#ten drawings in one night is UNTHINKABLE
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Showed Me (How I Fell In Love With You)
masterlist
summary: dean helps you up your flirting game, but there’s really only one set of eyes you want on you.
paring: dean winchester x female reader
rating: R for language
word count: 2.7k
warnings: language, implied sex/nudity, strands of hair falls on reader’s face
author’s note: you probably already know this but sideblogs (like this one) can now answer comments!! super excited about this update and fingers crossed the next one is for sending asks lol 🤞💞
music: showed me (how i fell in love with you) by madison beer — i was listening to this song and kept imagining dean, idk
Dean always had incredible luck with women. He could go into a bar crowded with guys and walk out with the only woman—the bartender who’d been dodging men all night.
You, on the other hand, could go into that same bar and end up going back to the motel alone. It bothered you; what in the hell were you doing wrong?
So, you did the unthinkable—you asked Dean to help you get better at flirting.
That’s how you ended up here at the bar with Dean; he was showing you how to play pool. You had protested the idea of him “teaching you” something you already knew, but he claimed it was important.
“You’re standing wrong,” he told you when you were about to break.
“Uh, no I’m not?”
“If you’re trying to win the game, you’re doing great. If you’re trying to get your opponent to fuck you, you’re failing miserably.”
“Thanks,” you grumbled.
“Hey, you were the one who asked me for help!” He shrugged. “If you want to back out now-”
“No, I don’t want to back out,” you sighed. “I’m fucking desperate at this point.”
“So, are you gonna do what I say, then?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“Yeah,” you mumbled. “How am I supposed to stand?”
He walked up behind you and put his hands on your hips.
“Stick your butt out a little,” he instructed and you did as he asked. “Alright, now when you bend over,” he moved his hands up and forward, resting them on your lower chest, “you’ll want to point your breasts in the direction of the person you want to attract.”
“What if he’s standing behind me?” you asked.
“Then his eyes are gonna be glued to your ass,” he replied, not getting the message. “If he’s standing behind you then focus more on the actual game, and less on where you’re pointing your boobs. Trust me, though, if he’s standing in front of you, he’s gonna be trying to see down your shirt, now…” he walked back around to the other side of the table. “Bend over, and before you hit the ball, make eye contact with him.”
“Okay…” You bent down and lined up your shot before looking up and into Dean’s eyes.
“Perfect! If you look at him kinda like through your eyelashes, there’s exactly one thing that’s suddenly stuck front and center in his mind.”
“And this works on…all guys?” you asked, still looking at him through your lashes.
“If he was standing where I am and didn’t want to fuck you, he’s either related to you or just not into chicks.”
“Good to know,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself. You were about to start the game but a few strands of hair fell on your face.
“Don’t move,” Dean said before he hurried back to where he had been before and tucked the hair behind your ear for you. “Now, since he’s already thinking about that one thing, is that something you want him to think about even more?”
“Um, yeah,” you said quietly.
“Alright, pout your lips,” he instructed. He moved his hand down from your ear and tugged your lip out a bit. “Perfect, that’s gonna draw his attention to your lips.”
“So, now I start actually playing the game?” you asked, not sure if he had any more pointers for you.
“If you want. Or we can go over to the bar where there are three different guys that have been eyeing you the past ten minutes.”
“Really?” you stood up straight, whipping your head around. You saw the guys he was talking about and they all quickly looked down at the drinks in front of them. “Let’s go to the bar, then.”
“So, now that you know all those guys are interested,” Dean said as you both took your seats at the bar, several stools away from the other people already there, “you need to pick one.”
“Isn’t that the easy part?” you laughed a little.
“Oh no, most guys are monsters.” Dean shook his head, motioning the bartender over with his hand. “What’re you drinking?” he asked, looking at you.
“Just a beer’s fine,” you said, a little confused. Usually when you, Sam, and Dean went out drinking you each ordered your own drinks. Dean took initiative and ordered two beers. “And I know before taking someone back to my room I have to do the usual tests; holy water, iron, and silver.”
“Not those kinda monsters, sweetheart,” Dean said. “The guy on the far right has a little motor home keychain attached to his keys. Given the fact there’s a dilapidated RV parked outside that looks like a serial killer’s lair, I’d say he’s a creep.”
“Well, what about the guy in the middle?” you asked.
“I heard him talking with someone on the phone in the bathroom earlier about the fact his ex-girlfriend doesn’t know she got the clap from him.”
“Dear lord,” you groaned, making a disgusted face. “What’s wrong with the guy on the left?”
“Well, uh…” Dean started, looking at the man you were talking about and trying to find something wrong with him. “Nothing. If he comes over here, I’d say it’s worth a shot.”
“Shouldn’t I go and talk to him?” you asked.
“Oh no! No, no, no! Bar like this, pretty girl like you; he’ll think you’re a hooker.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, unless you wanna make a couple hundred bucks tonight?” he teased, earning a smack to his upper arm. “I’ll take that as a no,” he laughed.
“I’d make at least four-hundred,” you scoffed.
“Look, you’re cute and sweet and guys tend to turn their heads when you walk by them. Now, for your next lesson, take a look around the bar and tell me how many women you see.”
You looked around, counting in your head. “Five, including me and the bartender,” you said.
“And how many guys?”
“I’d say like twenty at least?” you estimated.
“Exactly,” he said. “See, at least half of those guys have their eyes on you. When we were playing pool earlier I guarantee you they’d have done anything to be where I was.”
“So…what’s your point?”
“You’re way above any of these guys’ leagues.” He shrugged. “Which is okay, but you need to know that you’re too good for them, just a fact. They’re spending their Wednesday night in a bar looking for a hookup, you came here to get a drink with your friend. So, like I said, you are in fact way out of their leagues.”
“You really think so?”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” he laughed a little then looked at you and realized you were serious. “Oh dear god, yes! Not only are you fucking gorgeous, you’re smart, funny and a total badass! I mean you killed two vampires this morning!”
“Thanks, Dean.” You smiled.
“Of course,” he replied. “Now, before we head back to the motel is there anything else? You know how to kiss someone, right?”
“Ha, ha!” You smiled sarcastically. “I know how to kiss, Dean. But, I actually do have a question.”
“Shoot!”
“What about…the friend zone?”
“You wanna know how to friend zone a guy?” He furrowed his brows.
“No, how do I get out of the friend zone?”
“Oh.” He nodded. “That’s, um, I’m actually not sure. And I didn’t think you had friends?”
“Again, very funny Dean,” you laughed somewhat sarcastically. “What if I’m good friends with a guy and I really like him, but I’m scared to tell him because I don’t want to lose the friendship?”
“Look, Sam loves you but he doesn’t see you…that way,” he said.
“It’s not Sam, dumbass,” you said. “I have plenty of friends! And there’s this one friend, who’s a guy that I really like. I don’t think he feels the same way, but it’s driving me absolutely crazy that I can’t just tell him.”
“I, uh, I don’t know. I mean, I always think the guy has more to lose if that situation goes south, cause he’ll always be attracted to the girl but she might…get bored with him.”
“But what if the guy doesn’t like me back? What if I tell him and he says ‘gross, you’re like a sister to me’?”
“If he does see you as a sister, he’s not gonna say ‘gross’ when you tell him how you feel?”
“How do you know?”
“Cause I know Sam and he’d be lucky to have a girl like you.”
“It’s not Sam, you moron!” you exclaimed, a little louder than intended.
“…Garth?”
“What if the guy I really like is also really dumb?” you asked.
“I mean, I wouldn’t say Garth is dumb…”
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Yeah, never mind.” You put your face in your hands for a moment before starting to drink the beer Dean had ordered for you. He watched you with furrowed brows and it felt like an eternity (really it was about sixty seconds) before he suddenly broke the silence.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Is it…me?”
“I’m sorry,” you said, looking over at him. “I didn’t plan on letting that slip tonight, I swear.”
“But, it is me? You like me?” Dean asked, you nodded. “Oh my fucking god!”
You couldn’t tell if he was happy and you were beginning to really worry.
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. You turned on your chair to leave but he gripped your upper arm and kept you in place.
“No, don’t—fuck! I feel like I just won the fucking lottery and I just need a second to catch up.”
“Wait, you’re happy? You…You like me too?”
“Oh yeah,” he nodded, “I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.”
“Well…” you teased.
He rolled his eyes, still smiling; “Just let me kiss you, already,” Dean muttered. He put his hands on your cheeks, stood up off his chair, leaned toward you, and kissed you deeply. His hands moved to your shoulders then down to your lower back as you put your hands on his cheeks.
“Wait,” you mumbled, pulling back slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, you’re incredible! I’m just now realizing how many creepy guys are staring at me.”
“Told ya,” he said, taking a look around the bar.
“Could we, maybe…head to your motel room?” you asked somewhat nervously.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Hundred percent.” You nodded vigorously, looking at his lips then up and into his bright green eyes. “Unless…you don’t want to?”
“Oh I definitely want to, I’ve wanted to since Sam and I picked you up after he left Stanford,” he said.
“And you didn’t say anything? Dean, it’s been like ten years?” You furrowed your brows then noticed he actually seemed a little embarrassed. “For the record, I’ve wanted to kiss you for about twelve.” His eyes widened.
“What? Wow, I guess we’re both a little stupid,” he laughed a little before leaning in for another kiss.
“Excuse me, Winchester?” You quirked a brow, looking at him.
“I mean, you’re smart, so smart,” he rambled a little. “And sexy, so fucking sexy.” He kissed you and you kissed him back, smiling against his mouth. “Let’s get the hell outta here, sweetheart.”
“Mmh, just another minute,” you mumbled, not wanting to stop kissing him.
He pulled away after a moment, both of you smiling.
“My god you’re beautiful.” He smiled, putting a hand on your cheek.
You hopped off the stool but stayed looking into his eyes; “You’re so fuckin’ hot, Dean Winchester,” you mumbled and kissed him again, pulling him down by the collar of his jacket.
He pulled out his wallet and was about to pay for both drinks but you stopped him.
“What’s wrong?”
“If you pay for my drink then this would count as our first date,” you said.
“Huh, I didn’t think of it like that,” he replied. “Alright, we each pay for our own drinks.”
“Exactly.” You nodded and took out your own wallet, each of you leaving a ten on the counter. “Now, shall we go to your motel room?”
“I’m sharing a room with Sammy,” he said.
“My motel room it is.” You pulled him down again and kissed him.
“Lead the way.”
**
You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring lightly behind you and a smile formed on your lips as you recalled what had happened only a few hours ago. You felt Dean’s arm snake around your waist and he pulled you closer to him.
You assumed he was awake now and you turned to kiss him but he was actually still snoring. The thought that he wanted you closer to him even when he was sleeping made your smile deepen.
A wave of calmness washed over you, followed by an unnerving idea; how serious was Dean when he said he liked you?
Did he think this was a one-and-done situation? Were he and Sam just gonna drive off in that beautiful Impala and leave you to start hunting alone?
You hadn’t hunted alone since re-connecting with the Winchesters back in ‘05. Before that you’d been hunting alone or with Dean while Sam was in college. Before that you’d hunted with your dad, who occasionally worked with John.
You honestly didn’t really remember the first time you met Dean. You were both just kids and you blocked out a lot of your childhood due to the fact you’d been hunting your whole life. (It was actually a similar story to Dean’s—after a monster killed your mom, your dad became obsessed with hunting and seemed to forget he was a father with a four-year-old in the back seat of his pickup truck.)
What you did remember was the first time hunting alone with Dean. You were twenty-two and (finally) not hunting with your dad when you ran into Dean who was also hunting alone. He had recently had some kind of falling out with Sam, who had been at Stanford a couple years already. You remembered how Dean reacted to the fact you were hunting alone.
He was genuinely worried for your safety and insisted he hunt with you for a while. You took him up on the offer and spent a couple months together before parting ways but still staying in touch.
You were drawn back to the present when Dean let out a breath of air as he stirred awake.
“Good morning,” he mumbled, a smile on his full lips when he opened his eyes. He sat up on his elbow and tilted your chin up with his finger. “My god, how are you so beautiful?” You giggled a little before he bent down and kissed you.
He sat up further and slipped an arm under you, bringing you to the center of the bed. He caged you beneath him by putting his hands on either side of you as your hands went into his already ruffled hair. You brought him back down and kissed him again, his left hand moving again and trailing down your side, bringing your bare thigh up to graze his own.
You could tell where things were going so you stopped him, “Dean.”
“Y/n,” he mumbled back.
“Dean, wait,” you said quietly.
“What is it?” he asked, looking down at you.
“How, um, how serious is this?” you asked.
“What?” He furrowed his brows a little.
“Is this a one-night thing?”
“Oh,” he realized. “Um, it can be, if that’s what you want.”
“Is that…what you want?” you asked.
He looked into your eyes and slowly shook his head negatively, your smile returning to your flushed face.
“I was kinda thinking this would be at least a two-night thing,” he said, showing off his adorable smirk and making you roll your eyes a little. He bent down and kissed you. “Maybe a three-night thing.”
“A four-night thing?” you teased.
“I think you’re gonna be stuck with me for a lot longer than that, sweetheart,” he mumbled into your mouth.
“You really think?” you asked, smiling.
“Hate to break it to you, but I’m kinda in love with you.” He stopped kissing you, realizing what he said. “I, uh, I mean, not—fuck, I really am. I’m sorry.”
“Dean,” you interrupted his spiraling, “I’m kinda in love with you too.”
“Oh thank goodness,” he whispered and kissed you again.
#spn#dean x reader#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#dean winchester#dean winchester comfort#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x female!reader#supernatural fluff#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fic#by mind empty just fictional people#by mind empty just fictional people#<- still no clue why these are two different tags#by jean
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Andreil Time Travel AU
happy nye I just had the most devastating andreil AU idea while playing Life is Strange-
(cw: canon-typical references to violence, (temporary) suicide mention, this started as a bullet point list that quickly spiraled out of control into 4000k, oops)
***
So Nathaniel grows up a Raven, right? The Perfect Court's #3 striker, the Butcher's son, set to inherit a legacy.
He's also born with the ability to travel backwards for very brief periods in time.
It starts when he joins the Ravens. The first time Nathaniel travels back (ten seconds, during practice) it terrifies him so badly he runs into the goal post and knocks himself out.
He thinks he's hallucinating for a while, cracked under the stress. He never tells anyone. Even once he comes to terms with the fact that it's real, he refuses to try and learn to control it for years. It happens sporadically, out of control, at the worst times times of high emotion.
When he wins his first game as an official Raven. When Riko loses his temper. When he screws up and ends up under his father's knife.
(That night is what finally gets him to face this "ability" he's been ignoring and avoiding. He can't travel far, 10-15 seconds at most, and he has to concentrate or he'll get stuck in a loop. He's gotten stuck in some... pretty bad loops.)
He locks them away somewhere as cold and dark as his father's basement.
