#one of the very few times you will catch me being patriotic
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September 30: AND IM PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN
September 17 October 1
#dracula daily#dracula#jonathan harker#mina harker#quincey morris#art#sketch#drawing#i love one (1) man#one of the very few times you will catch me being patriotic
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It's been a minute since I've written a post about The Patriot, but what better time than the next to last day of the year while recovering from covid?
A while ago, another parallel between Benjamin Martin and the titular character in my old, bygone fandom the BBC Robin Hood occurred to me. How many times does Robin threaten to throw in the towel on being the peoples' savior for reasons that range from his love interest being murdered to some townsfolk having the audacity to hold him responsible for the consequences the Sheriff of Nottingham doles out to all of them in response to his actions? A lot of times across the show's three seasons, it turns out. And it would be one thing if the point being made was that no one can save the world alone. Everyone gets overwhelmed sometimes and has to rely on their friends to pick them up. Considering that every time Robin quits, it is a friend who brings him back, that would be an excellent point to make. But it's not. It's Robin's name on the tin, and the show never lets us forget it.
Although "the patriot" technically refers to Martin's son Gabriel, it is Benjamin who is consistently presented as the movie's hero even as he is ready to give up every time something he failed to foresee happens or his solution to a problem does not immediately work. He gives up on reasoning with ALL British officers after his efforts with Colonel "Fire the house and barns" fail, resulting in massive carnage. He gives up on mounting any kind of offensive against the Green Dragoons when sends everyone home after arriving too late to save one family. He packs up to go home again after Gabriel dies. His momma raised a quitter for sure.
In some respects, the series is more grating because the arc over which the complication arises, the hero throws in the towel, his friends talk him out of it, and he eventually triumphs plays out in multiple episodes with no variation. But, there is another comparison to be made between the two. In Robin Hood, Sheriff Vaisey and Guy of Gisborne are both trying to increase their own power and wealth in different ways over the course of the series, and Robin is foiling them. Catching Robin is not the end goal for these antagonists that catching Martin becomes for Colonel Tavington. And Tavington, unlike his historical inspiration Banastre Tarleton, never gives up in all the months he spends in this pursuit. His response when General Cornwallis berates him for his failure to deliver Martin is simply "Thus far."
The final fight between him and Martin provides a particularly stark contrast. Tavington, by that point, has been violently thrown from his horse (deceased) and shot in the arm by Martin, not to mention that he is still recovering from being shot in the side by Gabriel a few days earlier. He doesn't care. He picks himself up, literally. He tells himself "Be Gay and Carry On," or "Keep Calm and do Crimes," and he attacks. Initially, he and Martin are evenly matched, and Tavington takes some more damage. He decks Martin in the face and slashes him with his saber. Martin, outraged, head-butts him and stabs him in the tit. Again, Tavington doesn't care. He is a bad bitch, and this is a typical Tuesday in the British Army. He rallies and slashes Martin on the back and legs and . . . that's pretty much the end of the fight as a fight.
(I must make an aside here that I was adamant at the outset of writing this that as soon as Tavington touched Martin, he was done. Martin was How Very Dare You? Don't You Know Who I Am? and just falls apart. That isn't quite true, but he certainly doesn't have the resilience of someone who has not had triumph handed to him again and again. Rewatch the source material when you write meta, folks.)
After punching Martin in the face and slashing his arm, Tavington, who has been fighting with only his saber up to this point, drops to one knee, picks up the bayonet that eventually ends up going through his neck, and rises with a menacing grin. Apparently, he wants to be evenly matched with Martin more than he wants to take advantage of Martin's loopiness from having been hit for the first time in twenty years with something more than an emotional blow. The slut. Of course, what also happens is that he gives Martin an opportunity to recover that Martin certainly does not give him (conduct of a gentleman be damned). And as we all know, it's certainly not the last time this happens.
Both of these low-pain-and-disappointment-tolerant heroes have the reputation of being great fighters, but I feel confident in saying Robin deserves his far more. Pretty much every time someone gains the upper hand over him, that person is fighting dirty. In The Patriot, let's be honest. Benjamin Martin is the dirty fighter here. He is very good at jumping out from behind trees to kill people who didn't know he was there one second before, but he sure as hell can't take a hit. Ultimately, his triumph is even more annoying than Robin's for several reasons. Robin's longsuffering, under-appreciated friends are usually able to get his ass back on track before peasant casualties accumulate iirc. Martin's inaction contributes significantly to the movie's very high civilian body count. For this reason, along with his being a bitch of a completely different kind than Tavington, Martin does not deserve to be bailed out of situations where he is so ready to embrace defeat. Moreover, I think Tavington deserved a little bit of triumph. Not too much; he is a child-murdering war criminal. But he deserved to take Martin out with him. He certainly worked a lot harder for it than Martin did.
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With Leverage Redemption season 2 dropping today, here are a few shows that give me Scarlet Pimpernel vibes. (There may not be a character that reminds me of Chauvelin in all of them.)
The first one is, obviously, Leverage (and Leverage Redemption). To me Leverage is modern day Scarlet Pimpernel. There's the masterminded plots and lots of grifting (I would argue that, yes, the PImpernel is a grifter). The Leverage team can be smaller than the league because they also have technology on their side. Wait, you ask, does that mean Sterling = Chauvelin? Kind of. Sterling is Chauvelin but incredibly genre savvy. Sterling always wins, but Chauvelin always loses (while staying alive through the power of knowing the Pimpernel's identity).
Another show is Spy x Family. What if Marguerite was secretly an assassin? And they adopted a child who's secretly a telepath? And it takes place vaguely during the cold war? It's slice of life anime meets spy thriller, with a few other anime genres thrown in occasionally. So far there's not really a Chauvelin analogue, but Yor's brother being in the secret police has some potential.
If you want a podcast, I recommend The Blackwater Aethercast. Steampunk with a bit of occult happenings. The main character, Lord Blackwater, is a genius inventor (anti?)villain, with competent staff to help with his plans. There isn't really a Chauvelin analogue, but the US Marshall in the second arc does get soup thrown on him at one point when he catches up to Lord Blackwater so that he can escape.
Another anime is Moriarty the Patriot. Moriarty give me very strong Pimpernel vibes as the Lord of Crime, with his brothers and others joining him to pull off plots. I guess that makes Sherlock the Chauvelin analogue. I do love their friendship.
A show I am really excited for the next season of is Shadow and Bone. Specifically, the Crows give me the Pimpernel vibes with their heists and plots. Also, the costumes are amazing.
One last anime is Code Realize. A bunch of public domain characters from the victorian times working together in a steampunk world on various plans. Arsene Lupin, gentleman thief, is their leader.
#chauvember#chauvember2022#scarlet pimpernel#recommendations#leverage#spy x family#blackwater aethercast#moriarty the patriot#shadow and bone#code realize#do i have an au or two for some of these#yes
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15 April, CLE @ BOS, 6-0, loss
Losing on Patriot's Day seems a bit rubbish. The early morning start should favour the home team but apparently not. In spite of the lopsided score it was a bit of an up and down game. There was horror, with the collision of Raffy Devers and Tyler O'Neill (O'Neill needed eight stitches), there was frustration, with Wilyer Abreu's throwing error, there was excitement, with Wilyer Abreu's amazing catch at the wall, and there was that sinking feeling you get when a tight pitchers' duel reverts to a routing in the last couple of innings of the game. Anyway. There were a few bright sides.
Kutter Crawford (autocorrect very much wants me to spell that "Cutter") must be feeling pretty jinxed at the moment. Dude's been putting up zeroes since the first week and the bats turn to noodles when he takes the mound. His ERA is 0.42 and he has neither a win nor a loss this season. He went five and two thirds, didn't walk anyone and struck out six, allowing only two hits. I really hope the team can put some runs behind one of these starts. At the moment they're being wasted.
Wilyer Abreu's amazing catch to rob Jose Ramirez in the first was fun to watch. It was a more innocent time, when everything seemed possible. I like that about first innings.
I don't know if it's a bright side, but Gronk's spiking of the first pitch could be seen as a meta-commentary on Sox fielding thus far this season. Just sayin'. Also, I'm not going to lie, I thought it looked kinda weird.
It looks like Raffy and Tyler survived their collision, which is a relief. We could do with fewer injuries, please.
We'll get 'em tonight.
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Every once in a while I'm baffled by the remembrance that I really did leave the country, for a month, on my own, without telling anyone. I went all the way across the globe and it was actually that easy (well everything leading up to it wasn't, but the actual getting on the plane part was). About two years ago I had told my mother that I wanted to go to Norway as a half joke. She just nodded and I then said, you do realize Norway is like half way across the world (only about 4,000 miles actually). And then she said, "In that case no, thats too far." What does it matter how far I am, I'll be in another country regardless of where I go?? When she asked me why there, I told her I'd been learning the language and I'd gotten to a point where sometimes I'd even think in Norwegian. She didn't seem to believe me. How could I have picked up an entire language just under her nose?
Anyway, so I left and told no one and when I was actually there, outside waiting at the bus stop, I had to keep reminding myself that I really wasn't in America anymore. I took the calls from the seagulls as a way to identify that I was in fact in Norway. Airports have a funny way of acting as a limbo. Neither here nor there. Sure there were signs in other languages and the people in Germany felt way more rude but without talking to anyone, without seeing geographical wonders, I might as well have still been in Philadelphia. The sound of those seagulls though, in my mind only associated with being on a beach, was the only thing reminding me that I no longer was in Philly.
On the bus ride I sat next to a window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a classic Norwegian forest. I imagined them to be luscious, drafted in snow, populated by exotic creatures, and a hum of mystic wonder following their tails. I only saw highways. Even the cars looked the same and the people in those cars the same. Come to think of it, I dont even know what side of the road they drive on because I'd only seen highways and gravel roads. Still, while trying to guage how much was different, I could only find similarities. This time it was the sound of the sweet old ladies a few seats ahead of me, speaking in Norwegian to remind me of how far from home I was.
I arrived at a gas station, awaited by the campus grounds-keeper to be picked up in a small car and driven to my new abode. Funny, gas stations don't ever seem to change.
It wasn't until we rode into our neighborhood where everything truly felt different. It was a quaint place with small red townhouses lined up and no variation in their structures. I questioned if they were actual homes. They looked too small to be lived in. I had shared with everyone that it felt like I was on a movie set. These weren't actual three dimensional structures. They felt like plastered set pieces, walls put up on the side of the road. Even the Norwegian flags posted on the outside of every single house felt intentionally placed. I'd heard time and time again that Europeans found our obsession with the flag strange, but Norwegians hold the same level of patriotism, rightfully so at least. I'd found while I was there that I tried to be mindful of how Europeans viewed Americans and where our cultures differed, but I didn't realize that European culture is just as broad as American culture. Norway was very different from how I would envision, say, England and I didn't know that almost all houses in Norway followed the same pattern of small red or yellow structures, tight knit and hand-built. Things were starting to feel different now.
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Day 3, Seoul, 14 th Sept
I decided to catch a bus today to the Korean War Museum. I had it all sorted but just checked with my friends on the front desk as I was leaving. They were surprised I would go by bus. The subway is popular, here. They insisted on checking but were impressed when I had the right numbered bus and knew how to get there. I do my homework. The bus was great, very quick as there are designated bus lanes and you get to see more. The stop was in front of the Museum.
The Korean War Monument was constructed to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Korean War. It consists of this Korean War Tower plus
Statues of Patriots on either side.
Off to the side is The Statue of Brothers which depicts the real story of two brothers who fought on opposite sides in the Korean War before being accidentally reunited on the battlefield. It symbolises the Korean people’s wish for national peace and reunification. Inside was a wall of mosaics depicting war scenes.
In front of the Museum are flags of the 22 UN nations that participated in the war. You can see the Australian flag behind me.
Australia was the third country after the US and Uk to send troops.
Inside the Museum was very impressive having interesting facts about Korea’s need to fight many battles and wars over the centuries to retain their territory. Their uniforms were very colourful in times past.
An ancient war ship
What I was particularly interested was the more modern history of Korea. I should know more but Korea has never been a country of interest to me until recently. Never to late to learn. A simple explanation. Japan annexed Korea in 1910 and did many atrocities against the Korean people even trying to wipe out their language. Following the end of World War II it was decided that the US and the Soviets be given half of Korea each to help stabilise it until elections could happen. Russia took control of the north and with the coming of the Cold War reneged on this agreement. North Korea moved towards becoming a communist country with the backing of Stalin and Mao Zedong. Kim II Sung is also in this photo and he become the supreme ruler of North Korea.
The South was overseen by such people as Truman, Eisenhower and McArthur and elections were held and South Korea became a democracy.
The Korean War started in 1950 with a surprise attack on Seoul. The North Korean’s were able to gain much territory until the United Nations stepped in. An Armistice occurred in 1953 with no one being the better off. North and South Korea still have have an uneasy relationship hence South Korea is always on guard. All males are required to do two years military service. There are few exceptions. Korea is a very safe country and that is due in part to the number of CCTV cameras all over the city. They are prepared.
The war killed thousands of people, destroyed property and displaced many people. There were large numbers of refugees from the north and a boat was sent to evacuate many people.
Flags of the 22 United Nation countries who fought.
The Museum was very respectful of each nations contribution to the war. These were the belongings of an Australian soldier who died.
These are stories of Australian soldiers who had close connections to Korea and some where buried here.
As I was leaving the Museum, out on the square, were hundreds of uniformed service men in all sorts of different uniforms.
All very colourful.
I asked a couple of people what was going on but lack of English was an issue. I eventually worked out that it was a dress rehearsal for a military festival being held in October.
The masks were a bit incongruous with the older uniforms.
I had a couple of cafe stops during the day, walked a long way the wrong way but eventually found the Namsangol Hanok Village which consists of mostly original buildings moved to this beautiful garden setting under the mountain.
It shows how people lived in previous times.
The gates and doorways all have high boards across them making it necessary to step over. I th8nk it was to prevents spirits entering their homes.
Most of the rooms are fairly small and are entered straight from an outside verandah.
Inner courtyard.
Brick fires to heat the homes.
Another great day. I’m starting to really get my head around, at least this northern part of the city.
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Aaron Judge has each proper to make his free-agent choice a matter of straightforward economics. If he desires to go to the best bidder this offseason, so be it. Most individuals in most industries base their profession decisions on the underside line.
The Yankees would possibly find yourself being that highest bidder, after all, as a $6 billion franchise that's baseball’s most dear by far. And if Hal Steinbrenner doesn’t weigh in with the very best supply for the slugger, who seems to be sure to interrupt the all-time group, American League and non-PED document for homers in a season (see Roger Maris, 61), he could have an entire lot of explaining to do to a fan base that let him hear it again Friday night.
But the Yankees do have an edge right here that goes past pure dollars, and the pure dwelling benefit that superstars usually grant the groups that drafted and developed them. The Yankees have their very own forex within the type of mythology and custom that no different membership can contact.
The Babe, the Iron Horse, the Yankee Clipper and the Mick. Twenty-seven World Series championships, or 16 greater than the second-place membership on the record, the Cardinals.
“You know why the Yankees always win, Frank?” Christopher Walken’s character asks Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in “Catch Me If You Can.”
DiCaprio: “Because they have Mickey Mantle?”
Walken: “No, it’s ’cause those other teams can’t stop staring at those damn pinstripes.”
Aaron Judge can’t put a worth on coming into Yankees lore.Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post
Thurman and Reggie restored these rattling pinstripes within the Seventies, and Derek and Mo took it to a different degree within the Nineteen Nineties. Friday night time in The Bronx, earlier than the beginning of a crucial collection with Tampa Bay, Derek Jeter was honored for a Hall-of-Fame induction made attainable by the tangible and intangible influence he had on a dynastic group.
Judge was proper there in The Bronx for the ceremony — whereas ready to attempt to add to his 55 homers — simply as he was proper there for Paul O’Neill’s number-retirement ceremony just a few weeks earlier. He is aware of there is no such thing as a different main league franchise that delivers this sort of pomp and circumstance.
He additionally is aware of that he will certainly have his day within the solar, or beneath the lights, after he retires.
If he stays wholesome.
If he stays a Yankee.
Would Judge actually stroll away from the prospect of touchdown in Monument Park, and of watching his personal completely outsized quantity, 99, getting retired earlier than a packed Yankee Stadium crowd that can chant his title the best way it chanted Jeter’s?
