#no possibility of a ceasefire my ass WHAT THE HELL IS FUCKING STOPPING YOU FROM CALLING A CEASEFIRE
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Learning how to be comfortable with being uncomfortable is important. I'm genuinely not okay when I hear, see, and research more about the genocide happening in Gaza, the history of Israel's founding, and its terroristic actions. It is important for me to know.
Taking short breaks (usually a couple of hours or so) does help when things get too much. Then, I return and continue engaging with reblogs on Palestine.
I really don't know what else to say, but this genocide must end. All genocides must end and must never happen again. Keep talking about Palestine, Armenia, Congo, and Sudan! Keep protesting! Keep fighting!
What is important now is to be as loud as you can be! Raise ruckus! Make your voice unavoidable! Be as annoying as possible! Do not let your representatives ignore this!
#// vent#// vent in tags#also eat butt biden you piece of shit I hope you don't get elected#no possibility of a ceasefire my ass WHAT THE HELL IS FUCKING STOPPING YOU FROM CALLING A CEASEFIRE#HOSPITALS SCHOOLS AND PLACES OF WORSHIP WERE BOMBED#YOU HAVE THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE PROTESTING AROUND THE WORLD AND FROM THIS COUNTRY DO YOU NOT FUCKING HEAR THEM#Jewish protesters were arrested too; how does their protesting against Israel warrant arrest??#Some of them were also doxxed and harassed but they protesting is bad somehow okay I have serious questions about this#they do not want this at all; why are we arresting them??#what are we fucking doing? Denying someone's right to freedom of protest. Freedom of speech. For saying stop killing people.#god forbid the marginalized rise up and raise our voices once we understand what happened to us and what will happen to others#we all stand together we will see a better world; a world we finally be free#but that means the US needs to really take a bit of time to really realize it's own history and learn from it for once#how the hell I got here? What happened to my people? I read the stories of slaves who barely survived the boats on the way here#....annnd I remember that some history books in the South omit that part. What's up with that?#And the Native Genocide here too? The broken promises the US made to steal more land and kill more people#Why this keeps repeating???#palestine#tw colonialism#genocide
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Sledgefu Pirate Au pt 5?
In which Eugene saves Snafu (again) and they lead the Governor’s troops on a chase, get tossed in jail, and end up at the OMM ball. This got RIDICULOUSLY long, and a bit goofy, I’m so sorry. @persipneiwrites I hope this still fits within your awesome AU and I didn’t go too totally off the rails ^_^ at some point we need to put this on ao3 as like a collab, my friend.
(Eugene has just visited Snafu in jail the night before he’s sentenced to hang as a pirate. He gave Snafu his ring to prove he will come save him, which I turned into a family ring rather than a USMC ring since I don’t know if the marines existed in the 1700′s? Also, Snafu wears a costume inspired by the Order Of Osiris which was Mobile’s first united Mystic Society for all LGBQT. Technically it wasn’t formed till the 1980s but I couldn’t resist. And that’s pretty much the extent of the research I did for this crack fic. Also I completely got their ages mixed up/the timeline of when Merriell joined the service, it’s hard to find info on the real background of Merriell and Eugene, but this way these characters are totally divided from the living heroes. Just fiction here! I gave Merriell a bit of my grandpa’s backstory cause the real history of his parents and sister is just too heartbreaking, I don’t know how to write that)
As Snafu stands on the raised platform, waiting to die, he reflects on his life. There isn't much enthusiasm in the act. None of his lofty dreams came to fruition. And he honestly never expected them to. This short drop and sudden stop, a brutal end to a mostly exhausting life, is exactly what he had anticipated.
One thing is unusual however. In the past, whenever he imagined the day of his death, of all the possible scenarios, a marching band never featured into any of them.
He always assumed he'd go out fighting in a blaze of guts and glory, not with instruments ringing in his ears.
The steady beat of drums does lend a sort of importance to the day. It gives Snafu something to focus on, other than the fact that his hands are tied, his stomach is empty, and his brain wants to be anywhere but here.
Eugene Sledge clearly doesn't want to be here either.
The man is conspicuously absent. Snafu twists his ring around his finger, spiraling it tighter and tighter in towards his palm. The sharp sting takes away the ache in his chest. He feels Sledge's absence like a physical blow.
Snafu knows he shouldn't have Gene's ring on. One mistaken flap of his hand and the Governor might recognize his own signet on a condemned man's finger. Not that the hell Snafu is currently in could get any worse, but if the ring is recognized then Sledge might be in for hell too.
Yet he can't bring himself to take the ring off.
He did turn the damn thing around so the large jeweled seal is pressing into the palm of Snafu's clenched fist. To any casual observer the ring looks like a plain gold band. No one will know. Snafu will see to that.
Still protecting the damn idiot boy who throws himself into danger just because it's the right thing to do.
Snafu, on the other hand, usually picks the wrong thing to do. As the executioner so calmly points out while he reads aloud Snafu's list of crimes for the crowd to judge.
Snafu never imagined being important in death. He lived his life with little fanfare, and thought he'd go out the same - as some unknown seaman with scurvy or battle wounds or water in his lungs.
But the list of his deeds makes it sound like he's had an impact on this world. The loud boom of the drums corroborate this weighty importance. The crowd gathering beneath his feet is there not to see a pirate, but to see him specifically. To witness the final end of Captain Snafu, who got caught up in circumstances bigger than his own life and paid the final price for it.
As his final moment draws closer, Eugene's empty place on the dias next to his father remains blindingly stark. At the beginning of the executioner's long speech, Snafu still had hope. Now, he can't even glance over at the governor and his cronies. He knows Sledge isn't there. And he doesn't want to see it.
Instead he looks to the sky. The hour is a little before dawn, so a few pinpricks of stars are still visible. There's a line of them, marching upwards, away from the stage, that he'd like to follow.
If he had to be famous, he'd rather it be for having a constellation named after him, than for his bones and hat, and a sign with his name on it, hanging rotting from a gibbet.
Snafu rolls his eyes closed and the floor beneath him drops.
He falls.
Surprisingly, he hits the ground. It shoots pain up his legs and he collapses on his side, but that makes it easier for him to look up and see what the fuck happened.
The last thing he expects is Sledge balanced precariously on the platform above him, desperately trying to dislodge his sword from the wooden gallows where he sliced the rope in two.
It almost doesn't look like Sledge. The man's face is half covered by Snafu's lucky hat. Sledge's large nose is the dead giveaway, sticking out by half a mile. Snafu'd recognize that nose anywhere.
Snafu smirks, thinking about the old wive's tale regarding feet and size, and that a more accurate version for Sledge would be the measure of that nose of his.
"Shit, shit, shit," Eugene curses with every tug, glaring at the sword as if it's the sword's fault for getting stuck. He glares with that little purse of wrinkled concentration between his brows. Which Snafu enjoys so very much.
With one final violent jerk, Eugene manages to free his sword from it's prison. But the movement knocks him off balance and he tumbles through the same hole Snafu fell down.
Luckily Snafu is already there to soften his fall. Eugene lands on his back, spread eagle atop the pirate.
"Get your pointy elbow out of my gut," Snafu grumbles, trying to wriggle away.
Eugene hastily rolls off, and crouches beside him. Their eyes meet for a moment, and magically all of Snafu's troubles evaporate. Every thought flies out of his brain, like maybe nothing sensical ever existed there in the first place. Nothing else exists except the slight shock of coming face to face with someone who desperately wants to look at him as much as he wants to look at them.
Someone who has risked his entire life to save Snafu's ass.
Again.
Reality crashes back down on them pretty quick when the executioner's ax falls between their bodies.
Both their heads swivel to the ax in surprise, and then to each other. As if accusing the other for being distracted.
"Nice of you to finally drop in," Snafu drawls, "Lucky I did so much shit in my life that the long list gave you the extra time." He leans back on his elbow and tries to look as seductive as possible even with both hands tied behind his body.
Eugene scowls, "Nice of you to be so grateful."
Snafu's smile widens gleefully, "Nice of you to wear your best hat."
Eugene's eyes roll upwards towards Snafu's lucky hat's brim. Eugene's scowl deepens as if he only just remembered that he is wearing the monstrosity. He drags it off his head unceremoniously.
Snafu gets one glorious glimpse of the worst case of ginger hat hair he's ever seen before his vision goes dark.
Not because he's blacked out but because Eugene drags the hat forcefully down over Snafu's head and the brim covers his face. Which wouldn't be a problem except that Snafu's hands are literally tied behind his back and he can't push the hat out of his eyesight.
"Gene, not to complain or anything…" Snafu starts.
Eugene says nothing, he focuses entirely on cutting the ropes binding Snafu's wrists as quickly as possible.
Snafu feels the tension of the rope give when Eugene finally breaks through.
The first thing he does is adjust his hat's position and secure the tie under his chin so he can get a better look at Eugene's wonderfully wild hair. The second thing he does with his newfound freedom is grab Eugene's hand and hold on tight like it's the only thing that matters in the world.
They run.
Snafu is faster, and navigates crowds and small spaces easier, so it's mostly him dragging Eugene along. He thinks they're making it, that they'll successfully get away, until a bullet wizzes past his shoulder too close to his head. He yanks Eugene into the nearest alley and they duck behind a giant cart.
"They're shooting at us?" Eugene exclaims incredulously.
Snafu eyes him, "What'd you expect?"
"I… my father wouldn't…" Eugene sputters.
A voice in the distance yells "Ceasefire! For God's sake…!"
Another volley of shots and then the voice yells again "...do not fire on my son!"
The alley goes quiet.
"Eugene, son, please surrender. You can come out peacefully. Captain Haldane is prepared to take you both into custody, there will be a trial."
Eugene and Snafu look at each other.
They're trapped in the alley. It leads to a dead end with a giant wooden fence and absolutely no toeholds.
Snafu presses himself against the wall to try and peer through the crack between the cart and the brick, and he almost stumbles over an iron cellar door.
"Sledgehammer..." he whispers.
Together they wordlessly lift the door open and slip inside. The cellar is dark. It takes a minute for their eyes to adjust from the harsh sun. Snafu makes sure to lock the door behind them. And then he turns.
And finds Eugene standing in the middle of the room rifling through a giant crate. He holds a pink lace parasol in one hand and lifts a brand new muzzle-loaded rifle with the other.
"Looks like smugglers were either trying to sneak weapons into the city in boxes of petticoats, or sneak the ugliest dresses known to man into the city under the guise of weaponry. Hard to tell which is worse," Eugene says, deadpan.
"Eugene, no…" Snafu admonishes, approaching and taking the parasol from his hand, "Pink is not your color, ginger." He swaps the pink parasol for a muted sea grey one.
"No, you keep that one," Eugene shakes his head and hands the grey parasol back to Snafu, barely suppressing his smile, "It matches your eyes."
Snafu grins, snapping open the parasol and twirling it on his shoulder. Eugene leans in closer to him, a hand at Snafu's waist, like he can't resist.
A muffled yell from outside interrupts them, and they both hastily crouch low to the ground.
Snafu carefully climbs to the tiny window grate at street level and listens.
"I think your father is still trying to negotiate with you," he whispers to Eugene, "No one realizes we've moved. Idiots."
He turns to Eugene to discover the man dressed in the most god awful brown frock Snafu has ever seen. The dress has orange and yellow trimmings and clashes with Eugene's hair, like a sunset gone horribly wrong smeared over day old shit.
"Orange ain't your color either, boo," Snafu says mournfully. Eugene might've looked really nice in the powder blue dress Snafu can see peeking out of a bottom crate.
"Here, I found one for you," Eugene says matter-of-fact-ly, tossing a red bundle at him.
"Well at least one of us will match your hair," Snafu comments as he catches it and grimaces with distaste.
They spend the next minute strapping themselves into uncomfortable garments and a single petticoat layer to hang low and cover their boots. Snafu slows them down somewhat when he insists on strapping as many rifles as he can to his legs beneath the skirts.
"Waste not," he says with a wink when Eugene raises an eyebrow at him.
Snafu fills the dress's puffed sleeves with bags of bullets.
Ultimately their getup makes it awful hard to move, but Snafu figures ladies are always having trouble doing anything more complicated than walking in their outfits anyway, so them mincing their steps will hardly stand out as unusual.
They sneak to the ground floor of the building and pause to listen at the front door.
"Okay, plan. We open the parasols as we open the door, and hurry in the opposite direction, like we're afraid," Snafu whispers.
Eugene nods, daintily twisting his pink parasol in his grip.
Snafu nods back. And then pulls Eugene in for a passionate kiss against the door.
Can't give up his last chance to feel Gene sigh softly against him and all that. If this is his last.
"I love you…" Gene mumbles against Snafu's lips.
Snafu's eyes widen. He gropes for the door handle behind his back and throws it wide open, causing them both to stumble out onto the street.
Good a time as any to get this game started.
Their parasols pop open and they duck underneath the frilly lace.
Eugene titters in a grating fake falsetto voice that makes Snafu want to stamp on his toes. But the disguise works. The Governor's soldiers ceasefire and Snafu and Sledge run, skip, and hobble down the street towards the docks.
When they hit the wood of the decks and can dare to lift the parasols above their faces, the very first thing Snafu sees is the bright splendor of the Santa Alma's sails. The most beautiful sight in the world, floating only fifty feet away.
Next Snafu sees the second most beautiful sight in the world. A beauty that makes him stop short in his tracks: Eugene Sledge shedding his ugly brown orange shell and clambering into a skiff wearing nothing but his green velvet trousers. Rich and soft, the kind of fabric a man could run his hands over for hours.
And Snafu decides then and there that green is definitely Eugene's color.
"Snaf, jump!" Eugene reaches out towards him.
Except Snafu doesn't have time to jump because right at that moment a bullet rips between his legs, shoots a hole through his petticoat, and nearly hits one of the rifles pressed against his bare skin. Snafu immediately stops - frozen like his balls in the Antarctic during that one memorable sailing expedition.
"Hands where I can see them," Captain Haldane tells Shelton, "And Eugene, if you could please step out of that boat real slowly."
Alarmingly Haldane is using the same tone of voice on both of them. Almost friendly...kind...and mildly amused.
Snafu is surprised the man didn't just shoot Snafu on sight and deal with the emotional fallout from Eugene later.
Eugene calmly climbs out of the skiff and shuffles over beside Snafu. He stands tall and stiff as a board, as if he has something to prove.
"Hands out," Haldane orders Snafu mildly.
Snafu sticks out his wrists and lolls his head in a petulant stare.
Haldane gently clasps him in irons.
"Ack Ack, you can't arrest this man," Eugene protests.
"He has to follow orders or he'll be court-marshalled," Snafu reminds Eugene.
"Your friend's right, Sledge," Haldane says, "But I can also see to it that he receives a fair trial."
"Snafu's not my friend," Eugene snaps and then falters, "He's my...Captain."
"That what we're calling it these days?" Snafu grins and knocks his hips against Gene who blushes furiously.
Eugene continues speaking as if he didn't hear Snafu, "Ack Ack, the things I've seen...the way the law treats sailors...I don't know if I trust the courts…"
"Eugene, what were you thinking?" a woman snaps behind them. The sound of smartly heeled boots clips closer and closer down the dock.
Eugene visibly winces at his mother's voice.
Both her and the Governor arrive, surrounded by crisply uniformed soldiers.
"You can't run off like a boy anymore, Gene," his mother says.
"You're mother's right," Governor Sledge agrees, "What you did today must have consequences. Captain Haldane, have you secured the pirate?"
"Not quite," Haldane responds with amusement, "He is still armed, sir."
"Armed? In that dress?"
"Underneath it, I believe, sir."
"Well then," Governor Sledge sighs, "Divest this young man of his...armory."
Captain Haldane nods and starts untying the laces on the back of Snafu's gown. He strips off the overskirt, and petticoats, leaving Snafu standing bare legged in the most raggedy underwear he owns. Eugene standing next to him swallows with great difficulty.
Haldane then begins to slowly cut away the ties holding the rifles to Snafu's body. It's only when the last gun falls away that Snafu feels truly naked.
"Better check the sleeves too, Skipper," Snafu grins maliciously.
Haldane cuts off the bodice. As soon as the man's knife slices through a sleeve, bullets rain down onto the deck like it's hurricane season.
In the end all Snafu's got left is his underwear and the same ratty shirt he thought he was going to die in.
"Shame you had to ruin the dress," Snafu drawls, "Fit me so well."
"Take him away," Governor Sledge orders.
"No!" Eugene demands and puts himself between Haldane and Snafu.
"Eugene…!" his mother is shocked.
Eugene draws himself up and takes a deep breath, "I killed the Royal Navy commander of the Dauntless while acting as a pirate. If you are going to hang Snafu, you better hang me too."
Snafu is too shocked to breathe.
Eugene's father looks grim. "Arrest them both," he says.
The mother faints.
Captain Haldane quietly gestures for Eugene to extend his arms.
That shakes Snafu into action, "No!" he shoves Eugene out of the way, "That's not how it happened. Gene is innocent."
The mother, who had been starting to come round, promptly faints into her servant's arms again at Snafu's familiar use of Eugene's nickname.
Everyone else, including Haldane, ignores him.
"Snaf…" Eugene says warningly.
"No…." Snafu is shaking his head at him in exasperation.
They're both marched up the docks towards the fort.
"No!" Snafu repeats as he stumbles along behind Haldane, "no…"
Eugene goes silently. Willingly.
And it makes Snafu mad as hell.
They're brought to the same cell Snafu thought he'd never see again on account of being dead by morning.
In front of the cell door they're delayed.