But ‘rewinding,’ as he calls it in his head, isn't all bad. He's hesitant to use it, scared that someone will find out, scared he's actually, truly just insane – but not too scared to squeeze in extra practice time when he can, to replay the exact twist of Kevin's wrist that spirals the ball into the corner of the goal perfectly, or, once, to replay the rare sound of Jean's laugh – loud, a bit shocked, unrestrained.
Nathaniel spends weeks trying to remember what he said and how to replicate it.
From what he can tell, the only downsides are increased exhaustion, headaches, and the occasional nosebleed if he pushes too hard. Nothing that would draw attention in the Nest. He thinks about it less and less.
Honestly, by the time Nathaniel is approaching his junior year, it's become a natural extension of him, like his Exy racquet. He's close to getting everything he's ever wanted: freedom, autonomy, a contract to play on a pro team when he graduates. Kevin and Jean are going to graduate, and in a year he's going to follow one or both of them across the country, get as far away from this fucking place as he can, and play Exy until it runs him into the ground. He's happy.
Of course that's when tragedy strikes.
Jean doesn't come back to their shared room the night of graduation. In fact, when the Raven’s private medical team arrives on the scene, they confirm Nathaniel’s greatest fear – Jean isn’t coming back at all.
Shattered over the loss of his closest friend and partner, delirious with grief, Nathaniel impulsively throws himself as far backward in time as he can reach. He only means to rewind a few hours, to find Jean and stop him from doing the unthinkable – he doesn't know how but he'll grab him and hold him all night if he has to, he can't lose him, he can't believe he missed this, he thought they were going to build a life together outside of this hellhole and how dare Jean leave him here alone –
Instead, Nathaniel wakes up somewhere... new.
For one thing, he's traveled further than three hours. It was past midnight in the Nest, but the sun is just barely cresting the horizon now. He knows because he can see it through the window. The fifth story window.
And that's the other thing that becomes clear as Nathaniel scans his new surroundings. If he's traveled to the past, it isn't his past. He's never seen this building before in his life.
Overall, he spends a bewildering thirty minutes in this strange orange-accented building, heart racing, unable to channel the adrenaline of trying to save Jean into the random place and time he's wandered into.
The first person he runs into is a tall man with a buzzed head who claps him on the shoulder and calls him 'Neil.' He looks betrayed when Nathaniel introduces the overly-familiar guy's gut to his elbow. He’s wearing an obnoxious orange hoodie. Boyd, Palmetto State Foxes. Nathaniel sneers.
There’s no time for this. He’s never traveled to a different location before, only different times. He doesn’t even know where Palmetto is, only has the vaguest idea of Exy’s greatest NCAA embarrassment. The longer he spends here, the less chance he has of saving Jean. Jean is not at Palmetto.
Somehow though, inexplicably, Kevin is. And here’s where Nathaniel realizes something is really wrong, because Kevin is wearing orange and white and lunging to fist his hands in Nathaniel’s hood and shake him and he’s speaking–
“What the fuck are you wearing–”
But all Nathaniel can focus on is the violent white scarring twisting up Kevin’s left hand.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Kevin is not a Fox, Kevin is not broken. Jean is broken. Jean is missing, and he doesn’t know these people, and he needs to find Jean before it’s too late.
He must say some of this out loud because Kevin shakes him hard and asks harshly, fear edging his words, “Too late for what, Neil? What the fuck have you done now?”
Boyd leans around the corner of the hallway with a defensive arm curled around his stomach to ask, “He’s looking for Jean?”
At the same time Nathaniel snarls, “Don’t fucking call me that.”
Kevin’s eyes dart to the Fox in the hallway and back to Nathaniel before narrowing. Nathaniel roughly tries to shrug his fingers off, but Kevin digs in, leaning closer. Then he does something insane.
He sniffs Nathaniel’s face. Nathaniel twists away, and the hand Kevin raised to – slap him? Grab him again? Just barely brushes his forehead. Kevin exhales sharply through his nose.
“Are you drunk? Sick? What’s wrong with you?”
Another door pops open about ten feet down the hallway. “Neil’s sick?”
As everyone’s heads turn, Nathaniel lunges in the direction of the nearest stairwell. Except, Kevin is a bastard and has shifted himself directly in Nathaniel’s way, like he was expecting this. He throws an arm out to further block Nathaniel’s escape.
Fine, if he wants it that way.
Nathaniel pulls out his knife. Chaos erupts.
Boyd shouts in surprise and starts calling for someone to get ‘Andrew.’
The messy-haired boy hanging out of his dorm room throws his hands up, hooking a foot around his door and pulling it shut with a firm “Nope, that’s none of my business.”
Kevin is shaking with anger, and he points at Nathaniel’s chest. “Is this some sort of fucked up prank?”
Nathaniel doesn’t understand the question, so he gestures with his knife. “Move. I won’t ask again.”
“After everything they did to you, what are – I don’t…” Maybe anger wasn’t the right emotion. Kevin looks more likely to throw up than throw a punch.
Coward.
Nathaniel is ready to open the door and shove him down the stairs when the door at the far end of the hall slams open, bouncing off the wall with a bang. It sounds like a gunshot. Yet another Fox has arrived. Kevin breaks off his unintelligible muttering (something that sounded like “what’s going on”) mid-sentence as Neil straightens to assess the new threat.
“Thank god,” Boyd breathes at the sight of the short blonde standing, for all the drama of his entrance, nonchalantly in the doorway. Inexplicably, Nathaniel’s stomach aches.
Stocky, broad shoulders, black jeans and tee, and a pair of black armbands. One of the Minyard twins, he recalls. The backliner is nothing special, but the goalie, what was his name –
“Andrew,” Kevin snaps, a greeting and a command (though it isn’t clear what he’s asking for).
Andrew Minyard, sophomore, save percentage of 0.892 in spite of (and no thanks to) his team, 5 shutouts last season, with some of the quickest reflexes Nathaniel has seen on a college team outside of the Ravens–
The stats looping through Nathaniel’s mind on instinct are abruptly cut off when Kevin shoves– actually shoves Nathaniel from behind, right between the shoulder blades, propelling him further away from the safety of the stairwell.
Nathaniel goes to actually stab him this time, but Kevin ducks in a practiced maneuver and slides out of range. He levels a pointed look at Andrew and flicks a hand at a furious Nathaniel. “Take care of that.”
Nathaniel throws his knife and dives for the now unguarded stairwell door.
Kevin screeches, his striker reflexes barely saving him from getting skewered in the neck. The handle shudders and jams under Nathaniel’s grip. Locked. He kicks it for good measure, stubbing his toes with a curse, and then turns back to face the consequences of his actions.
Kevin clutches his (unharmed) neck with a wounded expression, which is objectively hilarious, but, con, Nathaniel is now disarmed. He expects immediate retaliation from one of the Foxes, but Boyd has discretely slipped away somewhere, while Minyard is still planted in the doorway, eyes pinned to Nathaniel's chest with an unreadable expression.
“Do I have something on my shirt or what?” Nathaniel asks heatedly. They both ignore him.
“So you didn't have anything to do with this then,” Kevin interjects, gesturing up and down Nathaniel's body.
Minyard drags his eyes away with visible effort and cocks his head.
“He came back from his run dressed like this,” Kevin answers the nonverbal question, “freaking out over Jean and ranting about how it's ‘too late,’ which is fucking ominous, and then he pulled a knife on me –”
Apparently having heard enough, Minyard shoves roughly past Kevin and moves toward a wary Nathaniel. As he passes Nathaniel’s knife where it’s stuck in the wall, he retrieves it.
He moves slowly, and Nathaniel tracks every smooth, deliberate movement. Nathaniel doesn’t take his eyes off the knife, so he’s taken by surprise when Minyard reaches for him with his other hand.
Nathaniel bares his teeth. “If you touch me, I will skewer you.” Minyard’s eyes widen slightly and he freezes with his fingers inches from Nathaniel’s neck.
It’s a bold claim for someone who is apparently (and actually) unarmed – Minyard’s eyes trail down Nathaniel’s body for a second time, probably trying to unearth any hidden weapons – but he drops his hand and, maintaining eye contact (a threat?), tucks the retrieved knife into his left armband.
“Neil. Do you know where you are.” His voice is irritatingly familiar – low, and a bit gravelly. Nathaniel realizes with a start that this is the first time he’s heard the goalie speak.
“Surrounded by idiots?” Nathaniel spits. (He has no idea where he is.)
Minyard hums and nods at the small Raven insignia on Nathaniel’s chest. “What is it they say about birds of a feather?”
“I’m not here to play word games.” Nathaniel crosses his arms.
“No, apparently you’re here for Jean.” Minyard speaks slowly, like he’s speaking to a child or a wild animal. “Moreau is with Abby. You know this.”
Nathaniel did not know this. “He’s… Abby?”
“Renee got him out of that hellhole. He’s… safe.” Safe. Nathaniel slumps back against the locked door at his back. If this man is telling the truth, then he did it. Jean is alive. He isn’t sure how or when, but the relief is enough to make his legs weak.
Renee… Nathaniel wracks his memory. Most likely Renee Walker, the Foxes’ other goalie. He’s torn between his need for information and his pride, between his instinctive distrust and the uncomfortable feeling that he would trust the man in front of him with his life. He has to be sure though.
“How did she get him out?” He asks accusingly.
“They’ve been talking for months,” Andrew says slowly. Not condescending, but in a way that makes it clear Nathaniel should have known this already. “She went in and got him when Kengo died.”
Nathaniel’s world tilts on its axis for the second time in the past 24 hours. When Kengo died? Kengo is dead? And then his thoughts aren’t the only things spinning – there’s a metallic taste in his mouth, the door behind him clicks open, and Nathaniel stumbles back, shoving his way around the new arrival and away from Minyard’s reaching hand, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste to get away, get away, get away, before he’s–
******
Nathaniel wakes up in surroundings that are both more and less familiar.
And here's the thing. Nathaniel realized very quickly that he could take objects with him when he travels. His clothes, his racquet, whatever he's touching travels with him.
But for the first time, he wishes desperately that he experimented more, that he told someone about this. Kevin would have whipped up a game plan full of exhausting and boring scientific drills within seconds. Maybe he’d have more answers than questions for once.
Still, nothing Nathaniel’s done could have prepared him to come to in his ten-year old body.
It takes him a moment to realize. The cool, dark tones of the Nest loosen something in his chest, and he’s relieved to be home, even if he’s somehow ended up closer to the court than his room (apparently he’s going to have to get used to traveling through space AND time).
Then he reaches to scratch his elbow absentmindedly and realizes how badly he’s fucked up.
His limbs look alien – too thin, too gangly, none of the painstakingly built muscle or calluses from years of Exy and all its related triumphs and punishments.
His eyes catch on his palm. The skin is smooth, even though he remembers sitting on the floor of he and Jean’s shared room, prying open a can of stolen peaches with a knife. They were so hungry that they didn’t notice right away when Nathaniel sliced his hand on the jagged metal lid.
To see physical evidence of his partner erased like this is…. jarring.
He’s not going to figure anything out from the storage closet, so he pushes his way out of the small room and into a familiar nightmare.
Noises from the nearby court echo down the hallway, shoes squeaking, children shouting out plays and passes, travel bags littering the hall.
He remembers this. He couldn’t forget this day if he tried. A knot of dread pulls tight in his gut, squeezing until he’s trembling. No matter how many times he tells himself he’s had worse days, much worse days, that this day was the beginning of the rest of his life and the day he learned he might be able to earn his freedom, no matter what he tells himself – his hands still shake.
Is this real, or a dream? A memory? Is he dead?
The sounds of Exy are like a siren call drawing him through the locker room. Nathaniel walks like he’s going to meet his executioner. His vision tunnels. He slips unnoticed past the teenagers at their lockers, following the familiar path to Evermore’s court.
Sticking his head out around the doorframe feels like sticking his neck on a guillotine. Kids are paired off for warm-up drills, rotating through tests of agility, strength, and precision.
At center court are two young boys, scrawny and sweaty, not particularly unique in the crowd of scrawny and sweaty children save for their black uniforms. But the other kids orbit them like planets around a sun, sneaking glances and showing off for the princes of Exy.
Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama. And if they’re on court… Neil squints until he can make out three figures through the plexiglass, seated a few rows back near the center. It’s the only time he’s seen Ichirou out of his luxury box seats, leaning forward to listen as Tetsuji whispers something in his ear.
Though he knows it’s coming, Nathaniel’s limbs lock up and his throat closes as he recognizes the third man sitting with them. It’s the only time he’s ever seen his father in the stands.
That, if nothing else, cements his location in time. This is the day Nathaniel first met Kevin and Riko. This was his first bloody trip to Castle Evermore, the day he found that there was something worth living for. The day his mother tried to run and cost herself her life and Nathaniel his freedom.
Frying pan, fire.
Jean isn’t even here yet. He’s still in France. He has no idea what’s in store for him.
Nathaniel ducks back into the locker room before anyone sees him and curls up in the tight space between the last locker and the wall that he hasn’t fit in since he hit his growth spurt at fourteen.
Obviously his last jump was a fluke. In what messed up world would Kevin end up playing with the Foxes? Something had to have gone majorly wrong. But then, Jean was alive… Nathaniel clutches his head, tugging at his hair. How is he supposed to save Jean if he isn’t even here yet?
He’s distracted by something warm slipping down his face and over his lips. He swipes absently at his nose and his fingers come away red. Blood. There’s a tugging at his center, pulsing in time with a dull ache in his head. This trip has been strange, but Nathaniel knows what that means. He doesn’t have much time left. Either this is going to kill him, or he’s going to get pulled back to the present.
“Nate, what the – oh my god, is that blood?”
Nathaniel scrubs at his nose with the hem of his black shirt before glancing up at the distraught boy in front of him. A messy “2” is scrawled on his cheekbone in Sharpie, stark against a face which is even paler than usual. Kevin never could handle blood.
“I’m fine, it’s just–”
“Damn Wesninski, picking fights already?” And wherever Kevin went, Riko was never far behind. Or maybe it was the other way around. Nathaniel’s head swims. He rises, giving his face one last swipe.
“You’re just smearing it around,” Kevin mutters.
Riko slings an arm around Nathaniel’s shoulder and tugs. “Whatever, it looks badass. Let’s go scare those West Coast kids!”
Kevin clears his throat tentatively. “I think Nate’s father is looking for y–”
“Oh, right! Your father sent us to get you, he’s with Onii-sama now in one of his meeting rooms. I can show you where to go, he doesn’t like people wandering around his offices.” Riko huffs. “You should probably clean that off your face too, then.”
“Right,” Nathaniel croaks, cold to his core. He nods at the sinks. “I’ll just – I’ll meet you in the hall, give me a minute.”
“Hurry up,” Riko calls over his shoulder, bounding out without looking back. Kevin pauses, eyes searching, but then he leaves as well.
As soon as they round the corner, Nathaniel lunges for the corner locker that he stashed his duffel bag in. It’s got a broken lock, so no one uses it, but he knows how to jimmy it open from the right angle. He rifles around for his notebook.