Sure, it’s attainable. If the Giants or Dodgers are keen to provide the 30-year-old Judge the assured years and money that Steinbrenner received’t, then he would possibly really feel his choice has been made for him. Different athletes are motivated by various things. Nobody ever appeared extra like a slam-dunk, one-uniform icon than Tom Brady, and but he walked out on Bill Belichick and the Patriots’ forbidding dynasty for some enjoyable within the Tampa solar.
If Brady can depart New England, yeah, it’s attainable that Judge may depart The Bronx.
Derek Jeter speaks to the group throughout his ceremony. Charles Wenzelberg / New York Post
The good cash nonetheless says that the 6-foot-7, 282-pound middle fielder (you may’t kind these absurd measurables sufficient) will comply with Jeter’s lead and end his profession simply as he began it — in pinstripes. As a free agent nearing the top of his taking part in days, Jeter was angered by the contract place taken by basic supervisor Brian Cashman, who dared the shortstop to discover a higher supply on the open market. Team president Randy Levine later met with the captain, who made an impassioned plea
for extra money to be added to proposed efficiency bonuses, and Levine’s openness to compromise helped shut what grew to become be a three-year, $51 million deal.
Jeter made it clear he by no means needed to go away, and his willingness to take some painful lumps from Cashman, and to simply accept what he felt was a substandard supply, confirmed his understanding of the franchise’s mystique. As a lot as Jeter meant to the Yankees model, not sufficient was stated or written about how a lot the model meant to Jeter.
He had a particular profession and belongs on the record of all-time Yankees, someplace within the combine proper after the Fab Four. But nonetheless, Jeter’s profession wouldn’t have appeared fairly the identical with nearly every other membership.
All these years later, Judge is aware of the identical will be stated of his profession. He noticed and heard how the followers responded to Jeter, who spoke Friday night time through the pregame ceremony of how a lot it meant to him to spend 23 years with one group, and of how he would possibly dwell in Miami, however The Bronx remains to be “where I really feel like I’m at home.”
The Yankees have staged fairly just a few of those scenes since they drafted Judge in 2013. In the top, Judge is a businessman who's within the enterprise of hitting dwelling runs at a document tempo, and he deserves a nine-figure contract worthy of his staggering ability.
But the Yankees may also compensate him the best way they compensated Jeter. And that may be an awfully troublesome factor for him to stroll away from.
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➳headcanon: wearing fred's jumper
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the first time you wear his jumper, it's by accident. pansy parkinson, the resident matchmaker and casual prankster, has jinxed all of the students' clothes to swap with those of others as part of a prank war with, well, everyone, and the best thing? you can't swap back until pansy says so or there will be consequences
because with pansy parkinson, there are always consequences
so you wake up one morning, excited to go to hogsmeade finally, and you find a complete stranger's clothes in your own wardrobe
you huff and try to summon your own clothing, because all the wardrobe has is red, yellow and shades of grey
not only that, it's at least 5 sizes bigger
the accio! charm is blocked. damn pansy for her brilliant wandwork, you think
you look over to your dormmates. well they're lucky, one has got her boyfriend's clothes, one has got cho chang's wardrobe, and the other is fully embracing the emerald culture of the slytherin house
so you carefully fish out a comfy looking hoodie that might be able to be worn, ignoring the fact that it smells very very nice
you decide not to go in the underwear cabinet, because privacy
and you borrow a pair of leggings from your friend, because you wouldn't be able to wear the trackpants and slacks without tripping over every step
and you end up going unknowingly to breakfast in fred weasley's jumper
his favourite one too
and for the first time, why is it only the first time? he notices you
and he thinks it's definitely his favourite jumper now that he sees it hanging adorably off of you, the sleeves even rolled fall to past your fingertips and the end of the jumper reaches to past your thighs
and he's wearing george's clothes, because pansy just had to
so whilst you're in his jumper giggling and being impressed with your friends over boys who are wearing shirts sizes too small, he approaches you
"sup, darling," he says confidently
your friends erupt in giggles but you look at him confusedly
"who are you? sorry, i don't mean to be rude."
and he's just disappointed because surely everyone has heard of fred and george weasley?
and a neat, flirty conversation starts
you find yourself slowly being charmed by his jokes and raw laughter
and at the end, you're surprised when he tells you that you've got his jumper on
but he does seem like a heavy gryffindor patriot
and you find it kind of cute?
well, there's no going back from here, you think, come on, i can't crush on someone i've just met??!!!
but you can, and you do
and he invites you to go to the three broomsticks with him
you look to your friends and they just giggle and nod like the idiotic darlings they are
and you end up having a splendid time with him and become very good friends
the second time you wear his jumper, it's his quidditch one
he just randomly dumps it into your lap and you're super confused because yeah, you might like him but you're not dating or anything?
"hey fred?"
"mm?"
"why did you give me this?"
"to wear it?" he deadpans.
"isn't it a couples thing to do?"
"so now you don't wanna be a couple?"
and although you're cheering for your house and you don't find quidditch too interesting, you go for the sake of him
he finds it so hard to concentrate when he knows you're watching him, in his jersey
you occasionally look up from your conversation with hermione to watch for the snitch
but you can't take your eyes off of fred, he's casually flying about, and he looks absolutely handsome as he beats away the bludgers, grinning and winking at you
you nearly faint just like the tons of other girls who the wink might be directed at
the third time you wear his jumper, it's the morning after you stay over at his place (fredlives!au)
and you're in the sweater molly knitted for him and he almost dies inside because the sight before him is just so sweet and endearing and reminds him of the first time he ever saw you
you look up at him from the book you're reading and raise your eyebrows, because he's smiling and it's a quiet smile
"what?"
"i'm so lucky."
"to?"
"for."
"for?"
"you."
you laugh and fred swears it's the best thing he's ever heard and you're the best thing he's ever had
when he tells you that, you just frown
"is that supposed to be good?"
he's astounded because here is a goddess who doesn't even know her effect on people
it's now he realises he wants to tell you how beautiful you are every day and night and he wants to marry you
he doesn't think you even need him, the way you're pondering over a book and sipping a cup of coffee, you're so fiercely independent
but he needs you, he decides
"do you wanna read this or no? 'cause you're burning holes in my head, my love," you say
he doesn't reply, instead just hugging you as tight as he can
"you're not going anywhere," he says stubbornly
"i wasn't planning to," you reply ever so casually, flipping the page of your book
"good."
the fourth time you wear his jumper, it's a big coat that he's draped over your shoulders because it's cold and dark
you're walking through hogsmeade and you're so tired, so you lean on him, feeling your head slump onto his chest
and you just about fall asleep and nearly fall over before he catches you
"just a few more metres," he keeps saying gently, his arm around your waist
"but i'm comfy," you whine
"but you can't fall asleep here, love."
"try me."
and anyone who's walking on the street can clearly see that he's utterly whipped for you by the way he looks at you with such bright and sparkling eyes
even under the moonlight, you're beautiful and you're still in his coat after all these years
"i love you."
"i love you too," you reply drowsily.
"i love you, i love you, i love you..." he repeats.
when you're home, he'll gently take off your clothes (with your consent, of course) and run you a hot bath
he'll dress you in soft pyjamas and cuddle you even though you're already half asleep and kiss your forehead just before you doze off
and he's so good to you and you're so good to him
he's just always smiling happily around you because you are his sunshine and his world
the fifth time you wear his jumper, it's a red puffer jacket
yes, he's still a gryffindor patriot after all these years
and you are walking through the snow with him to wherever he's taking you
it's a pretty little reserve and you gasp at the flowers that are frostily blooming
"it's so wonderful, freddie!"
there's no reply. you look over to him and he's on one knee
"y/n l/n, i-i don't know what i would do without you. you're my everything," he pauses. he adds smoothly, "marry me?"
and you nod and he beams brighter than ever before and kisses you deeply, sneakily putting a silver ring with a ruby on it onto your fourth finger
#fredweasley#fred weasley x y/n#frederick weasley#fred weasley x reader#gryffindor#fanfic#harry potter#hogwarts#y/n#harrypotter#hogsmeade#battle of hogwarts#fredlives!au#headcanon#hc#marrying#sweaters#fluff
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moriarty the patriot headcannons pt. 1
| requested by anon: Can you write about all male characters in moriarty has a same look of their children and hpw many children they want? |
william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader; sebastian x reader; fred x reader
word count: 2397
pt. 2: 221b boys
a/n: I DONT KNOW WHY I DIDNT WRITE THIS EARLIER IM SO SORRY THIS REQUEST HAS LITERALLY BEEN IN MY INBOX FOR SO LONG I AM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS
william: 487 words
with his whole plan to clean the world of the filthy nobles, william never really stopped to think about having children
well, until he met you
you both were in town one day and he saw you fondly watching a child speak with her mother
“i think two children would be nice”
“i didn’t even ask”
“i know, but the look you gave that mother was telling enough”
n e ways he is a simp and he did eventually give you what you wanted
fast forward a few years, you have two children: a boy and a girl
and they look exactly like their father
like,, it lowkey pains you how much they physically take after their father
you wanted to be like “oh they have your personality, but they look just like me!”
no
granted, your son took after you in an emotional sense but your daughter was a daddy’s girl through and through
like she looks like him, she acts like him, speaks like him, she even EATS like him
ok but the men w your children
fred is a freaking sweetheart ok
like he’ll watch over the kids when no one has the time and they love him too so they’ll help out in the garden which you are SO thankful for
tbh they only like uncle albert bc he brings them lil trinkets from when he gets back from london LMAO
louis doesn’t show it, but he absolutely adores your children and makes extra snacks for them at tea time
you caught onto this at one point bc for some REASON your kids would not stop bouncing off of the walls before bed and they told you uncle louis gave them chocolate
and sebastian loves messing w your kids bc,,, sebastian
but he accidentally made your son cry ONCE and he was at the mercy of every adult in the moriarty estate including the boy’s younger sister
needless to say, he watched his actions and words around your children after that
now, william
i’m just gonna say this straight out: most of the men never really thought about having kids (save john and albert)
but when you finally had kids, william had a different outlook on life
like fr,, this man works overtime now trying to get rid of the filth that is called nobles
he doesn’t want his kids to be raised in a world where just because you have more money than another means you get to look down on them
you still instill in them those good morals ofc
he also tries to be very present in their lives since he and his brother were raised as orphans
when he was younger, he didn’t mind it all much
but now that he had this small family and a brighter future, he did everything in his power to make sure they’re happy and grow up in a cleaner and kinder world
louis: 320 words
it took you a week to get him to at LEAST humor you
“if you could, how many kids do you want?”
“none”
like, this guy is so dedicated to his brother and his cause it is a WONDER you somehow wormed your way into his heart
but you did and honestly, the brothers are actually very happy that you’re with them
william especially
louis rarely emotes but when you came into their lives, you got louis pissed at one point and everyone was like,,,, wtf?? he has emotions???
anyways, his answer is one kid LMAO
and when you get that one kid, he looks just like louis
yall already KNOW that he’s ready to die for that child as soon as louis holds him in his arms
the only kid sebastian wouldnt even try to mess with
he can deal with william’s albert’s or fred’s kids but louis lowkey intimidates him so he’s as nice as he can be
that being said, louis teaches his kid how to properly handle stuff around the house
you want to cry bc ur son is just so??? the little kid just loves helping out no matter how small the task and he’s just so cute it hurts
even sebastian’s kinda like,, “aight he’s the only kid i will tolerate”
louis grew up with only his brothers so he also wants to give his son a shot at a normal family
is actually aware at how he thinks he’s indispensable for william’s cause and he doesn’t want his son to end up like him
he also teaches his son some badass fighting moves
oh and louis smiles a lot more too
cried bc his son saw the scar he got on his cheek, rubbed some dirt on his lil face and said “i have daddy’s cool scar now”
all in all his son is the best thing to happen to all of you
albert: 505 words
same as louis in the fact that it takes him a week to answer
“you know you haven’t even answered my question”
“i’m sorry, what did you say?”
“how many kids do you want?”
genuinely takes time to ponder that question
he hadn’t thought of that since his family adopted william and louis
but with you?
“i think two darling girls who take after their mother is enough for me”
pls he’d be so sweet 🥺🥺🥺
you two end up having a girl and a boy, who look just like their father
and tbh, you’re not even mad
you love them so much so when albert comes back north, the three of you are ecstatic
the happiness was short lived for albert tho
he found his son spending time with william and there’s nothing bad right????
“where’s your sister?”
“she’s with mr. moran”
his heart DROPPED
out of all the people in the manor
HIM
he sees the two running around the garden
it all happened as soon as albert’s daughter went up to sebastian and said “you’re very pretty! you’re my knight now!”
he decided to “adopt” the little girl and now he’s lowkey whipped
you found albert staring at sebastian playing with his daughter and updated him about everything going on
“but him??”
“he’s just a big softie for her let it go”
isn’t really surprised when he finds out they can fight a little
actually glad that they can hold their own, God forbid anything happens to them
otherwise mi6 has to deal w family matters lmao
“albert, she only tripped”
“you shouldve seen the fear in her eyes as she fell”
“IT WAS A STRAY COBBLESTONE”
would raise hell if anyone even THOUGHT ill of his kids
william and louis are the doting uncles
william more so than louis bc your kids have never seen louis smile
now they’re on a mission to make uncle louis smile
louis was on child duty one day and they managed to slip away
omyGOD he was stressed but also,, extremely worried
so when he found them he had the most genuine smile on his face
your daughter was like (・∀・)
she loves uncle louis
ofc your son adores his dad like,,, who else wouldn't feel awesome at the age of 10 if you found out your dad was a high ranking general
feels superior to sebastian bc of his dad
lmao this 4’5 kid thinks he can rule sebastian for some odd reason
the house is always dirty bc him and sebastian always prank each other
your daughter is trying to catch a butterfly but she can’t so fred helps
instantly loves fred
“is that what heartbreak is”
“i guess that’s what happens when you try to get close to my kids colonel”
albert is kind of afraid of turning into his dad but he has you and everyone else to remind him that: no you are not your father, you are so much better than him
loves your family with his entire being
sebastian: 844 words
“i see you looking at those kids and the answer is none”
lmao you’ll get so pouty around him bc you want kids dammit
that and he spoils you to no end so that's why you’re pouty lol
“fine we’ll only do one kid and bc one kid is all i can tolerate”
bruh
this man gives you three in four years LMFAO
two boys a year apart and a girl in the fourth year
you wanted to smack sebastian
when the two boys grew up, it was obvious they were already taking after their father in the physical sense
it was terrifying
they genuinely look like mini sebastians and you know everyone in the manor is afraid that you two birthed satan
and the satan was your eldest one
he’s just a feral sebastian moran in a tiny body
your second son, god bless him, looked just like his father but with fred’s temperament
and see, you were fine with your sons looking like their father
it was FINE right
you prayed to God that your third child would have at least some physical resemblance to you
your daughter was birthed, she grew up
and you cried
“HOW DO THEY ALL LOOK LIKE YOU”
“i’ve got some strong genetics, baby”
you sulk for a lil bit
but you accept it anyway because you love your goddamn kids
thankfully, your second and youngest child are both soft spoken and it's only your husband and his tiny clone bringing hell to earth
smacking sebastian bc all of your children suddenly started swearing up a storm at each other
“WHYD YOU HIT ME”
“YOURE THE ONLY ONE WHO SWEARS AROUND THE KIDS”
finally sitting down and trying to convince them to stop swearing
“father does it!”