"What's the hold up, Mac?" Haldane asks the warden.
"The master key's run off, no one can find it," Mac shrugs.
"Then find the individual key," Haldane patiently states the obvious.
"I have my best men on it," the warden smiles.
"They seem to be taking a long time, you best go help them Mackenzie," Haldane says.
The man rolls his eyes, but he disappears further into the fort.
"Ack Ack, please, let us go," Eugene requests as soon as the three of them are alone, "We'll leave port. Snafu's ship is set to sail. You can make it look like an escape. No one will know."
"I'm sorry, Sledge," Haldane says, and he sounds genuinely upset. He casually unlocks the irons on both Eugene and Snafu's wrists. It's a gesture of trust Snafu would never have considered had their places been switched.
Snafu stands, fidgeting awkwardly with his underwear and feeling like a third wheel.
Eugene calmly reaches down, grabs Snafu's fidgety hand, and twines their fingers together. He leans into Snafu's shoulder and murmurs, "Pull on that rag anymore and soon you'll be giving everyone a show."
"Like you'd complain," Snafu retorts.
Snafu tries his best to stand still. Though he's grateful Eugene doesn't release his hand.
Haldane observes them with a knowing expression. "Be careful boys," he warns.
They wait in silence the rest of the time it takes Mackenzie to find a key.
"Hey boys," the warden returns and waggles a key in Snafu's face, "you're in luck, I found the small key."
Snafu casts his eyes to the ceiling.
With a compassionate goodbye, Captain Haldane leaves them to their fate.
The cell door is unlocked and Mackenzie shoves them both in.
A small mercy - keeping them together - or an act of necessity in a relatively small fort, Snafu doesn't know. When the door closes and locks behind them the only thing he focuses on is Eugene's hand in his.
"Looks like it's all over for you two," Mackenzie says, leaning against the cell door. He says it casually, as if trying to start a conversation with an old buddy.
Eugene cuts his eyes to the man outside the cell.
"Sort of a… what do you do now, huh?" Mackenzie's smile is slimy, yet almost genuine. The type of man who can't imagine a life or mind more complicated than his own.
It draws a stark comparison between the supercilious warden versus naive pretty boy Sledge, who's world started out equally as narrow, but who was determined to learn. And to change.
"Here," Mackenzie passes a bottle of rum through the bars, "Everybody deserves a last meal."
"Thank you, sir," Eugene grits out, ever the polite gentleman.
"What an idiot," Snafu says under his breath as he watches the warden leave.
If it weren't for Eugene clinging to his hand in a death grip Snafu might wonder if being alive was worth being back under this asshole's thumb.
Of course, technically it's Eugene's fault for landing Snafu in jail a second time. Otherwise he could be peacefully decomposing right now.
As soon as they are alone Snafu slips out of Eugene's grasp and crosses the cell to the outermost wall. There's a window, high above, nearly level with the ceiling, and Snafu worked out the climbing path on the stone the last time he was trapped in this godforsaken place.
Eugene watches silently as Snafu expertly scales the rock.
Snafu knows Eugene could easily follow. He's seen the boy monkey up rigging enough times to realize that when it comes to heights, Eugene shares the same lack of self preservation sense as Snafu.
But this time Eugene lets him go it alone.
Snafu eases his ass onto the three foot deep window ledge cut into the wall and presses his face against the bars. If he squints he can almost make out the sails of the ships down at the dock. They blur together, though, becoming one massive fluttering speck, like a caught moth.
He sighs, and leans his head back against the wall. There is no way he could recognize the Santa Alma from here even if she did escape in time. When he glances down, he sees Eugene still standing in the same place, staring up at him.
"Take a seat, we'll be here awhile," Snafu drawls, closing his eyes, getting comfortable.
Eugene huffs. But Snafu also hears him drop into the pile of straw in the corner.
"I am aware we will be here awhile, Snaf," Eugene snaps, "I may have never been in a jail cell before, but I do understand the general operating principle."
"Could'a fooled me," Snafu drawls, "The way you were tripping all over yourself to get in here."
"I…" Sledge hesitates yet somehow his voice is still firm, "I told the truth."
"Truth'll get you killed," Snafu says, "And it ain't reality, anyway."
"I did kill the commander, Snaf," Eugene argues.
"You didn't have a choice…"
"I did! I made my choices and I won't take them back."
"You were following my lead...I put you in that situation...your choice was a matter of survival…"
"Snaf, I killed to defend your life. That was my choice. I'd do it again, and I will accept the punishment befitting the crime. I won't let you shoulder all the sins of the world yourself. Especially not mine."
Snafu knocks his head against the wall again out of frustration, and falls into silence. He fiddles with a loose pebble, and then tosses it out the window, watches it splash in the water below.
"Next time my life is in danger and you feel like playing the hero, don't," Snafu spits out.
"You don't get to make that choice," Eugene says, sounding arrogantly pleased with himself at having won this particular conversation.
The next pebble Snafu tosses hits Eugene on the head instead. It bounces off harmlessly.
"Hey!" Eugene exclaims, tilting his head back to glare at Snafu.
Snafu grins.
Eugene folds his arms and shrinks further into the straw.
They sit in silence for what feels like an age. Emotions keep itching under Snafu's skin, and he knows what he wants, but he doesn't know how to get it, or if he even deserves it if he does get it. Snafu watches the sails outside the window come and go freely in the open air to distract himself.
At some point Eugene falls asleep. He sleeps fitfully, with a lot of twitching, but deep enough that Eugene fails to hear the soft clatter of paws on the tile floor.
Snafu silently slides down from his perch and greets Deacon at the cell door. The first thing Snaf does is pocket the offered gift hanging from Deacon's mouth. He sticks both hands through the bars and thanks the puppy by giving him extra scritches.
"Good boy," Snafu whispers as quiet as he can.
His voice wakes Eugene up anyway.
"Shelton?" he asks, groggy, "Deacon?" Eugene pushes himself to his feet and crouches near Snafu, but when he reaches through the bars Deacon ignores Eugene in favor of the pirate.
"I'm his favorite now," Snafu taunts with glee, "We bonded last night. He came and slept right outside my door."
"Only cause I sent him to stand guard," Eugene protests, looking a little jealous. "Isn't that right, Deacon?" he asks the dog as Deacon finally moves from Snaf's hands to Eugene's, "You're a loyal dog."
Snafu leans against the cell door, hand on a hip, and watches Deacon try to lick Eugene's face.
"I'm sorry, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.
"What for?" Eugene asks, looking perplexed.
Snafu shrugs and climbs back up to his window perch. He curls his legs up to his chest and rests his head on his knees.
Eugene heaves a sigh. "Snaf, please stop pouting and stay down here. With me."
"I ain't the one with those thin pursed lips," Snafu taunts, "You look more like the pouting type to me."
Eugene turns bright red - a blush almost as endearing as his little annoyed expression.
"Fine," Eugene says shortly, "Stay up there."
If Snafu climbs down, he'll kiss Gene, and if he kisses him, he might hold him, and if he holds him, Snafu might fall asleep in his arms, and if Snafu falls asleep it's going to be a lot harder to do what needs to be done.
He stays seated at the window and maintains his watch.
Eugene sits against the cell door with one hand stuck through the bars, resting on Deacon's fur.
"I ain't from New Orleans," Snafu confesses, just to fill the silence.
"What?" Eugene looks up, startled, "What do you mean?"
"I'm from northern Louisiana. Born in a one room shack, youngest of nine, took baths in the metal laundry basin, I was always the last with the water so always smelled the worst. Ma died having me, Pa died twelve years later in an accident with a farm gate, I hopped a river boat south, starved on the streets of New Orleans till I stowed away on a navy ship," Snafu says quietly, "Nearly starved there too."
He isn't paying attention to Eugene's movements, so he doesn't notice till it's too late and suddenly Gene is heaving himself up onto the window ledge next to Snafu. Eugene settles in his seat and stares hard as if daring him to protest.
"You deserve better," Eugene says with conviction.
"Oh yeah?" Snafu smiles, "You gonna give me better? Going to pull me out of the dirt and let my siblings rot? Some of them are already rotting. Literally. Six feet under. Can't do nothin for them."
"I know I can't but…"
"They're all just as much poor cannon fodder as I am," Snafu continues, "Not much use except as bodies in a count."
"I don't know any of your siblings…"
"Lucky me then, to be someone you know…"
"Snafu, give it a rest. You're being difficult."
"I'm being honest," Snafu throws Eugene's own words back in his face, harsh.
Eugene grabs his hand, and presses his fingertips against the ring on Snafu's finger.
"Maybe I can't save the world, but I can save you," Gene says softly.
"I'm going to free the world," Snafu counters confidently, with a smile that stretches his face but doesn't reach his eyes, so burdened with the impossibility of his life goals, "That's what freebootin' is all about. The first sign you're ready for piracy: you have a desperate need for freedom."
"I don't understand…"
"You already have it," Snafu says, "That freedom. Bought, paid for, and born into it. Don't need to go looking for it. Waste of your time."
Eugene narrows his eyes. He leans back, takes Snafu's hand with him. He holds Snafu's clenched fist gingerly in his lap. Eugene's thumb trails circles around the base of Snafu's palm. Snafu's skin is particularly sensitive there and every pass of Eugene's calloused thumb sends distracting pulses straight down Snafu's spine.
"Why do you think I was on that shipwreck you pulled me out of in the first place?" Eugene asks.
"Gene…"
"I signed on to Mobile's navy to help people. To keep the port secure. I wasn't going to just sit around and watch while everyone I cared about made sacrifices that I'd never need to face. While everyone else became...cannon fodder," he spits the last word out with shame.
"Gene...'"
"So, yeah. I'd help you free the world. If you'd let me," Eugene concludes.
"Sledgehammer, I'm always gonna end up here," Snafu argues, "One way or the other, I'll get caught. One day it'll stick."
"Not today, it won't."
"Tomorrow, then."
"Not tomorrow either if I…"
"Look into my eyes, and tell me…" Snafu interrupts. He leans forward, pushing into Eugene's space, "...someday if they condemn me and pardon you, are you gonna be able to sit by and watch? Cause no matter what happens between here and there, that's how I'll end."
The hand circling his wrist goes still, limp.
"I'm dying, Sledge," Snafu concludes.
Eugene stares into Snafu's eyes for half a heartbeat, and then closes the short distance between them. Gene drags a hand through Snafu's curls and kisses him like their life depends on it.
And Snafu would be hard pressed to say this isn't what he wanted.
"Promise me," Eugene whispers in between kisses, "Promise me you will accept my choice to die beside you."
Snafu nods mutely and cups his hands around Gene's face.
Eugene pulls Snafu bodily into his lap, which is a little dangerous with them being ten feet off the ground. But Snafu supposes he's set to die anyway, and cracking his head open by falling off a ledge mid pleasure seems like a better way to go than his other option. Besides, up here, they're hidden from view.
When they're finished, a little messy, a little sticky, and having a hell of a time shuffling back into their clothes on such a narrow ledge, they climb back down. Sledge goes first. He jumps down, almost eight feet, and hops a little at the bottom. Eugene turns around and stares up at Snaf, his eyes expectant, waiting to help but not offering it.
Snafu skidaddles down, not taking his eyes off Sledge for an instant. Not checking his momentum, he collides bodily with Eugene, who catches Snafu in his arms and kisses him. Again. If Snafu's going to make a fool out of himself, might as well see it through to the end.
They fall into the straw together, and Sledge holds him close. He finds his ring on Snafu's hand and carefully twists it on Snafu's finger so the black jeweled front is on display for the world. Snafu twines their fingers together and rests his forehead against Gene's, who closes his eyes.
Snafu almost laughs. For the first time since he met Eugene, the boy's breath stinks. Guess no one, not even the Governor's son, gets to meticulously clean their teeth in a jail cell. Snafu gingerly kisses the tip of Gene's nose.
The nose twitches, and this time Snafu actually does laugh. Eugene cracks an eye open, sees Snaf smiling at him, and then pulls him in for exaggerated sloppy kisses until Snafu finally settles down calmly, with his head on Gene's shoulder.
Sledge falls asleep wrapped around Snafu as tight as his damn ring.
Some time later a whistle through the window grate wakes Snafu up from foolish daydreams. He's never in his life been more grateful or frustrated to hear Burgie's voice. Snafu carefully lifts Eugene's arm off his waist and slides out of the other man's grasp. He stands up, and watches Eugene's chest rise and fall with every gentle breath. Sledge is so quiet, he could almost be dead.
If Snafu doesn't leave, Sledge will be dead. If Snafu disappears, however, none of the charges against Sledge can stick. Without any evidence or testimony against Eugene, the boy will be safe. Eugene's crazy, misplaced adventure will be forgotten.
Snafu breaks his promise. He drags Eugene's ring off his finger as he leaves. Eugene sleeps on peacefully, unaware, with the ring resting beside his head.
Snafu silently pulls the jail's master key from his inner pocket and slides it through the bars. He deftly unlocks the heavy cell door. The door creaks as it opens and he pauses, his shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor, waiting, listening. When nothing happens he quickly slips through the crack in the door and swings it shut again. He twists the key in the lock once more, and pockets it.
Maybe if they can't open it, Sledge will stay locked away, secure.
When he looks up from the key, he sees Sledge sprawled out across the floor, his head pillowed on a pile of straw.
It takes every bit of self loathing Snafu has to turn around and walk away. He's always been selfish. Never had no one to care for and no one to care for him.
Eugene Sledge is better off without him.
Snafu slips past the guards, steps outside the fort, breathes fresh air again, and there waiting beside a cart is his faithful quartermaster.
For a while, after he escapes jail, the thrill of reuniting with Burgie, his crew, and his ship provides Snafu with enough adrenaline to forget about the ache in his chest. But starting from the first night aboard ship, Snafu's bed is much too large. He takes a tiny corner of it for himself and piles all the pillows around the other half. He doesn't recall it feeling so big before. He never did take up much space himself.
Eugene, though. Eugene would sprawl out like a starfish. Not in the beginning, but once he started trusting Snafu, once he relaxed. And more often than not, Eugene would end up lying half on top of Snafu. His face so close Snafu could count his freckles, and smell his hair.
He tries to imagine Eugene sleeping in the fancy Governor's mansion. He can't picture it somehow. The only image Snafu's brain conjures is of Eugene sleeping in a jail cell, his expression happy knowing Snafu is nearby.
If he dwells on that too much the guilt sets in, so he mostly tries not to think at all.
He succeeds in not thinking about it until he opens one of his older ship logs and finds doodles scribbled on the margins. The drawings are mostly flowers, and ship instruments; tiny and not particularly detailed. Except for one full page sketch, at the very back of his largest logbook.
It's him. In pristine, exacting detail, down to the last curl on his forehead. Soft, and delicately shaded. The lines of the drawing are fine enough to be almost invisible, like he is looking in a black and white mirror.
The Snafu in the drawing is sleeping, which explains how Eugene got away with it without him knowing.
Snafu slams the book closed and drops it under the table. He vows to not look at it again.
Except he does. Often. Whenever he has an extra minute, he takes the book out, and cracks it open, and runs his finger down the page. As if he can touch the artist's hand through the drawing.
He looks at it so often the graphite starts to smudge.
Eventually the ship makes it to Cape Horn, and Snafu finds the tiny canal Eugene wrote about in his journal. They almost make it through the canal, around the tip, and into open water on track for the Pacific. Except the weather turns dangerous and waves lash the side of the boat, sending a cold shock down Snafu's front. Wet, shivering, and remembering a promise Eugene once made, Snafu makes his own decision.
"Turn her around," he tells Burgie.
Burgie sighs, "Snaf...the men will hate this."
"We'll never make it otherwise," Snafu's eyes are luminous and grave, "Not alone. We need more bodies for this."
"We or you can't make it alone?" Burgie asks.
Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and turns his spyglass to the sliver of clear blue sky in the east. Burgie waits patiently for a minute and when nothing but silence is forthcoming, he strides across the deck to give out new orders.
The crew immediately shares their opinion.
"We're going back for our navigator ain't we?"
"Thank goodness."
"Cap'n would get us lost on a river if we let him."
"Always did think the code 'bout leaving crew behind was a bad one."
Burgie smiles.
As luck would have it, the Santa Alma also encounters a spanish merchant ship on it's way home after pillaging the colonies. The pirate schooner swiftly overtakes the slow merchant and the pirates commandeer the entirety of the ship's stolen native gold.
The Santa Alma also acquires a new passenger. A strong minded girl who goes by the name of Florence and nothing else. No family, no friends, and certainly not a part of the merchant's fleet. She claims her destination is some pacific island called Australia but that she's not picky about the journey to get there. Snafu takes her aboard solely to find out more information on this mystery island if nothing else.
Burgie hastily gives up his private cabin for the girl and starts bunking with the crew himself. Until Snafu gets lonely enough to offer room in his bed for Burgie, which is the worst idea ever because suddenly Snafu finds himself being kept up all night having conversations about girls and courting. A subject which Snafu has zero experience in.
"Just kiss her and be done with it," is the only advice Snafu can offer Burgie.
Luckily Burgie quiets down after that suggestion, although it makes Snafu start to worry he might be down one quartermaster soon.
However, nothing appears to change in the next couple of months and by the time the ship reaches Mobile, Burgie and Florence remain as cordial and distantly polite to each other as ever. Snafu gives it up as a lost cause and goes shopping.
"You look ridiculous," Burgie says after spending an hour assisting Snafu with his costume.
