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rhosyn-du · 3 years

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Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Epilogue

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321 Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Epilogue

“How is this the third store we’ve visited that’s out of cranberry sauce?”

“Because it’s eleven in the morning on Thanksgiving Day?” Maia threw Simon a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ “I’m honestly surprised we managed to snag those last two pie crusts.”

“I should never have let myself get distracted while I was doing my shopping on Monday.” He fixed Jace with a stern glare. “No more distracting me at the grocery store.”

“You were pretty into my distraction, if I recall correctly,” Jace said with a lazy grin.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ve never seen Bubbe Helen when she doesn’t get cranberries on Thanksgiving. You don’t even know.”

Jace wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close. “Hey, we’ll find Bubbe Helen her cranberries. We’ve still got a hundred miles left between here and New York. There’s bound to be a store along the way that still has cranberries.”

Simon relaxed in his arms with a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m being dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Jace corrected gently. “It’s tradition, and it’s important to people you love.”

“Wow, holidays make you really sappy,” Simon teased.

“You make me really sappy,” Jace corrected, reaching for Simon’s left hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the knuckle right above his father’s ring. The same ring he’d used when he actually proposed two weeks ago, at the same table in Java Jones where they’d made their list of fake dating rules all those months ago. He’d hidden the ring under his muffin, knowing Simon would steal the last bite like he always did, and even though it wasn’t the kind of grand, romantic gesture his siblings had suggested when he asked for their help, it was theirs, and the look on Simon’s face when he said yes was really all that mattered.

“You make me pretty sappy, too,” Simon said, drawing him into a kiss.

“If you two start making out in the middle of the canned goods aisle, I’m stealing the van and going to New York without you.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss to give Maia an unimpressed look. “No one’s making you watch.”

“Yeah, but every minute I have to spend waiting for you is one I don’t get to spend with my girlfriend, who I live two-hundred miles away from and only get to see maybe once a month if I’m really lucky.”

“She does have a point,” Simon said. “Plus, Becky can be really vindictive when she wants to be, and she’s got easy access to the room we’re sleeping in tonight.”

“And the longer we stand around here, the longer other people have to buy all the cranberries at other stores,” Maia pointed out.

“Fine,” Jace relented, releasing Simon. “Let’s go find some cranberries.”