“your father’s stupid”
speaking of your daughter
she’s his little princess and no he will not take criticism
spoils her more than he spoils you
did she glance at a toy at a passing store?
he buys more toys than he should from said store
you have to physically hide some of his money bc there is only so much you can buy
and her older brothers are so caring you want to sob
if a person accidentally shoved her over bc she was tiny and they couldn’t see her
oh boy
get ready to restrain them like chihuahuas
“little sister will be protected at all costs”
since his second son is so different from him, sebastian actively makes time to talk about what the little boy is doing and what he’s getting from it
doesn’t want to be pushy and suffocating like his dad was so when his younger kid does want to be left alone to his devices, sebastian does so
but honestly loves that your second son is so literate
lddhsajdsfk what yall dont know is that they’re all in cahoots
kinda funny to see them all together bc they all take after their father so much it's like having three tiny sebastians go around town
anyways,,,, yall know the promised neverland right
you got ray, norman, and emma
granted one of them wasn’t as smart as ray but he definitely knew what stealth was
regular sibling rivalry was still a thing but if they could smell the pudding from the kitchen, they know they have to work together
sebastian caught his eldest smuggling biscuits into a small bag
he had half a mind to scold him
but then he ended up giving tips TO ALL HIS CHILDREN on how not to get caught next time—
bc of this they beg him to tell them some stories from afghanistan bc “there’s no way a man as old as dad knows this many stealth tactics”
louis is so fed up lmao
albert is in london most of the time so he just thanks the lord that he doesn’t have to deal w the propaganda that sebastian feeds his children about how “mr. albert is a bad man”
william is fine w it as long as they don’t trash the library
your younger ones love the library so they would cry at the thought of one of the books losing any of the pages
your second and your daughter are definitely the moriartys’ favorites
they don’t show it, but you just KNOW
your eldest could care less about that though
as long as you and his father still love him
and of course you both do
and fred is definitely your youngers favorite
they like to hang out in the garden
ok they still fight all the time though
just because your second child is soft spoken doesn't mean he’s afraid to throw hands
their sister likes to join in for the hell of it
but if someone wrongs any of the children
just because the younger ones are the moriartys’ favorite, doesn’t mean that they’re not gonna hunt someone down if they even think about trying to hurt the eldest too
yeah,,, good luck to them and their families
they got the entire moriarty estate coming after them
fred: 241 words
cmon yall are like,, young
but you did ask him bc you were curious if he thought about it
he wants one
and when yall do have the kid, you guys actually do have one kid and its a girl
since you both are young, you can immediately see a resemblance between her and her father
everyone who meets her would die for her
ABSOLUTE CUTIE
especially when she walks around the garden w her hand in her dad’s and he’s showing her all the plants and telling her how to take care of them
needless to say she grows up loving plants
any type of plant
the boys love giving her flowers or anything from bc she has the biggest smile every single time
no matter if it’s just a single rose or a rock
this was found out one time when sebastian gave her a rock bc everyone else had given her like,, two roses each
was afraid she was gonna cry
“thank you so much mr. moran! i will treasure this until i get old!”
she was like 4 at the time
and had the widest smile you’ve ever seen on her
guys u don’t understand she smiles a lot but this was like,, genuine happiness
but everyone was just,, i will destroy the world and myself if anything happens to her
fr it’s just sunshines and rainbows every single time she’s around
everyone just loves her ok
moriarty the patriot general taglist: @zoehanji
#moriarty the patriot#moriarty the patriot x reader#yuukoku no moriarty#yuukoku no moriarty x reader#william james moriarty#william moriarty#william james moriarty x reader#william moriarty x reader#louis james moriarty#louis moriarty#louis james moriarty x reader#louis moriarty x reader#albert james moriarty#albert moriarty#albert james moriarty x reader#albert moriarty x reader#sebastian moran#sebastian moran x reader#fred porlock
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Commentary ~ Little Red Little Green Episode 18, “Fruits & Found Family”
Link to original post in Chinese, posted 2021/05/23.
Link to official English translation.
(Disclaimer / Notes + Commentary under the cut!)
(TW: possible eating disorder)
Disclaimer / Notes:
While the posts by Little Red Little Green (LRLG) are among my most favourite candies, I’d like to remind everyone that they are fake rumours, and should be read and enjoyed as such. ie, all CPN below!
The English translation linked above is the only one authorised by the Fake Rumour House; therefore, please treat all content below as a very casual, very *unofficial* convo between fellow turtle friends! ❤️💛💚
With Chinese being a highly region-specific language, my reactions to it is necessarily filtered through my background, which is, admittedly, somewhat removed from Gg’s, Dd’s and LRLG’s. However, it is not uncommon for even c-turtles (and several times, LRLG themselves) to be lost with what they read / heard due to regional differences ~ which reflects the reality of communicating in the Sinosphere. In fact, the regionality of the dialects used by different “characters” in LRLG’s dialogues is among the most critical elements that make these posts so authentic-sounding, and so difficult to replicate. A fun activity of following LRLG is to watch c-turtles patch their regional knowledge together, from local slangs to food choices, to make sense of what’s going on.
Okay, with that all said *phew* ... onto the commentary! “p. X” refers to the panel number in the official English translation (there are 7 total in the Twitter post).
p1. “Fairy”
Likely referring to the similarity between Gg’s current role for 玉骨遥 (The Longest Promise) and LWJ. Dd was praising Gg for being “fairy-like”; Chinese “fairies” (仙) have a certain style especially in visual media, similar to ... LWJ’s ~ otherworldly, white robes that billow in the wind, peaceful to the point of distant, scholarly, delicate. In between the lines, Gg likely said he was simply playing LWJ (hence, the ”act another me” in the translation), which Dd protested... and said Gg was simply playing himself. Whether that means DD IS NOT LWJ!!!!! 😡😡😡 or something else, we’ll know what we get to watch the show!
p1-p2. “Heat”
Yes about the Chang’e 嫦娥 reference!! Despite Houyi 后羿 shooting down 9/10 suns and saving the day, his wife is, indeed, more famous (and therefore the star, the more powerful one), because she’s frequently featured in Mid-Autumn festival art, along with her pet rabbit 玉兔 (”Jade Rabbit”),:
(Chang’e with her bunny, traditional Chinese painting. Source.)
Below is Gg’s rendition of Chang’e / Jade Bunny pair ~ Chang’e being the superman in the drawing while Jade Bunny is crouching on the planet!!
Guess of the missing convo from Gg’s side: Gg had wanted to bring something to Hengdian (where the filming of The Longest Promise was taking place) to cool himself down, and Dd had said it wasn’t necessarily. Hence Dd’s “My bad my bad” and the promise to send that something to Gg.
The loveliest line in this segment for me—and for many c-turtles— is the one about white hair. Turning grey a common, but very old-fashioned way of expressing worry and poor Dd, who hasn’t even turned 24, is claiming he was turning white because he got so worried every time Gg complained about the heat (Aww).
Turning grey with worry isn’t limited to romantic situations — it may happen to doting parents with wayward children, for example, or to ancient patriots over their crumbling kingdom. However, it’s also one of the more (very!) dramatic ways to communicate tragic love in Chinese fiction before Western influence allows “love”, as a term / word / character, to be used explicitly in writing romance.
Here’s a little example, a little diversion that may be of interest. Those who are familiar with the Wuxia classic Return of the Condor Heroes 神雕俠侶 by Jin Yong 金庸, whether it’s the book or its numerous visual adaptations, may remember how the hero, Yang Guo 楊過, went white at his temples overnight after his Shifu and lover, Xiao Long Nv (小龍女), didn’t show up at the cliff at the end of his 16-year wait for her.
Set photo from a TV adaption of Return of the Condor Heroes, 1995. Turtles may find the actress playing the perenially white-wearing, calm-to-the point-of-aloof Xiao Long Nv, Carmen Li 李若彤, familiar ~ she also played Lan Yi in The Untamed.
The 16-year wait, the invitation to Carmen to play Lan Zhan’s ancestor (when the two shared similarities in aesthetics and personality), were two of the three references from Return of the Condor Heroes I picked up from The Untamed (the last one was more specific—WWX mentioned Yang Guo’s master 獨孤求敗). This tribute is unconfirmed, but MXTX did say before that Jin Yong’s works were her inspiration. I also read a (small) discussion on whether LWJ’s hair carried a few pieces of white in the final episode, or if the lighter strands in it were a trick of the sunlight. (Here’s a screenshot of the approximate place to look!!)
While I lean towards the latter (the sunlight), turning white with worry, with love, is a tradition in Chinese storytelling. Here’s a little something I’ve noticed too, on this note ~ both in the actual interviews and in these fake rumours, Dd’s word choices, the way he conveys emotions are sometimes surprisingly traditional. It can be because of his background (which would require a study of how Luo Yang people and Koreans talk); it can be because the traditional way of talking allows for fewer words to be said, fewer things to have to be explicitly explained (example: LWJ), but the effect is that Dd has supplied the most romantic lines in LRLG’s posts because of that ~ romantic because it harks back to the rhythm, the themes of old poetry, of ancient stories that, as were true everywhere in the world, were about love.
Okay, back to the rumour (and hoping Dd won’t look like Bad Wig Yang Guo in a few more summers!) ....
The line after the one about white hair ... the way I understand the original Chinese sentence is “Heat is The Reason”: ie, anything Dd wants Gg to do and Gg disagrees, Gg would use heat as The Reason (R) to not do it. This anything may be eating, for example, which also has a strong possibility as conventional Chinese wisdom says that heat causes people to lose appetite. Dd’s worry would therefore be: Gg refusing to eat because he claims it’s too hot to do so.
“Corny joke” ~ the Chinese for this is, literally, “cold 冷 joke 笑話”, which becomes a pun as the gzry (team members)’s joke was about the (cold) winter and black hair. So... Dd threw a corny joke to combat a corny joke :D .
p3. “Apple”
The first half I also had to rely on c-turtles to help me interpret what it meant! Regional dialects aside, LRLG has captured dls’s very quick wit, the way his ideas freely hop from one concept to the next and this hopping carries traditional + popular cultural references that I know only a fraction of, not being a local after all.
I’ve read an additional interpretation of this segment: “big fruit” 大果兒 (as in dls: “Those are all big fruits, all big fruits”) is a Northern Chinese, traditional slang for women—dls might have connected that with the previous line in the convo about being Guowang, as explained in the translation, and “big and juicy” + “touch to feel” being suggestive phrases. Then, given the rare usage of the big fruit = women slang, dls expressed surprise that Dd understood what he meant, went on to say he expected Gg to know it (implying Gg could’ve taught Dd the meaning) ...
Which led to the entertaining part of this segment. Dd was like “You guys (= Gg + dls) talked?” Dls appeared to have thought of the scenario customarily inviting this question (scenario: someone on the verge of catching their spouse cheating) and began playacting that scenario, started to stammer ... as if he had just been got caught trying to chat up someone’s spouse ~ ”I-I-I....how to say it ...”. Dd caught on dls’s playacting and went along, continued with the “accusation”: “You’re stammering”. Dls then noted that Dd’s accusation was scary and Dd smiled, ending the playact ~ so, ah, readers, never mess with Dd’s spouse!! Dd gets scary!!
(BTW: ”nijia na kouzi” 你家那口子 was explained in the translation for a reason ~ It’s a warm, friendly term for a dear friend’s spouse. 😊)
p4. Lychees
Lychees. Has everyone tried them? It’s important not to over-eat them though...
In which the “Feeding Gg” saga continues! This segment is one of those that are wonderful for fic writers who wish to capture Gg and Dd in words. Gg, like many brought up in traditional families, has trouble saying “no” outright, which is often considered rude. As such, he resorted to delay tactics, something he had also done with the fried noodles in The Makeup Room BTS.
In the BTS, his delay tactics had been to argue that Dd hadn’t eaten his box of noodles and therefore, he couldn’t start (~2:35 mark)—as proper manners indeed dictated. In this dialogue, his delay tactics was to say he’d eat the lychees later, that the lychees would make him too full for the proper meal (rice).
A cute thing about this convo is that rather than pouting and grumbling his only being LWJ’s replacement (as he had hilariously done in the BTS), Dd had, apparently over the last three years, become an expert on countering such delay tactics. He peeled the lychees, which not only removed a major obstacle for eating, but also set a timer as peeled lychees get dry quickly (and Gg, despite being a picky eater, didn’t seem to like to waste food). He said the fruit could make appetiser. He got the help of their team members, who assured Gg that two lychees would be all right.
Gg’s response to the assurance... takes a little time to explain.
The original Chinese line for “Great, great, you’re so awesome” was 絕了絕了你們絕了。 “絕了”, a popular phrase used by Chinese netizens, was repeated three times.
絕, literally, means the extreme, the absolute, the end. 絕了 means pretty much the same ~ a thing that is 絕了 is standing en pointe at the edge of the cliff that is The Absolute End of a spectrum. It is the Ultimate. It can't be surpassed. It’s unbeatable.
絕了 is usually used in a positive sense, as in the English translation, with the positive being implied. If I say the LWJ photo above is 絕了, for example, I don’t need to specify that the extreme in 絕 stands on the good end. It’s understood given the audience of this post are mostly turtles (HELLO *waves*). We’re all heart-eyes here. We agree, without saying, that this photo is The Top, The Pinnacle; it can’t be better. 絕了 is higher praise than Excellent; it’s so good that there are no adjectives for it. Its own presence defines How Good It Is.
But 絕了 doesn’t have to be positive. If my audience is Su She ... he’s likely to take the same “This LWJ photo is 絕了” to mean the Mariana Trench kind of Absolute—the bottom of the bottom, the Unbeatable, Adjective-Defying Worst.
絕了 allows for that understanding too.
In this scenario, I interpret Gg’s 絕了 as taking the meaning of both extremes (which make it a fantastic phrase choice!): that Gg thought Dd and the team members were being both the Absolute Best (for thinking of Gg, caring for him) AND the Absolute Worst (for going against his wish to not eat!) Gg’s 絕了 also signals defeat; if Dd and his team members were The Absolute ... Whatever, then poor Gg had no choice but to yield to their wishes. I can already imagine his “I can’t believe I lose this way” Look (see: every rock-paper-scissors he lost, which was ... pretty much all of them), mixed with, perhaps, a healthy amount of bunny tooth warning (how dare Dd et al banded up against him)...
Those bunny teeth had to be taken care of, right? And so Dd went on to say lychees being good omen that ensure things would go smoothly for the eater... targeting Gg’s being a, as c-turtles call it, 小迷信 (literally, “Little Superstitious”, a young + adorable + superstitious person). Dd said that to help Gg justify the choice to eat, to make Gg feel better about his defeat.
(Of note: I had actually never heard of lychees being associated with good luck before, and a quick search online also didn’t yield any result. This could be a relatively rare association Google failed to catch ... or something Dd made up on the fly to make Gg happy.)
(Lychees have, however, been associated with romance. If Emperor’s Smile 天子笑 was The Love Drink in The Untamed, then what is Concubine’s Smile 妃子笑? Answer: it’s the RL name of a type of lychees, lychees being the fruit very much adored by Yang Yuhuan 楊玉環, the consort of the Emperor Xuanzong (685-762 BCE) of the Tang Dynasty and one of the four most beautiful woman in Chinese history. Since lychees had only been grown in southern China, the emperor had had the fruit couriered, in express mode involving many horses, to the palace up north to please his favourite wife. Lychees had become a symbol of love from that historical tale.)
Did Gg get Dd’s message then, the love and care packaged in those peeled, sweet fruit awaiting his bite? Yes, but not without a little more fight! “Eat eat eat, (I’ll eat) until you go bankrupt” is a literal translation of his final line. Tonally, I can see the following as being an alternative translation:
“Fine fine fine. I’ll eat, it’s not like I can bankrupt you by eating anyway!”
If it sounded a little sulky, that’s because it did ... a little sulky AND fiery. As expected from our favourite Chongqing Big Pepper 😂😂😂 (Poor Gg).
Dd smiled at that, needless to say. He won!!! He got Gg to eat!! The world shall rejoice!!
p5. “Showtime”
There’s a show coming up for Dd (the YH concert maybe?), and Gg offered suggestions.
The sweet point of this segment is about half-way down the conversation, in the piece of paper 📄 Gg gave to Dd (after “This is for you.”). Dd took the paper, noted the many words on it, and started saying 我把我整個靈魂, translated as “I bring my entire soul”.
c-Turtles have, based on these words, hypothesised that Dd was about to read out a quote that Gg had written on the paper, with the list of items Gg thought Dd should take, before Gg stopped him with a call of his name (“WYB”). The quote was included on the translation (”I give you my entire soul...only, a little good, love you.”) I have also talked about the same quote, in more detail, here.
I’m equally stumped on the final line of this segment. (Sorry!!)
p6. “Found Family”
It’s a heartwarming segment. While LRLG had previously noted that the TTXS bros had communicated with Gg, this segment made clear that they care for him like they do for Dd ~ as family.