The costume is incomplete by Snafu's standards. He couldn't find a proper crown. And he had to add decorative elements to his crook and flail himself. But luckily these fancy french balls always seem to require people to wear wigs nowadays anyway. He repurposes a portion of his treasure into jewelry and gold plating. And to top it all off, with the help of an especially hairy crew member, Snafu procures a beard long enough to be strung underneath his costume mask.
"I look proper," Snafu jokes to Burgie, using his crook as a dandy cane.
"You look like a royal court jester," Burgie counters, "All that purple and gold."
"Exactly," Snafu says confidently.
"He looks like a gold crusted emu," is Florence's opinion, which puzzles both Snafu and Burgie greatly. "From Australia," she adds. As if that explains anything.
"The breeches might be a little wide, Shit-N-Ass," Leyden comments.
"No one asked you," Snafu retorts.
All that matters is that he will be unrecognizable at Mobile's OMM ball.
His coach is almost unrecognizable too. The leather covering the tiny, odd shaped thing is stained and bleached from the sun. If Snafu holds a candle up to it the shade is nearly a perfect match for Eugene's hair. Except brighter.
"Does it turn into a pumpkin at midnight?" Snafu asks, sneering at the orange color.
"It's either this or the dung cart, Snaf," Burgie says, "You spent the entirety of your treasure allotment on your outfit."
Orange coaches notwithstanding, it's thanks to his expensive drapery that no one blinks twice when Snafu sails past the guards, up the fort steps, and through the entrance. Everyone assumes he is a visiting wealthy gentleman from some distant city, here to experience Mobile's Mardis Gras celebrations. His costume works flawlessly. No one remembers him as the pirate they tried to hang a year ago.
The only downside to everyone being in disguise is that he can't find Eugene.
He doesn't spend long looking inside the fort. It's dusty and suffocating, and Eugene was more the outdoors type anyway. Instead he takes his search to the gardens.
As he walks, Snafu sticks to the shadows. Despite looking the part, he still feels out of place, so he skulks from tree to tree. He avoids the stark yellow light cast by the candle lanterns strung overhead. And only surfaces to peer cautiously around every mile high brushed and powdered wig to see if the person's face matches the one he is looking for.
Of course the person he is looking for is the only person not wearing a wig or mask.
Eugene Sledge's brilliant copper hair sparkles
under the lantern light. Snafu is momentarily blinded by it the minute he finally recognizes the back of the head he is staring at. Trust Gene to buck convention and attend a ball with a bare head. He is dressed plainly too in comparison to the other party goers. His jacket is unadorned and his trousers are simple cotton. There's a single flower stuck in the lapel of Eugene's coat and Snafu sneaks closer to see if he can recognize it from Eugene's logbook drawings.
Snafu never meant to be creeping around in the dark. And he certainly never meant to eavesdrop on a private conversation.
It starts when a familiar looking, excessively handsome blond man brings Eugene a drink. The man can't be much older than either of them, but he wears his military rank with ease. He lacks a wig as well, but Snafu can hardly blame the man for it, considering how shiny his natural hair is. He and Eugene almost match, somehow. As if they've known each other long enough to become the same person in habit and gesture.
Their open familiarity with each other sends a rush of jealousy down Snafu's throat. He might vomit, if he isn't careful.
When he hears the other man try to cajole Eugene onto the dance floor, Snafu's first reaction is to slink off petulantly into the night. To disappear and never return. His whole body burns, and he finds himself grinning murderously.
But then Sledge says "No".
Sledge says 'no' very stoutly, and his face is mournful. Almost as if he is missing someone.
And the handsome man returns to the dance floor alone.
Something has soured Eugene's enjoyment of the gala's frivolity and splendor.
Snafu wonders if maybe it was him.
The world of these galas was always a farce, Snafu wants to tell Sledge. The crowd all gentlemen by government decree; the appearance of nobility rather than the act.
This elegance is unsustainable, this generational wealth built on the backs of stolen labor. To exist within it is to be complicit. As far as Snafu can see the only way to escape the monster society created is to run away and not look back.
Run with me, Snafu wants to say, Run with me and we can be free.
He doesn't say any of that, though. He merely holds his chin high, straightens his back, and steps closer till he is directly behind Eugene's shoulder. Snafu removes his mask for this moment. It is crucial Gene recognize him.
He takes a deep breath.
He hesitates because he almost doesn't want to see how Eugene's mood will change. Whether it turns to anger, or frustration, or worse - nothing.
Then he clears his throat. Takes careful note of the way the back of Eugene's neck tenses.
"I only dance when Eugene Sledge wants to dance," Snafu quotes. He mimics Eugene's accent flawlessly, throwing a bit of his own swagger in for good measure.
Eugene slowly turns around. His eyes are wide with shock as they sweep over Snafu's body, from head to toe. He says nothing, but his mouth gapes a little, like a fish.
"Referring to yourself in third person now?" Snafu asks, "Better be careful...that's the second sign of becoming a pirate." He can't bring himself to meet Eugene's eyes, so Snafu watches the other guests strolling through the garden behind Eugene's head.
Sledge's mouth snaps shut. His shock turns into a glare. He steps forward and invades Snafu's space. It's the kind of close proximity a gentleman might instigate in order to challenge him to a duel. Snafu expects to be slapped with a glove.
Instead Sledge snatches Snafu's carefully powdered wig off his head. He throws the poor thing to the ground, stomps on it, and grinds it into the dirt. The embittered frown on Sledge's face never wavers.
"That was very expensive," Snafu drawls conversationally as he stares at the sad deflated mess of grey hair on the ground between them.
"It looked awful on you," Eugene says bluntly.
"Least it's not my head being flattened," Snafu shrugs, nudging the destroyed wig with a toe. He feigns nonchalance. Inwardly his heart soars, higher than a bird. Sledge still cares. Sledge is angry, but his anger means he still cares.
"Don't tempt me," Eugene snaps.
Snafu finally raises his eyes to meet Eugene's. "Thought I already did that," Snafu says with a challenging grin.
Eugene is taking measured breaths, and his hands are shaking just a tiny bit, like he is holding himself back. "You were not a temptation…" he says, softer and without anger, "You were just...you."
Snafu doesn't know how to respond to that.
"Who are you supposed to be, anyway?" Eugene asks, drawing his eyes up and down Snafu's form, taking in both him and his costume.
Snafu struts a little and holds his mask over his face for Eugene to see, "You can't guess?"
Eugene rolls his eyes, "Some kind of King?"
"Osiris" Snafu says proudly.
"Who?"
"An Egyptian god," Snafu explains, "One who casts judgement on the dead."
"It suits you," Eugene says.
Snafu grins, stands a little taller.
"Especially considering the lack of shirt," Eugene adds snidely.
"The cape and mantle sort of make up for that," Snafu says.
"Yes, that is an impressively vibrant color of dye," Eugene comments. He pulls at the top of the cape and draws it outward, away from Snafu's body to see the sheen of the fabric as it cascades around his hand.
"And this?" Eugene knocks his hand against the wooden staff tucked in Snafu's belt.
"A flail," Snafu says, "To go with my golden crook." He holds out the cane he's been leaning his weight against.
Eugene steps closer, takes the crook, taps it expertly, "Real gold? Business must be going well."
"Booming," Snafu says sarcastically through his teeth.
Eugene chuckles, "Any more Navy ships?"
"Not yet," Snafu replies, "We'll see how tomorrow goes."
Eugene gives Snafu back his crook and tweaks the beard on Snafu's mask instead. Snafu moves the mask away from his face and slips it into his belt alongside the flail.
They're so close, Snafu can smell the tobacco on Eugene's breath.
'Touch me,' Snafu wants to beg, 'Stop touching my clothing, touch me instead.'
They stand in silence for a time.
Eugene's hands return to his pipe.
Snafu studies the flower attached to Eugene's coat.
"Never seen you draw that flower before," Snafu notes.
"Never had a reason before," Eugene replies.
"What's your reason now?" Snafu eyes him warily.
"Sentimental," Eugene says, "Traveled all the way to the Louisiana swamp looking for someone...didn't find them. But I brought a cutting of these home so I'd have at least something to show for the trip." He pockets his pipe, slips the blue iris off it's clip and holds the flower out to Snafu, "They grow beautifully in my garden at home."
It's identical to the kind of irises that grow in wild bunches around the shack where Snafu was born.
"You saw where I came from?" Snafu asks, nervous.
"I did," Eugene actually smiles. Softly. Fondly, like it was a good thing.
It baffles Snafu to no end, but he tries to take it in stride.
"The shack used to be a chicken coop," Snafu grins back, "Was probably better as a chicken coop."
"There's an alligator living in it now," Eugene holds the flower out for Snafu, "I had to fight it for this."
"How brave." Snafu doesn't take the offered flower. "What were you looking for? In the swamps?" he asks.
Sledge's hand drops to his side. "Damn it, Snaf. Do I need to spell it out for you?"
"Might help, my spelling is atrocious, you should know better than anyone," Snafu taunts.
"F," Sledge says haughtily, "U...C...K…" he takes another step closer, trodding on Snafu's wig. "Y...O...U…" Sledge doesn't even have to reach to grab the collar of Snafu's jacket, they're so close. "S...H...E...L…" Sledge closes his lips around the stem of the iris to hold it while he unpins the flower clip from his own coat and pokes it in Snafu's collar instead. The tension around Sledge's mouth forms Snafu's favorite tiny crease between his eyebrows. "T..." Sledge slips the Iris into the clip and smooths the front of Snafu's jacket, "O...N."
"Captain," Snafu corrects, blatantly watching Eugene's lips form each letter.
Gene's eyes flash. He grabs Snafu's collar - forcefully this time - and yanks him into a kiss. Snafu nearly jumps out of his skin in shock.
The kiss lasts less than a second. Snafu shoves Eugene away. His eyes anxiously dart towards the small crowd in the garden. Eugene follows his fearful gaze, and then wraps his long fingers around Snafu's wrist. He drags Snafu through the trees until they come to a hedge maze.
The maze is overgrown. At one point it might have been one of those carefully manicured french monstricities, no bigger than knee height, meant for casual amusement of the European aristocracy, and replicated poorly in the colonies. Now the hedges are well over six feet tall, and thick with tangled branches. Eugene and Snafu barely manage to fit through the entrance.
But the hedges promise privacy.
The air inside the maze is still, and silent, and damp, and slightly cooler than the humid evening around them.
After turning a few corners, Eugene shoves Snafu against a hedge. The bush is prickly, and not at all comfortable, but Snafu finds it hard to care when he is distracted by the press of Eugene's lips, and Eugene's body, and the pleasant intensity of Gene taking all his frustration out on Snafu in ways better than wig destruction.
Without words it feels as if no time passed between tonight and the last they saw each other. Snafu is as familiar with Eugene's body now as he was months ago. Eugene briefly lets go of Snafu's waist to undo his own belt and the buttons of his trousers. Snafu hastily shoves his hand down Eugene's pants himself before the other man can get to it. He breaks off their kiss, chest heaving, to lean back against the bush and curl his fingers around Gene's dick. Eugene braces a hand on either side of Snafu's head and hovers there. He makes a small, strangled noise when Snafu's hand starts to move, but he doesn't look away. Snafu's mouth goes dry and he hardly dares to breathe for fear of breaking whatever the fuck this moment is.
Slowly, he jerks him off, staring into Eugene's dark eyes the whole while.
Eugene makes a complete mess of his pants. He buttons his doublet closed, and smoothes it neat, before hungrily reaching for the red sash wrapped around Snafu's waist.
After a fumbling attempt to get Snafu's clothes off (during which Snafu immediately regrets making his costume so complicated - "Don't. It's fine," Snaf mutters with his hand on Eugene's), Eugene gives up and simply grabs Snafu's hips, and collapses towards him in an embrace. Surprised by the sudden switch to calm, Snafu reacts by limply draping his arms over Gene's shoulders, and waiting.
Eugene turns his face into the crook of Snafu's neck and fully encircles his arms around his body. "God, Snaf," he groans.
"Eugene?" Snafu asks.
Eugene doesn't respond. Snafu can feel Gene's eyelashes blinking against his neck where he is hiding his face.
"Gene?" Snafu tries again.
Eugene sighs. He kisses Snafu's bare skin.
"We should talk," Snafu prompts.
Eugene actually laughs. "Now you want to talk," he says without lifting his head.
"S'what I came here for," Snafu says.
"What is it you wanted to say, then?" Eugene asks, leaning back just enough to look Snaf in the eye.
I love you.
"Nothing," Snafu says, "Thought maybe you might. Maybe a few words to get off your chest?"
Eugene smiles sadly, and leans back in to press their lips together briefly. One small kiss and then he rests his forehead against Snafu's.
"Hope. And faith." Eugene murmurs.
"Hm?" Snafu grunts.
"The flower I found. Irises. They symbolize faith," he fumbles that same heavy ring off his finger that Snafu threw back at him, and then slides it onto Snafu's hand for a second time, "I told you to keep it. I meant what I said."
Snafu stares into his eyes, "Gene…I'm sorry."
"I never doubted you," Gene brushes aside his apology.
Something crazy is on the tip of Snafu's tongue and threatening to spill out, so he keeps his jaw clenched tight and his forehead pressed to Gene's. It's enough. This is enough.
"Stay?" Eugene asks.
Snafu fidgets nervously.
"Here. For a few days," Eugene elaborates, "I've taken care of everything. I want you to meet my family, properly. You can even invite the crew."
"Third sign of piracy: extending dinner invitations to pirates," Snafu drawls. He's imagining Burgie's reaction to getting a cream colored, floral embossed card in the mail.
"Privateers. You are an official United States privateer, Captain Shelton," Eugene corrects. He laughs at Snafu's startled expression, "I have the paperwork all drawn up. It's in my room. Waiting for your signature."
"In the mansion…"
"Yes, to do this you'll have to go to the governor's mansion. You might even have to sleep in an actual bed that doesn't rock up and down with the waves."
"That takes all the fun out of sex…" Snafu murmurs.
"I'm sure I can improvise," Eugene kisses his neck with a smile.
"Will you be doing the rocking then?" Snafu quips.
"For as long as you want…" Eugene promises.
Snafu nods and kisses him, tries to quell that ache that's bubbling up inside him again.
Eugene breaks away, grinning ear to ear. He looks at Snafu as if all his prayers have been answered. And who is Snafu to deny him any of it.
So when Eugene takes his hand and leads him out of the maze, Snafu follows.
He is so dazed by an emotion he never thought himself capable of feeling again he almost doesn't notice where Eugene is leading him. Until he recognizes the same inner courtyard where Snafu was condemned to die.
Snafu stops short. His abrupt halt yanks Eugene back by his arm. Gene turns around and stares at Snafu in confusion. Snafu is preparing to run. His palms are sweaty, and the skin there feels melted to Eugene's, and he's about to twist away and disappear when Eugene's hold on him tightens.
Eugene is looking Snaf straight in the eye, and he slowly lifts their clasped hands to his lips, "It's all right, Merriell. I promise."
And in full view of the Governor's entire court, Eugene Sledge bends to kiss Snafu's hand. The same hand Snafu recently stuck down Gene's pants.
No one says anything.
All eyes are on them, though.
Correction, all eyes are on Snafu. His planned ostentatiousness backfires. Eugene notices him, for sure. But so does everyone else.
His costume glows golden in the candlelight. If the glint half blinds him when he moves in the wrong way, he can't imagine how difficult it must be for someone standing across from him.
Snafu grins petulantly when Eugene guides him forward to stand in front of the Governor himself. He can tell Eugene's father recognizes him immediately. The man frowns. He shakes Snafu's hand politely, but he doesn't speak a word.
Surprisingly, it's the Governor's lady who breaks the tension. She eyes her husband calculatingly, sucks in a deep breath, and reaches out to take both of Snafu's hands in hers.
"I want to apologize for the previous case of mistaken identity," She says, regally and with great intent, "As I understand it, Commodore Haldane confused you with the dreadful pirate Snafu. I assure you, Captain Shelton, we will rectify this mistake and will remain forever grateful to you for bringing our Eugene back home alive."
Snafu's eyes slide sharp towards Eugene, realizing for the first time how the boy must have brought about this miracle of clearing his name.
Eugene returns Snafu's stare with a confident grin. He rejoins their hands and pulls Snafu off to the buffet table. A very smart decision as he is going to need a full belly to stomach all this nonsense.
Contrary to popular opinion, food on a ship is not half bad. Burgin keeps their cook happy with the third highest salary on board and frequent stops in port for fresh supplies. Snafu's diet as a child on land, however, was regularly lacking. His father was a failed farmer, and boiled cabbage soup was their evening meal more often than not. So Snafu supposes his standards for good food are not as high as most people's.
But this buffet laid out before him at the Governor's ball? This is a masterpiece.
Snafu immediately heads straight for the pork chops. He loads up a plate and even concedes to taking utensils and a napkin when Gene offers them.
"Just so you know, we're going back for seconds," he informs Eugene. Eugene chuckles, and holds Snaf's plate for him while he pours them both drinks.
They find a table under a tree to sit and eat. If Snafu must use a fork and knife instead of his fingers, he's gonna need two hands to do it. And that shit's not possible while standing.
Eugene scoots his chair conspicuously close to Snafu's. But the low hanging branches of the willow tree partially conceal them from view, so Snafu allows it. After he finishes his first plate, he does indeed go back for seconds, and thirds. And then Eugene lights his pipe and they pass it back and forth. Their shoulders and legs are pressed together, and Eugene's arm reaches behind Snafu's neck to rest along the back of his chair. Sometimes when Eugene leans in to gently lift the pipe from Snafu's hand, he whispers in his ear and his nose brushes his cheek.
