#and UNPROMPTED he decided to write ‘i’ll wait a day a month a year’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kingreywrites · 3 years

Text

words cannot say (what I want them to say)

Prompt: "You weren’t there...why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there!" for @thefoghaslifted and anon

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 7670

Summary: "He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

This picture is wrong, wrong, wrong, and Eugene wants to scream. Adira doesn't stutter. Adira doesn't talk in a soft, compassionate tone. Adira, the woman who chased down a myth for twenty-five years, does not lose her faith so easily.

And yet.

(Eugene receives a letter telling him his father is dying. He goes to the Dark Kingdom, and tries to find the right words.)

Note: this is a Death Fic so uhm yeah, Edmund does die here. Also this takes place five years post canon! I kinda mention it in the fic but just in case it isn’t too clear... Anyway it’s kinda sad, kinda weird, kinda long, but I hope someone enjoys this anyway gdhdhhd

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Eugene's first clue is one of his father's ravens, not Hamuel, flying towards him with a message attached to its claw. It should have been a relief - Hamuel is... bad, at this whole messenger thing, and despite begging Edmund to send a bird that wouldn't get lost in the boot of a random nesdernian merchant along the way, his father had never relented, giving his full trust to his companion of decades. So it should have been a good sign; a sign that the letter made its way to him in the quickest, smartest way possible. A sign that nothing got lost, and that maybe, Edmund was listening to him.

Yet, a pit of worry forms in Eugene's stomach at the sight. What kind of message couldn't allow for the delay Hamuel would necessarily cause?

His second clue is the small, neat writing that greets him on the letter. Adira's handwriting. She writes to them, sometimes, in the empty space of his father's letters; when Rapunzel asks her something in one of Eugene's own letters to his dad, or when Adira wants to make a remark on one of their adventures, always neat-picking their fights even from miles and miles away. She writes to them, so he knows her handwriting, knows that she never sent him her own letter unprompted before, knows that she wouldn't if she didn't have something to say.

Adira knows how to get to the point. The short message feels like a punch in the gut, and Eugene leans on the railing of the balcony without meaning to, hands trembling around the paper he keeps reading again and again.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel calls. He doesn't know how long he has been there. His eyes blur, looking at the letter again.

Eugene (not Fishskin, and it had been his last clue, because Adira always called him Fishskin, no matter the years and the distance, no matter if he complained or bragged about it, and the fact that she didn't here told him the worst thing about it all. She was trying to be gentle.)

You must come to the Dark Kingdom at once. King Edmund was wounded in an accident, and his condition is serious. Doctors fear he might not pull through.

Bring someone with you, and don't die on the road. (Gentle, too gentle, and if her words hadn't been enough, he would have known here that she did not think his dad would pull through either.)

"Eugene?" Rapunzel asks again, closer, but he doesn't turn to her.

We'll be waiting for you.

- Adira

A dark spot appears on the last sentence, staining it. He rubs at his eyes, heart beating sharply in his chest, and hands over the letter to Rapunzel without protests, his hands too weak to hold onto it anyway. He sees her face pale, sees the cold determination in her gaze, and he knows she'll agree before he even opens his mouth, but he asks anyway.

"Can we go visit my dad?"

She hugs him fiercely when he turns towards her, and he melts into it, still trembling. They begin packing right after.

------

Lance goes with them, steering the hot air balloon effortlessly. Eugene had tried to protest, words stuck in his throat as he had looked at Kiera and Catalina helping Rapunzel pack, but Lance hadn't budged.

("The girls will be okay," his best friend had said, voice achingly soft, like everyone who knew about what was happening. "You need me." Eugene had wanted to say no, but he couldn't, so Lance had come.)

Quirin is chatting on the other side of the balloon with Rapunzel. Eugene feels bad that he hadn't even thought of warning him when he decided to go to the Dark Kingdom, but Rapunzel had sent for him, and he was already coming to the castle, having received a letter similar to Eugene's own. Varian's father is a tall and silent man. The complete opposite of his son, Eugene had thought when he first met him, until the day Rapunzel and Quirin had a four hour long vivid discussion about apples and how to cook them, and Eugene had seen in the older man's excitement the echoes of Varian's own when he talked alchemy. Today, he learns that father and son get worried the same, all wringing hands and tired smiles that don't reach their eyes. It's a knowledge Eugene could have done without.

Doctors fear he might not pull through. It's almost as if Eugene can see the words dance in front of his eyes, for how much he had read them over and over again. The environment passes him quickly, cold wind blowing through his hair, and Eugene can't seem to focus on any of it.

There's a forest under them. Eugene is pretty sure they went through it the first time they were on the road, making their way to the Dark Kingdom with difficulty. He wonders, somewhat distantly, if there's a chance he'll spot Cass down there, riding through the woods on Fidella's back, her cape floating behind her. The idea is nonsensical - she's all the way over to the west side of the continent, and he knows it, knows she couldn't be there.

(His last irrational fear, before leaving, is that Rapunzel will miss Cassandra's next letter. It always arrives at the end of the month, and even if they tried, they wouldn't be able to warn her in time that they were travelling, and she won't get Rapunzel’s answer when she expects it, and she'll worry, and-

"Eugene," Rapunzel had said, her forehead against his. It was night. The Princess and the Captain of the Guard couldn't leave the castle in a day, no matter how eager they were. "It's okay. There will be more letters."

Maybe there won't ever be more time with his dad.)

Eugene keeps watching the forest down there, until it's out of sight.

------

That night, Rapunzel huddles close to him, seeking warmth as they fly through the colder air, and Eugene doesn't have it in his heart to ask for space anymore. He had done so earlier because- because he couldn't talk about it, not yet, not when he didn't even know, not when Edmund could- could already be dead as he hoped he wasn't, could survive as he grieved him. Eugene had asked for space, because he wouldn't be able to refuse if Rapunzel asked, and he didn't want to talk.

When he wraps his arms around her, it's with the cold resignation that now was a good setting for a breakdown anyway. Maybe in the dark, she wouldn't see his tears.

"I love you," she murmurs against his skin.

"I love you too," he answers easily, bracing himself.

She falls silent. Hums a soft tune under her breath - a song he taught her way back then, when everything was still so new and she didn't even know any other song than the incantation and the ones she had tried writing in her spare time. It's a song from his childhood, silly and simple, and he chokes up for the umpteenth time today, his nerves frayed. Rapunzel holds him tighter.

It takes a while, but Eugene falls asleep.

------

He hears the surprised and worried exclamations of his name as he jumps down from the balloon, but Eugene doesn't turn back. They were close to the ground anyway, and he can't wait any longer. Adira is there. A somber expression on her face. Eugene can't breathe as he walks towards her.

"Is he-"

"He's alive," she announces, yet there's no hope in her tone. "He… He won't be for long."

And yet.

There are a million questions at the tip of his tongue - what happened why didn't you protect him why does he have to die what's wrong with him why my dad why now why why why - but there's only one that's important.

"Where is he?"

A word from her, and he's off. He remembers very well how to find the throneroom, and his father's bedroom so close to it.

He's not surprised to find Hector sitting next to the door, his two bearcats growling at Eugene. Eugene is too tired to argue - he knows that Hector's loyalty is as strong as he is stubborn, and he knows the knight loathes to leave his dad's side when Edmund is in trouble. If Hector hears everything he says in this room, then so be it.

To his shock, Hector gets up. His eyes, always so wide and angry, are cast down.

"I'll give you two privacy," he says, his voice so alien Eugene barely recognises it. Even in the years they had known each other on somewhat friendly terms, Hector had always been loud, full of righteous anger over the smallest things. The man in front of him looks… defeated. He pets the head of one of his bearcats, still looking at Eugene. "If something happens, tell them to come fetch me."

Just like that, he leaves. The bearcats lay down on each side of the door. Eugene, hands trembling anew, finally turns the handle.

Edmund is in bed, pale skin flushed red. The air is heavy, reeks of medication, and his dad - his dad, so tall he easily towers over him, a mountain of a man who can easily defeat the strongest warriors - his dad looks small, under the covers.

Eugene is still stuck at the door, unable to move. In all this time since he got the letters, he hasn't thought once of what he would say, what he would do once he finally saw Edmund. He half-thought it would be too late, and he should be relieved that it's not but- he won't be for long, Adira had warned, and Eugene is helpless to do anything, he doesn't understand anything, Edmund was fine before and now-

There's a low sound in the room, of his dad struggling to breathe, and it's like a bolt of lightning went through Eugene, spurring him into motion. There's a chair on the left side of his father, and he sits down here heavily, eyes never leaving Edmund's face.

"Dad…" he whispers. "Dad, I…"

There are tears in his eyes again, and Eugene hates his own helplessness. His father is in pain, his father is dying, and he's just sitting here, unable to do anything, to fix anything. His hand seeks Edmund's, and Eugene gasps at how cold it feels, heart dropping in his throat when he raises the cover and sees purple fingers with greying fingertips.

High fever. Failing lungs. Cold extremities, likely due to low blood pressure. The terrible certainty in Adira and Hector's expressions that his father was going to die. Eugene is no doctor, but he has lived on the streets for a decade, and he knew the signs to look out for, knew what illnesses he should avoid at all costs, and treat immediately if he ever fell victim to them.

Sepsis.

His tears fall. Eugene, selfish as always, manages to say only one thing: "Please don't die."

Edmund doesn't answer.

------

After a while, Hector comes back to stand guard in front of the room. Eugene would thank him for the privacy, but he hasn't been able to say anything since that one whispered plea, the weight in his throat too overwhelming.

After a while, Rapunzel appears at his side. He doesn't notice, really - just, at one point, he raises his head and she's here, like she always is. She looks sad, too. He holds her hand. (He still can't take Edmund's without feeling sick. He can't give his own father comfort, because he's too scared of the cold and stiff fingers. What a son he makes.)

After a while, Lance is here too. His best friend of years, who has enough presence to make an empty theatre feel lively by being in it, is quiet as a mouse. Eugene wants to joke about that, before the mere idea catches up to him and his stomach twists terribly. How fucked up do you have to be to joke in front of your dying dad, he thinks. He can't avoid this, can't lighten the situation, but being a coward is ingrained in his bones at that point, and the fact that he could have- in front of-

"Hey Eugene," Lance says. His hand, big and warm, gently touches Eugene's, which is gripping his own hair tightly. He doesn't remember doing that. "Do you… Want tea?"