* dls mailed Gg a lot of fruit for sharing with the film crew. “Family member needs to be impressive” is a rough translation, but this line does defy simple translation because 排面 a highly cultural concept that has much to do with the equally complex, Chinese concept of face (which this article explains... somewhat adequately). The message to take home is that dls cared enough about Gg that he wanted to make sure Gg wouldn’t lose face in front of the film crew; that, by having enough gifts (fruits) for everyone, Gg wouldn’t be viewed as cheap or inadequate or stingy, or whatever adjective that wouldn’t befit his top idol status. Because dls saw Gg as a member of his family.
* The prescription from hg had been mentioned in a previous LRLG rumour. 方子 is a Chinese medicine prescription, which, unlike Western formulations, is individualised both to the discomfort / ailment and to the “body constitution” of the person who'll take it, the latter deciding the kind of ailments the person is susceptible to, and which ingredients are expected to be more effective. Chinese medicine also places a strong emphasises on long-term conditioning, whether it’s for recovery from a certain condition or for general good health. A good 方子 is therefore a far more complex and personal thing than, say, a scribble of “paracetamol” / “acetaminophen” on a piece of paper. :D
* fg’s gift for Gg (xx) is something for the waist. A brace support, maybe? For example?
My favourite line in this segment is when hg asked what will Gg and Dd do when they reach hg’s age. Given that the last two items (the prescription and xx) were health-related, I interpreted it as hg worrying about Gg and Dd’s health when they grow old... with all the health problems they already have. It’s the kind of thing a worried parent say to their children ~ my mom has said the same thing to me as well. 😢
p6. “The Cat Paw”
Not quite sure what’s happening here ... not sure what the cat paw is. (Sorry!!) But that é in the translation is Dd’s signature laugh (collection here), which is written as 鵝 (”Goose”) in Chinese 😂.
p7. “The Cat Toy”
Dd appeared to be shopping for a cat’s toy (something that can “hook the cat” in the translation, such that the cat can entertain itself and not rely on human companionship as much). Gg had already bought the toy though and sounded quite proud of it, told Dd to return the toy. The implied cat was, of course, Nut (堅果 Jianguo)... which had been repeatedly referred to in LRLG’s posts as Gg’s daughter.
p7. “Cool vs Cute”
Gg is often viewed as cute, and Dd as cool. Did Dd dislike Gg taking cute pictures for public consumption? Were they scheming an exchange of image? :D
And that’s it for this issue! Ooh, this took unexpectedly long ... I apologise for the ridiculous delay between the original post and this commentary!
(I wrote half of it, then RL struck and I forgot about it.)
(I’m hopeless.)
(I need a 方子 for poor memory!!)
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A Sea of Fragments IV
Word Count: 2,544
Warnings: Alcohol
Author’s Note: I somehow lost an hour at some point when writing, but here is Chapter 4! Like I said last time this is more of a continuation of Chapter 3 since I split it into two parts, but I think it’s rather good in its own right. Hope you enjoy!
You wandered between the white tents, pace fast and without any real goal. For what end destination could you truly have? You had no base, no sanctuary, nowhere you might consider home. The tent you’d borrowed was just Fatui property, and though your belongings were surely some comfort they also smacked of betrayal. For indeed you’d betrayed yourself by agreeing to this, by being so naïve as to believe that you might’ve been able to live out a perfect future, one in which the valiant knight lifts the curse of a fallen prince.
There was nowhere in this camp that was truly your own, and the outside world proved hardly more comforting. The idea of returning to your village was something you automatically shrunk from, for then the constant attention would just return, only worse now. How could you live with endless eyes staring at you from behind? No, you could not return home either. There was nowhere else then, nowhere except the rest of the world, which spread itself before you like a chasm, one that was a very large fall away. You were essentially trapped, no matter what you did you were trapped. There was nothing, nothing except this distant future you refused to let go of. But was the future worth the payment of your current misery?
Stumbling along the haphazard pathways you found yourself at what must’ve been the center of the camp. It was a surprisingly open place, the clearing large enough to fit at least one regiment, with space to spare for sparring and other such activities. You could spot two pairs doing just that, but the majority of people were sitting. Though there were a large enough number of benches in a circle the majority of the troops were lounging about the grass, a steady stream of conversation escaping their groups.
“Since I’ve never heard of anyone getting drunk off of one round, and all of you certainly don’t have water in your pouches, let’s have a toast!”
The man who spoke up was quite evidently tipsy, something that caused a twittering of laughter and scoffing amid his companions. He paid no attention to the conversation, nor to the shove on the shoulder from the man sitting next to him, the “oh Pytor” that accompanied a roll of the eyes. Standing up, somewhat shakily, he raised his glass.
“A toast to the Tsaritsa! And to the glory of Snezhnaya!”
The words made you cringe, but somehow you found yourself not the only one. Pytor’s proclamation was met with a great rolling of eyes, and even some grumbling. One woman shook her head, crossing her hands and scowling.
“And what would the Tsaritsa do with that toast of yours? If you’re going to toast someone they should at least have a vested interest in you. Besides, what do you know of the glory of Snezhnaya.”
“Oh come on Irina, cut the poor boy some slack. We can’t all be as serious as you are.”
“You know nothing of the world Misha, and neither does this idiot. I can’t help that you need some reality put into you.”
“Oh?” Pytor flashed an amused look towards Irina. “Then enlighten me Irina, who should I toast to? After all the Tsaritsa is still paying us, and that counts more than your talking.”
“Would you toast the sun because it shines\? You know she’s only paying because if not half her army wouldn’t be here. Or are you such a patriot as that, Pytor?”
“I admit, I am not.” Pytor sighed, expression twisting into one of abject sadness. The expression was so comical, you couldn’t help but giggle with the rest of the group, taking a few steps forward as to hear better. “And yet, I feel that I must toast her most beloved Majesty nevertheless, for if not I would be rotting away in some hovel, and surely you would all miss me if that were come to pass.”
“I’m not sure if Irina here would, but I would, don’t worry.” Misha piped back up, ducking as Irina went to slug him. “Anyways I frankly don’t care about any glory, at least the food is better than one would expect, even if the company is terrible.”
“I don’t know why I’m friends with you imbeciles,” Irina muttered, “you all have the curiosity of a house plant.”
“Then why do you stay?” You immediately clamped your mouth shut, uneasiness washing over you as the group turned to stare at you. Keeping your gaze slightly lowered you peered over at Irina. An odd smile spread across her face, and her eyes reflected something unreadable.
“Why do you stay?”
“Because I have nowhere else to go.” You replied, compelled to honesty despite the slight waver of your voice.
“Is it not the same for us?” Irina gestured towards the people around her. “After all, what life is there for us other than here. Half of us come from villages with no future, doomed otherwise to starvation or poverty. Where else would any of us go?”
“Yet surely there is a better option?” You pressed on, vaguely aware of the fact you were posing the question to yourself. “Surely there is better than serving someone whose goals you can’t understand, who cares not for the people around her, and under the gaze of a man who cares not at all whether you live or die?”
“What do you mean?” Misha stared at you oddly. “Are you talking about my lord, Scaramouche?”
“Lord?” You replied, not sure which urge was stronger, the urge to laugh or to cry.
“Only to his face.” Irina replied, glaring at Misha, who was laughing uncontrollably. “Although I have to agree with Misha, I don’t see why he should any worse than the rest. He manages at least to keep the sadism to a minimum around the ground troops.”
“He’s one of the worst tempered men I’ve ever met.” You blurted out.
“Perhaps.” Misha let out another string of laughter. “Still at least he runs things well enough. You’ll never catch that man skimming off the top, or the bottom for that matter. His pride would probably kill him for it.”
“Lord Scaramouche is one of the best leaders I’ve ever worked under. At least he’s never experimented on anyone else.”
“I think Dottore doesn’t count when talking about good or bad, Pytor. That one is simply in a world of his own, and all we can do is hope to never get sucked in with him.”
“You must’ve had some bad experiences with Scaramouche.” Irina tilted her head, once more bringing the conversation back to your objection.
“It’s not my fault he has a superiority complex the size of Celestia.”
“You may be right about that.” Irina replied, a wry smile conveying some odd form of approval. “Still, you can’t help it with people like them. What else is there for the man who was bred for war?”
“I suppose you’re right.” You frowned. “It almost makes me pity him.”
“Well don’t let him know that.” Misha joined in. “I think his ego wouldn’t be able to take it.”
You laughed, despite yourself.
-------
Scaramouche wove his way through the camp, thoughts still swirling in his head. A part of him chafed at the idea of going after you, at having once more to in some way lower himself. Yet still your words echoed in his head, your accusations which caused him inexplicable irritation propelling his steps forward.
Reaching the center of the camp Scaramouche heard the familiar tones of your voice. Keeping towards the edges of the clearing he followed the sound, surprisingly jovial considering the fight you two had just experienced. Finally spying you next to a few troops he found himself caught somewhat off guard, the view of your face open with laughter killing all the thoughts he’d previously been harboring.
As if entranced he watched mutely as you conversed and joked with the people around you, voice hesitant but no less eager for it. Your words were fueled by excitement and humor, said in a sort of tone and register that Scaramouche had never before heard from you. Your laugh was warm and somewhat excited, something that the Harbinger found himself enthralled with. Never before did he understand the idea of a musical voice or laugh, at least not in terms of someone speaking. Voices were flat, screechy, deep, irritating. Voices were not warm, were not musical; one could not pin such words onto something so mundane as someone’s speech. And yet when he heard your voice all he could think of was the idea of song. Absentmindedly he wondered what it might be like if you sang.
You looked so comfortable now, so different from the sulky distrust that coated your every gesture when he was with you. A flicker of resentment stirred within Scaramouche, joined by a prickly disbelief. How was it that these people should so easily coax smiles and laughter out of you? Were they no less Fatui members than he was? It seemed almost hypocritical, how you should so quickly blame him for one thing and forgive others for that exact same situation. And yet Scaramouche didn’t want them to share in your rocky contempt. He wanted fairness, wanted to share in that openness that those so beneath him had managed to cultivate. He wanted to be acquitted of his crimes, just as you had decided to acquit those around you.
A quick shout of “My lord” quickly broke apart this reverie. Suddenly the camp was silent, the only sound that of fabric shifting as troops stood up and bowed. Waving his hand impatiently Scaramouche made his way over to you. Your face was somewhat flushed from the liveliness of your previous conversation, your gaze suddenly weary. Saying nothing Scaramouche took your hand, glad that you followed silently, and silently cursing the soft conversation that followed the two of you.
“It seemed like you were having a good time.” Scaramouche opened, bitterness seeping through his voice. You seemed startled, stance once more closing off, an action which caused a flicker of regret to run through the Harbinger.
“I was, I didn’t think there’d be any real people here.”
“How kind of you to ameliorate your statement.”
“What do you want?” Your words were once more short, but the tone had somehow shifted. Though Scaramouche could not say what they’d shifted to.
“I…” What did he want? Surely he could not tell you of all the things he thought. Could not reveal such a weakness, such an inexplicable, incomprehensible thing.
“I’m sorry for calling you heartless.” Your tone was somewhat rushed. “I, I was angry, I couldn’t understand why you would do such a thing. I still don’t, of course I still don’t, but I shouldn’t’ve called you that. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t see why my plans should be causing you such distress.”
“And I don’t see what the Tsaritsa could need with a village’s heirloom? Perhaps if I knew it were for some noble cause I could excuse it, but I don’t know that. In fact I doubt it very much. Surely you must know?”
“It’s not my duty to question the wishes of the Tsaritsa. I only see that he will is done.”
“How?” You looked aghast. “How could you never question what you’ve been asked? You must have your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you never question what you’ve been asked to do?”
“Because that’s not my duty. I don’t exist to question Her Majesty’s will, only to fulfill it.”
“That must be a very sad existence.” You paused staring once more at some spot in the distance, some spot Scaramouche could not see. “It must be a very lonely existence. To never be able to reveal one’s thoughts.”
Scaramouche said nothing, unsure whether the assertion was above or beneath him. Why should he question the Tsaritsa after all? She’d given him a will, a goal, a target with which to point his abilities, a place where he could expel the rage which twisted inside him. And in return he gave her his loyalty, the most he could ever give anyone. Of course he never questioned the Tsaritsa. Does a dog question his owner? Why should a mortal question the resolve, the will of a god?
“I’ll do it.”
“What?” Scaramouche asked, mind wrenched from his previous thoughts.
“I’ll do it, I’ll look into the future. I’ll find what you’re looking for. But in return you must do something for me.”
“What will it be this time?”
“Listen to me. Listen to what I see in the future, to the fragments and the branches. And tell no one else about it, about the divergences and the dangers. And no matter what make sure that the worst never happens. Because if you raze that village to the ground I will never do anything for you again.”
“Very well.” Scaramouche replied, wary of what was to come ahead. A part of him brimmed with curiosity, with the wish to glimpse inside a piece of your life; yet another part of him balked at the unsaid accusation, the idea that this venture was destined to end in failure, as if he couldn’t make sure a simple plan succeed.
“Good.”
“Come to my tent after dinner.” Scaramouche turned to go.
“Wait.”
“Yes?” Scaramouche turned back around. Your gaze was somewhat surprised, though whether it was by his actions or you words he couldn’t tell.
“I…”
"Yes?”
Scaramouche stepped closer to you. The odd expression that you’d last given him in your tent had returned, filling the Harbinger’s mind with questions. He once more felt that odd pull, the pull to be close to you, to stare, as if trying to read something incomprehensible in your expression. You leaned closer to him and he absentmindedly thought of how distinct your presence was, how he wished that it would continue to float in front of him. It was like a warm current, powerful and steadfast, dragging him somewhere he couldn’t explain yet wanted to go.
The brush of your fingers against his finally brought Scaramouche back to the present. Drawing back slightly he glanced away, embarrassed by his sudden lack of presence.
“You were saying.”
“I was? Oh! Yes…” you trailed off before shaking your head violently, cheeks slightly flushed. “Just remember not to tell anyone.”
And with that you were gone, leaving Scaramouche feeling somewhat lacking, as if he’d gained something by being next to you which was once more lost. Sighing the Harbinger thought about your parting words. The reminder of another deal, yet this one he couldn’t be sure to keep. After all, the information he possessed belonged to the Tsaritsa. If she were to ever inquire about it he’d have to tell her.
He thought back to your conversation, the pitying words you’d given him. Question the Tsaritsa? How naïve you were. And yet Scaramouche still felt that odd emptiness around him. He’d never truly understood the concept of loneliness, the need for others being a necessity for the masses. And yet as he stood there, standing amid tents with no one in sight, he suddenly felt very alone indeed.
#genshin impact#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#genshin impact fanfiction#genshin scaramouche#series#my writing
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... Remember the Russian Revolution au? Which ended with Fedyor's sister very sick and Fedyor searching for Ivan in hopes of getting help for her from him? Fedyor finding Ivan and offering to do "anything" in exchange for his sister's medical treatment? Ivan secretly wanting Fedyor, but refusing to take what he wants like that? Soooo... I would also like the big the big 3 of your coming projects to happen, but... y'know... just.... wanted to bring this au up again... ;)
Behold, the oft-requested follow-up to the first two Russian Revolution au ficlets. Ahem.
Fedyor does not sleep that night. He does not even think about sleeping. He only leaves the army headquarters long enough to think hard about what he is proposing to do, wonder if it is worth it, and decide that it is. Katya needs the medicine, he has no other recourse, and he is categorically unwilling to return home to his family as a failure, when they have placed all their trust and hope in him. Ivan has hinted that he might be able to obtain it, and so that, no matter what it takes, is what Fedyor will have to get him to do. And for that…
He knows that he is not unattractive. He has dark eyes, dark hair, a dimpled smile, a personable and friendly manner that, in happier times, attracted the attention of many an eligible young lady who wished to ice skate or promenade around the park or take a carriage ride, as courting Russian couples are wont to do. However, while Fedyor was perfectly happy to chat with ladies, or escort them to a ball, or fulfill his essential chivalric duty, he was not otherwise interested in wooing them. It was partly for that reason that he signed up to the military, where an enterprising young man can have other opportunities in the darkness of the barracks. So long as his family was kept conveniently unaware.