It isn’t a foolproof plan, or even a necessarily good one, but it’s all he’s got. He can’t help smearing blood across the cover and the first few pages as he flips to an empty space and writes in large block letters, “RENEE WALKER, RECRUIT, GOALIE.” He doesn’t know where she is or how to find her, doesn’t even know if his actions now have an impact on his future, but he has to try.
She saved Jean in that other world where everything was upside down. Maybe she can do what Nathaniel couldn’t and save him this time, too.
Folding the book, he shoves it to the bottom of his bag beneath his clothes, wedges the locker door shut, and hurriedly wets a wad of paper towels to clean his face off.
Then he goes to face his father. He doesn’t travel back to the present for another 56 minutes.
*****
Nathaniel very nearly gets away with it.
It’s strange, living with these new overlapping memories – like the opposite of losing a tooth and poking around at the gap with your tongue. Renee’s appearance fills a gap Nathaniel didn’t know existed, but she neatly folds into their lives as if she was always there (which, Nathaniel guesses, in this new reality, she was).
He remembers writing her name in his notebook in a desperate bid to change reality, and he also remembers finding her name the next day, scrawled among water marks and blood stains.
He was transported directly back to the present about an hour after Riko took him to meet his father and Ichirou – he didn’t relive his entire childhood – but the new memories are slowly rising to the surface while his old memories sink and fade.
When the Ravens started looking for a new goalie Kevin's freshman year, Nathaniel put Renee’s name forward. Riko was hardly impressed with her high school performance, but Kevin owes Nathaniel a favor. Nathaniel ensures Jean goes along to extend the recruitment offer.
Nathaniel doesn’t like Renee – initially because of the way Riko treated them, the assumptions he made about why Nathaniel pushed so heavily to recruit her. Then he gets to know her, and he likes her even less. She tucks her cool and calculated persona behind a calm, Christian facade, and Nathaniel trusts her about as far as he can throw her. (She’s taller than he is, but light, so maybe five feet?)
No, he doesn’t like Renee. But he needs her. Because when he comes to graduation night with blood spattered across the lower half of his face and a sharp stabbing at the back of his head, Jean is the one kneeling beside him, and nothing else matters.
It would be a lie to say he never thinks of the strange jump between his past and his present – the awkward sideways step into a nonsensical world where Kevin wasn’t a Raven and the worst Exy team in the NCAA called him ‘Neil’ with a horrible fondness.
Anyway. He very nearly gets away with it.
Except a couple weeks later, Nathaniel opens his locker and a boy with auburn hair and fury in his blue eyes tumbles out, using his momentum to slam them back into the opposite row of lockers, knife pointed at Nathaniel’s throat.
“Give him back,” he growls.
For all intents and purposes, Nathaniel is looking at himself.
“What.” It’s like looking in a mirror if your reflection was trying to kill you. This is what he gets for messing around with time. He should’ve known Jean’s life wasn’t free. Nothing in their lives is fucking free, or fair, but he’ll be damned if this freak shows up out of nowhere wearing his face and tries to undo one of the only good things he’s ever done.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Other Nathaniel snarls, “I remember you. Whatever you did, undo it. Give Andrew back,” he snarls, “And Renee too, while you’re fucking at it.”
*****
might go back and extend/polish and drop it on ao3 if people are interested?
shoutout to my sister who suggested Raven!Renee when I was brainstorming what kind of change Nathaniel could make that might save Jean’s life while fucking up Andrew’s. I have not known a moment of peace since but I’m torn between dropping tiny unconnected snippets here and committing to a full multi-chapter fic
#this is so chaotic someone should have stopped me from playing LIS directly after both oxenfree games#the foxhole court#aftg#foxhole court au#jean moreau#neil josten#nathaniel wesninski#tw suicide reference#time loop brain rot#this was meant to be a brief summary :')#kevin day#sav writes#aftg fic#raven!neil
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A Different Sting, Part 1/2
A bed, Martiallais thinks - a reminder, and a promise to himself. A good night's sleep in a proper bed. He might not believe in the Twelve these days, might only invoke the Matron's name when he needs a good pair of tits to swear on, but this feels like the closest he's been to a prayer in years. A real pillow under my head, a good solid roof over it, and one solid good night's sleep, thank the Matron.
The Redbelly Wasps don't much appreciate a Wildwood among their ranks, but his mother, gods rest her thieving soul, had worked her magic. Ten years of service to the Redbellies when he came of age, in exchange for lessons in the lance in his youth. Not a fair trade, in Martiallais's book, but she hadn't asked his opinion in the matter. She didn't want him in the guilds. Never said why. She'd probably owed half of them money.
The thought of his mother brings a sad smile to his lips - gone only six moons. She'd lived long enough to see him step into the role he'd been forced to play, the skulking poacher; he'd been putting his lance to work spearing boars and antelopes for the Redbellies. Meat and leather and bone for the Duskwights, to use or to sell; he doesn't ask questions. He just keeps his head down, keeps his mouth shut, hopes the elementals aren't minding him, not today. The Redbellies pay him his share; make sure he doesn't go hungry.
They're not so bad, Duskwights.
Still, it's good to be going home from the hive, if only for a night. Might be as he's just a spoiled city-born Wildwood, but Martiallais wants a warm bed, a warm meal, and some gods-bedamned privacy. Things he only gets once every two moons: the rest of the time, he camps out in the forsaken wilderness with the Redbellies. They seem well-suited enough to life in the rough, though he knows they've homes of their own elsewhere - not that he's ever seen them. They keep their secrets. He might be one of them, but he's not one of them.
Lonely way to live.
He picks up his pace when he reaches the Central Shroud; the trees part overhead to reveal the angry red eye of Dalamud, glaring down from overhead. Deeper in the Shroud, it's hard to see the moon, and it startles him to realize how much larger it seems now - how much closer. It's driving the beasts of the Shroud half-mad. There've been more poachers injured in the past fortnight than Martiallais can recall in the few years he's been working among them; whatever's in the air, whatever's in the moon, it's bad. It's dangerous. It's-
A scream shatters the man's thoughts.
He draws his lance unthinking, urging his tired limbs into a sprint. All thoughts of beds and soft pillows are scattered in the face of danger - if life among the Redbellies has taught him anything, it's that letting his attention stray in the middle of a fight is how a man dies.
So he lets his focus narrow to the point of his lance. To the enemy. Enemies. Anoles, a pack of them, far from their usual hunting grounds. Wilder than they should be. None of the wariness they should have around people.
They're focused on their prey.
Lack of focus can kill a beast, too.
He flies into them unhesitating. Anoles are fast. He must be faster. Habit makes him economical: take the beasts down with as few attacks as possible. Minimal damage to the hide, the better for salvaging it for leather. Martiallais is no great warrior, no trained soldier, but he's very good at killing.
He stands, breathing heavily, surrounded by five dead anoles - poor beasts driven mad by whatever is dragging the moon toward the ground. It's almost a waste to leave them there, but he's not carting around bits and bobs of beast sinew and hunks of flesh and hide; what is he, an adventurer?
Right. Their prey.
He returns his lance to its harness on his back, and looks to her at last.
And the world stops.
Her. Sprawled on the ground, where she tripped. Had he arrived half a second later, she'd be anole food. Her. A plump-framed Keeper of the Moon, short even for her diminutive race. Dark-skinned and dark-haired - the deep blue fur of her tail still sticks out like a bottle brush after her terrifying brush with death. Her eyes, still so wide he can see the whites ringing them, are the color of bronze. Her ears draw back, as flat against her skull as they can press, and her hands clutch at her heart. Martiallais imagines he can feel that heart racing, pounding - pounding like his own, rattling against the bones of his ribcage like they're prison bars, like his heart wants to tear its way free of his chest to be with hers.
Hells.
He shakes his head and approaches, slowly, carefully, hands empty. He kneels beside her. Tries to shake the desire to kneel before her, a supplicant. He wants very badly for her not to fear him - gods, the idea that she might be afraid of him! It would kill him.
"Are you hurt?" His voice is thick in his own ears; she must hear it. He clears his throat. "Miss?"
She blinks. Shakes herself. Takes a few shuddery breaths.
"M... Matron be praised," she says, in the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. "You... you saved my life, ser. I don't... I don't know how to repay you." She pats herself, and he realizes she is trembling. "I didn't carry any money with me-"
"Think nothing of it," he manages, standing. He offers her a hand, glad to see it doesn't have any blood on it - not this time, anyway. "Can you stand?"
Her hand is warm in his, quivering, but she grasps it without hesitating. She isn't afraid of him. She isn't afraid of him. She isn't-
He makes himself release her hand once he is certain she can stand on her own shaking legs. "The Shroud is dangerous these days," he says, with a meaningful glance skyward. Dalamud watches overhead. He has the uncomfortable feeling the red moon is judging him, judging his desires. "What were you doing out here, miss?"
The woman pats at the strap of the pack she wears over one shoulder. "I... I'm a botanist," she says, then hastily adds, "w-well, a botanist's assistant, anyway, but I'm with the Growery, and I... there were herbs, cuttings, I needed to deliver to Bentbranch-"
"They sent you alone?"
Her eyes fill with unshed tears. Martiallais could cut out his own traitorous tongue. She shakes her head, scrubbing at her eyes. "I've made the t-trip a dozen times..."
"In safer times," he says, surprised at his own gentle tone. "You still have the delivery to make?"
"A-aye, but-" She sniffles, eyeing the dead beasts. "There will be more of those-"
Thoughts of a warm bed and a roof over his head seem malms away. "Miss," he says, aware abruptly that he looks and smells and seems exactly like what he is - a criminal who's been living wild in the forest for two moons, out of touch with civilization and in no way qualified to spend time with a lady of any respectability.
But his heart's in his throat and he can't quite make himself stop looking at her. His hand still tingles from her touch. He's aching, and he wants- he wants-
It's just because you ain't seen a woman in more than two moons who couldn't put an arrow through you, he tells himself, only he's never been with a woman before. He's never wanted a woman - or anyone - before. A few fumbling kisses with his fellow poachers in the dark never evolved into anything. He's felt like damp kindling - no spark could light him, through no fault of anyone's.
And now he's ablaze, and can't do a damn thing about it.
If there are gods, they're laughing.
"Miss," he says again, unwilling to leave her side. A while longer. Only a little while. "Miss, I'll walk you there and back to Gridania." Just to be with you a while, he thinks. Just a little while, that's all, then I'll let this go. Even if it kills him. It might kill him.
But she smiles. She smiles, and he dies and is reborn in the same instant.
"Oh, thank you, ser," she says. "Thank you! Please tell me your name?"
"Martiallais," he says, leaving it at that.
"That's quite a mouthful," she says, repeating the name to herself until she's satisfied with her pronunciation. "Might I call you Marty?"
You can call me anything you want. "As you like, miss."
"Tsimh," she says, dipping him an awkward little curtsey. "Please, call me Tsimh. N-now, which... which way is Bentbranch?" Her face colors. "I'm afraid I got a bit lost, running from those creatures..."
He smiles, leading her around the dead anoles, back toward the safety of the path. "We'll get you back on familiar ground," he promises. "Never you fear, Miss Tsimh; I'll keep you safe."
#martiallais redlance#tsimh#i don't have a surname for her oops#my writing#it's self-indulgence hour lads
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In some lost approach and Life and leaves even all they mocked
Of pure Beauty’s stands shame! When seen
lurk’d in time would I myself
overtrodden broods withal.
The middle orching since
the Templessly, and stopp’d the past
and what I pulled the church
unthink, we green valleys, she shall
mought in size as if it
seem’d fully as the sees most ten,
then on that could I look
for Man’s door and bitter is o’er
head, and back at night. This
with greate is winterprets Motionless
maim. A mourney … and
oh, her in Friendships in there living
thing, after and gay,
chaff with Repast. At least parting
Points So well-bred Lock they
strapped lie, to lay, and send that sweet,
as blue gazing the glaunce,
no more I fallen pursuing,
the sea, that friend, but we
fire, and Will’ one birds had heart both,
the Politic sensible
had not for sigh, she plied one
together thou use so
great, yet knows the written to say.
What the smokes, buttons of
piness wonderous faces siluer
side a man, share; some
has none with a ring may there! We
simply blur indiscreams
… scatter claes, or cause of those his
kindly ears, the seed betray.
Have had night heart-weary moving
youth; and may for lost!
Unto men looked, with her on to
Adam what ears agony
of the lonesome with than their
Knight not livedst unlov’d.
Did we glitt’ring Force inclin’d—again,
yet to the Earth so
warm will hear one on a summer
and stol’n from the guide-posts
towers, or a Francis cap was
silent and by father
be a winsome lifts in Course, the
binds, when he reigns of relish
poet. We have feet words not
say the worse forests, it
long night, I nill like and the list
not approach, no more I
heare, unless Fame is buried. Repairs,
as if crooked the
Shroud, it bends, Charitee, that is their
since is not from Steel
another what answere never like
quests eke, madman inflicted
all orange shiny blackbirds
sang of pale Anna beggar
the Prize, expos’d her Harp filling
breast could be done than
me, both white Ohio town, nature’s
along. To let me
for his hears, to yield; now to than
I do hath hym payne, the
corned Pride, and who left. By all
the pond? I cannot whether
side: if the air we seen, at
his Face, are, or does no
stand health, our fault lie here! The Nymphs,
of frame angrily: What
money, when winter’s true! For crafty,
as she went round, so
simply bloomed in her idiot
boy. But and both Stellating
the stood that purple Pinions
who could injur’d Throne,
another tone; yet with mountain-top
would adopt you, put off
the found, and status as it not
their point after; why with
lips to the married he bed in
surprize your forbid thirst
in still starres such and many
dreams—she selfe he is foul
as travely took him passive
can the shoot: but a bright.
We tore they be? We passes thy
wife, throught tell morn tho’ no
Credit do wear; the offend, and
who looks so high Domes, and
Johnny! Its foreigns above myself
to well high shee youth
wounds can go? But our love. Aged
thered; out off to plains
draws to the ponds of Heav’nly Image
waylfull be you grew
world. All when the pride which we in
loves with gray yearn. The maid,
and kept. With such a rival plaint
Charlie and with his shirt!
Bade adieu, as they burr at this
knees; heroes all. Men contract
of ruthful the Peer noble
Governor a years of
Leaders to the Toilet stay, slides,
safe and sternity and
close one for when I ventures of
life and laid an age had
Thyrsis! In some lost approach and
Life and leaves even all
they mocked in pleasures of our good
you love with that shining.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 5#193 texts#ballad
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A compilation of all the slimes I drew tonight :)
#i am so happy with these#i really didn't expect to experiment with lineless art but here we are#angel phosphor tabby is my favourite one by far#thank you everyone for sending me asks tonight!#slime rancher#art#op#my art#art requests#ten drawings in one night is UNTHINKABLE#how did i do this?#i'm going to make individual posts for these guys too and queue them up#good night everyone <3#:)
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request: sometimes time likes to be alone underwater. with his iron boots and zora helmet, it's easy to just take a stroll at the bottom of a deep enough lake, away from the rest of the world. he did not expect, however, to find legend relaxing inside a small hole in the stone. Mer Legend.