Eugene startles, not expecting this question. It takes him a moment before it registers, a moment before he tries to answer, only opens his mouth wordlessly, and closes it. Silently, he finally nods, heart speeding up for reasons he can't understand.

"Okay," Lance smiles. "Do you want to come make it with me?"

Eugene should say no. He should stay with his dad, who is at death's door and could die at any moment, his internal organs fighting a losing battle. Eugene should say no, he should talk and speak to his dad, speak to Rapunzel who he knows is worried, he should… He should be a good son, and say goodbye to his father, one last time.

His head is spinning. He opens his mouth, closes it without a sound, and nods again. He's not a good son.

Lance's hand on his shoulder guides him more than his feet do. The kitchen isn't far, and Lance busies himself with its sparse content, searching for a cup silently. Quickly enough, he's making tea, water boiling noisily in the kettle, breaking the oppressive silence of the castle. Eugene stands around, more and more aware that you don't need two people to make tea.

It feels like no time at all before Lance is pressing a warm cup in Eugene's hands, telling him to wait for it to steep. Lance keeps moving, making another cup. Eugene wants to ask who it's for, but can't bring himself to.

"Rapunzel and Qurin wanted tea too, remember?" Lance answers, at the question he can apparently read in Eugene's eyes. Eugene doesn't, in fact, remember; he's not even sure Quirin was in the room. "Adira said coffee, though. And Hector said he didn't want anything, but he strikes me as a coffee guy. I'll make myself tea, that way if I'm wrong, I can always switch them."

Just like that, Lance starts talking about anything and everything, and Eugene relaxes a fraction. He listens, and sips his tea slowly, the warmth soothing in throat. He thinks Lance put some honey in it. It's really good.

It feels like he's at home, and everything is okay, for a moment. Lance had become a cook after adopting the girls - he wasn't very good at listening to orders, so he had simply opened his own restaurant near the castle, soon becoming the most popular one in town. Of course, it helped that the princess herself visited it often, but Lance was genuinely amazing at what he did, and that's what kept the curious around.

For two guys who, fifteen years ago, thought their best chance at a future was to make a deal with the Baron, they were doing pretty good for themselves.

Eugene finishes his cup right as Lance finishes his preparations.

"Thanks," he croaks out shakily, earning a blinding smile from his best friend.

"You want another?"

Eugene hesitates, before nodding, making Lance chuckle. There's still boiled water in the kettle, so it won't take long.

"You know," Lance says, a certain carefulness in his voice, "it still happens to Catalina, sometimes. It's not like when she was a kid, but when she gets too anxious, her voice just… leaves her." Eugene feels himself flush, lowering his eyes. "Tea helps her. It doesn't give her her voice back if she's not ready, but it helps with her throat, when she feels like it's bothering her. I just thought…"

"It helped me too. Thank you," Eugene repeats. He wants to say that he's not like Catalina; that he's a grown man, who shouldn't have clammed up just because he felt bad, who should have been here for his father and everyone else, who should be there, right now, instead of drinking tea, but he bites his lips and holds it back. If he throws himself a pity party on top of it all, it'll take even longer.

"Eugene." Lance is in front of him, hands on his shoulder. Eugene can't do anything but look up, and sees in his best friend's eyes so much love and compassion that he wants to hide from it. "I know you. I don't know, exactly, what self-perceived failures you are torturing yourself with right now, but I know you're being too hard on yourself anyway. Your dad wouldn't want that."

Eugene breathes in sharply, tears burning in his eyes. He wants to get angry, or joke, or do anything to get out of this conversation, but he can't- he can't avoid this. The situation feels unreal, like he's going to wake up if he just concentrates enough, and he can't- he can't-

Lance pulls him to his chest and holds him tight. Eugene blinks, and suddenly he's crying, Lance the only thing holding him on his feet.

He shakes and he wonders how the shy kid he remembers became- Lance. Reliable, sensitive, funny Lance, who is a dad now and who can hold you together when you're falling apart.

Eugene remembers their first meeting, Lance crying in his new bed, freshly orphaned after the death of his parents. He remembers how quiet he had been for a while, and how he had stuck to him like a shadow after Eugene comforted him that first time, seemingly thinking him to be some sort of hero. Eugene, of course, had revelled in the attention, playing up his courage and his strengths, telling stories of his future adventures and of all the money he was going to have.

"How do you do that?" Lance had asked one day, after one of his stories. "You know, how do you… how do you not care about… your parents, and how they left? How do you stop caring?"

It had hurt, at the time. Lance's desperation (still grieving his family, still hurt, wanting to forget the pain without being able to) had flown right over his head, and all Eugene had heard was that his friend thought he didn't care, about anything. It was wrong, but that's what he had wanted, right?

So he had said: "Adventurers don't have the time to care about their family - they have the whole world to discover, after all."

It was a Flynnigan Rider quote. One of Flynnigan's enemies, sure, but Eugene thought it wasn't so stupid. He had wished he could be like that, like Flynnigan who didn't even have a family to care about, and could just do whatever he wanted.

But the truth he couldn't admit to Lance at the time was, Eugene cared. He cared and he cared and he cared, torturing himself with how much he did, crying himself to sleep with a practiced silence at the idea that no one in the world loved him. His own parents abandoned him as a baby, and he wondered what he could have done to them, wondered how he could be better if they came back. Eugene cared and he hated that he cared, hiding behind fantasies and made up names, desperate to escape his identity and his life and his skin.

And when it hadn't been enough, he had tried to carve the kindness straight out of his heart, hurting everyone in the process.

Even that hadn't been enough. Rapunzel had seen through him easily, finding him a worth no one would have even thought to look for. Gothel stabbed him, and all she managed to do was kill Flynn, because Eugene, who cried and loved and cared - Eugene had been there, like he hadn't allowed himself to be in a while.

Maybe, if he was still Flynn, the thought of his dad dying wouldn't make him miserable. Maybe, if he was still Flynn, he wouldn't be crying on Lance's shirt, wanting for everything to stop.

But if he was still Flynn, Lance wouldn't be there anyway. He would have lost his best friend after one betrayal too many, and never seen him again. He wouldn't love Rapunzel. He wouldn't love his friends, his family, his father. Probably wouldn't even know who Edmund was, or where he came from. He would be all alone.

He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want the people he loves to leave.

He doesn't want his dad to die.

"Please don't leave me," he asks between his tears, voice quiet enough that he hopes Lance hasn't heard, but Lance holds him tighter and promises he won't.

Eugene cries harder.

------

It's early in the morning. Eugene barely slept, kept awake by the idea of Edmund dying while he was resting. When the sun starts to poke through the sky, dim and feeble light reaching him, Eugene decides it's morning enough, and slips away to his father's room, careful not to wake Rapunzel. Hector is sleeping in front of the door, his bearcats piling up on him, but he opens an eye when Eugene arrives, and nods in his direction.

Edmund is still there, still alive. Quirin is here too.

"Couldn't sleep?" Eugene asks softly. It feels wrong to talk over someone unconscious, but… it feels wrong, too, to not acknowledge Quirin at all.

"I'm a farmer," Quirin says, "I wake up early more often than not." He doesn't return the question, but Eugene knows how awful he looks after a bad night, so Quirin is probably just trying to do the polite thing.

Eugene still has the chair closest to Edmund's hand. He also still can't take it, heart beating faster at the thought. His father's hand should be warm, agile as it handles a weapon, it should... it's his only hand left. It won't matter if he dies, but it's his only hand left, and Eugene feels ridiculous but he can't- he should ask Quirin to hold it, take his place since he couldn't give his father this one thing.

Edmund's breathing is louder today. He's struggling more. Eugene feels nauseous, unable to do anything, wishing he could have just slept and slept and slept so nothing would be happening.

"I met Edmund when I was ten," Quirin says out of the blue. Eugene raises his head, but Quirin isn't really looking at him. "I set him on fire, actually."

That gets a surprised snort out of Eugene, and a smile from Quirin, tired but genuine.

"Don't tell Varian, but I liked to experiment with all sorts of things at the time. It was supposed to be a self-destructive message, and, well, it was destructive alright."

"Why did you even give him a self-destructive message the day you met him?" Eugene asks.

"I was a friend of your mom," Quirin grins, a little self-conscious. "She was tired of Edmund being too shy to ask her on a date, so she asked me to deliver a message to ask him on a date. If he hadn't caught on fire, of course, I think they'd have both enjoyed it a lot."

Eugene smiles, and as the story progresses, he learns that Quirin gets embarrassed the same way Varian does, too. That's a knowledge he appreciates a lot more.

------

"It's all because he wanted to change," Adira says, cryptic as always.

The others left to have dinner. Eugene couldn't. Edmund's breathing is louder today, his fever higher, and he doesn't respond to pain stimuli. Eugene doesn't want to think about any of that, so he turns towards Adira, desperate for conversation.

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes are stuck looking at her king, pain and grief and anger in her expression. Adira doesn't usually allow herself to be read so easily, but she has been on edge the entire time. It takes some time, but Eugene understands that she's just as afraid as he is.

"The accident. Him getting wounded. It's all..." Adira swallows. Her eyes harden. "It's all because he wanted to move on. I wanted to move on."

Eugene doesn't really understand what she's getting at. He's heard bits and pieces of what happened, mind so scrambled he had trouble making sense of it, but it was simple enough. They were doing renovations. Edmund got hurt - a stupid accident, as all accidents were, and then it only got... worse. An infection that didn't want to heal, and when they really started to worry, it was too late. Eugene wants to rage at the unfairness of it all, and maybe he will, later, but it simply makes him tired.

Edmund shouldn't have to die like that after surviving decades of terrible loneliness.

"It was an accident," he ends up saying, because he can see the tightness of Adira's jaw.

She doesn't say anything to that. Long minutes pass, only rhythmed by Edmund's uneven breathing.

"I've always hated traditions. Especially stupid ones. The first thing I did, after being accepted in the Brotherhood, was to ask for its name to be changed, because I am a woman." A sigh. Eugene doesn't dare interrupt. "I was asked to behave myself properly, and took to eating food as noisily as possible, daring anyone to come fight me if they were brave enough. Of course, no one did." She pauses. Looks at his dad again. "When Edmund decided to destroy the moonstone himself, I protested, but I didn't think it was such a bad idea. For a long time, I wondered if I could have saved his arm, could have saved our kingdom, if I actually tried to stop him. If I had listened to traditions more closely, because not all of them were built on false beliefs."