At one point Snafu makes a particularly cutting remark about the state of one unfortunate gentleman's coat, and Eugene starts laughing. He laughs so hard at the joke he leans his hand against Snafu's back and hides his face in his shoulder. Snafu has never seen Gene laugh like that. Ever. A wave of relief washes over Snafu and for a minute he forgets himself and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Eugene's ear.
His gesture is altogether too much like a caress, and he remembers with cold fear, that they are out in the open.
The minute Snafu's fingers leave Eugene's skin, his nerves are back. He darts a glance towards the Governor's dias and he freezes in place. The harsh sensation of a particular pair of eyes boring into the back of Snafu's head takes him out of whatever spell he'd been under making him feel like he and Eugene were the only two people in the room.
Snafu may have the weight of a ring on his finger, but the thousand yard stare of Governor Sledge holds the weight of the world. And every bit of it exudes disapproval.
It chills Snafu to his bones.
At the end of the party, after they've returned to the Governor's mansion, Snafu is shown to an opulent room by an opulently dressed butler. Eugene disappears somewhere down the hall. And Snafu finds himself standing alone, wearing his gold plated costume, inside a masterpiece of a room, feeling an utter fool.
He removes all his jewelry and unwraps his sash. He drags the covers off the bed and makes his own nest in front of the roaring fireplace. He curls up and he tries to sleep.
He is interrupted when Eugene mysteriously appears in Snafu's room through a hidden door behind a bookshelf.
Gene laughs at Snafu's floor nest, and helps Snafu pull the blankets back onto the bed.
Eugene then helps Snafu out of his costume, and this time he succeeds.
They fuck tenderly atop silk sheets and plush pillows. And the way Eugene whispers "Merriell" in his ear is almost enough to make Snafu forget he is here on borrowed time. Almost.
Right as Snafu is about to finally fall asleep there is scratching and a thud against the bedroom door, and for a second Snafu's heart stops at the fear they've been caught. But Eugene simply chuckles and wraps an arm around Snafu's bare waist in a quick hug.
"Go answer it," he says with a kiss to the nape of Snafu's neck.
Eugene lets go of Snafu and reclines back against the pillows, his eyes twinkling.
Snafu grunts about spoiled Governor's sons and casts his eyes overhead to the four poster bed's velvet canopy, but he drags Eugene's breeches on and does as he is told.
On the other side of the door waits a very patient dog. Deacon wags his tail excitedly and the dog's entire body wiggles. Snafu immediately crouches down to greet him and gets a few licks to his face in return. Snafu nearly falls over, but he moves to the side enough to get the dog in the room and the door closed.
"You were missing your master, huh?" Snafu asks Deacon, scratching under the dog's ear.
"He was missing you," Eugene speaks up from the bed, "This entire week, he has done nothing but stare out the window at the ocean and whine. If I didn't understand exactly how he felt, I might have been jealous."
"That's the real reason I've come back," Snafu says as he wriggles back out of Gene's pants and crawls into bed, "To steal your dog and turn him pirate."
"Guess if you've already got one of us, you might as well have the whole set," Eugene replies, drawing Snafu close and insisting on a kiss before letting Snafu settle his head against Eugene's shoulder. Deacon happily curls up at the foot of the bed.
The next morning he wakes to find that somehow during the night Snafu ended up flat on his back with Eugene sprawled across his body and Deacon stretched out across his feet. He is completely unable to move.
Snafu snakes his arm out from underneath the covers and tickles Eugene's ear. Eugene twitches in his sleep. Snafu stays persistent with the tickling until Eugene rolls over, almost accidentally knees Snafu in the groin, and is woken by Snafu's panicked yelp.
With Eugene awake the tickling quickly turns into a wrestling match, which Snafu almost wins. He straddles Eugene and pins Gene's hands above his head. Snafu presses teasing, featherly light kisses across Eugene's collarbone until Deacon barks and a sharp knock on the door interrupts them. Eugene bucks Snafu off him, dives underneath the blankets and slides down the bed in a lump like a coward, leaving Snafu on his own.
"Yeah?" Snafu calls out with as much authority as he can muster. He holds the bedcovers tight over his waist, but his hands won't stop shaking.
It doesn't help that Eugene chooses to put his mouth somewhere very distracting on Snafu's body right as the door unlocks and opens.
"Deacon's food is waiting for him downstairs," the butler says kindly, "Would you like your breakfast brought to your room?"
"Ah, no," Snafu improvises, "I will...uh...be out. Shortly."
Deacon jumps off the bed and trots out the door, tail wagging.
The butler nods and backs out of the room.
"Thank you!" Snafu adds belatedly to the closing door.
Once they're alone again, Snafu yanks back the blankets covering Eugene and finds his lover shaking with silent laughter and the worst case of bedhead he's ever seen.
"Asshole," Snafu accuses him, refusing to give in to the urge to run his hands through Gene's hair - a vibrant red in the morning light.
Instead Eugene pulls him down, silences him with a kiss, and they're both rather late for breakfast.
Snafu stays in the mansion for three days. He doesn't send Burgie any dinner invitations, knowing how well they'd be received, but he does mail a monogrammed card letting the crew know he's safe. He includes a handful of stolen silver artifacts in the parcel to appease any pirate tempers.
Every afternoon Eugene closes them both in the study and forces them to go over page after page after page of legal documents. Snafu attempts to read a few lines here or there, but mostly he only serves as a distraction. His hands wander of their own free will, and they both continually risk getting caught with Snafu's hands up Eugene's shirt or on his thigh, or tracing the line of Eugene's mouth.
"Pay attention," Eugene huffs with as much frustration as Snafu felt when Eugene kept trying to pry Snafu's attention from his maps.
"I am," Snafu insists, trailing his finger down Eugene's neck and studying the way the scruff of his hair stands on end.
"To something other than me," Eugene admonishes.
"Impossible," Snafu leans back on the cushy window seat and admires Eugene's profile against the sunlight. He grins devilishly, crosses his arms behind his head, and adjusts the seat of his hips in a languid manner. Snafu has never had this much free time to indulge in all his urges and he is determined to enjoy it thoroughly.
Eugene stops pretending to read the paper he is holding and glares at Snafu out of the corner of his eye.
It only makes Snafu smile wider.
"Fuck it," Gene says. He drops the page to the ground, plants a hand firmly on the windowsill, and leans over to kiss Snafu with wild passion. Snafu laughs between kisses and Eugene wraps an arm around his waist and tightens his hold, lifting Snafu off the seat until there is no air left between their bodies.
Then the locked door to the study opens.
Snafu drops his arms from around Gene's shoulders and goes still and silent. Eugene sits up, immediately alert. But bizarrely his hand falls atop Snafu's thigh and prevents Snafu from moving his leg off Eugene's lap. Snafu is left lying awkwardly on his back like a turtle, one leg still around Eugene's waist, the other shoved up against the cold glass windowpane, bent as far away from Gene as he can get it. The tent in Snafu's loose breeches is painfully obvious, and his mind is racing, calculating every possible exit from the room. There is only one thing keeping him in place and it's Eugene.
Unfortunately Eugene's strong grip on Snafu's upper thigh only worsens his state of arousal.
The Governor himself calmly looks at them, walks into the room, and closes the door behind him.
"Did you get all the necessary documents signed?" the Governor asks in a tired voice.
"Yes," Sledge replies defiantly, his shoulders straight, his chin high.
Snafu can barely breathe, let alone talk.
"Good," the Governor remarks politely, "I trust Captain Shelton will be setting out on his first officially sanctioned voyage soon."
Snafu's eyes dart between Eugene and the Governor in a panic, trying to guess what his answer should be.
"Actually," Eugene says, "He's staying here. Indefinitely." His tone is light but his accent is sharp.
Snafu, for his part, is still blinking like a fox caught outside its hole.
"Very well," the Governor says solemnly. He stands in the middle of the carpet, and makes no move to leave, even though they are all sitting in silence.
After a minute the Governor lifts his head and gazes out the window beyond where they're sitting. "It's a beautiful day today," he says casually, "I think I might organize a hunt." And with that he takes his leave. The door closes behind him gently. They hear the lock click back into place.
"Shit fuck, he's gonna kill me," Snafu claws at his face with his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.
"No," Eugene says calmly. He releases Snafu's leg and Snafu curls in on himself like the turtle he feels. "He won't," Gene promises.
Snafu groans.
"Snafu," Eugene says, trying to grab Snafu's hands behind the protective barrier of his legs. "Merriell…" Eugene eventually succeeds in wrapping his fingers around both of Snafu's wrists and uncovering his face.
Snafu lets his knees fall open in defeat. He stares at Gene between his legs balefully.
"I love you," Eugene tells him. Certainty is written all over his face.
Snafu doesn't know how Eugene manages to look at him with such intense affection when they're surrounded by so much fear.
"Father is the only one who has the keys to this study," Eugene says, "I trust him. Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Snafu's response is immediate and uncompromising.
Eugene lets go of Snafu's wrists and twines their fingers together instead. Snafu uses the grip to pull himself into a sitting position. He takes a moment to run his eyes over Eugene's serious face. His chest presses into the side of Eugene's shoulder.
"I trust you with my life, Gene," Snafu confesses.
"Then stay," Eugene says, and closes the deal with a chaste kiss.
That night the two of them fall asleep in Eugene's own bed instead of the guest room. Snafu luxuriates in the comfort of being utterly surrounded by reminders of Gene.
But this time Snafu wakes up alone.
He hears a knock. Not on Eugene's door, but on the door of the guest room down the hall. Snafu falls off the bed in his haste to both yank his pants up over his ass and trigger the bookcase to open the secret passageway. He manages to get back in his room, slip on his shoes, and open his door by the time the impatient person looking for him knocks a third time.
"The Governor wishes to see you," the butler says.
"Right," Snafu nods, scratching the back of his neck and makes as if to step into the hall when the butler places a gloved hand on his shoulder.
"Perhaps Sir should put on a shirt?" the butler smiles in a fatherly manner.
"Ah…" Snafu glances down at his bare torso and retreats inside his room to fish out something respectable.
"Perhaps a coat as well?" the butler once again poses the suggestion as a question.
Snafu gets the distinct feeling he is receiving advice. He hunts through the wardrobe and holds out a deep purple velvet ensemble for review.
The butler smiles and shakes his head discreetly.
Snafu presents two more outfits before they decide on a smart grey number made of flawlessly tailored rich fabric but without a lot of frills.
"Good luck," the butler whispers to Snafu before leaving him outside the door to the Governor's private library.
Snafu has already spent many hours in the family library. It's the only room in the mansion he actually likes. The Sledges own a copy of every single overseas expedition logbook Snafu could possibly want. Sailing is clearly a pastime both Eugene and his father enjoy.
This is the first time, however, that Snafu is given the privilege of seeing the Governor's personal book collection.
As soon as he walks through the door, the first thing to catch Snafu's eye is a large, exquisitely detailed globe resting in its own golden stand on the floor to the right. He itches to lay his hands on it, and he barely manages to restrain himself before the high backed chair turns and the Governor sets his eyes on him.
For a split second Snafu's breath leaves him. But then, he relaxes. He tilts his head with a small smile, and crosses the room to the globe. He ignores Eugene's father in favor of running his finger down the eastern coast of the Americas. Keeping his finger on the surface of the globe, he rotates it until he is touching China, and then the East Indies. He lifts his hand, spins the globe, and stops it with a touch.
He shifts his finger aside and reads the name of the country he landed on.
Japan.
"How much?" the Governor asks plainly.
"What?" Snafu's head jerks up.
"How much money can I offer to make you disappear from my son's life?" the Governor folds his hands on his desk and looks at Snafu pleasantly.
Snafu stares in shock, processing this new information.
"If you are killed, Eugene will mourn you forever as if you were a martyr. But if you leave, he will forget you," Governor Sledge explains.
"If I leave he'll miss me forever," Snafu taunts, smiling.
"You want to leave," Governor Sledge points out, "I can see it. Eugene certainly sees it. You are restless here. You have nothing here, except him. Let go of him. And I will give you any amount you ask for."
Snafu honestly considers it. Considers that - if Sledge's family truly hate Snafu that much - leaving Eugene alone might be the best decision for both of them. Considers how much Eugene loves his family, enough to risk his life to get back to them, to lie to a pirate. Considers the fact that the kind of money Governor Sledge is talking about could probably get Snafu across the pacific and back five times over. Considers how often Snafu has seen Sledge genuinely smile back home with his familiar comforts compared to his scowls aboard ship.
"I'd break his heart," Snafu says before his throat chokes closed. He coughs. His eyes sting.
"Exactly," Governor Sledge agrees amicably.
Snafu laughs. He hates how it sounds wild and a little despairing, even to his own ears. He can feel a grin on his face, mouth stretched so wide his muscles already ache.
"Well," Snafu bites his lip. He spins the globe again, faster. And this time he lets his finger drag against the curved surface, intentionally stopping it right over the port of Mobile. He looks up, and saunters to the desk, pulling Eugene's ring off and holding it high for the Governor to see.
"You want me gone that badly, I'll do it for free," Snafu offers, "But I'm keeping this." He closes his fist around the ring.
Taking a leather cord strung with keys from the corner of Governor Sledge's desk, Snafu unhooks the clasp and carelessly dumps the keys to the floor. He slides the ring onto the cord, knots it in the middle to keep the ring secure, and hooks the clasp around his neck.
"He'll know," Snafu says as he stuffs the necklace down his shirt front, "No matter what lies you tell him, he'll know. And he'll come after me."
The Governor doesn't respond, and Snafu turns his back on him to walk out the door. He'd take the globe with him, too, if he could think of a way to lift it on his own.
Snafu leaves the estate without another word to anyone. The relief he feels when he walks past the final gatehouse is palpable. He can breathe easier again out here, in the fresh air. And when he reaches the docks his confidence in life soars the minute he sees the Santa Alma waiting patiently in the bay. For the next few weeks he remains confident every time the crew sets sail, charting a course that wins them easy prizes while staying within a couple days reach of Mobile. They make berth regularly in the port, the crew eagerly enjoying the extra shore leave and spending money.
But after the first month passes and there is no sign of Eugene, Snafu's confidence dwindles. By the sixth month the heavy weight of the ring around his neck is no longer a security but an anchor. More time passes, and after the second full year spent alone, Snafu gives up hope.
He begins to plan another voyage around Cape Horn. This time enroute to Japan.
(My sketch of Pirate Snafu)
(the END for now, i swear they get back together, i promise, eugene didnt forget he’s just busy and he thinks snaf is an asshole who left without saying goodbye. if you want to see more PLEASE TELL ME cause i might do it)
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“Chalk One Up”: an HYH recap
It’s five days after the ceasefire. Carrie’s still riding around on motorcycles at night, though it’s unclear where she’s going or why. On her way back to her room, she hears what sounds like her voice. A few tech guys are—very loudly!—listening back to her conversation with Yevgeny and trying to make out just what the hell they were talking about.
This makes Carrie so damn anxious that the next day she ventures into the (unlocked) COMPUTER ROOM. I have no idea what she was trying to do. Hack into the main frame and delete the audio undetected? She starts rummaging through desk drawers (why???) when in walks a square-jawed military policeman. They ask her to come with them, and Carrie does about as well with this lack of info as you’d imagine. She starts yelling, doing her whole Carrie thing, then name drops Saul Berenson. “Mr. Berenson’s fully aware,” replies Officer Square Jaw. It all has the ring of that scene from “The Star” when the Iranians find Brody at the safe house and Carrie’s like “PLEASE, SOMEONE CALL JAVADI,” and they’re like, “The colonel IS. AWARE.” Everything that’s happened this season reminds me of something else. Not in a bad way...
Meanwhile, Samira’s back. She’s chatting with her friend as they go shopping. I checked and she’s only credited as “Samira’s friend,” but I FUCKING LOVE HER. She’s a “bright and shiny” person, as Shonda would say. She’s going on about how peaceful it’s been, how the ceasefire is working, and everything is changing! Samira is more than skeptical. Outside the market two men with ice cream cones approach and one offers Samira his cone. Samira’s friend decides now is a perfect time to take a selfie. It is the most awkward and tense and “something bad’s about to happen” selfie that ever existed. But I still love her. They arrive home to find Samira’s brother-in-law waiting for her. Her friend looks on concernedly and that is how we know this woman is a Queen!
Carrie continues being the opposite of chill in the car on the way to her mystery destination, which turns out to be Bagram Airfield. Carrie is about 4000% sure this means she’s off to some CIA black site but instead she just meets Saul there, and he informs her that actually President Beau is on his way. And he wants to meet her. But no one knows what about. So just chill—for real this time—for the next four hours.
In Kabul, a bunch of people and one dog file slowly into the Presidential Palace for another mystery announcement. Tasneem is there, dressed in all white and a strand of pearls, looking like the bossy but classy angel of death that she is. They do this thing where they check their phones, the same way you would a coat, and Tasneem looks HIGHLY displeased to have lost her device. We continue to stan. She runs into G’ulom inside and they both whine about how they have no idea what’s going on but also have a feeling that Beau himself is coming to Afghanistan. So actually they do know what’s going on. Anyway, Tasneem has had enough of this.
Tasneem: I’m outie, y’all. See ya on the flippity.
Saul: Not so fast.
Tasneem: I can’t believe you went behind my back. We were pretending to be frenemies! Now we’re just enemies!
Saul: You tried to kill Haqqani. Thanks for that, btw. It really broke the log jam. I guess you could say that… backfired.
