#look I have no more time for art and my timeline is dry enough as it is
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Day 11: Split
(Disclaimer: the characters here do not belong to me. Both Wilford Warfstache and William J. Barnum/The Colonel belong to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe.)
(Please note that the concept this story revolves around isn’t something I originally came up with. That honor goes to @ghiertor-the-gigapeen, who posted this amazing piece of art last October! Please check out their blog and show them some love!!!)
(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of body horror, blood/gore, fear/panic, trauma/flashbacks, pain and suffering, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)
Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 12 Day 13
“Say, have you ever tried your hand at writing?” Wilford casually inquires, titling his head and pressing his index finger against his temple.
You hum at the question, wracking your brain. “I’m. . .not sure, honestly. I mean, I probably have at some point, but all the conflicting timelines make it hard to tell.” There’s a generous amount of sarcasm in your voice. So much, in fact, that you have to concentrate on emphasizing the right words.
Of course, Wilford’s response is an overexaggerated quirk of his lips, his eyes as thoughtful as they are mischievous. “True, true, very true. Sometimes you wish those pesky timelines would just fit in your hands so you could organize them to your taste.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you reply, tone dry enough to make Death Valley look rather lush.
“BUT,” Wilford, never to not have the last word, continues. “If you could do that, then you wouldn’t really be able to have any more adventures. You wouldn’t get to be surprised or horrified! Things would go from challenging and unforgettable to. . .thoughtless and predictable. Sooner or later, you wouldn’t be able to appreciate whatever comes to grip at your mind or heart!”
His hands are a blur as he throws out one dramatic gesture after another. His expressions follow suite, obviously. Even so, the conniving ember in his eyes never completely fades away. In fact, that ember seems to glow a bit brighter as he finally returns to sitting still and staring at you. “True beauty really lies in thrill, my friend. There’s just no two ways about it!”
You don’t bother trying to suppress an eye-roll. . .and yet a small, genuine smile still manages to fight its way onto your face. Wilford’s statement is partially undeniable. Sure, you’ve been through hell and back, but you saw so many things along the way. You’ve met all sorts of people. The scenarios you keep finding yourself in are literally anything and everything but boring.
Yes, your existence and abilities have proven to be a curse. . .but that curse has still shaped itself into a gift more times than you can count.
That’s why you rang that little call-bell: to be taken here to this studio in order to see this insane, frustrating, omnipotent journalist who you (somehow) still have a soft spot for.
“. . .Y’know, I can’t remember the last time you were so specific with your questions,” you point out, leaning back in your provided chair. “What made you bring up writing, of all things?”
Wilford tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsks at you, raising an eyebrow so high that it could potentially need a drug test. “Sounds like someone has forgotten who’s the interviewer and who’s the interviewee.”
You spread your arms in a small lame gesture, making sure that your eyes help your incredulousness to be palpable. “Hey, listen. One of these days, the roles are gonna be reversed. MARK my words. I’ll be damned if that doesn’t happen at least once.”
“You make a good argument; there’s a chance something like that has already happened,” Wilford admits. He drags out a conspiratory hum for about ten seconds or so, slipping off his pink afro and fidgeting with it. “Well, writers can be a bit of a rare breed nowadays. They’re plentiful if you’re exploring the right circles, but even then, many are still so shy about their work.”
“Can’t really blame them for that,” you reply. “Not with how unfair the industries have gotten.”
“Oh, don’t I know it!” Wilford huffs a mirthless laugh. “I used to write for the odd column and blog or two. The readers were lovely, but lemme tell you—”
“The higher-ups were not?” You guess with an empathetic smile, just barely noticing how he’s started to squirm in his seat.
Wilford groans in exasperation. “Don’t even get me started. They turned their noses up at so many things, you’d think they were each three tapirs in a trenchcoat! I remember thinking, ‘If they’re so desperate for cookie-cut stories to have complete control over, then why don’t they just write these goddamn stories themselves?!’’’
You don’t blink: partially because your eyes aren’t dry, and partially because, if you had, you would’ve missed the mixture of sadness and frustration that just flickered on Wilford’s face. It was a tiny amount, and it’s already been beaten into submission by his trademark coyness.
But it was genuine.
“. . .I can tell you why,” you declare. “Because writing requires patience and effort and thought. Heart, too. And in my experience, it’d be a miracle for an employer to have at least one of those things.”
Wilford’s eyes ever-so-slightly widen as your words sink in. Something warm and appreciative etches its way into the smile he’s wearing.
“Words to live by,” he announces with a proud nod. “I don’t think I ever saw anything like that in my old head-honchos. It was always, ‘ThErE’s No WaY wE cAn PuBlIsH tHiS wItHoUt CeNsOrInG hAlF oF iT.’ ‘jUsT bEcAuSe ThE rEaDeRs LeAvE fEeDbAcK DoEsN’t MeAn YoU cAn InTeRaCt WiTh ThEm.’ ‘OuR sHaReHoLdErS wIlL bE oFfEnDeD bY tHiS.’ ‘rEaDeRs DoN’t NeEd To KnOw AbOuT tHaT.’ ‘wHeRe DiD yOu GeT tHaT kNiFe?’ ‘WhAt ThE hElL aRe YoU dOiNg?’ ‘I’m CaLlInG tHe PoLiCe YoU mAnIaC!’”
The droning pitch he’d put on falls away as he collapses into a fit of chuckling.
You, meanwhile, force out an awkward cough to try and hide the nervous grimace that has crawled into your features.
Even if Wilford is an old friend, even if his heart is sometimes in the right place, you can’t afford to forget that his brain is not. That it hasn’t been for a long time now. And it will probably never be anywhere near the right place again.
Not only that, but the longer you listen to Wilford’s giggling, the more you realize just how. . .off it sounds. As though Wilford’s voice is layered; like something else is trying to worm its way up through his bubbly tone.
“And those trials were just in the world of journalism,” Wilford continues once the hilarity finally dies down. “I can hardly imagine what writers in more creative circles have to go through.”
For seemingly no reason, that statement prompts a tidal wave of adrenaline to come rushing through you.
“Simply taking notes of things in reality can be so difficult. Just think about how long it’s taken for us to make some actual progress with this interview,” Wilford muses, gesturing to all the twinkling lights that decorate his studio. “But how could that struggle even compare to someone creating an entire world of their own? Birth is already one of the most traumatic things a person is capable of, and that’s just when it happens on the outside. So it’s astounding that anyone can survive birthing so many things inside their little head!”
Perhaps to drive the point home, he lightly raps his knuckles against his forehead as he returns his pink afro to its rightful place.
“Could’ve gone my whole life without hearing that analogy,” you blurt.
“No, I don’t think you could’ve,” Wilford whispers.
You glare at him as an uncomfortable, oily energy slithers along your ribcage. The fact that Wilford is now visibly shaking doesn’t help.
“Are. . .are you okay, Wil?” You wonder aloud, your irritation slowly but surely leaning toward paranoia.
“Peachy!” Wilford answers, gesturing toward his face with a flourish. “Why, does this not look like the face of someone who’s peachy?”
You attempt not to cringe too hard as you offer one of those nod-shrugs, gingerly poking the skin beneath your eyes.
Wilford’s expression contorts with confusion. He rises to stand on the seat of his chair, reaching up toward the ceiling. After producing a hand mirror from somewhere you can’t see, he sits back down and peers at his reflection.
Of course, he doesn’t react to the sight of blood oozing down his cheeks from his tear ducts like most people would. Instead of screaming or fainting or trying to pluck his eyes out in order to keep whatever curse they may or may not be harboring from infecting the rest of his body, Wilford casually tosses the mirror over his shoulder, not acknowledging the sound of glass shattering as he fishes a handkerchief from one of his pockets.
“Meh, it’s a wednesday. You know how wednesdays are,” Wilford mentions as he begins scrubbing at the small, dark red rivers.
“I’m not so sure I do,” you murmur.
You consider suggesting to pause the interview here with an oath to resume it some other day. . .but that consideration evaporates when you remember exactly what happened the last time this interview was interrupted. Gunshots echo between your ears, and your heart more or less threatens to start palpitating.
Hell, you’re already expecting this interview to be cut short sooner or later; it’s had to be delayed at least sixty-nine thousand, four-hundred-twenty times by now, if memory serves (though, let’s be honest, it probably doesn’t).
But despite everything you’ve gone through up until this point, you still trust your instincts.
Which are currently screaming at you to not be the thing that prompts the inevitable next raincheck.
Plus, while one part of you is worried for Wilford’s wellbeing, the other part of you knows that it doesn’t matter. This is Wilford Warfstache we’re talking about. Even if he got mauled by a hippopotamus fueled by copious amount of acid and maliciously-intended vibes, he’d still find a way to continue existing with a chipper, knowing smile.
“Now, where were we?” Wilford inquires. You don’t know why, because he immediately snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes! Writing!”
Seeing that his face is clean once again, he throws the now bloodstained handkerchief into the air, where it quickly flutters down to join the broken mirror somewhere on the floor behind his chair.
“Well, I’ve already rambled on about my adventures with that. Please, tell me more about your thoughts on writing. You know I’d love to hear them!”
“Is that why you booked me for this? And here I was, thinking you just wanted me to sit here and look handsome and/or beautiful!” You joke, hoping to distract yourself from the dread that’s just started festering in your stomach.
Wilford chortles at that. And although the sound almost unveils some happy memories, you can still tell that he’s acutely aware of aforementioned dread.
You chew your lip, thinking.
By the time you’re able to predict what that question could lead to, it’ll probably be too late.
Might as well be honest with your answer, then.
“I think writing is pretty incredible,” you pronounce. “Some people try to say it isn’t a real type of art, and I’ll never be able to understand why. Like you just said: it’s always so much harder and scarier to do than it’s given credit for. It takes the same amount of energy and care to write as it does to sculpt or paint or sew.”
The words seem to make Wilford grow more excited. “Speaking of which: don’t you just love it when different types of artists work together? I’m always seeing writers basing plot elements off of drawings and drafters sketching out scenes from stories. That camaraderie is one of the best kinds, I think. Reminds me of how wolves and crows help each other hunt.”
“Exactly!” You reply. “Writers and other artists do wonderful stuff like that all the time! Just because they can! And—”
You abruptly trail off, the chemicals in your brain rerouting themselves before they even have a chance to signal more happiness.
“And. . ?” Wilford prompts, watching you curiously.
“. . .And they barely get any appreciation,” you eventually resume, feeling your face drop. “It’s just so. . .depressing that creative people can’t rely on their craft. Don’t get me wrong, some of them get lucky, but most. . .no matter how hard they practice or research, no matter how much time they spend polishing their projects. . .they still end up having so little to show for it.”
“Such a damn shame,” Wilford agrees, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Your gaze wandered down to the floor during your little monologue, so you can’t help but flinch when Wilford pats you on the shoulder.
The gesture isn’t forceful—it’s not like he’s digging his nails through your shirt—but nothing could’ve prepared you for how hot the skin of his palm feels. Wilford’s hand retracts quickly enough, but the heat lingers, racing down your arm as though some invisible person accidentally spilled a translucent cup of fresh-outta-the-pot, wraithlike coffee onto you.
(I’ve read/heard plenty of symbolism that involves boiling blood, but this is ridiculous.)
A gasp catches in your throat as you return your attention to Wilford.
He almost resembles a celebrity who, thanks to the power of hubris and a little too much xanax, drowned in their backyard swimming pool. . .Well, really, that’s just because of his clothes; if he wasn’t dressed in a bowtie and button-down (which looks suspiciously like silk), he’d probably look like the average corpse that was just pulled out of a river. Minus the awful bloating that always comes with underwater decay, that is.
You’d only looked away from him for a moment.
How the hell could someone’s skin turn so sickly pale in such short time?
“If there are any artists watching tonight, I’m sure you’ve made them get a little misty,” Wilford reMARKs, reaching up to wipe a single tear from the corner of his left eye. “But that doesn’t mean they have to worry. One way or another, the arts will get more respect in the future.”
“. . .You think so?” You’re not exactly sure where that question came from, but you know better than to stay silent. Besides, you can’t be blamed for having let a mite of pessimism creep into your attitude over the years.
“I know so!” Wilford promises. “So long as a virtuoso shows off what they can do, there’ll always, always be a number of admirers in their corner.”
You nod without hesitation. It’s impossible to disagree with that sentiment. In fact, you almost start to wonder if whatever the hell has been happening to Wilford throughout this conversation is about to reverse itself. . .
“Though, I have to wonder,” Wilford maintains, glancing over at nothing in particular with a wry, thoughtful smirk. “Could what you just talked about be the reason for the current shift in creative circles?”
(Aaaaannnd that’s why you almost got hopeful.)
“‘Shift?’” You echo. “What do you mean by that?”
You already know, of course. But you also know that Wilford is nothing if not a theatrical bastard. You’ve already played along with whatever has been building up for the past few minutes, so why stop now?
“Well, it seems like the majority of artists celebrate Halloween all year ‘round,” Wilford explains. “Drawings and sculptures of monsters, stories full of insanity, the whole shebang. I’m certainly not complaining, and neither are all those admirers I mentioned. But. . .do you think an artist’s frustration is what causes them to serve muses on the darker side of the spectrum?”
You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the fact that someone out there is probably rolling their eyes and muttering, “i’M fOuRtEeN aNd ThIs Is DeEp.”
(Then again, everything you and Wilford just said is completely valid, so that judgemental prick can just fuck off.)
“I guess it can, in a lot of cases,” you answer. “It’s amazing how many unique ways artists can go about symbolizing those struggles. Even so, a lot of artists focus on twisted aspects just because they see things in ways that other people might not. Just because of their individual personalities.”
“Of course, of course,” Wilford subscribes. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that!”
A sharp, muffled pop called from somewhere in his chest. It’s followed by another. . .and another. . .and another, until a chorus of organic cracking and stretching and clicking threatens to drown out Wilford’s voice.
Wilford doesn’t seem unbothered perse, but to his credit, he doesn’t let the cacophony stop him.
“I suppose my instincts as a journalist drove that question,” Wilford muses. “I’ve found myself working with the whole ‘If it bleeds, it leads,’ shtick so many times. But only because. . .”
A violent twitch—the same type that so many people experience in their sleep, and the same type that would render those people unable to ever sleep again if they managed to see a recording of it—wracks his body.
“. . .it works. . .”
He barely had enough time to give you a wink before his eyes practically bulge from their sockets and roll into the back of his head, one after the other.
“. . .so damn well!”
The skin of his cheeks neatly tears as his smile stretches wider than humanly possible, to the point where he’s quite literally grinning from ear-to-ear.
A strange outline appears in his shirt, trying to push out from underneath the fabric.
Except, it’s not underneath the fabric.
You can do nothing but watch as the shape moves upward, causing Wilford’s neck to distend. His skin ripples in a way that reminds you of a sea krait swimming close to the surface without actually breaking it. As it gathers in Wilford’s head, the silhouette starts writhing. The movement is frantic. Desperate. Like an animal caught in some kind of trap.
All the while, Wilford’s new, eerie simper never falls away.
Not even when his features are forced to swell and quiver, as though his skull is tearing itself apart.
Plltk-Sssquiiwrrrlrlct!
One half of Wilford’s face pulls away from the other, like a seam running down the center has burst.
In a matter of seconds, the rift races down, splitting Wilford’s throat and torso open.
Gravity attempts to drag the fleshy fractions even farther apart, but by some odd miracle, both Wilford’s afro and bowtie staunchly refuse to be divided like the rest of him.
So, that means the two halves of Warfstache are hanging in place, only connected by thick, glistening strands of dark pink blood.
You jerk away so aggressively that it’s a wonder your chair doesn’t tip over. Your stomach roils in a painful way, and a shuddering, terrified cry slithers up your throat and out between your teeth. You automatically fight to close your gaping mouth for fear that something much more solid than a scream might spill out next.
Surprisingly enough, nothing like that happens.
But perhaps that’s because you haven’t seen the worst of this yet.
(Don’t hold your breath. You’re about to.)
As you stare and scream, you finally realize that. . .you can’t see through the gory chasm of Wilford.
There’s something caught between the awful ratios of Wilford.
. . .No, not something.
Someone.
Someone who’s dressed in a tan military uniform, along with a pair of spectacles that boast dual loupes on that right lens.
Someone whose screams make it clear that he speaks with an accent similar to Wilford’s.
Someone who you recognize. . .and, who seems to recognize you as well.
“H-Help me! PLEASE, HELP ME!” The Colonel wails, the fingers of his right hand curling around Wilford’s lower jaw, struggling for purpose. “I CAN’T GO BACK! DON’T MAKE ME GO BACK!”
You don’t respond.
How the hell could you respond?
It’s one thing to watch a friend’s body spontaneously split itself apart like their skeleton is a bloodsoaked butterfly emerging from a horrific meat-chrysalis.
It’s another thing entirely to watch a friend’s former self shriek and thrash and beg via an unnecessarily brutal rebirthing process for no actual reason.
“I-I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY!” The Colonel howls—if it wasn’t for his volume, the words would have leaked out in a choked sob. “I DIDN’T WANT TO DO IT! I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT! I SWEAR—!”
Wilford, meanwhile, is still grinning that sly, too-wide grin. He isn’t showing any signs of pain. You can’t tell whether or not he’d known that this was going to happen.
The Colonel manages to free his left arm from its organic confines. He frantically claws at the air, obviously trying to reach out to you, pleading for you to take his hand and pull him out.
The way your eyes are burning nearly rivals the searing ache in your chest.
You want to help him.
The voices in your head are demanding that you help him.
But you can’t.
To put it simply, what’s done is done. Even Wilford’s bizarre powers are incapable of reversing what happened in that godforsaken manor all those years ago.
The Colonel does not exist anymore.
You know that. . .
He knows that. . .
. . .And Wilford knows that.
Still grinning, Wilford raises his arms. With a loud criIiIiIck, they grow. In a manner of seconds, they boast a similar appearance to long, narrow tree branches. Each of his fingers follow suite—now it’s difficult to see them as anything other than talons.
Wilford’s left hand is a blur as it snatches The Colonel’s wrist in a vice-like grip. His right hand reaches around to clamp down on The Colonel’s head.
Understandably, The Colonel isn’t having it. He writhes with twice as much panic as before. “DAMIEN! CELINE! WHERE ARE THEY?! I NEED TO FIND THEM!”
Wilford’s grin spasms. His knuckles turn white as he digs his nails into The Colonel’s scalp. When that doesn’t seem to work, he does what he does best: up the ante with no regard for anything.
It’s hard to believe that you can hear the sound of glass splintering through The Colonel’s shouting, as Wilford’s index finger jabs through the left lens of his spectacles.
In comparison, the squelching noise The Colonel’s eye makes as Wilford’s finger is driven into it is almost deafening.
The Colonel buckles under the new, white-hot pain he must be feeling. His screams reach a truly heart-stopping octave as blood oozes down his cheek.
Instinct seems to take over, seeing as The Colonel’s arm finally retracts, as he attempts to apply pressure to his punctured eye.
There’s really no point, though. It’s not like he has time to stop the bleeding.
To a chorus of snapping bones, Wilford shoves The Colonel down.
The Colonel’s torso as a whole seems to cave in.
All this time, Wilford’s hot-pink blood has been fountaining onto the floor—you’ve had to cross your legs on your chair to keep your shoes from getting drenched—but as you glance down, you notice that the puddle has stopped spreading. It stays still for a second or two. . .and then it starts rolling back in the direction it came. It glides up Wilford’s legs, and back into his chest, your eyes following it all the while.
And now the blood seems to be more than just a liquid. It’s coiling around The Colonel like a nest of snakes, binding his arms, encircling his neck. It drags him deeper, obscuring his form until you can barely see his face.
“NO! NO!” The Colonel screams. He can’t struggle anymore, but you know better than anyone just how much of a bitch adrenaline can be. “I CAN’T—!”
It looks like the two halves of Warfstache have finally worked out their differences, because they meet one another with a sickening Ssshlift-pop.
Wilford’s skin trembles.
The line running down the center of his face, his throat, his chest. . .it just. . .seals itself shut. As though it’s a new type of magnetic clay.
After a millisecond, that line itself disappears. It doesn’t even scar over.
It’s just gone.
Just like that, a whole Wilford Warfstache is sitting before you once again.
Like nothing even happened.
The next moment feels like several hours as you stare at Wilford, bracing yourself for something else to happen as hot, fat tears stream down your features.
Wilford’s eyes roll back into place, milky white scleras finally being replaced by his warm, dark brown irises.
That damn grin finally wavers as he blinks, shaking his head like he’s just woken up from a fever dream.
“Ah—I’m sorry,” Wilford announces, carefully kneading at his forehead. “I must’ve zoned out for a bit.” He glances at his wristwatch, raising an eyebrow. “Strange. . .the longer daydreams usually only happen on the thirteenth. Perhaps something else will be going on then? I know I had a lot of things lined up for the thirteenth in January, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I got around to them. . .unless I did, of course. In which case we might have a few problems.”
Wilford trails off as he finally notices that you’re still here.
“. . .Are we going to have to reschedule again? No offense, but you’re looking a bit green around the gills.”
You collapse against the back of your chair, not even registering how the world spins. Not that registering is an option; darkness is quick to swallow up everything within eyesight.
(Really? You’re fainting now?)
Somehow, you still manage to hear Wilford’s voice, which seems to echo as he concludes, “I’ll take that as a yes,” with a melodramatic sigh.
@sammys-magical-au
#the thirteen days of goretober 2023#goretober 2023#my writing#my stories#wilford warfstache#wkm the colonel#markiplier#mark fischbach#tw blood#tw gore#tw body horror#tw trauma/flashbacks#tw fear/panic
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Well, thanks to a conversation with @inkoutsidethelines, here's a snippet of another AU.
Sutton accidentally let's slip the name of some superheroe's LI before they got together and suddenly she's considered a matchmaker. It only gets more stressful when people in Hell's Kitchen start to hear about it.
Heather belongs to @ink and she deserves more screen time in any future parts
Sutton hadn’t meant to fall into the role of “superhero matchmaker” after settling in the Marvel universe. She’d accidentally let one name slip, the couple worked out, and then her notoriety spread like wildfire. Suddenly heroes were seeking her out asking who their perfect match was, assuming she had some sort of strange ability for solely romantic premonitions.
And what was she supposed to do?
At first she’d tried to refuse. It didn’t seem right to interfere with the timeline of the universe or put ideas in people’s heads of who they should be with, but superheroes could be so stubborn. Even getting an unlisted phone number didn’t keep them away.
So maybe she caved a couple more times, and a couple more couples worked out.
What was she supposed to do?
Sutton reassured herself with the excuse that the people she suggested be together got together in canon anyway. They either knew each other or eventually would. Maybe she wasn’t hurting anything.
“Do you really have a hundred percent track record of success with your matches?” Heather, Sutton’s book bestie, gave her an evaluating look as she took a sip of her coffee. “That seems impossible.”
“Guess I’ve gotten lucky.” Sutton shrugged sheepishly. “Besides, I don’t advertise it. I still can’t believe someone would be desperate enough to knock on my third story window when I wouldn’t answer the door.”
“Can you blame them though?” Heather said with a cheeky smile. “Wouldn’t you want to know who you were meant to be with if you knew someone could tell you?”
Sutton huffed and rolled her eyes.
“I’m not meant to be with anyone, unfortunately. I’ll have to find someone the old fashioned way.”
“That’s my point,” Heather insisted. “It’s so hard to meet people now-a-days. It’s hard to build that trust. I can’t imagine what that’s like for someone in the hero business.”
Sutton conceded the point with a nod of her head.
“True. But I’d still like to retire, so to say, on top. I’m going to run out of names eventually.”
Heather laughed as she picked up her dessert.
“What an odd way to phrase it.”
[]
The first hair raising incident her matchmaking brought on happened a week after her chat with Heather.
There was an art gallery in Hell’s Kitchen that advertised it had some modernist art from the 1930s, and Sutton wanted to see what Steve would have been familiar with in his time. Maybe she’d have something interesting to talk to him about the next time she saw him.
She idled before canvases depicting rural farmland, small towns, and industrial workers. Snapshots of the romanticized ideal of an America struggling to right itself after struggling through a depression. As she studied one piece about mail workers, a figure approached her from behind. She turned her head to look at who it was and her blood suddenly ran cold.