For all that the Bolsheviks have overthrown the government without a clear plan as to what to do next, and accordingly plunged them all into this miserable civil war, Fedyor does secretly sympathize with certain of their beliefs on the remaking of family life. They say that marriage is outdated and bourgeoisie, that monogamy is unnatural, that women should not be subject to patriarchal systems, and that homosexuality is an equally valid state of nature. Such a possibility of sexual classification and divergence is much discussed in Europe these days, and there is even a small but growing scholarly literature, written by eminent scientists. Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, published in 1896, argues that the man-loving man is indeed even a possibly improved form of human, associated with superior intellectual and artistic achievement, and that nothing about his attachment is wrong or abnormal. Two years before that, Edward Carpenter wrote Homogenic Love, and in 1900, the German Elisar von Kupffer published an anthology of homosexual poetry, Lieblingminne und Freundesliebe in der Weltliteratur. Such texts are relatively easy for an educated, French- and English- speaking young Russian intellectual, such as Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, to lay his hands on. He is not sure what can come of it, but at least he knows that he is not alone.
The question remains as to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov’s proclivities. Unless Fedyor is very much mistaken, Ivan was at least considering the possibility of accepting his offer, and turned it down for honorable, moral reasons, feeling it unjust to sexually extort a young gentleman in exchange for his sister’s care, rather than physical horror at the idea of such a coupling. If he’s a Bolshevik, he’s probably acceptably tolerant of their philosophy on an abstract level, but it’s less clear as to whether that extends to its personal practice. If Fedyor turns up in his bunkhouse – which, come to think of it, is probably shared, curse these Bolsheviks and their dratted communality, highly inconvenient for a midnight seduction attempt – scantily clad and willing, will Ivan’s objections hold out then? Or… or what?
Fedyor doesn’t know, but the uncertainty adds to the frisson of shameful excitement, rather than detracting from it. He searches through the streets of Chelyabinsk for some bread (it does not seem in much greater supply than in Nizhny Novgorod) and waits for the sun to go down. In March, the days, though getting steadily longer, are still short and chilly, and it’s bitingly cold when it gets dark. Then he pulls up his muffler, tells himself not to be unduly precious about it, and heads for the makeshift army quarters on Kirovka Street.
The buildings in downtown are beautiful, built in the Russian Revival style of neo-Byzantinian splendor, though the onion-domed Orthodox churches have all been converted into stables and armories, and anything that whiffs of an ideology contrary to the Red one has been economically discarded. Fedyor reaches the door, knocks, and when a disgruntled sergeant comes to answer it, expecting him to be a soldier out too late and in line for a ticking-off, Fedyor raises his hands apologetically. “I’ve come to join up,” he says. “The great socialist cause of the world’s workers is the only true one for a patriotic Russian man, and I vow it my full allegiance, if you will have me. I was speaking to my friend earlier, Ivan Ivanovich, and he suggested it. Is he still here?”
The sergeant eyes him squiggle-eyed, but they cannot afford to look gift horses too closely in the mouth, or turn aside willing recruits. It takes a while, but he shouts for someone who shouts for someone else, and this finally produces the startled personage of Ivan Sakharov, who clearly thought it was for the last time when they parted several hours ago. Upon sight of Fedyor, he stops short, looking alarmed, angry, and wary all at once. “What are you – ?”
“Can we talk?” Fedyor is resolved to do this, he truly is, but he feels it best to get it over with before that wavers in any degree. Whether he wants it too little does not seem like the problem; on the contrary, he fears that he wants it too much, and if he stops to reflect on it or delude himself with any nonsensical notions of it being more than once, that can only hurt the cause. “Somewhere… private?”
Ivan hesitates, as if asking to commune out of sight of the others is tantamount to heresy (though it’s not as if these damn hypocrites didn’t plot in secret, away from their own countrymen, for months and months, Fedyor thinks angrily). Then he jerks his head. “Fine. Five minutes. This way.”
He leads Fedyor up a few narrow, creaking staircases, past closed doors that echo with snorting and snoring and coughing, the cacophony of his comrades, none of whom seem to be enjoying their glorious victory quite as much as they thought. Ivan, however, appears to be sufficiently high-ranking in the Red Guards that the room they finally arrive at, though not much larger than a closet, is at least private. It reminds Fedyor forcibly of Ivan’s room back in St. Petersburg, the one they slept in together, that first night after the Winter Palace. It sounds more intimate in his recollections than it actually was. Nothing happened, of course. But Ivan was kind to offer it, kind when he did not need to be, when a young tsarist soldier alone in the ferment of riot and revolution, such as Fedyor was, would not be likely to see the new red dawn. It is that which Fedyor keeps in mind as he shuts the door with assumed casualness, then turns around, meets Ivan’s eye in a significant fashion, and shrugs off his coat, cap, and muffler. Then, unmistakably, starts to unbutton his shirt.
He has almost gotten to the bottom by the time Ivan, who is staring at him as if he’s lost his marbles (it is unclear if this is an encouraging fashion or not) finally recovers his sense. He strides forward and covers Fedyor’s hands with his own large, callused rifleman’s fingers, sending a shock of attraction burning through Fedyor from head to toe, along with the death of any more illusion that he could continue to be casual about this. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Fedyor’s throat is as dry as a bone, but he forces himself to speak. “I said that I would do anything for my sister’s care, if you would help.”
He lingers suggestively on the word anything, just as he did before, in case there was any doubt (as if the undressing wasn’t enough) what he means here. Ivan looks like a cornered bear, but as his eyes catch Fedyor’s and flick across the lean, muscled torso thus revealed beneath the shirt, he swallows hard and has to glance away. The attraction trembles silently in the air between them, tense as a piano string, tuned to snapping. In the old days, that is, when people played pianos, and did not burn them for firewood, as Fedyor’s parents were preparing to do with theirs when he left home. It chokes raw and painful in his throat. He is attracted to Ivan – desperately attracted, in fact – and yet he still hates what the Bolsheviks have done, even if the Romanovs and the Provisional Government were no better. The deposed Tsar Nicholas II is under house arrest with his wife and five children, the four tsarevnas and the tsarevich, in Yekaterinburg. Little sick Alexei Romanov, whose hemophilia opened the door for Grigori Rasputin to control the queen, the royal household, the government of Russia, and so bring about the end of their house. He was like something from a fairytale monster, that Grisha. The rumors of his death, not quite two years ago in December 1916, is that it almost did not happen, he was so hard to kill. A demon. A beast.
“You cannot do this,” Ivan says, his voice too rough, his eyes still struggling to remain decorously averted. “It is not – it is not right.”
“Not right?” Fedyor flares. “So a little spot of armed treason and overthrowing the man who, however deficient he might be, was the heir of one of the oldest and greatest empires in the world? That part was entirely aboveboard, but this, when you want this – don’t lie to me, I’m well aware you do – to help my sister? That would be a sin?!”
Ivan backs up a step, glancing around shiftily. These walls are thin, and he clearly does not want his beloved brothers-in-arms to hear this. “Fedyor Mikhailovich – ”
“Have me.” Fedyor is done playing games. “I’m here, I’m yours for the taking. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me the medicine at the end.”
For a long, spellbound moment, he thinks Ivan is on the brink of agreeing. Then once again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I could not in good conscience consent to this. But I will fetch you the medicine. You do not have to give me anything in return.”
Fedyor gawks at him, shocked – and, it must be confessed, more than a little disappointed. “I thought it was fair trade,” he says. “Tit for tat.”
“It is…” Ivan shakes his head, eyes once more straying to Fedyor’s bare chest. “Button your shirt up,” he says, half-laughing, not angry, breathless and soft. “It is very distracting.”
“Good.” Fedyor takes another step. “I think you deserve it, you obnoxious bastard.”
“Be that as it may.” At least Ivan has the good sense not to dispute it. “I cannot do this,” he repeats, more gently. “You are a fine young man, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Perhaps in another life… but it would not be honorable to trade your virtue for this.”
“My virtue?” Fedyor has to laugh. “What makes you think I have that?”
Once again, Ivan wavers. But to give him (loathing) credit, he will not be swayed. “Button it,” he repeats. “I will arrange to have the money and medicine sent by your lodging by tomorrow, if you give me an address in the city.”
“I don’t have one.” Fedyor folds his arms. “Only here.”
Ivan looks even more startled. His lips part, he takes a step forward, and for a brief, wild, exquisite yearning of an instant, Fedyor thinks he is actually going to kiss him. They’re almost close enough – not quite, but almost – for it to happen. Then Ivan says, “Your family must be very proud of you.”
“I…” It catches in his throat. “I don’t know. I hope.”
“I would,” Ivan says. “I would be.”
And that, somehow, is all that seems to matter. Even as Fedyor spends a night in Ivan’s narrow camp cot of a bed, Ivan insisting on taking the hard floor out of an excess of gallantry, an echo of their first night in St. Petersburg. Ivan does as ordered, gives Fedyor some rubles and some medicine and a train ticket back home to Nizhny Novgorod. He personally escorts Fedyor to the train station to make sure he does not come to grief, then stands on the platform, staring after him like Vronsky watching Anna leave one more time. The train begins to huff and puff, spitting soot and embers, and Fedyor keeps his nose pressed to the glass, leaving a smudge, until long after, as it seems he is never destined to do anything but, Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov has vanished into the mist.
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Before we go (Part One)
Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your company has sent you to Boston to close a deal on the same day you have the most important date of your life at night in New York. Things get complicated, you can't return to New York and you have to spend the night in Boston with a complete stranger.
Warning: Fluff and a bit angst.
Word count: 3319
Notes: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.
"Sometimes we are so focused on finding our happy ending that we don't learn to analyse the signs that life offers us".
It was a clear night in April, the city of Boston, Massachusetts had welcomed you that morning, but at that moment you needed to leave it behind. You had made an express trip from New York, your home, for business knows no days or hours, so it had fallen to you to catch an early Sunday morning train to Boston, when you had a really important Sunday night appointment. You figured it wouldn't take you too long to close the deal with the big multinational, and that you'd be in New York before ten o'clock at night. So that morning you headed for Pennsylvania Station in downtown Manhattan and 3 hours and 40 minutes later you arrived at South Station in downtown Boston.
You had never been to Boston, a magnificent city with a great history that you barely had time to enjoy. You arrived carrying your coat and your bag, you didn't need anything else, besides, the less stuff you had on you the better it would be for your mobility. When you arrived you realised that the city was preparing for a nearby holiday, as many streets were blocked off, preventing traffic from passing, which meant that your taxi driver was late arriving at the company's headquarters located in "East Boston".
The meetings went on forever, your potential shareholders were not entirely sure about the future that your company could offer them, and so the hours passed incessantly without reaching any concrete agreement. The constant interruptions from your boss wanting to know the situation were not very helpful either, and the bad mood that was taking over your body, as it was your day off and therefore you shouldn't be there, was a little bump in the road.
You had set yourself a time limit, but you knew you could not return to New York City without signing that agreement or you would be removed from your position at the company. Sometimes you begged for that reinstatement, because the position of head of external relations made your life more bitter than happy. This was evident when your partner of five years, Michael, decided to give up on your relationship, you were barely home and you discovered that he had been having several encounters with a former colleague at work, finally when you told him you knew, your partner opted to leave home and take a job in Los Angeles.
At first you thought that maybe it was for the best, that you should focus on your work projects, for which you had been fighting so hard, but eventually you realised that you were really in love with him, although at no time did you justify his cheating behind your back. Your ex-partner came to you two months later regretting his behaviour and asking for a second chance, at first you were reluctant, but finally you agreed to have dinner with him, he was returning to New York for a work trip, because you loved him. The dinner was that night, the Sunday night you had to travel to Boston, Michael had been in New York for a week, but you had barely seen each other, and first thing Sunday morning he returns to Los Angeles, so you only had that opportunity to find out if it was really worth it to resume something that had been lost.
The contract was signed at exactly 9:20pm, you had to call Michael, and inform him that you were not going to make it to the dinner, but that you would go to his hotel first thing in the morning to have breakfast with him before he got on the plane, he begged you to go straight to his hotel when you arrived, whatever time it was, you finally agreed.
You were inside a taxi, the last train leaving for New York was at 9:50pm, but as usual the universe was against you. The streets had become increasingly busy, the driver informed you that the following day was Patriot's Day, an annual event commemorating the battles of Lexington and Concord, and the Battle of Menotomy, the first battles of the American Revolutionary War. You tuned out completely as I explained the history of the holiday, just staring out the window praying that you would be on time to catch that train.
"How far is it from here to South Station?" you asked when the car could barely move because of the traffic jam.
"Fifteen minutes if you walk fast and shortcut down this avenue," he commented.
Without a second thought, you offered him the fifty-dollar note you had in your hand at the ready and dashed out of the car, dodging the other cars that were crowded together at the intersection. Your negative orienteering experiences were alleviated by the city's good signage that constantly pointed you in the direction of the South Boston station. Your mind was focused on getting there before 9:50pm when the last train was leaving, it was now 9:30pm and if you were informed by the conductor that if you were going at a brisk pace you could be there in 15 minutes, that is 9:45pm.
You ran trying to dodge the crowd, constantly uttering "excuse me" and keeping a proper rhythm in your breathing so as not to choke before your time, you could tell it had been months since you had been out for exercise as you had to stop twice to catch your breath. But what took your breath away the most was when you discovered that you were carrying too little weight. You stopped dead in your tracks and looked at your arms, your hands, your bag was gone. You looked around, quickly thought about whether you might have lost it running, but realised that you had actually run so fast out of the taxi that you had completely forgotten to take your bag.
Panic invaded every limb of your body, but as you reached into your coat pockets and found the ticket that would take you back to New York you thought that was all you really needed, everything inside your bag might be replaceable in the future. You continued on your way to the station, in a few minutes you could see the entrance at the bottom of Federal Street. You quickened your pace across the square, as you tried to enter you bumped into people who were trying to exit the building slowing you down. You entered the hall a little disoriented and ran towards the platforms where the trains were leaving, you ran down the stairs, but your eyes discovered something that your mind did not want to think about, they saw how the rear lights of the last train were lost in the darkness of the night.
Your body stood still for a few moments, while your consciousness didn't understand what had just happened, or rather didn't want to understand it. In your right hand waved the ticket to New York, your only possession at the moment. You stood to one side of the stairs, so that the last two people could walk up to the station hall, while you stood for a few minutes staring at the train tracks.
You decided that all was not lost, there would be more train or even bus stations that could take you to New York that night. You retraced your steps, finding that the shops in the hall were closing, but the information window was still open. You waited until he had finished serving a customer and bowed to the gentleman.
"Excuse me, I need to go to New York tonight," you said, showing him the ticket, being as calm as possible.
"I'm sorry, but the last train had just left," he said without so much as a glance at you, counting the cash register.
"I know, I know, but I need to get to New York tonight," you insisted again. "I suppose there's another train station in the city, or even a bus station."
"I'm sorry, but the last transport to New York City is the Northeast Regional that just left this station right now," he finally laid his eyes on you, interlacing his fingers. "But first thing tomorrow morning, you'll have trains available again so you can go to New York.
"First thing tomorrow morning?" you asked a little hopefully.
"At 6:05am the first train leaves for Pennsylvania Station," he reported, staring at his electronic screen.
"I can't wait until 6:00 am tomorrow," you said, raising your tone a little. "Do you think a taxi driver would be willing to take me to New York?
"You can try," he said with a shrug. "But they're not licensed to drive outside the state of Massachusetts."
"Okay..." you said with a blank stare. "Excuse me, one last thing, if I forgot my purse in a taxi, where can I go to pick it up?"
"If he is an honest person he will have taken it to Boston police headquarters to be handed over to the Hackney lost property division," he informed you, offering me a small card. "Call here.
"Alright, thank you." Your voice sounded utterly depressed.
With a tremendous disappointment inside you, you definitely accepted his words and did not insist any more, you understood, the last means of transport connecting the Boston and New York line had left, there was no more. You took a breath nodding and realising that there was a person behind you who wanted to ask a question, you opted to head towards the nearest seats to think. You were in a completely unfamiliar city, you had to spend the night there and you had barely a coat and a useless train ticket until the next morning. Even though your thoughts were racing, trying to find a solution, you couldn't find one, there were too many negative feelings that were making you despair.
"Are you all right?" the voice came from a shadow that covered the light of the station's harsh floodlights.
You didn't answer him, just stared at him and nodded slowly, but at that very moment a station cleaner approached you.
"I'm sorry but we are closing," he reported.
"Closing?" you asked a little confused.