Simon took his hand, and Jace could feel the warm metal of his ring pressing into his skin.

~~~

“We have cranberries!” Maia announced as they entered the Lewis home.

“Oh, thank god,” Becky said. “Someone was starting to get a little agitated.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head significantly toward the kitchen.

“So, you’re only happy to see me for my cranberries, huh?” Maia teased.

“I’ve got a whole list of reasons I’m happy to see you.” Becky gave her a quick kiss, then turned to poke Simon in the ribs. “But I’m only happy to see this fool for his cranberries.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, poking her right back.

“I guess I just don’t even rate, huh?” Jace asked.

Becky turned a wide, mischievous smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m happy to see you for an entirely different reason. I want to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t do it,” Simon said. “She’s sneaky, and she will rip you off.”

“I am sneaky,” Becky agreed, “but this is totally above board.” She turned back to Jace. “I hear that you and Maia are drinking buddies.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Maia commented.

“That’s probably a pretty accurate description of our relationship, sure,” Jace agreed.

“Which means you’ve seen Maia drunk,” Becky continued. “Which means you probably have embarrassing stories about my girlfriend. Stories that I’m more than willing to trade embarrassing stories of my brother to hear.”

“See?” Simon pointed at his sister. “Sneaky.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m not sure you’ve actually thought this through,” Maia said.

“No, I have,” Becky told her with a smirk. “I’ve also thought up all kinds of ways to convince you to forgive me.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Simon said.

“Okay,” Maia said, “but I have an even better deal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about we both tell embarrassing stories about Simon and Jace over dinner.” Maia leaned in and finished in a low voice. “And then you can show me how you were planning to get me to forgive you when we get back to your place tonight.”

“Oh,” Becky said. “Yeah, that’s a much better deal.” She turned to Jace. “Sorry, got a better offer. No hard feelings?”

Jace shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I mean, I can’t really blame you.”

“Is it too late to do Thanksgiving with your family?” Simon asked Jace. “Or we could just sit in the van and eat cranberries out of the can. That’s also an option that would be preferable to this.”

“Oh good, you found the cranberries.” Bubbe Helen emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She walked over and pulled Simon into a hug. “I knew my grandson would come through.”

Behind her, Becky shook her head emphatically, mouthing ‘lies.’

Simon kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without cranberries.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She turned a critical eye on Jace. He was pretty sure she still held a bit of a grudge over him supposedly proposing to Simon in a storage closet. “And what are your thoughts on cranberries?”

“Oh, uh.” Jace was pretty sure he’d never thought much about cranberries before this morning’s frantic search across half of New England. “I’m definitely pro-cranberry.”

“Speaking of which,” Simon interrupted, “we should get these groceries to the kitchen and get started on the pies. You’re going to love Jace’s pecan pie, Bubbe Helen. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Pecan, huh?” Bubbe Helen gave Jace a considering look.

Jace nodded. “With browned butter. It’s a family recipe.” Technically, it was Alec’s recipe, but Alec was family, so he figured it counted.

Bubbe Helen nodded. “You’ll do.” Then she turned with a wide smile to greet Maia, and Jace let out a relieved sigh.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Simon bumped Jace with his shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “It’s cute that my grandmother makes you nervous.”

“It’s not cute,” Jace muttered. “She’s terrifying.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Simon’s mother was checking the turkey.

“Another half-hour, I think,” she told them as she closed the oven door. “If you work fast, you can put the pies in as soon as the turkey comes out. I cleared some counter space where you can work over there. Do not touch anything else.

“Hi, sweetie,” she added as an afterthought, giving Simon a quick hug.

Simon returned the hug. “Hi, Mom. Pie plates still in the same place?”

“Bottom cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “Is there anything else you two need to get started on the pies?”

“Pie plates to the left of the sink, half an hour, don’t touch anything,” Jace repeated back to her. “I think we’re good.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go toss the linens in the dryer. You boys get started on those pies, and I’ll be back to check on the turkey in,” she checked her watch, “twenty-eight minutes.”

Jace watched long enough to make sure she was out of earshot before saying, “If we’re ever crazy enough to do joint holidays, she and Maryse cannot be allowed in the kitchen at the same time.”

Simon chuckled. “Mom can be a little intense about holidays being perfect, but I think it’s just because she wants us to enjoy them.”

“I get it.” Jace knelt down to retrieve the pie plates from the cabinet. “I mean, you saw what Maryse and Alec were like just over Christmas dinner. Military campaigns are less well-orchestrated than Thanksgiving at the Lightwood house.”

“Is it weird having Thanksgiving here instead of with your own family?” Simon asked as he rolled out a pie crust.

Jace set the pie plates down next to the pastry mat. “I am having Thanksgiving with my family. I’m having it with you.”

Simon smiled without looking up from the pastry mat. “If you keep saying romantic things, I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll never get the pies ready to go in the oven on time.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Jace insisted. “It’s just, it took me a long time after the Lightwoods took me in to really start thinking of them as family, to accept that they thought of me as family. I’m not sure I ever would have if it wasn’t for Alec and Iz. They taught me that family can be people you choose, not just something you’re born with.” He shrugged. “And I chose you.”

Simon looked up from the now perfectly-rolled pie crust. “That was super romantic.”

“Maybe a little,” Jace conceded. He lifted the crust into one of the pie plates and began smoothing it into the corners.

“That’s actually part of why I wanted us to do Thanksgiving here this year,” Simon said as he began rolling out the second crust. “I know you haven’t always felt like you had a family, and even though I know you do now, I wanted to show you that you get to have my family now, too.”

Jace wound his arms around Simon’s waist. “Now who’s being romantic?”

The pies were not ready to go into the oven on time.

#shadowhunters #shmb2021 #jimon #jimon fic #jace wayland #simon lewis

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tolkienhorror · 3 years

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In Sauron’s Lab: File #5

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Fingon/Sauron, Audience, Crying, Collaring, Public humiliation

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I asked for a King to replace the one you lost, Lieutenant, and all you bring me is this, Morgoth had told Sauron when the orcs had dragged Findekáno into the throne room of the enemy’s base.

You have a week to break him, the Dark Lord had told his minion, interrupting Sauron’s almost nervous sounding explanations about how very useful the son of the new High King would be in their hands for their cause, black eyes uncaring, greyish skin glowing like the destructive flash of lightning in the shine of the Silmarils wrongly crowning that terrible, hollowed face. You make him kneel for me, or you can go right back to that mountain I pried you and feed another of your bodies to the crows.

Then they’d taken him away, and Findekáno remembered wondering if it would even take him a week at the mercy of someone who’d long given up on all empathy along with his sane mind, only to serve this monster who didn’t even bother caring about him in the presence of a prisoner, before he would wish for death. For a quick end, rather than clinging to the foolish hope that someone would come to find him here.

No one would. No one even knew he was here and they wouldn't for several weeks, not before he was expected home from his journey to Himring to surprise his husband. By the time, they would start to wonder in Hithlum, it would be too late.

Maitimo would probably learn last, and even he would not come. Findekáno had made him promise, made him swear on everything safe for what would have bordered on an oath that neither of them needed another one of. More than that, Maitimo would know, better than anyone, that Findekáno had been lost the moment his escort and he had been overwhelmed with the help of countless black arrows and half a dozen of fiery whips from behind. A year, he had once told Findekáno. If you could hold on to your will to live or your sanity or both for a year of being a prisoner in Angband, you were counted among the lucky ones.

As it turned out, for Findekáno, it was two days before he started to regret that he hadn’t tried to bite through his own wrist arteries in these few minutes that he’d spent alone in a pitch-dark, moldy cell, damned to wait for whatever what was to come. And that was before anyone had even touched him.

Findekáno had no doubt that a lot of them wanted to. Two of the boldest creatures reaching out for him had died already when another of Morgoth's highest ranking Lieutenants had dragged Findekáno from his cell to lead him towards a huge hall at the end of the dungeon wing that had already echoed with the screams of more than one of his people at that point. And dozens orcs more were very clearly waiting for their chance, lurking in the corner of that torture chamber, scarred faces distorted into sneers. The scornful whispers about all that they would love to do to their most precious prisoner given half a chance were only interrupted by the occasional brawl or by the sounds of two or more of those despicable bastards starting one of their perverted, brutal mating rituals, high on watching their master use his songs and evil instruments and cruel skill on yet another elvish prisoner.

But they would not be allowed to approach. And the one person Sauron would not lay hand on, was Findekáno himself. The former maia might long be beyond a sane mind, but if there was one thing he was not, it was stupid. Very well aware of Findekáno's relationship to the prisoner that Findekáno had robbed him of under his very nose not too long ago, not least thanks to everything Sauron had seen in Maitimo's mind in decades of not only physical but also mental torture, Sauron must know that there was very little he could have threatened Findekáno with that he didn't expect. Spending night after night with talking Maitimo through his nightmares and memories had made sure of that. Repeat performances were very obviously not among the maia's twisted preferences. So he chose to confront Findekáno with the only thing he could truly hurt him with: the suffering of his own soldiers. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but it still wasn't the worst.

Findekáno would gladly have borne every pain, every humiliation if he could have saved any of his warriors by that, even if it was only by the blade to their throats. The uncertainty of what would come for exiles like them afterward was better than even an hour under the clawed hands of Morgoth's lapdog. If they'd let him, Findekáno would have taken the place of every single of the elves and she-elves he had to watch scream their lives out and yet not being allowed to die in the first days of his captivity; and that, too, was something Sauron knew, of course. The worst was that being the only choice Findekáno could not make. This was the promise he had given his husband in return. That he would not give in. That he would not trade his soul for a couple of lives that were forfeit anyway, weakening his own mind by letting the cunning spirit of the maia enter it to rip it wide open and put into it whatever Sauron thought suited to bend Findekáno to his will. They could not have him as long as he did not give himself to them, they said, Maitimo said, so he would endure. For he knew, if his mind would no longer be his own, if he would go back to his people in the fashion Morgoth doubtlessly wanted him to, no longer himself but merely a vessel … A vessel like they had had to eliminate so many who had allegedly escaped their thralldom, coming to either his father's or Maitimo's doorstep for assault rather than refuge … Then the first person they would set Findekáno to kill would be his own husband. By refusing to give his enemies this chance, therefore trading the life of the person he loved most for the one of dozens – almost a hundred, in the end – other elves, Findekáno thought, maybe he had actually sold his soul already.

A high-pitched yell, quickly cut off by the choked gurgling of blood blocking the throat it had emerged from, tore him from the useless circle of self-hate that was his mind.

"As I was saying before you so rudely started to disassociate," Sauron sighed in that honey-laced voice of his while throwing the tongue he'd just cut from his victim's mouth in a bowl nearby, "I'm starting to think, that useless husband of yours made the wrong choice, relinquishing his claim to the throne. If all people from your side of your kin are as breakable as your unit, Your Highness, the Noldor might have been better advised living even under those kinslaying, crippled hands of your lover. Or rather, the one you haven't cut off when you were too weak to break a single shackle, that is."

Findekáno still did not give the bastard the satisfaction of an answer. He hadn't addressed the maia a single time since they'd taken him and very carefully avoided even regarding that black-clad, delicate shape with more than a fleeting glance from the corner of his eyes. It was better, not staring into those flaming eyes for too long, Maitimo had used to tell him, for you never knew what might stare back at – into – you. Besides, he was too busy, trying not to throw up when his torturer yanked the head of that elf who was firmly chained to a narrow wooden table, to the side by his red-matted blond hair, catching the streams of blood from the victim's mouth in that same bowl before handing it to one of the orcs without even looking twice, leaving the delightedly screeching creatures to fight over their breakfast. Once more, Findekáno wished he could have told the elf – his captain – that it would be over soon, at least, but judging by the last three scenes of this kind he'd already had to watch, chained to a chair of metal himself in a way that left no inch of a room to try and free himself, that would have been a blatant lie.

Sauron hated being distracted by too much talk when he was working but he very much enjoyed hearing his victims scream, that was all. So this was always how he started. "Let's see if we can get a little more fight out of this one, shall we? It would be a shame if you had to do without the leader of your escort once you'll promise yourself to the Lord of this world."

The Never was on the tip of Findekáno's tongue, but it never came, and maybe not only because he refused to acknowledge the numbing poison that was Sauron's words with anything but a blank stare. It was hard, holding on to resistance when you had to watch your enemy reach for a diamond-sharp knife and put a first clean, deep cut to his newest victim's body, right around the wrist, in front of the broad shackle holding the captain's arm in place, and then start to peel off the first layers of skin inch by inch, finger by finger, more patches of flesh and skin carelessly thrown towards the drooling audience. It was a mercy, one that Findekáno shouldn't be half as thankful for as he was, that the elf's voice was soon too sore from screaming to produce more than a hoarse noises, hardly even able to drown out the mirthful whistling on Sauron's lips that was a most basic healing spell to keep blood loss and infections at bay. And it was an irony that wasn't lost to Findekáno, that he'd spent almost two years, trying to convince his husband that he had no reason to hate himself for what he'd seen and been forced to do during his own captivity, and that he could feel the same blackness of loathing wash over his own soul now; thick acid trying to bury every memory of light and love and friendship especially to these people he had to see suffer right in front of his eyes, maybe never to be revived. It was far easier to believe in innocence when you weren't the one watching silently. That heaviness of shock and any missing rest for days, that had started to take hold of his soul, was spreading, creeping over his skin in droves and leaving it numb, so that he did not realize, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, until Sauron was suddenly standing right in front of his chair and grabbed his cheek to slowly lick the salt off his face with his forked tongue, laying hands on him for the first time. The nausea grew instantly, a gagging sitting in the back of Findekáno's throat that he didn't want to let his enemy hear either, so he just jerked his head away and bit his tongue bloody to keep silent.

"You taste sweeter than your lover, little Princeling," Sauron murmured huskily, blood-covered, spidery hands brushing through Findekáno's messy hair. "You might want to rethink your priorities. You could have a life so much better by my side than being the useless son of a lesser King. The only thing you're doing right now is hurting everyone in this room." Findekáno's ongoing silence seemed to be loud enough, because he backed away with a shrug. Ridiculously gentle for what he'd been doing to every of Findekáno's soldiers for a few days now, he tugged two of the golden ribbons from his braids and went back to his current victim. After handing his minions another bowl full of red to slurp that had been filled by that skinned hand of a barely conscious elf in the last few minutes, he wrapped the ribbon around the mess of twitching, bared muscle and pressed the captain's wrist down against the table with his elbow while reaching for a long nail and a hammer. "Now, now." An admonishing noise came from Sauron's cherry-red lips when Findekáno turned his head away, unable to stand the sight of that nail being pressed right in the middle of that ruined palm, with only the fabric of the ribbon between, the sight of a usually so proud, brave warrior arching up against his chains in fear. "Is that a way to honor your people's sacrifice for you, Your Highness? You won't even look at them while they're suffering for you?"

A sob that he could no longer hold back came from Findekáno's lips but could never make it past the echo of the new, broken scream from one of his oldest friends when the hammer drove the nail through his flesh in a single strike.

It didn't last long, because the elf had finally blacked out which didn't stop Sauron from repeating the same cruel process on the other arm so that his victim came to even more inhuman pain. With the second nail in place, the chains were no longer necessary to hold that marred, infection-weakened, writhing body in place as Morgoth's butcher reached for his knife once more. "Did you know, my precious Prince," he said calmly while he put the blood-smeared tip to the elf's left side, right under the ribcage, "there's at least four organs a Firstborn body can survive without? And a dozen others of which you can take at least half away before you need to sing the rest back together to function? You should know. I've fed a couple of your husband's parts to my wolves. I think they might get some more elvish dinner tonight." The knife started to cut. With a disgusting, meaty sound, a mess of red and yellow was dropped in a bucket below the table.

But this time, it wasn't the captain's scream that filled the room the loudest but a sound Findekáno hadn't known he was about to make before it came, his resolve shattered into pieces.

"What was that?" Now it was Sauron, not even looking up but reaching for needle and thread instead to close the crude cut he'd just made before his victim could bleed out on him. "Anything you want, my precious Princeling? All you have to do is ask, you know."

"Please." This time, the word came quietly, but clear and unmistakable. Apparently, after all this time that Findekáno had thought he would be the rock in their relationship, had to be, because Maitimo didn't have the strength anymore, it was time to admit, that his husband had been the stronger one between them from the start. Perhaps, when it came to it, if Findekáno would only ever leave this fortress again an enemy of his own people, no longer the master of his own mind and thoughts and will, his husband would even be strong enough to kill him before Findekáno could beat him to it. "Stop. If it is me you want, release my people."

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" Wholly unimpressed, Sauron moved to his victim's other side and caressed the quickly, panicked heaving chest with just the tip of his knife, as if trying to make out the best spot to continue his gruesome work. "I do not need more food for my troops and beasts. I need a servant loyal to me and my master. Is that what you want, Prince of the Noldor? To serve the Dark Lord?"

"Yes." It became easier, Findekáno found dully, once you had given in to your fate. He did not even shy away from that triumphing, flickering stare of his enemy any longer. Maybe it would hurt less if he let himself fall for it quickly.

"Yes, what?" His hand wandering lower, Sauron thrust his knife deeply into his victim's loins, spearing a kidney, impatiently wiping blood of his cheek, both from the new horrible wound and from the captain's mangled hand, from its useless, mindless attempt of freeing itself from the nail crucifying it.

"Yes. Master." Findekáno never lowered his head. There was no use, trying to look away now.

"Better. We're getting there." Sauron just left his tool right where it was, impaling his victim's body in a third place, and went to the back of a room to open a silver box with the symbol of his eye on it that had been waiting there from the first hour on. A flash of gold and obsidian shone in the bright candle light as he slowly approached Findekáno, dangling from a lazy finger a broad collar with sharply carved tips at the top and the bottom. In the hand of a fire maia, the horrible adornment quickly started to heat, a dangerous orange glow matching the hair of Findekáno's torturer, pulsating right in front of his eyes when Sauron stopped by his chair and grabbed his chin, forcing him to surrender to that black stare again. "Ask for it, my sweet little pet, then I might think about allowing your incompetent captain over there to die."

The last of tears dried on Findekáno's skin as he left a part of him behind that he knew would not return, no matter how his life would look from now on and for how long. I'm sorry, Russo. "Please, Master, put your collar on me. Let me serve you."

"So easy." With a lazy snap of fingers, the chains holding Findekáno clicked open, allowing his knees to give out under him all by themselves when an ice-cold hand was wrapped around his braids, shoving him off the chair.

He thought, he could fight, for a moment. But he'd also thought that when they had first brought him into this room, and the rest of that day, he'd spent watching fifty orcs raping one of his best friends to death, so that spark died down as quickly as it had come. It had been too late to fight the moment he'd let himself be foolishly raided from behind instead of securing the area well enough.

"Your father should thank me that I'm taking the weakling that calls himself his firstborn from him," his enemy chuckled, a clear hint of arousal mixing into the purr of triumph in his voice as Findekáno winced and gasped for air, in vain, as the collar was closed around his neck. Melted into one by a single hummed tone, the heated metal was scorching his skin, the first exhausted attempts of breathing, of swallowing leaving marks and cuts on him. "This does look a lot prettier on you though than on your lover, my new favorite pet. Why don't you show me how you like to please him?" Under the approving cheers and leering of the orcs, laces were opened without haste. Thick, crooked hardness brushed Findekáno's tight lips, with ridges and barbs adorning the misshaped appendix that he knew he would soon feel somewhere entirely else and be forced to pretend and love it. If nothing else, at least Sauron was predictable.

But Findekáno didn't move, not yet, ignoring that hand in his braids that was grabbing him harsher by the second. His eyes wandered to the table in the middle of the room that was dripping blood on the ground in a slowly growing pool.

The sounds of searing agony from there still hadn't fallen silent.

Sharp fingernails scratched over his cheek, prying his mouth open with ease, the first brutal bump of hardened flesh against the back of his throat cutting off any protest before it could come. "If you worry about him so much, I suggest, you hurry to please your master, pet. It's only up to you how much more your people will have to take before I let them go."

It was another lie, of course, but one, Findekáno thought, he could live with. None of his soldiers would leave this fortress alive. If he could keep Sauron's filthy paws off of them for the rest of what was their ruined life, he would, at least, have done something right in the mess that his life had become. Findekáno had given up.

#Sauron #fingon #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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bytheangell · 4 years

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To Fall Again

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Inter-dimensional Travel for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Jimon Rating: Teen and Up – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Multiple Universes, pre-fic character death, angst with a happy ending Summary: Simon Lewis didn’t think moving on was possible. He didn’t think he’d ever be ready to fall in love again. It’s a good thing life rarely waits until you’re ready. NOTE/WARNING: There is no character death that happens within the current timeline of this fic, but there is one that takes place just prior. However, all versions of the characters who appear in and are the focus of the fic itself are, and remain, alive and well! -------------

Simon Lewis never expected to love again after Jace Herondale. Like everything that came with Jace, their love exploded shortly after the fuse was lit, a brilliant burst of excitement and color and adventure and passion. Most flames that burn as bright as Jace did would be expected to burn out just as fast, but he never did.

And he never would have, Simon was almost certain - too bad they never got the chance to find out before his light was snuffed out instead.