Suddenly, Eugene gets it. The emotion in her voice, the lines around her eyes - a feeling so foreign in Adira that he hadn't been able to recognise it before. Guilt. And he knows that, for all that she's talking about the past, it's very much the present that is troubling her.

"Maybe that's true," he shrugs, quiet. "But then again, you tend to be right most of the time. And my life is what it is because of what happened back then, so I'm pretty grateful it all went down like it did."

That makes her chuckle, because what he says is definitely true. Adira's confidence is not unearned. But there's still something hanging in the air, and he waits to see if she's going to confide in him. He feels like he knows Adira as much as he doesn't - she's as straightforward as she's cryptic, and he thinks they're friends, in a way, but he's not one to push when someone has secrets they want to keep, and Adira isn't one for sharing. The silence between them is an understanding, and he's not sure how to navigate anything else.

"This castle," she starts, hesitant and slow, "was built over the spreading black rocks. It's strong, but it won't hold forever, now that its core has disappeared. We weren't doing renovations as much as we were emptying it, because King Edmund decided it was time to move on from the past, and start to live somewhere livable. It was a tough choice for him, and I... heavily encouraged it."

Bitterly, Eugene realises that after surviving so long in the claws of his past, his dad would still be taken by it. This castle, as much his home as it was his prison, won't let him escape it. Eugene wants to cry at that, wants to shake Edmund and ask him to get up and not let himself die for something so stupid, wants to shake Adira and tell her it was a good thing and it's not her fault it turned out so badly. Mostly, he wants to bury his head in his hands, scream and forget it all, because he knows his father only felt ready to leave behind his ancestors because Eugene always insisted that they did not define who they were.

He thinks he should say something meaningful in answer. Something like, I forgive you Adira, but then again she does know that, and doesn't really need his forgiveness, because she didn't do anything wrong. She's not seeking that; she's frustrated, just as he is, and needs... companionship. Someone who understands.

He's not good at coming up with life-changing advice anyway.

"Stupid castle," he declares, voice unsteady.

"Stupid castle," Adira echoes.

That's enough, for now.

------

Eugene is alone with Edmund again. It's been four long days since he got here, and he knows… He knows it won't be much longer. Doctors, when they come, try to make the king comfortable - they don't try to save him.

Eugene is looking at the form of his dad's hand under the cover again. Edmund wouldn't even feel it if he touched it, but Eugene still can't shake off the guilt and the shame choking him. He shouldn't be disgusted by his dying father. He's not doing any of this right - he's not fighting to heal him, he's not loudly grieving, he's not holding onto hope, he's not talking to him, he's… He's not a character from one of his books. Standing vigil at someone's deathbed wasn't just a couple of lines in his backstory, and every single minute of it hurt in a way he shouldn't allow.

This isn't about him, and yet it's difficult to think like it's anything but. Edmund hasn't regained consciousness once. The fever and the infection are doing damage they can't even see, and the doctors suggested his mind might already be… gone.

"I don't want you to die," Eugene whispers, words like knives in his throat. "I don't want you to leave. We've only had five years together, and it's… It's too short, I want more."

I want, I want, I want - he's selfish, he knows it, and he can't bring himself to regret it, not when that's the only thing which makes sense. His dad is still young. They already lost so much time together, already had twenty-five years to catch up on, and it's over? One accident, and he's gone, Eugene an orphan all over again?

"You've still got too much to make up for to leave me like that," Eugene bits out, a familiar and safe anger drowning away the hopelessness.

It's easy, to blame someone who can't respond, to get angry at his dad instead of crying over him. Eugene had spent years being angry at everything, and mustering this resentment all over again takes no effort at all. He clenches his fists on his knees, tremors coursing through them, and the feeling grows like a storm, until he wants to hit something.

"You- You've been so busy, rebuilding this stupid country, and we've barely seen each other these last years! We kept saying later, later, we'll have time later, and look where that got us!"

Edmund sleeps. His closed eyes, his heavy breathing, it all becomes too much for Eugene, igniting a fire he doesn't control. He slaps his hands on his knees, hard, frustration making him shot up from his chair and pace, but it doesn't seem enough because- Edmund is dying, his stupid dad is dying because of a stupid accident and it's so terribly mundane, it makes Eugene want to bash his head on the wall. He grips his hair, tries to breathe -deep, even breaths that his father can't manage-, tries to keep his tears at bay even though his eyes burn.

"All my life, you weren't there for me!" he explodes again, "You weren’t there… Why weren’t you there? I needed you! I needed you! And you weren't there! You weren't-" His voice breaks this time, and he cuts himself off, immediately feeling ashamed for his outburst. He sits down again, like a puppet with its strings cut, and his hands shake even more than before.

He doesn't feel better. Edmund doesn't look better.

"I'm sorry," Eugene whispers. "I'm sorry, I- I…" I'm a terrible son, he can't say. I'm not doing this right, I'm not being fair to you, I'm terrified and I don't know what to do. I want to wake up tomorrow, and still have a dad, still have a chance to get to know you better, because five years isn't enough and I don't want to lose you. I'll miss you so much.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles finally, mind buzzing with all he wants to say, all he's not sure how to say. "I forgave you for all of that long ago, I- I shouldn't have screamed." Not that it matters - but it does, at the same time.

Since he first received Adira's letter, Eugene had wondered about having the right words. It should be meaningful, right? His last words to his dying father, they had to be important, they had to be something that would help Edmund, didn't they? Except Edmund is unconscious. Maybe already gone. And these words, these words he tortured himself over, maybe they weren't for Edmund's sake as much as they were for his. It made him feel worse, for some reason. Selfish, again.

Eugene presses the palm of his hand against his eyes, slowly feeling how his tears slip through anyway. He wishes Rapunzel was here, even if he's the one who asked for some time. She would know what to say. She would… she would help, because kindness and advice and everything, it came easier to her. Eugene is still… still learning, he thinks, still not caring enough in comparison. He's never caring enough. He's rude, and yells at dying people because he can't keep his emotions in check, and doesn't hold their hands because he's scared, and- and-

He's not good at this. He doesn't want to be.

"I never thought I'd have a dad," he chokes out. "Even now, I'm not sure I know how to be a son, after so long of not being one. But… But I'm glad we could learn together, these last few years. I'm glad you are my father." Despite the weirdness, and the awkwardness, and Dabney - Eugene doesn't say that, but it makes him chuckle tiredly.

Maybe it would hurt less, if Edmund had died before Eugene could meet him. It certainly felt different learning about his mom; painful, too, but not anything like the claw he could feel bury itself in his heart. It's so soon, too soon to lose his father again, because five years is nothing in the grand scheme of things and Eugene had always wanted more out of life, but… If he could do it all over again, he'd want things to be exactly the same. He'll never regret meeting Edmund.

"I love you, dad," Eugene says, crying as he looks at Edmund. It's just the truth, not some grand declaration, but it's enough all the same.

Oh so slowly, Eugene rests his hand on top of Edmund's own, the cover between them. He thinks, maybe, that Edmund is breathing easier.

------

In the next hour, the last king of the Dark Kingdom dies.

------

"Want a drink?" Hector grunts from where he's laying, vaguely shaking a bottle in the air.

It's not really a surprise to find him here. Eugene sits down next to him, and doesn't bother with a response, instead taking the bottle from the knight's grasp and drinking a little out of it. It's definitely not the best stuff but Eugene has drunk worse in his life, so he doesn't comment on it. He's not looking to get drunk anyway.

He doesn't really know what he's looking for. Air, mostly. Rapunzel doesn't want him packing, she thinks he should rest, but staying too long with his own thoughts as company quickly gets heavy. Eugene sighs, and lays down completely, looking at the stars shining above them - there are a lot more than what you can see from Corona. Maybe because there's less people, and less light to hide them away.

"I'm not gonna comfort you if you start crying," Hector interrupts gruffly, sounding sick at the mere idea. Eugene laughs, because there's perhaps no funnier scenario than him seeking out Hector for a hug. At best he'd get trampled by his rhino.

"Staying inside sucked," is all he answers, and Hector hums. He seems to understand that.

They stay like this for a long time. Just silence, sometimes broken by Hector drinking a little bit more. Eugene would worry, if he didn't already know that everyone in the Brotherhood has a stomach made of steel, and that Hector will need a lot more to really get drunk.

It's not much, but it's nice. At least Hector doesn't pity him. Eugene is grateful for the comfort he receives, but sometimes the attention feels like it hurts more than it helps, and he's definitely getting overwhelmed right now.

"Any plan on taking his succession?" Hector asks after a while. It's not a surprise either that he breaks the silence first - when he first met him properly, Eugene thought he was the surly and silent type, but Hector did like conversation. He was unpleasant most of the time, sure, but if he was thinking something, he tended to say it directly. (He wouldn't say it, but Eugene also thinks Hector is a bit lonely.)

"Nah. Not really my kingdom to manage, and I'm too pretty to be king," Eugene responds. He told his dad years ago that he would never be his successor, and though Edmund had a difficult time wrapping his head around it, he had accepted it.

"Probably would have quit if you did," Hector says pensively. Eugene feels ready to protest because it's one thing for him to not want it, and another to have someone hate the idea so much, but he stops himself in time to hear Hector murmur: "I couldn't call anyone else my king."

Ah. Loyalty, the one thing in Hector Eugene understands easily. He can't really imagine having his one purpose in life being ripped away from him, can't imagine how it feels to keep going after that.

Then again, Hector has more experience with this kind of situation than most. It's a sad fact in its own right.

"Guess you guys will finally have to change the name," Eugene muses quietly, knowing it's better to change the subject. They're not the right people to have a heart to heart. "Dark Kingdom wasn't super inspired to begin with. Though, I hope you don't go for something equally stupid, like Dark whatever-the-new-regime-is."

He expects a barb about his own ancestors being responsible for that, but Hector falls silent. He's thinking, Eugene gets after a while, and he doesn't like the weird gleam in the other man's eyes.

"Edmundland," Hector whispers, nearly reverently. Eugene can't contain an audible gag.