Sutton recognized the man.
Before she left, she’d only gotten to see one season of Daredevil, but it was more than enough to leave Wilson Fisk imprinted on her memory. Even worse, he was looking directly at her. Approaching her on purpose. He smiled politely as he stood next to her. Sutton might have attempted to politely smile back, but she couldn’t be sure.
“It’s a lovely piece, isn’t it?” Wilson said, nodding to the art. “A celebration of what many consider mundane. An acknowledgement of the people who keep our civilization running.”
Sutton swallowed thickly, her throat dry.
“Yeah.” She said weakly. “It, uh, it has nice… flow.”
Her thoughts and anxiety spiraled as Wilson nodded in agreement and the room settled back into an awkward silence.
Was he just making awkward small talk? Was this the art gallery in Hell’s Kitchen?! Maybe, then, he was just biding time before meeting up with Vanessa. Or, did he know who she was; where she was actually from? Were there men posted at all the exits to stop her if she tried to leave?
Would Nick Fury consider this an emergency worthy of a phone call?
Sutton swallowed again as Wilson cleared his throat, clearly not done talking. He shifted on his feet and fiddled with his cuff links.
“Forgive my forwardness,” Wilson said, “but I have to admit I’m aware of who you are Ms. Regan.”
Sutton’s heart dropped to her toes and her skin went clammy.
“You are?” She managed to squeak.
“Your name has spread through… certain circles.” He said.
Wilson slamming a car door over and over and over replayed in her mind's eye. Sutton twisted away slightly, trying to be subtle, and eyed him, but he looked rather uncomfortable himself.
“I’ve heard that you’re rather adept at-” he paused as if he were wrestling with how to get the sentence out, “matchmaking.” He finally relented.
Sutton’s lips parted in confusion as she tried to jump three steps ahead of what he might be planning. Did he want to get the names of superhero love interests ahead of time to use them for blackmail? Did he think she had knowledge of secret identities? Which, she did, but she really hoped he didn’t know that.
“Uh,” Sutton replied.
Wilson pressed on before she had to think of something else as if he were wary of her response.
“I understand up to this point you’ve exclusively done work for a… certain clientele, however I’m willing to more than compensate you for your services.”
Of all the things he could have said next, that wasn’t one Sutton considered. Her brain momentarily short-circuited as she tried to process it.
“You want me,” she said slowly, “ to find you a potential significant other?”
Wilson’s chin tipped up and he held his hands behind his back.
“You can name your own price.”
This time Sutton actually shook her head and clenched her eyes briefly. Some small relief of him not truly knowing who she was mingled with her lingering confusion.
“But-” Sutton squinted. “What aboutVaness-?”
She cut herself off abruptly. She’d gotten herself into this mess in the first place by making assumptions and she still managed to put her foot in her mouth over and over. A look up at Wilson said it was too late to take it back. His sights were zeroed in on her and his brows furrowed in a confused concentration.
“Vanessa?” He said.
Dang. He even figured out the ‘a’.
“Yes?” A new voice responded.
Heels clicked on the floor and both looked over to see a woman in professional dress heading their way. It was her.
Vanessa smiled amicably at both of them; her gaze lingered a bit longer over Wilson.
“How can I help you?”
Wilson looked at Sutton again, and what was she supposed to do?
She grit her teeth and gave a measly close lipped smile.
“On the house,” she said. Wilson’s eyes widened in surprise.
Eager to be far away, Sutton excused herself and legged it away from the art gallery cursing her luck and her stupid mouth the entire way out of Hell’s Kitchen. Figures, figures, figures she’d set up the two craziest people in the city.
Of freaking course.
#ink tag#friends oc#my writing#heather fisk#sutton regan#matt gets involved after this yes#rip sutton#edit: it disappeared a word for me??? the most important one??#hopefully and extra space fixes it
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Sweet Tooth
read on ao3
Looking at the clock, Sangwoo frowns. He’s running twelve minutes behind schedule. But, well, it can’t be helped, he supposes.
Jaeyoung should be returning from a meeting at a local art studio at any minute and the cookies aren’t out of the oven. They aren’t even in the oven, yet. Had everything gone to plan, the cookies would have been cooling by the time his boyfriend returned home. Still warm and gooey, but not hot enough to burn his tongue.
Last night, as he’d checked to make sure he had all of the required ingredients, Sangwoo hadn’t known that Jaeyoung would decide to actually make himself breakfast this morning before leaving, using the two eggs he’d needed for the batter.
The trip to the corner store hadn’t thrown Sangwoo’s timeline completely off but it had been a mild frustration. He knows that his frustration these days doesn’t equate to anything more than a tiny sigh of resignation, though. And really, even that is tempered by the small smile that almost always follows on its heels.
Still, living with Jaeyoung for the past few months– and being in a relationship with the man long before that– Sangwoo’s become familiar with adapting his plans with little to no warning.
Sangwoo will never admit it, but he’s grown to like it, in a way. Shifting his plans around Jaeyoung fills him with something a lot like contentment. He never would have guessed but it’s a point of joy, and pride maybe, that he has someone to work around, that he’s grown to fit with someone else.
Slowly but steadily, he and Jaeyoung are learning each other, learning to live with each other. It was easy to add a handful of minutes to his morning routine for the simple pleasure of allowing himself to be held by Jaeyoung before he started his day. It was barely a thought to fit in a moment at night to tidy up the bathroom after they shower– his boyfriend has the terrible habit of leaving his towel on the floor, can never seem to remember that the body wash goes next to the conditioner and not the shampoo.
So fitting Jaeyoung into his routine has been an adjustment, but not an unpleasant one. And now, as he’d had to make an impromptu trip to the store for more eggs– and he’d gone ahead and bought more of that granola that Jaeyoung liked, since it was on sale, after all– Sangwoo can’t manage to be annoyed, not truly.
Instead, he focuses on setting a timer for the cookies that he’s just put in the oven. By his estimate, they need eight minutes to bake followed by another fifteen minutes at least to cool to satisfactory warm and gooey temperatures.
Sangwoo is a baker who likes to clean as he goes, so the only real thing left to do while the cookies are in the oven is to wash the bowl and spoon he’d used. He’s just rinsing the bowl and placing it into the dish strainer whenever he hears someone entering the code at the front door.
He’s moved onto washing the spoon whenever he hears Jaeyoung’s footsteps entering the kitchen just before arms wrap around his middle.
Humming as he fits himself to Sangwoo, Jaeyoung noses the point where his boyfriend’s shoulder meets his neck. “Smells good in here, jagiya. What are you making?”
Rinsing the spoon, Sangwoo leans back into his boyfriend’s frame as he replies, “I wanted something sweet and you mentioned last time that you like chocolate chip cookies. Plus, I’m sure they are about to take on a celebratory purpose.”
“They are my favorite,” Jaeyoung confirms and Sangwoo feels the smile against his shoulder as Jaeyoung tightens his arms around him, bringing them that much closer. “You’re so thoughtful, Sangwoo-ah. Thank you.”
Sangwoo shrugs, turns his attention to wiping down the sink now that the clean-up is finished. The tips of his ears turn the faintest pink. “It’s nothing,” he dismisses. “So, how was your meeting?”
And here, Jaeyoung groans, letting more of his weight rest on Sangwoo. “The curator is a pretentious asshole but the contract looked good. My showing will be sometime in the spring.”
Drying his hands quickly before turning around, Sangwoo leans against the sink to see Jaeyoung better. His smile is soft but sincere, happiness making his eyes shine. Jaeyoung’s smiling before he even realizes it, so happy that his boyfriend is so happy for him. He’s so cute, Jaeyoung thinks absently, as he cages his wonderful boyfriend in with hands resting on the counter on either side of Sangwoo.
“Congratulations, hyung.” Sangwoo reaches a hand up and runs gentle fingers through Jaeyoung’s hair.
Jaeyoung’s breath catches at the small action and even though they’ve been together for over a year at this point, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Sangwoo touches him, careful and reverent but still so solid and real.
Taking that with the pride in Sangwoo’s voice and Jaeyoung feels weightless for a moment. All he can do in the face of Sangwoo’s congratulations is tilt his head further into his touch, closing his eyes as his boyfriend scratches gently behind his ear.
“Thank you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment. When he opens his eyes, all Jaeyoung sees is the smile on Sangwoo’s face, the corners of his eyes crinkling just barely with it.
Jaeyoung leans down, feels Sangwoo rock forward so that their lips can meet. It’s a soft kiss, nothing hurried. Jaeyoung kisses the corner of Sangwoo’s mouth, the bow of his top lip, moves until he can kiss the edge of his boyfriend’s cheekbone, lazy with intent. He hears Sangwoo’s breath catch and feels hands come to clutch in his shirt.
“Baby,” Jaeyoung mumbles into Sangwoo’s mouth. “Can we–”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Sangwoo’s phone is buzzing on the counter next to them. Sangwoo startles, eyes flying open but unseeing for a moment.
Watching Sangwoo blink a few times, reorienting himself, Jaeyoung bites his lip in an attempt to slow down. He imagines Sangwoo with the same dazed look in his eye, quietly flustered and unable to hide it, hair messy on their pillows, mouth swollen from Jaeyoung's kisses, a line of marks down his throat following the sweeping flush that spreads down his chest–
Now it’s Jaeyoung who startles as Sangwoo presses a hand to his chest to urge him back. “The cookies, hyung,” Sangwoo explains, but not before having to clear his throat.
Jaeyoung moves back to give Sangwoo space as his boyfriend reaches for an oven mitt and opens the door. Immediately, the aroma intensifies, mouthwateringly sweet. Dark chocolate and vanilla waft through the air and it helps ease Jaeyoung, brings him back to the gentle place where he lets his love for Sangwoo warm his chest from the inside out.
Sangwoo, who made cookies in celebration of Jaeyoung signing a showcase at a local gallery– an art gallery that’s known for propelling careers to their next level. Because even if Jaeyoung’s enjoyed working on Veggie Venturer and continues to freelance for DEX, he’ll always be an artist first and foremost and that means that he’ll always feel the call to create art for art’s sake, will always feel a tendril of pure thrill at being able to show his art to an audience.
He knows Sangwoo will deflect and claim the cookies are more for him than Jaeyoung but Jaeyoung knows the truth. It’s one more drop collecting in the well that’s his love for Sangwoo, the appreciation that makes the smallest gestures land behind his ribs, causing them to ache with the sheer intent hidden within them.
Setting the cookies onto the counter, Sangwoo slaps Jaeyoung’s hands away as his boyfriend reaches for one. “They’re too hot,” he warns. “You’ll burn your mouth. Plus, they’re too soft. They need to cool for optimal consumption.”
Jaeyoung stares at Sangwoo for a moment, playing up his hurt at being slapped away from the cookies before he grins and leans down for a quick peck. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Turning towards the hallway that leads to their bedroom, Jaeyoung calls out behind him, “I’m going to take a shower.” He raises a brow, smiling lecherously at his boyfriend. “Want to join me?”
Sangwoo, for his part, is already heading into the living room. “I showered an hour ago, hyung. I’m going to read.”
Jaeyoung laughs a little, shaking his head as he resumes his path to the bathroom. His Sangwoo, always so meticulous.
Laying on the couch, Sangwoo reaches for his manga as he hears the door to the bathroom shut. He estimates that he’ll be able to read two chapters before Jaeyoung joins him, by which time the cookies should be sufficiently cooled to eat.
Sangwoo loses track of time as he’s engrossed in the story, the action ratcheting up and the main character facing a moral dilemma, and so he lets out a noise when Jaeyoung lays down on him, seemingly out of nowhere.
The book falls out of his hands to land on the floor as his boyfriend makes himself at home. Sangwoo’s pressed into the couch as he feels Jaeyoung rest his head on his shoulder, hair still damp where it tickles his jaw but nose warm along the column of his throat.
Jaeyoung wiggles into the narrow space between Sangwoo and the back of the couch, leg thrown over Sangwoo’s hip, pinning him down further. Jaeyoung’s hand curves around his side, a comforting weight.
Sangwoo can’t help but think of his family’s dog, whose been with them since Sangwoo was fourteen. It had grown into an oversized thing but even now, when Sangwoo visits home, she’ll crawl into his lap, not knowing or perhaps uncaring that she’s no longer the size of the puppy who could easily fit in his palm.
In a lot of ways, Jaeyoung’s like that– an oversized puppy, eager and earnest in his affection. Sangwoo’s long since made peace with the way the comparison makes his chest warm.
“My book,” Sangwoo halfheartedly protests even as one of his hands comes up to lay over Jaeyoung’s shoulder, the other resting on the nape of his boyfriend’s neck.
He feels Jaeyoung melt into him, the impression of a kiss against the hollow of his throat.
“Pay attention to me,” Jaeyoung whines. “I’m more interesting than your book.”
Sangwoo scoffs even as he makes more space for his boyfriend, hitching a leg over Jaeyoung’s hip, kissing the crown of his head. “Says who,” he mutters.
“Says me,” Jaeyoung retorts.
It’s quiet for a few moments and Sangwoo enjoys it, lets it wrap around him. He thinks Jaeyoung might just be falling asleep on top of him and it’s no wonder.
His boyfriend had been blasé about the whole thing, but Sangwoo knew that he was stressed about the potential showing. The art gallery was one of the most sought-after in Seoul and for all Jaeyoung's talent and charisma, some things can’t be won over with raw determination.
He’s glad that he decided to make the cookies after all. He’d told himself that it could be in celebration or to cheer Jaeyoung up but it’s so much better that it’s the former.
Looking at the clock on the wall, Sangwoo sees that the cookies should be cool enough to eat and he had skipped over lunch in his quest to bake.
Sangwoo sweeps a hand down the expanse of his boyfriend’s back, teasing the edge of skin between Jaeyoung’s shirt and shorts. “Hyung,” he murmurs, half question.
Jaeyoung just hums, low and rough, to show he’s heard.
“Would you like a cookie? They should be safe to eat now.”
Jaeyoung rubs his face against Sangwoo’s shoulder, wiggling even closer. “I’m too comfortable to move,” he mumbles.
Scratching lightly behind his ears, Sangwoo lets his other hand flex low against the small of Jaeyoung’s back. “Come on, hyung. Aren’t you a little hungry?”
Grumbling, Jaeyoung tilts his head back to look at Sangwoo. “You just want me to get up so you can have one.” He closes his eyes and lays back down against Sangwoo. “You’re the one with the sweet tooth, baby. You can’t fool me.”
Now it’s Sangwoo’s turn to grumble. It’s true which makes it all the more annoying.
It hadn’t taken Jaeyoung long to realize that Sangwoo had an incurable sweet tooth. While he found solace in baking for its reliability and predictability in steps and processes, the bigger part of him just enjoyed the finished result. He rarely turned down an offer for dessert and after the Blackholic fiasco, his coffee tastes had turned sweet enough to ache.
Frowning because he’s been caught, Sangwoo retaliates by scraping a gentle nail over the base of Jaeyoung’s spine. His boyfriend can’t help the way he jerks a little, arching into Sangwoo.
Jaeyoung huffs and reaches down to take Sangwoo’s hand, interlacing their fingers and bringing them up to rest against Sangwoo’s chest. “Five minutes,” Jaeyoung grumbles.
Sangwoo laughs, more exhalation than anything else. Humming in agreement, he stops teasing and after a moment, Jaeyoung relaxes fully against him once more.
It’s another ten minutes before Sangwoo shifts, laying another kiss against hair that smells of their shampoo.
“Hyung,” he whispers.
“Sangwoo-ah,” Jaeyoung whispers back.
Squeezing lightly with the thigh over Jaeyoung’s hip, Sangwoo urges him to move.
It’s slow going but after a moment, Jaeyoung does start moving until he’s straddling Sangwoo, caging him in with hands on either side of his head.
One of Jaeyoung’s hands slide down until it rest low and flat against his stomach. “Doing that won’t help us leave this couch any faster, jagiya.”
Sangwoo just looks up at him with wide eyes, mouth set in a mulish half-pout.
He knows what he’s doing and he’s rewarded a second later with his boyfriend leaning down to kiss him. Sleep obviously clings to him– it’s in the way Jaeyoung seems distracted by Sangwoo’s mouth, the way he lingers over the fullness of his cheek.
Sangwoo closes his eyes as his boyfriend strings kisses from the corner of his mouth and down to nibble at his ear lobe, teeth a small but dull pressure.
The kisses trail lower, Sangwoo turning his head to give Jaeyoung more room to work. His boyfriend lowers himself until he’s caught in the cradle of Sangwoo’s hips. Sangwoo wraps his legs around Jaeyoung, thighs squeezing into the curve of his boyfriend’s waist.
His mouth opens on a gasp as he feels Jaeyoung kiss his throat, the soft touch of lips against his neck maddening. This time his teeth are sharp as they close over skin with intent. Just for a moment, though, before Jaeyoung’s easing back and soothing the pain with his tongue.
Sangwoo’s heel digs into Jaeyoung’s back as he feels his boyfriend pull back a moment later, just enough to blow cool air against the spot.
“Hyung,” Sangwoo breathes out, voice low and verging on desperate in the way it only is with Jaeyoung.
Jaeyoung lets out a noise, half hum, half something deeper as he brushes an open mouth kiss against that same spot. “Baby,” he mumbles. “Sangwoo-ah.”
This time when he closes his mouth over Sangwoo’s neck, he applies suction. Sangwoo can feel the way his flush travels from his ears down his neck, over his chest. He’s so warm, can’t focus on anything but Jaeyoung’s mouth against him.
And then Jaeyoung’s hand trails up from his thigh to his ass, caress gentle at first before quickly turning heavy, rough just the way Sangwoo’s learned he loves, pressing him closer.
Sangwoo arches into him, can’t help the way his hips jerk just at the moment Jaeyoung moves a scant inch down from the mark he’s worked into his skin, just to start the process all over again.
Some noise leaves him, voice turned to gravel, as his hands reach up to tangle in Jaeyoung’s hair. One hand pulls, just a little mean, and Sangwoo’s rewarded with Jaeyoung’s ragged gasp, his boyfriend thrusting forward as he bites harshly down on Sangwoo’s neck.
The pain stings, makes Sangwoo shiver. His other hand urges Jaeyoung’s head closer and Sangwoo tilts his own head up, caught by the way Jaeyoung seems totally focused on him, on the way his breath catches at each drag of teeth, the way he’s still pulling Jaeyoung closer like there’s even a breath of space between them as it is.
Jaeyoung leans back, chest moving quickly in a bid to catch his breath. His eyes are focused on the darkening line of bruises along Sangwoo's throat.
He knows Sangwoo will lecture him on leaving such obvious marks in such an obvious place later but Jaeyoung doesn’t give a fuck, not when Sangwoo looks so ruined, when he looks so content in his ruining.
And he knows Sangwoo doesn’t care right now either, that he won’t care later, not really, not when Jaeyoung leans down tonight and noses along the trail of bruises, and not tomorrow morning when he’ll press the pad of his thumb to a mark with just enough pressure to make Sangwoo feel an echo of what’s rushing through him now.
Jaeyoung guides Sangwoo to sit up just enough so that he can skim his shirt off, his own following suit quickly.
Sangwoo’s already pulling him down again, wrapping his arms around Jaeyoung’s shoulders before his back even meets the couch.
Jaeyoung laughs against his ear, letting himself be urged back to where they were before. His baby is so cute, Jaeyoung thinks absently as he trails a finger down Sangwoo’s side just to feel him tremble.
Sangwoo guides Jaeyoung back to his mouth and as their lips meet, Sangwoo hums in relief. “Please, hyung,” he murmurs in the space they share a breath.
Jaeyoung feels the plea, soft with need clinging to the syllables, irresistible. “I’ve got you, baby. Hyung will take care of you.” His voice is low, the words tumbling out of his mouth at the look in Sangwoo’s eye, like Jaeyoung is the only thing he needs, like he’s the only one Sangwoo will ever want.
Jaeyoung’s mouth closes over Sangwoo’s collarbone, and he bites down without warning or restraint. He feels Sangwoo reach down between them, fingers easing under the waistband of Jaeyoung’s shorts and Jaeyoung shudders.
As he licks a line up the other side of Sangwoo’s throat, taste distinctly Sangwoo with a hint of salt, Jaeyoung ruefully thinks that shower was a waste, after all.
---
Drying his hair halfheartedly, Jaeyoung tosses his damp towel onto the bathroom floor before he heads into their bedroom.
Not seeing Sangwoo, he keeps going until he finally finds his boyfriend in the kitchen, transferring the cookies from the baking sheet and into a cookie jar Jaeyoung had made for him at one of those ceramic paint studios that are so trendy right now.
It had been a friend’s night out with Yuna and Hyeongtak and Jaeyoung had painted his in garish colors that somehow complemented each other. Sangwoo had studied the cookie jar for several minutes when Jaeyoung had brought it home, finally setting it down on their dining table and wrapping his arms around Jaeyoung with a sincere thanks pressed against Jaeyoung’s sternum.
Coming over to where Sangwoo’s working, Jaeyoung sits in one of the dining table chairs. He watches Sangwoo in silence, his boyfriend focused on his task. He’s wearing a pair of boxers and one of Jaeyoung’s own shirts, oversized to the point that it almost completely exposes one of his shoulders.
Jaeyoung’s gaze catches on the bruises that line one side of Sangwoo’s neck and he smiles, something soft and smug in his eyes.
He studies Sangwoo in the late afternoon sun. His boyfriend looks relaxed, mouth curved in the faintest smile, eyes clear and bright as he takes the last two cookies and places them on a plate instead of in the jar.
Jaeyoung doesn’t say anything as Sangwoo immediately takes the spatula and baking sheet to the sink and washes it, just occupies himself in looking at Sangwoo– the surprisingly broad shoulders, the way his shirt skims over his sides, down to long legs that end with delicate ankles.
Feeling the mild urge to reach for a pen and his sketchpad, Jaeyoung idly considers it before deciding he’s too comfortable where he is.
He guesses that he’ll just have to commit the moment to memory, joining it with countless others that makeup his relationship with Sangwoo.
The sound of the water turning off brings Jaeyoung’s attention back to their kitchen and he just watches Sangwoo as his boyfriend dries his hands and carefully refolds the dish towel and places it in alignment precisely with the edge of the sink.
His eyes flick up to Sangwoo as his boyfriend walks over to him.
Without hesitation or warning, Sangwoo moves until he’s sitting in Jaeyoung’s lap, straddling him. He feels Jaeyoung’s arms come up to wrap around his middle, holding him close and secure.
Even though his feet are touching the floor and he’s in no danger of falling off, it’s a gesture that fills Sangwoo with warmth.
The sun burnishes everything in their apartment gold, even reaching into the shadows of the kitchen where neither one of them have deigned to turn a light on.
Sangwoo lets himself just look at Jaeyoung for a moment. His skin, so warm it seems to glow, the way his eyes shine in quiet peace, the curve of his mouth that’s always so expressive.
His love for Jaeyoung is no less wondrous for all that they’ve been together months by now. In fact, it just seems to shine brighter as the roots dig deeper, growing steadily without even trying.
Caught in the feeling of the past few hours– the relaxing ritual of baking, the quietly devastating way Jaeyoung consumes him, showering together with the bathroom echoing with their laughter and chatter even as steam dripped down the mirror– Sangwoo leans forward, slowly, just to lay a gentle kiss against Jaeyoung’s brow.
He sees the way Jaeyoung’s eyes flutter shut, feels his boyfriend’s hands flex against his hips.
Sangwoo lays one hand on Jaeyoung’s shoulder, reaches out with the other for one of the chocolate chip cookies he’s placed on a plate.
Breaking off a piece, he brings it to Jaeyoung’s mouth.
When he looks up, he’s arrested by the look in Jaeyoung’s eyes. There’s contentment there and maybe the barest flicker of surprise. Sangwoo doesn’t say anything, just holds the cookie to his boyfriend’s mouth, waiting patiently.
And, oh– Sangwoo’s heart turns over and a whole colony of butterflies takes up residence in his middle at the red that brushes over the edge of Jaeyoung’s ears, dusting his cheeks.