Tasneem: [rolls eyes]
Elsewhere, Samira and her brother-in-law have a nice chat, and by “chat” I mean he tells her to come back to their village because people are talking and also he would like to marry her now. She tells him to gtfo and the cinematography is like something out of a tense indie domestic drama (in the best way!!).
Back at Bagram, Carrie squints her eyes, which is really not something she does all that often, unless she’s looking at a screensaver, and WHAT DO YOU KNOW Jenna is there. Carrie, I know you are already on high alert about this woman, but homie is gonna probably try to kill you.
Beau Bridges gets off the airplane and greets the Afghan President. Then he makes a beeline for Carrie, whom he wants to personally thank, because, y’know, if Keane hadn’t bailed on the presidency because she didn’t give half a shit about getting Carrie out of Moscow he might not be Commander in Chief! That’s how season seven ended, right?
Anyhoozles, Carrie sort of changed his life and is also why he’s standing right in front of her, which bodes really well for Carrie’s constantly simmering guilty conscience. He talks about how courageous Carrie was, he can’t imagine what she went through, etc. Carrie becomes visibly emotional but is ultimately speechless. He’s likely the first person who’s acknowledged the type of sacrifice she did make, instead of glance suspiciously in her direction. He excuses himself because the next stop on his trip requires a flak jacket (always a good sign!). He gets into one of two helicopters—Chalk One and Chalk Two—and off he goes.
Carrie is hoping for a nice silent ride back to the Kabul station but Jenna has other ideas.
Jenna (booting up, non-verbally): How. To. Be. Human. Woman? … Gos. Sip.
Jenna: So what did the president say?
Carrie: Nothing.
Jenna: It didn’t look like nothing. It looked…. INTENSE.
Carrie (non-verbally): This homie really just wants me to say something passive aggressive to her again, doesn’t she? My God.
Jenna: Was it classified?
Carrie: No, it was personal. Can you take a fucking hint?
Jenna: Carrie, you have no friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me, your not-friend, something personal that the President of the United States told you in private?
Carrie: First, thanks for reminding me I have no friends. Second, he thanked me.
Jenna: For being a pain in all our asses in Kabul?
Carrie: No, actually he thanked me for Moscow. You know, that thing that you all think makes me look extremely suspicious? Well, our boss up top actually thinks I’m a hero. How’s that for personal, dummy?
Jenna (non-verbally): I wonder what it would be like to have a mind of my own? …
Their conversation is interrupted by Samira calling Carrie, because Carrie didn’t really have enough to do this week. Samira—oops!—let her brother-in-law back into her apartment for some reason and now he and some other Taliban dudes are going to basically kidnap her and take her back to the village so he can marry her. Carrie says she’ll be there ASAP.
Another surprise! Beau is coming to the exact same combat post where Max has been trapped stationed for the last four episodes. This all plays out in a somewhat surreal montage since, for some unknown reason, Beau’s trip is being broadcast live around the world. Saul gives a speech at the palace about how peace is happening and—I shit you not—the red curtains behind him literally open up to reveal the live feed. In case we couldn’t understand that it was theater.
Meanwhile, the Hot Marines get ready for the president and Hot Evil Veep in Washington says, “No thanks, Linus, I’d rather watch this on Fox News by myself.” Tasneem sulks in the corner, and then later outside with G’ulom. Beau explains to the soldiers that they’re coming home and they cheer. He takes selfies with some of them and makes corny jokes. Everyone shakes hands and congratulates themselves on a job well done, even though several people this episode openly acknowledge that this is just step one (cue Carrie in Sara’s mind: “this—this is just phase one, the real attack has not come yet”).
Afterward, it’s finally time for Max to leave. The Hot Marines try one last time to convince him to stay—they’re still staying for the foreseeable future after all, the US Military moves at a glacial pace. Maybe it was the sad puppy dog eyes they gave him, or maybe Max really does have a sixth sense about these things, but, improbably, he decides to stay. He doesn’t get on Chalk One.
Samira is being escorted out of her apartment by her brother-in-law and some of his Taliban dudes but their car won’t start. Too bad no one was watching the car while they were inside to prevent this exact thing from happening. Anyway, Carrie appears out of nowhere and tells them not to fucking move. They have the car surrounded and she, rather gracefully and quickly, gets Samira out of one car and into the other. All in a day’s work, I guess! But she can’t revel in the triumph for too long because there’s been an “RTB” (return to base) call and they all need to go back to the station.
And why exactly? Well, the president’s helicopter (Chalk Two) is nowhere to be found. I know what you’re thinking. But it’s NOT aliens. Apparently the escort helicopter saw nothing, which is strange, because it had, again, literally one job.
Saul arrives back at the CIA station to the camera in Chalk One surveying the wooded forests, looking for Chalk Two. They locate it, spewing smoke, crashed on the ground. In the White House situation room, everyone looks around sort of dumbfounded at the feed. HEV asks who’s in charge and Linus is like, “uh… you?”
Carrie races into the command center and asks Saul what’s happening. He tells her the president’s helicopter is down. She asks how that’s possible, which is a great fucking question! Before Chalk One can land to attempt a rescue, they spot some Taliban soldiers with an RPG approaching and start shooting. They fire the RPG back and hit the helicopter directly. So much for a ceasefire. Carrie and Saul look on, shellshocked, at the now blank screens.
#this episode was a doozy#it's a perfect companion piece to 'there's something else going on'#homeland#chalk one up#*#by: sara#an hyh recap#homeland spoilers
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What will demon!Harry and angel y/n be doing this Valentine's day night ;)
ANDREA!!!!! WHAT WOULD DEMON!HARRY AND ANGEL!Y/N BE DOING ON VALENTINES DAY??
Hey Andrea! What would demon Harry and angel (y/n) do for Valentine’s Day?
So Harry would probably be a little stumped on what to do since it’s been such a long time since he celebrated Valentine’s Day.
For his last Valentine’s Day, he’d courted a girl he’d known since childhood named Rosie by letting her pick three of her favorite animals from his family’s livestock to have as her own. He’s pretty sure that giving Y/N a couple of healthy pigs wouldn’t really suffice as a modern act of affection.
So Harry decides to be the cheesy, cliche lameass from the movies that he so hates and picks up his phone, making a reservation at one of the most elegant restaurants in the city and he goes out and gets a custom tailored suit for the night, also buying Y/N an outfit that’s similar to his in pattern and color scheme.
If they’re doing the cliche date, he doesn’t want to do a cliche dress, too, so he gets her a pretty jumpsuit made of blood-red material with cherry blossoms embroidered into the expensive fabric. Heels are out of the question because she’s never owned a single pair and he really doesn’t want the night to end with her in a hospital bed at the ER. Not when it could be his bed instead.
A pretty pair of black flats will do, the dark, glossy surface of the shoes dusted with glitter and he thinks she’ll definitely like that detail.
Harry gets home from shopping, somewhat struggling to enter through the door with the two outfits covered in a plastic sheath to protect them from the weather. Y/N is slumming it on the couch watching Cupcake Wars, clad in her big, oversized bunny pajama pants and a large Friends sweatshirt, stuffing her face with a box of fancy assorted chocolates he’d gotten her from that little Godiva shop down the street, not noticing that she’s given Chandler a coconut-shavings mustache.
“Up.” His voice quips, her head whipping back in alarm at the sudden authority in his tone.
Harry can’t help the endeared grin that wrestles his cheeks as he eyes her own, which are puffed out with Lucifer-knows how many pieces of candy. “I said up, sweetheart. We’re going out for Valentine’s Day.”
Getting her to shower is a task worthy of an Olympic medal. Y/N refuses to at first, not wanting to leave the house, having too much of a ball being a lazy sack on the sofa cushions. The succession of events that finally gets her to abide goes as so.
Harry says that he’s taking her to a nice restaurant so that they can spend some quality time together. Y/N whines and kicks like a child, shaking her head as she pops another strawberry- and nougat-filled bonbon into her already overflowing mouth. Harry sighs grandly and drops their clothes on the dining table, walking over to stand in front of the TV, blocking her view of the contestants presenting their Valentine-themed pastries. He crosses his arms over his large, broad chest, tilting his head to the side and giving her a stern look.
“I’m going to count to three and if your cute little ass isn’t up and on the way to the bathroom by the time I get there, I’m going to pull down my pants, underwear and all.”
This gets her going. He hasn’t even reached two when she’s already stumbling toward the shower, the leftover candies flying all over the couch and carpet. He calls after her, saying that if they shower together they’ll be cutting time out of the process, but he only says it to fluster her. It’s fun.
After they’re both washed up and dapper in their matching outfits (Y/N had taken a strong liking to her’s and she thought it was absolutely adorable that they were twinning), Harry doesn’t even notice the soft, fond smile that twitches his lips upwards as he watches her add the finishing touches to her hair.
“You look so handsome.” Y/N wraps her arms around his torso from behind as he’s finishing buttoning up his tuxedo jacket, smoothing his large, ring-clad hands down the front and grinning at her through their reflection, looking down at his designer dress shoes to try and hide the blush that’s stinging his cheeks raspberry red.
“Really?”
“Yeah!” She pushes herself up onto her tiptoes, kissing at the back of his neck and at the tips of his tiny ears. “You’re so pretty, Harry.”
“Mm.” He turns to face her, hands perching on her hips as he brushes the tip of his cold nose along her warm cheeks. “Say it again. Love it when you talk dirty to me.”
This earns him a bonk upside the head to which he responds to with a wheezy cackle.
During the car ride to the restaurant, Y/N still seems to be a little pouty about being dragged out of the house so Harry reaches over, intertwining their fingers and bringing her knuckles up to his warm mouth, sponging his lips across the dips between each one. “I’ll get you whatever dessert you want, don’t worry.”
Everything is going fine until they get to the restaurant, where it appears that they don’t have the record of Harry’s reservation. Y/N stands off to the side a bit as he argues with the host, messing with the ends of her hair nervously as she watches the vein in Harry’s neck chisel deeper and deeper across his throat.
She finally steps forward, wriggling her hand into the curve of his elbow and tugging him gently, her voice soft with growing fear. “H-Harry, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.”
Harry throws a glance over his shoulder at her and his eyes go completely black for a millisecond. “No, I’m not fucking leaving! I made this reservation about a week ago. This is absolutely ridiculous!”
“Harry—“
But he’s already turned back to the man at the front desk, who looks just as scared as she’s feeling. “You would think they’d have a decent computer system here considering they charge almost a hundred dollars for a plate the size of a coaster!”
“Harry, please.” Y/N puts as much emotion into the small phrase as possible, squeezing his bicep weakly and praying that he backs down.
Harry turns on her now, his head whipping back with his eyes ablaze with annoyed rage. “Y/N, don’t you see I’m trying to—“
Something he sees causes him to stop mid-sentence, his harsh words crawling back into his mouth and dive-bombing into the pit of his stomach.
The corners of Y/N’s eyes have tinted a faint bright red, her irises glossing over more than usual, looking watery. There’s a few ridges between her brows and the edges of her cherry-stained lips are tilting down into a scared grimace. Her expression comes together to show fear and concern.
This causes Harry’s own eyes to soften, body loosening up at seeing how his behavior is affecting her. The frigidness in his shoulders melts away, giving into her touch as he takes a step back from the fancy marble desk in a ceasefire. “Okay…Yeah, okay, we can go, darling. I’m…I’m sorry for causing a scene.”
When they’re back in the car, Harry slumps into the driver’s seat, wishing he could disappear into its cushions. He’d almost ruined the whole night.
He turns to Y/N, who is carefully putting on her seatbelt, and reaches over to cup her face in his palm. She cradles her jaw into his hand, glancing up and giving him a small, timid smile.
“I’m sorry for being a prick and almost trashing today.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, taking his big hand in both of her’s and pressing her lips against the back of it. “Knew you just wanted to give me a special night.”
Harry’s lips shift into a tiny crooked smile, his fingers closing around her’s. “I just wanted to make it memorable. Went with the whole cliche, as much as I think it’s shit. Did it for you, though, so it’s worth giving up my dignity.”
Y/N releases a small giggle, shaking her head in endeared amusement, her voice sarcastic. “My hero.”
Harry crinkles his nose in faux disgust, shaking his head in disagreement. “I don’t think so. Capes aren’t my thing. And being the good guy.” Harry’s eyes flit black. “Definitely not my thing.”
She rolls her eyes playfully, squeezing his hand lovingly and blinking at him with so much care that he wishes he could bottle up this moment and store it in his chest to replace his heart. She just looks so beautiful with her hair all dolled up, her lips the color of red wine, her feet tucked towards each other shyly in the dainty sparkly flats, and his ruby ring hanging from a delicate chain around her neck. He wishes he could stare at her until Hell freezes over.
“Honestly, Harry…” Y/N’s soft voice breaks him from his trance, his black heart hiccuping in his chest as she looks up at him bashfully from under her thick lashes. “I don’t need a fancy dinner or handmade chocolates or,” she tugs lightly at the material of the elegant jumpsuit that pools around her thighs, “a ridiculously overpriced—yet insanely beautiful— pantsuit. I just need you, your soft hair, your pretty eyes, your plush lips, and your warm hands around me. That’s all I could ever want from today. Just you.”
Harry’s cried very few times in the last couple of centuries and right now counts as one of them. The tears don’t actually come out, but they gather at his waterline and at the inner ducts of his eyes before he blinks them away and sniffles back his emotions. He gifts his girl an airy laugh, licking his chapped lips slowly and blinking at her with so much adoration it hurts. “Alright, then. How about…How about we go to the movies? Heard that actor you like has a new one out. Chris Brat?”
“Oh, hush!” Y/N shoves him over with a loose fist as both of their giddy laughter bounces off the walls of the car. “Pratt. He’s so cute.”
Harry reaches forward and turns on the ignition, the car purring to life as he shrugs his eyebrows carelessly and gives her a cautionary snort. “Chris Probably-Should-Watch-Yourself-Or-No-More-Neck-Kisses.”
Y/N releases his hand so that it falls limply into her lap, where he squeezes her thigh jestingly. She raises her palms upwards in a sign of surrender. “Not a peep more from me.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, what do you think they’ll say when we show up looking like we’re headed for the Met Gala?”
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“Kiss?” someone inquired.
“Um,” the writer responded, after the words had been written. “I can explain.”
But she couldn’t. Not really.
(Only because this was already KINDA SORTA written … not really, I had 400 words and now it’s like 5000—canon to Warren is Strange THE SEQUEL [title in progress] slash Whale Song, but will definitely not stay totally canon. It’ll get somewhat rewritten to fit the context of the actual sequel once I get to that part of the story … whenever that is. Probably. Lord, if only I could explain the absolute mess that is my “Warren is Strange & etc” doc right now. I’m really sorry.)
ALL WARNINGS FROM PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS STILL APPLY. Meaning the same shit from the video games/Warren is Strange. Just to be safe.
The first time he kisses Nathan, it’s a rushed, bloody thing.
Nathan is both drunk and high on something Warren can’t identify and Warren is two seconds away from busting a nut in frustration over Nathan’s inability to put his own health first—a problem Warren recently found out to be reoccurring for longer than Warren’s been at Blackwell. (Even been in high school, apparently, which just sends all kinds of horrified realizations through his brain when he bothers thinking about it later.)
They’re arguing—brought on by Warren confronting Nathan about not taking his medicine after receiving some hearsay from an accomplished gossiper, which had only added to what he’d originally been suspecting—spitting words and building unanswered questions upon one another, and then one of them starts yelling.
Well, yelling louder. They’re already yelling to be heard over the music, because they’re at a Vortex Club party and it’s a Hot Mess ™ in the making, as per usual, because Nathan had not been answering Warren’s investigative texts and Warren had already maybe had one too many beers (meaning a singular beer—he was working on the lightweight stat of his vitals, okay, it was a work-in-progress) before engaging in a conversation he shouldn’t have taken part in, with someone he normally would have brushed off. Of course, the conversation had been about Nathan, because no one at this damn school could handle the fact that the new-blood nerd was hanging regularly with the rich bitch of Arcadia Bay, and certain people wanted a personal hand in its ruination. Consequently, Warren had gotten riled up.
So, by the time Nathan was emerging from his sacred VIP section, Warren was grinding his teeth to dust in frustration, the alcohol having fueled him until his buzz had all but fully burned away.
Left stewing from the conversation with not a single text asking about Nathan’s medicine answered, Warren approached Nathan immediately, and it all went to shit from there.
In the rush of everything, Warren won’t remember which of them it is that starts yelling first, nor will he remember the words that are said under the pounding thrum of the noise pouring from the speaker just above them, but Nathan is caught somewhere between a loose fury and a wired energy, and Warren knows he’s getting extremely pissed off at him, but he can’t seem to stop himself from pushing it too far.
Maybe he pushes because he’s so tired of Nathan not thinking of himself—despite the fact everyone around them claims the exact opposite of him, that he never thought of anyone else; despite the fact he lets them think that, even if it wasn’t true—or because he just wants Nathan to listen to him for once, because dammit he didn’t save his life for him to turn right around and ruin it the moment he stops looking.
Honestly, Warren can’t believe any of this is happening.
“You were almost arrested for murder, Nathan!” Warren spits, his hand splayed over Nathan’s shoulder to keep him from leaving, and, while he won’t remember all the words later, he’ll remember the hurt and the fury he had put behind them. “Murder! Jefferson was going to use that against you, and you willingly stopped it all on your own? What if I hadn’t known to tell you! If you hadn’t been taking your medicine when they—when they tested you—you could have—they could have—ACK!” Warren chokes, jostled by the sudden force of Nathan pushing him into the wall just behind them with the weight of his arm across Warren’s throat.