"The station closes from 10pm until 5am," he commented, walking away again.
That was another inconvenience your head didn't count on, you had thought that since you had to wait for a new train to leave, you could spend the night there, since you had nowhere else to go, nor money or identification that could allow you to do so. You nodded to yourself and totally disoriented you got up from your seat and headed towards the main exit of the building, you barely noticed what was going on around you, you didn't even realise how the boy who had asked you if you were alright had followed you and stood next to you.
"Do you want to share a taxi?" he asked, which brought you out of your thoughts for a moment.
"Excuse me?" you had barely heard his words.
"I was saying do you want us to share a taxi," he repeated again showing kind features on his face.
"No, I'm fine," you said and looked around again for solutions.
The young man was not giving up after your refusals, so he finally closed the taxi door and approached you again, hoping that you would finally accept the help he wanted to offer.
"Really?" he insisted, "Because it didn't look like it in there."
"I'm fine," you frowned, beginning to feel uncomfortable at his intrusion, you didn't need anyone to help you. "Really."
"Alright," he held up his hands and headed towards the taxi again. "Hey buddy! Do you think you could get this lady closer to New York?"
His words fully captured your attention, you raised your face and turned it towards the man who was talking to the driver through a rolled down window.
"To New York City?!" exclaimed the driver somewhat taken aback by your words.
"Yes!" you exclaimed running towards the rolled down window. "Specifically to Midtown Manhattan, the corner of Sixth Avenue and Bryant Park."
"Midtown Manhattan, Sixth Avenue and Bryant Park," repeated the young man who was trying to help you.
"That would be an all-night drive," declared the taxi driver hesitantly. "Besides, I can't drive in another state, they might take away my license..."
"I'll pay whatever it takes if you can get me back to New York by six in the morning," you begged with a thread of hope in your gut.
"It must be 220 miles one way," he said, doing the math. "All told, about 440, counting gas and the risk that my license could be revoked..."
"Whatever," you insisted again. "I'll pay you anything."
"All right," nodded the man, gesturing for you to get into the taxi. "We'll leave it at $1,200."
"Thank you very much, I'll pay you as soon as we get there," you informed humbly before getting into the car, which caused the situation to take an unexpected turn.
"Wait, I need half the money up front," the taxi driver began. "Otherwise we won't get out of this block."
"The truth is..." you began as your hopes dwindled.
"It's on me," said the young man next to you quickly, which caused you to half-open your lips and look at him in complete bewilderment. "You'll pay me back."
"Wait," you said stopping his hands before he pulled out his credit card. How do you know I'll pay you back, and why are you doing this?"
"I guess I'm trying to do my good deed for the day," a smile appeared on his face, which confused you even more if that was possible. "Besides, do you have another option?"
The boy offered his credit card to the taxi driver, and you were stunned when you realised that the man was paying 600 dollars to a complete stranger to travel to New York. Who the hell does that these days? Who was that guy?
"This card is expired," the driver reported, handing the card back to him through the window of the car.
"Expired?" the boy looked at it. "Shit, it expired last week. Don't worry, I've got another one."
The blue-eyed young man looked at you and smiled a sheepish smile, you had hardly smiled all day.
"It's not active," the taxi driver reported again, handing back the card.
"Shit..." the young man looked at her, " Alright, let me get my phone out and... fuck, no battery."
"Really?!" you exclaimed at the situation before your eyes. "Is there anything working in your life?"
That question you blurted out without thinking that the most unfortunate person at that moment was you, you even surpassed what had just happened to that boy. Finally the taxi driver, seeing the situation, decided to roll up his window and leave instead of wasting his time with you.
" Oh shit!" you exclaimed, holding your hands to your head as you realised that your hopes were lost.
You were the same as you were, well worse, because now you had one more disappointment inside you. You opted that the best decision was to reap your own destiny, alone, so you returned to your original position and stood looking at the car traffic at that wide intersection in the city of Boston, wondering what to do. Surely you would find another taxi driver who would decide to take you to New York, even if you didn't pay him on the spot.
"Well," said the young man approaching you again. "What do you feel like doing?"
You narrowed your eyes, not understanding why he was trying to help you, nor the need he had to spend more time with you. What was clear to you was that he was not helping.
"Do you really have nothing better to do tonight?" you asked him somewhat quizzically, with an edge to your tone.
"Wow," he arched his eyebrows in a smirk. "Is that how you treat someone who's trying to help you?"
"Help me?" you laughed, shoving your hands into your coat. "Well, I guess it's the thought that counts."
"Yeah... even if my cards don't work and I have no battery in my mobile, at least I'm at my destination," he said with irony, provoking a shudder inside you. "Come on, what do you want to do, do you want to go to a hotel?" you frowned at his words to which he laughed as he contemplated your reaction. "Oh no, I mean spend the night, correction, for you to spend the night... Alright, leave it."
"I'm not going to sit idle in a hotel," you said gruffly. "I need to get to New York before dawn."
" Alright..."
You were both silent for a while, trying to avoid thinking about Michael, how he would be waiting all night for you to come and you probably wouldn't even get there before he left for Los Angeles. But in trying not to remember your situation, you realised how rude you had been to this young man, who only seemed to be kind to you and whose name you barely knew.
"I'm sorry," you said, turning to him and nodding.
"No problem," he said smiling at you and held out his hand to you. "I'm Chris, by the way."
You nodded looking at his hand, after all he was a complete stranger and somewhat peculiar, so you opted to offer a fake name.
"Adriana," you finally shook his hand.
"Nice name," he said, putting on his red sox cap, at which point you realised that his features were somewhat familiar. "I really love the night in Boston, so I could stay here forever, but I'm pretty hungry after the trip. I know you need to get to New York, but standing here you won't be able to do much, do you feel like joining me for a bite to eat? We can figure something out while we eat."
Those words reminded you that you hadn't had a bite to eat since lunchtime, and your stomach felt resentful, it was begging for some food to be shoved in, so that plan sounded really good. On the other hand, you weren't receptive to the idea of leaving the place with a complete stranger, and you didn't have any money on you.
"I don't have any money," you reminded him. "And you don't look like you do either."
"Just because I don't have six hundred dollars on me doesn't mean I don't have money on me so we can afford to eat something," he said, flashing his sweet smile again. "Come on. I know just the place on Beacon Hill. It's not too far from here."
You took a full breath, surrendering to her idea and nodded, if you had to stay awake until six in the morning, at least you'd have a full stomach. So you started to walk to your left.
"Hey! Where are you going?" he asked hanging up his backpack again.
"Beacon Hill?" you pointed to your left.
"Beacon Hill," he said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and pointing to the opposite side.
You accepted your confusion and misdirection and with a smile you nodded and stood next to him.
"Wow, you can smile," he exclaimed. "It could be a nice night after all."
to be continued . . .
Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
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On the Rocks
Commission for @anorptron! Thank you so much for your patronage! :D
Set during early 4.0, the Warrior of Light ventures to his home after suffering a recent defeat. In search of a balm for his wounds, he finds an opportunistic noble yielding proverbial salt instead.
Fortunate, then, that his family had thought of that.
Word count: 4,743
~*~
Despite the defeat that dogged every step traveled back to Ishgard, there was a strange, tentative sort of merriment in the air of Manor de Fortemps. The High House had been scheduled to host an event marking progress in the Houses of the Lords and Commons— to say that the Alliance’s defeat in Rhalgr’s Reach had been poorly timed would be a gross understatement.
It didn't matter how many times Edmont and his brothers reassured him otherwise, Sage felt responsible for how thin the margin for political error had become in the span of days. Even as much as he tried to detach himself from the minutiae of the politicking that came with the day to day of government— and the Alliance’s military coordination, no less— it was impossible for him to not be acutely aware of how easily this initial loss could be used to twist the Ishgardian public against the war effort— and, by proxy, all of the progress they had bled and lost for.
A lurching churned Sage’s gut. His throat tightened in that warning sort of way that came with nausea. Before it could fully clench around his neck, he swallowed the feeling down with a drink from his glass. Though there was nothing in it to burn away the mauldin thoughts clouding his head, the sweetness of the fruit nectar was still enjoyable all the same.
Sage almost wished he was permitted to drink tonight. He didn’t even necessarily like the stuff, mind; Edmont hadn’t brought out his good stock of sweet liquor, after all. He’d known the company he’d be hosting tonight was largely unpleasant, bless the man, and instead saved what few alcoholic drinks Sage actually liked for another gathering. He instead tried to focus on the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel; whatever nonsense he might have to endure at this party would be worth it, to spend time with those he was closest to— with much better drinks in hand.
In truth, while Sage was still far from enthused about alcohol, it was hard not to look forward to those after parties, at least a little: once all but Aymeric and himself had been seen out for the night, they’d all sequester themselves in the lounge, to keep out of the staff’s hair, while they all unwound with, “the good bottles.” It had been a tradition among the Fortemps men—one Edmont had insisted kept his sanity—for years, long before Sage had met them. But Sage was promptly folded into those nightcap conversations, and Aymeric not far behind him, once Edmont had finally managed to catch him on his way out the door to last Starlight’s service in the Congregation, and would brook no refusals of his offer.
And that had been that: whenever House Fortemps was host for a formal event, regardless of scale, everyone managed to plaster on pleasant smiles and fashion themselves the very perfect picture of politicians and patriots alike, bearing the brunt of snide comments and would-be detractors attempting to smear their good names with grace and stoicism.
These days, it was one of the few pleasures Sage allowed himself, to have his newfound family all gather in the lounge to decompress. It was its own sort of happiness, expressing himself among others, who were themselves letting down their own masks.
Aymeric liked to play bartender, likely out of a need to earn his drinks, and Sage cherished seeing them all unwind and listening to them say all the impolite things that they couldn’t at the time. It solidified them as family, seeing this authentic version of themselves, and sharing it with one another.
And then they would unwind and vent about it to each other later, laughing and making merry all the while. It made moments such as these worth a damn.
Edmont must not have liked hardly anyone that had to attend this particular soiree; Sage recognized the bottles being carried by the servants as the same label that he himself had taken from the bottom shelf, back when he knew how to pick alcohol about as well as he knew how to ask for comfort. The former, he was abstaining from, on doctor’s orders, instead enjoying fresh fruit nectar Edmont had ensured was stocked for him, as something sweet to still sip at the gathering. The latter, he was working on, now.
As much as he felt he deserved, at least, with his most recent, catastrophic failure.
Holed up in Manor Fortemps, sheltered from the cold, Sage could almost think the loss at Rhalgr’s Reach distant. Far removed from him. In a literal sense, he supposed that tracked, though despite the malms and the days that separated him from his defeat, it was as if he could yet feel Zenos’ overwhelming presence bearing down on him.
Despite the warmth suffused throughout the manor, it felt like his limbs would never know that feeling ever again. The chirurgeons had reassured him that it would improve, as it was a result of the blood loss from his wounds.
That was hardly anything new for Sage, mind; it wasn’t so long ago that he was so battered and bloodied, that he was bedbound not ten malms from where he stood now— and even that was but the worst of a long history of grievous wounds. It was just that, even in his most agonized recoveries— ones that were far worse than this one, admittedly, he had been able to rest, at least a little, knowing he was resting in victory. He’d broken himself upon the battlefield, and it was for something. He’d done enough.
But this...
He felt low. Uncharacteristically small, despite how he towered over the crowd, even here. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that it would bring undue stress upon his family, he would be somewhere quieter, darker, to be with his thoughts alone and stew in his defeat. Never before had he such an itch to sink into old habits, as he did standing there, feeling like his skin was pulled too tight across his bones, displaced from himself.
Alas, rather than sink into his own solitude, Sage instead had to contend with nobility, and all the demands that came with it. For instance: mingling. After so many incidents with such gatherings, he had learned to pick up on the signs that someone, not far from his vicinity, was about to interrupt his thoughts. For instance, there was someone worming their way through the crowd, removing any doubt that they were aiming directly for the Warrior of Light, for how intently they made their way over. Just as well; Sage settled on being grateful that he at least had some warning, this time.
“Warrior of Light! Why, Halone must have blessed me, personally, that I might run into you here!”
Unable to entirely stop himself from cringing, Sage managed to let it pass over his face into something more neutral before he swallowed the sip of nectar he’d pulled a moment before. His effort was nearly for naught when he locked eyes with the noble that had hailed him in question: he knew this man, in a sense, from how vocally –and frequently—he would protest declarations in the Houses of the Lords and Commons.
“My lord,” Sage greeted, inclining his head politely. “You flatter me.”
In all honesty, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d maneuver his way through an entire conversation with the man, if that was what he was after. Gods knew his brothers were oft times formal to a fault, but even Artoirel and Aymeric hadn’t been immune from venting their vexations with the man. Sage could so clearly recall the young Lord Fortemps storming about the foyer snarling about attempts to sway votes, or demands to recall a vote on a technicality, pausing only long enough to thank whichever family member it was that refilled his wine glass for him that time.
As Aymeric once put it: “His disagreement would be far more tolerable, had he ever any alternative suggestions to accompany it.”
Already, Sage could feel his temples threaten to pulse with a migraine as he forced his face into a pleasant smile. It was faint, for all his effort, but it was there.
If naught else, he at least had excuse enough to be less than perfectly pleasant; the wounds he walked away from Rhalgr’s Reach with were only just on the mend, after all. They were at least fully closed, and had been treated; a marked improvement from how he had handled previous injuries.
But the noble lord was speaking again, pulling Sage from his thoughts.
“Why, I speak only the truth! I had been hoping to speak with you even before the conclusion of the Dragonsong War, but alas! It seems as if you’re always on the move!”
“No rest for the righteous, and all that.” He muttered, half into his flute of nectar.
“For the wicked have all the fun!” The noble said, throwing his head back and laughing at his own joke.
When he leaned back, into his laugh, he lightly tapped the backs of his knuckles to Sage’s coat. Another wince pinched the corners of his eyes; he could smell the wine off of the noble’s breath; not necessarily drunk, but certainly enough to be loose tongued.
Sage pretended to take another sip to hide his lack of enthusiasm. Already, he wanted this conversation to be done.
“Oh, but I jest, I jest.” Said the lush lord, once he’d caught his breath on a delighted sigh. “I do beg your pardon, the wine brings it out of me.”
Sage tracked the overarticulated sweep of a bejeweled hand, as it reached up to wipe away a nonexistent tear from the corner of the noble’s eye.
“You certainly seem to be in good spirits, my lord.” Sage noted, not knowing what else to say.
“I have every reason to be! The Houses of the Lords and Commons were in unison this session, for a change, and with Starlight not far off, the festivities have been plentiful!”
“I see.” Sage replied, and prayed that would be the end of the conversation.
When it was clear that the Bard wasn’t going to offer a more verbose response, the noble cut off what would have been an obviously much more judicious pull from his glass, as if the thought of being left to lapse in silence for even a moment was considered some grievous slight. Maybe it was. Sage was in no mood to care.
“Ah, I forgot! Your reputation for stoic silence precedes you!” The noble said, hastily blotting at the corner of his mouth with a kerchief.
“It’s one of my strengths.” Sage drained his glass of juice, and turned away to set it on the tray of a passing servant with a murmur of thanks.
“A damn shame, then, to know that such strength fled you, at the battle in Rhalgr’s Reach.”
In an instant, what warmth Sage had managed to glean from the manor’s well tended hearths guttered out. Icy dread struck him at the base of his spine, freezing him in place, hand still outstretched from handing off his glass—in the best of circumstances, he was hardly one for conversation, but this was very clearly bait for him to blunder into, a verbal trap that was doubtless intended to damage his reputation—and, by extension, that of House Fortemps.
Perhaps even Aymeric, too: as Lord Commander, he’d been overseeing Ishgard’s involvement in the Gyr Abanian theatre of war, this excursion included, after all. If ever there was a time for an opportunistic noble to try and undo all the hard work they had all put in, here and abroad, over one loss in a larger scale conflict abroad, it was now.
“What,” Sage managed to rasp, words dragged across the sandpaper in his throat, as he turned back toward the man. “Do you mean?”
“Oh come now, there’s no sense in dancing about the subject.” Said the noble, through a toothy, cruel upturn of his lips. “This was Ishgard’s debut into the Eorzean Alliance, was it not? Were we not counting on you to lead us into victory?”