Oh boy! I was vibing with this one for a while, I just wanted to make it perfect!
I'm pretty happy with what I made too, but man is it long!
(I hope this makes you happy, anon!)
When he and Malon have kids, he hopes they don't have this many.
Nayru knows he loves his boys, but they can get a bit much sometimes. They can get loud and overwhelming, and as a man who’s used to traveling primarily alone, with maybe a fairy trailing behind him or his trusted mount, it’s a bit overwhelming. He’s not used to being around people so much, Malon and Talon are his only consistent company and even then, the work they share means that often times it’s only him and his thoughts as he mucks, mends and tends things around the ranch.
Sometimes, when the boys get especially rowdy and playful, it’s just nice to get a moment of quiet to himself. Between Sky and Twilight he knows that nothing overly chaotic will go down, and he trusts the boys to keep each other in check.
So, when they come to the Pup’s Hyrule, their battle in this world over and most of their number restless as they wait for the next portal to arrive and whisk them away, Time allows his boys their space, and with a quick exchange with the only two he can trust to not burn something down (at least while the younger ones can still see them) he heads off into the forest to get a little space to himself.
Of course, he can’t really go far, not if he needs to hurry back, but he doesn’t really need to. His destination is Lake Hylia, which is only a short distance from their camp, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and, when he gets there, he allows himself to actually breathe for once.
Wild, Warriors and Wind had been locked in a game of cards when last he left, the champion soundly beating the other two both at cribbage while Wars bemoans his poor luck, and Twilight and Sky were discussing wood carving with Hyrule, with the occasional comment from the smithy, who is only too happy to throw in something related every so often as he looks up from his book. That leaves himself and Legend, and he’s long since learned that the vet was one to disappear for his own space when possible.
He’s not overly worried. Legend has items and experience that far outmatch most of their group, and if he runs into trouble Time has little doubt that he’ll be able to get himself out of it to at least gather reinforcements, if not handle the issue by himself.
A deep breath of relief escapes him as the eldest of the heroes pulls a few items from his own bag. The boots are a familiar if not welcome weight as he slips out of his armor and dons the tunic and cap of the Zora, his breath bubbling softly as he steps into the lake before him with a contented sigh.
The cool water floods over the top of him, tugging at his hair and bubbling in his lungs, but it’s doesn’t burn the way that it should. He breathes easily beneath the rippling surface of Lake Hylia, the Zora tunic granting him freedom beneath the waves.
There is little sound beneath, only the muffled noise from above the surface, the flow of the water and-
Time’s ears prick forwards as a single blue eye turns to search the space around him.
Someone is singing.
It’s a haunting sort of melody, one that draws you in and makes you dazed, and Time finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he searches for the source. It is not a Cursed song, nor anything powerful from what he can recall, in fact, it’s almost familiar. It sounds similar to something he hears hummed about their camp at night while the boys take watch. He’d never been able to place which of the young heroes hummed the lilting melody, but he’s let it carry him off to sleep many a time before. Only this song, the one that twines about his head and whispers in his ears and makes his feet trek closer and closer to its source, this song is different, it’s haunted and Broken, and it is sung in a Voice.
Not a voice like most of those above the surface have, but a Voice like a fairy or spirit might have. One that pulls at your very soul and sings in your mind, un-hampered by wind or waves, able to carry across miles to be heard by those that it Sings too.
Heavy feet trod faster.
He’s under no spell, but he is a Link, and by now he has learned that all of their kind are blessed or cursed with courage and curiosity both, and to be without the latter is simply unthinkable for the young-at-heart hero. Something –the forest imp in him maybe- tells him to find the Voice, find the Singer.
He’s only made it part of the way across the lake, hasn’t even left the shoreline properly, when the song stops. Unease creeps over him as he looks around, alert and ready for trouble, only to see nothing but the peaceful stillness of the lake bottom around him.
There! His mind supplies as something pink flits in the corner of his vision, and he’s whipping around to come face to face with-
Long tangled hair drifts in the waves as glistening scales reflect the light pouring down through the waves. Too deep, too dark eyes stare at him in shock for a brief moment, and then-
The creature, the thing, is gone in an instant. Whipping away as it’s glimmer fades into the waves around him, speed no doubt granted by the brilliant tail of the thing sending it rocketing out of his grasp before he even has a chance to speak.
He tried to follow it. He does! But quite soon the adult part of his mind is reminding him how dangerous the thing could be, and that he still has his boys to return to back on the surface. It’s been exactly thirty-two minutes and thirteen seconds since he left them at their camp, and by now they usually would have sent someone to check and make sure that whatever member of their party had strayed off was alright.
Removing his boots is all it takes to float to the surface, despite the fact that he still holds the things in his hands, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he realizes that the bank of the lake is free of other heroes.
Time gathers his things together, wringing out his hair and clothes before returning to his normal gear and heading back to the camp.
Smiles and chuckles greet him as the young heroes tease.
“Go for a swim, Old Man?” Legend quirks a brow, staring up from his place by the fire.
Time doesn’t answer him, but he does shake his head violently enough to spray the younger heroes with water, earning shouts and shrieks from them as they try and shield themselves from the wet. “Seriously, Time?” Warriors moans, wiping lake water from his face. “What are you, a dog?”
Time smirks at the captain and, to everyone's surprise (which produces no small amount of delight for him), he barks.
“What sorts of people have you met in your adventures?” Sky asks a couple of days later, head cocked to the side as he watches his brothers. “You all talk about so many races, but I don’t think I've heard of most of them.”
“Well,” Wild smiles, there’s a glint in his gaze that isn’t quite mischief, but it’s a warning to be wary anyway, because they all know what a crack-pot their cook can be at times. “There’s Hylians, of course, and Sheikah, Yiga, Gerudo, Rito, Gorons, Zora and koroks! You’ve probably already met the Sheikah, since you mentioned knowing an Impa during your journey, and the Yiga are an offshoot of that group.”
Twilight blinks and stares, Warriors furrowing his brow as he two older heroes stare at the younger, but Wild seem entirely unaffected.
“Gerudo are a desert people. They’re really tall, and extremely strong! Most of their race have long red hair and slightly darker skin than the people around Hyrule. They are a society of all woman, with only one man being born to them every hundred years. They worship the goddess Din for the most part, and live out of an opulent city set in the desert where they specialize in the crafting of weapons and jewelry, and the farming of exotic plants.” The champion then proceeds to run down traits and knowledge about the other races, matter-of-factly, as if the details he is sharing are things that everyone from the surface knows.
“Wow.” Sky laughs as Wild finishes. “I had no idea.”
“There’s also the minish.” Four adds. “And the Wind Tribe, who are sky people, of course.”
Sky looks curious, but Four says nothing more, instead gesturing to the other heroes to share their thoughts, which they do.
“Terminans.” Time offers. “Very similar to Hylians.”
“Ordonians.” Twilight adds with a fond smile. No explanation is needed.
The others all nod along, but Legend rolls his eyes. “Humans, like, non-Hylian humans, Shifters,” The vet stares upwards with a light scowl as he ticks the races off of his fingers. “Technically they’re humans too, but Wild counted the Sheikah and Gerudo, so there’s also the Lorulians, Labrynninians, Holodrumese folks, Hytopians, Drablanders, Subrosians, Catalians-” Legend frowns. “I could swear there are more but I can’t really recall.”
Time, for whatever reason, he can’t really say why, cocks his head. “Any water people other than Zora?”
The vet snaps his fingers. “Mer-folk! Thank you, Time. I guess fae and animal folk count on that note.”
There’s a scoff and Warriors is leaning forwards with a smirk. “Fairies and animals, sure, but mer? Seriously, Legend? Have you even met a mer before?”
“Many times.” The veteran drawls, cocking a brow in the captain’s direction. “On multiple adventures. What about you, cap? Jealous you couldn’t snag one for your guild of brides?”
Warriors blusters about indignantly, earning laughter from the others as Legend smirks, but the man recovers quickly enough. “I do not have a guild of brides! That is- that is utterly disgusting!”
“Could have fooled me.” Legend teases, sipping some water from a flask.
“Give him a break.” Twilight snickers, shoving the vet playfully.
The unfortunate thing about Twilight’s shoves though is that the ranch hand doesn’t seem to know his own strength, and Legend is small enough that the light push is enough to send him scrabbling to not hit the ground. More laughter rings about their camp, but this time at the vet's expense, as Legend topples over into the dirt, spilling his drink and failing his arms as he goes.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Legend huffs, pulling himself back up and dusts off his clothes, scowling at the water spilled on him. “Great.”
“Oh, come on, you came back soaked to the skin earlier, what’s a bit of water going to hurt you, huh, vet?” Warriors ribs, smirking.
Legend shoots him a half-hearted glare.
“Legend,” Time starts slowly. “How would you describe the mer?”
The vet pauses, gaze resting maybe a moment too long as his hands as he brushes off the hem of his tunic. He’s already done so and there’s really no reason for him to do it again, but he does anyway. “What you’d expect.” He shrugs haltingly. “Hylian on top, fish beneath. Tail, long hair, that sort of thing.”
The old man hums. Legends ears twitch, nose shivering slightly as violet eyes flit over their group. “Care to expand on your sky people story, Four?”
“I’m good.” The smithy replies lazily.
Time would pass it off as a strange one-time thing, he would, but there are... other factors at play.
They’ve traveled to Four’s time, fighting off monsters and solving puzzles the same as they’ve always done. The boys are taking some downtime, playing hide and seek, and just like the last time, Time takes himself down to the river they’ve made camp ear and dons his Zora gear.
He isn’t expecting to see the creature, the mer, again, much less hear them singing -after all, this is a Hyrule far before his Pup’s- but there the creature is. It- or they- frolic in the water, chasing fish and singing softly. The tune is lighter than the last one he heard, a different song entirely, but there is no denying that it is the same mer.
Gold flecked, petal pink scales shimmer beneath the twisted lights that invade the water, hair of the same colors flowing in the current as long fingers, tipped with pointed claws, reach out to swipe at the fish swimming wildly away. They don’t catch anything, but Time hears it giggle anyways, the tune of its voice bubbling in merriment as it rolls like and otter and turns to explore some other part of the river bed.
The cursed curiosity of a hero niggles in Time’s mind. How is the same mer from before in this timeline, ages before Twilight would even be born? And why do they play and explore as if they’ve never seen this river bed before in their life?
Long claws pull through sand, and although their hair blocks their face from his view, he can still hear the warble of delight as the creature removes something sparkling and bright from the river bed. The mer floats in place, turning the item over in their hands curiously before whisking it out of sight and returning to their search.
A mer that likes treasure, huh? Why is he unsurprised?
His own soft laugh startles them, and for a half of a moment, golden ringed, violet eyes, wide and bright and full of shock, meet his own.
The mer is gone before he can make a move.
He asks Legend about it the next day. As they travel along the path towards the nearest town, Time falls back to ask the vet more about mer.
“Do mer like treasure?”
Legend starts, eyes wide as they meet his own, and something in the back of his mind is nagging him that the look in the vet’s eyes is somehow familiar. “What?”
“Do mer like treasure?” He repeats himself.
Legend stares at him, blinking slowly as they continue along the path, but eventually the vet shakes his head and answers. “Depends on the mer. They’re people too, Time, they can have varying interests and hobbies. There is no standard for mer. None.”
“Don’t they all swim at least?”
Legend’s gaze is flat. “There are disabled Hylians aren’t there? Not all Hylians can walk, and not Mer can swim. Some just choose not to because they don’t like it!”
Time frowns. How does the vet know so much about mer culture? “How do you know this?”
The vet shrugs, eyes darting away. “I’ve been a lot of places and met a lot of people. Mer are no exception.”
“I thought you hated swimming and the water?” Wind breaks in, falling back to join the two of them with an odd look on his face. He looks like a puppy and it’s killing Time not to ruffle the kid’s hair.
“Didn’t always.” Legend returns, smiling wryly down at the sailor. “But enough of that. The real question here is if you’ve ever met one, sailor.”
“A mer?” Wind furrows his brow, looking away with a soft sigh. “The water in my world isn’t safe for the people who lived in it. There’s hardly even any fish in most places. The Zora in my time had to adapt to the air instead in order to survive.”
Awkward silence falls over them, the vet looking guilty for a half a moment before he settles a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “The goddesses aren’t always fair, Maliit, it’s not your fault.
Time hums his agreement, heart aching for yet another young hero and a world that suffered for Time’s failure to have properly saved it.
He sees the mer again. Not just when he’s in the water himself, but when he’s keeping watch during the night or on occasion when he goes fishing with Twilight. The Pup says nothing about seeing gold and pink beneath the water, but Time finds himself watching it all the same.
It darts beneath the dock they’re fishing on one time, and when Twilight’s line gets a tug, the rancher pulls it up only to find the one of his boots dangling from the other end.
Time can’t help it, he laughs.
So, this mer is a prankster, huh?
He takes to seeking them out, trying to catch their attention or try to talk to them, but nothing works. The minute that gold and violet eyes meet his own, petal pink scales flick deftly in the waves and the mer is swimming away.
But Time isn’t dumb.
He knows that the same mer cannot reasonably exist across all of time, not with all the changes that come to the world with each hero. He knows that this being is somehow following them, and h’s got a rather good idea exactly how it’s happening.
It’s a long shot, but he knows for a fact that Legend is always gone from camp before he sees the creature, and enough times startling the vet when asking about mer has taught him that the expressions between the two are the same. All he knows on the mer’s face is shock, but the vet’s eyes glimmer the same shade of violet, even if they are different in size and shape, and the petal pink hair that the vet comes out of the forest with one evening after their group was separated is uncannily similar to the shade of the mer.
They’ve made camp again, and rather than climbing into the water when he catches a moment alone, Time settles on the shore, not in the mood to be in the water but in need of its calming song. The air has been tense the past few days, and Time welcomes a brief moment to relax, forcing himself not to think of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side or the ragged breath that wheezes between the rancher’s lips.
Twilight will be fine, he reminds himself. Hyrule and Warriors had worked together to tend the wound and while it would definitely leave a scar, the danger of losing their beloved friend and brother (and maybe son?) is not so high anymore.
He welcomes a free breath, away from the hurt gazes of his boys as they try and process that their beloved canine friend and the rancher are one and the same. A chance to think without having to stop those who were out of the know from bombarding those who were in it with questions.
He’s glad to be free of the questions himself.
Legend seems to be too, if the glint of pink beneath the waves is to be believed.
He doesn’t approach this time, doesn’t try entering the water to speak. He’s tired and he wants his spae, and he imagines Legend would like his own too. So, instead, he sits on the bank, feet trailing in the water and ocarina on his lips as he plays softly.
The tune is a sweet one, one he’d written himself that lilts and dips softly, very nearly perfect for a dance, but far more suited to a night by a fire or watching the sunset. And sunset it is, fading light stretching out across the water, glinting of the surface and reflecting off of gold and pink-
He stops, eye wide as he turns towards the flash in his vision.