Slowly, as though half expecting Sangwoo to pull away, Jaeyoung opens his mouth and lets Sangwoo feed him.
Sangwoo holds his hand steady as he watches Jaeyoung’s mouth close over the cookie, achingly gentle. His gaze is glued to the way his thumb brushes against Jaeyoung’s bottom lip. Sangwoo lets himself firm up his touch, just enough to feel the softness of Jaeyoung’s mouth under him.
Sangwoo’s fingers flex into the muscle of Jaeyoung’s shoulder as his boyfriend wraps a hand around his wrist, shifting his hand so that Jaeyoung can close his mouth around the pad of Sangwoo’s thumb, sucking gently to taste the remnants of chocolate.
“How is it,” Sangwoo asks, clearing his throat. His voice is low but steady.
The moment feels suspended in time, like it’s just the two of them not just in the apartment but in Seoul proper. He keeps his voice quiet enough so that it almost breaks on the question.
Jaeyoung stares up at him, something undefinable in his eyes. It’s the same look he gets when Sangwoo washes his hair after he’s pulled three all-nighters in a row, the same emotion whenever he has a headache and doesn’t have to say anything before Sangwoo’s turning the volume on the television down, turning the lights onto their dimmest setting.
Lowering his head, Jaeyoung kisses the pulse at Sangwoo’s wrist, nosing into the warm scent of their body wash.
His voice is hoarse as he answers, “Perfect.” It breaks on a sigh as he echoes, “It’s perfect.”
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Development of my 'Library for the Public Domain' project pt 2. - continuation (3rd November)
Continued to develop the dupes idea. Exposed my first screen with two designs I had created in Photoshop and did some tester textiles swatches. Initially, I just tested on much thinner textiles but later I started to more fully form my idea for an outcome I bought a far thicker fabric as I realised I wanted a material that could keep it's shape and stand up on its own. In the end the fabric I purchased from Brixton was a deadstock Cotton waxed fabric. They had this in two colours but I decided to go with the dark grey as I thought it might be a more neutral option to go with a wider range of other colours
All the images seemed to print fine on these swatches irrespective of how thick the fabric was. I made sure to get some advice from Charlotte and Eddie before I did my prints and Charlotte recommended I do a couple more passes than I usually would with the squeegee which seemed to work well
However, I started to experience more problems as I was repeat printing for the larger areas of fabric [see previous post]
Bought and pulled apart a market taurpalin bag and developed a pattern to stitch together my own one. As I started to work more with the fabric I realised just how thick it was and had a conversation with a woman in the uni art store who said that she didn't think they had sewing needles that would be thick enough for my fabric. This made me think that it might be less hassle to stitch the bag by hand. I think I was also thinking about my timeline in the leadup to the exhibition and the time I had left. In th end I decided that I had more control over several factors if I jsut did the stitching myself, and since it was just with a sewing needle, it was something that could easily be done from home. Ultimately I'm not sure if this was the right decision as it ended up being an extremely time-consuming task
Furthermore in the last tutorial I had with Jack before the exhibition he explained to me that the bag was pretty much a by-product or an outcome of the collection but it didn't display the collection itself (the dupes that I'd collected). This meant that in addition to the shopping bag I decided to work on displaying the dupes in some way that would give context to the bag in the exhibition
Came in the weekend before the exhibition to have another stab at screenprinting. Taking on board what I had learnt from my first attempt at printing on a larger scale (to avoid washing the screen between prints as much as possible; use a far larger, less dense image to be exposed; use the straight edge of the workbench next to me as a guide to keep my prints straight and work systematically down the piece of fabric (to cut down unnecessary time lost trying to line things up where the screen is drying out) etc...) Naturally, over the course of the repeat print process, I think I refined my print technique and learned what the screen should look like when flooding to ensure a good print that has the ink pass through the full image
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Just… little random ass character notes and shit I don’t feel like making their own posts just yet.
Pixie:
- it doesn’t usually show in art and picrews I post of her, but she has heterochromia, with her left eye being light hazel and her right eye green. It’s something she used to be really insecure over as a kid, but nowadays isn’t bothered by. Just aggravated by anyone rude enough to give her a hard time about it/not believe it’s real
- Has freckles for days, and they were actually even more visible/apparent when she was younger
- has an energy drink/caffeine problem. Do not ask how many she’s had at any particular time, the number will scare you after 10am
- Has her mothers gift for picking up accents + languages. In certain AUs she takes advantage of this to either make it easier for others to be understood; or conceal where she’s actually from.
- Watched anime in high school/college. Specifically fma03 was one of her favorites, but in the DFW timeline it’s not something she can watch because a lot of themes/episodes hit too close to home for her
- touch starved.
- absolutely fucked sense of humor regarding her prosthetic arm. Do not ask her for a hand with something. If she’s comfortable with you, you’re getting the prosthetic before she goes to help you.
Alkka/Wolf-
- has tattoos! They were all a combination of gender affirmation/‘fuck you dad you’re dead and I can do what I want’
- Has a very unorthodox/dry sense of humor
- hates the water. There’s reasons for that. Reasons she will not discuss.
- Very high pain tolerance
- listens to Nightwish and Kaizers Orchestra
- that one meme with the guy pulling weapons out of unceasingly improbably places? That’s her.
- has a pet cat (will elaborate on that) named Tikru
- identifies loosely as Finnish pagan. It’s complicated, and something she’s private about, but still very much a thing
Voitto-
- picked Alkka’s middle name for her (it means ‘sister’ in Finnish)
- Actually goes to therapy (has symptoms of, and canonically has, anxiety and c-ptsd, but he’s yet to be formally diagnosed) of his own accord. Genuinely thinks it helps, and it’s really helped him heal from his upbringing. Really wishes Alkka would at least try it out
- Grew his hair out after joining the Shadows, keeps it braided back when he isn’t home at the barracks.
- Actually really good with kids.
- has a horrible tendency of slouching, makes him look half an inch taller than he is
- he’s the younger twin; but him and Alkka have an ongoing joke between them where they’ll give whoever asks that question a different answer each time.
- his middle name means ‘mercy’. That’s intentional on my part.
- hates having dirty hands, especially if it’s some sort of liquid like blood
- Hasn’t come to the realization that not feeling physical/sexual attraction isn’t normal. Blame the echo chamber him and Alkka have with that sort of thing. Don’t bother making suggestive comments to him, he won’t understand.
- isn’t sex-repulsed though. Just has the ‘well good for you but it ain’t for me’ mentality
- awful lot of Catholic Guilt for someone that ain’t even religious
#SIMMONS: behind the mask#WOLF: I broke my chains; I’ll break you too#VOITTO: when will this blood on my hands be washed away?#headcanons: jot this down
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all the switchplates i’ve painted for my apartment!
#look I have no more time for art and my timeline is dry enough as it is#also damn our switches are disgusting but at least the apartment is cheap#gravity falls#gravity falls art#over the garden wall#otgw#otgw art#night in the woods#nitw#nitw art#fin-cae art
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Insatiable desires
Gojo x F!reader x Toji ft. Nanami
art credit: @sk_jkg7 (twitter)
MINORS DNI!!
warnings/tags- gangbang, degredation, spanking, spit play, cum play, oral (m.receiving), manhandling, choking, creampie, fingering, gagging, mentions of bondage
A/N: this is just porn without plot, don’t even try to figure out what timeline it falls into, just assume it’s written in the veeishornyfordilfs-verse😩
You don't exactly remember how you ended up here-
splayed across the lap of the world’s most powerful sorcerer, ass up and panties pushed to the side while one of the most elite fighters of the zenin clan sits across from you, hand lazily palming the massive bulge in his pants.
“Told you she’s an obedient little thing-” Gojo’s bragging is cut off as a loud moan escapes you.
“Sure she is.” Toji says in mockery, a dry laugh escaping his throat.
“What’s the point of having her tight cunt gush around you if she isn’t making any of those sweet sounds?” Gojo counters, his hand harshly coming down against your throbbing clit making you choke on another moan around the blindfold stuffing your mouth.
Gojo’s fingers continue to explore your folds, moving every now and then to spread the wetness across your bruised ass which had been subjected to repeated spanks from both the men just moments ago. You arch your back more as his fingers come right onto your clit, face contorting in pleasure as he starts rubbing circles onto your sensitive bud.
A loud groan pulls you out of your bubble of ecstacy.
“Put her on the bed already, she’s dripping enough to fit 3 cocks inside her slutty little hole by now.”
You tilt your head to find Toji’s piercing gaze fixed onto where Gojo’s fingers meet your juices, his hand pulling his cock free from the elastic of his boxers. You whine needily at the sight of it, making the tip of his cock twitch as a bead of precum dribbles down the side. A sharp slap comes down onto your ass making you wince from pain, tears welling up in your eyes from being teased for too long,
“Better have the same reaction for my cock too sweetheart.” Gojo sings out, voice laced with a hint of jealousy.
Toji looks amused as he gets up, not even acknowledging Gojo as he pulls up your body from across his lap, easily tossing you onto the bed like a ragdoll. You look up at him with pleading eyes as he comes to stand at the edge of the bed, his huge member right in front of your face. Even Gojo’s remarks of annoyance are silenced as he grips your jaw, slapping your cheek with his enlarged cock,
“Do you deserve it?” His voice is deep and commanding as he pulls up your face so that you’re staring right into his eyes. You nod your head rapidly, mouth still gagged.
Toji bites his lip as he apprehends your tear filled eyes and your drooling mouth. You cough a little when he suddenly pulls out the fabric in your mouth, throwing it to the side, you barely even have the time to take a breath before the tip of his cock is rubbing against your lips, urging you to take him in,
“Let’s see what kind of sweet sounds she makes when my cum is oozing out this dirty mouth.”
That’s all the warning you get before his cock is making its way past your lips and hitting the back of your throat. The spit that had built up in your mouth now leaking out the sides and falling onto your tits. It’s filthy and lewd as he grips onto your hair to tilt your head upwards, smearing the mixture of substances drooling out the side of your mouth across your cheek, laughing as tears fall from your eyes. You can feel him getting close, loud moans rumbling from his chest as he fucks your mouth even deeper than before. Your vision is blurry from the tears, no coherent thought in mind except for the feral need of having Toji’s cum down your throat when suddenly, you’re harshly pulled back, a sob escaping you from both shock and desperation as the back of your head hits Gojo’s chest.
Everything happens in a flash. You barely register the growl that leaves Toji’s throat over the sound of Gojo snickering, and before your know it, the dark haired man is striding towards you, a look in his eyes that makes you want to beg for your life, but he doesn’t even look at you as your body slumps to the mattress. You snap your head behind to see Gojo pinned against the headboard, smirking at the large hand wrapped around his throat.
Your eyes widen in surprise and heat crawls up your face as he crashes his lips onto Toji’s. Toji’s eyes hold the same expression as you for a second before a loud groan leaves his throat, hand moving up to grip Gojo’s jaw as he pulls away. The arousal that pools in your core as you watch the thick splatter of Toji’s saliva hit the side of Gojo’s lips is almost embarrassing. Gojo looks amused and it seems like they’ve almost forgotten you until he raises his hand, two fingers gesturing you to come closer, which seems to snap Toji’s attention back to you too. You crawl over to them, Gojo’s lips immediately melding with yours, the mix of both their spit coating your tongue.
“Fuck this- I wanna be inside her.”
You’re being pulled away once again, only this time, angled in a way where you're on your fours, ass towards Toji, nose pressed onto Gojo’s muscular thigh, his cock standing tall against his stomach as he runs his fingers through your hair. You lick a stripe up from the base of his shaft to the tip of his cock, moaning as you feel your folds being spread apart, the tip of Toji’s cock lining up with your slit as he kneads the flesh of your ass. You feel Gojo’s hand pushing your head forward, urging you and you oblige. You struggle to take him in your already fucked out throat, barely halfway through when you feel the burn of a cock stretching your walls. You moan around the cock in your mouth as Toji fully sheaths himself inside of you, the vibrations making Gojo bucks his hips up into your mouth.
The vulgar sounds of Toji’s balls slapping against your ass as he starts thrusting into your gushing cunt fills the room, overpowering the grunts and groans of the blue-eyed man stuffing your mouth with his dick. Gojo brings his hand forward to fondle your breasts, fingers pulling and pinching your hardened nipples which makes your cunt clench. Toji groans at the movement, strokes getting sloppier as he feels his climax nearing. Both men are bucking into you, using your body to their own pleasure as you lose your balance and fall forwards, mouth still bobbing against Gojo’s cock because of the push of Toji going in and out of your leaking pussy.
Gojo is the first to climax, holding your head down, nose pressed up against his happy trail as he cums deep down your throat. The peak of your own arousal washes over you as Toji’s fingers move across your abdomen to find your clit, hastily rubbing circles onto it as his cock brushes one particular sensitive spot against your walls. You’re moaning around Gojo’s softening dick as the first wave of an orgasm hits you, tears escaping your eyes from the edging as the coil in your stomach snaps. Toji follows soon after, pumping your cunt full of his seed as he fucks you through both of your orgasms.
Your body collapses onto the bed as both men pull themselves out, Gojo lazily reaching over the nightstand to throw over his phone to Toji who proceeds to take pictures of your fucked out oozing cunt. You’re panting from the exhaustion as strong arms wrap around you and pull you up to a warm chest,
“You don’t think you’re done without me having filled you up, do you?”
His hot breath next to ear makes shivers run down your spine as you shake your head, still too tired to respond as another hand kneads the flesh of your inner thigh, the bed dipping as Toji comes to sit across from you.
“What the fuck Satoru?”
Your eyes immediately snap open at the foreign voice, both Gojo and Toji’s attention being diverted to the doorway, towards the man in the suit, tie loosened around his throat and an extremely annoyed look on his face. Arguably, it was Gojo’s fault for pulling you into a random room after he had seen you pressed against the wall in some corner, Toji’s lips latched onto the tit he had pulled out of your dress.
“Ah- I didn’t think the room was occupied.” Gojo says nonchalantly, the side of his lip twitching upwards.
You knew the ever-observant man would never make such a mistake, making you wonder what he was up to. The vexed look on the man’s face who stared at you from across the room would have made you want to shrink into yourself even if you were fully clothed.
“But you have been stressed these days, haven't you Nanami? Maybe you deserve a little reward.”
You yelped as you felt hands spreading apart your thighs, glancing over at Toji to see what he thought of the situation, but his own eyes mirrored the look of the man exposing you to the blonde at the door.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you ever wreck my room again.”
There was anger in Nanami’s words, he was stressed and tired from having to work overtime on today’s mission and to come home to such a mess was the last thing he expected. Still, he found his cock twitching against the restraint of his pants as he looked at your bare pussy, your eyes holding a look so innocent as if you weren’t just getting fucked by two men. Maybe he did deserve a reward after all, he found himself thinking as he strode towards the bed, pulling his tie loose.
You couldn’t deny that the man was attractive, his aura both dangerously calming and commanding as he apprehended you carefully, his hunger-filled eyes raking over your figure with a look that said he was going to devour you whole. He didn’t put away his tie, instead tying it up into a makeshift knot and you felt yourself getting wet once again as you realised what he was planning.
Well, you were always curious about wanting to get tied up and fucked anyways.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen tw#gojo x reader#toji x reader#nanami x reader#gojo smut#toji smut#nanami smut#gojo satoru#toji fushiguro tw#nanami kento#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo x toji x reader#gojo headcanons
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First Date
A/N: So I was thinking about how Natasha and R’s first date would be in the “Third Time’s the Charm” timeline. Here it is. Fluffy, short, comforting. Hope you enjoy.
It was a bad idea.
You knew it the minute Chloe brought it up, but the only way to get her to stop is if you agreed to do it. The fact that the other person was 20 minutes late without so much as a text to let you know further proved your point.
Blind dates sucked.
One last look at your watch to confirm that it was in fact late and you decided you’d suffered enough humiliation for a day. Just as you were standing up, you heard a raspy voice behind you.
“Is this seat taken?” she said, pointing at the bar stool next to yours. Your brain short circuited for a moment, entranced by her fiery hair and emerald eyes. A moment later, you realised you were staring.
“Oh, no, go ahead. I was just leaving anyway” you stuttered, too flustered to look her in the eyes.
“That’s disappointing. I was looking forward to the company”
“Really? Even if it’s a loser that was stood up by her blind date?”
“Girl, you’re just my type” she whistled and you laughed. “I’m Natasha”
“Y/N” her hand squeezed yours. It was soft and warm and it may have been silly, but you felt electricity coursing through your body. The hostess must have thought the person you were waiting for had finally arrived, so she walked up to you and led you to a small table by the terrace.
“So, is the food any good?” Natasha said inspecting the menu, after ordering a dry martini.
“No idea, I’m a little out of my usual commute here” you sipped from your glass of red wine, that was definitely too expensive and tasted practically the same as the one you had at home.
“Oh, what is your usual area?”
“Upper East Side”
“Fancy”
“Oh, yeah, it’s a place full of antiquities and very expensive art. It’s called the Metropolitan Museum” Natasha rolled her eyes and you giggled. “What about you?”
“I work for the government”
“Oh, spy stuff?”
She laughed and waved at the waiter.
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you if it was. I think I’ll have the salmon and Y/N?”
“Fettuccine Alfredo, please”
It was unbelievable to you how the conversation flowed so easily. Even as you ate, it was fun to go back and forth with the secretive redhead, who could say a lot of things and nothing at the same time. You were hypnotized by her beautiful eyes and easy demeanor.
“How’s the pasta?”
“Here” you said without thinking, offering your fork to her. She leaned forward and took the food, never breaking eye contact with you.
“Hm. It’s good. I’m ordering that next time”
“Next time?”
For the first time in all night, she was flustered and kept staring at her own plate.
“Shut up” she mumbled and you laughed at her childish response. You were about to annoy her even more when you looked at the bar, sliding down your chair and covering your face with the glass of wine.
“Oh, shit. My date’s here”
“Who is she?” Natasha looked around and found a tall blonde girl that was talking to the staff as if she owned the place. “Seems like you dodged a bullet”
“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with Chloe? Why would she set me up with someone that’s so rude”
“Maybe she’s a double agent” Natasha whispered conspiratorially. “Ok, she’s gone now”
“Didn’t even try that hard to look for me” you grumbled, straightening up in your chair.
“No, you just happen to be a master of disguise, hiding behind a glass of wine”
You snorted and kicked her lightly under the table.
“Shut up” it was your turn to say and she actually laughed at that, a beautiful and melodic sound that made your heart skip a beat. You had to keep yourself from sighing when her phone rang.
“Excuse me” Natasha tried to say casually, but something in her demeanor changed. She was alert and gave a short greeting to the person on the other end of the line, walking to the foyer.
Chloe had texted you, but you decided to ignore the messages. She owed you big time, even if it had all worked out in the end, for you at least.
“Everything ok?” you asked as Natasha approached.
“Work. I’m sorry”
“Oh, it’s ok. I’ll just get the check” it was inevitable, wasn’t it? She’d go back to her life and so would you. You looked around hoping to get the waiter’s attention.
“I already took care of it” she informed you and you blushed.
“That wasn’t necessary, Natasha. But thank you”
At this point you were fully giving the other woman heart eyes, trying to commit to memory every inch of her face and the way her raspy voice made you shiver. Natasha hesitated for a moment and it seemed like she was about to ask you something -and admittedly, you would have said yes to anything- when her phone rang again.
“Seems to be really urgent. I’ll see you around?” you offered her a way out, in spite of yourself and she smiled.
“I’ll know where to find you, Y/N from the Met” she winked and leaned forward to kiss your cheek, before leaving.
You were in love with a total stranger.
*
It had been a week and you were still thinking about that night. You kicked yourself for being such a coward and not asking for Natasha’s number or giving her yours. Even at work, the shades of green and red in paintings brought you back to her.
Thankfully, the group of children listening to your stories as you guided them through the museum were enough to keep you from daydreaming that morning.
“Who here has a dog?” you said and several hands shoot up, anxious to talk about their pets. “That’s amazing! Did you know that the people from the past had pets as well? For example, the Mexican hairless dog, who was very brave; they took care of people when they were alive but also in the Underworld” you told them, pointing at the small ceramic figure behind you. Several of them gasped.
“What does hairless mean?” a boy asked, looking between his teacher and you.
“I know! It means it’s bald” a girl jumped in.
“My dad’s bald too! Do you think we should get him one of those dogs, Miss Y/L/N?”
“Oh” you stuttered.
“Alright, kids, time to get some lunch. Say bye to Miss Y/L/N” the teacher came to your rescue.
Some of them waved their hands at you and a little girl ran to hug you.
“Thank you, it was fun”
You were about to thank her when you raised your eyes, meeting green ones. Natasha was standing at the entrance of the room, looking at you with a smile.
“You’re a natural” she commented, uncrossing her arms to reach for your hand.
“Hi” you said and kept staring. She laughed at your shocked expression. “I’m sorry, I just never thought I’d see you again. I’m surprised”
“I did say I’d find you”
“True”
“Is it a good surprise?”
“The best” you squeezed her fingers and she took another step towards you.
“I was hoping you’d give me a tour”
“Any particular interests? This place is huge”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Anything you want”
Tilting your head to the side, you went through every room in your mind; you had the entire building memorized.
“I know. There’s someone I want you to meet”
Leading her by the hand, you hurried through hallways, rooms and galleries promising to go back later. You stopped in front of Van Gogh’s portrait, and looked between Nat and the painting.
“Vin, this is Nat. You’re both redheads so I figured you’d get along. Natasha, say hi to Vin”
“I’m not saying hi to that thing” she frowned and you laughed.
“Fair enough”
“So is Van Gogh your favorite artist then?”
“From Post-Impressionism? Yeah” you said, waving at the painting and leading Nat to the next room.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that…” you dragged your words. This was gonna sound weird no matter what. “I have a favorite artist for each movement. Sometimes several, but they’re from different countries. I like to keep it neat”
“Nerd” she accused, but there was no malice in her tone. You stopped at the next painting and she almost crashed against you.
“Claude Monet. Painter, lover of flowers and light. Oh, and French”
“You had me until you said French”
“Com on! He had his own garden. That’s what inspired him to paint the water lilies. Don’t you think it’s a beautiful work of art?”, you nudged her and she swayed against you. She squinted her eyes and smiled.
“It’s not so bad”
“Not so bad? Natasha, you’ll be the death of me” you sighed dramatically but kept walking, her hand in yours.
“We’re gonna be here for hours, aren’t we?”
“Just until lunch”
*
“All that art talk made you hungry?” you said as Natasha sipped from her cup of coffee. She smiled at you and took another bite of the roast beef sandwich.
“This is really good”
“I try my best”
It was a slow day, which meant you could sit in a corner at the benches surrounding the Temple of Dendur to eat lunch.
The moment of quiet allowed you to look back at your own history with this place, memories coming back as you finished your half of the sandwich.
“I was probably twelve when I watched The Mummy for the first time. And then I dragged my grandmother to the museum every Sunday, dreaming about finding a hidden treasure”
“I’m sure she loved every second of it as well” she said with a warm smile and you knew she understood the emotion behind your own eyes. “I’ve never seen that movie, though”
Your first impulse would be to ask if she lived under a rock instead of having a normal childhood. But some of her comments and the perpetually guarded demeanor made you think twice.
“Well, I’ve seen it like over twenty times, what’s one more?”
“Securing a third date before the second one finishes. How efficient”
“I know a lot of art and that includes… the art of seduction” you said and Natasha groaned at your cheesy line. You laughed, leaning forward to put your hand on her knee.
“So corny” she muttered, but still placed her hand over yours. You laughed again and she rolled her eyes.
Oh, yeah. She had it bad for you as well.
*
It had been four months since that museum date and your life had never been better. Movie night led to more dates and before you knew it, Natasha had found a home in your own studio apartment, practically spending every night with you.
Asking her to officially move in felt like a rushed decision that could scare the redhead. Her work -which was still a mystery to you- kept her traveling from time to time. That provided some space and distance, that true to popular wisdom, made the heart grow fonder.
Right now, you were sitting with Chloe, waiting for your sandwiches. She was talking about the theme for the Met Gala while you stared at your phone, going through pictures of you and your girlfriend from the night before.