“Why the fuck do you think you have any authority to mouth off to me about shit you don’t even understand, Graham?” Nathan retorts, his breath hot and burning with the smell of alcohol. Warren tries to angle his face away, but it’s difficult when Nathan is so damn close. Nathan’s arm, thankfully, drops from where it’s barred against Warren to press instead on either side of him, but now he feels caged in. He can’t move his arms. He doesn’t like the feeling; it’s freaking him out. “You don’t know anything! You think living through a little bit of hell makes you some sort of life expert, huh? Some sort of motherfuckin’ deity of survival? Bitch, I got news for you, you don’t know shit about what it does to me. Any of it!”
“I know it keeps you safe!” Warren half-yelps, and Nathan goes silent, staring at him. The flashing lights around them distort any possible color that might be attributed to Nathan’s appearance, but Warren thinks he might have gone pale. Or green.
Or, really, any color on the rainbow spectrum. The lights were ridiculous. If the situation weren’t curdling something akin to catastrophe in Warren’s gut, he might have found the whole thing funny.
It’s at this point Warren can see the storm brewing right in Nathan’s pupils as they bore daggers into his own, but he’s too tightly-wound and his brain doesn’t connect with his mouth in time to call ceasefire, and he ends up saying words he knows he wouldn’t have said under other circumstances. Warren witnesses something snap in Nathan as he speaks, and then Nathan’s shoving himself up against Warren with venom pouring from his lips before Warren even really understands what it is he’s just done. Not a single word registers in his ears over the buzzing of panic that starts up, all he knows is that whatever Nathan’s saying to him is hurtful and cruel from the tone he uses to wield his verbal weapon, and, for once, Warren thinks he might actually deserve it.
“Cut it out, Nathan!” Warren finds himself yelling, hands flat against the wall that honestly might be fixing his poor posture at this point, he’s been crammed up against it so long. “Cut the fucking scare-tactic bullshit!”
“Scare-tactic bullshit?!” Nathan snarls, then laughs in a low, throaty way that Warren’s surprised he can even hear. It distracts him, just for a moment, from the rest of Nathan happening in front of him. “You want bullshit, Graham? I’ll give you bullshit—!”
Nathan raises a fist and gathers the fabric of Warren’s shirt in it, his mouth still pouring poison that doesn’t register in words, and Warren, furious and panicked and hurt for reasons beyond just whatever it is Nathan is saying to him, grabs the back of Nathan’s head and closes the gap under grounds he thinks might have to do with distracting Nathan from beating the shit out of him right then and there.
It’s not unlike the method Nathan had used against him once upon a time, but he’d added a twist he thought might actually work, because simply getting too close just wouldn’t cut it when Warren hadn’t managed to actually invoke fear in Nathan since the day he’d decided to save his ass from a certain psycho serial killer.
He’d seen it in a movie once or twice. It had worked pretty decently for the people who had tried it. When it didn’t, there hadn’t been any real violence attached to the rejection, just confusion and maybe anger. No one, at least from what Warren remembers, ended up with a bloody lip for their efforts. Then again, no one in the movies had been trying to use it on Nathan Prescott, so maybe this had been an outlier, and a bloody lip didn’t usually occur to those attempting the distraction.
It did, however, occur to Warren. Nathan hadn’t even given the kiss a chance; he’d clamped his teeth down right on Warren’s bottom lip and drawn blood, then shoved away from Warren and stalked back into the VIP section of the party, where Warren couldn’t follow. Warren was too busy smothering his pain and trying to find punctures in his lip to even bother attempting, the blood pouring down his chin to drip onto the tile he had fallen to, staining his shirt and pants along the way.
Well, the plan had technically worked. Nathan didn’t hit him, and he had left instead of continuing the argument. That really didn’t make Warren feel better in the moment, though.
“Shit,” he hisses to himself, wincing when it only pulls his lip, because fuck it hurts. This was the second time Nathan had given him a bloody lip (well, okay, theoretically the first time had been Warren’s doing, but it was as a reaction to Nathan, so it sort of counted), but holy hell, Warren’s pretty sure he could thread some hoops in the holes he was now sporting thanks to Nathan’s ministrations. Does he need stitches? Could you even get stitches for lip punctures? Was he going to have Nathan’s teeth imprints as scars on his fucking lip?
Jesus Christ. This is not what he signed up for.
Hand cupped beneath his chin to try and catch the dripping blood before it got everywhere, Warren stumbles to his feet and weaves around the mingling bodies of the oblivious party-goers in search of the bathroom, knocking shoulders with more than one on the way there. They completely ignore him, too busy in whatever they were doing when he ambled up and disrupted their personal space to break their stride and give him any attention.
He has to brush away both Stella and Hayden (because Hayden apparently talked to him now—it was weird) when he bumps into them, both of them asking what had happened before he can reach the intended destination, but, thank god, the bathroom still has toilet paper and paper towels in it when he gets there, so he’s able to staunch the bleeding somewhat before he makes a total murder scene of both his shirt and the floor of the bathroom. When he spits into the sink, there’s more blood than there is saliva, and his mouth looks like something from a B-horror movie when he opens it.
“Son of an Ewok,” Warren mumbles into the mirror he’s basically pressing his face against a moment later as he assesses the damage, the cool curved point of the sink making good friends with his hipbone in a somewhat painful way. He ignores the feeling in favor of getting as close to the mirror as physically possible, gingerly moving his lip this way and that against his teeth to try and tell if any were showing through the potential rips in his flesh. It takes him a good five minutes to determine the damage. His appearance alone scares off two people who attempt to wash their hands while he’s busy monopolizing one of the mirrors, but he kind of enjoys that.
Turns out Nathan didn’t actually puncture his lip, but you would have thought he did from the way the things wouldn’t stop bleeding. Was it normal for lips to bleed this much? Warren thinks he still might need stitches. How was he going to explain this to his parents? “Yeah, just kissed a guy so he wouldn’t smash my face in and it backfired in a way movies never prepared me for, no biggie. Just sew me up and send me on my way. Lesson learned, I promise. No more psychopath smooches.”
Yeah. That would totally work.
“Dude, who are you talking to?” Warren startles away from the mirror, his fist of bloody paper still hovering by his chin, and finds Trevor (was this guy everywhere?) staring at him in sudden yet mild alarm. Warren thanks the gods that Trevor’s a pothead, because panic was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, and Trevor already looked a little green beneath his uneasy expression. “Whoa. What the hell did you in?”
“A shark,” Warren says bluntly, dabbing his lip again. Trevor’s alarm grows. Warren has to resist the urge to grab him by the shirt and ask him if his brain cells were really worth it. “Jesus, does it matter? I’m bleeding like a stuck pig, is this normal?”
“I don’t know,” Trevor responds, hands in the air and eyes firmly on Warren’s mouth. “Does it feel normal?”
Warren turns and stares at him, perplexed and a little dumbfounded at the question. “Feel normal? No! It fucking hurts!” How would he know what would feel normal, anyway? It’s not like he did this regularly. What kind of asswit question was—
Warren stops his train of thought with a jolt, blinking at himself in shock. What the hell?
He was too angry. Way too angry, and taking it out on someone who just wanted to know what was going on.
This wasn’t how he would have handled things before. This wasn’t the kind of person he was.
… Was it? Did Warren even know himself anymore?
Had he known himself in the first place?
“Man, I think you need to …” Trevor starts after watching Warren unconsciously sway against the line of sinks. He steps forward and grabs the hand holding the bloody paper, then guides it to Warren’s mouth and pushes with enough pressure to make it sting sharply. Blood swirls along the underside of Warren’s tongue.
“Ow!” he yelps, startled, then nearly chokes on the blood as it hits the back of his throat.
“Sorry,” Trevor mumbles, pulling away long enough to let Warren spit in the sink. The moment Warren’s done, though, he’s back again, and he doesn’t lessen on the pressure. Warren’s hand, the original bearer of the paper towel ball, stays in Trevor’s grip the entire time, and Warren’s too distracted to think about removing it. Trevor’s red-rimmed eyes stare holes into their combined grasp on the paper towel wad, but Warren thinks it’s in concentration, not because of the way his fingers were fitted right between the spaces of Warren’s as he held the paper firmly to Warren’s wounds, his (relatively) clean fingers a stark contrast to Warren’s bloody ones.
… Which Warren’s now staring at himself. Quickly, he flicks his eyes away from the mirror and settles for staring intently at the smeared red adorning the tiles below the sink instead, groaning at himself inwardly. He really needed to stop attending Ladies’ Night with the girls (who was he kidding, he attended all nights with the girls, Nathan was too picky about his tastes most of the time), because the romcoms were starting to get to him. Trevor? Really?
“Head wounds are a bitch,” Trevor continues slowly, oblivious to Warren’s inner turmoil and fairly rude repulsion. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to apply pressure to get these to stop.”
Warren … knew that. He knew that. He really did.
But he doesn’t mention that fact, and he doesn’t stop Trevor from holding his makeshift gauze to the wounds, because Warren had been the idiot in this situation, and sometimes it was just easier to let someone else take the reins. Instead, he slumps back against the sink and closes his eyes, fingers of his free hand curling around the cold porcelain to anchor himself in, and lets Trevor do the work.
The party outside is loud, and the music booming echoes into the spacious tiled area that constituted as what was technically the locker rooms, though only the bathroom area was accessible during parties. Probably in an attempt to prevent accidental pregnancies in the dark corners the area offered, but Warren thought that was pretty useless when most of the students lived on campus anyway and could just take it to their dorm rooms.
But, really, who was he to question the decisions made or the logic behind them? He’d just pulled a ridiculously reckless move and paid the price for it, he wasn’t exactly up for candidacy as the next Head of High Vulcan.
“I think it’s stopped,” Trevor says after a while, pulling the paper away for a final time. “Fuck, bro. That’s harsh,” he remarks. There’s a tinge of sympathy to his voice. Warren slides open tired eyes to see Trevor peering at his lip with his own mouth twisted in a grimace.
“Yeah,” Warren agrees wearily, wincing when his mouth continues to sting from the movement. “But it was a stupid thing I did. Kind of deserved it. Thanks for the help.”
Trevor shrugs, finally releasing Warren’s trapped hand. Warren tosses the saturated ball of paper into one of the trash cans, scowling at the drying blood still on his fingers. “You looked like you could use a buddy,” says Trevor. He turns away and starts washing his hands, watching Warren through the mirror in front of him. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” Warren says. At least until I have to explain it to Max, and then Chloe, Warren adds on silently. He hadn’t thought of a perfect excuse just yet (the same one he’d used the last time he’d punctured his lip would probably be a good idea, though falling down the stairs was even better, if he could think of some remote stairs to blame), but Nathan was completely out of the cards without question. He knew what Chloe was capable of, even if he had never witnessed it, and he wouldn’t doubt Chloe would give Nathan hell if she ever found out he was involved. Knowing Nathan and how he tended to handle confrontation, it just wasn’t a good idea. He’d be asking for the start of a war by sic’ing those two against one another, and it wasn’t worth the battle.
“If you need any medical shit for that while it heals,” Trevor continues as he dries his hands, “I can hook you up. Dana’s wicked with a kit, she fixes me all the time. Skating, you know?”
Warren doesn’t, but he nods all the same. “Thanks, Trevor,” he says, and he means it. “Seriously. I appreciate it.”
Trevor salutes him as he heads towards the exit back into the pool area. “Just stay away from sharks, my man.”
Warren huffs a laugh at that, unsure if it could be followed, but it turns out Trevor’s advice isn’t needed. He doesn’t see Nathan again the rest of the night.
Warren understands, later, that this doesn’t really constitute as Nathan kissing him, but his mind catalogues it before he can think to right it, and he doesn’t bother going back on it. Mostly because it’s Nathan, and anything less than getting brutally bitten from engaging in mouth-to-mouth contact with him just wouldn’t seem logical. Warren only wishes he had thought of that fact before trying his distraction tactic. More because of the reactions the bandages he slaps on his lip brings, which get more and more annoying the more he has to deal with them, but also because Nathan refuses to speak to Warren from that night on, and it’s actually driving Warren a minor amount of nuts.
He’d sent Nathan a lot of texts that night the fight happened, and none had been answered, but the texts he sends the day that follows are also ignored, even after Warren outright asks Nathan if he’s okay. That really tugs on his persistence. Being the better man should have some reward!
But more texts are ignored as the days trickle on, and it’s to the point where Nathan refuses to even look at Warren when he sees him in the halls, using people like a remorseless Victoria and a sympathetic-yet-dutiful Hayden as shields whenever Warren gets near and acting like he can’t hear Warren calling his name. It’s so sudden a change that, for a moment, Warren even debates asking (begging) Victoria for help, because he doesn’t know what the hell to do when he can’t even get any response from Nathan and she knew him better than anyone Warren had access to.
Okay, yeah, maybe it had only been like three actual days since the fight, and maybe both Max and Chloe had basically said “good riddance” to Nathan’s sudden departure from contact after catching wind of a rumor—which had been started up by the few people that had actually witnessed the fight (thankfully, no one had seen Nathan almost bite Warren’s lip off, so his excuse of stairs and epic tripping was still pretty sound)—about Nathan turning on Warren, but Nathan’s friendship was something Warren thought he had achieved. He didn’t spend every waking moment with Nathan, sure, and Nathan got pissy more than half of the time they did hang out, causing him to blast Warren at full power, but ignoring him? For days? The fight had been a bad one, and both of them had clearly fucked up, but Warren was starting to feel more and more guilty the longer Nathan acted like their bonding hadn’t happened.
He just wanted to say he was sorry and have it accepted. Why was that so hard?
Four days would be Warren’s limit and, despite the fact it would be a Tuesday that night, Warren decides he’s going to camp out outside Nathan’s—and, well, his own, since he was right across the hall—room and make him talk to him.
That had to work, right?
Yeah, no. It really didn’t. But Warren tries anyway.
He knows Nathan has a Vortex Club meeting that night, so he’ll be getting back later than he would if he were just spending the rest of the day with Victoria. Warren uses this to his advantage—and by that, he pretty much just makes sure he’s seated on the floor right outside Nathan’s door about an hour after classes ended, because the meetings had varying lengths and Warren didn’t want to miss his chance. It’s once he’s been sitting there a good forty-five minutes that Warren realizes he probably should have asked Hayden for his number (manipulative, yes, but if Hayden wanted to be nice to Warren, then Warren was going to use that) so he could have some sort of indication of when the meeting would actually end, but now it was too late for that.
Despite the fact he had lived through a time loop that pretty much required a form of planning to get out of, Warren really wasn’t the best at planning things out in a way that benefitted him. Which, really, made too much sense in retrospect.
The first hour ticks by; Warren’s spent it texting Max, Brooke, and Chloe (in pure meme, an accidental challenge Warren had initiated and Chloe had taken up in full), and hunting through Reddit threads for old Lost conspiracy theories, because why not. Twice people have asked him what the hell he’s doing (Luke, who tells him to just forget Nathan, and some guy named Steve, who seems to find the whole thing amusing and wants a photo), but mostly people have just filtered in and out of their rooms and left Warren to sit alone in the hall.
The second hour brings immense boredom, a very numb ass, and, at the forty-one minute mark, the blessed form of Trevor. Again.
“Hey, Shark-bait!” Warren winces at the nickname, his wave stuttering with the movement before his hand falls to his side. Unceremoniously, Trevor drops to the floor beside Warren and fastens a grin onto him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for Nathan.” Warren gestures to the door with a nod, just in case Trevor didn’t connect the dots.
Trevor’s grin droops. “Yo, heard that rumor. Dunno what you’d do to invoke that Prescott wrath though. Is it true?”
“The fight?” Warren shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Dude, is that why you were bleeding out in the bathroom? Holy shit! How did he get you like that?” Trevor asks, gesturing first to his own mouth with his thumb and then mimicking the gesture over Warren’s. “How do you even get something like those?”
“Are you asking me how I got these scars?” Warren says, smirking. Trevor looks blankly back at him.
“Uh, yeah, I guess. I wouldn’t really call them scars yet. They look like scabs.”
Warren sags back against the door with a groan of defeat. “I feel so underappreciated here.”
Trevor’s phone goes off, interrupting whatever he had been about to say, and his face lights up when he looks at the screen. “Gotta go, man,” he says, slapping Warren on the shoulder and standing up. “Dana’s out and we have a date. Don’t get in anymore fights, ‘kay?”
“I don’t know, I’ve got a taste for blood now, I don’t think you can hold something like me back,” Warren says sarcastically, ignoring the minor spike of panic that jabs him in the gut. If Dana was out, that means Nathan was, and he was probably going to be back any minute.
Trevor laughs. “Whatever you say, man. Later.”
And then he’s gone, and Warren’s left sitting on the floor outside the dorm room of the guy he’d willingly beaten up in timelines that he wasn’t living in anymore. Suddenly jittery with nerves, Warren pulls himself to his feet and turns to Nathan’s door and debates his options.
Which, honestly, was one of two: stay or go.
If he stayed, it could end badly. Nathan could get angry and start a fight—one Warren likely wouldn’t retaliate in, because Nathan was not the person he’d been those other times, and Warren was not going to hit someone he’d managed to become so close to, not over something so stupid as medicine. (Though, seriously, that was a talk that needed to happen, and Warren wonders why Nathan’s therapist hadn’t noticed. Unless they had? What was the protocol for something like that? No. Distractions—stop it Warren.)
If he stayed, Nathan could also just push him aside and abscond into his room, which would render this all null.
