearest Lord Kureto," she announced, ringing the bell to summon a servant to fetch the bearers and the okami. "What do you think, Mikaela? Do I look beautiful today?"

The blond nodded his head in agreement, giving her his approval. "Very much so. I imagine that when you step outside the gate and into the streets, all the jealous women will want to gouge your eyes out before you have the chance to ensnare anybody, let alone the Lord Kureto himself."

Kururu couldn't help but laugh out loud this time, her voice echoing outside their room for anyone to hear her. "Then by all means, I am ready."

The bamboo forest behind the large tea house provided him with the perfect sanctuary he personally found much more preferable to a local dojo while he practiced his kata. The air was crisp and clear here, the wind rustling through the smooth leaves, the scent of fresh grass and greenery comfortably blanketing his environment. There was not a cloud in sight, and the large grove provided a wonderful shade so that it was relatively cool, and thus, there was no need to worry that his skin would gain any unsightly sunspots from prolonged activity outdoors.

Effortlessly, he posed in a traditional fighting stance, the sheath of his katana and wakizashi secured perfectly on his hip, sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he slashed his way through imaginary enemies, his senses fully alert.

He expertly cut through the air, the sounds of his swords' movements gratifying in his ears, his strikes ringing like faraway bells. Though Guren had granted him his genpuku gifts months ago through his future brother-in-law, the Lord Shinya, by no means would he allow himself to become lackluster in the art of the sword, merely because he'd finally earned the coveted title of "samurai."

A code of honor, Mikaela liked to think to himself, to live by. And though the sword and the daily practice of mastering a killing weapon was inherently different from his life as a tayuu, a strange contrast to his penchant for makeup and fine cloths, the blond nonetheless loved the vigorous activity of training. It was comical, in its own way; while many knew his gender as a trained courtesan, there were only a few souls outside the tea house who knew that he was also a swordsman (though there were even less people, both in and out of the estate, who knew he fought in the name of Ichinose and their main standard).

Besides, his daily regimen of performing his kata out in the woods was something he genuinely looked forward to, away from the intrigues and resentments of the tea house where he had a few blessed hours to himself. Here in this forest, he could clear his thoughts, and let his mind wander away, and within this privacy he created in the world of the bamboo forest, he could indulge himself with thoughts of his family, the hope burning in his heart kept alive with his fervent desire to reunite with them soon.

'Akane may be getting married soon,' he thought fondly to himself; Guren had sent him a missive about a month ago that another man under his tutelage, one who went by the name of Saotome Yoichi, had been taken in with his adopted sister and that they were currently courting. While they've only had a brief exchange of letters here and there, he distantly remembered Shinya describing the younger man to him: gentle, playful, and somewhat proficient with a bow and arrow.

Whether the courtship would come to anything or not, he hoped that Akane would nonetheless be happy with the prospects of a potential husband. She'd always had a nurturing nature, deeply instilled in her as the eldest female of their family; having a child of her own would be a blessing for her, indeed.

And yet, despite his quiet, well-wishes for her, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of melancholy cloud over his meditations.

At this point in time, he was more than ready to admit that contrary to what Shinya has often commented about his cool, seemingly nonchalant attitude in response to having to live away from his loved ones, it wasn't that he didn't miss them. Far from it; only that, he has fought with himself so many times not to give into his anguish at having to live apart from them that the loneliness he felt had gradually become a familiar companion.

In other words, he was used to it.

Even still, though he was not there to share in his family's lives in these ten years, it was a sacrifice Mika was willing to painfully abide by, if it meant keeping them safe and secure. His bargain with Guren, always hanging as a dark cloud in the back of his mind, sometimes drove him to fits of despair, but thankfully, they never lasted long, the inner willpower he'd strengthened in these long, lonely years becoming a pillar of support to his heart.

So long as he had his periodic messages from his family's benefactor, his mind was at ease, for the most part, and he could focus on his end of the deal: maintain the pretense of a popular, but simple tayuu, while also acting as a spy on Guren's behest. In turn for keeping his family safe and under his wing, with the protection of the Ichinose name to guard them, Mika will be his eyes and ears, his secret agent specifically here in Shimabara, in which the red-light district was increasingly becoming the center of political intrigue.

His sword cut through a lose clump of leaves, his breath heaving in short pants while he continued his swordplay, the quick movement of his feet incredible to anyone who would have chosen to watch him.

He heard the distant rumbling of thunder far away, spotting the foreboding clouds. In the corner of his eye, the glossy sheen of a bamboo leaf caught itself under the sun's glare, creating a surreal color full of life, like the Tsar of his homeland's crown jewels, glistening so vividly. Glancing towards the leaf's direction, he let out a small smile, as if in remembrance.

There was one other reason he loved this grove so much, and he often thought to himself that if he could, he wouldn't have minded living his life here, surrounded by peaceful vegetation.

The lovely shades of leaves reminded him of Yuuichirou's unforgettable, vibrant eyes, his headstrong nature, the kindness in which he'd shown him when they first met. It was the memories of those short few years when they had lived together that kept his loneliness at bay, giving Mika the strength he needed to keep holding onto his hopes for the future.