"You are not naming it that."

------

Two weeks have gone by since Edmund's funeral, and it still doesn't feel real. Back home in Corona, it's easy to forget - Eugene doesn't see his father often, and his routine has barely changed, so it's easy to think, for a moment, that Edmund is alive and happy in the Dark Kingdom.

The wave of his grief recedes, before crashing back violently. When Eugene remembers, it hurts all over again, like he's back at his father's side hearing his breathing quiet, until there's nothing left.

He keeps going. He cries, too, and then gets up and keeps going. Rapunzel and him left for a week and a half, and there's plenty of work to catch up on, even if everyone is determined to ask him if he doesn't want to rest instead. In truth, he doesn't really know - keeping busy helps, but there are moments when he wishes he could simply curl up in his bed for a century, and never talk to anyone again. His mood is unstable, but he tries not to take it on anyone, as hard as it can be.

He already yelled at Lance to leave him the fuck alone once, and despite his best friend assuring him that he understood, Eugene wants to go apologise again.

So today, when he woke up on edge and then nearly threatened to kill Pete for stumbling, Eugene was quick to decide that it was better if he took that rest, finally. That's why he's on his bed right now, leaning back with his feet still on the ground, tracing Rapunzel's mural with his eyes and trying hard to not think about anything. But then his eyes stray to the right, to the painting he knows represents him and his father hugging, and Eugene doesn't know whether to cry or to yell. He takes a pillow, puts it over his head, and does both.

He doesn't feel better. He feels ridiculous.

Grieving feels like it should be more. He shouldn't wake up in the morning like he usually does, he shouldn't take his coffee the same way, he shouldn't hide behind a pillow and he shouldn't avoid his work and he shouldn't… He should do something more, and he cannot name what that might be.

What he knows, though, is that he misses Edmund, and doesn't feel like he's ever going to be able to breathe like he did before.

So he stays in his bed, pillow pressed against his head. He doesn't move when he hears the door open. Doesn't move when he feels Rapunzel sit next to him, before laying down just like he is. He's crying again, and he hates it.

"I don't know what to do," he admits then, voice muffled and broken. Rapunzel touches his arm gently. "I feel so bad, and I don't- I don't feel like it's gonna get better."

"It will," she says, so certain that Eugene can't do anything but believe her. "It won't be like before, but it'll hurt less, one day."

He closes his eyes tightly, until they hurt. Crying gave him a headache, but it's practically a constant these days. He thinks about Rapunzel's words, and knows intimately what she's referencing - remembers more than well how she grieved Gothel, full of hurt and pain and anger at the fact she even did. He hadn't really understood at the time either. But Gothel had raised her for eighteen years; Rapunzel had loved her for all of them, and still loved this mother she knew never existed. So she had mourned her, she had hated her, and Eugene had tried his best to be there for her.

It's not the same, with his dad. Of course it wasn't, because for all of their history, Edmund had still loved him, more than Gothel had ever cared for Rapunzel. It's different, but Rapunzel understands, in a way, what it means to lose a parent. She understands his grief. He sees it in her eyes when he finally discards the pillow, and meets her gaze. His face is a mess, yet she smiles sadly and kisses his tears away, pulling a worn out smile out of him.

"Thanks Sunshine," he whispers, "I really hope so."

"I'll be there, no matter what," she assures, even if he never doubted it. "I… I also have a gift, for you," Rapunzel says, more unsure of herself this time.

He straightens up as she does, intrigued, and wanting to let her do what she thinks will help. He thinks she needs it just as much as he does, because she lost someone too - no one wants to say it, but Eugene knows he's not the only one grieving.

He doesn't know what to expect from the piece of paper she holds towards him. Slowly, she hands it to him, careful and worried, and he wants to reassure her immediately that it's okay but.

But.

There, under his fingers, is a painting. He sees himself, smiling, soft and beautiful in the way only Rapunzel paints him. On his left, his mother stands, a happier expression than the one on the only painting left of her on her face, her hand on Eugene's shoulder, looking so alive and present that tears spring up to his eyes. And then, on his right…

He realises, while he looks at his father's peaceful expression, that it's the first time in weeks he has thought of his dad as he was in life, instead of the dying man he had been at the end. His skin is pale, but healthily so, no traces of fever on his cheeks. His smile is wide like it often was when Eugene told a bad joke, and his eyes are aware and full of joy. He's touching Eugene's shoulder too, in the painting, and on his bed Eugene can almost feel it - that weight on him, neither stiff nor cold.

"I thought… I thought you'd like having a picture with all three of you," Rapunzel says, and he doesn't have to watch to know she's playing absently with her hair, nervous.

Eugene is careful not to crumble the picture like his heart is, putting it down as he desperately reaches for Rapunzel - and she's here, immediately, even if he's crying again and making a mess and holding her so tight he's afraid to hurt her.

"I love it," he says again and again, mixed with thank you and I love you and I'm sorry. She holds him and whispers that she loves him too, again and again.

Weeks will turn into months will turn into years. The picture will stay on his bedside table, always.

(Things do change, and because they change, they heal.)

#tangled #tangled the series #Eugene Fitzherbert #King Edmund #Rapunzel #Lance Strongbow #Adira #Quirin #Hector

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

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Let’s talk: Grievances and Cuteness - BTS on You Quiz on the Block

by Admin 1

Today BTS were guests on You Quiz on the Block, a very popular Korean variety show on tvN, and it was a wonderful mix of fun and hilarious, but also serious, vulnerable and honest. Seeing as we don’t have subtitles yet, merely the things our marvelous translator ARMYs managed to translate for us—the episode was 100 minutes long so there was a lot going on and being said—I don’t want to get into detail in this post and instead will wait with that until we have subs and I’ll be able to sit down and watch it properly again, focus on things that stick out to me and I would want to talk about. So that I can do their words justice.

Instead I want to use this post to air some of my grievances, directed at fellow ARMY, “ARMY” and shippers, as well as just gush a little about a few cute moments. The more serious things will be in a different post sometime soon. I hope that’s okay.

Grievances

What is the point of Bangtan going on a show like this, especially one that is broadcast on national TV and very popular with the general public? It’s to share not only their funny side but also their honest and genuine one, share stories that, though some we’ve heard before as ARMY, they’re things the general public doesn’t necessarily know. The point of them sharing vulnerable moments and memories with us is to simply be honest and transparent, something they’ve always highlighted as important to them.

What is the part we play in this, what is it that we should do? We are simply supposed to listen, understand the things they are telling us, put things into perspective so we know what they felt in certain moments and periods of their lives, understand that they’re human too with struggles, fears and sadness, and we should cherish the fact that they tell us any of it at all. They could just as well only show up whenever there’s a new album and comeback and then disappear again, share nothing personal at all and put on entirely fake personas. But they don’t. And we should be grateful for that and happy because of it.

Now, the reason why I even wanted to write this in the first place is this:

Many, and I mean many have decided that instead of doing what I’ve highlighted a moment ago, a far better course of action would be to twist their words, manipulate them, use them to victimize the members (and especially Seokjin), and try to overanalyze them in favor of their desired narratives and especially their ships, even if whatever was being said had absolutely nothing to do with any ship at all.

Before the episode even finished airing, solos/mantis were already up in arms “crying” about mistreatment and victimizing Seokjin because *insert demands they have no right to make at all* and when Seokjin, bless him, was on weverse, he actually replied to a post where he basically said that parts of what he said were too sad/depressing, so he simply asked the You Quiz staff to cut them out, which would explain why he seemed to have “less to say” during his interview section with Yoongi. Did that help? Of course not. Even though it showed not only that he did say more, that he likely said more vulnerable things, but also that he made the decision for himself that he did not want to share that yet, because he’s not ready for it or because he came to the conclusion that he simply doesn’t want to period, and that his wish for them to cut it out was met. Even though it wasn’t BH controlled content, but You Quiz.

More below the cut:

What does this tell us? The members have control over what is aired and what is not. If they feel something is too personal or would come across wrong, they can voice objection and chances are their words will be met and followed. They aren’t victims in need of saving, aren’t helpless boys with no idea what they’re doing. They are serious musicians, respected and treated well. This is a good thing and I’m glad he told us that, even if many don’t want to hear it and immediately claimed that “oh yeah BH told him to shut us up”. The mental gymnastics some are willing to do to make things fit their agenda truly baffles me sometimes.

On the other hand, I’ve seen shippers try to twist words or put others into the members mouths to push their agenda, and we’ve even had one or two asks being sent to us basically sadly wondering if maybe Tae isn’t who we thought he is for Jimin, and neither is Hobi, because of something Jimin said. Even though the thing Jimin said had quite literally nothing to do with either Tae or Hobi. In a way, I get where such vminnies are coming from, as vminnies we would love to just hear vmin talk about each other all day because it’s cute and we love their bond and stories, but it’s not like we didn’t get that. Because we did. Unprompted. Jimin mentioned Tae during their trio interview and told a story, even if we’ve heard it before to a certain degree. And yet it still wasn’t enough? Like come on, please don’t do this. Don’t reduce everything the members do and say to just ship related and non-ship related (thus uninteresting) statements and actions, as though the latter is worth less.

Here is the moment in question:

The way I see it, the only thing we should take away from this is that despite these very human fears and struggles, wonderings if people only care about Jimin because he is BTS Jimin and not Park Jimin, he still had and has good people in his life that’ll remind him that he is appreciated and loved for who he is, and not just for his celebrity status. Friends even outside of Bangtan. Why do we have to take something so incredibly personal, this moment of vulnerability from Jimin, and try to overanalyze it? To twist it to fit a ship? Regardless which one. Or to twist it to fit some kind of narrative, whatever one it may be? Please don’t do that.

Sure, Admin 2 noticed his use of ‘chingu’ when talking about this friend that told him that, and sure it reminded me of what Jimin said to Tae in the FESTA 2020 Rolling Paper, but neither Admin 2 nor I will go and claim that oh he must’ve been talking about Tae but didn’t want to use his name to avoid XYZ because we are not in his head and, at the end of the day, it’s irrelevant who exactly said that to him. That wasn’t the point of that story. Like at all. So why are some people disregarding the point in favor of speculations? Why are some completely ignoring his words, downplaying them as just potential ship material instead of appreciating the fact that he told us that at all?