Jace worked as a bounty hunter, it was the family business, and they knew the dangers. They did what they could to mitigate the risks but it wasn’t enough. After it happened Simon wondered if he had it in him to take revenge - he and Jace were polar opposites when it came to a lot of things, a stomach for violence included, but Simon thought he might have it in him for this.

For Jace.

He didn’t get the chance to find out as Jace’s siblings took care of that for all of them. They also looked out for Simon during those first few weeks when he barely left the house, never answered his phone or texts, and was very obviously not doing great. When it was clear Simon needed a change of pace - or at the very least to start leaving the apartment again - they convinced him to take on a part-time bartending job with his friend Maia. They want him to be happy, he knows that - hell, he can tell they even want him to move on - but he knows the latter is impossible and he isn’t so sure of the former if he’s being honest.

He takes the job anyway if only to make ends meet without needing help from the Lightwoods. It turns out to be one of the best decisions he ever made.

New New York is too busy of a city for Simon but he can’t bring himself to move. Ever since it was branded as a centralized hub for Official Interdimensional Travel the influence of people passing through from other worlds nearly quadrupled. Simon is still weirded out by the common use of portals between worlds but many others take full advantage - some looking to start over, others to simply get away for a day or two. A lot of missionary sort of work from more advanced universes to struggling ones, which is cool and all. It’s just a lot, and not for Simon.

Until he sees Jace again.

It’s only been four months since the funeral when Simon catches sight of the familiar blonde hair walking away from him. He does a double-take and nearly brushes it off like he usually does - it wouldn’t be the first time he saw a stranger in a crowd and thought for just a moment it was Jace, knowing full well that it wasn’t - except there’s something more to it this time. Something about the way the figure carries himself, the style of that leather jacket, and when he drops something and turns around to pick it up Simon sees his face for the first time and nearly faints.

It’s actually Jace, but it isn’t his Jace - even from here Simon can see he’s missing a scar on his neck that Jace got when one of his bounties had a hidden knife they didn’t find when they searched him and tried to get free, managing to get one good swipe in before Jace knocked the weapon away.

So not his Jace, but still… Jace.

And then just as quickly he’s gone, lost in the crowd. By the time Simon manages to gather himself enough to try and follow there’s no sign of him anywhere, and Simon doesn’t stop thinking about it for a very long time.

---

The next time Simon spots him he’s coming out from the back with four plates of food, two in his hands and two balanced on his arms.

All four drop to the ground with an unceremonious clatter when the sight of Jace sitting on one of the barstools catches him off-guard.

“Simon, what the fuc-” Maia starts, fully ready to tear into him over the food that’ll have to probably be comped off that group’s bill and re-made on the fly, but when she catches sight of the blonde at the bar she softens immediately.

“Take 30, Lewis. I’ll clean this up.”

Simon stands there, unsure of what to do. Does he leave? Does he talk to him? How does he even begin to-

“Hey, you alright?” Jace asks, leaning over the counter a bit towards Simon.

“No,” Simon says immediately.

“It’s just… you’re looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A ghost. Close enough.

“I.. you…” Simon starts, but he can’t seem to find the words. “Jace, right?”

“Jonathan,” Jace says.

Jonathan Christopher.

“And you are…?” Jace - no, Jonathan - asks.

It hurts Simon to hear, to realize he doesn’t know, but of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

“Simon,” Simon says, with a small, sad smile.

“You’re still staring, Simon,” Jonathan points out.

“Shit, sorry. I should go-”

“Wait,” Jonathan stops him. “Why? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“You look like my ex,” Simon says, then cringes when he realizes how that sounds. “He, uh. He died.”

“Oh,” Jonathan says. “I’m sorry. I should go-”

“No, please,” Simon says, not intending for his voice to sound as pleading as it does. “I’d actually, uh… I mean if you’re going to sit for a drink, maybe we can just chat? Unless that’s too weird. That’s too weird, isn’t it?”

Jonathan smiles, and god, there’s that grin Simon fell in love with. “Not at all. I’ve got an hour or two before I have to head home.”

Simon takes the next hour off - Maia is very understanding - to talk to Jonathan about his life and where he’s from, but it’s over too quickly and soon he’s on his way, back to a universe without Simon.

A universe where he’s still alive and well and thriving.

Simon wonders how many more versions of him are out there.

He never expects to actually find out.

---

The answer is a lot. It seems like no dimension is complete without its own Jace Herondale, or occasionally Wayland or Morgenstern. Sometimes he goes by Jonathan or J.C.; sometimes he’s a chef, or a soldier, or a pianist; sometimes he recognizes Simon and sometimes he doesn’t... but at the core of him, he’s always just Jace.

Simon talks to one or two of them when they cross paths, usually stopping in for food or a drink during their travels. The only problem is that they’re always on the way to somewhere, and never stay long enough for him to really get to know.

He knows how absurd that desire is, the desire to have these other Jace’s stay, and-- and what? Because whatever Jace comes through isn’t his Jace - he has a job, a family, an entire life to get back to, he doesn’t want to stay and comfort Simon.

Until one does.

Jace Herondale is the grandson of Imogen Herondale, a well known and wealthy politician in the dimension he’s from. He travels for fun because he’s a bit of a troublemaker and his family decided it was better to let him wander and do his own thing if that’s what keeps the family name from being dragged through the dirt.

Simon knows this because they talk, and when it becomes increasingly apparent that Simon doesn’t intend on kicking him out of the bar Jace stays until close and then admits he doesn’t have anywhere else to be if Simon wanted to grab a nightcap.

They end up back at Simon’s apartment. Nothing happens, but they talk some more, and Jace stays the night on the sofa. He stays the night after that, and the one after that, too. Simon offers to trade-off and take the sofa, and when Jace refuses he hesitantly offers to share the bed instead.

Just to sleep, they agree - until sleeping together leads to, well, sleeping together, and Simon isn’t sure how he feels about it.

Simon is, however, sure how he feels when this Jace Herondale leaves a week later with murmured apologies about needing to do some damage control back home.

After that, Simon goes a little numb. It’s like losing Jace twice, in a way - he knows it isn’t the same, he knows he shouldn’t have hoped for this new thing to last, but he had. And now that it’s gone his heart breaks all over again at the cold, empty space beside him in bed.

He tries to ignore the next time he catches sight of another dimension’s Jace, except it’s one where Jace knows him, so Jace approaches Simon instead. Attempting to avoid him is one thing, but Simon can’t bring himself to brush off Jace once he’s standing there in front of him with that infectious smile and gleam of mischief in his eyes.

Simon can’t bring himself to grow too attached, so he does the only logical thing: he shuts down entirely. He tries to convince himself he’s fine with one night stands, forces himself to go through the motions with the constant reminder that it isn’t him, that there’s nothing there.

He hates it.

Perhaps the lesson he’s meant to take away is that he needs to stop trying. No one else is going to fit the mold of exactly what he needs, to know what he’s going through and what he’s missing. They can’t, and he shouldn’t expect them to.

The easy solution is to go back to passing acquaintances - little chats from behind the bar that end there with nothing more. No hopes to crash, no expectations to fall short of. Better than nothing, and safe.

He’s okay with it. Not the fake, forced okay he was with the casual hook-ups, but actually okay. It’s a taste of what he wants, of what he’s missing, and since he knows he can’t have it all it’s a realistic expectation to allow himself.

And then for a while, he stops crossing paths with any other Jace’s, or J.C.’s, or Jonathan’s. He wonders if maybe they warned all the other dimensions about the weirdo bartender in New New York who talks too much and always manages to say the wrong thing, and maybe they’re avoiding him. Or maybe he just came across as many as there were, and that’s it. After all, there may be an infinite number of realities, or dimensions, or whatever out there, but it isn’t as if they have access to all of them. He should be lucky to have found as many as he did.

Days pass, and then weeks, and then months. It never gets easy, but it gets a little easier, and Simon finds himself falling into a pretty solid routine. He’s made some friends at work, mostly through Maia, but they still totally count and they all go out some nights after work. And work is actually going great - he’s an assistant manager under Maia now, which only comes back to bite him in the ass sometimes.

Sometimes like this night, in particular, exactly one year after Jace’s death, when he decides to cover for not only Maia who is on vacation but two other employees who called out sick. And of course, there’s some sort of bachelorette party or something that drags at least twenty customers to the bar who seem determined to order non-stop overly complicated mixed drinks and shots - on top of the entire rest of the restaurant’s worth of drinks he has to make. He wanted a distraction tonight, sure, but maybe he should’ve been a bit more careful what he wished for because he’s about to lose his goddamn mind, and--

--and then there he is. On this day, of all the days, it feels more like seeing a ghost than ever before. His blonde hair falls softly across his forehead and into his eye, and he pushes it away just as he looks up and makes eye contact with Simon. Jace. Of course, there would be a fucking Jace doppelganger here, tonight, right now, and-

“Si?”

Jace’s voice is soft, pained, and Simon’s thoughts stop dead. As does the rest of him. He has a million things to do and is in the middle of turning around with a bottle in his hand to make some shot with a name he can’t repeat with a straight face, but he just freezes at the way Jace is looking at him. Unlike the other times, this feels different, somehow. Like fate, a small voice in the back of his head offers, but Simon is quick to quiet it.

And then someone is literally snapping their fingers to get his attention and he doesn’t have much of a choice other than to give Jace an apologetic grimace before mouthing ‘sorry’ and going back to making drinks.

He keeps an eye on him, though, watching as Jace lingers before finally approaching the bar. Simon is still drowning in drink orders but since Jace is actually at the bar now he can at least go over for a second, even just to see what drink he wants.

“Can I get something for you?”

“What?” Jace asks, then shakes his head. “Oh. No,” he starts, but then seems to realize that means Simon is going to leave again so he quickly amends his answer. “I mean, yeah. I’ll take a rum and cola.”

Simon nods, and grabs for the bottle and the soda hose, pressing the ‘cola’ button and watching as the brown carbonated soda mixes with the bottle of rum he turns over into the glass at the same time.

“Sorry,” Jace says as Simon makes the drink. “About earlier. That was creepy of me. I didn’t mean to be- it’s just you-” Jace stumbles over his words.

“You have a Simon, in your world, don’t you?” Simon offers, and Jace looks relieved that Simon understands.

“Yeah,” he says, and Simon notes the way he hasn’t broken eye contact since he came over like Jace is afraid to look away and lose him even though Simon clearly isn’t going anywhere other than the other side of the bar and back.

“Hey, another drink down here, sometime tonight maybe!” An impatient man yells from the other end of the bar, and Simon winces.

It’s only then Jace looks away from him and down the bar. “Are you alone back there?”

Simon nods. “Perks of being the boss, I guess. Everyone else called out,” he admits. “It’s fine,” he adds quickly.

“Doesn’t look fine,” Jace points out.

“Fine, it isn’t fine. I’m dying. I think my wrists are going to fall off and if I have to make one more buttery nipple shot for that bachelorette party I might actually cry,” Simon admits in a rush. “Happy now?”

“No,” Jace says. “But I can help.”

Before Simon knows what’s happening Jace’s rum and cola is empty and Jace moves to the small opening at the end of the bar.

“You can’t come back here,” Simon says, but Jace only cocks an eyebrow.

“Says who? You’re the boss, aren’t you?” Jace grabs a nearby white towel and drapes it over his shoulder, already rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Want the help, or not?”

Simon knows that Maia will have his head for this but right now he can’t be bothered to worry that far ahead. He just needs to survive until close. “Ask me if you can’t find something, or don’t know a recipe, or-”

“Relax, Simon. We got this,” Jace promises, and Simon can already feel the panic and tension fading at the reassurance.

They do have this. In fact, they work together so well anyone watching would think they’d been doing it for years, and by the end of the night they’re calling out for bottles closer to the other and tossing them back and forth without a second thought. Simon doesn’t know if Jace is just good at making things up as he goes or if he really knows his stuff, but he doesn’t ask about a single order that comes his way, and they clear out the last customer minutes after closing.

Simon counts out the register, takes well over half the tips they made that night, and folds the bills over to hand to Jace.

Jace looks at the money like he’s never seen it before. “Keep it,” he says.

“You just saved my ass,” Simons points out. “It’s the least I can do.”

Jace only shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just… being here. This? This is more than enough. You have no idea-” he starts, but the words catch in his throat. “Sorry, I should go.”

“Wait,” Simon says, instinctively reaching out to grab Jace’s wrist to stop him. He knows he shouldn’t - just passing acquaintances, he reminds himself. But there’s something different about this time, about this Jace. “What is it?”

Jace hesitates, and then in a voice so quiet Simon almost doesn’t hear it, says, “I lost you.”

Jace realizes the slip-up the moment it leaves his lips. “Him,” Jace is quick to correct. “I lost him. My Simon.”

Simon isn’t sure what look crosses his face at that, but whatever it is has Jace shaking his head back and forth. “Yep, that’s too weird. I knew it would be. It’s just… it’s been a year, and you aren’t the first Simon I’ve run into from another place, but when I saw you here, tonight, it was like… like…”

“Like fate,” Simon offers, voicing the thought he had previously. “It isn’t too weird,” Simon adds because he doesn’t want this Jace to leave, not yet at least. “I lost you, too.”

Simon wraps up his shift faster than he ever has before, moving fast despite the exhaustion he feels starting to settle in. Jace sits at an empty table while Simon finishes everything he has to do to close the bar down, having a drink or two while he waits, and then Simon makes a drink of his own before joining him.

The longer they talk the more Simon knows the similarities are too specific to not mean something. It’s been a year to the date for both of them, they both had an Alec and Isabelle and Maia of their own to help them through, and Jace was a bartender before he and his Simon met.

“I actually haven’t poured a drink since,” Jace admits, swirling the liquid in his glass around a bit. “It was a totally random robbery-gone-wrong, and Si was playing a set at the bar that night. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“My Jace’s was an occupational hazard. He was a bounty hunter,” Simon admits, and the Jace in front of him spits out his drink in shock.

“I what?” he says, eyes wide. “Fuck that’s intense.”

Simon laughs. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The hours pass and soon it’s late, they’re both a little on the other side of sober, and it’s obvious that Simon can’t send Jace off alone like this, not that Jace seems to have any inclination to leave on his own. Simon waits for the little voice in his head to tell him to send Jace back home anyway, that this is all just going to lead to awkwardness and regret and disappointment… but the voice never comes.

Simon can definitely feel that it’s different this time, and he’s pretty sure Jace can, too, because they get each other in ways that the others never had. It isn’t that Jace’s Simon broke up with him, or that they never dated, or that they never met each other at all. This time each knows exactly what the other needs because, for the first time, they’ve both been through the same loss.

They get back to Simon’s apartment and Simon tosses Jace a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to change into. Neither of them says anything but Jace has to realize it’s a pair that used to belong to Simon’s Jace with how perfectly they fit him.

“I can sleep on the sofa,” Jace offers, but Simon shakes his head.

“You don’t have to. I mean, if you’d rather, that’s fine. But… I wouldn’t mind the company.” Simon doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath in anticipation until Jace nods and makes his way towards the bed, and all of the tension and anxiousness eases out of Simon at once. Jace goes to the left side - his side - and Simon goes to the right.

He doesn’t have to ask as he moves forward at the same time Jace shifts back toward him, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and Simon begins to drift off with his arm wrapped around Jace, lulled to sleep by the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

-------------

For a few moments, Simon forgets where he is. He’s wrapped around the warmth of another body, just like he dreamed of so many times - except this isn’t a dream. In fact, this is more than he let himself even dream of lately. For a moment Simon forgets and it’s as if nothing bad has ever happened in his life.

But then Jace stirs beneath him and he’s forced to acknowledge the reality of his situation - that this, like all the other times, can’t stay forever. Simon just waits for the other shoe to drop while they wake up, and eat breakfast, and spend some more time talking and even watching some mindless reality tv show; until Simon has to go to work and has an awkward moment where he expects Jace to leave with him, except Jace stays on the sofa.

“I’m… I have to go to work,” Simon says, not for the first time that day.

It seems to click very abruptly in Jace’s head that this isn’t his place, and of course Simon expects him to leave when he leaves.

“Oh. Right. I’ll just…” Jace starts, and only at that moment does it become apparent to Simon that Jace hadn’t planned on leaving.

“You can stay, if you want,” Simon is quick to tell him. “I’ll be back in a few hours. There’s plenty of food, and the tv, and video games and stuff?” He sounds unsure, but Jace almost immediately eases back into the sofa.

“Thanks,” Jace says, and Simon realizes he’s relieved that he can stay.

Jace also stays the day after that. And the day after that.

And Simon realizes, slowly but surely, that Jace doesn’t plan on leaving.

Simon brings up the fact that Jace has an entire life he just casually up and left- not because he particularly wants to, but because he knows they have to talk about it eventually - but Jace just shrugs.

“I told Alec and Izzy where I am. I think they’re actually kind of relieved to know I’m at least out and about” Jace says, settling back against Simons’ shoulder while they watch a movie on Simon’s day off. “But whenever you want me to leave just tell me. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

That’s just it - Simon doesn’t want him to leave. Ever. But he also can’t bring himself to say it, so instead, he just mumbles something noncommittal and turns back to the movie.

It’s nearly a week later when Jace tells him he’s going back home to check in with his siblings. Simon doesn’t expect him to come back at all, figuring this has to be it, this is Jace’s way of sliding off without making a scene and the inevitable heartbreak Simon feared all along.

Jace leaves, and Simon fully expects to never see him again.

So when Simon’s getting ready for bed that night and he hears a knock at the door, his heartbeat races at the implications. It can’t be… can it?

When he opens the door to see Jace on the other side, suitcase in tow, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Hey,” Jace starts. “I know this is… well, Alec said it was ‘incredibly presumptive’, but… I’d like to stay. If you’ll have me. And if not, if it’s too much, or too weird, I get it, and just say the word and I’ll go back-”

Simon steps forward to close the space between them, cutting off Jace’s rambling by pressing their lips together for the first time. It doesn’t feel like the first time, though - it feels like this is where he’s always meant to be. Jace kisses him back, leaning into the motion easily.

“Only I can nervous-ramble that much,” Simon informs him matter-of-factly after they pull away.

Jace laughs, and it sounds like the sweetest music. It sounds like hope and happiness; like everything Simon worked so hard to keep himself from feeling for the better part of the past year.

“You’re welcome as long as you’d like,” Simon reassures him, stepping aside so Jace has more than enough room to come in and make himself at home.

And Jace does. It isn’t long before it feels like their home again, the way Simon hadn’t realized he missed as much as he did.

Simon knows that true second chances are rare - he had enough ‘almost’s pass through his life to recognize this one for what it is. It isn’t going to be the same as before, but it doesn’t need to be: he has a second chance at love, and he plans on taking it.

#jimon #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #shadowhunterbingo #THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME SORRY NOT SORRY #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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florrickandassociates · 4 years

Text

TGF Thoughts: 4x05-- The Gang Goes to War

under the cut

This episode starts with Caleb and I don’t totally hate it. This means the writers are doing a good job with him so far. I’m surprised I feel that way considering I loathe the plot he’s here for.

This is the first case heavy episode in ages and I have more thoughts on the fact that somehow the space from 6x19 has become military court than I do on the case. As always, that’s not to say it’s bad (tbh, this case was the exact right blend of simple and captivating it reminded me of old school TGW). It’s just to say I have literally nothing to add.

Lucca’s off to visit Bianca. She is still extremely uncomfortable with very wealthy people.

Oh, a mention of babysitting! Kind of sad I’m surprised.

I forgot to mention that this ep is on the shorter side, almost network length. Woo!

Lucca describes her life as “I have a toddler. I’m trying to make partner.” Remember how last season either Lucca or Rosalyn (or MAIA hhahahahhahahaahahhahaahahahhahahahaahahhaahhaah) were going to be made partner and that plot just vanished?

Lucca says that of work, family, fitness, friends, and sleep, the three she’s chosen are work, family, and sleep. I believe it. Though we’ve seen Lucca exercise probably more than most TGF characters? But that was before she had a baby.

If you leave your phone on while you’re on a plane and someone places a voice call would your phone actually ring?

Marissa TOTALLY has a crush on Caleb.

Oh, a Francesca mention AND a mention of Lucca and Marissa being friends?! The continuity fairy likes me today!!!!!!!!

Caleb threatens to quit (I think he knows he wouldn’t be taken up on that offer) unless Mr. Firth lets him take a month for this case. Come on, Caleb. This is TV lawyering. This case will take two costume changes and you know it! Months are a thing for real lawyers.

Diane and Adrian aren’t in their offices, so when Firth finds a partner to assist on the military case (I do not understand why this is a thing he is doing in the first place, but alright), it’s Liz. How conveniently awkward!

(Adrian just isn’t in this episode-- he is apparently at a conference in New York-- and Diane is barely in it, and I’m fine with that. LET LIZ AND LUCCA SHINE!)

(Liz and Lucca are my faves, if that wasn’t obvious.)

Awkward awkward awkward, fucking your boss is very awkward. I hate everything about this plot in theory and yet somehow like Liz, Caleb, and maybe even the idea of Liz and Caleb, but every time I think about the boss/employee dynamic my only thought is: NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Liz’s divorce! Continuity fairy has blessed me again!

I do really like Caleb.

I somehow almost turned that last thought into a rant about Maia and I’m not gonna do that to y’all in this Maia-free season.

Rich people are getting away with more shit in Julius’s court. He’s resigned to it, until he meets his alter-ego from the play again. I get that they want to use this device to show why he’d change his mind so suddenly but omfg please don’t remind me of the last episode.

My first thought was “maybe that long ass episode was even longer and this is a cut scene” but Julius seems to be wearing a different tie in this scene than he was before. Oof.

JUDGE KUHN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love Judge Kuhn. I think I said this last week but it isn’t often we get truly good, considered characters who want the best and actually take fair steps to see it happen. Judge Kuhn is great.

And so is the actress playing her. Her expression as the seat shrinks-- which is some Kingsian bullshit-- makes the joke work.

This episode relies a lot on that device Jane the Virgin loved where back to back scenes will be linked by a theme or a word. In this case, Julius and Liz/Caleb are both dealing with continuances. Yay for structure, even a simple case related structure!

“A sofa would have blown up here”... I can’t, y’all. “A conference table would have blown up here”. Is this a joke about coronavirus or a real need for more graphics or both? I lean towards it being a joke, but before I say that lemme play these credits side by side with last week’s…

Okay so there are differences. Last week there was an aerial view of a wine bottle exploding while this week there’s a second one in the background. They replaced an exploding coffee set with the sofa text. There are some other differences too. But not enough to convince me they didn’t have footage they could have used. So I think it’s a joke.