But if Warren left … what would that accomplish? It might be the safer option of the two, but if Warren really wanted to get Nathan back on his side and talking to him, running away was not the option.
Why did it seem like every time Nathan was involved, as an enemy or as a friend, Warren got sucked into engagement with him whether he liked it or not? What was he, a Nathan magnet?
Was that why he’d been the one to suffer through that loop?
Well, no. That wouldn’t have made sense, because Jefferson was the loop, not Nathan. Nathan had just been connected to Jefferson, and therefor been the easiest route to capturing Jefferson before he could kill the people he killed in the past loops.
… Right?
Why did that … suddenly not sound so right to Warren? That’s what he had been going on, and that’s what had made sense. Going on that logic was how he got out of that manifestation of actual Hell he’d been thrown into, that had to be right. So why did it suddenly just sound … not?
Why did Warren—
“If you don’t fucking move right fucking now, I’m going to decorate my door with your fucking teeth.”
Warren startles with a jolt, whipping to the side to find Nathan glaring daggers at him and looking like he’d keep to his promise if needed. Warren clutches the front of his shirt, willing his heartbeat not to puncture a hole in his chest, and anchors himself against Nathan’s door with the other hand to keep from outright collapsing.
“Nathan,” he wheezes.
Nathan’s eyes, formerly on Warren’s, flick towards Warren’s mouth and stick, widening from where they’re focused on what is undoubtedly Warren’s scabs. Surprisingly, all the blood seems to drain from Nathan’s face and, for a moment, Nathan looks utterly shocked. It’s wiped clean from his features not long after it arrives and Nathan returns to glaring, but the blood doesn’t return, and he looks shaken and far less aggressive than he had just a minute before.
“I’m sorry,” Warren says as soon as he’s sure Nathan’s not going to smash his face in. Nathan blinks, then scowls.
“Yeah, I got the damn memo,” Nathan spits. “Like thirty fucking times.”
“You won’t answer me!” Warren exclaims, holding his hands out. “Come on, Nathan,” Warren pushes when Nathan’s glare is deviated to the wall beside him. “I didn’t mean to do all that. I got worried and I heard shit and I started thinking about what could have happened if I hadn’t known and what if that messed it all up? What if that had been a key? Or what if it hadn’t meant anything but it could have convicted you or something and then it would have been on me because I’m the one who did this four fucking times so I should know—What?”
“I asked if I did that,” Nathan repeats just as quietly has he had the first time. Warren’s brain stutters away from his rant, but fails to comprehend what Nathan’s talking about until he lifts a finger and points at his own mouth.
“Oh,” Warren says dumbly. His thumb shoots up to self-consciously finger the scabs, his tongue automatically moving to press on the inside and look around for holes he already knew weren’t there. Nathan’s eyes watch unblinkingly. “Yeah. You’ve got some power in those chompers, dude. Did you know head wounds bleed a lot, even if it’s just your lip? The swelling is finally going down, but it was pretty funny to look at for a few days there. I would look horrible with lip injections.”
Nathan remains silent, his eyes still firmly on Warren’s mouth, and Warren drops his hand when he remembers he’s not supposed to mess with the scabs. The silence stretches, plainly uncomfortable, and Warren shifts on his feet the longer it goes, unsure if he should break it.
“Jesus fuck,” Nathan finally whispers, just as Warren’s about to break the silence himself. “I didn’t mean to do that. Did it hurt a lot?”
“Like a goddamn bitch,” Warren answers proudly. “Kind of upset you didn’t go straight through, I think I would look badass with some snake-bites.”
The face Nathan makes tells Warren he thinks otherwise. “You need to lose the pathetic virgin aesthetic first. It won’t work with metal.”
Warren stops himself mid-eye-roll, suddenly realizing they’d fallen back into their comfortable banter. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Warren asks tentatively.
Nathan looks away. “Fuckin’ looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Warren grins. “You’re forgiven too, then,” he says, then snickers when Nathan looks back at him with narrowed eyes. Warren takes a step to the side, freeing Nathan’s door to access once again. “Also?” he adds on while Nathan moves to unlock his door. “Learned my lesson. You were a shark in a past life, man.”
That gets Nathan to smirk. “And you were a gopher.”
“Sharks don’t eat gophers, Nathan!” Warren calls as Nathan’s door shuts in front of him, but it’s with a grin wide enough to pull on his scabs, but Warren ignores the feeling.
The first time Warren kisses Nathan, it’s a rushed, bloody thing that ends with a set of faint white scars that can only be seen when Warren smiles a little too broadly. Not an idea setting for a first kiss between people, but that’s okay. It just meant the second kiss couldn’t possibly go any worse.
… Second kiss?
Moral of the story: Don’t let me do kisses. They don’t go how I plan them to.
#asks#life is strange#warren is strange#nathan prescott#warren graham#drabble#I changed it bc I didn't like it stuck on an ask like that#it was bothering me#anyway#I forgot the other tags
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bring the world to heel
a continuation of my fill for the superhero AU prompt: We’ve been reincarnated for centuries to battle it out as hero and villain but someone fucked up and now we’ve swapped
Richard Keller wakes up to the trill of his alarm, three successive beeps, pause, three more. It is disgustingly mundane. Rolling over onto his side, Keller flicks out his wrist, tugs at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and frowns when nothing happens.
He doesn’t know why he expected otherwise. A bone-deep emptiness in his chest says nothing will ever happen again, even if he doesn’t know what that nothing is, so he gropes blindly for the clock and shuts it down. Then he begins the achingly tedious process of getting ready for the first day of school.
It’s rough, being a high school English teacher, because literally nothing has changed despite the long summer and his life is endlessly normal and thus horrendously boring. His new ninth grade class is full of new chirpy little shits; Gabriela, the Latin teacher and track coach, still fucking hates his guts (honestly, Keller cannot remember for the life of him why – had they slept together and he forgot?); and Headmaster Cormorant is still breathing down his neck because they both know Keller will deviate from the standard reading list sometime this year in a spectacular fashion that will bring angry parents down on Cormorant’s head.
About the only thing that’s changed is how someone replaced his blackboard with some technological monstrosity called a “smart board” over the summer. He ignores the thing entirely and hands out printed syllabi to his first class; Bates will probably bitch him out later for still not being “paperless”, but Keller honestly does not give a shit.
In the first period after lunch, which Keller has free – thank fuck for a double lunch break – Keller calls Jones, who has also been blessed by the scheduling gods, and meets the chemistry/computer science teacher outside the science building. Keller’s been banned from Jones’ labs for a few years now, and he respects the ban because otherwise Jones won’t share the moonshine he brews in his lab, and Thanskgiving break without Jones’ moonshine is just hell on earth.
“I need help with my smart board,” Keller admits when Jones shows up. He glares down a gaggle of sophomores with a free period, who’ve slowed on their way back to their dorms in an attempt to overhear their teachers’ conversation; they scamper off guiltily.
“I’m a computer science teacher,” Jones snaps. “Not the support for an ass too lazy to attend the media sessions over the summer.”
“They mounted it over my blackboard,” Keller gripes. “Now I have nothing to write on.”
Entirely unsympathetic, Jones dismisses Keller with a, “Go talk to the new librarian.”
"Why – um, Oscar?” Keller can’t remember the new librarian’s name. Frankly, he’s annoyed they have a new one; the old librarian kept gin in her desk and loved to share, and she also never yelled at him when he habitually forgot to return his inter-library loan books.
“Isaac,” Jones corrects. “And he’s also the new media specialist.”
With that, he disappears back into his safe-haven. Keller heads to the library to hunt down this Isaac person.
The man is not hard to find; he’s sitting alone at the small circulation desk as soon as Keller steps through the door. There’s something familiar about the tall, somewhat thin new librarian, or maybe he’s just got one of those forgettable faces framed by forgettable glasses and forgettable dark hair.
“Can I help you, Mr. Keller?” Isaac the librarian asks, barely looking up from his computer when Keller leans across the circulation desk to get a better look at him.
“So this is how you’ve brought the world to heel?” Keller says. The words are out of his mouth before he can even think about them, and when he hears what he says, he wants to think what the hell? but instead it just sounds like exactly what he’s supposed to say. “Big fucking waste, if you ask me.”
Isaac looks up from his computer. He pushes away from the desk, flips open the hinge on the counter and joins Keller on the other side of the circulation desk, leaning against it by his side like they’re a pair of old friends. “After all the cycles we’ve been through, I did wonder if it was going to work on you,” he says like Keller will understand what he’s talking about. Keller doesn’t. “You’re always ruining things, Kalna.”
And oh – that name sings beneath Keller’s skin, sure and right, and everything clicks into place.
“Iska,” Kalna frowns, glancing around the empty high school library as if seeing it for the first time.
“Seriously, this is the fucking worst. Ninth grade English teacher? You sure know how to pick your torture.”
Iska shrugs. They’re standing close enough that Kalna feels the motion of it against his side. “I find it rather nice.”
“Of course you do, you get to be a librarian. But that still doesn’t explain all of this.” Kalna waves vaguely at the air. “It’s all disgustingly normal.”
“That’s the point, Kalna,” Iska says sharply. “We’re all normal. We can’t do any harm like this.”
“I dunno about that. Gabriela’ll probably still try to stab me next faculty meeting. Oh god - faculty meeting. Why would you do this to us?”
“We can’t do any harm like this,” Iska repeats flatly, but Kalna fixates on the we. Iska and Kalna. But Iska continues. “Think about it. Whenever any of us superpowered people fight, Kalna, we put thousands of people at risk. Hundreds of thousands. Remember that time you razed an entire city? There were millions of people, then.”
“And you had that – whatsherface, with the containment fields. Captured all of my work in time-containment and unraveled it. Nobody died – well, not those millions, anyway.”
“That was very nearly luck.” Kalna sees Iska’s grimace out of the corner of his eye. “And I can’t always be lucky. Don’t deny it: when we’re pitted against each other, we raise the stakes beyond what’s natural.”
“Ever heard of nuclear weapons?”
“We’re worse. And we get worse every time. Each new cycle we get tangled up in new and ever-more terrible possibilities. One day we’re going to destroy the entire world. We might even – hell, we might even break these cycles. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
Kalna kind of sees Iska’s point. It’s funny, because it’s only now that he’s spent years of this cycle trying to stop Iska and then losing so badly that he understands what Iska is so afraid of. And he has thought about it, once or twice or more than that; has thought about how his lives might go a little bit easier if Iska didn’t come back with him. Right now, in this cycle, Kalna’s gut twists painfully with shame and horror at the thought.
“Okay,” he says, straightening from his slouch against the circulation desk. He turns to stare at Iska, but Iska doesn’t look back at him. Kalna settles for scrutinizing the side of Iska’s face. “So let’s stop.”
“What?”
“Let’s stop,” Kalna says again. “Fighting, or whatever. But god, just don’t make me teach high school.”
“Kalna.” Somehow, Iska manages to pack surprise and doubt and something like hope into Kalna’s name. “You and I could agree to a ceasefire, but there are still other superheroes and super villains out there.”
Iska might be endlessly practical, but Kalna has arrogance enough for the both of them. “Not like us,” he asserts smugly. “There’s no one else like us. We could be like, the superpolice of superpowered people.”
That startles a laugh out of Iska. Then he pauses thoughtfully. “Superpolice sounds ridiculous. But… perhaps we could, ah, monitor the others. ”
When Kalna said it, he’d been joking; when Iska says it, though, Kalna kind of sort of believes that they could do it. Monitor the damage the rest of them do, and everything. And when he gives it moment’s more thought, Kalna decides he likes the idea of Iska, who’s so, so damnably good at following the rules – he likes the idea of Iska making those rules. As long as Kalna doesn’t have to be a fucking ninth grade teacher.
Kalna thinks about all the cycles that live under his skin, thinks about the lives upon lives he’s spent spinning his wheels, trying so hard to do this or that only to find sharp-eyed Iska, tirelessly dutiful but always so weary, barring his path. Fuck that.
“Let’s do it,” Kalna says firmly. He grins. “Seriously, Iska, let’s do it.”
Iska looks to the side, drawn by Kalna’s decisiveness and – fuck it, Kalna thinks, and leans forward. When he presses his lips against Iska’s, it’s probably the most chaste kiss Kalna has ever been involved in. Iska’s lips are dry, almost chapped, and part in surprise. And when Iska sighs against Kalna’s mouth – it feels like home.
Slipping an arm around Iska and tugging him closer, Kalna doesn’t notice how the world melts around them.
When she opens her eyes, she’s laid out on the cold concrete floor, no longer bound to the railing – Gazelle, she thinks when her heart leaps into her throat. I’m Gazelle. Not a track coach and Latin teacher mooning after Headmaster Cormorant – oh. Well shit.
But Gazelle doesn’t have time for that now.
Pushing herself to her feet, she staggers slightly, bracing herself against the circular platform in Darkwell’s shitty secret lair. Uncharacteristically slow, she follows the curve of the platform holding the Doomsday Device, heading towards the shift and sighs of someone waking that she hears on the other side.
When she gets to the other side, she sees that someone is actually two someones, and that they are quite awake.
“What the fuck, Quickdraw,” Gazelle says bitterly, and it feels like an echo from forever ago. He’s stretched beneath Darkwell’s thin form, laying on top of the pieces of a discarded straight jacket, and they’re really going at it when Gazelle interrupts. They jerk away from each other, but they don’t go very far; Darkwell pushes himself back onto his knees, still straddling Quickdraw’s hips.
“You were in league this whole time,” she accuses flatly.
“It’s called seduction, Gazelle,” Quickdraw snaps. He props himself up onto his elbows so he can lock eyes with her and glare. “And I’m saving the goddamn world with it, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Darkwell frowns mildly at Gazelle’s supposed teammate. “Language, Kalna,” he says, then looks over at Gazelle. “But I’m afraid he’s correct,” the supervillain tells her blandly. “The promise of dirty, bed-breaking sex has caused me to reconsider my plans.”
Beneath him, Darkwell twitches and makes a choked sound.
Gazelle feels laughter burbling in her throat. It’s probably hysteria. What the fuck.
“Oh yeah, about those plans,” Quickdraw says, clearing his throat as if he only now remembers the absolute shitstorm Darkwell has brought down on them all. He sits up fully, putting Darkwell off balance and then tugging him into his lap with one arm. Quickdraw stretches out his other arm, and when he curls his fingers into his palms, Gazelle hears the screech of inner wires punching through the dark metal shell of Darkwell’s doomsday device; in mere seconds, the thing is entirely gutted.
Darkwell winces, but to Gazelle’s surprise, he doesn’t seem otherwise upset by the destruction of his creation.
“Can you take the open-source whatever off the dark web, or wherever you uploaded them?” Quickdraw asks.
Darkwell suddenly looks sheepish. “I already did–”
“–You’re a terrible supervillain–”
”–Though a handful of people managed to download them before I took them offline.“
Gazelle suddenly feels like she’s punched in the gut. She wheezes. Quickdraw glances at her with concern, but the ass knows better than to coddle her.
"Well, you and I,” and Gazelle is sure Quickdraw means him and Darkwell, not him and Gazelle, "will just have to go visit them. I’ll eviscerate–”
“–their machines,” Darkwell interrupts firmly.
“Sure, Iska.” Quickdraw sounds entirely too cheerful. “I’ll eviscerate their machines.”
Gazelle is having difficulty remembering who’s supposed to be her superhero teammate and who’s supposed to be the world-destroying supervillain. Distracted, she doesn’t notice how Quickdraw has twisted his fingers again until it’s too late. She looks down at the needle she finds buried in her thigh. Where the fuck had he pulled that from?
Wherever it’s from, or whatever it is, it’s quick-acting. The edges of Gazelle’s vision are already going blurry, and Quickdraw’s mocking voice is a little fuzzy when he says, “Tell the headmaster I’m quitting, thanks Gabriela.”
What a dick, Gazelle thinks, and then everything goes dark.
#prompt response#prompt response continued#writing#creative writing#year of the orange#bring the world to heel#iska#kalna
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Noctis annoying!? Just wtf!
Sorry, but I have to address this... Are you kidding me? I’ve been seeing people call him annoying and I'm just sitting here, slack-jawed like what??? I seriously do not get it. HOW is Noctis annoying? He's probably one of the most realistic and relatable characters there is. Let's consider everything he's gone through and dealing with. I think for what he's been through, he's actually handling it pretty well compared to how other people would. I'm going to try and point out anything that people might consider him being "annoying" in... I’ve even see someone say “yeah guess I’m heartless cuz he’s annoying.” Yeah, you kinda are... This post is long, so it’ll be under the keep reading mark.
1. Regis death, Insomnia falling with many many people dying including Clarus (Gladio and Iris' dad), and the loss of the crystal, and possibility of Luna's death.
Of course, Noctis would react angrily at first! He's trying to get back into the city and get home to not only make sure it's not true about his father dying, but he also believes Luna to be in the city and he wants to help, and he can't even get into his own city. Hell yeah, he deserves to be angry. He's just been told his dad and his beloved are dead, along with him too, and that alone is seriously confusing. His reaction to that? That's hardly annoying... But how dare they try and make Noct's character a relatable human.
Regis' death being confirmed to him was hard, considering how they parted with Noctis not knowing anything. The only thing Noctis knew was that Regis didn't tell Noctis he knew something was up with the ceasefire and the peace treaty, that Regis sent him away with a smile and trying to act like his father so that was how Noctis would remember him, rather than remember him as the King. Noctis was angry and confused and hurt, as well as sad and grieving for his father.