"I miss you so much, Yuu-chan..." he murmured to himself as he stood up straight, lifting his face towards the sky as he took in the looming clouds up ahead, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He took a deep breath, letting the fresh onslaught of rain wash away the grime of his training, the stain of dirt that had splattered from the intensity of his movements. The cool sensation of moisture surrounding him helped ease the tensions on his shoulders, and without a single care, brought a hand to pull the cord that held his long hair together, letting the strands of golden yellow fall on his back.

It had been Yuuichirou's birthday some days ago, and Mikaela had celebrated in his own way by writing a letter to him (unsent, of course), to wish him well on his coming of age, how he longed to see him, and as soon as his mission here in Shimabara was finished and over with, his Yuu-chan would be the first person he would set out to look for.

The letter was full of embarrassing, if not gaudy sentiments, as if he were some lovesick lover waiting for their lord and master. But the blond liked to think that he was a little more than a man with a crush on his best friend; the feelings had always been there, ever since they were young, but he had kept it secretly within the crevices of his heart, cherishing and nurturing it carefully, his own personal beacon of light.

He often wondered to himself how Yuuichirou was doing; in fact, perhaps it wasn't so farfetched to say that he was a little more than obsessed with him. Was he eating well? How was his training going with Guren? Did he love practicing with the sword as much as he did? Mayhaps they can even be sparring partners in the future, the blond would so dearly love that.

...did Yuuichirou miss him, as much as Mika missed his best friend?

Mikaela's breath hitched, his chest aching for a few seconds before he calmed himself down, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, letting out deep breaths, counting slowly in his mind.

It was this accursed sort of thinking he often fought off, days at a time, afraid as he was to entertain such silly thoughts, or so he persuaded himself, for his Yuu-chan had always been a kind and sentimental boy, and he wouldn't be so cruel as to forget him...would he?

He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as he breathed in and out slowly, his concentration turned inwards to calm the beating of his chest, to find his balance once more.

Soon...so very soon, he would see him again. It was only a matter of waiting, really. And for these past ten years, that is all Mikaela has ever done. The waiting, the doubts and fears, the desolation that ebbed away at the edges of his sanity...they were all his companions for this weighty sacrifice he chose to burden himself with.

Mikaela let out an uneasy smile, barely registering the heavy rain that soaked him to the bone.

Yes...the waiting, for all the morbidity his situation encapsulated, has become something akin to a dear companion for him. For what it was worth, he could afford to wait just a little more.

It was mid-afternoon when he entered through the back gates of the tea house, his clothes dripping wet that for a moment as soon as he'd walked in, the servants had simply gawked at him, before they made their customary greetings, swiftly handing him some fresh towels to dry himself off with. While he gave them instructions to immediately prepare his robes for his evening appointment, he made a mental note to himself to be more careful in the future with the timing of his return from his training sessions.

Not many people ventured out into the bamboo groves all that often, but it wouldn't do good for some careless servant to accidentally walk in on him and suddenly find themselves watching while he trained. Besides that, the sight of a man with a weapon at his side was never really a welcoming sight to any of the attendants who knew nothing of the tea house's other functions.

Best not to frighten them, in any case.

Changing into a fresh yukata, he unrolled the futon that sat idly by the corner, letting his eyes drift off, taking advantage of the momentary peace and quiet he's been given before he needed to get ready for later that evening.

Just as he was about to give himself up into the throes of sleep however, he heard the flapping of wings by the open window, the sound of a pigeon's soft coos brushing away the remnants of his drowsiness. Rubbing his eyes, he walked over to the window where the bird stood patiently, especially trained to recognize Mika's location, tilting his head this way and that.

Petting the pigeon's head fondly, Mikaela took the small piece of parchment attached on the animal's left ankle, noting the distinct stamp of Guren's name. 'What does this old man want?'

He unrolled the scrap piece of paper and began to read:

'Yuuichirou will be arriving in Kyoto shortly. Prepare yourself.'

He blinked, not knowing what to think at first.

He paused, then took a deep breath, pausing again, before his eyes read the words once more; as if in a crazed, mindless state, he briefly wondered if he didn't hallucinate them, or perhaps he had died and this was a message sent to his spirit by the gods. When the words finally registered in his mind moments later, he let out a couple, disbelieving gasps, his eyes unblinking.

Lowering the note, he looked up at the ceiling, his expression still filled with an insupportable amount of shock.

He is coming here. To Kyoto.

His eyes brimming with astonishment, his mouth slowly stretched into a hopeful, buoyant smile, and he brought the note to his lips, kissing it lightly with what could only be described as devout elation.

So it would seem the years of endless, dreary waiting were finally coming to an end, at last.

'Yuu-chan.'

If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! If you can spare a minute or two, I'd love to hear what you guys thought of the chapter!

Just a small note this time! :3

Tayuu - Although the term "oiran" meant that these group of male/female courtesans were considered upper class within the red-light districts of Japan, "tayuu" was considered the top dog title within the classification of "oiran". Tayuu had the luxury of picking their clients, and even rejecting them, if they so wished. Their services were usually four or five times higher than what a regular oiran charged and when they slept with their customers, they would temporarily gain the status of a "spouse." It was customary for clients to remain loyal to only a single tayuu, in order to avoid rivalries amongst the often too-prideful entertainers.

#Owari no Seraph #Seraph of the End #Mikayuu #Yuumika #fanfiction #Yuumikayuu

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