Indignation warred with nausea-inducing dread in the pit of his ribcage. The former, for how dare this man who had known no struggle remotely like Sage’s, speak on how war and its games were played. The latter, because how dare he echo the same thoughts Sage had been so keen on ignoring tonight?
To keep his hands from fidgeting, he stood at parade rest, and half wished he still had a glass in his hand to keep himself looking less stiff and affected. He knew this man would vex him until he cracked, if this was where he was already needling.
When he managed to find his voice, Sage tried again, “I did what I could—”
“Which was, somehow, not enough.” The noble swiftly rebuked. “Not enough, despite your victory over Nidhogg. A curiosity.” The noble sneered with a haughty twitch of his nose.
The chill that had clung to Sage’s limbs crept ever closer, brushing dangerously to his heart. As if he truly were freezing over, his breathing thinned out, and he felt his hands shaking at his sides, ever so faintly.
“By all accounts, ‘twas Sage’s strength that prevented an even greater loss for the Alliance.” Came the voice of one of his brothers.
“One of those reports was mine own—and yes, we would have lost so much more, were it not for the Warrior of Light’s presence.” Added the voice of another.
Relief flooded him hearing Aymeric, then Artoirel, speak upon their unexpected appearance, flanking Sage on both sides. A united front was the best defense from such grave offense, after all. It was all Sage could do, to keep from slouching his ramrod stiff posture, as he remembered how to breathe again. Even without either of them coming into physical contact with him, he felt their warmth seep into skin and scale, bolstering him. Squaring his shoulders as much as his wounds would allow, he tipped his chin up, to hold himself proudly. Just like their Da had encouraged him—he’d earned that pride, paid for in blood, sweat, and tears.
The offending lord seemed only momentarily cowed, flinching his glass subtly closer to his chest as he recoiled from the unexpected intrusion to his personal belligerence against the hero. When it was clear, with a furtive glance around, that none of them were interested in backing down, he pulled himself upright and cleared his throat.
“The fact remains: a loss is a loss.” He pressed.
“Spoken like one who has never written condolence letters.” Aymeric replied almost instantly, the smoothness of his voice a whetstone for his lance-sharp words, poised to cut off this conversation at the pass. “Even one less family in mourning, is a victory in itself, my lord.”
It was faint—in particular, compared to the low din of the rest of the gathering, but the group of elites that had congregated and circled around themselves not far from where Sage had been standing, began to murmur between themselves about the conversation they were overhearing. Had Sage not been so keenly aware of his surroundings, over the roaring of blood in his ears, he might not have understood why the noble’s face turned ashen, then, when those words reached his ears. Aymeric and Artoirel had, in effect, struck far truer than anticipated, redirecting the very gossip that the nefarious noble had tried to weaponize.
“We wouldn’t be sending them at all, were we not engaging in conflicts that we had no business meddling in.” The noble replied, though it was clear by the way the pads of his fingers paled against the stem of his wine glass, that he was most certainly rattled. “Business, I will remind you, that we have made ours solely on debt to a singular champion! How can we condone it, as proud Ishgardian citizens, when our creditor cannot guarantee our victory?”
Were the man not gunning to undo everything that they had fought and sacrificed for and then some, Sage might feel some semblance of sympathy for him. As it was, it was at least a little morbidly gratifying, watching him squirm when challenged.
Aymeric seemed to expect the question. In truth, he had likely had to field it many times; he seemed almost bored with it.
“We did not commit ourselves to one war on the coattails of another solely because the Warrior of Light bade we do so.” He began in a low tone. One that gave a warning he put no words to, and did not have to. “On the contrary: as with the Dragonsong War, he only opened our eyes to the truth of the matter: that we were always involved in this war. We were always going to be involved in this war, whether we willed it or not.”
“Such fatalistic talk, from such a lauded, romantic politician!” The man jeered.
“Ishgard’s best defense has always been a proactive offense,” he explained patiently, in a tone that reminded Sage of one he’d used on Alphinaud, upon their first meeting in the Falling Snows. “The winds suggest but one course upon which the Empire has been set: total conquest. We cannot afford to watch, idle and indolent, while Garlemald marches right to our gates, afore we are moved to action.”
“This was never our affair!” Cried the exasperated nobleman, perhaps a bit more inebriated than Sage might have initially thought.
Clearly, more than, as when the man made to jab an accusatory finger in the Lord Commander’s direction, he seemingly forgot that he was still holding a half-full wine glass. It sloshed enough to splash, faintly upon the chest of the Lord Commander’s coat.
For a blessing, the fabric was dark enough that blotting at it with a kerchief was sufficient to keep the light colored champagne from damaging it, but the impropriety of the action was far from lost on even the inebriated offender.
With a singular, prim tug on his own lapel, Aymeric tucked the folded, soiled kerchief away with a barely repressed snort of indignation. “‘Twas ever Eorzea’s affair— and we have been Eorzeans for far longer than we have not, in our history. Garlemald is committed to making this the affair of every living soul on this star, to be conquered, until someone stops them. If every nation clung to their borders and insisted that it was not our affair, then we would simply be picked off, one by one—”
“Garlemald cannot invade us through the weather, and our neighbors besides—”
“Then they would lay siege to us, and our home would become our tomb.” Said a voice from the crowd that had begun to try to not listen to the growing ruckus.
That same crowd parted, and revealed Lord Edmont, honorable father of this evening’s host, looking every bit as graceful and dignified as ever. Striding purposefully, he stopped only when he was beside his fellow noble, and took his measure with an even, steely gaze. “I know I need remind no one here of what happened to the Stone and Dusk Vigils, following the Calamity. Would you inflict that upon our families, for turning away from the plights beyond our gates?”
It was clearly a future that the noble had not considered— in fairness, a future few would want to consider.
In war, such wants do not matter: it is a path of death, and must be walked with both eyes open, or not at all.
Seeing the noble thoroughly cowed, Edmont eased that hardened stare, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“But come! Such logistics are not for us retired folk to fret over any longer—”
“Edmont, you have surely heard your boy on the forum floor, debating that we meddle in—”
“And what right have we to criticize our children, when they protect a tomorrow that our inaction stole from them?” Edmont asked, not unkindly.
He might as well have struck the noble, for how he recoiled at the rebuttal. If there was a deeper, personal meaning for the noble, Sage did not know it, and did not care: he knew exactly who Edmont was thinking of, when he spoke so.
Edmont’s hand on his shoulder squeezed, comfortingly, as he led him away, speaking of happier things. There seemed to be an understanding between the two that Sage could only begin to fathom, but could readily identify: it was the look of a father that had to bury their child. It wasn’t enough for the dread and ire that the man inspired in Sage to completely vanish, but it was tempered with the understanding that, as he had learned is often the case with Ishgardians, his anger came from immense, generational tragedy.
It was a distant revelation, a balm on a wound, but it was nothing to the panacea that was watching how his family had managed to pull him back from the brink of panic, to cover his blindspots, to be his shield. It was an otherwise unfamiliar feeling, this sense of protection that settled over his shoulders and calmed his tumultuous heart.
So distracted with awe for how swiftly his family closed in ranks around him, Sage had nearly forgotten to feel the sting of his injuries, until he’d shifted his weight and bit back a curse at the sudden jolt of fire that shot up his spine. When he flinched and his legs faltered, he felt two hands at his back— one of Artiorel and Aymeric both, bracing him.
“Forgive us for leaving you to the wolves, as it were.” Aymeric spoke up, gently startling him out of his thoughts. When he’d straightened and looked over at the Lord Commander, he was given a wincing smile. “No one wanted to smother you, mind, though we all attempted to keep the worst of them occupied.”
“Wh—“ Sage stopped himself from asking the obvious; even if he didn’t believe himself worthy of it, he could no longer deny he was their family, truly and utterly.
With a fond smile and a shake of his head, he instead chose to say, “I know better than to simper in the face of family, so, put simply: thank you.” When Sage smiled, it felt less like it resembled broken glass than it had since he’d left Gyr Abania—certainly less than it had all night. “I don’t know what I would do without you all.”
“And we would say much the same of you, Sage.” Artoirel reassured, clasping a hand comfortingly on Sage’s uninjured forearm.
“Which we have, on more than one occasion,” Aymeric added brightly. “And will keep doing so.”
“Artoirel might not fess up to just how much of that effusive praise comes from him, old sport, but I would be most glad to!” Chimed in the last of their brothers, who had otherwise been shockingly scarce all evening.
Artoirel harrumphed at Emmanellain’s delighted chirping, and crossed his arms. “Given you’ve the leisure to prod me for a reaction, I take it you’ve done your job?”
“Always business, with you!” Emmanellain’s expression momentarily scrunched. “But yes. Frankly, it’s almost boring, how easy it is to redirect the rumor mill. I do hope you’re not too terribly offended that the current affair-of-the-hour among noble lady circles is more stimulating gossip than whatever that lord’s quarrel with you is; he really is an offensively boring man, as politics go.”
Sage didn’t know what to say in response, and his surprise must have been evident on his face, as Emmanellain nudged his good shoulder and winked.
“What, not expecting me to pull my weight? I might not be half the knight my brothers are,” he said around an easy smile. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t still protect you, old sport.”
“I’m not sure they make shields tall enough for that.” Sage blurted before he could think better of it.
Practiced politicians they may have been, all the etiquette in the world couldn’t stop Artoirel and Aymeric from hiding their laughter behind their hands at Emmanellain’s gawping.
“Were you joking, just then? Why, Sage! I would almost think you liked me, or something!” Emmanellain gasped, a hand pressed over his heart, the very picture of mock horror.
This levity, this, this warmth, that permeated him, being surrounded by his family…it would not heal him. Sage knew that, deep down. But when he laughed, it came easily. The smile that followed, even easier. And that, that was what helped. What reminded him of his convictions.
“You’re my brother.” Sage said, his tone serious despite the smile still quirking his lips. “Stands to reason I like you.”
Emmanellain paused for a moment, his theatrics softening into something genuine. When he laughed the sort that had him holding his stomach and drying his eyes, it reminded Sage of Haurchefant.
“And you have good taste besides, don’t you forget that, old sport.” Emmanellain said, eyes crinkling for the width and breadth of his smile.
“And you discredit yourself.” Sage replied. “I see more and more of our brothers in you every day.”
It seemed Sage’s comment overwhelmed his little brother; he spun and plucked a flute of champagne from one of the wait staff passing by, and poorly tried to hide his flush behind its rim.
“Yes, well, I certainly have no shortage of examples to lead me.” Emmanellain half muttered into his drink, just before tossing his head back to tip the glass as far back as he could, and he drained it in one fluid gulp. “You included.”
He seemed not to know what to do with the quiet that came after emotional declarations, as, with a twist to set his empty glass on another tray being taken the opposite direction of the first, he used that momentum to turn back into the crowd, back into the mingling crowds that were resuming their previous low din of chatter.
Watching him fade into the crowd made Sage’s gaze wander through the faces in all the merrymaking that had resumed. On that passing glance, he caught Edmont through the crowd, having brought that offending noble into a group of other people Sage distantly recognized as some of the elder generations of the High Houses. It was only a moment, but it was enough to see exactly where the Fortemps propensity for warmth and good cheer came from, as much as their sense of duty had.
“Me included, then?” Sage asked, half to himself.
“Absolutely.” Artoirel said, with a surprising amount of conviction. “Our family has a reputation of housing the most upstanding knights in all of Ishgard. That has never been more true, than it is where you are concerned.”
Perhaps the alcohol did make Artoirel more verbose; Sage was unaccustomed to such declarations in abundance from the newest head of House Fortemps. For a certainty, it was the reason why it overwhelmed him, enough so that he was reminded of the burning shame of his most recent defeat.
“I was defeated—”
“And that should deplete you of your worth?” Aymeric countered at his other side. “Even the greatest people in history knew countless defeats— many of which were costly. Yet, they are not remembered as great because of their losses, but because they persevered despite them.” He gave a single, decisive nod. “I can think of no greater quality that could exemplify the knights of House Fortemps— you among the most exemplary.”
That overwhelmed feeling looped back around into a pleasant sort of warmth; it didn’t entirely absolve him of his guilt; none present expected it to. It weighed as it should— and no heavier.
Grateful that his family was ever his shield, ever stopping him from pressing his burdens down harder on his own shoulders than he needed to, he could only lower his gaze, smile wider, and reply with, “I hope to be worthy of that.”
“You always were.” Artoirel and Aymeric replied automatically, voices nearly overlapping in perfect sync for their immediate timing.
With a surprised glance between the three of them, they dissolved into half-covered laughter, and that pressure on Sage’s chest settled, alongside his thoughts. It wasn’t enough to make the world okay. It wasn’t enough to make Sage strong enough to free Ala Mhigo and come home, not on its own.
But it was enough.
#ffxiv#commissioned writing#anorptron#Sage Bradley#Artoirel de Fortemps#Aymeric de Borel#Edmont de Fortemps#Emmanellain de Fortemps#4.0 spoilers#tagging just in case#thank you again for being patient and for your patronage as always!!!
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My Patriot
*Gif not mine
Chris Evans x Daughter!Reader
Warnings: Slight injury, One curse word
Summary: Your high school was able to allow girl’s to join football. Being around a football fan who happens to be your dad, he taught you the ropes in your freshman year, you made it to the Varsity squad your Sophomore year and your last game turned out to be a disaster at first but you made it a win.
A/N: I’ve wanted to join football after being in marching band and hearing from my guy friends (football players) who offered me to join. But I think I rather play in a band than be a low-life football player. Basketball is better along with baseball. Marching band may not be a sport to some but it is to me.
Amazing dividers by @whimsicalrogers I guess I lost the fan for 49ers and Raiders, I became a Patriot.
Senior year was one of the most stressful and overwhelming. The season was at its end and it was gonna be one of your last games before you take on your wrestling season in February. This last game was gonna be one of the most powerful games of all. The last ones should always make it worth. Show that the Boston Reds were no match for the Spartans.
You took football since you were a freshman.
One of the worst decisions you made but you’ve learned to become the first quarterback as a girl. A woman if you might add. Living in a family who were into football, you were the only oldest grandchild in the family. And only one person out of your family approved it. Your dad, Chris Evans.
Your grandma, Lisa didn’t like the idea and almost slapped the back of her son’s head while Scott came to every game with a box of bandages and water.
Your dad and Scott were part of the football volunteers. They would stand on the sidelines, help your teammates with water, Gatorade, courage and support. Chris wasn’t your coach, no, but he did coach you at home if you needed it. You two on the weekends would go out jogging, try out new healthy foods, always took you to your school and practice some throws out in the field, since they did allow the field to be a public place at some times.
You loved your dad, more than you loved football. There were times where he wasn’t there, but Scott and your aunts were there to record your touchdowns and take downs.
You had a couple friends on the team, almost half of them were part of the marching band up in the bleachers.
The boys on your team always supported you. Not only because you were practically Captain America’s daughter, they knew you were the best out of all of them. They treated you as an equal. Which was a good feeling to have. You were tall and strong. You weren’t positive this was gonna be a career after you graduate. It was something to do and have for the rest of your life. Something to have fun with.
Chris didn’t expect you to continue this football thing, he knew you would start something better. He was just proud to see you out in the field doing something to prove anyone could do any sport no matter what they looked like.
School was just about to end and you pulled out your phone after you felt it buzz. A message sent towards you, you opened it and saw the message.
Dad
Few minutes away.
You grinned while shaking your head. He always wanted to be there for your training just after school. You assumed Uncle Scott would be there before your game starts. Your dad was there early to make sure what the team had and didn’t. He was a volunteer anyway.
The bell rung and you stood up, walking over to your locker. Once you got it open, someone pats your back. A random guy who nods at you, “Good luck at the game!” You smiled softly with a nod and reached in to look for your large water bottle.
You cursed under your breath. You must’ve left it at home. You closed your locker and made your way to the side building where the footballers were gathering up. Everyone wore their jerseys with their numbers. On a game day, every sport player should wear their jerseys through the school day and you had yours on.
Your coach comes in and claps his hands, “All right, everyone. Let’s get out there fast! The other team is coming in few minutes, take the field. Coach Henderson will be separating groups and I want good spirit out there! Let’s go!” Everyone in the room went their own ways, most of them heading to the locker room for their gear. You went to a separate room and got your things on alone.