Welcome back, season two Diane. I missed you, ya weirdo!

(But like actually Diane is staring out the window at a bird, not doing anything or responding to questions. Why so weird?!)

Now that Diane isn’t hunting down answers on 618, she has “nothing to do.” Oh, suddenly no one in the world is in need of pro-bono assistance? Sure!

Continuity on the SWATting, too!

AND A WILL REFERENCE.This episode may be nothing special but it sure is endearing.

Diane explains that Judge Kuhn is tough but fair and Will ended up liking her. That’s a pretty good summary.

Diane spots the woman who she dreamed was Weinstein’s lawyer in a meeting, drawing dots. Guess that’s one of the drawbacks of having windows everywhere. She chases her up the stairs to STRL and asks if they know each other because, and I quote, “I had a dream and you were in it. You were Weinstein’s lawyer.” HOW FUCKING WEIRD ARE YOU TRYING TO BE, DIANE? Are you microdosing again?! (This feels so season two.)

Props to this lady (do we know her name? Has it been said on the show) for taking that weird-ass comment in stride and joking she probably didn’t do very well. She needs a favor-- she has a case in front of Judge Cain and wants Diane to sit with her.

Diane asks about the dots. Apparently this lady draws-- and counts!-- dots. Hundreds of thousands of them. During meetings. Because it’s calming and nothing matters. See?! Season two!

Lucca does get a little bit of work to do on vacation-- Bianca wants to buy the resort.

Case stuff happens.

Someone explain to me what the fuck this bright neon lighting in the office late at night is all about. Why is it so bright?! Why do the colors change!? Am I just supposed to accept this?! I suppose it’s no weirder than a woman who draws dots instead of taking notes-- and admits to it-- but WHAT IS HAPPENING?!

I know there is supposed to be some sort of parallel between the case having an element about disobeying your superior and the Liz/Caleb dynamic, but as you will recall, I hate everything about the boss/employee plot AND find it incredibly boring so if you would like to see analysis of that parallel… I’m not your gal.

Oh look I can see the office bathroom of Willicia sexytimes in Liz’s office

My god this lighting is distracting.

It sounds to me like Caleb is in the legal field for idealistic reasons. I can’t get a sense of if wanting the country to stay the same is liberal or conservative or admirable or misguided but it’s definitely something. (I have a feeling he means “stay the same” as in “return to 2016” though.)

Since she has not been in the military, Liz worries out loud that she hasn’t lived much of a life. This leads to flirting and intimacy and another hookup. Bleh.

Creeper from Kurt’s office comes to visit Julius and compliments him while basically telling him to keep quiet and be corrupt. He promises Julius the chance to move up the ladder and implies Julius should rule in favor of some rich donor.

Julius, who, like all characters on this show and maybe just people in general, does NOT like being told what to do, promptly does the opposite. And he feels really, really, really good about doing the right thing.

Case stuff happens.

Lucca now gets invited to play poker with a bunch of millionaires and celebrities. Lucca is highly uncomfortable. The names of the celebs are bleeped which is… not as clever as I think it was meant to be.

Also I’d be uncomfortable in this situation too. I’m just ready for this plotline to go somewhere beyond “Lucca is uncomfortable with rich people”.

Recapping goes fast when most of the show is case stuff.

In another throwback, Diane (lit by the weird lighting) is watching what looks like a parody of SNL allowing 45 to host? Or maybe it’s just some unfunny bit that goes on too long? Odd target for a parody at this point in time.

Whatever the point, it prompts Diane to start drawing dots of her own.

Lucca’s luck at the poker game is fantastic. Bianca encourages Lucca to keep her winnings-- she wouldn’t give back a stuffed animal or goldfish won with someone else’s money at a carnival, would she?

Case stuff, now involving 45, happens. This is a missing season two episode, I swear.

Wow lol those establishing shots and stock footage do NOT convince me that Lucca lives in Chicago. Nor do they convince me that anyone involved with the show has visited Chicago.

Case stuff happens!

Another Lucca and Marissa scene! Lucca asks what to do about her poker winnings. Marissa says Lucca should keep the money because Bianca doesn’t need it-- get Bianca a gift if she feels guilty.

Diane sits next to the seemingly nameless lawyer and they compare their dots. Unfortunately for Diane, the case she’s decided to sit in on as a favor? It’s another case in front of Julius, and it also gets 618’d. How convenient for the plot! When Julius doesn’t go for it, Diane is intrigued and reenergized. She boldly goes to Julius’s chambers to suggest trading info about 618.

No matter how many times I write “618” in the context of Memo 618 I still think 618 = Loser Edit.

Case stuff happens! It’s good for Caleb and Liz!

MALCOLM GETS MENTIONED BY NAME! CONTINUITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Caleb and Liz continue the tradition of using meals as code for sex and now I have to watch them kiss. Pass.

Lucca gets Bianca a gift of a goldfish and a giant stuffed bear (a reference to their earlier convo about carnivals). Cute, but I still don’t quite get where this plot is going.

There’s a “Skye and Moon” logo on the plane. I wonder if that is the name of Bianca’s cosmetics empire.

Oh, it’s over. This episode was perfectly fine. Nothing challenging, nothing innovative, but a solid and enjoyable outing closer in length to the average TGW ep than the average TGF one. After last week’s long-ass episode, this is really all I wanted/needed.

#tgfthoughts #the good fight

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

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Splinter

For @pillarspromptsweekly 105: Twin. This was fun, and a chance to play with something I’ve headcanon-ed for a long, long time. There’s some reference to another Emiri fic, Souls, but I think you could read this one on its own

---

Ironically, they didn’t put the pieces together until it was all but inconsequential. Despite the years of friendship, despite their close bond, despite everything, realization didn’t dawn until Ukaizo was behind them and the Wheel a shattered ruin.

Stars twinkled overhead, crisply visible in a for-once cloudless sky, and Emiri lost herself in their glittering beauty. Better that than dwelling on... the day’s events and their fallout. She’d done enough recently; the gods could give her one night to gather her thoughts before the world plunged into whatever would come from the Wheel’s destruction. One night to rest was all she asked, one night of quiet with her friends--old and new. So far, they’d granted her that faint kindness.

Emiri sighed and leaned her head back as she traced her gaze along Rìasco’s constellation, found Tìadra and her sisters(which brought wistful thoughts of Kana and Maia), followed the zigzag of the Hound’s Fangs... Last of all she found the Twins, still shining bright and cheery. According to the legend Kana had told her, that meant the souls of Tala and Averin were still alive and well somewhere in Eora. Did they help create the Wheel? Emiri wondered, fiddling idly with her adra-green bracelet. Is that what made their souls bond so closely? Or was it truly just how much they cared for one another? In her experience, the gods demanded much and gave little, so the thought of them rewarding a pair of kith just for loving each other enough was nigh unbelievable. However it happened, I hope they’re happy this time ‘round, since it might be their last...

“May I join you?”

She pulled her gaze from the sky and her thoughts from the thread they had started following to instead smile at her prospective company. “Always,” she said emphatically, patting the boards beside her. “I’ll warn you, it’s not the most comfortable seat, but well worth the trade for a better view of the sky on a night so clear.”

“I wondered,” Aloth said with a smile as he sat next to her, so close their shoulders almost brushed, and pulled his knees into his chest as he leaned back against the mast. “I know how much you love the stars, but wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone with those thoughts racing in your eyes.”

“Were that the case, I’d’ve stayed in my cabin,” Emiri assured him with a quiet chuckle. “Open deck’s no place to try and be alone. But even if I were wanting solitude, I always have time for you.”

“I appreciate that, but you are allowed time by yourself,” he murmured.

“Between Ondra and Berath, I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” she said wryly.

“Aye, well then fuck them!” Aloth shook his head to push Iselmyr back, then rolled his eyes at Emiri’s threatening smile. “Don’t encourage her, please. She’s been more restless than usual the past few days as it is.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Emiri said, leaning her head back against the mast again. “Did you need something, or just want my company?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “...A little of both, in a sense. I wanted to make sure you were alright after... everything.”

“As I can be,” Emiri sighed, letting her eyes drift closed a moment. Everything covered a lot, but she knew what he meant. When she opened them, the Twins were front and center, shining bright, and she smiled. “I said I was half-tempted to let Eothas do as he planned, and it looks like I got my wish. I’ll worry about what that means tomorrow; I’m too tired to do it now.”

“I’m sure I don’t know why,” Aloth said dryly, arching a brow. “It’s not as if you’ve been running yourself ragged trying to save the world from one catastrophe after another--not to mention your friends from a variety of messes--for months on end. If anyone deserves a chance to rest, it’s you.”

“Thank you.” Emiri lightly nudged his shoulder. “A night with my friends and the best view I think I’ve ever had of the stars will go a long way.”

“They do keep drawing your eye,” he smiled. “Any particular favorites you can see from this part of the world?”

“The Twins,” she said after the barest pause, nodding toward the stars in question. “According to legend--well, Kana--they’re for a pair of Glanfathan scholars who bonded so closely the gods made them the first soul twins, and then later were so impressed with their persistence finding each other life after life, they hung those stars in their honor.”

“Magnanimous view of the gods,” he muttered, “And how soul twins came to be.”

“Guess it does sound nicer than being drawn to someone because your souls are splintered pieces of a whole...” Emiri murmured, still staring up at the stars. “Much nicer than how it played out for Hiravias, anyway. And it’s an inspiring story, however much or little of it is actually true. The world needs all the stories of determination paying off it can get these days.” She picked absently at a hangnail. “To give kith hope.”

Aloth shrugged and made a non-committal noise as his gaze followed hers. “I rather think it will be kith like you who inspire people more than myths and legends.”

She shot him a grateful look that was interrupted as the Mercy hit a swell and jostled them from their positions. Aloth hissed sharply midway through resuming his seat and jerked his arm away from the mast.

Emiri spun toward him, her concerned ‘What?’ dying halfway past her lips when she saw the nasty splinter dug into the back of his bicep. “Hold still,” she directed instead. It was a big enough splinter she could likely just pull it out, but only if she was careful and he didn’t flinch.

Aloth froze, biting his lip, and glanced at her over his shoulder.

Emiri gently curled one hand around his arm to support and hold it still. She was, for once, grateful for the soft glow emitted by her crescent growth. As predicted, the splinter came out easily enough, even if Aloth did suck in a sharp, pained breath as she pulled it free. There was no blood, which was a relief, just a small, angry red spot. She lightly ran her thumb over it to ensure it wouldn’t start to bleed, and he flinched.

“No need to fuss-”

His words were swallowed by the silver-purple buzz of something from the distant past pressing itself into her thoughts. “it’s not that bad.”

“That’s what you said about your cold from last month,” another new voice chuckled, “remember how that ended?”

“You worry too much,” the dwarven man mumbled, shaking out the sting of his allegedly minor injury. “I’ll be fine.”

The vision--memory-whatever--was gone as abruptly as it had come, and it took Emiri a minute to collect her thoughts. She’d recognized that dwarf; he’d been one of the earliest kith when she first glimpsed the lives associated with the Twins.

Odd those lives would poke through now, she mused. Maybe because the Wheel’s destroyed...? Her attempt to explain it died a quick, graceless death when she looked up and found Aloth staring at her with wide eyes.

He’d seen it, too.

But even with being a Watcher, even with her cipher abilities, the only time she’d ever shared a memory with someone was when they were closely tied to the soul in question. Related, in fact. Between that vision coming out of the blue and Aloth sharing it, she had to wonder...

“What did you do?” he whispered hoarsely after a long, breathless moment of staring at each other.

“Nothing,” Emiri whispered back, letting go of his arm. “It just came. You saw...?”

He nodded.

Emiri looked up toward the Twins.

“What?” Aloth asked.

“I’ve seen that dwarf before,” she said softly.

He frowned and cocked his head. “It wasn’t a dwarf, though maybe that was the other voice, it was an orlan, with dark hair. Sort of reminded me of you...”

Emiri shook her head and explained about the night star-gazing with Kana when she’d essentially Watched the souls she assumed inspired the Twins. A dwarf and an orlan. Best friends or lovers, souls so strong she’d been able to read them even after so many years. “Apparently there’s at least a little truth to their legend. I think... I think they might be us. For that memory to surface now and us both to see it...”

“I don’t think soul twins work that way, Emiri,” Aloth protested. “Aren’t they from souls that break as they travel the Wheel?”

“That’s the thing, though,” she countered. “Not much is known about how soul twins do work, and I can’t think of any other reason for that specific memory to surface, especially since we shared it. I can’t normally conduct memories like that without trying to very hard.”

“So you think because we both saw it...”

“We were both there,” Emiri finished. “In... that life. Soul twins.” The words hung in the air as she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Aloth’s expression went carefully blank as he sat back, rubbing his arm. “Well. That’s... a lot.”

Emiri couldn’t agree more. She’d known they were close, but this... It did explain some things--starting with the way meeting him had eased an ache in her chest before they’d exchanged three words or known anything about one another beyond both being stuck in Gilded Vale. At the time she’d chalked it up to relief at not being alone, which was still probably part of the reason, but it had been deeper than that. This revelation was indeed a lot, though, enough to keep them both lost in thought until they turned in for the evening with barely a mumbled goodnight.

---

They didn’t speak for the rest of the three days it took to bring Neketaka into view. Emiri was sure it wasn’t intentional; Aloth was a private person to begin with, and drew back into himself even further when confronted with... earth-shattering information like this. She let him have the time to think, until they were less than an hour out from port. Whatever was about to come when they met with the queen and other leaders, she wanted to be sure he was alright before it hit.

So she dragged him into her cabin and shut the door before settling them both on the window seat. “What’s bothering you?”

Aloth snorted softly and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “What do you think?”

“Us being soul twin?”

He nodded stiffly, picking at a hangnail. “Though it does figure, I suppose.”

Emiri frowned at his disgruntled tone. “How do you mean?”

Something almost immeasurably sad flickered in his eyes as he took a deep breath and met her gaze. “You are the first person in my life who has cared about me so.. so unreservedly, with no ulterior motive. The first real friendship I’ve had that was a matter of choice on both parts. A better friend than I ever dreamed of having, really, and that’s something I’ve treasured every day since we met. Now...” He sighed and looked out the window. “It all makes sense. I knew it was too good to be true; that there had to be some twist to it.”

“What?” She frowned for a moment, then it hit her. “Aloth...” She took his hands, squeezed them gently. “You think the only reason I’m friends with you, that I care about you, is because we’re soul twins?”

He lifted one shoulder in a reluctant half-shrug. Emiri rolled her eyes and tugged his hand to encourage him to look at her. “Leaving aside that I fail to see how our souls being bonded in any way detracts from our friendship or cheapens it or whatever, I care because, well, caring is who I am and you deserve to have someone care about you. And I’m your friend b’cause I like you. Your trust and support and presence are all things I cherish deeply, and our souls being halves of a whole doesn’t change that.” She tugged him further forward, into a hug, hoping the gesture would reassure him even if her words couldn’t. “All our being soul twins means for me is this is not the first time we’ve been best friends.” She loosened the hug but left her hands resting on his arms as she caught his eye. “I care about you and you matter to me, apart from any soul-bond we might share. Is that clear enough?”

Aloth nodded, a wry smile curling his lips. “You’ve made your point.”

“Good.” Emiri pulled him in for another hug. This one he returned, and they sat there for a moment before Emiri let out an amused chuckle and sat back.

“What?” Aloth arched a brow in curiosity.

“Just... As if being godlike, a cipher, a Watcher, and having an Awakened soul didn’t make me special enough, now I have a soul twin, too,” she giggled.

“Don’t forget Berath’s Herald,” Aloth said dryly.

“Oh, right, that too. Though I think They might be done with me now...” She shook her head. “I hope my next life gets to live in blissful ignorance of all this mess.” She snorted softly. “Except you. They could remember you without it traumatizing them.”

“They likely will, assuming that legend you shared has any truth to it,” he pointed out.

“Mm. And assuming there is a next life; this whole realization is basically moot if there’s no Wheel or something equivalent...”

“True.”

They were quiet a moment at the thought, watching the ocean waves pass by outside the ship.

“Aloth?” Emiri finally murmured.

“Hm?”

“Look at it this way, if we are soul twins, we’re the pair where it’s not because one splintered off the other, but rather because two kith were so close not even a silly thing like death could keep them apart.”

He laughed. “That does sound very much like us.” Beodul hollered down they’d reached the harbor, cutting off any further discussion. Aloth shot her an encouraging smile. “Ready to deal with the potential slow end of the world?”

Emiri laughed and squeezed his hand, tugging him with her as she moved toward the door. “I’m pretty sure together we can handle anything.”

Soul twins or no, they’d have each other’s backs and they both knew it. They were bonded by choice and friendship and that was really all that mattered.

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #emiri #aloth corfiser #brotp: woven together

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ralfstrashcan · 5 years

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3x20 Reaction / Commentary

I wonder why, considering it wasn't hard at all. They barely had a plan and even had time to include some personal drama in their fight. Wtf. The only thing I can imagine why no one ever managed to kidnap her before is because no one wanted to have a hostage as irritating as the seelie queen.

Hahahahahaha hilarious. Also, lol, no I'm choosing not to think of the implications because they are TOO DISTURBING, YOU HEAR ME @intezaarlily XD XD XD

HAHAHA I CAN'T THE WAY SHE PETULANTLY SHAKES HER HEAD

I mean, compelling argument. And very fitting since we learned from that Lilith Debacle that the Shadowhunters' go to solution for everything and anything is torture. But what I find way more interesting is that we finally get a good look at the side of the seelie queen's crown.

's pretty.

There's so much to unpack in this scene. Which I'm gonna do, in excruciating detail. In a relationship analysis post thingy, not here, because time and space reasons. Just know that this scene is absolutely amazing, their facial expressions and gestures, and of course the pretzel. Dammit, so amazing. Can't wait to fawn over it all.

I'm with Meliorn on this one. Just because Lanaia committed a violation of the Accords (yes, on behalf of the seelie queen but the shadowhunters have no way of knowing that and I guess Meliorn wasn't stupid enough to tell them that) doesn't mean Clary can violate the Accords back and go unpunished. That's not how a legal system works. It's clear that with this whole operation the shadowhunters valued Clary's life over that of however may seelie guards' it would have taken to keep Jace's cover and get Clary back. I bet you Alec is aware of that and that's why he has that pinched look on his face the whole time. And while he argues pro shadowhunter side with that injection about Lanaia and he tries to placate Meliorn, he noticable doesn't try to justify Jace's actions at all, and whenever Jace does, Alec closes his eyes as if he's thinking “Dude don't you realize that's not an argument.”

And then he just wants to leave???? Hahaha creep

HAHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD COMEDIC GOLD. The way he delivers that line I can't!!! The way he says “naturrrrrr” hahaha delicious.

Uh if that's the smartest move? Who knows what kind of kinky shit Meliorn will demand in return?? I mean, just look at his smirk. Also, in case this doesn't get addressed again this is such a ficlet waiting to be written lol.

The way Alec immediately starts almost-crying when someone mentions Magnus pulls on my heartstrings. Fragile darling boy.

I mean, I'm pretty sure Alec carrying the ring around in his pocket was for meta reasons so he could give it to Maryse in their only scene together, but dammmnnn the in universe implications. Ouch.

I'm really going to miss this XD

“My” door??? My ass.

“Alec and I are no longer.”

lsjfkasdjflksdjfsdjflskdjf I CAN'T HAHAHHAAH HIS FACE

Hahahahha please Lorenzo stop, I feel like I shouldn't be laughing so much XD Isn't this episode supposed to be Super Dramatic? I'm actually having the time of my life so far XD

XD XD XD XD XD

Okay and now I'm back to rage because wtf!!!! So Magnus is aware that Lorenzo's jurisdiction is limited and tiny, why didn't he remember that literally anytime before this, for example in 3x10?? Just imagine it, if Magnus had done that fancy ritual thingy he wouldn't have even needed to trade his magic away. Oh right, problem identified. There wouldn't have been some Prime Drama if he'd behaved like a sensible person. Ugh.

The way Lorenzo's face falls upon hearing Asmodeus is priceless. But, uh, important question, how the hell does he know Asmodeus's face? Or does he identify him by his powers? Then again he failed identifying Asmodeus's power signature before already (3x02) so uuhhhh I need answers.

Magnus Bane, finally enjoying the Draco Malfoy Way Of Life. I mean, that's not really rebutting Lorenzo's claim. The opposite, in fact. Also wtf does Lorenzo have for nerves to say that to Asmodeus's face???

So this is not common warlock practice. Thanks for clarifying. Also, look at Asmodeus's smug face when Magnus references Edom hahaha #ProudDad

THE SASS HAHAHA (btw for a moment I was worried he'd turnd him into a plastic lizard until it moved haha)

Also this means, the person Magnus trashes later in the loft with the whips, as seen in the promo, is Asmodeus?? Because he learns of his deal with Alec?? Or tbh, I've been entertaining the thought that it's Alec ahahaha

Also, Asmodues saying “When they hear about what?” has the same energy as Loki saying “I'm listening” in Avengers 1.

Yeah I still have questions about that. But sure, whatever. Then again, if Jordan is so long-fingered he could start a career as pickpocket. Sounds like a stable income job to me.

See, the problem here is that this isn't fixing any of Maia's problems. Apart from the fact that currently she has no problems to fix as far as I'm concerned (the dead pack won't be miraculously resurrected if she becomes human) her issues with her family aren't due to her being a werewolf. She's adjusted to her life as a werewolf and if you ask me, she's grown to love it and she doesn't want to go back. Hell, she wanted to become alpha. She's working on building her own pack now. Someone who hates being a werewolf wouldn't do that. Very obviously, his line of reasoning makes sense for Jordan because he can't forgive himself for turning and abandoning Maia, which he views as ruining her life. So by reversing it he could finally start to atone for what he did. Perfectly ic, but very frustrating because as I pointed out, this won't benefit Maia in any way, it'll just create drama between the two of them. (And frankly, while I moderately care about both of them, I'd rather have Malec on my screen. Sue me.)

Uh-huh, so some werewolf praetor spy with binoculars saw that Jordan stole the vial from the Institute but Izzy and Simon, who were literally in the same room didn't. No questions, your honor. Also ngl, since I knew this scene from the sneak peek already and couldn't care less about Luke's stupid Praetor plotline I skipped this scene XD #sorry not sorry

I know a lot of people were relieved Clary didn't make out with Jonathan and I'm honestly so surprised why people would assume in the first place there was any risk for that. Despite the Evil Rune taking hold she's still aware of her feelings, for example her love for Jace etc. So why would she suddenly be into incest?

Hehehehe the likelyhood of Asmodeus getting trashed in that loft is growing XD (Also please appreciate how I'm keeping my salt about Maryse's “I love you” under wraps, I'm amazed at my self restraint.)

I mean, I was really surprised by a character actually taking action, trying their hand at communication like this. I am impressed. The thing that I slightly dislike is that it's Maryse. She didn't have all the info about the deal Alec made with Asmodeus and a) Izzy had and I really, really expected her to do something about that instead of just letting Alec wreck his life and, to a good part, Magnus's as well, and b) if even Maryse, without even knowing for sure that Magnus's magic returned after Alec broke up with him, could put two and two together, why the hell didn't Magnus??