It’s unfair toward Jimin, and the other members as well when they tell similar stories. Their lives aren’t fictional stories that revolve around romance. They are real people with real lives and more friends than just their fellow members and that’s a good thing since it surely gives them the opportunity to feel less isolated, cut off from the world by nature of their occupation and status. Besides, in the past Tae said something similar as well, how he used to be a social butterfly and make friends easily wherever they went but eventually he understood that people didn’t really care about Kim Taehyung and instead just wanted to know BTS V and be able to use that to brag, so he stopped being so outgoing. And we’ve also seen Jimin talk about cutting out friends in the past if they said something negative about Bangtan, then, a few years later, saying that he’s grown more as a person and learned to not allow these things to affect him as much, to surround himself with genuine people.

So, in light of what he said in that segment, we should be happy for him. And that’s it.

We also saw people use what Tae said about his dad to push the he must be 100% heterosexual because he said he wants to be a dad narrative which, where do I even start. Perhaps with the fact that this statement relies on a mistranslation? Because he didn’t say he wants to be a dad but that he wants to be a person like his dad, that’s his dream. Perhaps with the blatant homophobia this statement is laced in? The disregard for how queer people can also want to have kids, be parents, just like anyone else? Perhaps with how these things oddly seem to just be done to Tae and Namjoon, and especially Tae to use it for ship purposes?

Instead of jumping to conclusions, overanalyzing stories we are not supposed to analyze but instead to simply appreciate, please wait until we’ll have the full episode with subtitles (even though from the past we know that some of it may be simplified so reading what our translators wrote is also a good thing to get the whole picture) and even then, just enjoy their silliness and listen to their words of honesty. Listen to the fact that their fame was and continues to be a heavy weight on their shoulders, how instead of becoming cocky assholes they remained humble and genuine because that’s the kind of people they are and want to be, listen to what they want you to hear and now what you want to hear.

Also, to shippers—this isn’t the place to look for ship content of any kind, for some romantic confessions or whatever, because this was about Bangtan as seven members and their stories of the last ten and a half years since Namjoon joined BH and the idea for BTS was started.

Cute and silly things

Now that that's done, let’s talk about some fun and cute things to lighten the mood, shall we?

One of my favorite moments was when the MIC DROP ARMY came in as a surprise for the members, her confidence was off the charts and the guys looked so genuinely happy. After all it’s been so many months since they’ve last seen ARMY! And I’m so glad she was such a wonderful representative for us all, how she didn’t react with fear or shyness, didn’t scream or cry, but instead did her thing like a Queen. And the way the members reacted when she sent them a finger heart during one of the dances? Absolutely adorable!

Also, she truly must’ve saved some kind of nation, or maybe two, in her past life since she also was gifted a chicken leg pillow by Tae. He’s just so kind and lovely.

Then we had the members play a game of trying to guess a song merely by the first second (I think) and then having to sing it, though who sang which part didn’t follow the actual order in the song but was chosen by someone off screen which meant that, for example, Tae was doing one of the rap line verses as well as singing Jimin’s part in another, Hobi showed off his vocal skills, and of course, the highlight, Namjoon singing a part from Spring Day. Even though we know Namjoon’s skills when it comes to singing are not the greatest, which I mean in a very loving way, no tea no shade, and yet he still went for it. It was hilarious and cute and showed that he is willing to be silly even if others might laugh at his expense.

Sometime after the episode aired Namjoon actually came onto Weverse to talk about the episode and, among other things, apologized for not singing Seokjin’s guide all that well. One thing I’d like to point out is how, originally, he wrote Jinhyung but then changed it to Seokjinie hyung, which is just a small and precious little detail:

Another cute moment was during ‘dance mafia’ when Tae turned to Jimin to ask him if they did well and Jimin replied that yes, he did well (both using this adorably soft tone with each other), they also hugged for a moment while smiling brightly. See, I said not to look for ship moments, but this is just cute regardless if you ship vmin or not. Admin 2 though would like to comment on how they could’ve given us that hug from a camera that’s a little further away so we could have a more proper look, or a longer shot of it, please?

Honestly that game was hilarious and the members who were mafia did a wonderful job tricking the others, particularly JK was fantastic at it since the second time around no one suspected him at all. Also, the fluffy ear muffs with cat (?) ears on them were adorable. At the end of the segment they were all supposed to strike a pose but Tae didn’t manage to put his ear muffs back on, so they fell to the ground and so Jimin lightly hit/caressed his chest and turned toward the MCs to ask if they could try again so that Tae could look good in it as well.

Actually, speaking of adorable in regard to Jimin, when they were introduced at the beginning of the show as RM-jagi-nim, jagi-nim being the name used for all the guests on the show and also the name on the necklace (given to guests who are fans of the show by the producers) Jimin showed off on weverse in his selcas, Jimin corrected the MC that it’s not Jimin-jagi-nim but Mini-jagi-nim which just…my heart. Too cute.

Lastly, I want to mention how all of them were asked what the first sentence would be if their lives were a book and their answers were just so very…them.

Namjoon: Predictions in life often turn out to be wrong

Tae: I’m a chameleon

Hobi: Dear, people who’ve helped to lead me here

Yoongi: You lived life to the fullest/hard/well

Seokjin: Dope, worldwide class!

Jimin: What kind of life do you want to live?

Jungkook: Hello?

Overall it was an amazing episode that was so fun to watch even without really being able to understand any of what was being said. Still the members genuine personalities shone through brightly and I’m glad they had fun and felt comfortable, especially since it’s been a while since they were last on Korean variety shows and some of their past experiences were…not great. I can’t wait to watch it again once we have subs and to write a more proper post about it then. I hope you didn’t mind this more…serious and “angry” post and understand where I’m coming from with my complaints, but also that you enjoyed the cute moments I highlighted.

#BTS #BTS You quiz on the block #Namjoon #Seokjin #Yoongi #Hoseok #Jimin #Taehyung #Jungkook #vmin

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swan--writes · 4 years

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Shower Time

Yep, this is gonna be a two-parter. This is the bath/shower prompt from earlier this week (here). Y’all shouldn’t have to wait long for part two, and I’ll put a link at the bottom of this post as soon as it’s up. And as a heads up, I did a capstone last semester about sexual violence. While I’m generally uncomfortable writing smut (aspec), I am generally comfortable writing about sex.

Warnings: implied sex, mostly non-sexual nudity, kissing

When you first started dancing around the subject of feelings with Beetlejuice, you assumed he would tire of avoiding the subject of sex and leave you. This did not happen.

This was a good thing. At first, you weren’t quite prepared to tell him why you never flirted back when he said something suggestive. Or why you never cuddled him without a blanket between the two of you. Or why you refused to let his jacket on or anywhere near your furniture (though you were reasonably certain he could intuit that).

The truth was, Beetlejuice smelled really, really terrible. Because he was dead, you weren’t entirely sure he could tell just how badly he smelled, and trying to convey it in words would be a challenge. It wasn’t that you thought he would be offended – you sincerely doubted he would be. He could see the moss on his face, the slime that oozed from his pores, the dark grime that coated his teeth. The issue was more that you didn’t think he would care to do anything about it. At some point, you knew you would have to tell him why you hadn’t let all the moves he made on you go anywhere. You just weren’t sure when or how. But in the end, he did it for you.

It had been almost a month since you summoned him, and two weeks since you told him you might, possibly, potentially have some sort of feelings for him. That, evidently, had been enough of an admission for the demon to treat you as if you had fallen head over heels in love with him. He clung to your legs every time you had to leave the house for work so you would drag him to the door. He tied different locks of your hair together while you were lying on the couch and didn’t tell you. He wrote you dirty poetry and called you during work to perform unprompted dramatic readings. You didn’t mind.

The night that the smell came up, you were lying on the couch and watching a claymation movie. There was a blanket tucked firmly around you and your back was pressed against Beetlejuice’s front. He was playing with your hair as always, but this time he seemed more focused on moving it away from your neck. Beetlejuice would thread locks of your hair together and push them up over your shoulder. Every new patch of skin he exposed, he would kiss.

This was new. You had thought about kissing Beetlejuice a few times. Sometimes, when he made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe, he would look so proud of himself that you almost had to kiss him. Just a few days ago, he had shaken you awake early because he made ‘breakfast.’ (Suspiciously thick coffee, some plain yogurt in a bowl with grape tomatoes and honey, and a whole grapefruit impaled on a butter knife.) You almost kissed him then – grabbed his cold face and everything. But then you watched some slime ooze from the side of his nose, and you thought better of it.

Now, it seemed, he had decided it was time to make a move. Beetlejuice was nosing at the back of your neck and dropping gentle kisses along the skin he could reach. He moved more and more of your hair out of his way, kissing you softly as he went. When he reached the top of your spine, you felt a jolt all the way down your back. His lips were chilled, and you could feel the smirk when he returned them to the back of your neck, surer now.

“Beej…” Slowly, you turned. Beetlejuice’s lips fell away from your skin and he draped one arm over your waist, setting his other elbow on the arm of the couch and propping his head up on his hand. He was still smirking when you looked at him – not smiling, smirking. You weren’t sure what your face was doing, but you hoped it wasn’t something stupid. Then you realized he wouldn’t care if your expression was stupid, as long as you were looking at him.

“What’s a’ matter, babes?” He didn’t wait for a response. Beetlejuice leaned in. You leaned in. You were so, so close to his lips when you made the mistake of inhaling.

In seconds, you had fallen off of the couch.

What you meant to do was push yourself backwards. In your rush, you had planted your hand on his chest and shoved a little too hard, flailing right off of the couch, blanket and all. You swore and scrambled to your feet. Beetlejuice laughed at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. As you struggled to recover your dignity, you had to be grateful that he at least had enjoyed watching you fall. It was better than secondhand embarrassment.

“You okay, sweet cheeks?”

You huffed and threw your blanket onto the couch at his feet. “I’m fine, I just lost my balance,” you muttered.

“Good.” Beetlejuice sprung up from the couch and moved toward you. “Now let’s try it again, with more feeling this time.”

“Nah-ah-ah.” Your hand shot up to block him as he tried to kiss you again and you took a few steps back.

“C’mon babes, I want a kiss.”