Even for a girl, you couldn’t get ready in the boys locker room, of course. You slipped on your shoulder gear and slipped your jersey on over it. Your skin tight pants with pads over your knees, your cleats on real tight. You put your phone in the locker and closed it, taking your helmet and rushed out to the field.
“All right ladies! Let’s line up.”
You rushed around the corner and almost bumped into someone, they shout, “Woah. Easy there, hey!” Your dad says with a grin, your eyes widen and you let out a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t see you.” Your dad takes your helmet by the bars of your facemask and lifts it up to see small strands fall over your face. He grins, “Maybe put on your helmet after you get to the sidelines.”
You smiled and saw in his hand that he had your water bottle. “You found it!” You said, Chris lifts it up and nods. “That’s not the only reason why I came.” You furrowed your brows, “I thought you had a flight to Los Angeles?”
Chris lifted up his shoulders, “I can’t miss a final game in your lifetime, now could I? Besides even if you did NFL, your grandma would be pulling at our ears.” You smiled and took the bottle from his hand, giving him a large hug as he lets out a huff. He lightly chuckles and hugs you back just as tight. He shakes you a little, “Now, go out there and practice. I’ll be around, Scott will be around before the game. I love you.”
You pulled away and slipped on your helmet, “I love you too.”
Your coach called you in and you made your way over. With a nod of approval, you took that and followed your team onto the field. Warming up your shoulders, tossing your throws and kicks. Chris stood on the sideline, arms crossed as he chatted with your coach. You stretched your legs and slammed into a couple of your teammates to get yourself warmed up for this last game.
The families began to stack the whole bleachers, people with balloons, you knew your whole family will be here. Especially for your last game as a senior. They would start introducing the seniors. Half of your team were seniors and they were really supportive of you.
You thought they just liked your dad around. You saw what looked like your family. Lisa, Scott, and the sisters along with your cousins. They were waving at you from the bottom of the bleachers. You look over to Chris who waves you over from the sidelines and you rushed over to him and walked over to the fam.
“Hey! Sweetheart!” You smile big and hugged Lisa first, who gave you large kisses on your head. You hugged your two aunts, Shanna and Carly, your cousins Ethan, Stella and Miles. They started to admire your gear while Stella held onto you like a koala, ‘cause she loved you. Being her only girl cousin, you always did dolls and makeup while you did football and tag with the boys.
You started to hear the marching band play and you turn around. Chris nods, “You’re up, #4.” You grin and slipped on your helmet while the family waited. Usually on Senior games, they’d always read off what these seniors wrote for their last year and the family follows them down the row with balloons and large posters.
After the short time of the marching bands introduction to the field and the national anthem, the band makes a aisle for the senior families to walk down. They let a couple cheerleaders down the aisle, everyone following behind the senior friend.
They did that for more students till it was your turn.
Your team were very chaotic so they began to cheer your name. “Evans! Evans!” They shout, you couldn’t help but laugh at them. “Now, quarterback on the football team, number 4 on the field. Y/N Evans.” You feel a couple of your team chant your name as you walked down the aisle with your dad by your side. The man on the speakers began to read your last words for your senior year and you were just lucky to be here.
After they represented every senior, the game was starting. You felt like your dad in Not Another Teen Movie, Jake Wyler, quarterback asshole jock. It was a hilarious movie. Chris stood by the sidelines and watched you stand behind your teammates.
You hear your teammate yell hut and you run forward to catch the ball i your hand. Guarding it in your arm, you head to the right. Then you feel a harsh jab to your back. The referee blows his whistle and you stand up. Okay, you knew some were quick.
Your teammate helps you up and you glance across the field, watching your dad give you a thumbs up while shouting, “You okay?” You replied with a pair of thumbs up and he gives you a nod. The team sets up by the yard line where you fell.
The teams began to line up in their positions and you bent your knees. Breathing slowly, you focused on the directions you could go. Maybe throw it to one of your teammates who could be open. “Hut!” You catch the ball and aimed it, your defenders are slamming into the others.
You catch your teammate with his arms open. You imagined him being your dad in your backyard. With a large throw, the ball darts towards your teammate and he catches it smoothly before charging for the end of the field. You see him reach the end and the crowd in the bleachers cheer on. You couldn’t help but grin.
This was gonna be a good game.
Halftime was gone and you were slightly behind the other team. A couple touchdowns, you could make an easy win. A kick to the goal post could do you some good. You were almost close to exhaustion. You hear your coach call you guys in and the referees give you guys two minutes.
Running over to the coach. He began to explain a plan and you followed every single order. Once he broke the team, your dad hands you your water bottle. “You need to hydrate, sweetheart.”
You grin, lifting up your helmet a bit to pour water into your mouth. You gotten a lot of sips in and slid your helmet back down. The referees call you back in and your team positioned on the field.
You see that the team had slightly larger guys than the last ones. You needed to run pass them. You hear the shout and the ball comes into your hands. Your feet pick up and you took a sharp turn that causes your ankle to lock and you feel someone tackle you to the ground.
A large hit to the ground, your helmet bounces off the ground and you feel the player get off you. You breath in harshly and hear someone say, “Are you okay?” You roll onto your hands and knees, instantly feeling someone’s hands on you. “Hey, hey. Don’t stand up, yet. Take it easy. Honey, are you okay?” You hear your dad ask, you nod your head, not bothering to speak.
Your arm gets pulled up and Chris helps you onto your feet again. He leans over, “Hey? Look at me? Are you okay?” He asks.
“Yeah. Can I just sit down for a second?” Your dad didn’t refuse or hesitate. He helps you over to the bench and gives your family a thumbs up to know you were okay. He cups your helmet, “Can I take this off? It’ll help you breath better.” You nod and he slips it off your head. Your coach calls in a replacement onto the field and you lowered your head.
You lift your head up, “Coach, I’m sorry, I-” The coach gently shook his head. “It’s okay, Evans. You did good. You rest.” You felt embarrassed, being a woman and falling on the field made everyone lose hope in you. Your dad puts his hand on your shoulder, “Hey. You did good halfway through. I’m proud of you.”
You smiled up at him and watched as the team struggled to push through. No one scored and it just kept going back and forth. The coach calls out the last break. You needed to jump back in. Taking your helmet, you stand up and run over to the team circle.
You lean in, “Coach. Put me back in.” Your coach stared at you in disbelief till Chris jumps up. “No, you need to rest-”
“Please, dad. I know I can do this. I’m okay, now.” Chris looks up to the coach who does as well. Silently the two nod and your coach looks over. “All right. Y/N’s back in position. Stay strong and remember the plans.” The team breaks and you slid on your helmet. Standing in position, you breathed in slowly. You felt the memories come flooding into your head.
“You got this,” You hear your dad’s voice.
The shout breaks your position as you dart for the ball and grab it. You turn to the side and see a player in front of you. You realize he’s going to dive. It felt like slow-motion once he began to dive toward you. Your legs lift up and you hop over him like nothing. The crowd screams as you run for the touchdown yard line.
Your team runs over and almost tackles you to the ground. They chant your name and your dad runs over. “Yes!” He shouts, too proud of a dad, he takes you off your feet and holds the back of your helmet, laughing uncontrollably. You laugh happily as he takes off your helmet and pulls your head to his chest.
“I’m so fucking proud of you!” He says, you pull away and your team gives you a large hug. The team ended with a win and you were proud to take step back into the field. And your dad was happy to put your trophy on the fireplace.
Official Taglist:
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#chris evans x daughter#chris evans x daughter!reader#chris evans x daughter reader#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x y/n#patriots#football#chris evans imagines#optimistic-dinosaur-nacho#opti-dino-nacho
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Kiro x MC - Uniform
Pairing: Kiro x MC (F).
Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice.
Prompt: Master || Lapdance|| Uniform
Warning: Playful sex, slight dirty talk, Kiro just being a horny boi, internal cum-shot.
Surprise post for @alloveroliver kinktober🎃
Thank you @theinariakuma��� for being wonderful and beta-ing (again) I owe you so much 💛
Loveland’s military holiday was approaching fast and excitement buzzed through the city. A national holiday that was celebrated for all, a day where all appreciation was sent out to the troops and army. And this year, international superstar Kiro was showing his support with a new music video where all profits went to supporting the families who were part of the army.
It was a big day event that required every single team member to be on top form. The video was very hushed, Kiro not wanting to pull any attention away from the day itself during the build up. Filming would take place in one day on a set, Kiro even managing to wrangle his girlfriend, his beloved Miss.Chips, a spot on the promotion poster as a 50’s pin-up doll. Of course she was flattered to the highest point that Kiro had wanted her rather than a real model, Kiro’s exact words ‘They have nothing compared to your beauty Miss.Chips’.
So when they arrived, in separate cars to eliminate any suspicion from the hungry, loitering press, on the morning of the shoot she never expected to be whisked away into hair and make up first thing. Her hair curled into loose waves, her fringe pinned back and held in place by a khaki green, small-side cap. Her lips painted with a bold red and a strong black line on her eyes to accentuate her facial features. A skin tight blouse with short sleeves was tucked into a pleated skirt the same colour of her cap, touching just below her mid-thighs whilst a belt brought in the illusion of her always petite waist. Stockings ran up to the edge of her knees, green heels placed on to her feet. A red cravat nestled beneath the collar of her shirt. A true vision of elegance with a sensual touch.
Kiro found himself utterly distracted as he watched her pose a top of the prop tank that had been made for the shoot. Sitting on it with one knee raised, giving a teasing peak of her skin as the skirt rose up. Her hand in a salute position with a beaming smile on her face. Breathtaking was all he could think.
However she found herself just as distracted by him. A similar style green to the outfit she was wearing clung to him, a button up jacket laced with a gold chain that connected to a sweeping cape, a black buckle belt tightly around his waist. Tight trousers down to his ankle, gold embroidment across the outfit and a lieutenants cap was perfectly placed on his sunshine blonde hair. Power, dominance but most important patriotism radiated from him. Capturing the room as he strided in with a few striking steps. His eyes meeting hers from across the room, the sexual tension between them already pulsing and visible.
She watched from the side as he paraded across the set, a strong sense of dignity and loyalty packed into the words he was singing. Maturity twisted into a new sense of him. One that suited him. Her eyes fixed on him, flushing slightly during in between takes as Kiro would shoot her a lust filled look or a cheeky wink. Looks that sent arousal straight down to her core and left her panties uncomfortably wet.
-
“You look so beautiful, I can’t believe I pushed to let you do this, this,” A hand ran up her thigh, under her skirt to cup the barely covered round of her ass, “Should be just for me,”. Kiro appeared from behind causing a little gasp to fall from her mouth. He’d snuck off the set to where she stood watching, pressing himself to her back as he whispered lowly in her ear.
“I can assure you, that this only belongs to you sir,” Her voice wavering slightly as he pinched on her cheeks. A low chuckle masking a groan against her neck, the teasing press of her hips back against his groin.
“God your making it so hard to keep sight of what I’m doing,” Pressing kisses to her neck, moving both of his hands to hold her waist. The pair hidden from view in the corner of the room, the rest of the cast and crew too busy in changing the set and prompts. “You know, we have about 7 minutes until I’m needed back on set,”.
She turned, her eyes meeting his blazoned ones, lust and need emitting from both of them.
“Have I told you how much I love a man in uniform?” Pressing her hands to his chest, throwing her head over her shoulder for a quick scan of the room, realising no one was watching them as she slid her hands down to press over the hidden bulge in his trousers. A final check from both of them before they headed off quickly hand in hand down an empty corridor, heading in the direction of the prop room, knowing they would have less chance of being disturbed in there.
Pulling her tightly to him, kick the door shut behind him as their lips locked. Perfectly pressed red lipstick now smearing over his lips as he tilted her head back to angle the kiss. Her hands already resuming position over his crotch- it had been rapidly hardening the minute he saw her in that outfit.
He stood proud watching as she pulled back, just about to drop to her knees, her hands already working to undo his belt. His fingers catching her chin to keep standing, “No, I want, I need to be inside you Miss.Chips,”.
Kiro had no doubt she could bring him to a release with just her mouth in under the time they had, she’d done it it many of times before. His favourite when he was on his tour and had three minutes between stage set swaps, her mouth around his cock as she sucked him to completion with only a few seconds left to spare before he had to run back out to a crowd of fans.
"I normally wouldn't mind... But all I want to do is fuck your pretty face." His voice was low, raspy. "And with only five minutes... They'll notice if I ruin all this hard work for your makeup. So we'll save that for after."
Holding her waist he hoisted up into the air, pressing her back against the wall as her legs automatically locked around his waist.
“You're so wet already Miss.Chips,” His voice huskier than normal as he prodded the wet stained material of her panties, directly beneath her core.
“Kiro… Kiro please,” She whispered, one arm holding onto the back of his neck whilst the other pushed his teasing fingers aside to move her underwear out of the way. “I need you, I need you so badly,”. Her voice was full of desperation, a needing plea as she lost herself into the sky-blue of his eyes.
“Let me just-“ Pressing a finger to her, ready to sink into her but her hand tugged it away.
“Fuck me, Kiro please just fuck me,” Time was hastily running out.
Her words caused something inside him to snap, primal and urgent needs taking over as let out a low growl. Holding her waist still his other hand freed himself, spitting onto his hand as he coaxed himself with a few pumps before pressing against her. Rather than thrusting up, he pulled her down to be impaled onto his cock, a grin on his face to watch her back arch and a hand to cover her mouth shielding the wanton moans that would have flooded the room.
Kiro let a sly smirk cross his features, "So that's what you want? Don't worry Miss Chips, I'll fuck you so good. You won't be able to think straight when we have to get back out there... But don't worry. I'll make sure to reward you once we get home for being such a good girl." He bounced her with his impressive-strength, one that he rarely used showing his utter need, over his cock whilst he thrusted into her. Time working against them, the seconds counting down fast as Kiro pounded her into the wall. His lips attached to her neck whilst his thumb dropped down to circle tightly over her clit in time to his thrusts. The motion bringing on her orgasm fast and hard, with fair little warning as her walls spasmed over him. A lightly string of curses fell from her mouth, jaw slackened as she tossed the hat off his head to ground herself with one hand tugging at his hair.
“Kiro-Kiro! Too much..I-” She whimpered, the hand on the back of his head digging her nails into his scalp whilst the other curled into a fist and slammed the solid wall against her. His movements never ceasing, the thumb over her clit continuing to circle the hyper-senstive flesh.
"I know I'm being greedy, Miss Chips... But I need another...".
"A-another?" Her voice, heavy and thick with pleasure and confusion until his actions answered her. “Oh fuck Kiro!” Head thrown back as Kiro threw her head first into another orgasm, walls tightening and pulling him deeply back into her every time he thrusted. Her efforts to keep quiet failed, Kiro holding a complacent grin to see how undone and unraveled she had become and it was all because of him.
Her release brought on his own as her muscles pulsed over him, his lips crashing down on hers to capture the moans of both of them. An attempt to keep their noise to a minimum, her cries of pleasure would have lured more attention than he’d have liked secretly praying no one, Savin, heard them.
“I got you baby, I got you,” He whispered between kisses, pulling his thumb away from her clit as her after-shocks and trembles eased. Both her hands grasping onto his shoulders, mixed breathes struggling to regain their normality as they stilled in their position. Both of them savouring the blissful feeling of their afterglow for a few seconds before he finally pulled his softened cock out of her. A thick trail of their mixed releases slowly leaked from her abused hole, Kiro moving her underwear in place to try keep it from spreading across her thighs. Although the top of them were purely soaked with messy arousal, the scent of sex dancing across her lower half.
“Good girl Miss.Chips,” Kiro continued to kiss her softly as he put her legs down on the ground, they were still trembling as she continued to cling to him for support. He thumbed under her eyes to wipe the small trail of mascara that collected on her skin from her watery eyes, wiping them over her mouth to remove the smudge of her rouge lips and helped sort out their outfits. He grabbed his hat she had thrown off of him, taking his hand in hers before guiding them to leave the prop room, a low whisper as he told her, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep all my promises for being such a good girl, I promise I’ll make you scream as soon as we’re finished here.”
Kinktober masterlist here.
#alloverkinktober#kinktober#mlqc kiro#mr love kiro#mr love queen's choice kiro#mr love queen's choice#mlqc#mlqc smut#mlqc zhou qiluo#mlqc zhou qiluo#mr love zhou qiluo
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