I can half buy that with his issues and insecurites striking harder than ever, amplyfied by the severe grief of his magic loss, he'd fall for Alec's lies because to him Alec loving him the way he did was too good to be true anyway, and their relationship wasn't long enough for Magnus to really get used to the idea that he gets to keep this. It's obvious in the way he always keeps his eyes closed after they kiss, this moment of disbelieve that this is actually real. So Alec breaking up with him wouldn't be an unreastic thing, it would be reality finally catching up with them, it'd be the universe rightening itself.

But, I only half buy it. Because even if Magnus had doubts about himself and his worth, how the hell could he revisit all those memories in 3x19 where Alec was dropping wedding vows left and right, and not realize that something about Alec was off there. Anyway, dwelling on this is pointless because what's done is done, but it's a very weak explanation and very convenient, story telling wise.

Hahahha love me some common sense. Maia has tons of it. Makes her so likable.

Listen, I like Jordan, but I can't even feel any sympathy in the face of all this stupidity. Just take the frakkin vial yourself, idiot. Humans don't die from silver poisoning. And it's clear that you're struggling with your werewolf-dom to hell and back. This would literally solve all of their problems wtf. But God forbid anyone ever act reasonable on this show. Goddammit.

Hahahha so rude. *Loki Voice* WHO PUT HIM THERE??? Another missing scene ficlet dying to be written XD Also, does Lorenzo still have his consciousness or was his mind reduced to that of a lizard? Will it be restored when he's transformed back? Is that even possible or was that transformation irreversible? Will he remember his time as a lizard? Or is Lorenzo as we know and love to hate him gone forever? So many questions.

Bitch you didn't, you had to be TOLD

I find it amazing that Asmodues tries to argue with Magnus even though his evil plan was uncovered. He really doesn't get it, does he? That Magnus likes his life and doesn't want to be in Edom?

I am reeling. What a frikkin powermove, disposing of him like that, and with his own invention no less. Talk about a dead ass capable character who could trash everyone in his way. Honestly I'm still processing. This is so radical wtf. So I'm never gonna get another scene with Asmodeus?? Please I wanted more of them!! I am so helplessly in love with their dynamic. 5 bucks say he was supposed to come back in S4 I WAS SO DEPRIVED OH GOD!!!!!

Edit: Yeah, this was actually supposed to be a setup for a Dark!Magnus plotline, with Asmodeus playing a big role in S4. They changed that and cut this short, here's the article I got this from. We were so robbed. I can't.

“Hurry, away from this Shadowhunter Nonsense. Honestly, that they can never solve their shit issues in their own fugly ass Institute but have to do it on our beautifully groomed frontyard. The disrespect.”

WOW IZZY'S WEARING FLAT SHOES FOR THE OCCASION CAN YOU BELIEVE IT

Also that fighting is awesome and all (Alec as a tactical advantage, Jace “betraying” his position as a ploy, color me impressed) but doesn't Clary have to stab Jonathan for it to work?? Or is it enough if one of the bondmates is stabbed with the sword?? And since Fake Glorious is super instable etc. and will likely be destroyed in the process they shouldn't take any chances and make sure it really works the first time around.

I get that this is supposed to be dramatic but sorry, I don't buy for one second that 3 Months Shadowhunter Newby Clary manages to get one over Izzy who's been literally trained since birth (yeah that was a quote from Arthur because I'm total Merlin Trash) and she's their best fighter ever and could beat Jace and Alec at the same time with the flick of a wrist while blindfolded. Please. Oh my god. Maybe because she always fights with her whip she's not too used to a sword. Then again she also uses a staff and she still was trained since birth so no, I'm still not buying it.

Hahahahah nice one, Simon.

“That's my plan, you can bet on it, bet on it, bet on it....”

why I mean, this was a conscious choice on producers' part, right. So I'm demanding an explanation. What's the point of this weirdly edited grunt?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Hm, they don't fold too nicely. But all in all, pretty solid wing work.

?????? This makes no sense since, prior to this half season, he wasn't tethered to Clary. Wtf. For all intents and purposes, Jonathan should be dropping dead to the ground since he was using Clary's life force to be alive, remember, he was literally killed to death before. Only their bond was keeping him alive. This makes no sense whatsoever. But anyway, that was a pretty impressive departure.

Yeah, how about you get the f outta there now, Simon.

H-e-a-l-i-n-g r-u-n-e. Honestly. Wtf.

Also, Izzy pushing Simon to the ground was a little stupid, he could have vampire-run out of the explosion's perimeter easily. If he had a few brain cells. Okay, problem identified, I take everything back, Izzy made the right call.

And I guess Alec's just chilling over there on the forrest ground. He deserves that break, man.

Just force it down Jordan's throat omg. If he still dies, whatever, good for him, he got what he wanted. If not then he can maybe start facing his Maia-shaped issues in a constructive way.

Maia giving it to Luke makes no sense. How the f does he want to “get rid of it” wtf. If I were Maia I'd just pour it in the river or idk, burry it somewhere. Lock it in a safe, throw away the key. Or better yet, keep an eye on it. But sure, Luke who just learned the Praetor are full of shit is gonna give it to them?? I mean, the thought must have crossed his mind that maybe they didn't heal Jordan as a punishment for failing that Heidi mission? Since apparently it's common werewolf knowledge that the Praetor is able to cure a silver poisoning? Jordan wouldn't have said that if they didn't have a cure for it, right? If Luke honestly gives them that vial, he'll be dead to me. I fully expect him to try and blackmail the Praetor with it or something, but if he doesn't istg.

You're on thin effing ice, man.

Aahhhhh yeah how very convenient. Also rude, they stole Jonathan's home :C Also technically she shouldn't be able to do that because it's demon travel and she no longer has a connection to demon blood.

Yeah and they also steamrolled whatever room was there before they parked that big ass apartment there. Congrats.

“You barely got your licence to drive a car, much less whatever that was.”

hahahaha

ALEC'S FACE HAHAHAHAHA I LOVE ONE 100% DONE MAN

Hell yeah logic!! But lol I genuinely don't think Jace or Simon thought of that when they were unhelpfully patting her back.

.........? How is Simon there then? This isn't even sarcasm, I genuinely don't get it.

This was cute and all, but she didn't actually activate her iratze wtf. Or wash off her blood.

Dude wtf Maia

I mean come on, this is so obvious to top off their drama.

Yep, I called it. Seriously, you don't leave a person on the brink of death alone for literally this reason. And before you tell me she was just getting some food to lighten the mood from her way back from the bridge, there was still tons of daylight then and this is at least several hours later. I am sorry, but I feel zero sympathy.

1) Where do those surviving werewolves besides Bat come from? 2) What does mundane police have to say about this public cremation? 3) I remember this shot of Maia walking away from the fire from the 3B Trailer. So rude.

ALSO I'M MORE THAN READY FOR SOME MALEC CONTENT WTF MAN

NO. NO I DO NOT BUY. EITHER THE WINGS ARE STILL THERE OR HIS JACKET IS RIPPED TO PIECES BUT YOU DON'T GET TO PRETEND THEY MAGICALLY APPEAR ON TOP OF HIS CLOTHES WTF He's not Miley Cyrus from that one music video. (Can't be Tamed, if you're wondering.)

0 bucks say he caught them making out, honestly this was so obvious.

This rang deep. Really great moment. I can't really put it into words, but this had such an impact. A real warrior feel to it. Amazing.

“No obviously we don't but c'mon, work with me here.”

I can't possibly put into words the love I'm feeling for one (1) extra warlock.

He finally got it. My poor murderous incest baby. Too bad this means Clary lost her only bargaining chip.

NOOOO IT'S NOT, YOU WERE RAISED BY VAL IN A HUT AND THEN LIVED AT THE NY INSTITUE, THE ONLY TIME YOU VISITED ALICANTE WAS OWL'ED OUT OF YOUR MIND TO KILL IMOGEN WHAT THE HELL HAHAHA

I love how he delivers this line. It's his goodbye because there's no making it out of there alive, and the last thing of importance he has to say is a love confession to Clary. Very nice delivery.

ahahahahah okay this was a nice echoing of Jace's other love confession, but all I could focus on was how frakkin red Clary's hand is hahaha

I love everything about this, okay. I love how Alec just gives in because he couldn't stand to be apart from Magnus for one more second. I love how this is reminiscent of their first kiss at Alec's fail wedding. (Btw can you believe we're gonna start and end Malec with a kiss at a wedding and a wedding kiss? The poetry.) I love the backdrop, the absolute destruction. Love Izzy in her rightful place in the first row since she's the Captain of the MS Malec.

I really appreciate that they bothered with an explanation why Magnus needs to go to Edom at all, but, uh, if memory serves right he closed a rift to Edom in 2x19 and it was no big deal. I'd buy that this rift is larger or more powerful because it was created by the Morgenstern Sword but just because I can find an explanation that this task is harder than one Magnus already accomplished onscreen with relative ease doesn't mean it's not the Show’s duty to deliver an explanation of its own accord instead of letting fans pick through their worldbuilding and figuring out something that makes sense. A simple “You closed rifts before, from Earth.” - “This rift is too large” would have been enough. Is that too much to ask.

GOD MAGNUS WHY THAT WORDING I HAD TO THINK OF LORENZO WTF MAN WHY YOU MAKE ME THINK OF LORENZO WHHHYYYYYYYY

When he lifted his hand in that slow deliberate move I was SO SURE HE'D BE WEARING THE LIGHWOOD RING HAHAHA

HAHAHA THAT WAS CLEARLY NOT THE FUGLY LIGHTWOOD FAMILY RING (since that has a square shape on top, come on) YES I STAN A FASHION ICON

Btw there's a description in those rings, I can't really tell, but the one on the right looks like a loopy A upside down so I'm guessing one has “Alexander” and the other “Magnus” on the inside????

Edit: Both rings say “Aku cinta kamu” and I am DEAD

Hahahaha Alec wanted to win the proposal but this round goes to Magnus. But tbh he totally cheated XD XD XD

Ngl, the ring catching on Magnus's knuckle for a moment reminded me of the wedding of Kate and William ahahahaa I'm trash XD

Can you believe Malec got cheated out of their first engaged kiss by some rude ass explosion? Unfair.

I find myself genuinely confused by this. Why does Alec even entertain the thought of not going with Magnus? It seems so illogical that they'd seperate now. Later reason kicked in, and yeah, Edom probably isn't the best place for a shadowhunter but this is exactly it: Alec's instinct should have been to go with Magnus and I wish they'd taken the time to address this in any way, to give Alec the chance to express his wish to go with Magnus.

WTF WHY DOES MAGNUS SHAKE HIS HEAD THIS IS NOT OKAY WTF

But then he jokes about runaway grooms anyway because he thinks he’ll never see Alec again and he wants Alec to remember him joking & smiling & happy *cries* I’M SAD. why did I bring that up.

Thanks, @intezaarlily for making tHIS EVEN WORSE WTF

OH MY GOD I CAN'T I'M LAUGHING SO HARD THIS IS SO RIDICULOUS HAHAHAHA Magnus REALLY should have pulled the portal down on himself and not flown into it like a flying fish jumping out of the water wtf hahaha. Then again this is proof he can totally do the superman flight and it is CANON that he did that at some point. He had a whole annoying phase where he'd just fly around like a super hero. Cat was so done with it. Ragnor refused to be around him at all. Good times.

Anyway, another thing I need an explanation for is why it'll be so hard for Magnus to return to Earth. In 3x10 that posed No Problem, meaning one of two things. Either a) Asmodeus sent him back or b) he could easily travel back because he used that pentagram thingy. Honestly, the fact that Jonathan just as easily returns to Earth after his failed attempt on Lilith's life lets me favor b), which begs the question why Magnus used a regular portal instead of the pentagram thingy now. But even if a) is the case then that means Greater Demons apparently have no problem removing people from Edom and then I wonder if Magnus will have to beg Azazel or something to return him home lol, like a little kiddie asking for a lift. Or maybe, since he channelled his epic Edom!Power, maybe he can send himself back?? In any case I want some solid explanation on that.

Alec just collapsing made so much sense okay. I could feel the emptiness in my own chest, having gained and lost everything in a few short minutes, I can't even imagine how crushed Alec must be feeling.

Magnus's magic closing the rift is so epic in an incredibly emotional and intimate sense. Seeing his magic, part of him, when he's so far beyond all of their reach. It's incredible, it's touching and powerful and so so fragile. I'm amazed.

I can't believe they did this. I can't believe they put the literally last shot of this in the 3B Trailer. The audacity.

Okay but really important question, who's gonna feed Lorenzo now??? (God only one week left I am dead.)

#shadowhunters #3x20 #magnus bane #alec lightwood #jace wayland #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #jonathan morgenstern #luke garroway #maia roberts #simon lewis #kyle #maryse lightwood #the seelie queen #meliorn #asmodeus #lorenzo rey #malec #reaction

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less-than-hash · 5 years

Text

Pardon My Interjection

This is one of my favorite things that I've ever experienced in any game. Seriously, I think about it all the time.

youtube

(Link.)

It’s probably my favorite example of a companion interjection, which is what we at Obsidian call it when a character who's accompanying you says something in a conversation with some third character. Other studios may have a different term for these.

This is going to be a bit of a deep dive, and it’ll get long. So that you might know exactly what you're getting into below the cut, these are the things I intend to touch on:

Interjections at their simplest

Why interjections exist

Variations on the above that are a bit more complex

How these can be structured behind the scenes

The limits of interjections

Things I'd like to see more of in games

Why the interjection above is my favorite from any game I've played

A WORD OF WARNING: I use examples from Beast of Winter throughout this post, so it contains some mild spoilers regarding that DLC. Plot-wise, it's nothing that you wouldn't learn by reading a review of that release, but if you want to approach every line of dialog as fresh as well-boiled water, beware.

At their simplest, interjections are lines of dialog delivered by a companion during a conversation with a different character. These can range from a comic quip to a strong critique of the player or whoever they're speaking with.

They - again, at their simplest - have no mechanical or narrative impact. They're not there to change anything, but to add flavor.

Because the characters who speak the interjection may or may not be present, the interjections must be designed in such a way that they are not integral. They can't be necessary to the quest, and - though they can advise the player - they can't be relied on to provide information that the player requires.

If Serafen or Ydwin weren't with the player in the capture above, they obviously wouldn't have said something. In this case - as in most cases - no one else would have said anything either. And the player should never have noticed anything missing.

Or, in short, this content is by its nature peripheral.

The goals of these interjections vary, but can generally be distilled down to one idea: they provide additional context to the player. They might be additional information about the world, about the quest, or about the character who interjects, but it's basically icing on the cake of the game.

Behind the scenes, in our conversation editor, this particular exchange looks like this:

You can see where the interjections occur at nodes 178 and 196. You'll notice in both cases that what those nodes flow into is exactly where the conversation would have gone without the presence of those nodes.

Since I wrote this conversation, I likely filled in Serafen's and Ydwin's interjections as I went, but had another designer written this, or had someone else been responsible for those two companions, nodes 178 and 196 might have read in our first draft something like this:

(LR here means "line request," and we use this structure to draw the attention of a writer to something they need to fill in. So, for example, if Paul Kirsch is responsible for Maia, he'll do searches of our conversation database for "LR Maia" to make sure he fills in any content she might have.)

If these are so shallow, what's the point?

Well, for one, even if these were nothing more than icing on the cake, we personally rather like icing. So there's an extent to which it's a design choice. We want our companions to speak up sometimes, so we let them.

In Deadfire, at least, there are also systemic reasons for interjections. They’re a big part of how our relationship system functions. But that’s well outside of the scope of this post.

That said, the narrative context added by these interjections is rarely only for flavor. Each word we write costs money, both in translation and in VO. (Not to mention whatever time we developers spend writing, reviewing, and editing it.) We generally want our dialog to accomplish as much as possible as efficiently as possible.

Serafen's interjection here, for example, reminds the player that Vatnir is a biased character with an incomplete understanding of his circumstances; he should not be understood to be an impartial authority. You might think "yeah, obviously - we just uncovered that he's terrified of the very death that he's been preaching as an unassailable good."

The thing is, the player's relationship with Vatnir also changed in that moment. The player may think they've broken through the lie and now hear the unvarnished truth. Serafen's interjection serves to remind them to stay skeptical. Even if Vatnir intends to tell the truth, he's not omniscient or an expert.

Note that Vatnir's more-or-less correct in this particular claim. The Vytmádh does lead to the White Void (kind of - but that metaphysics discussion is well outside of the scope of this post). Uncertainty, however, can add to the player experience of exploration and discovery, so I didn't want to banish it.

Interjections can also provide other information:

They can suggest alternative routes to approaching obstacles

They build upon the details of the world and the cultural expectations of the characters within the world

They provide a window into what player actions the companion will or will not be pleased by

I think it’s not unreasonable to claim that if we only ever express a companion's preferences through UI notifications after the fact we're not treating the player very fairly. Especially in cases where the change in relationship can be significant.

Serafen, for example, hates slavers. If the player only learned that when Serafen exploded at the player for having treated with slavers, I would consider that bad design. So Serafen speaks early and often about his loathing of the slave trade. If slavery (or even things like slavery, such as indentured servitude) crop up, Serafen expresses his feelings on the subject.

As a result, when the player encounters slavers, they should understand how he is likely to respond to the player working with them, even temporarily or as part of a ruse.

(A bit as he might to this.)

So this very simple implementation is fine... provided that the content within the interjection is straightforward, non-confrontational, and inoffensive - in short, if it doesn't demand any kind of response or follow-up.

Ydwin's wry commentary requires no response from the player or the characters in the scene.

But consider if she'd said something like, "How utterly simple of you, Watcher. Don’t listen to her, little monstroisty. I assure you that our doctrine is nothing like that." Would the conversation still flow well?

I'd say no.

The original Pillars of Eternity was criticized by some (myself included) for the companion interjections feeling divorced from the rest of the world. If Aloth, for example, speaks up during a conversation with an animancer to call him an idiot and a monster, and that character just continues on as if Aloth had never chimed in, the world feels less real and less reactive as a result. Yet that's what too often occurred in the original Pillars.

(This actually led to a fan theory that the companions were all ghosts that had attached themselves to the Watcher. I love this idea, but, alas, it is not the case.)

In Deadfire (and Tyranny) we aimed to avoid this by having some interjections be more complex. If a companion says something that demands a response from whoever the player is speaking to, for example, we always try to have that character react to the companion.

Sometimes we instead give the player an opportunity to respond to the companion:

(Nice typo, past me. Also, in the shipping version I cut "deaf" for "obstinate." I felt that Ydwin would differentiate between willful ignorance and a likely unasked-for physical condition.)

Sometimes other companions may respond, if present:

Other times, NPCs may initiate the interaction with the companion, in essence starting the “interjection:”

Cuitzitli’s third line here wouldn’t play if Serafen weren’t in the party.

Or there might be some combination of the above:

Obviously, these structures become much more complicated to implement. In the tools, the “I thought it was funny” example above looks like this.

Oh gods, it was worse than I imagined!

So why did I structure it like this?

Well, in part, obviously, because I hate myself.

But besides that!

So first off, Vatnir gets top billing for two reasons:

His comment makes the most sense as an immediate response to the player's words

He's the new hotness - by which I mean the companion added in Beast of Winter, in which this conversation takes place.

Okay, makes sense, but why the random node after?

There's a few reasons. One, it seemed important to have someone speak in response to this player choice if at all possible. Since we’ve no idea which characters will be at the player's side, I shot for what I considered a few likely candidates: Ydwin because she's also a focus of Beast of Winter; Edér and Pallegina because it's likely the player will have at least one of the two of them; and Serafen because...

...well, probably because he's the companion I know best and I was the one writing this conversation.

Now I could have still set this bank to go down the nodes and check for each companion, playing Pallegina's only if Edér weren't present, and Serafen's only if Edér wasn't in the party. Instead I chose to make it random so that different players would have different experiences in this moment.

Or, if the player had all four of those characters, for example, I didn't want them to only ever see Edér's comment.

Here's a much simpler multi-layered interjection: When the player speaks with Udyne at the Luminous Bathhouse, Serafen will interrupt her with a threat (assuming he knows she's had contact with the person he's seeking):

If Pallegina's also in the party, however:

In our conversation editor, this is incredibly simple in comparison to the example above.

(Yes, I translated the Hylspeak for the poor voiceover actor.)

It's basically an interjection within an interjection.

These can be very useful, especially for establishing differences in opinions between characters, but they're also tricky. If the chance of the player having a particular companion in the party at any given time is small, the chance of the player having a specific combination of companions is even smaller.

That said, there are ways we can make this a little cheaper.

For one, we can establish expectation - a player who has Serafen and Pallegina in their party can see the above and wonder if perhaps they should pair those two more often. (There are a few exchanges like the above scattered throughout Deadfire.)

We can also focus our work on companions we expect the player to carry into a specific piece of content. Xoti and Edér, for example, seem likely bets for content that involves Eothas. If we know the players are likely to take those two together, we can more easily justify having them converse.

Note that we don’t always do it that way. There’s quite a bit of sniping between Xoti and Vatnir in The Forgotten Sanctum, and I figure the number of people with the two of them in their party at the same time is probably pretty small.

That was a case of character trumping concerns of cost, which can be important - especially to those few players lugging both priests through the Halls Obscured.

But we could instead try a structural solution. In Forgotten Sanctum, for example, if Aloth and Edér are in the party, and Edér's feelings towards Aloth are positive, this bit of conversation will play:

Every node that evaluates as true within that bank will fire a line of dialog. If Pallegina isn't present, her node will not fire. If she is, it will.

But in order for her line to play, your party must include Aloth, Edér, and Pallegina. That seems relatively unlikely, and Pallegina’s line doesn’t provide much information, so why was it important to me to give Pallegina the potential to speak there?

The Forgotten Sanctum is the last of the DLC expansions for Deadfire. It's very nearly the end of this adventure for this group of characters. Further, this is the trio of returning Pillars of Eternity companions, the characters who have walked (/sailed) this path with the player the longest. I wanted to reflect on that relationship, to remind the player where this journey began and how far it's come.

That’s why everything in this explicitly connects back to the Dyrwood, whether Aloth's connection to Thaos and Woedica, Edér's faith, the statue beneath Caed Nua, or Copperlane, a district in Defiance Bay, where the player first met Pallegina.

It's also worth noting that there's a different exchange in the case that Edér's feelings about Aloth are more negative.

Which is to say that even when done efficiently, this kind of reactivity isn't done lightly. It's simply too expensive and too risk-prone to do without purpose.

Thing is, that exchange between Edér, Aloth, and Pallegina could very easily have been set up similarly to the one between Udyne, Serafen, and Pallegina above. It might even have been safer to do so (and clearer to any designers who came along after me to work on it) .