You made a small, tense noise. This time when he looked at you, Beetlejuice was confused. You tried to ignore the hurt that was slowly making its way into his eyes. You sighed. “Beetlejuice, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong? I know, having a demon this sexy in your house can be intimidating.” You laughed shakily, grateful for the humor.

Rapidly, you were beginning to see that there would be no way out this time. You had to tell him why you had dodged all of his attempts at real physical intimacy. There was something bordering on vulnerable in the way he was looking at you now, something that you wanted so badly to respond to. But there was no way you could kiss him, touch him, hold him the way you had been thinking of doing unless you could be honest with him. Unless you could do something about the–

“It’s because of the smell, isn’t it?”

You felt your shock freeze over your face. How had he known? You had hoped that he would know, but how had he gotten there so quickly? Was he self-conscious about it? Did the smell bother him as well? You wouldn’t think that, but for that to be his first guess, it must have occurred to him at least once.

You nodded. “Yeah actually, it is. How did you get that so fast?”

Beetlejuice gave you a look. “Y/N, I have a nose.”

“Does it work?” He rolled his eyes, and you had to laugh again.

“It did when I was alive.”

“Yeah, for all of point-five seconds.” You shook your head and walked up to him. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” You considered being delicate for a moment, before remembering that he certainly wouldn’t do the same for you. “You smell like the inside of a mausoleum after a ghoul’s birthday party. It’s not that bad at first, but if I get too close it’s rough.”

Beetlejuice looked down at the floor. He didn’t appear offended, but he did seem a bit self-conscious. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s–” you sighed. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like you can help it, you’re dead. It’s just, y’know, maybe you should take a shower. Or five.”

He laughed. “Yeah, right. Then I can do other living-people things like save up money from my job for a year so I can go see a Broadway show once before I go home and sink into a depression because I’ll never be able to sing like Hugh Jackman. Oh, that Hugh-jacked man,” he whispered, staring into the middle distance over your shoulder.

You frowned and reached out to him, grasping his arms. “Hugh Jackman is overrated, Beej.” You shook him gently so he would return his gaze to you. “Why can’t you shower?”

“We don’t have showers in the Netherworld,” he explained emphatically, as though you should already know this.

“So?” You pointed to your left. “I have a shower right down the hall. Just use mine.” For a long moment, the demon stared at you. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but his hair seemed to be turning an even brighter green. “What?”

“I can…shower here?”

“Beej, you’d practically live here if you weren’t dead. Of course you can shower here.”

“Can I use the hot water?” By now you were openly staring at him in disbelief. After a month, you would have thought he would feel more comfortable here.

Then, in a moment, you realized it might not have anything to do with that at all. “Beetlejuice, when was the last time you took a shower?” you asked suspiciously. He didn’t answer, simply staring back at you. Wide-eyed, you shook your head again, more slightly this time. “Yes, Beej. Anything that’s in there, you can use. Except the hair styling products, that shit’s expensive.”

The demon was nearly bouncing up and down, but still, he seemed almost afraid to move away from you. “So, can I, um–”

You gave him an amused smile. “Yeah. I’ll get you a towel.”

His arms were out of your grasp the moment you blinked. Immediately, his tie was on the floor with his jacket and he was unbuttoning his shirt. Even before you had moved, Beetlejuice was zooming toward the bathroom. Laughing, you followed him, but instead of turning right into the bathroom, you turned left and opened the hall closet. After a moment of consideration, you picked out a very fresh, very fluffy blue towel. Beetlejuice had left the bathroom door open. When you turned around to give him his towel, you hesitated. The demon wouldn’t mind you following him into the bathroom, no matter his state of undress. You wouldn’t mind following him, no matter his state of…still, it felt a bit dirty for the first time you saw him naked to be when you were handing him a towel, only to walk away.

Though, you supposed, if you intended to have sex with him at some point, you might as well get used to dirty.

“Beej?” You knocked on the doorjamb and stared resolutely at the floor. Even so, when Beetlejuice planted himself directly in front of you, you could tell he was completely naked and shameless. You held the towel out, strategically blocking your own view. When you looked up, you saw a full tummy, a greenish hairy chest, and a very smug face. “Towel,” was all you could say.

“Aw.” He made a meal of the word. “Thanks, dollface.” Beetlejuice booped your nose and took the towel in one fluid motion. The heat rising to your face was more than you had ever felt. “You know, you could always join me. I’ve never used your shower before, I might need someone to help me handle it.” With your eyes fixed stubbornly on his face, you swallowed.

No way in hell he was talking about the shower.

You cleared your throat. “Nice try, Mr. Beetle Man. Get that slime off your…everything, then we’ll talk.”

“Oh, we can do a little more than talk.”

“Okay, in the shower.” Abruptly, you turned and walked away. Even his laugh was somehow filthy as it chased you out of the bathroom. You expected him to be quick. The promise of a kiss, or more, from you was hanging over his head, and he had reveled in his filth for so long, you thought he wouldn’t want to part with it.

In the end, it seemed you would have to drag him out of the shower. He was in there for over a half an hour before you finally went to check on him. Before walking into the steamy bathroom, you thought he must be holding out, waiting for you to cave and get under the water with him. But when you stepped into the room, you stilled for a moment. All you could see of him through the frosted shower door was his head and his shoulders. Beads of what must have been scalding water rolled down his death-kissed skin, and you had to admit that even – maybe especially – with wet, deflated hair and glistening skin, he was a little beautiful. But the expression on his face, the look he gave you when he faced you, was so open. His eyes were soft, his brow half-raised, as though he had just discovered something incredible. Beetlejuice looked so relaxed and so vulnerable and so…grateful.

Something in the region of your chest pulsed. Okay, maybe those were feelings. You and Beetlejuice watched each other as you reached for the hem of your shirt. It was about damn time he got that kiss.

You can find part two here!

@pastelnacht

@kitsunki

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annecoulmanross · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on “Terror of the Arctic” (2005), aka, “I listened to the Doctor Who audio drama episodes about the lost Franklin Expedition so that you don’t have to!”

Alright terror-friends, this was not how I expected to spend my day, but I have now listened to all eight episodes of the 2005 Doctor Who Audio Drama series “Terror of the Arctic,” featuring all of the ~ familiar ~ icy ~ boys ~ meeting the infamous Doctor.

With arguably more horrifying sexist/racist content than the 2007 Simmons novel, this audio drama actually predicted a lot of the tropes that Simmons popularized, including ship-board conflicts that escalate to stabbings, the appearance of supernatural creatures from Inuit oral traditions, and even a squick-y romance between Crozier and a much younger Inuit woman.

To clarify, I do not recommend you listen to these episodes. They’re a hot mess, and a really jarring departure from the beauty of The Terror (2018).

HOWEVER I highly recommend you look below the cut for episode-by-episode notes about the first Franklin Expedition adaptation that has well and truly driven me up the wall. So, welcome to the world of “Terror of the Arctic” (2005), featuring:

Crozier, (pronounced "Crow-zee-eyy,”) a polite door-mat of a captain with an agonizing lack of snark and minimal personality beyond “the only white man who can magically fix racism.”

Fitzjames the “proper English officer” who has every prejudice you can imagine – and a couple more you can’t.

Le Vesconte, the irrepressible lad with an inexplicable American accent and extreme boy-scout-gone-crazy energy.

Sgt. Tozer, who has a bad habit of punching people in the face even though his superior officers haven’t yet told him he’s allowed to do so.

Also featuring: Cybernetic Tuunbaq aliens! Complete breakdown of shipboard protocol! Expected amounts of cannibalism! And more! (spoilers, obviously)

Episode 1

– We start with a mandatory brief appearance from the Doctor and his companion Christine. I don’t (initially) hate this iteration of the Doctor – he’s very paternalistic and old-fashioned, but at least the voice actor’s competent. Christine’s voice, tragically, is high-pitched beyond all reason and laced with a variety of odd dialectical features. Some quick research reveals she’s supposed to be a 15 year old from medieval England. She sounds neither like a teenager nor a medieval person. From the very beginning, her character seems very infantilized, and plays into a lot of the Born Sexy Yesterday tropes, even if she and the Doctor aren’t a thing.

– Next, we have Sir John Franklin giving the “we’ve been stuck in the ice for nine months, here’s what you missed” sum-up.

– Sir John’s voice is gravelly 👏 as 👏 fuck; also, I don’t think that the phrase “to sugar-coat it” was a common 1840s expression? Correct me if I’m wrong history folks.

– Crozier shows up to give his “we should start walking out now” speech, minus any passion or conviction whatsoever; he bends immediately to Franklin’s whims. Crozier’s voice is quite high-pitched, and Sir John pronounces his name “Crow-zee-eyy.” (Update: everyone pronounces it this way!!! Uhmmm!) Though I struggle to judge accents, Crozier’s Irish accent sounds... leprechaun-ish. It’s not Jared Harris by a long mile.

– Not gonna lie, I kind of love how much Fitzjames sounds like a posh bastard. He immediately gets into a one-sided shouting match with Crozier and has to be reprimanded by Franklin.

– Lieutenant Irving appears on the scene; I don’t know what Irving’s accent is, but it sure is something.

– All of the officers seem to currently be on the same ship for some reason but I don’t know why. We’ve met Sir John, Crozier, Fitzy, and Irving, and Gore’s been mentioned, as have doctors Peddie and Stanley. And they’re all in the same boat. Guess we’re just ignoring Terror for now?

– Franklin begins narrating as he writes in the log-book: “11th June, 1847.” Oh BOY guess what day it is!!

– RIP Franklin (surprise, surprise). We have no real idea yet how this has happened.

– Fitzjames, talking to Sir John’s mysterious corpse: “Captain, what could have done this to you?”

– Fitzjames: “We have a killer loose on this ship” (Fitz gets ALL the best lines, apparently. Do they make sense? No. Are they hilarious? Yes.)

– Irving is shockingly nonchalant when the Doctor and Christine appear from nowhere out on the ice. Why is Irving so chill when he thinks that these two people are the lone survivors of a DIFFERENT failed expedition?

– Fitz apparently has refused to let Crozier start the walk-out after Franklin died. (Um, that’s not how the chain of command works?)

– We learn that Beechey-boy Braine apparently died of sudden-onset-scurvy. What is sudden-onset-scurvy, you ask? We do not yet know.