“Wait, what the fuck, is that Natasha?” Chloe nudged you and it took you a second to catch up with her words. Following her eyes, your heart dropped as you saw the image of your girlfriend on the television that was placed behind the counter. The reporter was speaking about some crazy robots and a group of heroes (Avengers? What the hell did that mean?!) fighting them close to Brooklyn. There was some footage of Natasha throwing punches left and right.
“Oh, my God!” you almost fell from your stool and Chloe had to grab you by the elbow.
“Did you know?”
“Yes, of course I knew, Chloe, that’s why I look so chill right now!”
“Where do you think you’re going?” she practically yelled as you took your bag and stood up to leave.
“I don’t know, I just can’t stand the idea of her fighting those things, it’s freakin terrifying!”
Your friend looked over her shoulder, still shocked at Natasha’s fighting skills.
“Have you seen her? She just took down two of them with one single shot. Seems like the robots should be the ones that are scared”
“Not now, Chloe” you mumbled, walking down the street. You didn’t even know where to go, but the thought of staying still made you even more anxious.
“Ok, ok, hold on. We can’t go there right now. If something happens to you and Natasha’s there, she’ll never forgive herself. She could also get distracted if she thinks you’re in danger. Let’s wait until everything calms down and then I promise you we will look for her”
You sighed and crossed your arms tight against your chest, hoping the pressure would ease your erratic heartbeat.
“I hate it when you’re right”
The girl smiled and reached out for you. For now, her company was enough to keep you from going insane, but you’d only find peace once you knew Natasha was safe and sound.
Turns out, the so-called Avengers were more efficient than you thought. In less than an hour, they had cleared Brooklyn from the robots and authorities started to open the streets to clean up the rubble.
“I’m sure she’s fine” Chloe assured you as you walked between pieces of concrete and smashed cars.
Sure enough and to your relief, there she was. Your Natasha, sitting on the sidewalk, as she tried to catch her breath. There was a cut on her forehead and dust covered her face and suit, but she was alive.
“Natasha!” you cried with relief, running towards her.
“Detka?” she recognised your voice immediately, standing up to look for you in the crowd.
“Nat!” you called again and this time she saw you. There was something guarded in her, you could tell by the way she avoided your stare as you approached, practically lunging yourself to her arms. “God, I was so worried” you breathed against her neck, making sure she was real.
“What?” she took a step back, searching your eyes. Your heart dropped when you saw her hand over her ribs, as if she was in pain. “You’re not… mad?”
“Why would I be? That’s crazy. Maybe you have a concussion, we should go find a doctor…” you took her hand and started walking. She pulled you back, not moving an inch. “What are you…”
“I lied to you”
“Nat”
“I should have told you a long time ago. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I was scared it would be too much and I didn’t want to…”
It was scary to see her spiraling like this so you did the only thing that would stop her. You brought her closer, aware of the cuts in her face, pressing your lips firmly against hers, hoping that the simple act could say more than any words.
“So you’re not mad” she says as you broke apart, your foreheads resting together.
“My girlfriend is a hero”
The conviction in your voice, the absolute trust you put in Natasha, that she was good and noble and selfless sent a shiver down her spine. As she brought you close again, crashing your lips in a more desperate and urgent kiss, she allowed herself to feel relief and happiness, like she’d never felt before.
“I love you” Natasha said, eyes closed, pouring her heart in those three words. Words that she’d never said to anyone before.
“I love you too. With all my heart”
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For the meet-ugly prompts: #13, Indruck, SFW ? 👁️👁️
Here you go!
13: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine
The Phoenix Starport is a labyrinth, while technically made of chrome and touch-screens, is really made of lines.
Duck stands in line to show his ticket, to deposit his bags, to go through three separate security check-points and, when he gets to the section for the shuttle to take him to the Starliner, a fourth one because when your clients are high paying, you don’t want them getting blown to pieces.
He isn’t high-paying, he isn’t a seasoned space traveler, and he isn’t going to spend one second more on his feet than he has to. It’s been two solid hours of that just to get to this point. Unfortunately, every other passenger shares this sentiment. When the shuttle door opens a mass of lifeforms pile in, hunting for seats. Duck spots one, turns to sit, and finds it’s much fuzzier than it looked.
“Excuse me.” The creature whose laps he’s in reminds him of the pictures of Mothman scattered around his home state, “but this seat is taken.”
“Yeah, by me, because I saw it first.”
A click from inside the mothmans chest, “You are wrong. I saw it first, and did not foresee anyone being rude enough to use me in its place.”
Every other seat is filled, and it’s a fifteen minute ride to the Starliner. Duck crosses his arms, “you don’t wanna be a seat, you better get up.”
That earns him an annoyed chirr, “Not a chance.”
The shuttle ride is smooth, but his seat keeps prodding him with a clawed finger whenever he puts his weight on it. When they arrive, the two of them stand one after the other. The mothman shakes out his feathers, tosses a glare over his shoulder, and steps through the doors.
Unsurprisingly, the Sylvain Dream makes opulence seem subdued. There are rare flowers studding the fountain by the concierge desk, art from across the universe on the walls, and a sound dampening, shimmering carpet lining the hall to his room. He’s looking forward to some alone time; while all the suites at this level are technically two person, they’re so expensive that most travelers get their own rooms.
He keys open the door and comes face to chest with the same fucking alien from the shuttle.
“Ah. So we are in this timeline. Lovely.” The mothman says dryly, passing him to greet the bellhop who just finished scurrying up the stairs, “I see you have a message from minister Woodbridge. Kindly have someone reply and tell him that if it’s an emergency, they may contact me directly, but if the matter is anything else, they are to leave me in peace during my journey.”
“Yes, Seer Cold.”
“Thank you.” the seer drops a coin into his hand and brushes past Duck without another word.
Duck finally makes it past the entryway and gasps; when the people paying for his journey asked if he’d prefer forest, city, beach, or desert, he assumed it was some sort of vague theme. Instead, the carpet is lush, soft grass, there are flowers everywhere, and the furniture is all made to be woodsy and rustic. The bath and shower are like a mini water-fall and pool, his bed housed in a mock cabin.
“This is amazing.”
“If you are here purely for a leisure trip.” His suite-mate crosses both sets of arms, “some of us are being transported back to work.”
“Now look, this is a work trip for me too. You gotta admit this is pretty swank.”
“And an attempt to soften the blow.” Mothman mutters.
Duck rolls his eyes, decides this is not his problem to deal with, and goes to unpack for the month-long journey ahead.
-----------------------------------------------------
For the first two days he and Indrid--which is what the aloof, perpetually touchy Sylph likes to be called--do their best to ignore each other. They’re stuck on the same dining schedule, which means Duck accidentally insults the alien by giggling when he sees him lick his dessert up with an absurdly long tongue. He makes it up to the next night by saving the pineapple soda delivered in their lunch basket for the Sylph.
On day three, he’s reading by the holo-fire pit when a white badge with blue writing dangles before him.
“Would you like to accompany me to the spa?”
“Uh….”
“Since I foresee you asking no, we do not have to spend the entire time together.”
“I, uh, I was gonna say sure, but was wonderin’ why you offered it to me.”
“Oh.” His antenna flick in a new way, “I, ah, they gave me two. I have no one else to go with and it seemed silly to let it go to waste.”
“I gotta wear anything special?”
“Since humans require clothes in all but a few scenarios, I suggest wearing your robe.”
The spa is just as elaborate as the rest of the ship, with cushy chairs and complimentary booze. The secretary hands them each a menu of treatments bigger than any Duck’s held at a restaurant.
“Sugar scrub….talon wax….rock massage. Do they mean hot rocks?”
“No, that treatment helps those with scales shed.”
“Huh.” Duck pokes his tongue in his cheek, “wish they said which of these were safe for, uh, squishy human bodies.”
Indrid reaches out a claw, tapping several on the list, “This ful massage would be good; you’re muscular, it will be nice to have those muscles tended to.”
“Oh, uh, thanks. Have been workin out more, nice to have someone else notice.”
The Sylph smiles, “you may also like the hair luxury add-on; I’ve always thought humans with salt and pepper hair should show it off.”
Before Duck can ask how Indrid developed that opinion or learned that slang, they’re ushered off into separate rooms. He’s scrubbed and rubbed until his body surrenders the last of it’s stress, the oils they rub on his skin and into his hair smelling pleasantly of pine and cedar. His session ends with one of the staff leading him to a small room covered in deep green marble, where he can rinse and dry off in his own time.
Indrid is in the same room, reclining in a chair with a sun lamp on his wings. They’ve been groomed, the feather straighter and smoother than this morning. Duck takes his first real look at them, notices how the black is iridescent and that there are two bands of deep grey on the inside close to Indrid’s torso.
He’s really quite stunning.
“I feel” Indrid murmurs, “as if we got off to a bad start.”
“You think?” Duck aims for a genial tone.
Indrid cocks his head, “Yes. That is why I said it. I, ah, I ought to apologize for my temperament over the last few days. I am so very fond of earth, of humans, and I’d hoped to be able to work there indefinitely. But Sylvain is in crisis, and so they need me near. Never mind that we have the capability to transmit messages quickly between planets.”
“What’s the crisis?”
“Our plants are dying or failing to produce the resources we need. The belief is that-”
“-it’s a leftover contamination or mutation from the earth plants that crossed through the gate before it was destroyed.”
Indrid blinks, then grins, “it is novel to be the one having their sentences finished. Yes, Duck Newton; the gate has been gone for over two hundred years, but both our worlds will feel it’s effects for many more years.” His antenna perk up, “you’re the one they’re bringing on to consult.”
“Yep. That’s why they gave me such a sweet deal on the trip; they know it’s gonna be fuckin exhaustin work. Even with all the other perks they’re offerin, I know a lot of folks didn’t wanna apply.”
“Why did you feel differently?”
He pushes to the other side of the little pool so they can be closer, “I spent my whole life in the town I grew up in. I love what I do, I love helpin forests stay healthy and regrow and I...I dunno, how often do you get the chance to go to space and see forests on another planet?”
“Once, if you are me.” Indrid closes his wings, clicks off the light, and offers Duck a hand, “and I am glad you will have the chance to do the same.”
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“You know” Indrid passes Duck the plate of toast, “I am named for Sylph who was the second most recent seer after myself. He and I are the same kind of Sylph, and when my parents learned their mothling-to-be was the next seer, they decided I would be Indrid Cold.”
“Not gonna lie, people actin like your fate is set in stone from birth gives me the creeps.”
“Understandable. I would not admit this to the other ministers, but I am no longer content with reporting on the futures. I try to change fate when I can. In this way, I am also like the first Indrid Cold. He kept trying to intervene in disasters; that’s how he got seen when he should not have been.”
“Holy fuck, there really was a mothman!”
“Indeed. I also learned from his personal notes that he was so fond of humans, he ended up marrying one.”
“Damn” Duck passes him the sweetener for his tea, teases, “you share that habit too?”
Red eyes linger a moment too long on his body before Indrid grins, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
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“You sure you don’t wanna swim?” Duck treads water in the green lagoon of some distant moon. The cruise is docked for an activity day, Duck having selected to spend it snorkeling and Indrid deciding to spend it with Duck.
“The wings are not built for it. Though the water does look pleasant.” Indrid lazily sifts black sand through his claws.
“You could wade in. It stays pretty shallow there” he points to a sand bar.
“If I get in over my head, will you come to my aid?”
“You know it.”
Indrid wades in, chirping as the waves hit his knees. When Duck next glances at him, Indrid is glancing right back. He’s smiling, soft and secretive.
“I am glad you picked this spot. The view is spectacular.”
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They’ve hit turbulence a handful of times, all of which pale in comparison to the jolt that sends him tumbling out of bed. There are stabilizer controls to lighten the gravity in the room so they won’t feel the bumps as badly. But when he wobbles over, he finds it’s already up to the lowest it can be without him floating.
He stumbles to the window, the curtains shut against the vast universe. Is turbulence this severe normal? If the gravity doohickey isn’t able to help, maybe that means they’ve never hit a storm this bad.
Opening the window is a terrible idea; there’s no cause of the turbulence to be seen, and now he’s in a dark room staring into the depths of space, it’s so big, he’s so small, they all are, the forces of nature still have it in them to crack this ship like an egg, killing them all.
“Would it help if I said there are no futures where this storm poses a threat to us?” Indrid whispers from behind him.
“Kinda.”
“Would it help to see something breathtaking?”
“Wh-”
Indrid taps the glass, drawing Ducks attention to two massive, starry shapes, “Celestial whales. At least that’s the human name for them.”
“Holy fuck.” They remind Duck of Whale Sharks, but impossibly bigger, skin coated in thousands of star-spots, “how can they do that? I mean, obviously they ain’t mammals, but fuckin nothin thrives in deep space.”
“No one is certain.” Indrid sighs, happily, “isn’t it wonderful to know there are such things in the universe?”
“Yeah. AHfuck” He hits the wall as the whole ship shudders, “fuck, sorry-”
“It’s alright. It can be alarming when you’re on your first trip through the cosmos. I, ah, I have something that may help, if you’re alright with me touching you some.”
“Fine by me.” Duck follows Indrid to the Sylph’s bed. The seer sits cross-legged with his back against the wall and instructs Duck to rest his head in his lap. The points of his claws begin rubbing his neck and the base of his skull, Indrid humming at a low, steady pitch until Duck’s eyes start to close.
The pressure points are helping, he can tell by his loosening spine. But what soothes him to sleep is the repetitive reminder of Indrid there with him in the dark.
When he wakes up the storm is gone. His body is still moving, rising and falling in time with Indrid’s breath as he sleeps. He pulled Duck atop him in the night, and at some point must have wrapped him in his wings, since once, is still half-flopped on Duck’s back.
Seized with affection, Duck kisses his shoulder. When this earns him a happy chirp, he does it again, then kisses a cheerful path up to Indrid’s cheek. Red eyes open, sleepy and full of tenderness, just in time for the Sylph to turn his head and kiss Duck properly.
“What a lovely thing to awaken to.”
“No kiddin” Duck kisses him again, “fuck, Indrid, this is the weirdest goddamn thing to ever happen to me and I’m thinkin it might also be the best.”
Indrid hugs him close, “We shall have ample time to find out, if you wish to do so.”
“Hell yeah. But we only got a few days before we hit Sylvain.”
“Yes” Indrid kisses his nose, “but I happen to foresee Woodbridge ignoring my request for peace and sending me a message saying I will be working closely with a certain, visiting forestry expert.”
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All right, since I’m in the middle of a flare and have to work manual labor for the next four days despite it, I figured I would make myself -- and hopefully other people -- laugh by talking about one of my favorite OG Captain Marvel stories. Namely, from Whiz #50, with a cover date of January, 1944, meaning it was probably produced sometime in late 1943.
I want to share it because why not, this is some absurdly charming stuff.
I’ll get more into why it’s one of my favorites as we go, in the form of running commentary. So, full story (with said commentary) under the cut. If you wanna just read the story without my commentary, stick to the pictures. XD
First, let me say that the cover and splash page definitely live up to the story, though the cover’s a bit more sensationalized. But the premise is pretty damn simple: Our intrepid hero and his newsboy alter ego are on vacation. Cap decides to go swimming. It goes hilariously wrong and thus ensues a bit of a madcap adventure, no puns intended.
Second, the fact that Cap and Billy are depicted as essentially different entities makes what Billy does next the ultimate trolling:
Gee, airing out the stolen laundry on the radio? Really? I’ll leave it up to you, gentle reader, whether Billy actually was trolling his own alter-ego for ratings or whether he was just innocently sharing the story while his other-self winced quietly in whatever ether-space he exists in when not front-and-center.
Either way, I love it.
Continuing on...
I get a kick out of the fact that Billy’s monologue is that he’s no dare-devil. One, because that’s so obviously not true in any way -- (that kid is awesomely, sometimes recklessly brave on the regular even without Cap) -- but two, because the bridge is actually named Dare-Devil Bridge. We aren’t given any reason why this dangerous potential death-trap is there, hanging without so much as a gate or a warning sign or anything, because we don’t need one. It’s there specifically for what happens next.
Which, of course, is Billy calling in Captain Marvel, who does some light complaining about the situation Billy left him in. There’s no bite to it, which I find adorable -- Cap actually does get frustrated once or twice in other issues with Billy calling on him for mundane stuff, though he’s never mean about it -- but there is a bit of the sense of being put-upon there that’s just-- I dunno, cute. It’s something I miss a lot in the various post-crisis takes on the character: That duality, that difference in personality, and the way each of them responds to different situations. Often, they’re on the same page, but notably, sometimes, they aren’t.
Someday, I promise, I need to sit down and write how I think that works between those two without being a truly frightening mental illness manifested, what with them being the same person but not the same person. Because I have so many ideas, and I’ve only had since the early-2000s to percolate them. LOL! But until then, just enjoy this.
Here is another reason why I love the Golden Age Captain Marvel books and why I love this specific story: This is an absolutely normal, mundane thing to do. It’s the human thing to do. These aren’t the actions of some super-serious superdude. These are the actions of a pretty shockingly normal guy doing something mundane. And a whole story is built around that normalcy.
It’s cute. It’s funny. It’s the reader already knowing that he’s getting himself into a situation that he absolutely could have avoided, but also completely understanding how it happened anyway. It’s pretty brilliant writing: I say this as a pretty damned good writer myself.
So much of the reason why, I think, Cap was so endearing as a hero is that humanity. He’s got pretty much god-tier power in the Golden Age, once his powerset is established. He’s utterly invulnerable to all physical harm while powered up. But-- he’s human. He knows he’s human. He acts like it, and decides, “You know what? I’m going skinny-dipping.”
He and Billy are both characters it’s so easy to empathize with.
Also, a reminder that the art under Chief Artist C.C. Beck is really, really good. (He had a whole stable of artists to help produce this stuff!) Ignoring registration issues on the printing press, the actual line art is amazingly good; proportion and perspective and consistency.
But anyway--Cap does get to enjoy his swim. But, then, oh no.
I love the idea of a world where the prime hero -- and he definitely is in that world -- can take off his suit and go swimming, and where someone else is bold enough to steal the damn suit off of him. The first time I read this, I started laughing here. Not at him, but at the situation he’s found himself in. At the idea that some random passer-by saw Captain Marvel’s costume and went yoink!
Another thing I love about this particular story is how much Cap and Billy have to work together, just by necessity. Like-- it’s just really good. But anyway, thank everything Billy Batson is on the ball, coming to the rescue.
Sheer bad luck via the weather keeps this story rolling along in hilarious misdirections. Realistically, that uniform probably wouldn’t be all buttoned together (we see Cap take off pieces of it aside the pants in other issues, including socks!), but who cares? The point of the story is that giant bear rug on the floor’s gonna get put to use.
Man, when have you ever seen Superman creeping naked through some stranger’s house wearing nothing but a random polar bear because he went skinny dipping? No wonder these comics sold so well. This next panel is when I start wheezing, though, and pretty much keep wheezing.
“A lady, too! I’ve got to get away from here!”
I’m dying at this point. That’s such a characteristic response, and yet, I think that’s why it’s funny.
Anyway, because this is an excellent story (I mean this without an ounce of irony, too), our dynamic duo stumbles across a plot in play to rob the hotel they’re staying at.
Here’s a big part of why this is such a good tale: Everything fits. Even when it isn’t explained, like Dare-Devil Bridge, it still fits. Why is the tree down? Because there was just a thunder storm, the same one that blew Cap’s suit into the room with the gangsters.
I don’t know if this is Otto Binder’s story, but I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. It’s a complete story told in relatively few pages that accomplishes everything it’s meant to.
Anyway, using foliage as cover, Cap gets to be heroic----then Billy gets to get back to the business of trying to stop the robbery of the hotel and get his heroic alter-ego dressed again. Which leads to a rather adorable and funny scene of Billy not only trying to describe what Captain Marvel wears, but what size it would need to be tailored in.
(Cap is supposedly a 44 for a suit coat, we find in some earlier appearance, which would refer to his chest size. So, an XL for shirts and suit-coats. He’s a big guy, but he’s actually not a hulking huge guy. But more on that later.)
I love the fact Billy tries to like-- use himself as a model. Maybe in another ten years, kiddo. Billy’s actually pretty buff for like a 12-14 year old, he’s not a scrawny kid at this point, but yeah, no. LOL!
Another thing I also really, really love about this style, though, is that they draw Captain Marvel as being strong, as having a powerful build-- but not as a dehydrated body-builder with deep cuts. He’s got human proportions, regardless of his strength; he’s got a human build, not a superhuman one.
C.C. Beck had a lot of things to say about superheroes who were just muscles on top of muscles, all clearly defined, and he didn’t like it. As someone who first got into comics in the early 90s with Jim Lee’s X-Men--
I do get Beck’s point. I not only get it, but I really highly approve of it. He maintained to the end that he drew (and oversaw) the Marvel family to look like high school and college athletes, and I can see that. I think the one person who’s gotten it right in the modern era is Evan “Doc” Shaner, who did Convergence: Shazam! He not only nailed that strong-but-not-hulking build for Cap, but also how young he looked. College-age, in fact.
But anyway, enough digression into art and why I like this better than most modern takes on the character. Also, that’s just a cute set of panels.
I also like that there wasn’t an easy fix there. Cap’s still in his not-birthday suit, and Billy’s still stuck running around trying to solve the issues at hand. Next comes some other really good panels:
-snorts- He’s locked in. Yeah, that’ll hold him.
Anyway, what I really liked here was again that tandem working; Billy can’t punch through a wall, but Cap can. Cap can’t crawl out while he’s au natural -- well, he could, but he’d probably rather die first -- but Billy’s got no such issue. It’s just fun when you get to see them doing something like that. You have to really think for a minute about the trust each of them must have in their alter-ego.
ANYWAY, we get the rare treat then--
--of Captain Marvel not only yoinking a dude into a dark room, but then stealing his clothes. Except, not his underwear. Because that’s nasty. LOL!
I love that in this series, you do actually get to see him wear other stuff. Go incognito. Get his red suit messed up enough to take it to a dry cleaner’s, wherein he ends up dressed like a musketeer after. Jerry Ordway’s series is, I think, the only other time we see Cap not wearing his famous suit, but it happened enough in the Golden Age that it wasn’t a shock.
Like, I hate to be the one to say this, but I do think DC drops the ball often on just how much you can do with Captain Marvel (or Shazam, depending on timeline, but that’s the wizard’s name to me so mostly I’ll stick with the original name) if you unbend enough to. It’s not just the costume change, or the duality of him and Billy being the same but not, but also his inherent, essential humanity.
But I am digressing again, sorry. XD I just feel strongly enough about these versions of these characters to spend hours writing this.
Anyway, only a single panel later:
And that’s that! Billy Batson has just outed his own alter-ego’s most embarrassing moment to whomever’s listening to WHIZ radio -- thank everything podcasts and the internet weren’t available then, ha! -- and we get to see a recounting of a very fun story.
Like I said earlier, I love this one for its essential humanity. The hero got himself into this mess, he and Billy got him out of this mess, and stopping the criminals was actually just kind of a lucky stroke thrown in there. But even though Cap got himself into this, the story never treats him like he’s stupid. It never treats him like he’s some kind of idiot. You’re laughing, but-- not in a mean way.
I love how human it is. How complete it is. How genuinely funny it is. It’s a thousand times more funny when you genuinely love and respect Captain Marvel and Billy Batson, too.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this dissertation on a skinny-dipping hero. LOL! I enjoyed sharing it with you.
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Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'
@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!
Title: A Little Piece
Pairing: Dave/Alan
Rating: General
Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff
Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.
Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.
Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.
Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.
In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.
“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”
Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.
But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.
In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.
“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.
After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).
Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.
Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.
Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.
On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.
When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.
“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”
Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”
“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.
Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.
“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.
However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.
Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.
“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”
“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.
“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.
“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.
“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.
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It’s me, back again with another essay for Tetora’s birthday, except this time I want to really look into his character and what makes him the hardworking boy Ryuseitai wouldn’t be the same without. I used a lot of stories as reference, so I put together the banners from ! events/gachas he’s in in chronological story order here, mostly for my own use (though like the wiki disclaimer says, some of it can be shaky). At the time of writing, there aren’t enough !! stories to warrant a whole timeline, nor have the ones he’s in been fully translated, but I tried to mention the parts I’ve read (either translated or in-game with my limited understanding of Japanese).