But that structure can also be used in much larger story moments that would be an absolute horror to try to build out as branches.

WARNING: This occurs near the end of Forgotten Sanctum, so if you want to avoid all spoilers, skip past the screen captures of our toolset.

Look at this, read the comments, and try to understand how it functions.

By default, every one of these would play, provided that the person who says it is in the party (which is clearly impossible). But we’ve set some of them only to play if certain other characters aren't in the party.

Serafen will only speak here, for example, if neither Pallegina nor Konstanten came along for the ride.

Some of the companions only speak if they're in a relationship with the player - and those are all bunched together within the bank.

That's because I'm trying to hit specific narrative beats here, to give this semi-random collection of comments narrative coherence. That's why some of the content - that for Edér and Rekke, for example, seems so similar.

These nodes exist not only to provide characterization and empathy, but to deliver the very real and concrete information of "What were the companions doing while the player was zoned out and chatting up a god?"

Between that initial beat from Pallegina, Konstanten, or Serafen and the follow-up from Edér or Rekke, the answer is a clear "watching and waiting" with a bit of "worrying about you" sprinkled in (and doubled down on if the player's lover is present).

Something worth considering: in Forgotten Sanctum alone there are five or six places where we use this structure, generally at big story moments. In every one of them, Vatnir is the last to speak. Why would this be?

With all of the above, I think our team does a pretty solid job of making the companions feel like part of the world, having that world react to them, letting them contradict or support one another, and letting the player respond to them, too.

What I think we could do a better job of is giving the companions agency and systemic weight within the narrative. The companions essentially act as (very complicated and often charming) accessories to the player. Sometimes we let the player call on them to solve a problem or answer a question, as below:

Dragon Age 2 does the same. In the video that began this post, for example, I believe that the player is able to call on Varric if they aren’t charming enough to make the claim of fire on their own.

But ultimately all of the decisions are almost always entirely up to the player.

On some occasions companions will act behind the player’s back without their knowledge. (This is essentially a staple of the Dragon Age series now.)

On others, the player will do something so egregiously against the companion’s beliefs that the companion is forced to stand up to the player. This can occur in several places in Deadfire and throughout the final act of Dragon Age 2, but one of my favorite examples of this is at the Temple of Sacred Ashes in Dragon Age: Origins.

In the former two games, the crisis moments are deeply tied to the plots of the characters. In Origins, however, Leliana’s response to a player desecrating the ashes of Andraste is character-driven rather than plot-driven. It’s not a result of the player acting against Leliana’s aspirations or a faction she’s aligned with - it’s her response to the player doing something she considers absolutely heinous.

I think that’s one of the reasons it’s so memorable.

Which brings me back to the video that began this post.

Here the player makes a successful “check,” and Merrill, merely by being in the party, undermines it and causes the player’s chosen action to fail.

By no means do I think that we should emulate this exactly all of the time. If our companions regularly ruin our player’s plots, we’re just going to make the players resent those characters.

But what we can do is respond appropriately, within the stakes established by the fiction, to the player’s choice of companions in a given situation.

If, for example, the player goes to speak with the chief magistrate of a city with a known criminal in their party, we need to respect that decision - not by having the magistrate ignore it (or quip about it before moving on), but by having meaningful consequences arise from the choice.

Perhaps the magistrate demands a bribe.

Perhaps the player is forced to talk their way out of trouble for themselves.

Perhaps the player becomes a known associate of a criminal - with other characters in the city commenting on it, or on the WANTED posters now baring the player character’s likeness.

We tend to gloss over the player’s choices of companions, to think of them as something that exists outside of the world’s consequences (much as the player tends to), but with none of the forcefulness and agency that the player’s ability to make decisions gives them.

They’re equipment the player added to their character.

I’d like to see us do better, to keep in mind the companions’ beliefs and have them act on them. If I take Anders with me into the chantry - okay, bad example...

If I bring Morrigan into a chantry, I want, at the very least, for her presence to make it more difficult for me to accomplish my goals there. If I end up having to talk our way out of a fight because of a comment she made about the Maker and where the Templars keep their truncheons, so much the better!

When I play tabletop, a tremendous part of the enjoyment I get out of that experience is not knowing how my fellow adventurers will respond to something.

Can I trust K’thir the kobold Wild Sorcerer enough to take him with me to negotiate a peace with the Bloodsalt gangs? Or is he going to throw another bottle of booze at a bugbear?

Note that this shouldn’t always result in unpleasant things for the player! If they take, say, Aveline to chat with the leadership of Kirkwall, she should be able to (proactively, without the player needing to select an option to call on her) smooth over problems, draw out additional information, or negotiate for better rewards by virtue of her relationship to the viscountship.

As devs, we shouldn’t consider this disrespectful of the player’s choices. The companions the player takes with them are more than who deals the most damage or who quips the funniest quips (or is possessed of the cutest whatever part of the anatomy or personality that appeals to you).

When the player builds their party, they’re making a statement about who they want to be with in the world. We should design the world to respond to that decision in meaningful ways.

Cheers, <#

#deadfire #pillars of eternity #narrative design #narrative #gamedev #game design #companions #dialog #dragon age #rpg

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echoness · 6 years

Text

Confirmation

It’s the first time I ever write an “old couple” style fanfic in English. If you find anything unsuitable please let me know.

=========================================

It’s been a week since the Watcher confronted Eothas. With the Wheel broken, Aloth doesn’t really know what will become of kith of the upcoming generation on Eora. Whatever happens, he doubts that his own effort would change anything, that’s what the Watcher has taught him. The wisdom of not overthinking on everything is a welcoming change of pace. Thinking back on what he has accomplished, his past seems always shrouded in a heavy mist. He didn’t choose his birthright, his family, his Awakening. But the decision led him journey alongside the Watcher is like a ray of sunshine that cast into his life. He never feels the need to worry about the next destination, wherever the Watcher goes, it’s the right direction.

The moment when the Watcher committed her affection to Aloth, he felt two twisted forces conflicting inside his chest. He really enjoyed the Watcher’s company, that’s for sure. Five years ago when he revealed his true identity to her, hoping nothing but her forgiveness.

“I forgive you, Aloth.” the Watcher said without hesitation, “But I want you beside me, not behind me. I’m not asking you to trade one master for another.”

It’s been a long while since he ever remembered anybody gave him the vast amount of respect and understanding. Being around with the Watcher feels… easy, natural. Not that she’s a druid and the soothing spells she can cast during battles, the power she draws from nature. It’s the way she’s been doing things. Sometimes he might not agree with that much credit she gave to the undeserving, or flattery words just to please some higher-ups. She may say something tedious yet follows her heart and does some good. It opens Aloth’s eyes that a person could process such multitasks, as long as her heart is in the right place, he’s probably in no position to judge. Perhaps he values the unspoken wisdom the Watcher shows during their journey, that to resolve a situation with extreme measure is a recipe for disaster. Aloth didn’t want to lose her, if he could peer into her soul, it certainly shines like a beacon drawing him closer each step ahead.

Somehow, he had too much responsibilities on his shoulders, he couldn’t rely too much on the Watcher, especially five years ago when she gave him the opportunity to reform the Leaden Key, to do something good on his own. He sure wouldn’t like to squander the faith she put into him. The consequences of his action didn’t turn to his favor, and he knew the uncertainty of his duty, to some extent it might cost his life. To commit his feeling towards the Watcher could bring her long term pain if they were to depart once again.

Now Aloth is standing on the Defiance’s deck alone, with sea breeze brushing through his hair. The sun is about to set upon Serpents Crown. Everything around him feels quiet, serene even. Fresh air and a clear head sound as normal as they do, they were luxury in Aloth’s past life, especially when Iselmyr’s constant babbling plagued his mind. Which reminds him the promise the Watcher keeps – privacy and space. She never bothered him unless there’s something really important, or Eder came up with a joke he would like to share where the Watcher came joining the fun. Reflecting on what the Watcher said after their first kiss, Aloth has to admit that he never thought of the “enjoy our time together” option before. To him, love is the equal measure of responsibility, respect, passion and collaboration. His past shaped him into a man of solitude, and he feared for the uncertainty of the future. Yet he forgot, of all the kith on Eora, everyone lives in the present. The closest thing he overlooked all the time, is the “present” the Watcher has given back to him. They have been sharing more and more private moments together since then.

After the final confrontation with Eothas, the other companions departed one by one, pursuing their own newfound goals. The Defiance is awfully quiet at the moment. It’s strange how Aloth misses friends like Eder, Xoti, Pellagina and Maia. He doubts that their path would ever cross again, for he and the Watcher are going back to the Eastern Reach.

Speaking of which, the Watcher is still in Captain’s cabin. And there’s still a question lingering in Aloth’s mind. He grabs a bottle of Forgetful Night from the lower deck, then walks towards Captain’s cabin, takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door.

“Knock knock.” the Watcher sounds like she’s about to laugh out loud.

“I would like to talk to you… if you don’t mind.” Aloth tries to keep his gesture serious.

“Of course not, please come in.”

The Watcher is reading a book, it’s…

“Is that my grimoire?” whatever Aloth was going to say, it’s wiped away by his grimoire in her hands. He hasn’t used his own grimoire since she gave him Arkemyr’s grimoire. He entrusted his grimoire to her but had no idea she’s interested in learning advanced arcane arts. The Watcher lowers the leather bound book and sits up straight: “Uh, yea, I know druid spells are quite different from wizard’s, but I could still learn how to channel elemental energy more effectively. It’s a bit tricky but I think it’ll work.”

Aloth sets the bottle of Forgetful Night on the desk, arms across in front of his chest with his left eye brow lifted:” Are you still thinking about beating me on the enemy account?” It’s a little competition between him and the Watcher, about who would get most kills after each fight. Aloth usually wins.

“Heh, you know me too well.” The Watcher grins back to him.

Aloth sits down beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder: “Not that you are also trying to heal my wounds. My account can hardly qualify my skills. I’m just glad we could survive all the hostile encounters and live to see another day.”

The Watcher shrugs: “It’s a challenge I’m willing to take up. You are well-versed in history, you can tell me how many slavers and pirates are going after us now that the political balance of Deadfire is tipped over specifically by us?”

“Point taken,” Aloth looks down and admits: “We have a long way ahead of us before we get home, don’t we?” The Watcher nods in silence, and stands up to take out two wine glasses from her cabinet.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” The Watcher asks as she gives a glass of Forgetful Night to Aloth.

Oh, the stupid question lingering in his mind.

“Well…” Aloth lets a dry laughter out of his throat, he can feel the tip of his ears turning red: “I’ve been meaning to ask you: why me?”

“I beg your pardon?” as if her question doesn’t sound like one, a playful smirk is crawling up on the Watcher’s lips. She might as well know what Aloth is all about, she’s just waiting for him to speak out his mind.

“It is no secret that Xoti and Tekehu had confessed their… let us just say, interest in you, before us. Considering my situation back then, I could hardly qualify of being the best suitable candidate to sustain a healthy relationship. Years of solitude had burned out the fire within me, it would be a really slow pace for me to rekindle the passion for you again. But you turned them down, even where they are better at dealing with love and passion.”

Aloth pauses for a bit, waiting for the Watcher’s response. Instead of saying anything, she just stares into his eyes, as if searching for an answer there. The playful smirk is still hanging on her face, normally Aloth would find that kind of smirk irritating, yet at the moment he just can’t help but smiles to himself, breaks from her eye contact and looks down at his clasped hands.

“If I was looking for pleasure, I would go for them,” for a while the Watcher finally responds, as if taking his question seriously: “As for Xoti, she’s spirited and adorable. If I were to have a little sister, it would be like her. She probably got the wrong message when I was trying to care for her. The affection she seeks, it doesn’t matter whom it comes from. I was merely helping her make up her mind before she got too rushed ahead.”

The Watcher takes a long sip of the wine before continuing: “Tekehu is bold, in fact, too bold he doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety. His skill and power need guidance, so does his way of taking up responsibility. And… it’s been a real headache every time Ondra crawled into my head when we had a conversation.”

Aloth suddenly looks up, with a “no way” expression on his face. The Watcher smiles and nods, as if trying to tell him it is no joke. Then he is about to say that doesn’t really answer his “why me” question, but the words come from his mouth suddenly become high-pitched voice, of whose the Watcher knows too well.

“Fay, the lad’s been worrying n’ too caring for ye, just lay’m down already…”

Aloth rolls his eyes trying to suppress Iselmyr to the back of his mind, he shakes his head violently then takes a mouthful wine. By the time he regains control of his thought, he realizes that the Watcher is leaning against the back of her chair watching him, it’s like a cat watching a wounded mouse. He doesn’t quite know what to make of the increasingly hot air between them, whether it’s because of the alcohol or something Iselmyr said.

“Where were we...?” he palms his face with the voice only himself can hear.

“You know, I’ve always had a thing for a man who doesn’t know how attractive he is.” the same smirk is still hanging on the Watcher face, even broader this time. Aloth rolls his eyes again: “Please, I’m…”

Before he can protest any further, the Watcher half kneels down in front of him, keeping their eye contact on the same level. She takes his hands into hers as a gesture of apology, then she says: “I’m no stranger to solitude, for my long years being a hunter in the wild I’ve known the taste of freedom as well as isolation. People always say I have observing eyes and a sharp mind, I’d say I just see things others rarely notice. When I look at you, I see the deep sorrow that you are trying so hard to hide, the burden you have endured, the misfortune you have suffered. You have a kind and trusting heart, yet it’s difficult for you just to offer it to anyone. I would never forgive myself if I watch you stray away from the right direction. You are my responsibility. As for ‘why you’... aside from that much time we've spent together, it comes from here-” She’s pointing at her heart: “Time and time again I entrusted it to you, you’ve never disappointed me. And I wish to be the first one you can fully trust.”

A long silence lingering between them. Aloth opens up his mouth trying to make out a word, he finds nothing in his vocabulary would justify the affection. He leans in close to the Watcher, pressing their foreheads together.

“Hey,” the Watcher murmurs in a super soft voice: “You wouldn’t come to my cabin just to talk, would you?”

Aloth chuckles.

“I suppose not.”

=================================================

My past is awfully similar to Aloth’s, so I kinda know where his hesitation is coming from. His little romance subplot feels “accurate” for someone like him. I’m glad we could give him a Watcher he deserves. The competition thing between Aloth and the Watcher is a little easter egg form LotR.

#Aloth Corfiser #Pillars of Eternity #Deadfire #minor spoilers

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rudderless-in-an-ocean-of-stars · 6 years

Text

blood and wine, chapter one

Here it is, the first chapter of my first-ever OC fanfiction. I hope you’ll give it a chance, even if it’s not what you would normally consider reading. If you admire me at all as an author, please give it a shot, as this story is very close to my heart. :)

Find it here on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677440/chapters/33910176

Summary:

“It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

Then she’s alone beneath the flickering lights of the row of the half-broken lamps lining the street, and she’s moving towards the alley at a near-run. Her need to keep a low profile be damned, Maia is all-too familiar with the memory of what it feels like to be a girl whose screams are ignored.”

She’s an ex-assassin turned reluctant vigilante living in New York City. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: I know that most people avoid OC fanfiction, but I’m hoping that you’re here because my reputation as a somewhat decent writer has convinced you to give this a chance. :)

Now onto the important story stuff:

This will take begin by taking place roughly six months before Civil War, in late 2015, which is when it was canonically established that Peter Parker also began his vigilantism. For now, this story will be told from the OC’s POV, but that may be subject to change in later chapters. OC was born a year earlier than Peter, in 2000, making her a year older, and as of this chapter, 15.

Enjoy!

Chapter One: the price of salvation

By the time Maia starts heading back to her apartment, a combination of the encroaching darkness and the biting cold seems to have been enough to have effectively chased most people back into the comfort of their homes. It’s only November, but the chill of the approaching winter has arrived early. She doesn’t mind the cold- she’s been in far worse situations to care about such a minor discomfort- and if the benefit of it is that the streets will be emptier, it’s an annoyance she’s more than willing to endure.

She lets her thoughts drift as she walks, imagines herself as one of the masses. Imagines returning to a brightly lit home with the scent of cooking food hanging heavy in the air and the sound of laughter to greet her ears as soon as she steps through the door, warm and genuine and purely inviting. It’s a silly, childish fantasy for her to indulge in, but it keeps her mind occupied for several blocks, so she allows it to drag on.

It’s a scream that pulls her back to reality, one that is quickly muffled and cut off- but not before she’s able to pinpoint the source of the sound. She shouldn’t interfere, but she can’t quite bring her limbs to keep moving, to keep herself walking forward and far away from the sounds of a struggle. The man who shoves past her suddenly stiff body with a mumbled expletive doesn’t share her qualms, hurrying away even as her stare burns twin holes between his retreating shoulders.

Coward.

It takes less than a minute for her to beat the would-be rapist into unconsciousness. She feels like she’s cheated somehow, in trading a single minute of her time to save a woman now gasping out breathless strings of thanks in her direction. She’s spent so much of her life inflicting this same kind of violence, but never before for the benefit of people like the woman in front of her now, never in defense of the innocent.

Having the scales tip in a different direction is such a foreign feeling to her that it almost makes her dizzy. Even with Yasha on their hunts for the men who used to hold the whips, fighting never felt like this. It was still something dirty and brutal she had been wielding against the dirty and brutal men she used to serve.

Now, it feels like something else.

Now, it feels like salvation.

Concealing her face is nothing new to her, but by the time a fight usually begins she’s already ditched her wigs and false prostheses because people don’t usually get to walk away from her alive. Neither last very long once in-combat, anyways, and she doesn’t have the time or patience to apply them on a nightly basis. Nano masks are expensive and won’t withstand any real hits, and she’s really not in the mood to mimic common criminals by running around the city wearing what looks like a sock with cutouts for her eyes and mouth over her face. There’s the face-guard she’d worn on several missions that didn’t require a stealth infiltration, only straightforward assassination, but it works and feels like a muzzle, and she knows the design had been intentional.

Weapons didn’t need to talk. Weapons had mission objectives and targets to kill and no room for independent thought. And she may still be a weapon but that’s not all that she is anymore so she tucks the face-guard back into the bag she keeps in the corner of her closet where her old tactical suit and gear remains, having done nothing but gather dust for the past year. She’s outgrown what she used to be in the time since Yasha had set her free from the control of the Ouroboros in more ways than one.

The old bodysuit now feels tight and constrictive when she tries to slip into it again, and she remembers what it was like when her skin had clung close enough to her bones that it had been easy to count her ribs, one by one. They had liked to keep their weapon hungry, honed to a perpetually razor-sharp edge by discomfort and desperation. There had been times they wouldn’t let her sleep or eat for days just to test the limits of her body, her mind, her commitment to the task at hand, no matter how inane.

Now she understands what it’s like to be well-fed, to have enough flesh between skin and bone to dull the sharpness of her ribs and her collarbones. Her body is still sleek and muscled but no longer unhealthily slender, no longer bordering on breakable. Sometimes, in the dead of night when she can’t force herself to sleep, she likes to visit the 24-hour stores just to stare at the aisles full of food she can eat without waiting for a command, choices she can make without the heavy drum beat of a directive banging against the inside of her skull.

A month ago, she’d finally indulged herself and bought a fridge to furnish her apartment and had fought hard to keep from succumbing to the urge to self-punish for such a selfish, unnecessary act. She’d succeeded, then. A day later, Maia had ended up kneeling beside the bathtub and holding her head underwater until she’d almost passed out for treating herself to a hot cup of chai from a street vendor with kind eyes. She’d ended up on her back on the floor of the bathroom, vision blacking out at the edges as she struggled to breathe, hating herself for her failure to resist the voice inside her mind reminding her that she was an asset, and assets consumed sustenance for survival, not pleasure, and she deserved to hurt for the luxury of a single cup of chai. It was a battle she lost as often as she won, fighting to beat the vestiges of her programming back into the smallest, darkest corner of her mind.

In the end, she chooses a fitted black cloth neckpiece that she can keep around her throat until she needs to use it. It works well when she pulls it up to cover the lower half of her face, effectively concealing all of her features below her eyes. The lower end of it tucks neatly into the collar of the new custom black tactical suit that she’d used the man hired to act as her guardian to acquire. He was an accommodating man who didn’t mind taking orders from a girl less than half of his age, so long as she kept him on her payroll. The mask won’t provide much in the way of protection, but it‘ll keep her face concealed while still allowing her to speak, and that’s all she really needs.

None of the petty criminals and street thugs she confronts pose any real threat to her, but there’s still something exhilarating about the prospect of winning fights where she’s no longer on the wrong side. It’s new, different, and it doesn’t make her limbs feel heavy with regret when she lashes out with every intention of drawing blood.

The one rule she imposes upon herself is simple- no killing.

It takes longer to subdue her opponents sometimes, when she’s fighting a group and has to remind herself not to snap someone’s neck or crush anyone’s skull against the cement, but she leaves them all alive, albeit unconscious, and that’s a victory in and of itself for a girl who was raised to kill without a second thought. It costs her, leaving her with injuries she wouldn’t normally sustain if she didn’t care about leaving her opponents with a pulse, but every cut and bruise feels like a prize. She relishes the pain that she carries home with her after a night out on the streets, each and every single one of her aches serving as a reminder that she had left those people alive and with every reason not to step out of line again.

She’s been on the streets for nearly two weeks when she finally comes across another vigilante. The city turns out to have more of them than she expects, once she started paying attention. She’s seen blurry images of him on the news enough to already know who he is, but it still doesn’t stop a flicker of excitement from bursting to life in her veins when she finally meets the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