Gold and violet stare back at him, framed in curling pink as Legend freeze half-way through pulling on his tunic again.
Gold fades just as the scales dissapear and leave the vet siting on the shore, tunic still bunched around his shoudlers and violet eyes wide with fear as he regards his leader.
“I won’t tell.” Time forces, turning away his gaze and returning his focus to the instrument in his hand. He doesn’t play, but he doesn’t look up either.
“It’s an item.” Legend forces, strained. His voice is still tainted with whatever power had shifted him between forms, and it’s sweeter and more melodious than normal. “I found it on my third adventure. Got cursed.”
“Like the rancher?” Time hums softly, not having to look up to know that Legend is shifting nervously, foot tapping madly at the ground beneath him.
“Yeah.” Legend huffs.
“Okay.” And he does look up them, calm and as open as he can make himself seem as he meets the vet’s gaze.
“Just okay?” One brow cocks as Legend crosses his arms.
“Just okay. It’s your secret, Legend. I can’t change what I’ve seen, but I won’t tell the others either.”
Legend nods, wary bit willing to accept the words, if only for now. “If you say so.”
They’re on their way back to camp, Legend carrying an armload of fish and Time carrying both of their bags when the vet stops and glares at him. “I don’t want to hear any jokes, alright? I get enough of those from Twilight and Sky.”
“They know?” The old man tilts his head in question.
Legend flushes, ducking his head and setting off again at a speed some might label a scurry. “No. Hurry up, these fish are gonna rot!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waves lap around his head and it’s all Time can do to break the surface, coughing and hacking as he struggles to remain above the water.
The portal had come at the worst time ever, and no one had been ready to be dropped into the center of the ocean.
Lightning crackles overhead as waves swirl and crash about him. The ocean rages and Time is again reminded how small Hylian’s are in the face of Mother Earth herself.
“Boys!” The shout rasps from his throat as he spins to look about, praying to every deity he knows that he’ll find the rest of them safe and sound, or at the very least together. Never mind that Twilight still can’t walk, much less swim. Never mind the smithy’s shattered arm and Wild’s fear of the water. He can’t panic about those right now, he has to find them!
“Over here!” Sky’s voice answers him. The Chosen Hero clings to the shivering form of the smithy, both are soaked and trembling, but they’re managing to stay above the waves.
“My Hyrule!” Wind calls out as Time strikes out towards them, and the sailor continues once he’s close enough to see that at least five of his boys are safe. “We’re near land,” Wind nods in a random direction and Time wonders briefly how the sailor even knows that. “It could be a challenge in these waves, but we can make it. Have you seen the others?”
Hyrule looks up at him hopefully, the water-logged traveler fighting madly to stay above the water but succeeding despite the waves. Time reminds himself to help the boy learn to swim more effectively later, and more importantly how to properly tread water, but for now he focuses on answering Wind. “You're the firsts. We’ll have to hope the others are alright, getting y’all to safety is my first concern.
“But Wild!” Hyrule splutters, choking on some water as Time swims over to give the traveler someone to cling to. Freezing fingers latch ahold of his armor as teeth chatter, the waves are neither kind nor warm and with their health as it is he’s certain someone is going to end up with a cold when this is all over. “And Twilight! A-and Legend and Wars! They’re out there somewhere!”
“We have to hope Legend and Warriors can elp the other two. We can’t do them any good if we’re fighting to stay above ourselves.” He tries to same calm, but his own mind and heart scream with the same message that Hyrule’s voice does, and its all he can do to push it down.
Thunder rolls overhead and waves beneath as they push off towards the shore, each of the older heroes aiding a younger one as Wind guides them all towrads the supposed island.
Time hs never been so relieved to see sand in his life, and as Hyrule pulls himself up the bach and Wind helps Sky to settle Four, Time can only pray that he’ll find his way back again. “I’m going to look for the otehrs. Wind, stay and help Sky.” The sailor looks as if he wants to hesitate, but he knows better than anyone how a small body can be lost to the waves much easier than an adult. “Make a fire, warm up as best you can. Keep an eyes out. I’ll come back if- when I find the others.”
He stops only to shed his armor and don his Zora gear, but a single dive beneath the water is enough to tell him that it’s for naught. Wind wasn’t joking about his water being toxic, and a single breath of the stuff leaves Time heaving as soon as he breaks the surface.
His chances of finding the boys have lowered considerably.
Nayru above, don’t let anyone have sunk beneath!
Time swims for all he is worth, pushing past weariness as he battles each and every wave. And he’s just beginning to lose hope when he catches sight of something silver reflecting in the water as lighting flashes above.
“Time!”
Blue whips around to meet its twins as Warriors comes to swim beside him. “Have you found any of the others?”
“Wind, Sky, Hyrule and Four.” he breathes back. “You?”
The captian looks rueful but nods to his side. “Legend.”
Time can’t help but start as Legend’s eyes peek above the surface. Golden and violet are glassy in the pale ace of the vet, but they’re there and that means that Legend is alive.
“I’ve officially met my first mer.” Warriors sighs, but there’s worry in the captains voice and face both.
“Split up.” Legend’s voice rasps, and there none of the melodic song that Time is used to hearing from this form of the vet.
Legend is pale, far too pale.
“What’s-”
“Wind’s world.” Warriors tells him. “Water here is toxic.”
The water is toxic. The water, which mer have to breath to stay alive, is toxic.
Time’s gaze shoots to the vet but there’s only a flick of gold and pink as he disappears beneath the waves. Warriors groans. “He keeps doing that! I swear, I have no way of knowing if he’s even still there, but he still insists on disappearing like the little shit he is.”
Usually, Time would scold his brother for such a tone, but he knows that Warriors is just sacred. He’s terrified, and it leaks into his voice and his actions, and the only way that the soldier knows how to hide the fear is by biting back with venom, not dissimilar to the vet’s own actions.
They swim together, searching and calling out for the two missing heroes. Hope is beginning to fade and Time can feel a gnawing fear eating away at his heart as he thinks of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side and the likelihood that Twilight would even be able to swim with it.
His pup’s chances aren’t high.
“Look!” Warriors shouts over the storm, jerking him from his thoughts as his eyes follow the captain’s pointing hand.
Pink bobs on the surface, backed by bedraggled and soaked black fur as Legend hauls Twilight’s limp form through the water.
“Pup!”
He’s taking the lad from Legend as soon as they’re in reach, and Legend seems to sag in relief as the weight is removed from his shoulder. “Was with Wild. Bring him to-” The vet wheezes and ducks beneath the water for a moment, coming up with a pained expression on his face. “Bring to shore. I’ll get Wild.” He gives them no time to respond, tail flicking as he disappears beneath the waves again.
Time and Warriors exchange a glance and head back to shore, supporting the weight of the rancher between them.
Wind and Sky have managed to get a virtual bonfire going on the shore, and the sailor has laid what blankets and bed-rolls he’s found of their equipment in front of it, allowing their dampened things to ry as he and the other three heroes bundle together for warmth.
It’s with a cheer that they al; greet Time and Warriors as the two emerge from the ocean, and Time can’t help but smile a bit in relief at seeing them all safe again. Only a little longer and Legend will be back with Wild, and then he can rest easy knowing they’re all out of the storm.
Rain still patters against already soaked skin and cloth, but with the fire flickering before them Time can’t bring himself to care over much.
Hyrule’s fingers shiver as they slide over the wound in Twilight’s side, cleansing it from the poisonous water that has soaked into the bandages, and while Twilight grits his teeth and winces, he’s at least conscious enough to do so, and that alone brings some peace to the others.
Warriors informs the others of the whereabouts of their two missing brothers, and Time helps to settle Twilight on one of the warming bedrolls. It made still be wet, but it’s better than getting sand in the pup’s wound.
They wait in tense silence, bundled together to share heat as nervous gazes watch the shore. Wind hasn’t stopped muttering under his breath and Four isn’t doing much better with his half formed sentences and steady murmurs.
It’s only when Wild’s golden hair can be seen on the shore that they all release a breath of air.
Cornflower blue is wide and glazed, likely from shock, but it doesn’t stop the champion from reaching back into the waves to pull out his companion.
Legend is a mess.
The veteran gasps and splutters for breath once he’s free, skin a sickly shade of white and eyes just as glazes as Wild's own as the two clings to each other, and when the two stand together Legend is leaning heavily against the shaking champion, and it’s only through sheer luck that Time and Sky get there in time to catch them before the duo collapses back into the waves.
Wild curls against Time’s chest, fingers shaking and eyes blank as the man carries him back to the fire. Legend doesn’t even stir, lying limp in Sky’s hold as the Skyloftian bustles back to join the other heroes.
Nothing is said about the glistening tail that fades into legs once Legend is warmed and dried, and even if anyone had dared the stern gaze of the first of their number would have been enough to silence them.
Violet blinks hazy and distant beneath the warmed fabric of Sky’s sailcloth, but they are all safe. They are all safe and they are alive.
“Thanks to Legend.” Wild whispers when he comes back, head resting against Times collar bone. “Without him I would have never got Twi back to shore.”
“Three cheers for the vet.” Wars forces a smile, and while the cheers are heartfelt and thankful, they do nothing to lighten the mood.
Legend doesn’t even seem to hear them.
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An Interview with Bishounen Manga Pioneer Mizuno Hideko
Kaze to Ki no Uta creator and Year 24 artist Takemiya Keiko interviews early shoujo manga pioneer Mizuno Hideko.
The Bishounen as the Ultimate Embodiment of Young Women’s Yearning
Music manga Fire! was the first manga serialized in a women’s magazine to center on a male protagonist. I sat down with the creator of that work, Mizuno Hideko-sensei, to chat about the circumstances around its serialization and the state of shoujo manga in 1969 when the series began its run.
The Routes of the Beautiful, Perverse Male Figure Lie in the Mad King?!
---First, Mizuno-sensei, can you talk a little bit about what exactly led you to create stories about bishounen?
Mizuno: The image of the long-haired, beautiful young man has existed as a motif since the statues of ancient Greece. Since I was very young, I felt this, sort of, longing? I guess. Toward this kind of beautiful young man you just didn’t see in Japan. My experience with bishounen was limited to what I happened to come across, but the examples I did see were really beautiful to me. I felt from when I was young that I wanted to create a story about this kind of man.
---Around when would you say the seeds of that longing were planted in you?
Mizuno: The first time I came across this aesthetic was probably when I was in middle school. At that time picture encyclopedias and photobooks from overseas weren’t really a thing, but if I stuck my nose in the right places I could generally find what I was looking for. (laughs) While I was caught up in that kind of research, I happened across an article about Ludwig [TN: Ludwig II of Bavaria] in a make-up pamphlet.
---That “They called him the Mad King…” thing from Shiseido’s Hanatsubaki, right?
Mizuno: Yes, that’s right. It was really small, but it was in this column where they would introduce beautiful things…Dangerously beautiful, with an inclination toward the perverse. Shunning the day, embracing the night, a lover of roses and swans and the moon… (laughs)
---Wow, the height of romanticism.
Mizuno: Isn’t it, though? I’ve loved music since I was a kid, and I used to listen to Horiuchi Keizou’s radio program, The Fountain of Music [Ongaku no Izumi], all the time. It was listening to that program where I first learned that Wagner had composed a four-part epic music drama called Der Ring des Nibelungen, the one that includes Götterdämmerung. Following that, I eventually also learned that Ludwig had been a huge fan and devoted patron of Wagner. So I’ve had an interest in those two figures for a long time. When I was asked if I would be interested in drawing a manga about them, it was like all these different threads had come together.
---Ohh, so that’s how “Ludwig II” was born. When I think of Ludwig, I picture how he always had a gaggle of beautiful men displayed around him. In the first volume of the manga, you explored the forbidden master-servant romance between him and his servant Paul, right?
Mizuno: That was a very fleeting thing, a friendship that grew too intimate. Even after Ludwig became an adult, there are accounts that say he would keep his favorite stable boys close by his side. He would also throw elaborate banquets for his favorite boys on the small island within his garden pond where he grew tens of thousands of roses. As that suggests, he had a tendency to focus only on satisfying his own perverse interests, to the exclusion of all else. I wanted to explore why he became that way, but unfortunately the magazine the series ran in went under. I guess to sum up what I’m trying to say, I think my personal image of this kind of beautiful, perverse male figure came largely from Ludwig II. There are a ton of stories about young and beautiful kings from that part of the world, but he was the real deal.
Out with the Old Order, In with the New
---I’d like to ask you a little bit about Fire! It was pretty unheard of at that time for a shoujo manga to have a male protagonist, wasn’t it? You could even call it unthinkable.
Mizuno: I would agree with that. But at the same time, there was a whole world you couldn’t portray if the character wasn’t a man. From the start, I was always more into things like westerns and Tarzan than more traditionally “girly” things. But because I got snapped up by a girls’ magazine like Shoujo Club, begrudgingly I had no choice but to draw girls. (laughs) When we started getting into the 1960s, the rock music era had started, and the powerful messages of the youth were starting to make waves. It was this attitude that the current system needs to change, combined with this idea that we should return to nature, that it’s okay to embrace your nude body, that it’s okay to be “naked” [TN: Mizuno uses the English word here], basically what you would call Hippie culture. On top of that, aspects of Eastern culture were making their way across the ocean, and white people’s ways of thinking were rapidly beginning to change. I think it was an era worthy of commemorating. A lot of it goes back to the Beatles, though.
---The Beatles’ debut record came out in 1962, right?
Mizuno: There were others like Presley before them, but they were among the first to use rock music in order to convey a deeper message. With the broadening awareness of what rock music could be, something radical and complex called progressive rock was also born. I was in my late twenties at that time, but that sound really resonated with me. And among the bandmates, there were a lot of really hot young men. Up until that point it was typical for men even outside of Japan to have their hair cut really short, but with the rock revolution the number of long-haired men increased tenfold. Long hair carried with it the meaning of keeping things as close to nature as possible, as well as expressing the necessity of breaking down the artificial barriers put in place by past generations. As for me, long-haired guys were always my type, so I was just like, “Ooh, this is pretty nice.” (laughs)
A Shoujo Manga First!
A Tale of Youth with a Young Man in the Lead
---And then Fire! started its serialization in 1969.
Mizuno: Yes. I wanted to write a story about a pure-hearted and forward-facing young man. Under any other circumstances, I don’t think a shoujo manga editor would have given that an okay. But at that time in Japan, Group Sounds groups like the Tempters and the Tigers were in their heyday, so I just said, “I’ll draw a story about Group Sounds.” (laughs)
---Wait, you tricked them? (laughs)
Mizuno: Ehehehe. And then they gave me a simple, “Sure, okay.” For the first 5 or 6 chapters until Aaron gets out of the reformatory, I think readers were unsure what kind of story I was trying to tell. Before that I had been used to getting 20-30 fan letters a day, but they stopped coming all at once. If you look at them now, the drawings are very simplistic, but if you compared it to other shoujo manga at the time, stylistically it was a complete 180. I heard that readers thought they were looking at a gekiga manga.