Tetora is first introduced in chapter 8 of the Enstars! main story, as a first year at the very beginning of the school year. From what we see of him in those appearances, it’s easy to dismiss him as an excitable boy with too much energy for his own good. While that hotheadedness is part of his character, there’s so much more to him than that and I feel like he’s really not given enough credit from the fandom as a whole for it. Tetora is a character who’s shown a lot of depth over the course of the Ensemble Stars story and that’s what I want to show through this.
We don’t really know much about Tetora’s childhood or family based on the currently released stories, but with the little bits of information we do have, it’s possible to piece things together to get a vague idea of what his home life is like. Tetora doesn’t come from a very rich family, and we know from multiple stories that his parents go to work early and/or work long hours as a result. Combined with the facts that he’s an only child and that he regularly gets his lunches from the school cafeteria and other meals from a konbini because his parents don’t have the time to make proper bentos/meals, it’s reasonable to conclude that he spends a lot of time alone at home.
It’s probably also because of that that he looks up to Kuro and Niki so much. In Niki’s third idol story, Tetora says that watching Niki’s show made even bland food taste delicious, but also that it saved him. While he didn’t elaborate aside from saying his parents were having a tough time with work and !! hasn’t provided any more lore yet, I interpreted that as him seeing Niki as a companion of sorts, since he was alone so much. He does also call Niki “Aniki” on instinct, and says that he feels closer to him thanks to their ways of speaking being similar (they both attach “ssu” to the ends of sentences, for example). As for Kuro, it’s mentioned in Motor Show that Tetora only got into karate because he admired Kuro, and the way he acts around Kuro in the ! main story says all it needs to on that front.
… but knowing more about that part of the main story says even more. The main story takes place after the first years have gotten into the units they applied to, and Tetora had just been rejected from Akatsuki, instead having to settle for Ryuseitai. At the time, he was pretty upset about the whole ordeal, especially since he had wanted to get into Akatsuki so badly. In fact, he spent pretty much the whole time between the start of the year and Supernova frustrated by it, only coming to terms with being in Ryuseitai by the end of the latter event. Because of that, his attitude in the main story is the first time we see him doing something he has a habit of doing — trying to put up a positive front, no matter how he’s really feeling.
Instead of wallowing in the negative emotions he felt after what happened with Akatsuki, Tetora tried to make something else work out in his favor instead: the Ryuuousen. The reason he was so excited about it, and so concerned about everything going as planned (and started panicking when Kuro showed up late), is because he was almost desperate to succeed at something after his failure with the unit he had his heart set on. In the end, though, that ended up going wrong too. The student council interrupted the match before it ended, even though he didn’t want to accept defeat, and that didn’t do his confidence any favors.
Of course, his confidence in himself wasn't really that high in the first place. Tetora has been shown throughout the Ensemble Stars story as someone who’s deeply dissatisfied with himself and takes every opportunity to belittle himself, whether it’s out loud or in his thoughts. He calls himself worthless, weak, hollow, and even goes as far as to say he hates himself in Orihime and Hikoboshi. He also tends to blame himself for anything that goes wrong when he’s around. Despite how he grows and changes himself over his time at Yumenosaki, these insecurities of his seem to stay as strong as ever. Even as a second year who got to lead Ryuseitai N and is captain of the karate club, he continues to feel like he isn’t good enough.
He’s equally quick to compare himself to other people, saying how they’re better than him in different ways. He’s open about how jealous he is of some people’s looks and sometimes other traits they have. He also uses people like Kuro or Chiaki as a standard to measure himself against, saying he can’t do things the way they can because he’s still inexperienced. With his insecurities, though, comes the way he recognizes his shortcomings. He knows what his weaknesses are and what mistakes he’s made, and he’s constantly trying to improve them — even if he doesn’t feel like he’s improved enough — to reach his ideal of becoming a “man among men”.
That goal of his is reinforced throughout the story, and he’s determined to reach it one day no matter what happens. Even when things go wrong, he tells himself that he’ll get there eventually, as long as he keeps working hard at it. He does get upset at his failures for a while and is prone to pessimism when they occur (which he acknowledges), but he always picks himself up in the end. His idea of a “man among men” isn’t really solid, though, and it really just comes down to what traits he admires in others. That includes traits like strength (both physical and emotional), kindness, honesty, and level-headedness, but also skills that are typically considered feminine, like cooking and sewing.
Part of that also comes from the fact that his concept of a man among men comes from the people he looks up to: his desire to learn to cook comes from his admiration of Niki, and his respect for things like sewing from Kuro. In fact, he even got into martial arts in the first place because he looked up to Kuro. In the same way, it was after the Beasts story that he decided he didn’t have to get rid of the parts of himself he considered “girly” or weak, and instead could convert them to strengths like those he saw in Arashi. Because he sees others as so much better than himself, he tends to admire a lot of people like this, and always tries to see the best in the people he does — even if they themselves think he shouldn’t.
It’s that devoted nature of his that manifests as determination when it comes to his goals. Whether it’s a person or an aim, Tetora gives everything his all, and it’s why he’s able to bounce back when things go wrong. He's willing to take on any number of challenges to reach his goals, and early in the ! year (like in Hero Show) even told himself it'd be pathetic to give up after minor setbacks. Similarly, his determination to have something work out in his favor is why he set up the Ryuuousen in the main story, as mentioned earlier. This persevering nature and the hard work he puts into things because of it are where his Ryuseitai introduction comes from - black flames are the mark of effort.
… Which he also thinks is his only merit, as he's stated more than once. Despite his other qualms with himself, he’s aware of his hardworking spirit and considers it his biggest strength. Tetora is someone who believes that he can achieve his goals as long as he works hard towards them, and that gives rise to his desire to be seen as responsible and independent (like by showing his seniors that he can handle things on his own). He’s even expressed how he likes when Chiaki doesn’t interfere with Ryuseitai’s activities after entrusting things to him, so that he can show some responsibility instead of being babied and having things taken care of for him.
In the same way, he got pretty upset in The Four Beasts of Fistfighting when Kuro arranged the Ryuuousen without talking to him about it, and when the former said he’d pat Tetora on the head if he won against him. Tetora hates being treated like a kid, or as someone who can’t take care of themselves. This is reiterated in several stories, too, including Beasts, where he says how he doesn’t like when Arashi refers to him using -chan, since it feels like she’s treating him like a kid. This ties in with him wanting to be seen as more mature — a man among men.
Continuing on that point, it's also why he puts up a strong front, even when he's not doing so great (Motor Show is a great example, but he's been doing this since the ! main story). He doesn't like giving up on things or appearing weak, and especially not if it means he'll be seen as someone who can't do things without outside help. Even if he's tired or upset about something, he tries to keep smiling and keep up his energetic character around others so that they won't worry about him. That applies even more when he's in charge of something, since he has a strong sense of responsibility and wants to be a capable leader.
He can put too much energy into trying to be a good leader, though, which ends up exhausting him in the !! timeline (for example, his second idol story, where he says he spent hours just thinking about how to reply to a member of Ryuseitai N in a way that didn't sound too dry). Even before then, though, he was always trying to do his best for the people around him, including things like staying calm before lives where the other two first years were nervous to try and help them relax. While he may have started off a little clumsy and tended to rush into things without thinking, by the end of the ! summer, he had already become a lot more reliable.
He also just really enjoys helping people out, saying in School Fes that he always wants to help when he sees a friend in trouble. He's always quick to offer anyone assistance, even with small tasks like moving things from one place to another. This has led other characters to say that he really is hero-like, as befitting of his status as a member of Ryuseitai. It also ties in with how empathetic he is towards others. He’s protective of his friends and has said many times (like in Sweet Halloween) that he gets upset when his friends are, and often tries to help them out or cheer them up when that happens.
There’s also the reason Ryuseitai N ended up with too many members — he didn’t want anyone to feel the way he did after his rejection from Akatsuki, and ended up making the entrance test for Ryuseitai too easy as a result. Even if it did cause the unit to struggle financially, it shows how much he took what happened to heart and how he doesn’t want people to go through anything bad, even if he had to face it himself. Similarly, he tries to take other people’s feelings and situations into account at all times — such as the time he argued with Midori in Climax but tried to be understanding of the fact that Midori was only in the idol course by accident — and doesn’t want to push his own opinions or ideals onto others either.
Tetora is a really honest and straightforward person, and doesn’t think people should hide things from each other either. This shows in the advice he gave to the Aoi twins and Tomoya in Christmas Live and Sweet Halloween respectively, though he says in the former story that he didn’t think he should be lecturing them as an outsider. More than that, though, it becomes obvious when he’s putting up a cheerful front, since a lot of the time other characters end up seeing through it. In Motor Show, it fails entirely after he accidentally let out that he was stressed in front of Chiaki, and ended up having to tell him everything.
Because of that, though, he’s also very trusting of people, and doesn’t always notice when someone doesn’t have the best intentions (à la Beasts). By the !! timeline, however, he’s gotten better with that. A clear example is his consistent distrust of Mayoi, even if the latter does give him reason to be suspicious. Then, of course, there’s Rinne, who’s the first person Tetora has openly said he dislikes. By the time of Sweets Box in autumn, he’s still annoyed by Rinne’s actions in the main story and says Rinne “pisses him off.” Despite that, he does still admit that Rinne can be open-minded when it comes to some things, which further shows his own willingness to understand other people’s situations.
With all of that said, it’s clear that Tetora is someone who does his absolute best, both for himself and others. He has a lot of energy and doesn’t like sitting around for too long, but that energy always goes to good use, whether it’s training himself or helping people out. Despite his deep-rooted insecurities about himself, he’s always striving to do better. That (along with everything else) is why I love him so much, and I hope this helps you learn a little more about him (unless there’s nothing new in here for you). There’s a lot more I would’ve liked to talk about but it’s already time to post this and I wanna finish reading some !! stories before I get into my opinions on his time as Ryuseitai’s leader (though I have a lot of thoughts on that already), but I’m really glad Tetora exists and is such a well-written character.
#this is 2373 words and 2+3+7+3 adds up to 15 which is the date of his birthday#i need help#but it's okay i love him#4th time celebrating his birthday woooooo#this is. probably incoherent bc i didn't proofread it lol#but hey as long as it's here#kinda wanted to go into his relationships w ryst/his yearmates/arashi/kuro but that's something for another day#happy birthday my sunshine#you deserved to lead ryuseitai </3#and currently... you deserve a good and proper break#tetora nagumo birthday 2021#tetora nagumo#ensemble stars#text#an rambles
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Never Sleep Alone 4
Dark! Loki x Black Female Reader - anyone can read though! I was watching Queen of the Damned and got inspired.
Notes: 18+ but this chapter is tame.
I’m notoriously bad at tagging, although I promise to get better. @caffiend-queen @jevans2 @tcc-gizmachine @ladyacrasia
Summary | New life in a new city, you’re prepared to live life to the fullest. But your new job isn’t exactly what you thought it would be. Especially when you’ve caught the attention of a vampire who knows more about your job than you do. And your job goes against everything he stands for.
The sky was a soft blue, hints of the dawn peeking out from the skyscrapers as you woke, your eyes opening slowly to assess the surroundings. This was not home. You raised your head, gasping at the dull pain radiating from your neck. Your fingers circled around the tender spot, where you felt the indents of the bite, body shuddering at the remembrance of how he had bit you, drank your blood and how you remembered nothing after.
Just the present, alone in a giant bed, still dressed in your clothes from the night before. The walls were stark white in the room, a black dresser and a chair on the other side of the room. You were weak, your fingers shaking while you pulled the sheets back to get to your feet slowly. Your mouth was dry, your head aching. You opened the door, finding no one outside in the living room either.
A note on the table caught your attention and you padded over toward the table, picking it up and reading it.
Dearest,
I hope you slept well. I’m afraid the daylight does not agree with me. My driver will take you back home.
Remember our agreement.
You opened the door to walk down the long hallway, into the elevator and down to the lobby, where the same red bearded man was waiting for you. At the sight of you, he stood up and walked out to the waiting car. There were no pleasantries, neither from him or you and the ride back to your apartment was quiet as you tried to think. There was much Loki had shared and some of it you found to be farfetched. You were a research assistant, a finder of antiquities and that was it.
You gripped the railing as you swayed for a moment. After a few deep breaths, you felt better, watching the black car disappear from view while you continued up the stairs. Once you reached your apartment, you collapsed onto the couch, the fear finally catching up with you as you gave way to tears, sobbing hard across the couch cushion.
With shaky breaths you fought to control yourself, your tears drying on your skin while you pulled yourself up to shower. You couldn’t be late for work and you still had research to complete, even if the dark task still was held over your head. Loki had not given you a timeline of when he wanted Jane and for that, you were thankful.
There was not enough aspirin for you to take to appease the headache. You drank two bottles of water, rubbing your temples while you sat at your desk. You had torn through your closet to find a turtleneck that hid the bite from any wandering eyes. It was better to not have anyone ask questions. Especially since you didn’t have any answers.
Tivan stopped in the doorway, peering in without saying a word. You hadn’t noticed him until he cleared his throat and you jumped at the sound.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Thought you would have seen me. Been standing here for a while.”
You looked up from your laptop and his eyes narrowed as he came toward you.
“Are you sick?”
You knew how you looked, perspiration on your forehead with dark circles around your eyes. Sickly but not in the way one would think.
“Couldn’t sleep last night.”
Tivan crossed his arms, his eyes settling on your turtleneck.
“More insomnia? Have you been staying out late? You remember my warning about being out after night.”
“More research to be done and I’m trying to make sure that I do a good job,” you answered, a thin smile appearing across his face.
“You’re doing great. Far better than my last assistant.”
The last assistant. The one Loki killed.
“What happened to them?” you asked, unsure if you wanted to know the answer.
Tivan shrugged, seeming unconcerned with the whereabouts of his past employee.
“Went out for an errand and never returned. Hard to find good help these days, you know? I was very lucky to find you. I need you to run an errand for me. I’d go myself but I’ve been dealing with donors all morning. Need you to head to the museum to meet Jane. I’ll text you the address.”
♦️
You parked the car, looking at the building in front of you. It looked unassuming, nothing like a museum that you’d ever visited before. It looked like an office building, bland with tinted windows.
Once you were inside, Jane looked up from the bookshelf and smiled, which quickly faded into an expression of concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Didn’t sleep much last night,” you replied, aware of her eyes roaming over your face.
“Hopefully you’ll get some rest soon. I know it isn’t easy when you’re up to your ears in research. I have some things I want you help me with,” Jane requested, walking over to another bookshelf. She pressed the weathered spine of a book and the bookshelf slid open slowly, revealing a set of stairs.
“Don’t worry. Added security in case people get curious,” Jane quipped, heading down the stairs. “The door will close on its own.”
You followed behind, hearing the soft click of the door closing while Jane opened another door.
The space was massive once you stepped inside. Displays of tapestries, weapons, art and statues surrounded you, each with a placard with a description. You took it all in, walking down each aisle and absorbing the view. Saxon coins were displayed under heavy glass, a bow anchored to the wall above it.
“Late 870s. That find was particularly worth the fight,” Jane said behind you.
“Worth the fight?” Your eyes did not leave the bow.
“Sometimes the sellers change their minds. We change them back.”
“Sounds ominous,” you replied, your eyes going to another piece across the way.
“It can be,” Jane agreed, her fingers reaching up to touch a massive walking stick with a wolf head made of silver. “But it’s always worth it in the end.”
Jane went over to a covered display, peeling back the heavy fabric. A small cache of weapons, pistols with silver handles, swords with gold filigree and a rifle were inside the display.
“We recovered these last night. I’d like to find out the time period. I’m thinking early 1800s. Would you be able to research that for me?”
You nodded, already having an idea of the years.
Jane’s eyes left the display and then settled on you.
“I’d also like for you to research who was in possession of these items.”
“Did you not get them from the seller? Or an auction?”
Jane shook her head in denial.
“These were given to me by an old friend who happened upon these by a little excursion. I have a name, if that helps. I’m interested to see if they have any other items just lying around,” Jane said, scrolling through her phone. “Of course, I’ll need this to be confidential. Use your VPNs. Anything you find, you can give it to me. Tivan doesn’t need to know about it. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t tell him. I’m worried it may be a donor and he gets a little touchy when it comes to his money.”
“I’m sure I could search and find something. Did your friend happen to have a lead? You mentioned an excursion so I –"
“He was unable to hunt down the seller at the time,” Jane interrupted quickly. “Otherwise I’m sure he would have been a great help to us. I know you’ll find something for me, you’re amazing at what you can do.”
“Sure, I’ll get started as soon as I get back to the office.”
Jane gave you a grateful smile, checking her watch before she gave her attention back to you.
“Wanna have lunch? I’m starving and it would be a great chance to get to know you better.”
♦️
Jane poured you a glass of wine and then for herself, settling back into her chair while you waited for your food to come.
“I really meant that I said about having another woman around. Carina is a nice girl but she’s still young. Super timid, too. Not a lot of motivation to move forward. It was supposed to be a summer job for her after graduation and she’s been there ever since. It’s nice to see someone else with the same drive and ambition. Tivan told me you’d like to go for your Masters? I always thought about it but work got too demanding.”
“One day. History has always been my passion.”
Jane nodded in appreciation.
“Are you settling in? Hopefully you’re doing better than when I first moved here. I struggled with the time change and meeting people. Speaking of, are you dating? Married?” Jane asked, leaning back slightly as the waiter placed the plates in front of us.
“Divorced,” you respond quietly, looking at your glass of wine as the painful memories begin to rise up like bile.
Jane gave you a sympathetic stare.
“I’m sorry. That must be tough.”
“It’s for the better,” you countered, taking a small sip. “What about you?”
“Not married. Engaged once. He, um, he passed away a few years ago.”
At the mention of it, you saw her eyes get glassy.
“I’m so sorry.”
Jane shook her head at your apology.
“Don’t be. I made my peace with it. He was my partner in the field. In some ways, it feels like I’m continuing on with his work. Makes me feel better.”
You understood and gave her a nod in response.
“Well,” Jane started, raising her glass up. “To us. Hardworking women who get the job done.”
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Recent Media Consumed
Books
The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell. First, I actually appreciated the foreward to the “Left Book Club” copy, even though it says that anyone who is not a member should disregard it. It gave an interesting rebuttal to parts of the book. That aside, I’m not totally sure what to make of the book. On the level of descriptive writing, I rarely find something this richly penned. But it’s loaded with concepts and lingo and even a monetary system I’m unfamiliar with, and that hampers my understanding of the points. I get the general gist, but all the finer points are very lost on me, simply because I’m an American millennial.
The Subtle Art of Not Giving A F*ck by Mark Manson. I’ve seen the “F*ck” series titles floating around here and there, and I’m intrigued by a couple of them. The idea of this one is that people give way too many f*cks about everything, and that you really need to pick where you give your f*cks in life and never give a f*ck about anything that doesn’t line up with your values (in a nutshell). It’s an easy and interesting read. It’s interesting to me that, in the wake of what I hear was many years of positive-mood and high self-esteem type self help books (most of which I’ve only heard of and never read, were they before my time?), we’re getting a backlash of “Yes, life sucks. Yes, life has pain. Dealing with pain and failure appropriately is a part of life. Accept that, or lose yourself to complete entitlement” type self-help books. I’m curious what this trend produces in people over time. I’d also like to highlight that this book has the best discussion of dividing “fault” and “responsibility” that I’ve ever read.
Shows
Loki. WHAT EVEN. WHAT EVEN. WHAT. WHAT THE. WHAT THE. FRESH… THE FRICK FRACK PADDYWHACK???!!!
Mushi-shi. So, turns out the first time I watched this I somehow started on Season 2, and my source cut out before the season end… no wonder I was pretty confused. So I started re-watching this and… I remember how incredibly unsettling this anime is. It’s equal parts gentle wonder and soft horror, a blend that is very difficult to describe unless you’ve seen it. Much like Mushi themselves, eh? I think I’ll balance this out by ending each watch session with an episode of Log Horizon rewatch. That’ll keep the emotional balance intact.
Claymore. I ended up dropping this one halfway through. It has an interesting concept, but the “things that bug me” points mounted pretty fast. In the early episodes, everything is so dark that it’s hard to see what’s going on. There’s a huge amount of monologuing and info-dumping IN monologue, and this goes on even mid-fight, and even CALMLY mid-fight. Yes, this isn’t the only anime that does this, but it decreases my enjoyment. It’s difficult to take the story seriously when the big bad yells, “Why can’t I defeat you?” to the weakest-but-somehow-also-the-strongest member of a team, and then have a colleague of the team member calmly explain to the big bad exactly why he’s unable to land a blow, then they take off his head together. This show has a lot of that sort of thing. I’ll read up on how the series ended, not interested in slogging through the other half.
Elfen Lied. This is a re-re-rewatch for me. I stumbled on this anime when I was newly inducted into anime-watching and, well... given that Princess Tutu was my very first anime, this one was a real shock to my system at first. By all accounts I should have dropped it and run screaming at the time, but I couldn’t. There was something about the sheer tragedy of the story that called to me. Plus it was VERY short. So I returned to it from time to time. Now that I’ve developed more of a feel for what I do and don’t like in a story, how does this hold up? The relationships are terrible, imo, and the whole thing about diclonius is never explained enough (and I still don't understand the ending) but it's STILL hard not to be pulled in by the sheer tragedy of the series.
Movies
300. I haven’t seen this movie since college. Is it weird how much I enjoyed it as a romp? Yes, there’s death and tragedy, but the dry humor and utter gung-ho-edness of it is infectious. It’s a good flick, I’m really glad I went back to see it. And I also finally understand Leonidas telling the traitor, “May you live forever.” Damn, man. No wonder he flinched.
Weathering With You. GORGEOUS. I need to see more by this animator… LIGHT. WATER. FOOD. I hear they’re calling this person the new Miyazaki? I CONCUR. And the story is sweet and beautiful and just yes. Yes. Oh, look, he made something else before this movie…
Your Name. Okay so I have mixed feelings about this one. On the one hand, fantastic story and, once again, gorgeous animation that all makes me want to track with this creator in the future. And the twist definitely socked me in the gut, I didn’t see it coming. On the other hand, I feel like this movie hits an extreme of “show, don’t tell” in a way that comes awfully close to a negative. I didn’t think that was possible, but this movie switches timelines, POV, points in time, etc, so rapidly that it becomes difficult to keep track of what’s going on, properly. I could not imagine watching this movie in theaters, it has to be watched with a remote in hand to pause, rewind, rewatch, discuss what the heck just happened. It’s like watching Mystery Skulls videos, with that level of rapid fire little details that are incredibly important to the plot, but for a feature length film. Also, after some discussion, I came to see (and agree) that there’s a foundational issue in the main relationship that doesn’t bode well for the future, as much as I rooted for them to be together. Still, it’s an incredible movie and I can see why it was the highest grossing movie for Japan a few years back.
Games
Diablo II. I’m really happy. I live in a house with my husband and his best friend, and in the past year or so we’ve begun playing games together. This is the sort of game I would never have gone to on my own because I actually need someone in the room who I can ask, “Hey, how do you assign attacks again?” or “Hey, is this piece of gear better than the piece I’m wearing?” I don’t like playing the number game on gear so much, but I let the two of them dress my character up and then I back them up in a fight and enjoy myself. Looting and exploring for treasure is probably my favorite aspect (says the person who plays Breath of the Wild just to forage for mushroom and herbs), although as a level 20 Amazon I’m now shooting out waves of 8 arrows at a time, and that’s pretty epic too. It’s a special kind of joy to find out you actually like a type of gaming as long as there’s people there who can explain things along the way and who don’t get annoyed at re-asked questions. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m having a blast playing Diablo II in a group. And as for the other game we play together as a group…
WoW Classic. I covered this before, but back then I was a lowly level 17 Dwarf Hunter. Now I’m a lowly level 36 Dwarf Hunter. With a mount! I have epic skills like explosion traps, poisonous shots, and multi-shot. My wolf has gained a ton more skills, too, and is (or so I’m told) a pretty effective off-tank. I have been told I am an effective DPS person, which makes me very happy. I really enjoy this kind of gaming, but specifically when I’m in the same room as the people I’m gaming with. Communication is a lot easier and we work really well as a team that way.