He moves in a way that has her wondering who trained him, aware of every single thing around him even without turning to look. She’s been trained similarly to be aware of her surroundings, but his spatial awareness is so obviously superior that she’s almost envious.

Maia watches him fight, patiently waiting at the opening of the alley where he’s currently beating the crap out of a couple of muggers. The would-be victim had already run past Maia and back out into the streets, clutching her bag and probably hurrying to retreat to the relative safety of her home. She hadn’t even spared the masked girl a second glance in her rush to flee.

When he’s finished- which she notes with a mild sense of disappointment because it would’ve been a genuine pleasure to continue to watch him fight- he turns to her and tilts his head in query.

“I’m not here to fight,” she says, mindful of the way he’s already tensed in preparation for an attack.

“Then what are you here for?” He growls back, something dark and dangerous lining the edges of his tone, a threat so visceral that she can almost feel it permeating the space between them.

Maia steps deeper into the alley, and the shadows embrace her form like an old friend.

“Well, it seems we’re in the same business, so I thought I should introduce myself.”

“You seem a little young to be in this business.”

She doesn’t allow herself to stiffen, even as her heart skips a beat at his words. Whoever the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is, he’s more perceptive than almost anyone else she’s ever come across. What gave it away? Maia’s trained her whole life to become a ghost, yet within a minute of introducing herself to this man in an alley, he can already tell that she’s still a teen?

“I took down those guys at the docks last week,” she tosses back, forcing herself to sound flippant and cold, “I think my age is the last thing you should be concerned about.”

It’s not quite a laugh that she manages to get of out him, but it’s close.

“I guess you’re right about that.” He nods, relaxing his stance and lowering his billy clubs to his sides. “What should I call you?”

Maia hums for a second, a little thrown by the question. She hadn’t quite considered creating a name for her nighttime alter ego yet. This new hobby of hers doesn’t feel so much as dressing up as it does dressing down, stripping away the costume of normalcy and returning to the truth at the core of her being, the part of her that has violence etched deep into the very marrow of her bones.

“Dealer’s choice,” she replies, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen really laughs this time. It’s a rich, warm sound that echoes brightly in the quiet stillness of the alley.

“Alright. How about ‘Jane’?”

“As in, Jane Doe?” She doesn’t bother stopping the smirk that stretches across her lips, hidden beneath the fabric obscuring her face from view.

He shrugs, and the gesture makes the tiny horns of his mask catch some of the faint moonlight that trickles down from high above.

“Why not?”

She frowns, considering it. Something stirs in the recesses of her mind, and she tugs the memory loose with practiced caution. She thinks she was a Jane, once, in Europe. One of her earliest missions. But the memory holds no trace of blood, so she agrees with a shrug of her shoulders and the barest tilt of her head.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to be called ‘John,’ then.”

“You can call me Mike.” He smiles, then, almost wickedly, and she’s sure there’s a joke in there somewhere that she’s most definitely not in on.

But even beneath the mask, she finds herself smiling too, and just like that, Maia somehow ends up befriending the Devil.

to be continued...

#marvel fanfiction #original character #peter parker #Ao3 #fanfiction #writing

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melyaliz · 7 years

Text

Bets over Beers

Summary: Every night they went out to see who could get lucky first.

Pairing: Roy Harper x OC

Notes A story trade for @speedypan

Maia @speedypan

Annabella @the-shadow-of-atlantis

Lucy @coffee-randomness

“Well if it isn’t my favorite Barback!” Shane said waving at the couple as they walked in. Roy looking slightly miffed as always as Maia walked into the bar as if she was a celebrity. Which, in a way she was in this place. Her and Jennifer frequented it enough that the Bartender had offered her a part-time job helping out.

Her drinking buddy was already at the bar with Annabella, and Dick. Annabella already sipping on her namesake. Something Shane had concocted for her a month or so ago.

“I was just telling Shane how I’m the one who introduced you guys to this bar yet I don’t have a drink named after me” Jennifer whined as the bartender laughed shaking his head handing her and Dick margaritas from his newly fixed margarita maker. (Thanks Roy for the assist with that)

“That’s because my dear Jennifer, I have never seen you commit to anything in your whole life. How can I make you a drink if your taste changes faster than the crime rate in Gotham?”

The brunette scoffed taking a sip of her drink while Dick burst out laughing. “You guys are just rude.”

“But true,” the police officer with buns of steel said.

“Speaking of Jen’s commitment issues, does it count if you slept with the same person?” Maia asked as she took a seat next to her friends.

“What?”

“She’s talking about the betting pool” Shane informed Dick. “Her and Roy compete to see who can get someone first.”

“It’s fun to watch.”

“Until I wipe the floor with your asses.” Jennifer laughed before winking at the cute blonde at the end of the bar. “And also… I guess?” she glanced at their referee Annabella. The brunette shrugged taking another sip of her drink as if thinking it over.

“Why not?”

“I think she’s just scared she’ll leave here tonight alone and I’ll win,” Roy said as Shane handed him a water, “What the fuck is this man?”

“Your signature drink.” the bartender laughed, “It’s called the ‘Maia is working off my tab’”

“How am I supposed to win with this?” the redhead asked glaring at the bartender who only laughed going back to mixing some drinks for other guests.

“I have money on Maia.”

“As you should,” The brunette said as she tied her hair back in a ponytail before pouring herself and Roy a shot, “here my competitor, may the best person win.”

“Twenty says they go home together tonight” Jen smiled handing Shane the money which he added to the tip jar making a note of her bet.

“No way, my money is on Roy angerly taking someone home after seeing Maia making out with someone else,” Dick said handing Shane some cash.

“And I... Would just like another drink please” Annabella said handing him her empty glass. Shane chuckled taking it.

“Well I think you are both wrong, I think Roy is going to hit on a girl and Maia is going to cock block him by taking her home.”

“Well, what about Roy?”

“He’ll go home pissed.”

“I guess we shall see,” Jennifer said taking another sip of her drink her blue eyes surveying the bar as it slowly started to fill up. No matter what happened tonight she had a feeling it was going to be interesting.

As the music pulsed through the bar and people mingled Maia floated through the crowd. Going from person to person.

The brunette wasn’t having much luck. Ok maybe she was, but her heart just wasn’t in it as much today. She wasn’t sure what was wrong, but her grove just wasn’t quite… grooving. The sound of Jennifer’s laugh and Annabella letting out a loud “NO!” caught her attention. The older girl was obviously a few drinks in and had some scheme upon sleeve as she leaned on the bar talking to Shane who was leaning back from the opposite side so he was facing her. Dick was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not saying have sex with her… just flirt. I want him to finally realize he likes her.”

“Wait who is this guy?”

“Zen’s brother.”

“Dick?I thought he was dating someone.”

“No, Jason.”

“How many siblings do you have Zen?” Shane laughed turning to her, “I’m just imagining you with your own football team of siblings.”

“Basically”

“What are we talking about?” Maia asked coming up next to Jen putting her arm around the other girl. Jennifer smiled holding up her drink for Maia to take a sip.

“I want to have Lucy come here and have Shane flirt with her so Jason finally realizes he likes her.”

“And I think that’s just manipulative.” Annabella said, “Let it happen naturally.”

“Then it’ll NEVER happen. SHAAAANNNNEEEE”

“Yeeeeeaaaaaassssss”

“Don’t listen to Zen.”

“But she’s so smart.”

“Shhhhhhhh” Jen whispered putting her finger on the bartender’s lips, “listen to me, I’m the one with the masters in psychology.”

“That’s what scares me smalls”

“So how’s the hunt going Maia?” Jennifer asked turning to her as if totally forgetting her evil plans to get their absent friend hooked up.

“Fine I guess, why aren't you out there?”

“Not feeling it tonight,” Jennifer said casually waiving off the comment. Maia wondered if it had anything to do with the dark-haired policeman. Jennifer always seemed to be a little less, loos when he was out with them. “Any prospects?”

Maia sighed her gaze floated across the bar, “Not really, although that girl in the Iron Maiden shirt is pretty hot.”

“The one talking to Roy?” Shane asked standing up straight to get a better look, “Yeah, here she’s been drinking Jack and Coke all night.” he added handing his barback a refill for the cute rocker chick.

“Who’s the master manipulator now?” Jennifer asked as Maia took the drink walking up to Roy and the unnamed girl. Shane just lets out a soft slightly evil laugh in response.

Two minutes Roy was at the bar for another drink.

Two minutes after that Maia had joined him.

“How’s the conquest going Maia? Not that it matters I think I’m about to win with Crystal over there.”

“You mean this Crystal?” Maia asked holding up a napkin with numbers on it.

“Wait are you serious?”

“Pay up” Shane whispered to Jennifer who just smiled at him.

“The night’s still young”

“What’d I miss,” Dick asked coming back to his barstool. Jennifer turned to him a smile on her face.

“Shane thinking he won, where were you? Busting a drug ring in the back?”

“Uhhh No?”

“Wait… were you really?”

Dick couldn’t help but burst out laughing as the slender brunette stared at him in complete shock. Drunk Jen would believe anything apparently, however with his nighttime activities it really wasn’t out the realm of possibilities.

“No, it was just Barb, she had a question. Now fill me in on the night events so far.” Dick said leaning closer to Jen as she pulled his arm so she could point out the ongoing since he had been absent.

From across the bar, Roy was now challenging Maia to a game of darts over Crystal’s number. The girl in question was already bored and knew she wasn’t going to get any action between the two of them so had moved on to another bar patron.

The two archer’s however, hadn’t realized this yet.

“If I get this next one standing on a chair backward you owe me a drink,” Maia said clambering up on a chair.

“You’re on” Roy laughed “I have a really hard time believing… shit.” he growled as the dart hit its target. Maia squealed as she turned to look at him almost falling off the chair in the process. Quickly the red-haired man grabbed her arm to steady her.

“Woah there Robin Hood.”

“Oliver would be so proud.” Maia said putting both her hands on his shoulders looking down at him, “I’m kicking your ass.”

“Yeah, that’s what would make Oliver proud.”

“You have really pretty eyes”

“Huh?”

“I want a baileys”

“Coming up,” Roy said grabbing her by the waist lifting her off the chair. Maia let out a slight squeal wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he carried her back to the bar.

“Hold on” Roy muttered placing her on a nearby table before reaching into his pocket, “I need to get my money.” Maia’s legs tightened their grip about his middle making his grunt slightly in surprise.

“You have an open tab silly.”

“Oh yeah,” he muttered looking up at her as she leaned closer to him, her fingers now playing with his hair. “What would I do without you?”

“Get lucky?”

“I don’t know,” Roy sighed wistfully as his hands clamping around his hips pulling her closer to him, “I’m feeling pretty lucky at the moment,”

Gently he kissed her as if she was going to disappear again. Float away with the wind. Melt away in his grip like ice washing away into water. But now that he started he could stop. He was a thirsty man lead to water. Years in a desert finally getting the one thing he had always wanted.

Maia giggled as Roy’s mouth trailed down from her mouth to her neck gently giving her small love nibbles on her sensitive skin. His grip on her tightening slightly as her fingers ran through his hair. Her body was on fire as he seemed to melt into her. Just a drunken haze of limbs.

“Jen was right,” Shane said laughing as he handed a few customers their beers. The night slowly coming to a close.

“I’m always right” Jennifer smiled before putting her arm around Annabella who had fallen asleep, her head resting on her cousin’s shoulder. Gently Jennifer kissed her forehead while holding her hand out for Shane who rolled his eyes handing her the money.

Tagging: @royslittleharper @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @werewitchling @nightwing-rules @jayne-writes @memento-scribet @pinkwitch21

#Jennifer #Annabella #Maia #roy harper #Dick Grayson #Shane #Shane the Bartender #feathers #Roy Harper x oc #Roy Harper oc #Roy Harper fanfic #Roy Harper x reader #Roy Harper reader #Dick Grayson fanfic #DC fanfic #my writing #other ocs

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sthsdestories · 7 years

Text

Chapter 1: Alice Got Hot

FP Jones was just putting on his jean vest when he heard the familiar sound of Fred Andrew’s van pulling up to his family’s trailer. Before he could even finish getting ready, Fred was already through the front door and collapsed onto his bed.

“Don’t be so fussy FP,” he said, as FP flipped up the collar of his vest.. “It’s the first day of summer before we graduate and we have a lot of living to do before high school is done.”

FP shrugged as he laced up his boots. Sometimes he couldn’t imagine how he and Fred ever became friends. FP was born into a family that had been on the Southside for generations. He was hardened to the bone and he didn’t share Fred’s enthusiasm. Typically, people who come from a broken home didn’t tend to fare too well.

Fred couldn’t really understand him. His family moved to the North side of Riverdale just before his freshman year. The very definition of a nuclear family, Fred came from a good home with loving parents and enough money to get him an old van for his 16th birthday. Soon after starting Riverdale High, Fred got into one fight that landed him on the Riverdale chain gang, as they call it, picking up trash near Sweetwater River. That’s when FP, no stranger to delinquency, met him for the first time. For Fred, their friendship was fated. They bonded instantly, despite Fred’s optimistic outlook on life. Fred liked to tell FP it balanced out FP’s generally gloomy demeanor.

As FP grabbed his house keys and made his way out of his bedroom he heard a long whistle leave Fred’s lips. He turned around and saw Fred staring out the window. “Man, Have you seen Alice Smith? She got hot.”

“Loud-mouthed, mousy Alice Smith?.” FP quickly joined Fred at the window. “I didn’t even know she was back.” To his surprise, Alice had indeed gotten hot. His eyes slowly moved over her body as she jumped out of her dad’s car, swinging a duffel bag behind her. In the year since FP had seen her last, Alice seemed to have matured. Her hips were wider and she had filled out. Her shaved head was now full of brown hair that fell down her back. She was definitely not the gangly girl he had grown up with. Before FP could avert his eyes, Alice raised her head and looked straight at him

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“Take a photo—it’ll last longer, idiots,” Alice yelled, ignoring her father’s scowl. She had only been back for 20 minutes and she already felt stifled. Not that living in Greendale with her aunt was better. That house was so strict that Alice had actually looked forward to finally coming home, but she wasn’t prepared for what being home meant. All she knew was that she wanted to spend this summer with Maia before they went their separate ways.

She imagined nights full of parties and dancing under the stars. Alice just wanted one perfect summer with her best friend Maia, before everything changed.

“Maia,” Alice said in surprise as she entered her bedroom. “How did you even get in here?” She tossed her bag into the corner and jumped on the bed next Maia, trying to hide the smile that spread across her face.

“Please, how many years have we known each other? I am a master at sneaking into your house by now,” she laughed. “Don’t try to hide your excitement from me, girl. I know living in your aunt’s puritanical house was hell. For one thing, you couldn’t see fabulous me for weeks.” Maia flipped through the pages of a YM she’d taken from her neighbor’s before tossing it on the floor.

Maia and Alice had been inseparable since they were six years old. Some of the other neighborhood kids had been picking on Alice on the way home from school one day, when a tiny afroed girl came out of nowhere. Just as Mustang was about to push Alice down, Maia had gone up to him, half his size, and hit him square in the face. Since then Alice had always admired Maia’s fearless nature, even when it got them into trouble. Even so, despite the consequences, Alice wouldn’t trade her for anything.

“Alice, I—oh, hi Maia,” Mr. Smith spared her a passing glance. “Your mother is going to be late so she won’t be at dinner.” Alice gave him a look of acknowledgement before signaling for him to get out.

“I’ve got plans for Alice tonight anyway, Mr. S,” Maia said with a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep her out any later than usual.”

Mr. Smith turned slightly red before leaving the room. He had decided it wasn’t worth his energy to deal with those two, and at any rate he hoped Alice wouldn’t be friends with Maia much longer. He had no idea why his daughter had tied herself to that nobody of a girl. Being stuck living on the Southside was one of his biggest failings, and he couldn’t accept that anyone like Maia could be so proud of living in this dump.

“Plans for me?” Alice asked curiously.

“Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise but the Whyte Wyrm agreed to host a welcome back party,” Maia told her. “We missed you. This place wasn’t the same without our Angry Alice,” Maia teased . Alice rolled her eyes. She hated that nickname, but she also couldn’t dispute it. Her generally loud and aggressive demeanor was well known.

“And now that your boobs have finally come in, tonight is the night you can get yourself a serpent in training for the summer.”

Maia squawked as Alice pushed her off the bed before going went to her closet to look for something to wear to her surprise party. As if reading her mind, Maia produced the bag she’d brought and unzipped it with a flourish.

“We both know you have nothing to wear to match your new...assets. So, I brought some of my clothes over for you to try on.” Maia pulled out an impressive array of clothes on the bed, giving Alice time to look over each piece.

“I want you to have the welcome back you deserve, so leave the outfit to me,” Maia said as she pulled out a dress and opened her makeup caboodle.

------

It was dusk when Alice and Maia made their way to the Whyte Wyrm.

“Now remember, act surprised,” Maia said, walking a few steps in front of her. They’d spent the entire day perfecting their looks for the party. Maia had convinced Alice to go out in a dress more revealing than she’d usually wear, but she couldn’t deny she felt powerful in it. It felt like the beginning of a perfect night.

Alice saw a face quickly appear in the window of the Whyte Wyrm before the lights turned off. Maia stepped inside first before Alice crossed the threshold to a loud “Surprise!” from all inside. While Alice smirked at them, looking around the room coolly, she couldn’t help her heart from melting at the sight. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this place before being gone for an entire year. This was the first time today she felt truly welcomed back. Her dad couldn’t seem to care less that she was back and her mom didn’t even try to get off work on time. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, it had stung. She pushed those thoughts aside as she made her way around the room.

Michelle, Jimena, and Angela were in a group, as always. They each gave her a brief hug, complimenting her on growing her hair out and catching her up on everything she missed. Apparently, Michelle’s boyfriend had finally been made into a full Serpent, while Jimena and Angela were planning to go to New York for the summer. At her side, Maia handed Alice a cup while she continued her tour through the room. As she greeted everyone in the room she couldn’t help but feeling as though someone was watching her. Out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the wall with a beer dangling from his fingers, was FP Jones. Their eyes met and immediately she froze, her smile turning briefly into a scowl.

Alice and FP’s history wasn’t the greatest. He had been apart of Mustang’s group in school and Alice did her best to kept her distance, but it wasn’t easy when Fred always wanted to hang around Maia.

“Earth to Alice.” Maia was waving her hand in front of Alice’s face. “I get you’re making the rounds, but you’ve been so quiet since you’ve gotten back. You didn’t even tell me about your year in Greendale. We also need to plan our class schedules for next year.” At the mention of school Alice’s expression tightened.

“Can’t we do all that later? Tonight, I just want to enjoy being back.” She took another sip of her drink as Fred approached, with FP trailing behind.

“Maia, looking great as always,” Fred said, sliding next to her. Maia’s head rolled back with a smile.

“Fred, you’re cute for a white boy, but haven’t we been down this road before? In fact, every summer.”

“Well, it is the season,” Fred said as he put his arm around her. “Why don’t we talk about it while I grab you a refill.” Alice watched as the two of them shuffled off in the direction of the bar and out the door.

“Angry Alice. Back from the dead,” FP said.

“Fuckup Jones,” she retorted, pointing a finger at his face. “I see you’re attempting to grow facial hair.” FP shook his head and reached a hand toward her hips. He opened his mouth to say something just as Alice grabbed his wrist. “I suggest if you don’t want to lose that hand, you’ll keep it to yourself.”

FP dropped his hand and shook his head again. “Still as fiery as ever I see.” He sounded more amused than annoyed. Alice let out a small chuckle, standing there examining him. She wasn’t sure why FP was still hanging around, since he and Fred were attached at the hip, but she found she didn’t mind it as much as she had before.

Alice heard the jukebox kick on as the crowd erupted. FP offered his hand to Alice. “Let me be the first to welcome you back with a dance.”

She reluctantly agreed and joined him on the dance floor. As she danced with him, she noticed he was watching her closely. She felt her heartbeat quickening.

Then out of nowhere, Rick appeared and tapped FP on the shoulder. “It’s time,” Rick grunted, motioning to the back room.

FP nodded, leaning down to Alice’s ear. “Thanks for the dance, but I have to go.” Alice nodded wordlessly and watched as he and Rick sauntered off. She knew FP had been doing odd jobs for the Serpents, but maybe he was finally going to get his leather jacket this summer.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Maia joined her on the floor, her deep brown skin glistening. “How was that refill?” Alice asked.

Maia just laughed and pulled Alice closer. “Well, you know how it is, Fred is just such a sweet talker.”

As the next song came on, Alice tried to clear her thoughts and focus on this night. This was the first day of summer after all—no need to worry about things that weren’t going to matter for months.

Right, Alice thought. Nothing is changing. Not yet.

subscribe at https://tinyletter.com/southsidestories

#riverdale #Alice Cooper #fp jones #southside serpents #southside stories #fanfic

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coffee-randomness · 7 years

Text

Cartwheels and wow

Story trade with @melyaliz she asked for something about Faith, Gigi and Lucy training together and using their powers.

Mentions of @royslittleharper and @the-shadow-of-atlantis ocs.

Also headcanoning that Faith has a little signature smile when she’s planning something mischievous that only Gigi and Bruce recognize.

Word count: 825

The silence of the living room is cut out by the occasional recorded laughter of the tv, the munching sounds and sighs of boredom. It is a quiet afternoon. Lying in the sofa, Faith has the sensation of something heavy crawling in her stomach. The feeling closes her eyelids for a few seconds and the vibration of the couch with the giggles of Gigi pull them open again.

That’s the reason she hates being left out of team missions, while everyone else was outside having some fun and kicking some bad guys they got to stay in waiting for news and meanwhile, falling asleep on the couch. It was good having Tim back, but not being left out of patrol. Faith sighs, she isn’t jealous though, just annoyed at Batman.

She stands up in alert, wanting to shake the sensation of sleepiness off. Gigi glances up at her with curiosity and Lucy sinks in the sofa pillows, hiding a yawn behind her palm, Faith notices her eyelids fluttering closed and hits the power buttom of the tv, the absence of noise waking Lucy up.

“I’m bored” Faith says simply “Let’s train or something. Lu come on, I’ll teach you a cool thing!”

She pulls her by the wrist, forcing her on her feet and to the center of the living room. Gigi fidgets in the couch to watch them, not letting her ice cream forgotten for a moment, maybe the sweet was the cause of her being the only one not half asleep.

Faith lets go of Lucy and moves across the room, her hands touching the floor first, her feet pointing at the ceiling an instant and then on the floor. There’s such a grace in her movements that both Lucy and Gigi stare at her in awe until she’s done. She lifts her hands at the sides of her head, her hair bouncing on her shoulders when she’s finally standing up and from her spot in the sofa Gigi claps her hands a few times before realizing she was spilling half of her ice cream over her clothes. Lucy smiles.

“See? It’s easy, now you do it!”

Lucy doubts, there’s no way in the world she would be able to do the same thing Faith just did. She opens her mouth to say it, but her friend’s pouty stare makes her close it again. She settles for shaking her head repeatedly, her hair hitting her cheeks in the process. Faith pushes her bottom lip out and blinks quickly, as if trying to brush tears away.