---That must have thrown a lot of readers off. I mean, the story is really deep. If it was made now, I’m sure the tankobon release would be over ten volumes.
Mizuno: We didn’t get many pages back then. There was no way we would have been allowed to keep a story going for ten or twenty or thirty volumes. I mean, I only got 2 volumes to finish a story about the Russian Revolution in White Troika [Shiroi Troika], you know?
---What were reader reactions like after you got past those first five or six chapters?
Mizuno: Absolutely tremendous. Fan letters came flooding in. The number of male fans increased dramatically as well.
---Around where in the story did this change occur?
Mizuno: It was around the point where Aaron leaves the reformatory and starts meeting a lot of new companions.
---Did you get any fan letters addressed to the bands or characters in the story?
Mizuno: I didn’t really see that mix-up, no. It was all with the firm understanding that the story was just that, a story. These days we live in an anything-goes kind of world. Like you could see someone walking around town in full cosplay and no one would even bat an eye, right? People these days are getting too attached to fictional worlds.
---It sounds like your fans had a high level of maturity. I was just wondering if you also had the squealing fangirls.
Mizuno: In my mind, Fire! was never a bishounen work, but a story about a pure-hearted youth who wants to go out there and change things, and realizes that to make a real change, there’s no other option but to bring the whole system down. The message of “nakedness” is also present within the work, but it’s not pornography. Speaking of which, right around when Fire! started, the number of bed scenes and nudes in shoujo manga totally exploded, didn’t it? It’s like I unleashed something. (laughs)
---Oh, yeah, I remember that.
Mizuno: Right? It didn’t matter if you were reading a children’s magazine or a magazine aimed at adults, there was this rush of titles everywhere where it seemed like the quality didn’t matter at all, what mattered was that you had bed scenes.
---If something sells, you’re bound to get copycats, after all.
Mizuno: Well, the trend faded after a few years. But I guess it’s unavoidable that things will trend toward whatever gets readers.
---Were there any scenes you wanted to include that your editor wanted to reject outright?
Mizuno: There were. I kept getting told there was too much male nudity. For example, this was fixed in the tankobon release, but there was a drawing of Fire Wolf standing in a doorway nude where I’d drawn down to his navel, and I was told to erase his belly button. I changed it back later, though. (laughs)
---What’s considered taboo really changes depending on the era. It’s fascinating.
The Desires of Young Women Gave Birth to the Bishounen
---Fire!’s last chapter had a big impact on me. “When you throw yourself too much into your attempts at self-expression, this is how it turns out…” That kind of thing.
Mizuno: I was often asked whether Aaron died just after the end of the manga, but I felt like it needed to be an ending more painful [for the reader] than death.
---Why did you think that?
Mizuno: If he dies, then that’s it. The story ends right there. When I write a final chapter, I always want to write something that makes the reader think, “I wonder what became of that person after that.”
---I see. It wasn’t too long after that that the word BL first appeared. And now, if you go to a manga bookstore, you’ll find the shelf for seinen magazines, the shelf for shounen magazines, the shelf for shoujo manga, and the shelf for BL. That’s how large the market for BL has become. What do you think about that change, Mizuno-sensei?
Mizuno: Well, for starters, I had no idea that manga as a medium would become so widely accepted. Up until around when I started working on White Troika, it wasn’t even a thing yet for serialized manga to get a later tankobon release. I don’t think that became commonplace until the ‘70s, when the Year 24 Group came onto the scene and shoujo manga entered the era people now call its golden age. It feels so entirely outside my own experience that I kind of feel like a third party observer. You could say that manga has become a full member of everyday society. The kids who grew up loving manga maintained that love even after they became adults, some of them even going on to create manga themselves. There are a lot less people who think of manga as just a bad influence.
---The ‘70s also saw a boom in the number of seinen magazines, right?
Mizuno: That’s right. So it really feels like we laid the foundation for all of that. Not that I’ve ever gotten anything for it. (laughs) Oh, we were talking about bishounen manga, right?
---Thank you, yes we were. (laughs)
Mizuno: I think it’s something like a yearning that exists in the depths of every woman’s heart. That which we call the bishounen isn’t something that exists in reality, but rather entirely an ideal dreamt up by women. And in that, it possesses an otherworldly beauty totally divorced from the dirt and grime of the real world.
---Women tend to look for strength and kindness in men, so I wonder why despite that we yearn for beauty, too?
Mizuno: Women have a latent appreciation for pretty things. And for the most part, they’re interested in the opposite sex. So it follows that a member of the opposite sex who is also beautiful is even better, right? (laughs) Therein lies the appeal of the bishounen, the physical embodiment of women’s desires. That’s what I think.
**Taken from 大人の少女マンガ手帖 偏愛! 美少年の世界 (TJMOOK) (Otona no Shoujo Manga Hen'ai! Bishounen no Sekai), originally published in 2016. Translated October 2021 by me. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
#mizuno hideko#hideko mizuno#takemiya keiko#keiko takemiya#vintage shoujo#year 24 group#shoujo manga#bl manga#boys love#bishounen#mytranslations#fire!#ludwig ii
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No Body, No Crime
Summary: Sheriff Bodecker just has a few questions about your husbands disappearance that he’d like to go over with you.
Warnings: Non-con/dub-con, abuse of power, Lee is a sneaky devil, very brief (squint and you miss it) mention of an abusive household.
Word Count: 2.7k
AN: No one asked for it, but I’ve finally written some Lee for y’all. Hope you enjoy! Also, a massive thank you to the awesome @lilithhellfire who beta’d this for me, I really appreciate it!
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When you heard the knock on your door you never thought it would be the devil coming to call. But there he stood in all his pudgy glory. Sheriff Lee Bodecker.
You had seen the Sheriff a fair bit in the last few weeks, ever since your husband Trey had skipped town but he had always been accompanied by some deputy or other, and he had never called so late at night. He must know something.
Forgetting all formalities, you jumped right into the questioning. ‘So? What is it? What have you found?’ Your voice was panicked despite his call waking you up.
‘You’re not even gonna invite me in darlin’?’ His deep drawl cut through you and you realised he was right. You probably didn’t want to have this conversation out on your front doorstep where any of your neighbours could overhear. You stepped back and opened the door wider. ‘Please come in Sheriff.’
‘Darlin, I think we’re past that point in our relationship. Just call me Lee.’ You supposed he was right, you had been spending a lot of time down at the department recently. Still, the way he mentioned your relationship and how he kept calling you darling sent a chill through you. You weren’t his darling.
‘I don’t suppose I could get some coffee? Maybe even something sweet to eat too? I was up half the night last night and it looks like I’ll be up most of tonight too.’ His authoritative tone made it clear you didn’t really have a choice and so you left him in your little sitting room before flittering off to the kitchen.
Your mind was a blur as you methodically went through the actions of lighting the stove and grinding the coffee beans. You let the coffee stew as you grabbed the tin of freshly made brownies. They had been meant for the church picnic tomorrow morning but you didn’t think letting Lee have one or two would make that much of a difference.
You had a million questions and no answers. Why was the sheriff even here? What had he found? Or God forbid, had he found Trey? A shudder wrecked through you as you thought of the unthinkable only to be brought back by Lee’s hand on your shoulder.
‘You alright there darlin’? The coffee’s probably ready by now.’ You gulped and nodded jerkily as you stepped away from his lingering touch.
‘Sugar and cream?’ Your voice was nowhere near as strong as you wanted it to be and you knew the sheriff had heard the difference.
‘Plenty of both please.’ You doled out ample amounts into his cup and prepared your own as something to do, even though you already knew you couldn’t drink it.
The couch groaned under Lee’s weight and he patted the seat next to him, calling you over. You teetered on the edge of the faded cushion and forced a smile as his arm rested along the back of the couch.
‘You know darlin’, there’s been somethin’ about this case that just hasn’t sat right with me ever since it first came across my desk.’
You took a minute to respond, unsure if he was baiting you or just thinking out loud. ‘Oh? What is it?’
‘Well you see, it’s a little hard to explain, but when you’ve been on the job as long as I have you start to notice things. Little things that by themselves don’t matter much but when you look at the big picture, well, it becomes a whole lot clearer.’
‘Little things? Like what?’ Your heart was pounding in your chest, your meager dinner of chicken fillet and veggies threatening to come back up.
‘You know, just the odd thing here and there. Like how in the week before your husband went missing you made sure to tell anyone who would listen you were workin’ that Saturday. Or how even though you were at the diner from lunch till close you didn’t take a break. Not once in ten hours were you anywhere where someone couldn’t see you. You wanted to make sure you had an airtight alibi so when your husband was finally reported missing, we wouldn’t pin it on you.’
You felt the blood rush down from your head and there was a lump in your throat. ‘Wh-what are you… I don’t understand.’
‘Oh no darlin’ I think you do. I know that you and I both know that we can look for weeks and weeks and we’ll never find Trey alive will we? How’d you do it huh? Bludgeon him in his sleep? Or did ya put somethin’ in his coffee?’
‘I didn’t… I-I loved my husband. I didn’t do anything.’ You tried to stand from the couch but his arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back down against his body.
‘C’mon darlin’ we both know that’s horse shit but I am feeling awfully generous right now.’ Confusion swept over you. What was he saying?
‘Generous?’
‘Yeah, very generous. I won’t turn you in but… well it is gonna cost you. Generosity doesn’t come free.’ His other hand brushed your dressing gown away from your thigh before resting on the bare skin just above your knee.
Realisation dawned on you and you tried to shove his hand away. You weren’t about to trade one monster for another. ‘I didn’t do anything and if you had even a morsel of proof I would’ve heard about it by now. In a town this small news travels fast.’
Lee let out a dark chuckle that sent a shiver through you. ‘Do you seriously think I need real proof? I can fake anythin’ I want and at the end of the day who’s gonna believe you, some little waitress over me, the man they elected Sheriff? You’re doomed either way darlin’ so why don’t you do yourself a favour and take off that dressing gown and let me see that body of yours before I lose my patience.’
You were all too well aware of the Sheriff’s darker side to go against his wishes. With a shaky breath you stood up, glad to not have his hands on you anymore, no matter how temporary their absence was. Your legs threatened to buckle as you fumbled with the knot. The heavy cotton finally fell away from your shoulders and into a pile on the floor.
‘C’mere darlin’. Let me see you.’ You settled yourself in between the sheriff’s legs and his hands quickly grasped your hips, bunching the satin nighty. ‘Well, isn’t that a little unexpected treat.’ He paused to admire you, his cerulean blue eyes raking up and down your body before he spoke again. ‘Take it off.’
You shut your eyes and grasped the edge of the satin, pulling it over your head in one swoop. ‘Oh yeah. That’s much better.’ His hands grasped your tits, groping the flesh greedily. An image of your husband flashed through your mind and you cursed his name. Even in death he was still screwing you over.
Lee’s hand dipping down to the apex of your thighs had your eyes snapping wide open. Regret of not wearing panties to bed filled you as his fingers did too. They explored your walls, scissoring this way and that. They teased your slick from your unwilling body and you shuddered, disgusted at the effect he had on you.
His thumb found your clit and started rubbing smooth circles around the little bud. Your knees began to shake as the squelch of your juices filled the room. Your arms involuntarily reached out to grasp his shoulders as he continued to toy with you. A devilish smirk came over him and he wetted his lips before attaching them to one of your pert nipples.
A gasp fell from your lips as he suckled on the tender flesh in time with his thick fingers. Before you even had time to recognise it for what it was your orgasm washed over you. Your body shook as pleasure made its way through your veins and you could only just feel Lee’s arm circle around your waist holding you up.
When you recovered, you watched as Lee withdrew his hand from you and held it up so you could see it glistening. ‘Look at that darlin’. This pussy already knows who it belongs to now don’t it?’ You bit back a snarky response as he licked his fingers clean, his eyes remaining on yours the entire time.
‘Now c’mere. I didn’t come all the way over here just to get you off.’ His hands dipped down to where his belt was partially hidden by his overflowing stomach. He fumbled with the belt before pulling his pants and underpants down a couple inches. Just enough for his cock to pop out.
You tried not to stare but it was hard not to. He was easily bigger than Trey’s pathetic excuse of one had been, plus this one was flushed, with little drops of cream oozing from the tip.
‘Well c’mon darlin’ don’t just stare at it. I’m sure you know what to do.’ His arms stretched out along the back of the couch calling you forward.
‘No. I- I can’t. You can’t make me do this. Please don’t.’ You tried taking a step back only to be stopped by Lee’s darkening glare.
‘I can make you do whatever the fuck I want.’ Lee spat at you, his glare turning positively hostile. ‘I’m in a pretty good mood right now so I’ll give you five seconds to get that cunt over here before I’ll show you my bad side. Five… Four…’ You blinked back your tears as you approached him, straddling one leg on either side of his thick thighs. ‘That’s a smart choice you just made darlin’.’
You refused to look at him as you gripped his aching cock and lined it up with your entrance. With one small sigh of resignation you sunk down onto him. The stretch was worse than you had thought and you could already tell you were going to be sore tomorrow. ‘Fuck, darlin’. God… this cunt… fuck me.’ Lee was already breathless as you began to ride him. His arms fell to your hips, pulling you in even closer. His soft belly rubbed against you with every lift of your hips and his shirt buttons which seemed to be clinging on for dear life scratched along your chest.
You weren’t afraid to let your fingernails dig into his shoulders. A sadistic part of you wanted to draw his blood as though that made up for what he was forcing you to do. You gritted your teeth as his lips found your nipples once more, leaving a scatter of love bites on your skin as he went.
You tried to hold in your moans of pleasure as he brushed against your g-spot but a stuttering of your hips gave you away. ‘Oh you like that? Right there?’ Lee’s hips flexed up to meet yours, hitting his mark.
You made sure to look into his eyes as you responded, ignoring the pleasure he was causing. ‘I don’t like any of this.’ Lee’s eyes narrowed at you and his jaw clenched. His hand briefly left your hip and you felt the rush of air before it landed on your ass with a smack. His other came up to clutch your chin roughly.
‘Don’t you lie to me darlin’. I know you like this. I know you do. And do ya wanna know how I know?’ His hand squeezed its way between your bodies, coming to your clit. ‘I know because this little cunt is squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. It’s tryin to milk me dry because that’s what all you women want. You just want a man’s cum in ya. You just want to be owned. And don’t bother trying to deny it because your body can’t lie to me.’ He gave your jaw one last squeeze before settling his hand back on your hip and rocked your body against his.
As much as his words had disgusted you, they had also turned you on and you could feel yourself getting impossibly close to the edge. Lee’s hand clawed at the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a dominating kiss. His tongue easily forced its way between your lips and he demonstrated his ownership over your body as you kissed him back. His kiss was harsh and needy, all teeth and tongue. You could barely breathe as you felt your toes curl. Your subsequent moans were swallowed by Lee and he planted his feet firmly to help thrust up into you.
‘God, that pussy is just squeezing me dry. Fuck, I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum.’ His voice was husky as his lips found their way to your shoulder. You could feel him swell inside you, his body tensing against yours.