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Whoopsie King Rhoam’s a dick but I gotta flesh him out so
Read Part 1 here!
Part 2
If you’re on mobile, and tumblr hates this post, follow along on this google doc!
Rules/overview this rewrite in the beginning of Part 1
‘sup ya beautiful bastards it’s time to gush about the process of storytelling and writing as we fix up the fix it fic so let’s just jump into it
- - - - - - - - - -
A quick recap of Part 2, and I swear this recap is faster than the recap last time: Chapter 3 of Age of Calamity opens with a more substantial scene the beginning points of Revali’s character, and contrasting the old position that Link and eggbot have, so that their later changes in this chapter (well, at least for Link in this chapter) are more pronounced. We edited a bit of the dialogue to make Revali’s intentions make a bit more sense, while also putting some little foreshadowing points with some camera tricks for the Hollow Champions. The Hollow Champions can now speak, which means their potential for being used to bring out the flaws or bitter aspects of each character is more readily available further into the story. And of course, we’ve introduced the main antagonist of Astor, and coupling his presence and dynamic with Zelda’s insecurities. While his intentions of needing Zelda for something is clear, his motivations and backstory remain a mystery as of yet, the only true clue we have so far being some sort of connection to eggbot.
I didn’t get any big asks or comments about Part 2 so I’m going to assume that it was mostly well received (although I will note that I promise I’m going to flesh out Revali to be more than he has been presented as of yet, this is just the very very start of this development don’t you worry your feather loving butts) that being said, you should totally critique me or give me your opinions or comments. I’d love to hear them! Although, keep in mind that I am restraining my rewrite to the guidelines already said, so don’t get mad at me for not killing off all the Champions or something. Thaaat’s a rewrite for another time. So yeah if you reblog you get a little kiss from me because believe it or not I spent a lot of time trying to rewrite an entire storyline while keeping it’s tone and integrity intact. So thanks much <3
Okie dokie then chaps! Let us finally delve into Urbosa lesbian vibes, a zest of Zelink angst, rants about pacing, and a couple tablespoons of Astor backstory, all starting in the latest stage of Chapter 3: The Road Home, Besieged
So right of the bat, big problem here. This Chapter follows directly after the events of Korok Forest, so you assume that maybe “The Road Home” refers to the team, going home, back to the castle, to tell King Rhoam what’s up. But...that’s apparently not the case.
So this entire stage, firstly, it brushes over any scenes where Zelda, Link or the other Champions might talk to King Rhoam about the Master Sword, or the Deku Tree, or...hmm what else happened last stage that might be interesting to see—oh yEAH HOW ABOUT that mysterious magic guy that tried to kill Zelda and was going off about the future and stuff?? That guy that wielded a bunch of dark magic and malice looking stuff and, uh yeah, you’d think it might be important and interesting to see the King’s take on was is essentially a wanted traitor to the crown who may or may not be leading the entire movement for the Calamity’s uprising. But nope, no one asks questions, no one says anything or has interesting conversations that reveal stuff about the plot. It's just….just all about Zelda and ooooOOooo she can’t awaken her powers oh no what’s a gal to do!
And I do mean that quite literally, this entire stage is all centered around two scenes with Zelda. The first, an admittedly narratively important scene of Zelda having a quick flashback about eggbot after he sings her a song, but it lasts for five seconds. And the second, being a pep talk with Urbosa as Link eats rocks in the background. For the majority of this stage, it’s all focused on Zelda, and pacing wise, it does virtually nothing to progress the narrative/plot forward.
And on paper, there’s nothing wrong with that! Hell, people read entire fanfictions dedicated to character development and relationships that have absolutely no external plot. Having a scene dedicated to just character development is completely fine, it’s something that’s pretty common and even encouraged to an extent. The problem arises when you remember that this is a story being told through the medium of a video game.
Now, I am going to try and breeze by this because, similar to Age of Calamity, I have to also construct this post with pacing that keeps my audience engaged, while progressing with my core narrative and story. But I highly encourage you to watch through this video by hello future me (On Writing: How to Master Pacing) because a lot of what I know about this I’ve picked up from his videos, and if you’re a writer or just someone who thinks storytelling is cool, it’s a great guide to the art of pacing.
youtube
Anyhow. There are two levels of pacing within a story. There is the small type of pacing, like for the structure of a singular scene. And there is the pacing of the overall core narrative, how the larger beats of the entire story is revealed. Good pacing for your core narrative is about whether the reader feels like they are getting closer to the big thing, the big climax or answer or promise of satisfaction. The smaller type of pacing, for your singular scenes, focuses on that timing between how close you get to achieving new information, this refers to your slow and fast pacing, tension versus rapid action.
So, overall the rule of thumb is: the amount of time you invest into your smaller scenes, even put together, that must correlate with a big enough payoff in the core narrative. That’s what good pacing is. (And that’s why people make stuff like the Three Act Structure to help visualize this pacing process but obviously other forms of pacing guidelines exist like the Five and Seven Act Structures but that’s too complicated for this Nintendo Game anyhow that’s just some educational flavour for ya to impress your highschool English Teacher I guess)
So knowing that, the question now is: Does The Road Home, Besieged contribute good pacing to the story? This is going to be my excuse for changing up other later scenes in the game, so when I mention pacing and narrative again, remember this. The time spent playing for thirty minutes, minimum, in the game, to only be paid off by two lines of character development isn’t good pacing. So the answer is “no.”
Delving as long an amount of time as thirty minutes, means that pretty much everytime a stage is complete, you must introduce new substantial progress to your story. A game like this just doesn’t have time to waste it’s valuable cutscenes on character development alone. There’s an even further wrench in the issue when you consider you also need to account for sidequests, so you could really be forcing your player to go through hours of gametime before you introduce new details in the story.
Obviously it’s not always gonna be cut and dry like that—sometimes you have to account for how enjoyable the gameplay is, and sometimes the amount of character development offsets any lack of narrative development—but for the majority of stages I’m gonna change, they all suffer this pacing problem. In a game that's entire story hinges on these cutscenes, bad pacing is just something it doesn’t have time for.
Anyhow anyhow anyhow, I got to get my dose of serotonin by talking about pacing writing structure and stuff and blah blah, so now I shall grace you with the changes that address these problems that would theoretically lead to vast improvement. I gave you this reasoning and backstory to writing because I am making hella changes, to hopefully make the experience more “poggers,” which is something the cool kids say these days if you didn’t know.
Firstly, timeline wise this stage is gonna take place directly after the Korok Forest battle. The gang is returning home from the battle, with Link, the new wielder of the Master Sword, along with this new information regarding a certain Astor character.
We open the same way it does in game, focusing on Zelda’s face, before the frame is suddenly blocked by the pommel of the Master Sword. A wordless way to express how the sudden revelation of Link being the hero has forced its way into Zelda’s mind, great use of camera Koei Tecmo 10 outta 10
Now I don’t want to immediately jump into Zelda’s “oh poor me I can’t awaken my powers” dialogue because—and this is something even Breath of the Wild is guilty of—This game seems to forget that there are other characters besides Zelda. It’s marketed towards kids, sure, but I assure you that kids playing this game have a longer attention span than 2 minutes. You don’t need to keep reminding the audience every single scene about how Zelda is anxious about her powers. It gets redundant, you waste the audience’s time, and therefore you waste your own time, because you could have been using that precious screen time to develop some other thing further. So anyhow, goes a bit like this.
Zelda’s walking, the Master Sword comes into frame. Zelda looks down at the ground but keeps walking, but you can tell from her expression that she’s troubled. Don’t need to waste time on dialogue for her here, show don’t tell, we need to make the most of the scene here. Camera is still on Zelda, but the focus blurs shifts from Zelda to the Champions behind her. We can start with Mipha, I don’t have my heart set heavily on any specific dialogue, but I want her to say something along the lines of “how proud she is of Link” and what an honor it will be to fight by the side of not just her dear friend, but also someone selected by the goddess to be the hero. Subtextually, I want her to say this in a tone that suggests that she doubts the need for her to be here at all. She’ll say something like “He’s grown so…” glances up at Link who's just walking ahead, “...so much stronger than I could ever imagine. [Something Something] His power has grown so much over the course of a few days, more than I have achieved in a lifetime.” She looks down, but she still has a sweet smile.
Now I’m doing this because I want to develop further this plot line of “getting stronger” that Age of Calamity sets up but never does anything with. Remember how in Chapter 2, Mipha asks Daruk to train with her to get stronger? I really like the possibilities of this arc with Mipha as it can not only parallel with her feelings for Link, but also make her character better as an individual. Mipha wants to get stronger so that she can protect Link, but now she thinks that Link’s already growing stronger to an extent that she might not be needed. She’s not jealous of Link, nor does she wish him to be weaker, she simply wants to be more than she already is. This is literally echoing her words that she left her father, about how leaving the Domain and experiencing new challenges would be “good for her.” So I wanna run with it. The dialogue here establishes Mipha’s motivation to grow stronger, almost equivalent to a rivalry of sorts.
So after Mipha says this, Revali scoffs and butts in. Again, I’m not too set on any particular dialogue here, just something like “Hmph! Well, I don’t know about that. Seems to me all that’s happened is some magic sword gave the knight an ego boost. Blade’s only as strong as the little Hylian who wields it, and—based on my own extended experience and professional observations of course—I’ve yet to see this ‘stronger’ boy that you speak of.” Another camera pan to Link a ways in front of them. “If you ask me, hero or no, that knight is still exactly the same as I first met him.”
Revali places a wing on his chest dramatically. “Perhaps if you’re truly keen on seeing growth in skill and strength, Mipha, you’d do well to—”
“Flattering of an offer as that may be, Revali,” Urbosa interjects, “But I think Mipha might find it difficult to observe growth from one of the shortest Rito in Hyrule.”
Cue laughter from others or snickering or something. We just need some banter to add a bit more flavour to the characters. Revali can do a little huff and cross his wings or flip his scarf or something. But then Urbosa continues.
“Although...he is right about one thing.” Urbosa looks straight ahead. “A sword does not alter a hand, just as strength does not alter character.” She puts a hand on Mipha’s shoulder. “Grow as he might, there is no doubt in my mind that he is the same boy as he’s always been.” Urbosa looks up in the direction of Zelda. “Whether you realize it or not.”
Ok so, scene’s not done yet, BUT quick gush on the dialogue flow here. I’m trying to establish parallels in these character perspectives based on the flow of conversation. We started with Mipha who, like I said, wished to grow stronger along with Link. This flows into Revali who also has a similar parallel as he wishes to grow above Link’s shadow. But the distinction between Mipha and Revali is that Mipha think’s Link’s strength is earned, and Revali thinks he cheated, gaining authority through a magic sword, and not through merit and skill. Thus, leading to Revali’s perspective of Link being exactly the same as he’s always been, he believes the sword doesn’t change anything. Urbosa then speaks, because she thinks exactly the same thing. However, her distinction is that Link is the same as he’s always been: a determined young boy earned his place and cares for his friends. Then she looks to Zelda who, as we know, will develop a perspective that contradicts this. So you get it? This scene is like 20 seconds long but it already mirrors nearly all the character parallels and perspective, that’s why the flow of dialogue is important. And I know half of you probably think these kinds of details are a stretch but I promise you it’s not, just look at any movie or show ever and I guarantee you can find similar stuff there too. Ok moving on moving on—
Urbosa looks up at Zelda, comments her, “He’s the same boy, whether you realize it or not” piece of dialogue. Camera shifts back to Zelda and Link, who, idk if I mentioned this, but in the scene there’s enough distance between the Champions and Zelda and Link that the Champions can speak without the other two listening. So they didn’t hear any of this.
So the camera is back on Zelda, and now we can get her “How can I…..If I am unable to awaken my inner power….” line. Eggbot senses her sadness, does his little cheer up dance, Zelda gets a flashback.
One small change I wanna make to this flashback: Instead of just a baby Zelda going “nighty-night” I want there to ALSO be a figure in the background behind eggbot wearing a silk royal blue dress. And said woman has blonde hair and she’s by the table back there. We don’t have to show her face or anything because Nintendo hates that. Just place the woman somewhere in the back somewhere
Also possibly you could add the shadow of another figure by the doorway, maybe? It would serve good continuity purposes for the plot points that I’m telling, but that part is not as necessary. I just need at least the woman there.
Then Zelda is like “I remember you” to eggbot and all that and blah blah… Now, instead of Impa offscreen just yelling “enemy ahead!” I just want it to be a full on ambush. Not like a major one, but just enough where the group is surprised a bit. Maybe on the cliffs above, a lizalfo throws a boomerang, or a bokoblin shoots and arrow, or even just throws a rock. I don’t really care. I just need this to happen because…
As soon as this danger is presented, Link turns around to grab Zelda’s hand and they start running again. And he can like use his body to try and shield her a bit, I need it to parallel how he acted during Chapter 1 on the road to the Royal Tech Lab. However, this parallel has one important distinction because…
Zelda rips he grip from Link’s after a moment. “You don’t need to coddle me!” She says, or something along those lines. “Y-You...You’re the hero aren’t you! I’m perfectly fine, you don’t need to spend your precious time playing babysitter to me.” In the distance, a horde of monsters is beginning to form. Zelda looks between the monsters and Link’s Master Sword, her expression unreadable. “Well? Just...just go do what you need to do.” Link hesitates, looking between her, and the approaching monsters. Zelda speaks more sternly now, “Go!” So Link, not one to disregard an order from the Princess, gives one last look to Zelda before setting off towards the monsters. Maybe Zelda can take a deep breath to steady herself after he leaves, but as soon as Link unsheathes his sword, the metal glistening in the setting sunlight, it cuts immediately to gameplay. Start battle.
For essays’ purposes this is the part where I explain why this is better than the original. So here’s my reasoning:
Uhhh, it just is. :3
Ok but seriously, I’ve already talked a tone about why the pacing and dialogue flow is better than the original. But also this scene doesn’t just say “Ooo Zelda is sad about her powers,” because that’s not interesting. Like I said, it’s redundant information. What is interesting is see how characters deal with that internal conflict and how it affects their relationships. AKA Zelda’s relationship with Link, who now basically embodies the success that she’s been working so hard towards but never achieved, is deteriorating a bit. I wanted to get that sense of the Zelda that we see in Breath of the Wild because all things considered, they should be roughly the same character.
So that’s that, you fight the battle, the Hollows show up a bit, so insert “dark evil Champion” dialogue because if you’re gonna use the evil clone trope might as well use it to the fullest. Then you fight the Talus and hurray horrah the day is saved.
Then we have that iconic Urbosa motherly pep talk to Zelda as Link eats rocks in the background. Now honestly, I’m not that big a fan of the first half of the dialogue, so I wanna change it into something more interesting. But the rest of the beats and camera work go roughly the same.
Zelda: “Link is...so much stronger now”
Urbosa: “‘And yet I have not.’ I presume that’s what you’re thinking, hmm?”
Zelda: “Well it’s true, isn’t it? More and more, monsters have been appearing around Hyrule. It is a sign that the Calamity draws near. So...there isn’t much time. And still, no sign of my power awakening.”
Urbosa: *sighs* “Little bird…”
Zelda cuts her off, in an attempt to change topics: “Why do you call me that?”
Urbosa: “Hmm?”
Zelda: “Little bird...I feel like I’ve heard it before. Why do you call me that?”
Urbosa, after a beat looks off in the distance or something: “A long time ago, my dear friend would call me to the palace, or perhaps invite herself over to mine, [she chuckles] ...and she would talk with me all day, and ask me to gaze upon her little bird with her. Her dearest daughter...a princess”
Zelda: “You mean my…”
Urbosa just smiles with a soft nod: “Back then, times were a bit different. The destiny that you have was still upon the Queen, who worked day and night to refine her powers and fulfill her destiny. In just a few short years, I went from being friends with a Queen, to friends with the destined sealer of the Calamity.”
Another pause, before Urbosa speaks again: “But...she was still the same woman I had grown with. Still the same loving mother who spoke about her little bird with joy. She had not changed one bit.”
Urbosa: “Even when your mother passed, her loving smile was there until the very end. She always loved you—believed in you, Zelda. She had great hope, great faith that her daughter would grow into the beacon of light Hyrule needed. That even with her gone, you would spread your wings and fly, because you were just that amazing to her.” *Urbosa puts her hands on Zelda’s shoulders.*
Urbosa: “Destiny did not change your mother’s love, just as it does not change Link’s courage, or your value.” *the camera can pan to Link eating rocks now*
Urbosa looks directly at Zelda now: “Look how hard we’ve all worked to get this far, how hard you have worked to get here. While we may grow in strength, in that regard, we’re all one in the same.”
Zelda: “...I….well…”
Urbosa: “What did the Great Deku Tree say? There is no need to fret princess.”
Urbosa: “Our faith, Link’s, your mother’s, it’s all as strong as ever. And everyday, with every moment that you travel towards your destiny, it just grows. It is always with us. So believe in that, have hope, yet, little bird.” *Eggbot can scurry up and make cute noises here next to Zelda*
Urbosa: “I know, you are where you need to be. You must accept that too.”
Zelda: “...”
Zelda gives a solemn nod: “Thank you, Urbosa.”
So that’s that scene! Don’t let the length fool you, it’s technically even shorter than the original scene in Age of Calamity. So why is it, in my opinion, better? Because for one, we actually get an insight into Zelda’s mom and Urbosa’s relationship, something that was PROMISED To us but never given and I’m still a bit salty about it. Anyhow, in addition to just getting some lore details, that relationship between the Queen and Urbosa is important for this scene because, just like Urbosa spells out, it’s in direct parallel with Link and Zelda.
Before the Queen suddenly got sick and died, she was destined to seal the Calamity. But she didn’t let that destiny change her, she was still the same loving mother to the end. Now that is something that Zelda needs to realize about Link, as his newly acquired destiny doesn’t change who he was before, the knight who cares for her and wishes to protect her. Zelda needs to realize he’s the same and that she can still trust and confide in him. Hence, that’s why this mom backstory is in this scene and not somewhere else, because it serves to the narrative but also more impactfully to the character development.
The dialogue could probably be polished a bit more but come on, not half bad for an improvement yeah? So that concludes Chapter—
SIKE we’re not done yet. We still have to move into the entire point of this stage, the road home, to the castle.
So, badabing badaboom, I’m adding an entirely new scene from scratch right here at the end, because it is VITAL that I set up something new about the story, as a sort of clincher. So anyhow
Zelda is alone with her father, let’s set it in the royal library (Intact, not ruined, of course) because we don’t see enough of that location and it’s really cool. So Zelda is briefing her dad about the events in Korok Forest and on the journey back home. I know I always gush about cinematography but it can’t be fully appreciated since I’m….writing,,, this, BUT I think it might be fun if the side shots of Zelda have her background be some bookcases of the library, maybe half bookcases and the other half the ornate walls. Then the background for the King’s shots is the full symmetry of the elegant staircases.
[And if you needed the specific reasoning for that, because it makes camera shots more fun. Like when Zelda says something that aids in her scholarly side, the camera angle can change slightly where the bookcases take up more of the frame, and then when the King’s will takes more power, then the book cases can be angled a bit more out of frame. And then the symmetry of the King by the staircase is a way to show his higher power dynamic to her, and contrasts well with Zelda’s shots since the bookcases are dark and the stone is lighter, so on a meta level is also makes it easier for the audience to understand where they are. Shot composition is fun ok, and that’s not even getting into color theory (Thinks about Baby Driver and LaLaLand....even videogames like Undertale and Hollow Knight have such wonderful shot composition and use of color theory hhhhh love it)]
Ok so Zelda’s briefing the King in the library, she’s standing while he’s sitting at a desk. There’s maybe two or four Royal Guards on the staircase entrances, but for the most part, they’re alone. You can tell that this meeting between them has been going on for a bit now, as from Zelda’s dialogue, she’s retelling events midway through the story.
The King is flipping through some paperwork, not really looking Zelda in the eyes. She continues speaking.
“And so...with the malice cleared and the monsters being dealt with, Link and I made our way into the heart of Korok Forest.”
The King hums a response, flipping through another page. “And this is when Link pulled out the Sword that Seals the Darkness then, I presume.”
Zelda paused, as of thinking of how to phrase her next words. “Not exactly. I...we both encountered someone beforehand. A man, with a pale face, and dark hair and robes, and he had the power to control malice, using a strange object in one of his hands.”
Rhoam stops writing in his journal or whatever. He doesn’t look up, but the sudden stop he makes is obvious. Zelda notices, but continues.
“He talked about...the Calamity, and my birthday...destiny, and the future….I’m not quite sure I can remember his intentions word for word. But he did introduce himself as—“
“Astor…” Zelda and the King say simultaneously. The King has fully perked up now, looking at Zelda. She’s pleased to see a reaction from him. The King rises from his chair, and starts pacing a bit, stroking his beard thoughtfully like the asshole he is.
“So you know him then? This Astor man? Who is he, father? What does he—“
“Were you alright? Did he hurt you, or mention anything else?”
Zelda pauses for a moment before shaking her head, as if the concern he was expressing was uncharacteristic. “N-No. No, I’m fine, and Link was there. During the battle, as Link fought him off, that was when the sword was pulled. Then Astor fled, or...” Zelda pauses for a beat, “retreated...he expressed his wish to speak with me again.”
Another beat of silence, as Rhoam gets up, hands clasped behind his back. “He used to work at this very palace.” The shot is now directly on Rhoams back, as he faces a bookcase, although it’s clear that he’s just deep in thought, and not just staring at books. Rhoam is in third column of the shot (he’s to the right, not in the center)
“A trusted advisor. Someone gifted with foresight, who many years ago, had first predicted the coming Calamity.” Cut to shot of Rhoams face, the camera being by the bookcase, so that we see Rhoam’s expression and Zelda’s.
“In truth, I thought him dead. For the last time I saw him alive—truly, truly alive—was ten long years ago...” The shot goes back to the original establishing shot, of Rhoam facing away from the camera, towards the bookcase, he’s standing to the right, hands still clasped behind his back.
“...when your mother still graced this earth.”
From left frame, a younger Astor walks up and stands beside Rhoam. He runs his fingers along the books. Rhoam looks to his left, as if he is seeing Astor. Camera cuts to Astor’s right, as if looking at him from Rhoam’s perspective. He continues brushing his fingers against the spines of the books, before he finds the one he’s looking for. Pulling it out, he opens the book, flipping through its pages, before giving a genuine smile. Cut back to wide angle behind them. With the book, Astor starts walking back out left frame, but this time the camera follows him. Filter fade to a memory tint as the camera pans right to left
[when the camera fades fully into the Astor memory, the figures can have that silhouetted effect like you see in botw. Cause I know Nintendo hates making new character models for some reason.]
So if it wasn’t clear already, even though the memory filter doesn’t come immediately, Astor isn’t actually there, but it’s just a flashback. I’m a sucker for merges, which is something this game and botw NEVER do which bugs me because there are so many creative ways you could introduce flashbacks without just doing “ooOooOoo fade to sepia filter and then oooOOooOOO we fade back to reality and no time has passed.” I apologize if my explanation of the camera doesn’t make sense as it’s hard without much visual aid, but hopefully it makes sense so far. Anyhow! Let’s continue.
We’re now fully immersed in this memory, but King Rhoam’s voice still narrates overhead.
Astor brings the book to one of the desks in the library, where a woman sits writing something onto paper. News flash, it’s the queen. Astor hands her the book and starts speaking about something, although you can tell the tone of their conversation is light, almost akin to Zelda rambling about Sheikah Technology. The Queen laughs about something unheard, as Astor continues ranting about something, his hands moving to like a professor giving a lecture.
Rhoam Narration: “When he had first predicted the Calamity, things were much more hopefully for our kingdom. As although his foresight granted him only glimpses and fragments of a future, he was almost certain that with the Guardians, and the strength of your mother’s power, our victory would be absolute.”
Scene changes to the Queen walking down a corridor, Astor is leaning against the wall by a window.
Rhoam Narration: “He and your mother would often work together tirelessly to study the ancient arts, to make the most of the powers given by the goddess.”