– Irving, happily describing their recent course of action: “...Ignoring the advice of our ships’ ice masters...” Oh god Irving don’t sound so happy about that. Blanky’s going to take an ice-axe to your head. (Tragically, Blanky does not appear in this show.)

– Lieutenant Gore has ALSO died of sudden-onset-scurvy. RIP Graham Gore.

– Is the Doctor going to focus on the existence of sudden-onset-scurvy? No, we’re gonna hyperfixate on the high officers-to-crew death rate! And he’s going to infodump about officers’ privileges TO Irving, an officer, and muse about how odd it is that more officers than crew are dying when the officers get all the best food!

– Fitz, the “proper English officer” apparently has managed to get about half the men to refuse to follow the orders of their expedition commander, because he happens to be Irish. Babe, this is a really bad look!

– Irving, our good Christian Irving, just swore “By Jove” in a weirdly sexy voice.

– Tozer has Extreme Deep Voice.

– Irving: “There’s something odd about them I just don’t trust.” Why on earth wouldn’t you trust two strangers who wandered up to you on the ice and asked if you were “human,” John Irving? What’s “odd” about that?

– The Doctor only remembers that he does actually know the events of the Franklin expedition after he reads the entire Victory Point Note.

– Irving has suddenly decided to threaten to shoot the Doctor and his companion. Irving promptly gets attacked.

* jarring transition to triumphant Doctor Who music *

Episode 2

– The ~mysterious~ attack on Irving has left weird wounds on Irving’s neck. I’m calling it, Ice Vampires!

– We have an Edward Little appearance! His voice is so sweet and gentle! And then... “I’ll have Sergeant Tozer shoot you both where you stand!” Okay, maybe not... (Update: Little is, in fact, very awful to several people. As we will see, all of the lieutenants and marines swing between weirdly nonchalant dudes and trigger-happy maniacs.)

– Tozer just punched the Doctor’s lights out, unprompted.

– Crozier: “Good old John Peddie... he’s like a brother to me.” Well THAT’S not a friendship I expected.

– So Dr. Peddie has brought a young Inuit woman in to Crozier’s cabin to have a “lovely chat.” Awkward book!Crozier/Silna energies. The woman’s name is Liak. She speaks with a vaguely Spanish and/or Italian accent.

– Liak: “I have been with my tribe. They would not allow me to come back to see you.” / Crozier: “Why? It’s not because of Fitzjames is it?”

– (It’s not because of Fitzjames. It’s because of evil spirits, obviously.)

– The Doctor, once they get back to the ships, explaining to the higher officers what’s happened: “Mr. Tozer got all excited and could no longer restrain his Neanderthal-like impulse to start clubbing things.” Boy this by show is NOT for Tozer fans. (Note: Tozer is standing right there? In the room? When the Doctor says this?)

– The Doctor just dropped an f-bomb?????????? And not as an expression of shock, but a hard-core sexual use of the f-bomb. Literally, he said “you can let Tozer fuck me again” – did I mishear this????????????

– Irving’s dying words: “I was attacked by a large silver creature with claws!” Wait did Dan Simmons rip off a fan-made 2005 Doctor Who Audio Drama?

– RIP Irving, first confirmed victim of “Tuunbaq the First.”

– Fitzjames is SO racist, throwing around a lot of “savage” and “barbarian” words. Why are you letting this man walk all over you, Crozier?

– Crozier: the first person who has the correct reaction to two weirdos appearing on his boat (aka shock and surprise, rather than worrying nonchalance followed by unprompted extreme aggression.)

– Fitzjames literally laughed after being informed that Irving is dead. (Like Crozier’s bad Raft of the Medusa joke, but SO MUCH WORSE.)

– RIP Ice Master Reid, actual first confirmed kill of “Tuunbaq pre-Tuunbaq,” several weeks ago, apparently??

– Okay so Fitz here is obviously meant to be a horrible person, but I have to acknowledge that he’s making a few good points: (1) the Doctor has admitted that he has a “sailable” ship, and it’s pretty rude of him to not even explain why he’s unwilling to help these dying men, and (2) it’s been bothering me the whole episode that the Doctor hasn’t been calling officers by their titles, and frankly, I do think Fitz is within his rights to demand the Doctor call him “Captain Fitzjames” rather than “Mr. Fitzjames” on Fitz’s own ship. Like, it’s not that hard.

– The Doctor’s first example of “ways the Franklin crew could mess up the time stream” is the insane scenario: “what if one of them married the mother of Winston Churchill.”

– The “Tuunbaq: The Prequel” can talk!!!!!! “Hello meat!!!” it says, gleefully.

– Tozer is just the fucking most. He punched the Doctor AGAIN.

– Crozier just “Mr. Fitzjames”ed Fitz!! And Fitz backed down! Crozier finally grew a spine! Just in time to decide to commandeer the Doctor’s ship.

– The Doctor’s ship inevitably disappears before it can be commandeered. Because of course. (Things and people disappear and get transported to different places and later times all through these episodes for timey~wimey~reasons.)

Episode 3

– A conversation between the two named female characters (Liak and the Doctor’s companion Christine)! What will they talk about? ...Their dead fathers. Ah. Hmm.

– This show is not sophisticated enough to handle a “white man’s disease killed my father” subplot. And yet, Liak’s father died of TB he contracted from the white men. I’m *worried*

– To help Liak overcome the superstitious antagonism of her “tribe” after her father’s death, Crozier apparently gave a bunch of food to the Inuit, which is an... interesting take. (One Irishman’s grand gesture fixes racism!)

– Magical Inuit shaman powers are only inherited through the male line (The racism and sexism in this is palpable.)

– So “Tuunbag Episode I: Revenge of the the Tuunbaq” is actually a larger coalition of aliens, run by a being called “Matriarx.” Can we decide whether woman are powerless victims or power-hungry monsters, please? Both is just greedy.

– RIP Strong (another tragic case of the triple threat: sudden onset scurvy, lead poisoning, AND Tuunbaq attack)

– Wait WAIT the Tuunbaq gave Strong the lead poisoning AND the scurvy by biting his neck and sucking his blood, stealing nutrients and leaving lead in their place: Ice Vampires!! I called it!!!

– Groups of people Fitz has verbally degraded: the Irish, the Inuit, all women, and now “common folk.”

Episode 4

– Le Vesconte’s first lines! He sounds like a Boy Scout, by which I mean he sounds about 16, and has an American accent? Also, Fitz pronounces his name “Leh-vay-cont”

– An AB named “Seeley” is writing an account of the events that are happening, perhaps as this show’s version of Bridgens and/or Peglar? Also Fitz is REALLY opposed to Seeley writing this, because Fitz hates “common folk” that much, apparently?

– RIP Seeley, we hardly knew ye.

– Major episode events: the walk-out begins, leaving Terror and Erebus just as the boats slip into another dimension because of alien reasons (this didn’t age well, now that we have the shipwrecks). Also, there’s an Inuit woman who is in league with the cybernetic-alien-Tuunbaq-vampires.

Episode 5

– As soon as the walk-out begins, the cybernetic-alien-Tuunbaq-vampires begin attacking.

– Boy Scout Le Vesconte: “I have an idea! If bullets won’t stop them maybe an axe will!” I mean, this is stupid enough for our Dundy, but he follows it up with “Murderers! I’ll hack you to pieces!” and rushes them like a child and has to be rescued. (Also Crozier is way WAY more concerned for Le Vesconte than Fitz is, though Fitz leaps into the rescue effort and Crozier... does not do that. He’s doing a lot of standing on the sidelines and bemoaning his dying men.)

– Peddie is basically just Crozier’s all-purpose lieutenant at this point. Little and Hodgson whomst?

– Le Vesconte, Fitz, and Tozer get struck by lightning WHILE fighting the Tuunbaq, and some Frankenstein stuff seems to happen, because Fitz now has the munchies. But like, the ominous munchies.

– Le Vesconte’s in something like a coma. The dumb boy-scout.

– While explaining why the Netsilik have legends about these aliens as “evil spirits,” the Doctor implies that errors in the historical record happen “especially” in oral traditions. Can we stop insulting the Inuit oral historians please?

– The cybernetic-vampire-aliens can mind-control their victims sometimes. Calling it now: Fitzjames is under the mind-control already.

– Liak is revealed to possibly be in cahoots with the aliens, because she has a necklace that her sister gave her that’s actually an alien tracker.

– Fitzjames, upon learning that Liak may be in league with aliens, attempts to physically kill her with his bare hands, and has to be restrained.

– Crozier hears murmurs about mutiny, and assigns this poor Marine named Hopcraft to find out more about the mutiny and report back to him. Next morning: RIP Hopcraft, first victim of the “we’re knifing each other” stage of events (aka this show’s Irving.)

Episode 6

– Lieutenant Little, who got separated from Fitzjames and Crozier, tries to comfort ship’s boy Chambers, whose use of the term “panic attacks” is a little anachronistic; a small gripe in the grand scheme of things.

– The Tuunbaq-aliens attack Little’s camp and wipe them all out, leaving Little to the last. Edward Little, a British Christian naval officer in the 1840s, gasps out “I’ll see you in Hades” as his dying words. (Someone write me Little/Irving neo-pagan fanfic for this mess?)

– The Doctor is playing detective, trying to solve Hopcraft’s death. He finds footprints, and both Liak and Tozer are missing.

– The Doctor calls attention to Tozer’s “enormous feet.” Weird.

– We have our first cannibalism! Perpetrated by Tozer, and uhhhh oh great we’re eating Dr. MacDonald for dinner tonight.

– Le Vesconte woke up from his coma just in time to brain Tozer to death.

– The Doctor: “There were no women’s bones at any of the sites [of the lost expedition remains]” that’s a hilarious comment given that one study suggesting as many as four female skeletons.

– RIP Le Vesconte, from his wounds, offscreen!! Nooo!!

– Tozer (and Fitzjames, and a few others), because they all got struck by the lightning, now have Frankenstein’s cannibalism curse. They all hunger for human flesh.

– Fitzjames is now a sneaky murderer-cannibal who manages to gain Crozier’s trust before turning around and trying to butcher him. As least my evil boy is smart?

Episode 7

– The big bad reveal: it’s Liak’s secret evil sister! (Just like Season 4 of Sherlock!) She’s been helping the Tuunbaq-aliens the whole time because she hates white men! Because they gave her dad TB and one of them broke her heart! Thanks, it’s bad!