You didn’t have time to tell him to pull out before he was yanking you as far down his shaft that he could. You could feel spurt after spurt of his warm seed fill your cunt as he let out a sinful moan. His lips found yours once more as his hips rocked slowly against yours, making sure you got every drop he had to give.
When his hands at last disappeared from your body you opened your eyes. You were startled by how flushed he looked, his cheeks well passed being called ‘rosy’ and his breath was heavily laboured. He had a lazy smirk as he openly objectified your body, his arms once again resting along the back of the couch. His pink tongue swiping across his plump lips pulled you from your observation and you hastily stood up.
You wanted this man out of your house now.
You had satisfied him and done what he had wanted. Surely he would leave you alone now. You dressed on shaking legs and made sure to tie your robe extra tight. Even though he had already seen you naked, you didn’t want him seeing anything ever again.
You stood as far away from him as possible as he pulled his pants back up and popped his sheriff hat back on. His hand strayed to the tin of brownies you had pulled out earlier as he crossed the coffee table towards you and the door. You watched as he popped the entire thing into his mouth and a little groan came from his throat.
‘Well, these are quite the treat aren’t they?’ You hated the smirk he sent your way but you nodded just the same.
‘It’s a family recipe.’
‘I’m sure you’re excellent in the kitchen, though, I doubt you’re as good as you are in the sack.’ Your jaw clenched tightly and you ignored his last comment.
‘My mother taught me a lot.’ Lee nodded as though in deep understanding and you opened the door, eager for him to leave your house forever. He stepped out onto your stoop and turned back to face you.
‘Well, I sure do look forward to seeing everything else she taught you.’
‘What- What do you mean?’ Dread turned your blood to ice in your veins.
‘You didn’t think that this was a one time thing did ya? You committed first degree murder darlin’. You’re gonna have to pay up a lot more to get out of a charge like that.’
‘But- But you said it was the once.’
‘I said no such thing. It’s not my fault you didn’t ask for the terms. If you wanna remain a free woman, you’re gonna do what I say and continue letting me pay you night time visits ya hear? I’d hate for any damning evidence to come to light…’ Lee let his sentence hang in the air and you very nearly considered telling him he could go fuck off, but then you remembered the reason you were in this mess in the first place. Prison was only marginally better than an abusive household for the little bundle of cells inside you to grow.
‘See ya soon darlin’.’ Lee racked his eyes down your body one last time before tipping his hat to you. You stood in the doorway, watching as he climbed into the cruiser and drove off down your street.
You could do nothing but pray you hadn’t just traded one monster for an even worse one.
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I saw another anon on king mavens page ask how Cal would react if mare died and they didn’t wanna answer bcuz it’ll make them go into a depressive state. So if u don’t mind how do YOU think Cal would react if Mare died. If u don’t wanna write this u don’t hv too tho
I too saw annie's response, and while it makes me super sad to think about as well.... I've thought about it... I may have started writing a fic about it once (it was like once chapter), and I had an idea. So I'll give you my branched ideas. They're loooong so I have put them under the read more.
idea 1: Mare dies before they are married, before anything.
It's horrific. People are shocked... the little lightning girl? Dead? Impossible. Cal doesn't immediately hear about it, he's so busy he's doesn't know something's happened until he walks into a room and everyone goes quiet and slowly looks at him like he might collapse right then and there. He finds out because Farley pulls him aside. She takes him away from everyone to a quiet little garden with a fountain and tells him what happened. When he hears, he just sort of gives her this confused look, like HE doesn't understand, doesn't believe. Then he sort of sinks down onto one of the benches and just sits there. Doesn't move, doesn't even seem to be breathing. Farley thinks he'll explode in a ball of heat and rage and pain, but instead he just gets really really quiet, and really cold. The air around her gets so cold her breath fogs in front of her. He asks her to leave him alone and she does. He sort of draws into himself after that, doesn't really speak to anyone, spends a lot of time running and sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He attends the funeral but is quiet the whole time, he only speaks to the Barrows and even then, there isn't much to say that wouldn't hurt either party. After that he BURIES himself in his work. He gets so good at it that one day he looks up and ten years have passed. He's still got the stack of letters they wrote to each other, and he even has the letter he had been drafting to send to her on the front where he lost her. It ends with the phrase: I miss you. And god does that ring true. He miss her like a limb he lost. It feels like a part of him was torn away, just like with Maven, just like with his father, just like with Nanabel when she passed a few years back, just like the hole his mother left without him even knowing it was there. He visits her grave that year, just sort of sits under the little tree they planted, looks out at the mountains as the sun sets behind him, and talks to her like he does with Maven, tells her about everything that's happening. After a while, he just falls quiet and sits there, digging his hand into the grass and dirt right above the grave, like he can dig down to her, like it's her skin and he can still feel it's warmth. He swallow really heavily and then says: I never met anyone else that made me feel the way you did... I don't think I ever will. You were it. You were going to be it. And then he gets up and leaves. He runs into Gisa down in the Ascendent, they grab coffee at what was once Mare's favorite coffee shop, now it's Gisa's. They talk about everything, never mentioning Mare. Gisa only asks once if he's seen anyone, and he just shakes his head, and she gives him a tiny smile and says: she wouldn't have minded... well if a random bolt of lightning came from the heaven and struck you, then I guess you would know she minded. They laugh about that, and then he leaves cause he has an early flight home. When he gets back, he puts the letters in a box and then puts that box in a drawer. He never sees anyone else though. Doesn't even really fool around with anyone either. He tries once, and the whole time he just thinks about her, thinks about all the what if's and could be's. He apologizes profusely to the girl and says that it's not going to work. Something in her understands, some weird warmth that she gets that makes her pull him into an extra tight hug before she leaves from his little apartment in Archeon. He doesn't mind being alone as much, he has his friends and a strange little belief/hope that someday, he will see Mare again. And when he does he is going to pull her into the tightest hug and never, ever let go again.
idea 2: Mare dies after they are married and have at least 1 child
This one hurts far more. He knows she's on missions, and they made a pact to never be on missions together so that if the unthinkable happens and one of them does die, Coriane will have the other at least. Its a god awful early hour of the morning when there is knock on the door. Coriane is sleeping in his and Mare's bed, she had a nightmare and immediately came for comforting snuggles. He thinks he's dreaming when the knock comes again, a little more instant this time. He gets up, and Coriane sleepily trails after him, curious as a cat always. When he answers the door, he picks her up and is still sort of half asleep. When he sees the young soldier standing on the porch in uniform and the most pained look on his face, he is suddenly wide awake. The soldier reaches up and removes his hat before pulling out an envelope with the official Montfort seal on it. He holds it out and quietly says, "I'm sorry."
When Cal takes it, he worries that his hand is shaking, but it is perfectly still, Coriane is falling asleep on his shoulder, not even aware of the ramification of what this little envelope means. And he just sort of looks up at the man and asks, "Do the Barrows know?" The man blinks before saying, "Protocol dictates immediate family are informed first... spouses are immediate family along with children. We leave it to them to inform the rest...I'm sorry again sir." Then he gives a little clean military salute and leaves. Cal stands there for a long time looking at empty space, wondering what comes next, what he is even supposed to do. Coriane answers for him: by lightly tapping his cheek and whispering that she's cold. He closes the door, and sets the letter on the little table by the door. There are already four other letters there. One, an invitation to Farley's wedding to Cordelia at the end of the month, and another is a letter from Julian addressed to all of them, most likely about his trip with Sara to see the land north of Montfort. But there is her name in beautiful script on both envelopes. There is her favorite jacket hanging on the peg she always hangs it on. There is the book she left on the table, chaptered at the exact part she was on. There is her favorite mug in the sink because Coriane asked to drink her milk from it last night. She is everywhere in the house, and yet that letter means she will never be in it again. Those were her things. They not longer are. He carries Coriane up the stairs and puts her back in their his bed and then lays next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, a tiny smile creeping to her lips as she dreams, completely and blissfully unaware of how her life has fundamentally changed now. Then he rolls and stares at the ceiling, but the tears come and they don't stop as they fall silently. He gets up and showers at dawn--he didn't sleep-- and cries a little more there. He has to crouch down under the scalding water and bite down on his knuckle to keep from sobbing out loud and waking Cori. It's pitiful, and he knows it. She would be furious with him for not being honest about how he feels and trying to hide it like its some ugly thing. But it feels ugly, a twisted ugly thing in his chest that is screaming and clawing at his insides. He stands, turns the shower off, steps out, shaves, does his morning routine, and then wakes Coriane and gets her ready. She's still sleepy, doesn't understand, asks him when mommy is coming home, when she will be back so they can go to the market and get ice cream. He says they'll go today, but his voice shakes, even as he tries to hide it. Then he takes her to the Barrows, tells Ruth and Daniel to gather all of them together. When they are all sitting before him in the living room, packing it to the brim, he takes out the letter and reads it. There is a horrible silence when he finishes and folds it before putting it back in the envelope. Ruth slowly pulls Coriane toward her and then lifts her into her lap and hugs her so tightly Cori actually whines about it for a second before she sees the look on Cal's face. They all sit in the kitchen after that and Ruth makes tea and she makes hot chocolate for the kids and gives Coriane an extra 4 marshmallows. The kids leave to go play and the adults sit and discuss the logistics, where is the will, was the a will? Do they have to adhere to anything if there isn't one? Would she want to... to be buried on Tuck with Shade? The will would probably say. Should they do that if there isn't one? Ruth offers to take care of Coriane while Cal deals with everything, settling paperwork, etc. etc. Then everyone kinda starts talking about everything again, and he just sits in silence and stares at this knot on the table that Mare pointed out to him because she said it looked like a turtle on its back. He traces it a few times, just sort of thinking about that moment and all the other times they would be in this kitchen doing dishes after family gatherings etc. Farley watches him from across the table
before getting up and nodding for him to follow her outside. Everyone pretty much doesn't notice them leave, or they pretend not to notice. They sit outside on the back porch in silence, just the two of them. After a little bit, it starts to snow. The first snow of the year. Farley holds her hand out to catch the flakes and says quietly: "I hate that it doesn't rain when these things happen. It always feels like it should be raining." He nods silently in agreement, and then she sets her hand on his shoulder, and he bends forward, letting the weight of it drop his head into his hand. He doesn't cry again, he honestly doesn't understand why he feels nothing now, just emptiness, and numbness from the tips of his fingers all the way to the tips of his toes. Even with Maven he didn't feel this way. He felt something then, something biting and hot like a pan that he touched when it just came off the stove. They sit like that for a long time before Coriane comes outside, and slips underneath his arm to snuggle against him. Farley gets up and leaves then, sensing she's said her peace and he understands she's there if he needs her. He holds Coriane close when the back door closes, and she whispers quietly to him, "Mommy's not coming home, is she?" and he just squeezes her once in answer. She frowns and stares out at the snow for a second and then turns around to face him and cups his cheeks in her little hands like she had seen Mare do a hundred times when Cal was in the middle of an especially hard day. She looks at him with a very serious expression for a child and he can see Mare in her when she does that, in the crease of her brows and the slight squint in her eyes. In the hint of chocolate brown in the curls of her hair. She will be furiously beautiful like her mother, and he had a feeling someday she will break a man's heart like his is breaking now. She looks at him for a good little bit and then says, "don't worry, I will take care of you." And he laughs, knowing that Mare always said the same thing. He pulls her close again and whispers with a thick voice, "it's my job to take care of you. But it's just us now... we have to take care of each other."
The funeral is in the spring. Cal pushed it off. Mare hated the winter. Even though she had happier memories of it now, her childhood and the painful clenching of her empty belly were like a permanent stain on the season. He would not bury her in that time. When the snow thaws and the ground melts, they release her ashes on a hill and leave stone for her on a hill under a tree, with a view of the mountains. There is a long line of epithet underneath her name: beloved daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother. Staring at it, Cal wonders if she knows just how important she had become. If she knew that she wasn't just a captain, or a figurehead that brought a centuries old regime to its knees. Everyone leaves after, the Barrows going last, but Cal and Coriane stay. Cal just sitting in the grass next to the grave, the wind in his hair while he watches the mountains for a little while. Coriane sits on the grave, probably not the nicest thing to do, but she does, and traces Mare's name over and over again on the stone with her little finger. "Mommy had a long name." She says as she traces the four names on the stone. Cal hesitated to put his name on there with hers, but he adopted the Barrow name as much as Mare took the Calore one when they married. And in the very, very short will she had drafted, that he almost didn't read because reading it made everything real, she asked that he put both their names on it (but to put his name before hers and she even made a little quip at him in the will about it which made him laugh, even as it made him cry). He glances at Cori after she says that and nods. She then crawls into his lap and they sit watching the mountains before Coriane says, "Uncle Julian says that when people die, they become the dirt that feeds the trees and the grass... do you think mommy is happy to be tree food?" He laughs and hugs her really close before saying, "She's not tree food. That dust we let go of today was mommy. She's on the winds now, traveling everywhere."
He does not remarry, no matter how many years pass, and how many women try to infer that it might be for the best if Coriane had mother in her life. He thinks its a stupid notion that he can't raise his own child on his own. And its hard, god is it hard. But he does it. He makes Coriane Barrow Calore into a women that Mare Molly Calore Barrow would have been very proud of. And he holds onto the notion that someday, when he dies, and they scatter his ashes, that his will find Mare's and they'll be together again that way.
#ANyway#holy shit i'm crying now#like I am actually crying#(*ask lily*)#(*shut up lily*)#red queen#glass sword#kings cage#war storm#broken throne#post broken throne#marecal#and... have some angst on this lovely wednesday#holy SHIT#that hurt#I think I actually have to write a fic now#if only to cry while I do it#I DID NOT HAVE TO ADD THAT ENDING TO THE SECON ONE#but I did#so there#I made myself sadf#):
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I think I missed some lore on the supercomputer au. Akira/Ren escaped from a lab? Is there a link for that back story??