The Queen has walked up to Astor now. She crouches down and gestures to her left, the side not yet seen by the camera.
Rhoam Narration: “In fact…”
The camera changes to focus to where the Queen was looking towards—a young Zelda, crouched behind her mother’s dress, stares up at Astor.
Rhoam Narration: “I would not be surprised if you found within yourself, a memory of such.”
I would prefer if you could see the expressions of Astor (giving Zelda not a smile, but not really a frown or anything rude either) and young Zelda. But I guess it can also just be silhouettes too cause again, Nintendo hates giving us younger character models outside of first person POV stuff. Anyhow.
The scene fades, the light from the window dimming as everything darkens.
Rhoam Narration: “I often times wish we could go back to such a time, when victory and pride swam in every corner of this castle. But of course…”
The scene brightens again, although not as bright as before. It’s the exact same corridor with the large window, but now it’s raining. A young Zelda stands alone in front of it, looking outside.
Rhoam Narration: “Such a time did end…”
We now cut to a new scene, King Rhoam is walking down a hall, the camera’s perspective is of a bird’s eye view, like we’re peering in from outside a window. We can see the shadow of Astor chasing after him, as he starts speaking frantically about something, not quite, but almost to the point of shouts.
Rhoam Narration: “After your mother died, the visions of the future shifted drastically. No longer was there glimpses of rolling fields and shimmering skies, but instead, of rubble, red earth, and death.”
You can now more clearly hear the words coming out of Astor’s mouth. He is telling something about failure, and souls, and the Calamity to the King’s ear. He’s still walking forward.
Rhoam Narration: “He was adamant that our demise was now coming faster than ever, and that without your mother, we were doomed. That even you, should you take up your mother’s mantle, could not save everyone.”
Astor: “I’m telling you Your Majesty, if you go down this path, there is no going back.”
King Rhoam: “There is no other choice, we are moving forward.”
Astor: “I don’t think you quite understand the true gravity of the fate you’re choosing for yourself. It is a guarantee that you, me, and countless others shall die.”
King Rhoam: “I don’t want to hear it.”
Astor: “And of course, there are a multitude of possibilities, but the end result is the same.”
Astor: “Do you have a preference, perhaps? Crushed by rubble? Suffocation under ash?”
Rhoam’s tone is deadly: “Stop.”
Astor: “I’ve seen fire too. I’m not yet quite sure the exact circumstances that lead to flame appearing and spreading so quickly, but rest assured that if you—”
King Rhoam: “Stop.”
Astor: “If you saddle someone else with this duty I am absolutely certain that you and I will—”
King Rhoam, voice not shouting, but still with a booming intensity: “Just like you were so certain of our victory 10 years ago?”
Astor’s face darkens. He’s silent for a moment, collecting his words before practically spitting the first articulation: “...That, future, was the one that would come to be if Her Majesty was alive. If you’re so unsatisfied with my departed wisdom you can go ahead and flail around with destiny alone. You think I choose for these events to happen? You think I lie when I saw I want what’s best for this kingdom—”
King Rhoam: “What’s best for you.”
An ugly pause.
King Rhoam: “It is decided, Seer. It’s time you accept this. My wife is dead. That is the truth. Thus the role of sealing the Calamity shall pass to my daughter. She will work to awaken her own ability. It will be her duty to save us.”
Astor half laughs: “A child?! Surely you don’t need the supernatural to see how foolish that is.”
King Rhoam’s voice is even more stern: “You are living proof that the future is not absolute. Therefore I...must place all belief in her ability.”
The King walks away, leaving Astor alone. Weirdly, he smiles. Perhaps to mask some other emotion.
After another moment, Astor yells to the King: “I’ll fix this! Alone if I must!” He’s chuckling as he shakes his head. “Your useless faith may cost many lives, but even so mark my words, I will fix this.”
The King looks back, but says nothing, his expression unreadable. He continues forward, leaving Astor alone chuckling, or perhaps something in between chuckling and crying to himself.
Rhoam Narration: “We haven’t spoken since that day. I simply left him to his devices. If he was so determined to find another way to stop the Calamity, then who was I to stop him. I doubt my word could have swayed his mind regardless.
We’re now looking at a room, the camera is just by the doorway, looking at an office, circular and domed. It’s stone brick walls are covered in parchment and ripped books, covered in symbols and frantic writing. An old Sheikah tapestry hangs crudely on the left wall, and the window on the right seems to tint grey, or even a deepest crimson. Centerframe, is the back of Astor, robe hanging just above the paper ridden floor. He is flipping through something on his desk.
Rhoam Narration: “Fixated as he was on the perfect future that you mother might have led, I still had hope that with time, he might still assist you with your destiny one day.”
The camera slowly comes closer to Astor. We can see more clearly the type of stuff that sprawls the papers and books and diagrams across his office. Some depict stars and constellations, and even a few notes on Ancient Technology, although in a noticeably cleaner font. However, as the camera moves close and closer to Astor, the papers and books depict only one clear topic: the aura of death that comes only with necromancy.
Rhoam Narration: “It seems…”
Astor finally reacts to whatever he was doing on his desk. You don’t see his eyes, but as he fully turns around to face the camera, you see his smile, along with him holding a dark orb of unknown energy. It hovers in his hand.
Rhoam Narration: “...I was mistaken.”
The camera cuts to a wide angle, looking at Astor from behind a stack of books on his desk. The stack of books on Astor’s desk brighten in color (from the memory dull filter), until the scene fully fades back into the Royal Library. The camera is now focused on a similar stack of books on the desk behind Zelda, where Rhoam was working before.
Zelda is still looking at her father, who is still turned away. Now, he turns back around to face her.
“He had disappeared completely one day, so it was my understanding that whatever he was working on killed him. However, if he is truly back as you say…”
Rhoam walks closer to Zelda, close enough that he might have put a hand on her shoulder, but his arms stay behind his back.
“It is in your utmost interest to prove him wrong. I know not what he plans on doing, but it would be wise to stop him before he does.”
Rhoam turns away now, pacing back to the otherside of the desk. “But, your more important priority is unlocking your powers, understand? Now more than ever, is not the time to get distracted.”
Zelda, taking this all in, takes a deep breath. She then nods at him. “I understand...Father.”
After a moment, the King makes a motion as if to dismiss her. She starts to walk away, her thoughts churning in her head, heart thumping to the same beat as her echoing footsteps. Suddenly, Rhoam calls,
“Zelda.” It’s not a question, but the tone is asked like one.
She turns back, looking at him, expectantly. Rhoam only stares at her, an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty for him. The words he wants to form seem stuck in his throat, until finally, he lets out a quiet breathe through his nose, before simply saying:
“You must.”
Zelda can only frown, her shoulder’s slumping slightly, as she ducks her head and leaves.
- - - - - -
And that’s that! That’s the complete end of Chapter 3. So tune in next time for Chapter 4, including a new slight but important story changes, Yiga husbands, and shocking turns of events.
Edit: I forgot that posts with link’s dont show up in tag results so a rb is appreciated :p
#Hwaoc: The Kip Cut#fuck this is the biggest one yet#hwaoc#age of calamity#hwaoc rewrite#hw age of calamity#hyrule warriors age of calamity
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One Dance
Game : The Arcana
Pairing : some slight hints of various pairings
Characters : Asra Alnazar, Nadia Satrinava, Julian Devorak, Portia Devorak, Muriel, Lucio Morgasson, Wynne Toprak, Lyra Slaquer, Sèbastien Slaquer, Raymond Slaquer (the Slaquers belong to @the-soupiest-artist) and Maura Hickey (who belongs to @puzzle-piece-angel)
Warnings : None
Timeline : Modern-Dance AU
This story is based of this song :
And this story is an introduction to the Vesuvia Dance Company and its members, so come along and let's see what does it have in store ✨✨
3rd person POV
"Tch. Boring......."
The wind whooshed against her as she tucks her flowing strands of hair behind her ear. She was leaning against the railings of her balcony, her hands resting on the cold metal as she examined her painted black nails.
To her, black was always the perfect colour. And she nearly never altered it to any other shade. It would be too tedious again.
The woman crossed her legs as she drank her Limoncello from the rim of her glass, the bubbles of the alcohol fizzed inside. Her throat bobbed with every sip and jingled the translucent crystal attached to her dark choker. The liquor quenched her dry throat, pricking it with its gas bubbles and bitter taste as she sighed the cold air.
The sparkling alcohol matched with her eyes as they stared upon the heads of the people walking past her apartment from the balcony. The cars driving away looked like playthings to her, and the trees swaying against the soft gust seemed like shrubs. Nothing was of interest to her outside as she continued to drink her beverage and blink away the yawn from her eyes.
She thought of going to bed again since she had nothing to do either inside or outside, but then a simple phone call from her friend changed all her plans.
"What is it Asra?" She answered, not a good afternoon, not even a hi. She wasn't in a mood for this.
"Heya Wynne! How are you doing first of all??" The person from the other side of the phone didn't seem unfazed by her disinterest because of his experienced friendship with the woman. She sighed and replied, admiring her nails again. "Nothing much, just passing my precious time as always" she chuckled at the last phrase. "What about you? What's the occasion for calling me?"
"Well, I missed you dearly-"
Wynne instinctively made an expression which spoke out 'Oh really?'
"And I have something to propose to you"
The girl blinked from curiosity and pulled away from the railings, walking inside her penthouse, still holding the glass of Limoncello and her phone near her ear as she told him to continue.
"So! You and I both know how much you love to dance right? You have also given performances at your workplace and you just love to lose yourself to the club music. You are a very awesome dancer, Wynne. And you don't mind showcasing your moves to everyone"
"Yeah, so what?" Wynne rubbed her temples, Asra was sure taking his sweet time and her forbearance.
"Well, I have sort of an offer for you. Why don't you meet me at the address I'm gonna text you and I'll spill everything when you arrive"
"Wait what?!" Wynne places her hand on her coffee table, her voice of disbelief and bafflement. "You got to be fucking kidding me Asra. Please tell me what is it and don't you dare cut off like this"
"Sorry Wynne, but I am busy. I promise I'll tell you everything there. Goodbye!"
"Asra! ASRA!!!" but she was too late.
"UGH, fucking bitch....." Wynne snarled as she clutched her phone tight in her palm. The device then vibrated in her hand and she rolled her eyes, opening her phone to find that Asra had sent her the destination in their chat. It was an address that was unfamiliar to Wynne, and thanks to the wonder which had already accumulated in her mind, she growled, and finally decided to reach the place.
Wynne swallowed the last sip of her drink and looked down at her clothes. Assuming that Asra was calling her to a public place, she decided to change from her casuals to a sleeved black crop top and matching palazzos and chunky heels. She combs her blue hair and applies her dark lipstick before grabbing the keys of her old red Cadillac, and she descended the stairs after locking her house.
"Asra, this better not be a prank or I will slap you to grave" she murmured grimly as she started the engine of her car and drove to the address. With a bit of traffic and breakers in between, it took her somewhat half an hour to reach an unknown college building. Now, why would Asra call her here? Was it perhaps for a college reunion? Then why was he talking about dancing? She had so many questions, and Asra owes all the answers to her after leaving her hanging on the phone like that.
"Winnie!! Over here!!" The woman turned her head to the call to find her best friend trotting while waving towards her. It didn't take her long to notice the tie-dyed rainbow shirt and glitter pants with sparkle sketchers, as Wynne just nodded and waited for Asra to finally stop by her car so she could give an earful to him for leaving her edged at the cliff. But calming her urge to denounce him, she patiently asked.
"Alright, I'm here. Now what? Why did you call me near a college?"
"A college?" Asra snorted and burst into a laugh. This made Wynne even more confused and annoyed as she snarled silently and eyed him, unamused. By phoning her at an unknown place when she was in a particularly bad mood only to laugh at her, she had set up her mind to drive away right in front of him and crush him with her car. But then, he luckily spoke on time before she could act her frivolous murder.
"Boo, this is not a college. It may look like one, but it's not. Trust me" Asra winked at her. Wynne, still being unamused, leaned her forehead against her fingers as she replied lethargically.
"Well, what is it then? Care to explain after calling me here without any proper explanation?" She already wanted to leave honestly. And can't she just sleep?
"Of course. If you would follow me, Milady" Asra being the gentleman offered his hand out to her though he was aware of Wynne's already increasing irritation. He stayed patient because he didn't want to reveal the surprise yet to her. The vexed girl grunted again and got off her car, placing her fair hand over his tanned one. Asra gently squeezed her hand in his with a warm smile on his face. That seemed to lower her irritation as she squeezed his hand back. Asra with a small blush spreading across his golden cheeks led her near to the campus, and Wynne followed him gradually.
Soon both of them were near the polished mahogany doors after passing the lobby inside. And before he could enter, Asra checked on his friend with another appreciative smile. Wynne raised her eyebrow. To her, Asra looked very gladder than usual. Though he was known to be a happy guy, he looked....... exceptionally optimistic today. Was today someone's birthday? Was today her birthday? She had no idea what the hell was going on and what the hell was wrong with Asra.
"What's the matter?" She asked. She sounded calm, but inside she was bubbling with novelty that what exactly he had in mind.
"This is not a college, Wynne" Asra repeated what he said before.
"Yeah, so what? Please don't pull another suspense now" the woman placed her hand on her lip. She loved the suspense, but too much of it makes her feel lazy.
Heh, as if she wasn't feeling lethargic already.
Asra chortled and patted her head, and he finally pushed open the huge doors to uncover something imperial, stupendous and incredible enough to leave Wynne's mouth gaping and her eyes caught mesmerized.
Inside the so-assumed as college, was a tremendous majestic dance theatre of what looked like belonging to a prosperous french period. It glittered with gold and red, as a satin rose sprinkled with dewdrops glimmering of sunshine. The walls were delicately painted with a royal maroon gloss and regal purple imprints of what left an impression of lavender flower. Even the hall gave off the scent of apricot and apple orchards. The hefty velvet curtains hemmed the rectangle stage elegantly, the spotlights modern, and the footing was simply immaculate.
"Asra......This is-"
"Alluring? Captivating? Hypnotising??? Is there any other English word I am missing??"
"Well, I would say that yeah. But...this place is like a fantasy!!" Wynne exclaimed as she idolised the beautifully festooned and pleasingly symmetrical ceiling. "I know right? Told you so. I'm glad you liked it. It's one of my favourite places to stay at" Asra joined her as she entered in, the click of her heels grating into the carpets of the theatre.
"Yeah......it's like this has come straight from the golden era of art. Like in one of my school history books! I...I never would have guessed that it would even more wonderful in real life. I thought it was more of a vision of romantic people which were just left as dreams" Wynne skimmed the sides as she examined the details closely, thinking internally about how much work must have gone into creating such a painting over such a vast canvas.
"Well, this theatre runs on donations and funds, but it's sure undeniable that this dance studio is glorious and alluring" Asra shrugged.
"Yes...it is........ Wait" Wynne stopped in mid-sentence and turned to him, her hand still on the wall. "Did you say, dance studio?". Before Asra could open his mouth to reply to her, another unfamiliar voice echoed from a corner. It sounded soothing, pleasant and graceful, but Wynne could not recognise who it was. However, the source was soon revealed as she walked towards both of them, and both of their eyes got fixated on her.
"Oh! A guest! Is she the person you were talking about, Asra?" The fair lady enquired, and Asra nodded in agreement. "Yup! She is the one. The 'blueberry syrup' " Asra winked at the unknown lady.
Wynne was now really questioning her existence....... blueberry syrup..........
Seriously?
"Oh! Now I see why you called her that" the soft ravenette chuckled, even her laugh chimed blissful which can send anyone to ease. Asra giggled and agreed to her, his dimple delicately forming on his cheek like a tiny crescent moon.
"Anyways, here she is. Wynne" Asra introduced the bluenette to the foreign lady, who smiled sweetly at her and Wynne waved for a greeting.
"And Wynne, this is Lyra" Asra finally disclosed the name of the gentle lady, who then stepped closer to Wynne and reached her hand out for her to shake, which the other lady gladly took after staring at her pale hand. And as she had guessed, her hand was soft like feathers.
"Lyra Slaquer, but you can call me Lyra. It's a delight to meet you, Wynne. I hope you enjoy your stay over here" she spoke with another cute smile. Wynne nodded and took her hand back, breaking a small grin herself. The name 'Slaquer' whistled a bit familiar to her, but she had never met Lyra before so it was kind of odd, but she pushed the thought and quickly replied to her.
"I too wish to enjoy my visit over here. This place is still kind of anonymous to me since Asra did technically blackmailed me to arrive here" the woman stared at the white curlyhead with narrowed eyes.
"What?!" Lyra gasped as her hand partially covered her mouth. "He did?! I'm so sorry for that, Wynne! He usually does not do that though" she grabbed her chin in her two fingers.
"Wait, I never blackmailed you" Asra's purple eyes widened in scepticism.
"You provoked me. You fed my curiosity and you left me fucking dumbfounded by your sudden hanger, you agitated me so much that the urge you aroused in me won. And whose fault do you think it is??" Wynne crossed her arms and stared at him, with her weight on one leg.
Asra's cheeks lit up with bright pink by the lady's question. It was not a surprise that Wynne caught his fib about being busy just to bring her here. He had known her ever since they were kids, and Winnie was the most attentive one out of the two. A smirk engraved on her dark lips as she tapped her foot on the floor, waiting for a comeback, though she was already aware that he doesn't have an answer. He was caught, he was very badly caught. And he sadly had nothing to objectify with.
Lyra meanwhile just looked from Asra to Wynne, then back to Asra. She was waiting for one of them to speak, but someone calling her name, presumably from backstage, snapped her out. "Coming!" The twirly ravenette replied, and she rushed to attend to her call. But soon after she stopped at her heels for a moment, and turned back to gently grab Wynne's hand and then finally walking with her.
"Come on Wynne! Let's make you meet everyone. I'm sure they will love you" Lyra notified her and she continued dragging her. The blue-eyed lady sounded so favourable and eager that Wynne couldn't muster the will to pull away and refuse her. She was better than deterring the warmth of a civil lady like her, and Wynne peeked back at Asra, who just waved at her, mugging 'have fun' to her.
'I will kill you.....' she gestured back at him with a scowl and flipped him off until Lyra and she completely disappeared behind the stage. And good thing she didn't notice Wynne being blatantly horrible and rude.
Not that Asra minded her cynicism anyway, he still loved her for how she was.
"Guys, listen up! We have a visitor here. She is Asra's dearest friend!" Lyra with a sunny smile as twinkling as the moon inaugurated her to everyone present backstage.
But little did Lyra know that Wynne already knew four motherfuckers present inside.
"What the heck? How are you all at one place?? And most importantly, what are you guys doing here???" Wynne pointed her finger from puzzlement at all of them and questioned the troop she knew very well through conventions and clashes she would never forget. Some of them which she found awful, and some of them surprisingly candy. She honestly never wanted to meet any of them at all, but profoundly in her heart, she was obliged that she was oriented with the six awesome and decent idiots.
"WYNNE?!!" A particular red-haired fellow, a ginger girl, a raven head man and a purplenette lady, together cried out the lady's name. The four were in a greater shock than she was in. Because neither Asra told them who the guest was, nor did they expect her to be the visitor out of any other persons they could have guessed. Now that's quite a shocker eh?
"Oh~ you know them???" Lyra bent towards her, her blue eyes shone with inquisition. "Yes...Yes, I do" Wynne sauntered towards them, this time, with a wooden floor, her heels gave off the clicking like of a ticking timepiece. Her hands were crossed, and she was tickled that how all the pals she was intimate to were existing in the area.
"Since when?" Lyra strolled with her. "Long story, Dear. It's all thanks to Asra, you can say. He is the cause why I know all of them. Like I met Nadia during one of his get-together parties, and then I met these two siblings- what was their name again? AH! Julian and Portia, at a grocery store when I and Asra wanted some stuff. And like that, I met his other best friend, the giant guy over there, Muriel"
Wynne brought up each one of them as she enunciated about them to Lyra. The ravenette listened to the bluenette with peak attention. She adored the manner and the refinement she held up while chatting to her. It was ethical, posh and highly lordly, just as a splendid black swan.
"And that's the story in a nutshell. Now tell me" Wynne kept her hands on her hips and glared at the four. "What's going on here?". "Wait, Asra didn't tell you what exactly is this place and what is our purpose here??" The physician asked her with mistrust.
"Well, no. He told me nothing. But he did say that this is a dance studio" Wynne tapped her chin, trying to recall what else he had asserted.
"Well yes, you are correct on that. This is a dance studio. Which includes the theatre along with the backstage, the rehearsal rooms, a canteen area with the lobby, a recreational cabin and the dorms. Our dancers live here and we provide them with a comfortable and hygienic place to stay along with necessary hospitality, and they all perform for the company" Nadia replied.
"Wait, the company? You guys are running a corporation together?" Wynne cocked her eyebrow again. This all was very new to her, and pretty intriguing too.
"You can say like that. This is Vesuvia Dance Company, and I'm proud to say that we all are like a close-knit family here. I run the company and also work as the organiser. Portia is the set painter. All the lavender imprints you saw on the screens were done by her" the umber woman referred to the chubby girl as she waved heartily at Wynne.
Judging by Portia's denim suspenders splattered with numerous sorts of pigments, she did look like a very hard worker. Just like how Wynne always knew her to be.
"And that gentleman over there, Muriel, he does the building work. So the stage and every scenery of the bureau is retained by him. During performances, he also makes sure the lights and every other piece of equipment are operating appropriately. Portia occasionally teams up with him for the arrangement of struts and special effects. Without him, the true magnificence of the dance would never have reached the audience" Nadi commended.
Muriel's cheeks blossomed pale red as his jade eyes shyly lowered down. Portia had the opposite reaction though. She just grinned and locked arms with the giant man catching him off guard and turning him more rattled than ever.
"I-It's not that much of a big deal" he mumbled abjectly. Wynne chuckled at the scene and muttered 'cute' before facing Nadia so she could introduce the medic next.
"And you must know Dr Devorak. Just as his profession speaks, he takes care of the condition of every member of the company and assures the safety of everyone from likely injuries or illnesses. He also schedules a diet plan if required, and he is also quite sincere in his work, and the members easily recover, all thanks to him"
"And....did any previous member die even though he was around?" Wynne heckled, and Julian fell right into her mockery as his face burnt deep red, the vivid colour spreading across his porcelain skin. He was positively ashamed, and Wynne snagged him so badly he was staggering. But luckily, Nadia seconded him up as she soughed.
"No Wynne. No one has died. The doctor is a qualified physician, and every one of us relies on his skills of treatment. He is also very humble, so there is nothing for us to be concerned about in terms of health" She retorted. "Alright. I believe you" Wynne shrugged with a sly smile, although the flush on Julian's cheeks didn't vanish. Wynne was like a harpy when it comes to disparaging someone, which sometimes makes Julian fear her. Other than that, Julian did like her, she can be cute sometimes and he has seen it. But just like every ambivert, all she requires is the right time to express it.
"And moving on, Asra is our principal dancer, so he is the one who comes with most of the choreography, but he also ensures to give opportunities to the other dancers to suggest any addition. With his and everyone's aptitude, the event comes out to be beautiful" Nadia affirmed with a low smile on her swift lips.
"I see....." Wynne held her chin in her fingers and nodded.
"And the thespians along with Asra are, Lyra, Maura, and-"
"Hello guys! What's up?"
"Woah Woah Woah!! Take it easy! We didn't go anywhere" Julian stumbled back onto a table as he attempted to brace away from the not-so sudden jumpscare of the stranger who appeared to have popped out in between out of nowhere. Well, a stranger to Wynne, to be precise.
"Haha, sorry Ilya. I was just excited to meet the new guest, and I didn't wanna miss them!" The outsider gleefully met the sights of the new lady with his azure ones, a purple glisten romped within his iris, just like how the gold flapped inside the matron's lustrous eyes. Other than his apertures, she noticed how he looked a bit similar to Lyra, contemplating the same type of hair and complexion of the skin. She then looked down at his clothes. The uproar he was wearing captured her eye, reasonably. Wynne was stringent, and a fashionista filled with critique, but what the man was having over him wasn't so terrible to her at all. She could see the striped black-white sweater, baby pink pants,
And were those turquoise crocs he was wearing???????