“Uugh, you know that look only works with Tim” Lucy says, her eyes travel back to the sofa and to the dark tv screen “That was amazing an all, but I’m pretty sure I’ll break a bone or two trying to do it; besides I just want to go back to watching tv”

“Funny thing Annabella said the same thing the first time she tried to teach her” Gigi says, her cup now empty.

Faith lets out a sound of displeasure and Lucy gives her an apologetic look.

“We could try to find another thing to do” She offers but Faith shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She brushes past Lucy’s shoulder, towards her room. Gigi glances worriedly at her, noticing the small smile on her lips as she walks.

“Oh oh” Gigi whispers leaving the cup on the floor and standing up. There wasn’t much things she was wary of, except for when Faith was planning on doing something with that smile on her face. Somehow, she knows their afternoon isn’t going to be as slow as they thought it would be.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy asks, looking at her stand up “Is she mad at me?”

“No, don’t worry, she’s alright” Gigi says sitting in the floor to stretch.

Lucy’s attention falls over her. Gigi puts her right foot behind her neck and pulls it with her left hand, something that’d have hurt anyone else but her.

“Wo–” Her words are cut out by her reflexes and as she moves her head in the direction her eyes indicate her, it feels like time has stopped in just one place. The pillow floats in the air, one of the corners pointing at the floor and Lucy lifts her eyebrows at Faith, that’s now grinning at her.

“Wow” Gigi says, staring at the pillow still in the air “I wish Bart and Maia could see this”

“I knew it!” Faith exclaims with a victorious tone. The other two girls then notice the variety of things in her arms, everything from a forgotten empty bowl to stuffed animals. Lucy gasp in horror.

“Faith, no”

“Faith, yes! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

Lucy eyes widen and she looks at Gigi for help, but the red haired girl just shrugs while giggling.

“I–I’ll do the cartwheels, just please don’t–”

“Too late for that sistah, let’s train!”

#not my ocs #others ocs #gigi #faith #maia #annabella #my oc #lucy #my writting #dc ocs

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dachosmin · 7 years

Text

Nonconathon Letter

Dearest writer! Ten thousand blessings upon you and your house for writing for me! I adore all of these pairings and kinks and am pretty much guaranteed to love whatever you write. That said, I’ve provided a scenario or two to help you brainstorm, but if you get a different idea from the tags feel free to go for it!

In terms of general notes, I really like porn-as-character-study, and love when the emotional beats in porn are tied into the characters’ pre-existing issues and hangups.

Additionally, I would prefer non-downer endings. It doesn’t need to be super happy! It can be; I do love reading about noncon aftermaths, replete with rescues and and hurt comfort and affirmations and all that. But it’s fine if the fic ends with the victim still in peril, licking their wounds. As long as there’s some spark of hope, and it doesn’t end with the equivalent of “and then character A resigned themselves to a slow and painful death.”

General Yes Wants: bondage, begging, crying, drugs/alcohol, orgasm denial, dirty talk (forced or otherwise), verbal humiliation, tentacles, desk!sex, wall!sex, choking, forced arousal, whipping, boot!kink, hair-pulling, guilt/shame, knifeplay, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, pining.

General Do Not Wants: victim death, mindbreak, stockholm syndrome, permanent injury, hand/eye/teeth injury, public sex, underage, scat, bestiality.

Requests

Dresden Files

Lord Raith noncons Harry and Thomas, Lord Raith noncons Thomas

We know Lord Raith has slept with/fed on his children in the past in order to assert dominance over them. I’m fine with a younger, more innocent Thomas being subjected to this for the first time- perhaps rebellious and needing to be subdued by his father’s sex magic, or perhaps still reeling and horrified in the aftermath of his first kill. Or! Lord Raith calling in Thomas when he’s older in order to prove he’s still loyal, and Thomas has to go along with it in order to keep his dad from suspecting he’s not as docile as he appears. I imagine Lord Raith is very very powerful, and more than capable of turning Thomas on against his will. Does he completely overpower Thomas? Or toy with him and use just enough magic that Thomas can’t tell how much of this is his own attraction and how much is the vampire drugs.

And then if Harry’s in the mix the possibilities get even better. I have no idea how Harry gets into this mess- perhaps it’s an undercover thing gone wrong, and Lord Raith isn’t sure who he is? Perhaps Lord Raith has Harry kidnapped and brought to his bed specifically to hurt Thomas, who answers his father’s summons only to find Harry, drugged to the gills on vampire sex pheromones! And Harry isn’t really sure what’s going on but is so trusting of Thomas that he’s willing to follow his lead. And Thomas is frantically trying to act like Harry means nothing to him and is just another toy to feed on, and does his best to shield him from the worst of his father’s hunger while unable to refrain from feeding on him himself. All of the angst and shame and guilt, please!

Dresden Files

Nicodemus Archleone noncons Michael Carpenter

I would strongly prefer Michael “consent” to the sex- obviously it isn’t true consent, as he’d never actually want it, but I would like him to choose this instead of being dragged into it kicking or screaming. As for how that might happen- do the Fallen have one of the swords that they’re willing to trade for him? Or have they captured Harry/Molly/etc? Is he trying to save some other innocent? Maybe they’ve caught Michael and say they’ll let him go if he acts as a willing participant in a night of pleasure. Either way, I imagine he envisions this as another kind of battle, and he’s never backed away from fighting before.

It’s up to you how Nicodemus responds. He hates and fears Michael- maybe he wants to make the rape brutal and torture-y, see how much he can degrade Michael, how far he can push him before Michael cries or begs him to stop. Or maybe he takes a completely different approach? Maybe he wants to corrupt Michael, not break him? So he seeks to make it the most sinfully pleasurable sex Michael has ever had, tries to get Michael to enjoy it as much as possible and then shame him for giving into his lust.

Either way, there’s potential for lots of “what would your family and friends think to see you now?” type stuff, plus blasphemy (misuse of religious symbols! Stringing Michael up on a cross! Mockingly quoting scripture!) and mocking Michael for being all about love and forgiveness etc etc.

No matter how dark it gets, please have Michael uncorrupted at the end- even if he gives in and begs or cries and has his faith shaken during the rape itself, please follow it with some hint of self-forgiveness and faith in the aftermath, even if it doesn’t come immediately.

Rogue One

OMC noncons Cassian Andor

This request is 100% based on the fact that Cassian Andor suffers beautifully and is a delightful little ball of angst and guilt.

As for scenarios, there are so many options! Is Cassian ordered to seduce imperial operatives or go undercover as a prostitute? Perhaps some of his clients have darker tastes than he had planned for and he gets drugged/whipped/gangbanged etc. Or perhaps they realize he’s a rebel and they want to have a bit of fun with him before handing him over to Imperial Intelligence? Or perhaps Imperial Intelligence is interrogating him, and when traditional torture doesn’t work the interrogator decides to try out some slightly unorthodox methods? And even if they can’t get anything out of him, they take videos and pictures of him getting raped and begging and crying and then send it to the rebels as a way to break morale. Or maybe it’s the rebels that are nonconning him- an undercover mission where he’s posing as an Imperial and can’t break cover to tell them he’s on the same side as them? Or Rebel Intelligence testing him to see how well he can stand up to torture?

The Goblin Emperor

Eshevis Tethimar noncons Csevet Aisava

A classic for a reason! I would prefer this one to happen during the canon period rather than during Csevet’s courier days. As for the scenario… perhaps Csevet sneaks out to a marnis bar to take care of his, ah, needs, and happens upon Tethimar? And Tethimar is crooning all this poison in his ear about how he’ll tell everyone Csevet is a marnis whore if Csevet doesn’t service him. And even if Maia doesn’t care society will, and there will be all sorts of rumors about the emperor employing a marnis secretary, nod wink. Or perhaps he dispenses with the blackmail and just pulls Csevet into an alley, and Csevet is too drunk on metheglin to effectively fight back. Or any scenario where Csevet offers himself up to Tethimar to protect Maia is excellent too.

OMC noncons Deret Beshelar

Deret has such developed senses of duty and honor, I’d love to see a scenario where the two clash. He has a duty to protect Maia; what happens when he has to sacrifice himself in a way Elvish society deems most dishonorable in order to fulfill said duty? As for how this might come about… I don’t know, maybe the emperor is traveling and they’re waylaid by bandits? Airship pirates? Enemy soldiers? And Beshelar convinces them to rape him instead of Maia, since Maia is all fragile and no fun in bed but Beshelar! Beshelar is a proper soldier that can show them a good time (desperate Beshelar is a terrible liar). However it happens, I imagine the rapist would take great delight in chipping away at Beshelar’s rigid self-control. And hopefully Maia or Cala can comfort him a bit afterwards.

OMC noncons Deret Beshelar and Cala Athmaza

So, like the above but with Cala in the mix. I could see this being very interesting in terms of Beshelar’s honor™. Beshelar is canonically willing to sacrifice himself for Maia- it’s his job after all. But what happens when he has to watch Cala make the same sacrifice? What happens when he can’t save both of them? Would he shut down, or do everything in his power to take the brunt of the abuse? And Cala! How would Cala react to Beshelar’s astronomical levels of guilt and shame? How would he handle the rape itself?

Eshevis Tethimar noncons Cala Athmaza

Unlike the other pairings I have no preconceived notions of how this would play out, but I’m really, really curious to know what you think would happen!

The Hobbit

Thorin noncons Legolas, Thorin noncons Legolas and Thranduil, Thorin noncons Thranduil, Thranduil noncons Fili and Kili, Thranduil noncons Fili/Kili/Thorin, Thranduil noncons Kili, Thranduil noncons Thorin

These pairings are all based on the semi-obsessive mutual hate between Thranduil and Thorin, and the idea that both of them would absolutely go after the other’s loved ones to get what they want.

Scenarios where Thranduil is the aggressor could take place while the dwarves are imprisoned in Mirkwood, or in a canon-divergent aftermath of the BoFA where Thorin/Fili/Kili all live. If set in Mirkwood, perhaps Thranduil offers the dwarves their freedom- for a price? Or maybe post-canon the two realms get into another war that the elves win, and Thranduil takes Thorin and his nephews as his personal slaves?

If Thranduil is nonconning Thorin, I’d love him reveling in Thorin’s unwilling submission. Ordering Thorin around, making him enjoy it despite himself, grinding all the dwarven pride underneath his heel- YES! Or if he’s nonconning Kili and/or Fili, doing it in a way that highlights how impotent Thorin is to help them- making him watch, drugging them in front of him, taking them somewhere where Thorin can hear the noises echoing off the rock walls of his cell? And if it’s all three of them, forcing Thorin to fuck them and making him enjoy it? Basically anything that ends with Thorin enraged and turned on despite himself would be most welcome.

As for instances where Thorin is the aggressor, I imagine his actions stem from his hatred of Thranduil’s treatment of his people and also his desire to see cracks in the elven-king’s perfect mask- either through raping Thranduil himself or taking apart his beloved only child and making Thranduil beg him to stop. Again, the latter would be great if either done in front of Thranduil or where he can hear the effects. Or make them perform together for Thorin’s amusement!

Mulan

Shan Yu noncons Shang

Perhaps Shan Yu captures Shang while he’s couriering messages to his father on behalf of the army. Shan Yu interrogates him, which turns into noncon, and after Shang breaks down and gives up whatever information he’s carrying, Shan Yu sends him on to his father with semen trickling down his armor.

Or perhaps the war ends with a treaty, and one of the conditions is that Shang is given to Shan Yu as a concubine? And Shang complies with the treaty even though he’s absolutely horrified: he’ll do his duty, even if it means lying back and thinking of China in the bed of his enemy. Does Shan Yu like playing with his prey? Does it amuse him to make Shang enjoy his captivity despite himself? Or is he vengeful in bed, wanting to punish Shang for the avalanche incident? Or perhaps China is overrun by the Huns and Shang ends up as Shan-Yu’s slave rather than an honored concubine. I would love Shan Yu coming across Shang on the battlefield or in the ruins of the capitol with fighting that turns into rape to claim him as his slave.

Whatever route you go, feel free to dwell on Shang’s horror that he’s submitting to the man that killed his father and/or so many of his countrymen.

Teen Titans

Slade noncons Robin

So in the show, Slade blackmails Robin into becoming his apprentice. In his own words, “If you join me, if you swear to serve me, if you never speak to your friends again I will allow them to live. But if you disobey even the smallest request I will annihilate them, Robin- and I will make you watch. So, do we have a deal?”

So: this scenario- but with noncon!

Perhaps Slade wants to test the limits of Robin’s loyalty to see how far he’ll go. So Slade asks Robin to do all sorts of things in that cool, dispassionate voice and Robin grits his teeth and does as he’s told at first, because he knows his friends will die as he doesn’t. Of course Robin can’t help but mouth off, and then Slade has to punish him. Or maybe it’s punishment from the start; Robin chafes at being ordered around even when it’s fairly innocuous. Maybe he snaps at Slade one too many times and Slade has to put him in his place.

I would love if Slade is publicly possessive with Robin- beyond just making him wear his uniform perhaps there’s a collar involved, and Slade insists on lots of touching and PDA when they’re in public. Especially if he makes Robin pretend this is all consensual to the Titans- he chose to go to the dark side and is likewise choosing to be in a relationship with Slade. Maybe Slade records Robin pretending to enjoy sex as blackmail material and sends it to the Titans- or Batman.

Whatever you end up doing, lots of focus on Robin’s impotent rage at the situation plus his horror and guilt and shame at actually enjoying the things Slade is making him do.

Captive Prince

Damen and Nikandros noncon Laurent and Auguste, Damen noncons Laurent and Auguste

I’d prefer these pairings to take place in an AU where Laurent and Auguste are Damen’s slaves- perhaps Auguste was captured at Arles and Laurent was sent over as tribute later, perhaps Akielos conquered Vere and giving up the two princes as slaves was part of the peace treaty.

As for how the rape itself goes down, perhaps Damen (+ Nikandros) force the brothers to play together out of vindictiveness, having had friends that died in the war at Veretian hands. Or perhaps they’re just having fun with their two loveliest slaves and don’t give the incest part much thought. I’m all for collars/leashes in public, recreational drugging, and Laurent and Auguste tripping over themselves to protect each other- to the amusement of Damen (+Nikandros).

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erudammit · 7 years

Text

Fëanorian Week - Maëdhros (Real or False)

Summary: Remembering seemed to be Maëdhros’s only coping mechanism. Getting lost in his mind was not something that was meant to come of it.

Length: 1,800 words

Characters: Maëdhros, Sauron, Fingon

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Torture, Mental Illness,

Fëanorian Week Prompts: Torture, Adjusting/Coping, Unity

Features implied Maëdhros/Fingon

Sharp, cruel nails ripped through the skin of Maëdhros’s side and warm blood trickled out in rivlets; the elf focused on keeping his eyes clenched shut. He tried - oh, he tried - but no matter the state of mind he resided in, Sauron’s biting taunts somehow managed to bypass his mental protections. The elf would try to remember warm sun on bright grass, carefree afternoons conversing with Maglor, but all that he could hear was: “I told you. I told you that they left you as forsaken, elf. I told you, and you didn’t believe me. They aren’t going to seek you.”

Faintly, the Fëanorian could hear a stuttered dripping that gave rhythm to the cacophony of thoughts battling in his head; likely, the dripping was his blood falling onto some far-off ledge. Maëdhros felt heat razor where his torturer slashed just beneath his collarbone, but he could hardly summon the energy to whimper. At once, blood streamed to cover his chest and wet his already filthy hair; the cut had been done in a calculated movement, as if the elf was nothing more than something for the Maia to experiment on.

There was a moment of pause and murmured words as Sauron focused some of his fëa into the minimal healing of his victim, before the torture began anew. A hot palm gripped his wrist with bruising force, cracking the bone. White pain washed through his head and he wasn’t sure if he hissed, or groaned, or yelled. Hopefully, he had remained impassive; Eru knew that Sauron was worse when he was smug. He staggered slightly when a blow was delivered to his knee, the shackle - ironically enough - served as his only means of support until he regained his balance. Gradually, and with no small amount of effort, Maëdhros forced his mind away from the present and doggedly pushed it into the past, into a state that he knew would make him appear outwardly oblivious. The last sharp remark that Sauron felt fit to bequeath fell on deaf ears.

Maëdhros carefully turned the glowing silver as he hammered it, only to groan and toss it into the scrap bin after he saw the inconsistent thickness. He watched the hot metal melt around an old iron nail with a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t like there was any need to learn the trade of silversmithing anyways, Maëdhros reflected, undoing the leather ties of his metalworking apron and tossing it carelessly towards the neatly organized wardrobe. After double checking that no soot had smeared his trousers, Maëdhros did up the clasps on his tunic and fled the workshop.

The red-haired Fëanorian stuck to the shade as he walked back to the castle, dodging the twins and various pedestrians. Underneath the northern eaves, Caranthir huddled, whittling away at an oaken block and muttering. When Maëdhros approached, the dark-haired elf looked up and a shaft of sunlight fell over his pale face, much to his apparent displeasure. Caranthir ducked back down, giving Maëdhros nothing more than an acknowledging nod before he returned to his work.

The castle was relatively empty, sans the occasional servant or assistant, and Maëdhros walked straight up to the western turret. Ideally, the red-headed elf would have isolated himself in the library, but seeing as Maglor hadn’t been in the outdoor gazebo, the room was probably occupied. Stopping only to break a candlestick off of a mounted light, Maëdhros hurried to the tower with a delight that he hadn’t fostered for a good century.

It had been years since Fingolfin and his children had last graced the halls; the damn prince had made himself a home on the opposite side of Túna, much to Finwë’s annoyance. Maëdhros’s own father didn’t mind in the least. Maëdhros slowed as he approached the turret door. Would Fingon even remember? Unlikely. It was unrealistic for any elf to remember childhood habits; the centuries all blended together, over time. Nonetheless, Maëdhros shifted the candlestick into his pocket and knocked.

“Fingon?”

Crushing silence.

Maëdhros sighed and mentally traced the quickest route out of the area. Just as he turned to take the first step away, the heavy door creaked open. Maëdhros spun around and did his best to affect a nonchalant position. A silvery eye peeked through the crack, and then the door was flung open.

In the doorway, an elf stood, taller than Maëdhros had remembered. Gold wove through his sable braids, which rested loosely against his chest. The rich blue of Fingon’s tunic did nothing to lessen his apparent regality, but the grin on his face and the way that the belt rested awry did. Fingon beamed and stepped forwards to envelop Maëdhros in a hug.

“Maitimo!” Fingon laughed quietly. “I was afraid that you’d forgotten me!”

Maëdhros chuckled weakly.

“I feared the same.”

They stood there for a few moments, embracing each other, and then Fingon stepped away to motion Maëdhros inside with a grin. The Fëanorian held the wick of his candlestick to the mounted light outside the door and waited for the string to flicker alight before following his cousin. Inside of the turret, shadows danced over the walls, cracks of daylight permeating the narrow cracks provided by the old window shades. Maëdhros dripped hot wax into the rusty metal cup on the center table, waiting until it was halfway hardened before delicately pushing the end of the candle into it and allowing it to harden in place.

“C’mere,” Maëdhros heard Fingon say, and he turned to see that the grinning elf was beckoning him towards the tangle of ropes that they had constructed all those years ago. Being cautious not to fall through, the Fëanorian navigated his way into the ‘hammock’, slinging up his legs uncomfortably far and laughing as his movement made Fingon momentarily lose his balance and scramble madly. Eventually, they settled and Fingon slung an arm over Maëdhros’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The hot breath tickled slightly, but Maëdhros just hummed in contentment and buried his face in the dark-haired elf’s hair.

“It’s pleasing to be with you once more,” the Fëanorian murmured. He felt Fingon nod against his shoulder. For a few moments, neither spoke, instead focusing their gazes on the gentle licking of the candle flame not a ways away. Then, Fingon chuckled lightly.

“Look,” he motioned towards the opposite wall and, upon squinting, Maëdhros could see where they had taken knives to the stone centuries ago. Their names were carved with uneven chipping. “I can still see where you messed up on the ‘a’.”

“To be fair, I was trying to braid your hair at the same time,” Maëdhros maintained, his lips twitching.

“I don’t know how you would’ve done that,” Fingon grumbled. “Imagine if you had gotten mixed up and cut at my hair instead of the wall!”

“You’d probably have killed me.”

“Don’t exaggerate. Maiming at most.”

They laughed, then lapsed back into comfortable silence.

Something dripped onto Maëdhros’s cheek.

Fingon was talking but the Feanorian couldn’t hear him.

Another drop of liquid fell, this one tapping his forehead and dripping down the bridge of his nose.

The room began to lose detail and Fingon began to fade.

A harsh tapping at his hair.

Fingon was gone, and now Maëdhros couldn’t even recall what position he rested in.

Liquid ran over his closed eyes, trickling down his cheekbones and dripping off his chin. Maëdhros’s eyes shot open and a gasp fell from his lips before he could stop it. He jerked upright and the stone underneath him seemed to fall away. He tumbled to the flagstones in a flurry of cloth. Above him, the sky rumbled ominously and more raindrops tore down, stinging Maëdhros wherever his pale robe exposed skin.

Laughter reached him, and he glanced up to see Fingon grinning and extending a hand towards him, the other holding an overcoat above his head. Hesitantly, Maëdhros reached up, grasping Fingon’s hand as he gathered himself and stood. The grip on his hand tightened impossibly and the redheaded Fëanorian winced, glancing up in confusion. It wasn’t Fingon holding his hand anymore.

Sauron leered and Maëdhros tried to rip his hand free from the maia, succeeding only in stumbling and slamming himself against the cliff face. Sauron laughed and the Fëanorian tried to escape the chains that once more bound him.

"Let me go!" he cried, the yell tearing from his throat and into the wind. The maia laughed again, reaching out a long finger to brush Maëdhros's cheek, pinning his free arm to the rock with bruising force.

"You can't stop me," he grinned, leaning closer until his breath brushed the elf's neck. Maëdhros sobbed and bit down on another yell as Sauron sunk his teeth into his flesh. Blood streamed freely, covering his chest anew as Sauron withdrew, his mouth an unearthly red as he grinned scarlet.

Maëdhros jerked upright, his chest heaving. A heavy quilt covered his legs and the fire crackled. From the other side of the room a dark-haired elf looked up from his writing, a look of relief crossing his face. Fingon. Or Sauron. Fingon or Sauron. Real or false. Realorfalse.

“Maëdhros, thank Eru,” the other was at the Fëanorian’s side in an instant. “Elbereth, I was so worried.” Maëdhros remained silent. “Maëdhros? Do you remember what happened?” the black-haired elf cautiously ventured. Maëdhros tried, recalling pain in his wrist and the flapping of wings beneath his legs. He glanced down and a breath caught in his throat. Though is was swathed with bandages, it was clear that his hand was gone. But was it real or false?

“I remember,” the Fëanorian choked out. Fingon sighed, sinking into the seat beside his cousin and burying his head in the crook of his neck much like he had done in Maëdhros’s memory. Too much like he had done. Had Maëdhros just reached another mental trap? Would he be chained to the cliff face again within moments? Was he even alive anymore? Was this some sort of cruel neutral land between death and life? Was it real? Was it false?

“Maëdhros? You’re scaring me.” Fingon hovered in front of the redhead’s face, his expression concerned. The Fëanorian tried to calm the erratic breathing he had only just become aware of, but to no avail. Fingon seemed to realize his predicament, and he pushed him away from the back of the chair, scooting so that the redheaded elf’s back was cushioned by the other’s chest. Maëdhros felt a hand rub his shoulder, an attempt to soothe, and he did his best to relax into it. But was it real or false? Real or false? Realorfalse? Realorfalserealorfalse-

“Real or false?” Maëdhros gasped. Fingon paused.

“Maëdhros?”

“Is this real or false?”

Fingon nuzzled into the nape of Maëdhros’s neck. “This is real, Maëdhros. This is real.”

Slowly, Maëdhros began relax into the other elf. “This is real,” he sighed, as if to further confirm and convince himself of it. “This is real.”

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