– The Tuunbaq-aliens eat Liak’s sister anyway because they do not care.

– Liak, Crozier, the Doctor, and Christine are left to defeat the Tuunbaq-aliens.

– Fitz feels a little bad about eating people I guess? Also Fitz is “weak” and can’t resist his hunger and all those fun tropes.

Episode 8

– Fitzjames gets a redemption arc via heroic self-sacrifice narrative, complete with death via horrid gurgling. “He sacrificed himself in a last act of humanity.”

– The Doctor agrees to give Crozier a lift to somewhere a bit further south, on the assumption that Crozier will settle down with Liak and live with some “tribe” of other Inuit people that neither of them have ever met.

– There’s a parting joke about Crozier enjoying drinking wine that did NOT age well.

And that’s all, folks! Hope you... enjoyed?

#the terror #the terror amc #terrorposting #not putting a dw tag here #because im being really mean about this #and if you're a fan of the dwad i'm sorry #not my jam but whatever makes you happy #franklin expedition fictions #just to be safe #cannibalism cw #murder cw #sexism cw #racism cw #fitzjames abuse cw #they butchered my boy

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mnthpprt · 4 years

Text

Chapter 26: Buongiorno Principessa

I wake up to Lumière scratching the window. I glance at Leonardo. He is still asleep. I carefully untangle my body from his and tip toe across the room to let the cat in. He meows at me and bumps his head against my arm from the table, asking for attention, so I pick him up and carry him to the bed.

The second I let go of him, he starts purring and curls up next to Leonardo’s face. I watch, amused, as Lumière begins to lick the man’s hair, which gets caught in his rough tongue, causing him to jolt back and try to push it away with his paws.

My laughter wakes up Leonardo, whose eyes flutter open, and he sleepily pulls me onto the bed and holds me tight against him. Displeased, the cat jumps down and lays on the pile of my clothes on the floor, earning another chuckle from me.

“Buongiorno, cara mia,” Leonardo purrs, kissing my neck. I turn my head for my lips to meet his.

“Good morning,” I smile. “I wish I could stay, but I’m late for work.”

“Nooo,” he frowns. “But you feel so good, principessa. Please don’t go.”

I softly pry his arms from my body and pull away before giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Sebastian won’t be happy. Besides, I’ll see you later. You never seem to have any trouble finding me.” I turn to my clothes on the floor, which Lumière has turned into his new bed. “Sorry, little guy, but I need to take that. Go find another bed.” The cat stares at me for a few seconds, as if assessing if I am being serious, but eventually gives in, leaping away with a annoyed meow. “Thank you.”

While the clothes on the top have dried overnight, the bottom of the pile is still damp. And now they are covered in cat hair, too. I remember it’s laundry day, so I better take these to Sebastian before he starts.

Leonardo gets up and pulls me into a kiss before I reach the door. He’s making it harder for me to leave, but my will pulls through. I step out onto the hallway wearing nothing but his large shirt and my shoes from last night, carrying the rest of my clothes in my arms.

“You’re late,” Sebastian states when I walk into the kitchen, not looking up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I went to wake you up, but you weren’t in your... Oh.”

He raises his eyebrows when he finally sees me. I casually throw the clothes into a basket and take the coffee from his hands, sniffing the steam that rises from the cup. Sweet caffeinated ambrosia.

“Is that... Is that Leonardo’s?” he stammers. My gaze falls to the tiled floor as I blush. “Oh my god! Tell me everything!” He scrambles to pull a small notebook from his back pocket, along with a ballpoint pen, getting ready to write.

“I’m not telling you shit about my sex life, you weirdo!” I scoff, mockingly offended, but then a smile creeps onto my lips. I take a cautious sip of the hot drink and twirl away from him, giggling. “It was great. That’s it, Seb. That’s all you’re getting.”

“How long have you two been a thing?” he asks. I climb onto the counter, innocently dangling my legs in the air.

“About a week. But we didn’t... you know... until last night.”

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Sebastian mutters. To be fair, I don’t know how he didn’t notice earlier, either. He knows everything that goes on here. He scribbles something in his notebook before putting it away and handing me a muffin. “Here, try this.”

I bite into it without question, and let out a little pleasured noise. It’s blueberry, my favorite.

“This is bomb,” I announce with my mouth full, pointing at the muffin. I wash it down with some coffee before I continue. “Sebastian, I fucking love you. This is officially the best thing I have ever eaten.”

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles smugly.

I keep eating as he returns to his task. After I finish, I jump down from the counter and set the empty cup by the sink.

“I need a bath. Gotta go,” I say, blowing him a kiss from the door.

Later that day, Dazai comes to find me in the garden. When I see him approach, I stop trimming the hedge and climb off the step ladder, leaving the large shears on top of it.

“Good afternoon, Akari-san!” he greets me cheerfully. As usual, he calls me by a completely random name. I have given up on trying to correct him.

“Dazai,” I smile. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I can’t seem to finish this poem, but that’s not why I came. Perhaps some other time.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“Le Comte is waiting for you in his study,” he says. Weird, I can’t think of what he might want to talk about. Maybe he found out about me and Leonardo.

I thank Dazai and head inside. Before I knock on the door, I hear le Comte humming a melody inside. I feel bad for interrupting. His voice is angelical.

“You wanted to see me?” I say when he invites me in, gesturing for me to sit. There is a tray with two empty cups and a tea pot on the small table by the hourglass. I get comfortable on one of the armchairs, crossing my legs.

“Tea?” he offers, and I accept. He pours some in a cup and hands it to me. “I realized we haven’t spent much time together during your stay. I would be a terrible host, were I not to spend some time with my guest, don’t you think, ma chérie?”

“I guess,” I shrug, still unsure of where this is going. He definitely knows. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

“Well, I am aware of your and Leonardo’s relationship.” There it goes, straight to the point. “I am happy for you two. My dear friend certainly seems brighter.”

Oh, thank God.

“I am glad to hear that, Comte,” I smile. “I must admit I was nervous about you finding out. It’s a bit of a... complicated situation, and I don’t really know how to go about it, to be honest.”

He thoughtfully sips his tea before speaking again.

“Anaïs, do you wish to stay here?” I don’t answer. Instead, I bite my lip, pondering my options. “I would like you to know that you are welcome to stay at the mansion for as long as you like. However, once you go through that door, it will disappear from your time, and you will never be able to access it again.”

“I don’t know,” I finally sigh. “That means I don’t necessarily have to go back in a week, right? It will open again?” He nods. “I do want to stay longer, but... Forever is a big commitment. There are people that I care about in 2020, but I have come to care about you all, too. I know I would miss you if I left.”

Le Comte sighs, a sad smile on his lips.

“I dread the day that you do,” he says softly, “but the choice is yours and yours only.”

There is something in his voice that I can’t quite place. It sounds like regret, but there is more to it, somehow. Damn these pureblood vampires, always so hard to read.

“I guess... I’ll have to wait and see,” I conclude.

“There is no rush for you to decide, ma chérie. How was the exhibition yesterday?” he changes the topic, his charming smile returning to his face. “It is a shame that I could not attend.”

“It was great. Theo has so much talent for these things, all the pieces displayed were amazing. And Vincent’s paintings were beautiful, as always,” I recall, thinking of the portrait he made of me. “Oh, and I met Émile Zola! He was there too, and he loved it. We even talked for a bit, but I feel a little bad. The poor man doesn’t know what’s coming.”

Le Comte tilts his head, a curious expression on his face.

“What do you man, ma chérie?”

“J’Accuse,” I simply answer. He nods, understanding exactly what I am referring to. Four years from now, Zola will publish an open letter in a newspaper, denouncing the antisemitism and injustice of those involved in the Dreyfus affair. He will be brought to trial and sentenced for libel after a long and messy judicial process.

We discuss that for a while, during which I finish my tea. He serves me more, and I thank him, before he asks me about my life in the 21st century.

“I would like to know more about you,” he says. “I saw you roller skate. Competitively?”

“I used to, but I quit when I began working.”

“You are a chemist specialized in antiques conservation, correct?” I nod. He chuckles. “Ah, I was wondering what you spend so much time researching in the library. Leonardo told me.”

“Yeah, he’s been helping me with it,” I smile. “I like to borrow his genius every once in a while.”

“What about your family?” he asks, and immediately apologizes when he sees my face change. “Forgive me, I do not mean to pry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “My family is complicated, at best. My sister is the only one I keep in contact with, but we don’t talk much. She just started university this year, in Milan. She would swoon if she saw the dresses you’ve given me,” I chuckle. “She studies fashion design.”

Though our relationship is strained, I am as proud of her as an older sister can be. Despite the fallout with our parents taking its toll, I will always care deeply about her, and I must admit that seeing Vincent and Theo be so close makes me a bit jealous.

“My friends are a different story, though,” I continue, unprompted. “I guess you could call them my chosen family.” Le Comte listens attentively, clearly wanting to know more. “There’s Jack and Carlos back in London. I shared a flat with them as a student, and we are still very close. Then there’s Mila.” I look up at le Comte, suddenly remembering something. “I’ve been meaning to ask, if I go through the door would I return to the same time that I left? Or will it be a month later?”

“It’s hard to tell,” he answers thoughtfully. “When I use it, time passes on the other side, too. But as a pureblood vampire, I can come and go as I please, within the door’s rules, of course. A human going through it is something unprecedented, so I truly do not know what would happen.”

“Damnit,” I mutter. When he gives me a questioning look, I explain. “You know, when I came here? I was supposed to pick up Mila at the airport the day after. She’s going to be furious when I get back.”

“Pick her up?” he asks. “I was under the impression that you were just visiting Paris.”

“Well, yeah, but I come so often I practically live here,” I laugh before sipping my tea. Le Comte mimics me, waiting for me to keep talking. “Mila is my oldest friend. She’s French, but I met her in my hometown when her father worked there for a few years. She lives in Montparnasse now. She had to travel somewhere right before I got here, so she left me her car and the keys to her apartment, which I was going to stay in anyway. Hence, well, me picking her up when she came back from... New Zealand, I think it was? I have no clue,” I conclude with a chuckle.

“She sounds like an interesting person,” le Comte chimes in. I laugh.

“She is. I think you would like her.”

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