Noctis didn't know why Regis was trying to get his son safely out of Insomnia before everything went down. And all he wanted to know was WHY Regis never told him the truth, why he lied to him, and what normal human being wouldn't question these things? Which is why he acted out in rage, and why that rage quickly turned to sadness and confusion, and then acceptance. How is any of that annoying? How would you react? Noctis even held back his tears and didn't cry over Regis, and instead accepted it and moved on as best he could. Hell, he still didn't know if Luna was alive. How would YOU feel?
2. Noctis being wracked by headaches and visions of Titan. Oh yeah because super bad headaches and when people get them just makes them SO annoying, right? I mean goddamn, that person has a fucking migraine. They're just annoying as shit because of it. Fucking hell...
He didn't actually outright complain about his headaches either. He just kept getting them and seeing shit. The only time he really said anything was "Man, that hurts" while hissing through his teeth, just like any other person would that had a bad headache. Wow. Shocking. Surprise. His head hurts, and he voices it. I'm sure any of you wouldn't be up running up slabs of hot rock and mountain with a throbbing migraine. No, your ass would be rolling around in a fucking bed crying because of how bad a migraine hurts, or even cluster headaches as those painful af.
-Yes he complained a lot during the Trial of Titan, but who wouldn't? I mean seriously. He's got these severe headaches and visions happening during earthquakes and trying to keep his footing. It's hot and miserable, and he's confused and doesn't understand what is happening, why he keeps getting visions and why his head hurts. You can't tell me you'd go through something like that entirely silent. And Gladio put him in his place about it too, and Noctis acknowledged that, apologized for it, and told Gladio he was grateful to his dad.
-Noctis still pushed forward, no matter all of that and finished out what he set out to do and that was gain Titan's blessing. That alone was still a heavy burden on Noctis, receiving a God's blessing, but he did it, no matter how much of a struggle it was for him. So tell me, how is that annoying, unless any normal human being acting that way in general, because they would and they would probably act WORSE, is just all out annoying...
3. Luna's death. Let's just go ahead and tackle the big elephant in the room about Luna's death and the scenes on the train as well, after her death. Because I'm sure people love to bitch about Noctis with this one.
I'm sorry, but no matter how much you "just cannot see it" or whatever bash you want to make over the pairing of Noctis and Luna, it's canon. It happened that way, and Noctis felt the way he did, regardless of how much you hate it. He did, and it happened on-screen. No matter how much some of the butthurt people on here would like to deny it, Noctis loved Luna and vice versa. There is NO getting around that, and no she wasn't a "big sister" to him either. She was his beloved. She was his fiancee, he was focused only on her, he wasn't interested in anyone else romantically, as was confirmed that Luna was his one true love, and she was the person he wanted to be with, as also stated VARIOUS times in the game itself. So seriously, just stop trying to use this stuff as an excuse to hate on Noctis, Luna or the pairing in general. It's stupid. It's canon. Move on. Get over it.
Noctis grieving after Luna died? Of course, Noctis would cry for her. He loved her. She died, and tragically so, and he never got to spend the kind of time he wanted to with her, and how badly he wanted to be with her and now he couldn't made him suffer. Noctis is generally shy. He acted shy, cool and nonplussed about his feeling in regards to Luna around his buddies because of that. It has been stated several times by the creators that Noctis is naturally shy, but he likes to try and hide that part of his persona by acting "cool" which is exactly what he was doing. He hid his true feelings about Luna with the "coolness" aspect.
After Luna died, all of those walls came tumbling down. And yes, he cried for her. How is that annoying? Crying for someone you've known since childhood that died? And don't pull the whole "Well they didn't know each other, they didn't spend any real time together in person." Oh, fuck off with that logic. You gonna say that about your close internet buddies you've been friends with for over a decade? That's much the same as how it was for Noct and Luna, instead, they used their book to communicate rather than the computer or a cell phone. They sent letters and photos and even gifts to each other via that book. Nope, they didn't know each other at all, so yeah. It's really annoying that Noctis cries for Luna. I mean hell, any person grieving over the loss of someone, regardless of the circumstances is just so annoying. Amirite? * I mean it's obviously so annoying someone would sit alone and cry for a lost loved one just like Noctis did, right? *insert eye roll here*
On the train, Noctis was quiet and to himself. He didn't say a word. Yeah, it was "several weeks later" but several weeks, we're looking at 3-6 weeks total? If even that??? I'm sorry, but do you get over your grief for a loved one in a matter of a few weeks? Fuck no. Unless you have ever experienced a loss yourself you'd never get it. Not ever. Grief doesn't just go away after a few weeks. It lingers on for years til you finally manage a way around it, and it still hurts from time to time. I've experienced enough of it to know just how much that hurts. Noctis being quiet and keeping to himself wasn't him "moping" as Gladio accused him of doing. Everyone grieves in their own way. Noctis was keeping his pain to himself because he didn't want to burden anyone else with it. It's not easy to share your pain with others.
Noctis was not ignorant to Ignis' suffering either, no much Gladio would love to accuse him of that. Noctis was keeping TO himself so he, I reiterate, did NOT burden others. He already knows everything that Gladio screamed out at him, and it was WRONG of Gladio to just randomly attack him out of nowhere when the man is grieving. Noctis is tired of people sacrificing themselves for him. He doesn't want to lose anyone else. Gladio came at him out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. That was wrong. Downright wrong, and Noct's reaction to that is NOT annoying. He was genuinely confused as to why Gladio just rounded on him out of nowhere, and hurt by Gladio's words, and having Luna's death thrown in his face again was just painful for him. How would you like something like that to be thrown in your face? It wouldn't be too pleasant, would it?
Noctis attacks Ardyn on the train, not knowing that this was actually Prompto because his heart was filled with rage and revenge. Ardyn killed Luna right in front of his eyes. So naturally he would want to kill him, and if Noct's raging at Ardyn is annoying, I'd hate to see you watch your significant other die in front of you and see how YOU feel when you face their murderer. Not so annoying when you think about it in that aspect, is it?
Noctis pushing Prompto off the train while Ardyn making him think it was him by using his 'stitch in time' to switch appearances with Prompto. If Noct acting out in rage and fear and worry is annoying because he unknowingly pushed his best friend off of the train, then wow... just wow... Of course he was freaking out over it! If someone screwed with my head like that, I'd be just as upset as Noctis was! I'd be frantic and panicking, I'd probably cry and literally be at a standstill because I'd have no idea where to go or what to do, just like Noctis. Wouldn't you? Or is it just too annoying for you?
Noctis breaking down on the train after visiting Tenebrae, seeing Gentiana become Shiva, receiving Luna's trident, seeing the memory of Luna's with Ravus after holding onto the trident, attempting to kill Ardyn again, his friends fallen and them all freezing. Oh yes, I've seen people bitch about this one too. I mean seriously. Consider EVERYTHING Noctis has been through at this point. Every single little thing he's suffered through. His kingdom falls and countless lives lost; the crystal is stolen; his father's death is confirmed to him; not knowing if Luna was alive or not; his encounter with Ravus and watching Gladio almost have his throat slit; confirmation that Luna is alive and believing he's on his way to Altissia to be with her and even possibly marry her; arrives in Altissia, watches Luna's address about what's really happening to the world; is thrown into battle with Leviathan and is badly injured to the point he can't move; watches Luna get fatally stabbed unable to get up and help her; Luna dies; he receives the Ring of the Lucii thanks to her; wakes up and sees that Ignis has been blinded due to the battle; now has the sudden responsibility and burden of being the True King thrown on him and still not knowing his fate but also consider that Noctis knows that the Ring will do to him what it did to his father; the argument with Gladio; Ardyn fucking with him about Prompto and Prompto getting kidnapped; learning the price of the Covenants; and seeing Luna's spirit. That point EVERYTHING is hitting him. Not EVERYTHING. He even says "It's so hard." And then he stops for a moment and says "Guess it was hard for you too." He wasn't even thinking of just what he was suffering through at that point, but what Luna had suffered through for his sake and he felt guilty! He felt truly remorseful that he couldn't even be there for her. He's grieving, he’s feeling lost, scared, worried, his friends are getting hurt, people he loves have died for him. Who wouldn't have a complete and utter breakdown at that point? Of course it's hard. It wasn't JUST for Luna that Noctis cried so much during that scene. It was everything. Everything was hard. He held everything in for so long, and that sent him over the edge. But I guess being a character that's relatable to a real human being is incredibly annoying, isn't it?
So, have I covered everything that he's just "so annoying" in? Or did I miss anything? Perhaps if I missed anything people could elaborate on just why Noctis is annoying? Is it because he's sleepy all the time? Well, gee. Carrying the burden of the Royal Arms draining him of energy, and even does so when you fight with them, is just so annoying. Oh wow. It's hot outside. Making the state "man, it's hot" is just totally irritating, isn't it? I mean if you were in a hot place, you would be complaining just as much if not more that it's hot outside, would you not? But nope. Noctis isn't allowed to react, complain or say a word, really. He's just too annoying, isn't he?
Sorry for the brashness of my post, but I'm getting a little fed up with the pointless hate towards this game, and in particular toward Noctis, Luna and their relationship as well. I hope I made my point. So if you find him to be annoying, why not give accurate, constructive arguments rather than just saying "I find him to be annoying." You know what I find annoying? People who can't actively argue their point and constructively at that. *huffs*
/end rant
#final fantasy xv#ffxv#noctis lucis caelum#noctluna#lunafreya nox fleuret#regis lucis caelum#prompto argentum#ignis scientia#ardyn izunia#ardyn lucis caelum
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The End
I’m sorry guys, I meant to have this up yesterday, but life got ahead of me a bit!
Since yesterday was not only Veteran’s Day, but the 100th anniversary of WW1 ending, I figured I’d do a little tidbit for the Rosenthal’s.
-November 11, 1918-
Armin had noticed Callista was being...antsy-er than usual. “Cal, what in the world is wrong?”
She twisted the corner of her apron as she paced inside his office. “It’s over.”
“Yes, I am aware.” He leaned forward on his desk, whispering, “I’m assuming this outcome was predictable for you?”
She nodded stiffly.
“Then…?”
“It doesn’t feel over. I don’t know why, but it’s...unsettling.”
“Am I correct in, once again, assuming this feeling involves details you aren’t at liberty to divulge?”
She sighed, nodding once again. “Armin, I’ve been anxiously counting down the days since September. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been living it versus reading it in a book, I don’t know. I feel like I’m watching the first domino fall in what’s going to be a very long line of dominoes.”
Now it was his turn to nod. “I understand that feeling. Probably not to the same extent, but I can feel it, too. An unrest about the conclusion of this war.”
“Exactly!”
“However…” He stood, moving to stand in front of Callista. “All of that pales in comparison to one thing for me.”
“Oh?”
“Relief.” He took her hands in his. “My family survived. Not many can say that.” He leaned forward, closing his eyes as their foreheads touched. “I’m tired of waiting for the day this hell would consume one of them, and now it no longer can. And, for that, I’m grateful that this war is over.”
~
Derrick tapped his thumb against the pipe hanging from his mouth.
Over. Was it really that simple?
“So, now what?” the soldier next to him asked, his voice thick with uncertainty.
“It means just that. The war is over, plain and simple.”
“Okay, so do we continue the attack?”
“No...send the opposing side a message. I want to see if he’s amicable to a meeting. ”
The young man nodded, a solemn look on his face that matched his own. Derrick hoped it would go well, but he didn’t get his hopes up. After all, his opponent could very well think this was him rolling over and giving up. Or see it as nothing more than a trap set by a cornered dog.
“Sir!”
Derrick watched as Brauer made his way towards him. “Something the matter?”
“What’s this about a meeting?”
“You sound bothered by that,” Derrick commented, holding out the recently received missive. “War’s over. We lost. No point in keeping up this ridiculous scuffle.”
Brauer scanned over the letter quickly, his brow furrowing. “That’s that, then?”
“That’s that.”
It took the better of an hour, but the opposing officer showed up; granted, it was at his doorstep without any notice, but Derrick chose to keep his mouth shut on the matter.
The man seemed to be the same rank as he was; a bit rounded in the face, brunette hair, and a haughty expression that made him want to spit. He waved over a soldier, muttering something to him.
“Sergeant Faucher would like to know the meaning of this meeting.”
Derrick cringed at the boy’s poor German, holding up a hand. “No need for that, I speak French.”
The Sergeant raised an eyebrow, evidently surprised. “And fluently, for that matter.”
“Learned it well before the war, sir.”
“And here I thought most of you were idiots.”
“You can thank my wife for that, I suppose,” he said, keeping his tone in check. “Married French.”
“Oh?”
He nodded.
“Well then, consider me impressed. Remind me of your name?”
“Sergeant Rosenthal,” he stated, extending a hand. Much to his surprise, Faucher had a firm handshake.
“So...is this it?” Faucher gestured at the general chaos of the battlefield. “The ceasefire barely went up, and already you’re rolling over to the enemy?”
Cocky little - “No. I’m not rolling over. I’m just not...foolish enough to senselessly keep up this little game we’ve been playing.”
“Foolish?” he asked, catching Derrick’s carefully chosen words.
“You and I both know that we’ve been shelling each other over a plot of dirt that wasn’t going to mean a damn thing for this war.”
“And yet you still did it.”
“I do believe you’ve previously acknowledged that I’m not a complete idiot. I was given orders, I followed. You know how it goes.”
The Frenchman gave Derrick a hard stare, one he was all too glad to mirror back. “What do you suggest we do, then?” he asked quietly.
“Sort out our dead. Tend to whoever is injured. Make it a joint effort. I’m sure most everyone here is fed up with all this fighting.”
After a moment of silence, Faucher held out his hand. “We have an accord, then.”
“Yes. We have an accord.”
~
Melanie was beginning to grow concerned. Erich had been staring off at some point on the wall for the better of ten minutes now.
“Is that really it…?” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper.
Oh, thank God. “I suppose so. It only just happened, Erich.”
He scoffed, but didn’t reply. Mallory sat quietly in an opposing chair, turning to look out the front window.
“I wonder when they’ll be back.”
“Who knows, Mama. I doubt all the fighting has stopped, but I’m sure-”
A loud crash cut her off. Melanie looked at Erich in shock, his face painted with a look of keen frustration. He looked on the brink of tears.
“So that’s it?” he spat, his voice wavering. “We all marched ourselves out into that fucking pit of hell, and for WHAT?” He grit his teeth, his breathing growing harder.
“Erich-”
“I don’t need anyone’s fucking pity!”
Mallory flinched, taking Erich aback.
“I...I’m sorry, I…” He stared at the floor, glancing over at the broken vase scattered across the corner of the room as Brandi walked in. Erich turned his head to face her, his expression suddenly that of a lost child. “When did you…?”
“About when the vase shattered,” she whispered. She walked over to him, running a hand through his hair before kissing his forehead. “What’s going on, love?”
He looked down at his lap, running his hands over what was left of his legs. “It’s not fair.”
“What isn’t fair?”
“This,” he muttered, giving his lap a gentle pat. “I gave up everything for this war...but now, it feels more like it was taken away from me. Taken with no hope of ever recovering.”
Melanie raised an eyebrow as Brandi knelt in front of him. “What do you mean?”
He spoke without facing her. “They don’t take...cripples. I can barely function without someone’s assistance, and they will never be able to help that.”
So that’s what this is about?
“Well, it’s only hopeless if that’s how you choose to see it.”
Erich’s attention snapped back to Brandi’s face. She smiled softly at him, as did Mallory.
“She’s right about that, son. And you know we’ll all be here for you, no matter what.”
He turned around, giving Melanie a curious look.
“What? You think I’m going to disagree? First off, you do remember who I married, yes?” Walking up behind the sofa, she wrapped her arms around her little brother’s shoulders in a tight hug. “You’re my family, and anyone who tries any funny business? Their ass can meet my foot.”
That got him to chuckle, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. Mallory came forward, cupping her youngest son’s cheek. He leaned into her hand, smiling.
“I, um...I can replace that.”
“Don’t worry about it, my dear. I’m more concerned with you.”
~
Friedrich wondered if it was possible to have an award for dumbfounded faces.
“They aren’t serious are they?”
“About fucking time.”
“They can’t do this to us!”
“We get to go home!”
“What happens now…?”
He barely heard any of that. His attention was solely on Clara, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Claire?”
Nothing.
“Clara, schatzi, what’s wrong?” He gently cupped her cheek, unsure if she was having another episode.
She blinked. “Is it really over, Friedrich? Full stop over?”
“Yes.”
“Who won?”
“Not us, simply put.”
Clara’s brow furrowed. She turned her attention to the opposing trench wall, her eyes beginning to lose focus. “So many dead,” she whispered. To Friedrich’s surprise...tears began to pool in her eyes as she slowly turned her face back to him. “No more, yes? No killing? Killing over?”
His heart squeezed at the sight of her; four years of uncensored, brutal death came crashing down on her. Four years lost in the trenches. An entire childhood ripped away.
He took off her helmet, ruffling her hair a bit before smoothing it out, pulling her closer to him. “Yes, Claire. All over.”
The tears spilled over. He pulled her into a tight hug right as she began to sob, rubbing her back in an attempt to ease the hard shuddering of her shoulders.
It drew the attention of the other nearby soldiers. Some of them simple turned their attention elsewhere, others sighed in understanding, giving Friedrich a sympathetic nod. By the time she pulled away, a small handful of men had come by, briefly putting a hand on her shoulder in a show of solidarity.
She didn’t wipe away the tears.
“Are we going home now?”
“Mhmm.”
“Huh…” A puzzled look passed her face as she looked up towards the sky. “Not sure where that is, now.”
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