"Interesting...." Was all that Wynne could say.
"This is Raymond. He is our pianist, and he with his band performs along with the dancers. And he also conducts the music" Nadia enlisted. "Oh, so he is the soul of the performance huh. Pretty....... eccentric" Wynne eyed Raymond who glanced innocently back at her. She rasped and dabbed Raymond's shoulder as she reacted. "But sure. He is cute".
"Oh! If I'm cute then you are the loveliest girl in the whole world, and the ebony fabric on your fair body is like shadows surrounding the glowing moon" Raymond's eyes sparkled with esteem and cherish towards her, like a child recognizing their favourite superhero. That wasn't a good sign for Wynne at all. Especially deeming that it has only been minutes since he and she got introduced to each other. But, inferring that he was the type of guy to give random sweet compliments to anyone, she coolly answered.
"W-Why thank you Dear. You are.....pretty yourself. I like your hair".
"Thank you, Ms Wynne. You are too nice" he blushed with a wide beam. "Yeaaaaahhhhh" Wynne internally winced but tried not to show it to not come off as rude and anguish the cute boy.
"Alright! I think that's everyone in the area. There are three more people who are left to be introduced, but other than that, I hope everything is to your liking, Wynne. Asra brought you here so you could think about joining the company" Nadia rolled a strand of her long hair around her finger.
"Wait, join you all???" Wynne asked.
"Oh my gosh, you are gonna join us??? PLEASE DO!! I would love you for that!" Raymond practically jumped on his feet with enthusiasm.
"W-Wait, but why??? Why do I have to??" Wynne struggled to justify.
"Well, why not. We all have seen you perform before, Wynne. And you would make an exceptional dancer! Also, it's very fun hanging around with everyone and dancing too, don't you think?" Portia added.
"Yeah Wynne, Pasha is right. We know you don't like being around people so much, but we would give you space when you need it. We may stick close, but we will make sure to not bother you much" Ilya gently smiled at her. She did frighten him sometimes, but Julian would be happy to have a bit of her insolence and sarcasm hovering around. Everyone would love to have that.
"I agree with Julian. You are a wonderful lady, Wynne. It would be our absolute pleasure to have a talented entertainer as you dance with us. I promise I won't talk much if that annoys you. But I want to get to know you better, Wynne. I bet you would be very fun!" Lyra playfully whacked her shoulder, only to receive a deathly grimace from the bluenette's wolf-like eyes.
"O...Oh...." Lyra cautiously procured her hand and backed a bit away from her. She wasn't dreading of her if anything. She just got more.....intimidated. She had never met a woman with such grimness flooding out of her, yet be so nimble as a twilight waft along with the gloom she hauls. Lyra felt like a little butterfly just witnessing a vicious spider open her gapes and watch it flash with yearning and malevolence, but close enough, she could see the dignity and that dwelled deep in those gazes.
And those golden orbs had apprehended her just like a tempting spider's quagmire.
Wynne was never known to miss her target anyway.
"S-Sorry....." Lyra's diamond orifices veered under and a weak rosiness escorting her cheeks.
Wynne just shut her eyes, sighed softly, and immediately gawked at Muriel who was typically tight-lipped the whole time. But she decided to inquire him too because his opinion also mattered after all. "What do you think, Big Guy? Would you be happy to have me over?" She straightforwardly asked. The huge man was taken aback for a bit, he had believed that Wynne won't bring any mind to him, and obviously, she proved him wrong. And now he had to respond to her because everyone else had their eyes on him too.
"I......." He started.
"Mhm?" Wynne waited.
"....................."
"I won't mind" that's all he said.
Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of solace and rejoiced while Muriel just reddened and pouted. He wondered what made the people so relieved when all he did was say 'yes' for the new girl to stay. But what it truly meant was that they were ahead in favour by one more vote.
Wynne snorted. "Yeah yeah, celebrate all you want, but still. I haven't agreed to this yet. So technically there is still be left to decide. Now don't get too much excited already" she stated.
"You are certainly right on that. But we are willing to wait for your final decision, Wynne. Whether positive or not" Nadia told her, and the others agreed to her, nodding and muttering to each other. "Good. I don't like rushing things. I'm glad that you understand" Wynne's lips curved into a slight smile, and everyone else in the room returned a grin. "Of course. We want you to be comfortable after all. You are our friend" Julian added. "And we promise to support ya!" Portia said. "You can speak to us if you ever have any trouble, Wynne" Lyra peered at her. "And we promise to not irritate you at all!" Raymond assured her with a bright grin on his lips.
"We......We would take care of you too....." Muriel softly smiled.
Wynne softly chuckled, shaking her head delightfully and placing her hands on Raymond and Lyra's shoulders. She gleamed at both of them, and she thanked all of them for the patience and hospitality they all gave to a newbie like her. She truly felt honoured and warmly greeted by all of them, and she felt much pleasanter than she was feeling appearing for the first time. Nadia was pleased to see how everyone welcomed Wynne. She was looking forward to the guest making herself comfortable among the partners and come to be a valued part of the small artsy gang and relish the beauty of dance and music together with everyone.
And am I missing someone important to introduce?
"So! What did I miss, lovely ladies and gentlemen?" Some other unidentified person barged in like a typical theatrical garish zealot. Just as assumed by his way of the fashionably late entry, his clothes were incredibly contemporary and vogue and his shirt were half-buttoned to expose his semi-hairy chest. The unknown man rested his elbow at the frame as his piercing emerald eyes stridden around on everyone's faces until it spotted its victim. A certain gal in black.
"Ah! Gotcha" the stranger grinned and grazed his teeth over his lower lip. He pushed himself back on his feet and walked towards his prey. His hand brushed through his curly dark locks, the hooves of his shoes made a satisfying click with every step he got closer to Wynne. He wasn't focused on anyone else other than her, his eyes glimmered under the daylight, like lush green leaves after monsoon showers.
Wynne perked up her eyebrow up. Who is this guy now, she pondered. She glanced at his shirt for a moment and noticed patterns of peacock feathers with splats of prominent blue and white matching the print. Very remarkable, she thought. But also somehow very familiar too. The design on his cloth was something she had seen somewhere before, but she couldn't recollect when exactly.
Nevertheless, the unfamiliar man wearing the familiar clothing gently took hold of her hand and locked his emeralds with her gold.
"And you might be......" She started.
"Sèbastien Slaquer at your service, mademoiselle" he fervently kissed her knuckles, nurturing the sweetness of her skin on his lips.
"Ah...Slaquer......french....Wait a minute" Wynne interrupted.
"Yeah, what's the matter? Remembered something important?" He tilted his head and looked at her, his eyes taking in the charm of her marvellous face and dusk merging with her rosy skin.
"Slaquer.....no wonder why it was sounding so weird to me.......I think I have heard this name before.....in a brand name" Wynne held her chin.
"Oh, you have? I don't know. My brand sure is well-known--"
"Wait, did you say, your brand???" Wynne gripped him. "Yes of course" he shrugged. "Hmmm.....that explains your shirt..... the peacock designs..... peacock designs???"
Wynne suddenly gasped. "You are french, aren't you?!"
"Oh, are you giving me a racist remark now?" Sèbastien knocked and chuckled at his joke. "But yes, you are right. I'm french. And so is my little brother and my cousin behind you" he gestured to both Raymond and Lyra who were currently casually conversing with each other. "Ohh those are your siblings? Alright," Wynne nodded. She wasn't surprised because the three of them did kind of resemble each other. The opaque curly hair, ivory skin, thrilling eyes.
And speaking of Raymond and Lyra, Wynne noticed how personal they were. Both were standing near one another, and Raymond never halted eye contact with Lyra, and Lyra also had her entire attention on him. They didn't seem to mind anything happening around them. They just talked, but every word they said to each other pertained only to them. They were just cousins, but Wynne was mildly amazed how they behaved like mutual siblings who loved each other to the brim.
It thawed her heart, but also made it ache as soon as she realised she doesn't have such a person whom she can call a sibling. Her mother was never there to give her a sibling.
Wynne was always alone at such times.
"Anyways, what do you call a peacock in French by the way? Maybe that would remind me" Wynne turned to the tall man. It disturbed her how he towered over her. She was fundamentally disturbed by how ALL of them towered over her.
Heh, looks like someone has taken Portia's place of being the smallest.
"Oh, Paon" he answered within a second.
"AHH! I got it! That's your fashion brand, ain't it so?" She banged her fist on her palm as soon as she ultimately understood the name she was trying to remember all the time. "Well yes, you are correct again. Wait, you mean you know my work??" He gazed at her. "Mhm. I have seen it. Peacock layouts are your trademark, along with the colours, royal blue and brine green. Your type is modern, but also have a slight tinge of French flavour, dating back to the eighteenth or nineteenth-century or so. I have even seen the blogs that talk about you, very impressive I must say" she complimented him.
"O-Oh...Why thank you for your tributes, mademoiselle. You are pretty vigilant and almost figured out my whole style. Not many people can, you know" he laughed. "Of course, no problem Mr Slaquer" Wynne giggled. She found Sèbastien relatively interesting already, even after knowing him only for instants. Not only she liked his judgment of fashion, but also how he and she shared the same passion for design.
"Oh please, call me Sèbastien. It's my upmost pleasure to meet you, Miss......."
"Wynne. Wynne Toprak" she said.
"Toprak?? You mean, Priddell Toprak??" Sèbastien asked her. "Yup. I don't use my middle name too often, actually" she mentioned. "Ohhh I am have heard about you a lot, Ms Toprak. I have witnessed your works too, but I just wasn't lucky enough to see your beautiful face until now. Lucifer's Wings, that's yours right?" He questioned.
Wynne's cheeks turned a slight pink. She always thought that she can improve her style more and more, so she never found her methods perfect. And someone just breaking it to her that they admired her works and call her beautiful on top of that turns her shy and flustered.
"I-I...Thank you. And yes, that's my brand. I started it when I was like, 15 years old or so" she replied. "Woah, now that's a young talent I see. Very terrific, Ms Toprak. And I love how you make black match every other colour of your clothing. Your mode is very diverse and comfortable for anyone. Now that's how I want fashion to be. It should be dispersible to everyone, without any discrimination. And also with being unique, but also not too bizarre, if you know what I mean" Sèbastien's eyes shot to Raymond for a second.
Wynne bobbed her head. "I agree with you. Clothes which are different but also not too much of it. We don't want to walk around looking like piñatas now, do we?" She shrugged. Sèbastien broke into a fit of laughs and he shook his head. His laugh sounded like harmony to her, she chuckling with him too.
"Also, I am guessing you work with Nadia in designing the dresses for the dancers?" she continued. "Yup. Right. I have a contract with her for that. And Raymond has one too for his band to perform in the theatre" Sèbastien rubbed his neck. "Ahh...I see......Well, my friend had invited me here to take a look, and decide whether I should join the company with all of you or not" she noted.
"Oh! So you are going to design with me too?? Like a collaboration??" He sounded pretty energetic about it. "Well, maybe. But I also am a dancer. So let's see what happens" Wynne shrugged again.
"Woah...what a gifted lady. I'll be looking forward to work with you, mademoiselle" he softly kissed her hand again. "Oh it's nothing much. Trust me, Dear. But sure, I'm anticipating too" she sadly smiled at him. She still wasn't sure if she should join or not. But seeing so many likeable people who welcomed her so sweetly, made it hard for her to refuse. But also, what worse can happen if she joins? She loved dancing, and maybe along with fashion, she can make her career in another field too.
But still, she needed a bit more time. Though her mind was already telling her to agree to the contract and sign in. But she still needed to wait. Not just yet, please.
"Ohh!! What a lovely lady in the house!" Wynne heard another adorable voice from the entrance. She glanced at the new blonde woman, her long hair as golden as daffodils and her eyes as green as polished malachite. She also noticed the dress she was wearing. A long red skirt and a white buttoned top. It was simple but pretty, along the black ghillies with distinguishing neat white socks.
"Oh hello there. Nice to meet you" Wynne turned her attention to the blonde dame, whose cheeks lightened to blush as she bashfully smiled at Wynne.
"Nice to meet you too! I'm Maura. You must be Wynne, right? Asra told me about you" she replied. "Yeah, that's me. In flesh" she snorted.
"Ah, Wynne. Maura is the one who planted all the flowers and plants in the garden. And she always knows what type of flower would suit anyone. Also, not only she is the gardener, but she is also a prudent performer of Irish stepdance. It looks very difficult to me, to be honest. But Maura always does it so effortlessly" Sèbastien added on. Maura blushed harder and timidly thanked the man for the compliment, who just patted her head with a playful wink in return.
"Oh! Now that's very sweet of you. I absolutely loved the sunflowers in the garden by the way. They are my favourite. Every other flower in the garden were beautiful too" Wynne smiled at her. "Of course! I'm glad you liked them. I love sunflowers too. They sure a happy radiant flowers, don't you think?" She glinted at Wynne. "Definitely. I love them because they remind me of my mother, that's why" Wynne sadly smiled, the fond portraits of her precious mother as her hair and eyes lustrous as the cloudless floral elegance of nature flooding into her psyche. She dearly missed her, too bad she was no more.
"Oh! That's wonderful! I'll make sure to make a bouquet of sunflowers for you once they fully blossom. You can even gift them to your mom. And tell her I said hi" Maura twinkled. Wynne was seized aback by her abrupt tenderness. People were being too much nice to her today that it seemed so alien to her. But appreciating her generosity, Wynne warmly smiled.
"Thank you, Maura. She would like it" she still couldn't believe that such kind people still exist.
"My pleasure, Wynne. This is the least I can do" she smiled back.
"Also, Irish dance, now that's very interesting. You gotta show me some moves and teach me one day" the bluenette placed her hand on her hip. "Ohh for sure! I would love to. What dance do you do? Or do you specialise in some other thing than dancing" Maura leaned her head.
"Ah! I'm usually into hip hop and ballet. I learnt a bit about belly dancing too, it's also called Raqs Sharqi in Arabic. And other than dancing, I also run my fashion brand, and that's my real profession. It's called 'Lucifer's Wings'. I still remember how I took days to come for a decent name" she facepalmed and chucked at her forenamed naivety.
"That's a very nice name! You gotta show me your works someday then. I bet they will be very very beautiful and elegant, just like you!". "O-Oh....thank you for the.....compliment, Dear. And of course, I'll show you my latest designs, if that will satisfy you" Wynne brushed back her bangs. "I am sincerely honoured, Wynne" Maura grinned at her, her hands behind her back and her cheeks pink.
"No pressure. Your welcome" she raised her shoulders. Alright, she had to admit. She had started to like Maura too. Who wouldn't? And it was funny how she presently was liking the Slaquers and Maura more than the six she already was aware of. Maybe it's the benefit of the joy of meeting new people. Maybe........
"Also, I have a small question, would you mind me asking?" Wynne blinked. "Not at all, sweetie. Ask away" the blonde replied.
"Asra said this place runs through funds" Wynne blinked again.
"But who exactly is funding you all?"
Maura wasn't the one to answer her question. And neither was Sèbastien. Or Raymond. Or Lyra. Or any of the five.
It was the one out of the six who was known to be snooty, and robust, and blond.
And a passionate pup person too.
In came the notorious devil with two of his faithful albino pair of hounds growling at everyone in the room. His garnet coat with gold trimmings and the spotless Tom Ford Customs, obviously costing so much it would make our pockets spontaneously explode, were dry cleaned and smoothed very strictly, and his hair was huddled back with shower gel, replacing the pleasant smell of vanilla in the air with a tincture of mint.
"How are you all losers? You missed me?" The man removed his Gucci glasses and straightened his silky black gloves on his hands as he looked down at everyone.
"Tch, not him again" Wynne heard Sèbastien scoff and cross his arms. He looked irritated, and so did Maura, but she didn't have any frown on her face like him. She just looked..... unsettled. Meanwhile, others in the room were feeling as uncomfortable as both of them too. Muriel was looking away, Portia began to mind her business, Julian hid behind his papers, Lyra and Raymond tried to ignore the man and Nadia just sighed tiredly and rubbed her temples to give some comfort from the headache she just got. Possibly because of the new blond who entered.
"Hello Lucio" Nadia was the one who bothered to greet him, and she didn't look like she had a choice.
"Hello, Noddy! So how are my wife and her useless crew doing?" He cocked.
"Ex-wife, for your information. And they all are doing better than you, anyway" she scowled.
"Ah, still defending them huh? You do know this won't stop me" he smirked and kept his hand on his hip. Nadia closed her eyes, breathing calmly. "I don't care if you stop or not, but you are wrong. You always will be. My crew will always be committed and hard-working. And they all mean a lot to me no matter what bad you say about them"
Nadia's words effectively dissolved the tension in the room. Wynne just kept up at her place, listening to everything. She wasn't stunned to find him here. If her five friends would be here, then so would he.
The surprising fact was that she preferred the blondie over everyone else due to their previous relations and memories. It may sound unbelievable, but Wynne knew Lucio more than anyone, and it probably was the same with Lucio too, that he knew Wynne more than he knew anyone else. She was just a kid she met the guy when he was younger than today. And it has been two decades since, yet they kept in touch and their love never deteriorated.
Maybe.....maybe Wynne did have someone to call a sibling.
"So good to see you here, Lulu" she sounded pleasantly happy. That adds to another reason for joining the company.
"Wait- WYNNE?!!" The man was startled, finding his close friend at a place he least expected to. His lips widened to a grin and he forgot about everything, only to dash to the lady and tackle her in the biggest hug he can ever lend. Wynne laughed, and simply held his back, embracing his nostalgic warmth and scent close to herself, remembering every time they spent together merrily.
Sèbastien was dumbfounded, his mouth agape. Maura too was a bit astonished, that a sophisticated lady like her would be friends with such a flamboyant and hyperactive person. Well, she didn't judge it. Opposites do attract, you know. Maybe that was the case here. Maybe......
"What...What are you doing here??? I didn't know you were coming for a visit. Noddy never tells me anything" Lucio implored, fretting at the last sentence. "Well, it was more like a surprise visit. Nadia didn't know, so don't blame her" she replied. "Arrgh, fine. If you are saying it, then I'll gladly listen" he winked at her."Good" she cracked a tiny smile, snickering in the middle, and he joined her with the laughs.
"Now now, do you work here too??" She asked as she stopped.
"Work?! No!! I don't work with these idiots. THEY, work for me" his chest surged like a roasted turkey's bust.
"Oh yeah???" She raised her eyebrow, her eyes darting to Sèbastien. He shook his head, denying Lucio's statement. He then crossed his arms, and behind Lucio's back started mocking him by making his hand talk like Lucio and mouthed the gibberish with his eyes rolled up.
Wynne almost got caught by wheezing and cackling like a witch. Luckily her convenient hand covered it up.
"--And that's how I brought them all here. I am their saviour, Wynne. I raised them from the streets and gave them homes and look how they repay me. Not even a decent formal greeting!!" He bragged. Wynne already knew that the 'saving' part was not true no matter how fondly she thought of him, but she still played along to not dishearten her best friend.
"I understand, Monty. They are pretty tired too, you know. You can excuse them for that" she augmented, perfectly roleplaying.
"Excuuuuuse me?!! I work for hours at the meeting of the cooperations and look at me!! Not even a sweat on my brow. Oh, come on!! Are you all that lazy??? You are such losers for god's sake UGHH" Lucio hysterically placed his hand on his hip and cited them all. None of them were diverted, just as predicted. But Lucio was just pouting as always, and Wynne was feeling hotter and also sheepish. Were the two things even proportional?? She imagined so.
"U-Uhhh" she slowly walked to him and carefully placed her hand on his shoulder. She clasped her fingers around his joint and sighed peacefully.
"Hey...Lulu. I know you are worried about them and thinking that they are not....... trying harder, but they all deserve a break, you know. They all are like you after all. You all are humans, you need rest. You need fresh air"
She stopped and breathed a bit.
"And you know what you and your mates want??" She asked him, with a small beam of mischief on her lips.
"Huh??? What do I need??" He raised her eyebrow at her. She then grinned and booped his nose.
"You need ice cream, Silly! Ice cream! Who doesn't want a sweet cold treat on such a hot day hmm?? Come on all!! Let's have ice cream outside! I'm sure Asra can cover us up on that, free of charge" the bluenette invited everyone over, melting the potent tension just like ice cream under the giant ball of burning gas, leaving sweetness and chill dripping all over.
Everyone agreed to Wynne and relaxed from Lucio's outburst. They were finally keen to take a break they deserve and make their way through the other side at the exit. Lucio and his pets already ran to where they would most probably find the ice cream guy of the house, while everyone else silently thanked the blue lady for preventing Lucio to turn things worse. Some shook her hand, some gave her a quick hug and a bright smile, while some gave her thankful glances. She welcomed all of them with a simple nod, happy to help of course.
"You did great, Wynne. Thanks for shutting that asshole up" Sèbastien patted her head before moving out, shoving his hands in his pockets and whistling away a loud ballad. Maura followed Sèbastien, but she stopped to gently shake Wynne's hand and give her one of her confectionary smiles, also thanking her for saving her from the virago.
"It was nice to meet you again, see you soon" and she went away, her skirt fluttering with the inside wind, as the bluenette saw her walking.
"Hey...that was considerate of you, stopping Lucio from flaring on all of us. I never liked him screaming at anyone, but thanks to you, now I can finally breathe fresh air" Lyra humoured and Wynne chuckled with her. "No problem, Lyra. Lucio and I have been together since my childhood. He had been like this since his college days. So it's not shocking that he is still like this. I honestly love it" she laughed.
"That's great, even for him. I'm happy that you have someone close to you" she gladly smiled. "Yeah, I am happy too. You also have awesome siblings, take care of them just like they take care of you, okay?" Wynne leaned on her weight. "Ah! Of course! Ray Ray is my closest confidant. We are just cousins, but I treat him as my brother. Sebby is also very sweet to me, but he is one thirsty man for gossip and he often turns......scandalous" Lyra whispered the last thing to her.
"But I'm really glad they are here for me, and I'll be there for them too! I'll protect them at all costs!!" Lyra puffed her cheeks with resolution and adherence. Her adorable reaction made the goth lady guffaw from amuse. She held her stomach, one of her hands fanning her face and gashes of laughter accumulated at the nook of her eyes.
Watching her laugh was like watching a thunderous hurricane reflecting a widespread rainbow, or like a broken glass casting an bewitching silhouette.
"You are such a sweetheart. Keep it up like that" Wynne patted her shoulder out of appreciation. Lyra shied a little, she found the other lady's laugh so mellifluous as a psalm's ensemble. She creased a ringlet behind her ear and ogled fondly at the shorter woman.
"I am trying my best, Wynne" she timidly replied to her. "I know, Dear. I know" she closed her eyes and exhaled. She unfolded them again, only to glimpse back into her sapphire watches. Lyra was so captivated by her that her heart skipped a beat when she observed the golden blaze and crystal frost inside her. It was enthralling.
"Also, may I ask for a favour?" Wynne gently held Lyra's chin and poked it up her lips. She didn't even realise that her mouth was open in awe that she blinked rapidly, and stammered a bit, her face flickering to an apple glow. Soon she regained her composure and answered back to her, not making her wait for long.
"Yeah?? What's the matter?"
Wynne stayed silent for a bit.
"......................."
".............................."
".................."
"......................................................"
"Can you show me the contract papers? I gotta sign up"
The clock strikes at 11, and so does the cap of Wynne's pen. Finally, she wrote her name on the paper and learned to become one of their family. She was having fun and was impatient for her first performance.
Well.....maybe Asra did the right thing annoying her huh. Bless him for that, and everyone else of the Vesuvian Dance Company.
Now let the extravaganza begin!
#the arcana#the arcana game#fan apprentice#wynne toprak#arcana apprentice#arcana mc#arcana oc#asra the magician#asra alnazar#the arcana asra#doctor julian devorak#julian devorak#ilya devorak#the arcana julian#nadia satrinava#countess nadia#the arcana nadia#Lucio Morgasson#the arcana Lucio#count Lucio#muriel of the kokhuri#the arcana muriel#the arcana Portia#Portia Devorak#Pasha Devorak#Raymond slaquer#lyra slaquer#Sebastien salquer#what i wrote#Maura
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