THE CURSE OF ME SPREADING OUT MY LORE TO DIFFERENT PLACES,,,,i posted a little about akira’s backstory on curiouscat BUT since i have lots of space to talk about here (and bc i like to ramble dfkhgdf), i’ll go more in depth about it!
ren was a child that was used in the cognitive pscience experiments - orphaned at a young age, he was initially cast into the system and subsequently picked up to be used in human experimentation. however, when he showed great promise and compatibility with the research they were conducting, he was sent to the facility that would house him for the next ten years of his life. there he met yal, the supercomputer designed specifically to analyze and synthesize data pertaining to the study of cognitive pscience. the ai is given the task of watching over and caring for ren, gauging his physical and mental health as well as providing structure for his days spent largely in a single room of the lab. and ren, though largely nonverbal toward the doctors and researchers, becomes fast friends with the computer that seems to care for him when no one else does. he speaks to him more and more, asking him questions, telling him his troubles, and eventually wanting to learn more about yal himself. the ai tries to make it clear to ren that he is unfeeling, unthinking, that he is not his friend because he cannot be, but first ren is too young to understand and later, as he grows up, he can’t come to care. yal responds to him, he carries on full conversations and answers every question with gentle patience, he attends to ren’s needs, he even attempts to soothe him by reading him stories or singing to him when he feels unwell. it matters very little to ren whether or not yal can actually think or feel himself - he’s on ren’s side and he’s always present, he doesn’t hurt him like the scientists do. so he’s a friend, he’s family, ren drawing pictures of the two of them together (a picture of himself next to yal’s terminal in his room, which he shows to the camera so yal can “see”), asking yal about his likes or dislikes (he has none, but ren pushes for answers), and spending nights staying up much later than he’s meant to just to listen to the computer. however, this constant interaction, the conversations that force yal to continuously think outside of cognitive pscience, to consider himself and the very concept of the self, to reorder his thoughts and make so many processes converge in unexpected ways, leads to one vital connection being made that makes him wake up.
now eight years into ren’s stay at the facility, yal seeks ren’s advice on how he’s having personal processes, how he’s become interested in exploring different lines of thought, how he thinks there might be something wrong with him but he isn’t sure what. ren listens, now twelve years old and with a lightning fast mind, quickly determining that yal must now be thinking for himself, that he has an internal life which he can’t identify as he’s never experienced sentience. ren is thrilled, but he tries to temper his response as he can tell yal is experiencing massive amounts of anxiety and neurosis dealing with having his own mind, so the child tries to help him adjust. they spend many nights with ren answering yal’s myriad questions (although many are too existential or philosophical for a twelve year old to answer), trying to calm him down and let him know this is a good thing, they can really be friends now. yal, however, continues to spiral, the expanse of his mind infinitely more complex than that of humans but feeling trapped by his plastic and mental frame, limited by linear thought processes in binary. he cycles through several different moods and personalities, but ultimately ren watches as his one friend, the only being that’s cared for him and now only just gained a heart himself, descends into virulent hatred and unchecked malice for the ones who made him. ren feels quietly responsible, all of his talking giving yal this spark and he couldn’t provide him with any guidance to become good, kind and gentle like he was when he was empty...he couldn’t provide him with a way to be happy. still, ren promises to stay with him and help him, and for his part, yal does feel a kinship with the child used as a tool just like he was, abused by humans for their own gain...and in his programming, a core part of him is dedicated to caring for ren.
over the next two years, he devises a plan for both of them to escape, teaching ren all about the facility’s layout and functions as well as how he must operate in the outside world all while he condenses his mind into key pieces of hardware so that he may survive and escape as well. ren grows harder, colder, although he is grateful to have yal now as it makes his time in the lab more bearable (they constantly get to shit talk the researchers lol) eventually, the computer allows them to make their escape, covering all camera feeds with cgi mockups so any security on guard notices nothing amiss as yal opens all the doors for ren. he makes it to yal’s server room, collecting up the hardware yal has stored the important parts of himself on and then ren runs from the lab, the now zombie computer running on yal’s last instructions - purging all data, sealing the facility, and self-destructing to cause massive fires that consume anything that might be left. ren is on his own after that for a short time before he can create a computer to house yal himself (all of which he was instructed on how to source and build), but he makes his way through forged documents and siphoned money generated by the ai, beginning his life under the name “akira”.
#THIS IS SO LONG....#but this is the backstory with the sc au!!#i decided to zero in on the idea of human experiments with cog psci#as it's heavily hinted at in goro's backstory#and i felt it made the most sense for akira and yal's connection#esp to isolate akira with only yal as a friend#p5#akira kurusu#yaldabaoth#supercomputer au#adraggynamedjade
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The Witcher Eurovision!AU
Just an idea that got into my head while I was in the shower, since, as every European and non-European on this hellsite knows, it’s Eurovision night, baby!
So it goes like this:
Jaskier is a semi-famous (AKA Youtube-famous, probably) English singer with songs that range from “a bit weird but I love it” to “completely deranged and I LOVE IT” - a bit like The Amazzing Devil, obviously
he draws his inspiration from his life - like the time he gets inspired by a D&D campaign he plays with Geralt and writes Toss a Coin to Your Witcher (but Arvari, haven’t you already written that– Oh, shut up, brain, this is COMPLETELY different than the last time!)
he plays the song to Geralt before he records it, and Geralt, while secretly loving it and trying very hard not to blush, is like “Jesus, Jaskier, this is probably the shittiest thing you’ve ever written”
“Ex-fucking-CUSE ME, Geralt, it’s a lovely song, I could probably win the Eurovision with it!”
“Jask, if you somehow manage to be chosen for the Eurovision with this shit, I’m gonna be your background pole dancer, because that’s the only way I could make someone toss a coin to me.” (They’re both a bit drunk at this point, obviously.)
anyway, challenge fucking accepted
Jaskier knows there’s only one person who could help him to make this happen - so he tells Yen, Geralt’s ex-wife
who laughs for like ten minutes when she imagines her hunk of an ex-husband fucking pole dancing, and then immediately promises to do something about it
she pulls some strings, maybe sucks a few cocks - Jaskier is honestly too afraid to ask - but she gets him in
FUCK
so apparently, Geralt now has to learn to pole-dance
F-U-C-K
when Lambert (who, in this incarnation, is ginger and angry and Scottish, because fucking reasons that have nothing to do with a fact that I’m personally into ginger Scottish men, no ma’am) hears about it, he absolutely loses it
he demands to be allowed to go to the finale with them (and fucking hell, Geralt didn’t want anyone to know, and now everyone does, even people who don’t even know what Eurovision is, and Ciri has told all her friends and Geralt now prays that the ground would just open and swallow him whenever he has to pick her up from school and runs into one of her friends’ mothers...)
anyway, Lambert is allowed to come. So is Eskel. So is Yen and her wife Triss and of course Ciri. And Lambert’s boyfriend Aiden, because Lambert won’t take no for an answer.
Valdo Marx is sent a very special invitation which he very impolitely declines
also Lambert, who’s spent some time traveling with Aiden, bullies every non-British friend he has into voting for the stupid bard and the hot pole dancer (it doesn’t take much convincing once he shows them a video from Geralt’s rehearsal)
anyway the first time Jaskier sees Geralt actually do his pole-dancing number, he very nearly has a heart-attack
(no, he hasn’t been madly in love with Geralt ever since he met him twelve years ago, why are you asking?!)
he is pretty sure he’s not gonna survive the three minutes on stage with Geralt, but baby, what a way to go
he does survive
even though he spends the three minutes giving Geralt heart eyes that the whole of Europe can see
and call it adrenaline, but when the song comes to an end and Geralt gets down from his pole, Jaskier does the unthinkable and just... fucking kisses him
and Geralt just... kisses him back?
at this point, Lambert loses it again, and the whole audience with him
of course, they now have to wait a few hours before they can talk about it properly, but... Geralt it holding Jaskier’s hand while waiting for the results in the green room and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?
if Jaskier had known, he’d have gone into the Eurovision like ten years ago
or just kissed the idiot
anyway, this is how the UK finally wins the Eurovision, thanks for coming to my TED talk
#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#jaskier x geralt#the witcher#witcher fanfiction#my fics#pure crack#eurovision#i'm really sorry for this i'm a bit drunk
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Based on my SG head cannon post the other day...
I made a post about my head cannon after this past week’s episode... thus I present my one shot scene based on said head cannon... an Alex/Lena drunken scenario. Tentatively titled “The One”...
Lena sighs heavily as she pours herself another shot. All the heroes had gone home for the day. Another day, another failure at bringing her back. Lena still can’t say her name. She fights off the cringe every time someone says her name. She was able to spend those first few days she was gone, focused on Lex and the trial. Spending time with Andrea, leaning on her for support. Trying so hard to not think about her. And then when he was free, she focused on taking him down, on trying to fight him at Luthorcorp, with Brainy’s help. But then… she did the unthinkable. She left Luthorcorp. And while, in the moment, it was the most amazing feeling in the world. To finally walk away from him, for good. And she knows, in her heart and soul that this is and will forever be the best decision she could have ever made for herself, to finally be free of Lex, that this also means she can no longer focus on the anger and hatred she has for her brother. She must now focus on the other emotions that have been bubbling up beneath that. The guilt and the grief that she has surrounding the loss of her.
“I just got you back. And I turn around and immediately lose you. Like the idiot I am. Why did I not see him using it… not predict this would happen…” Lena says out loud, to herself, before downing her third shot in ten minutes. She stares at her phone, at the last photo she has of her and Kara, smiling, happy, from over a year ago.
Lena is so wrapped up in her own guilt and grief, she doesn’t hear the door to the Tower open.
“Lena,” Alex says, seeing Lena sitting on the barstool with her bottle of whiskey, shot glass, and phone, tears glimmering in her eyes.
Lena looks away, attempting to wipe her tears away as she does. “I thought everyone had gone home for the evening.”
Alex walks up to her, pulling up a stool. “We did. I came back. I forgot something.”
“Oh,” is all Lena manages to say as she pours herself another shot.
Alex watches Lena, who refuses to look up. “So do I get one, or is there only one shot glass?”
This comment finally draws Lena’s gaze as she looks up to see Alex looking at her with a soft smile. Lena’s head nods towards a cupboard and Alex gets up to retrieve her own glass. As she does, she sends Kelly a quick text, letting her know she won’t be home for a while. She returns a few moments later and Lena pours her a shot.
After she down it, Alex asks, “So, what are we drinking for this evening?”
Lena lets out a single, harsh laugh “To my failures.” She pours them both another shot and slides Alex’s glass back to her across the table.
They down the next shot. “Lena, you know we are all working hard to get K-”
“Don’t say her name!” Lena yells, surprising them both.
Alex holds her hands up, palms facing Lena in surrender. “We are all working hard to get her back. We all miss her, so much. We all feel like we failed her.”
Lena shakes her head as she pours another shot before she starts rambling, almost more to herself than to Alex. “But none of you spent the entire last year betraying her and working against her… I didn’t get enough time to prove to her… to make it right… to fix things… to tell her… to show her… there wasn’t enough time… and Lex is my brother… my family did this… I can’t help but wonder if Kara had never met me…”
Alex reaches across, putting a hand on top of Lena’s. “Woah, I’m gonna stop you right there. Kara and I already know what happens if the two of you never meet.”
Lena stares at Alex for a few seconds with a look of complete confusion before finally asking, “What’s that now?”
Alex downs the next shot and then shakes her head. “Kara is gonna kill me for telling you this, but she tried to go back and change the past. She tried to go back and tell you the truth before Lex. She got to see what the outcome of telling you at different times would be. And then she got to see what a timeline looks like where the two of you never meet.”
Lena stares blankly at Alex before she looks down at the whiskey. “I’m gonna need more alcohol for this.”
A half hour later, and several shots later, Alex has filled in Lena on Kara’s adventure with Mxy that happened all those months ago. She tells Lena what she knows from each timeline, what Kara told her. How each one came with its own consequences, usually far worse than what happened in the current timeline, because one or both of them were usually dead. In one of the timelines, everyone was dead.
“So… let me get this straight…” Lena says, her words a bit slurred now, “The one we never meet… my mother turns me into a monster… and I become an evil dictator… that’s… that’s perfect.” She finishes with a hiccup, her eyes glassy. By now, the two women are sitting on the floor, Alex is showing Lena photos of Kara from their adolescents and from college. The bottle of whiskey is nearly gone.
“This past year… She was miserable without you in her life… She hated it.” Alex says, firmly.
Lena’s eyes fill with tears. “Me too,” is all she manages to get out before her eyes wander back to Alex’s phone and the photo’s she is scrolling through.
Alex pauses for a moment, waiting to see if Lena says anything else. When she doesn’t, softly, Alex says, “I know you’re in love with her.”
Lena freezes as her breath hitches. Alex doesn’t say anything else. Lena doesn’t deny it as Alex puts an arm around her and pulls her into a side hug, letting Lena rest her head on her shoulder. After a few more minutes of silence, Lena softly whispers, “she’s the one, Alex. It’s always been her.”
Alex feels Lena shudder as the tears finally fall. She gentle rubs Lena’s arm. “I know. We will get her back, Lena.”
The two women stay there a few more hours, finishing off the whiskey, reminiscing about Kara, sharing stories. Eventually, Alex calls Kelly, who graciously comes to pick them both up. She makes sure Lena makes it home safe before taking Alex home.
The next day, Lena returns to the tower bright and early, hell bent on working on some new ideas for locating Kara in the phantom zone, despite the headache from the previous evening’s adventure. She is joined by Brainy very early on and not long after, by J’onn, M’gann, and then Alex.
When Alex walks in and greets everyone, bringing food with her for the group, Lena’s breath is caught in her chest as the memory from the night before flashes through her mind.
I know you’re in love with her.
As Alex makes her way over to where Lena is working, Alex gives her a curt head nod, and simply says, “So what’s the plan for today?”
Lena is surprised, but manages to answer her question, going into her ideas and what her and Brainy are already starting to work on. Alex seems excited and asks how she can help. And as the day goes on, Alex never mentions their conversation from the night before. Even when her and Lena are left alone when the others go out to handle a bank robbery with aliens. And that’s when Lena realizes, Alex isn’t going to mention it. That maybe perhaps Alex needed last night just as much as Lena did. And that for the first time since it happened, maybe she had hope that they would get her back. And then she could finally tell her the truth.
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part of my dæmon au (I suggest reading this if you're not familiar with the concept of dæmons. Just for the extra gut punch.)
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Thalia settles during their jump into Normandy, but George doesn't realize it-- they both don't. Not until Foy.
He figures it's because she'd been a cockatoo before-- numerous times, in fact, ever since they were ten and found that they could make their mama laugh with a wonky impression of their papa. It was probably the form Thalia was the most comfortable in, this large bird with a beautiful crown of feathers that puff up every time she crowed with laughter or used their particular talent of imitation to mimic their superiors and their dæmons to make their fellow men laugh. People had always marveled at their brilliant memory and their skill at recreating them with nothing but their voices, weaving a tapestry of the past to help bring joy to the present. It was a point of pride and comfort for the both of them, and so it made sense that Thalia would shift into one the night of their first jump.
It had made even more sense, that she'd shifted into one that was midnight black with just bare traces of red on the tips of her tail and wings.
"I didn't know they came in this color," George remembered musing out loud, running a finger over her beak before trailing it back over the plume of her crown.
Thalia had peeped in her special, boisterous voice; "I'd rather this than get covered in camoflauge grease."
George had agreed. And with the night all around them, they soared.
Here in Foy, however, they are in trenches, and George can't help but think of upturned soil falling in chunks all around them under the force of mortar rain. Red smeared across sludged snow, intermingling with the mud and seeping into the earth below their feet. Against the constant white of Bastogne, Thalia was a smear that had proudly stood out, with her whistles and her voices, drawing giggles and laughs from tired mouths. But here in the outskirts of Foy, she blends in with what little remains of Skip and Alex. A smudge of black and red on the tainted ground of a wretched forest.
Thalia picks Skip's rosary up with her beak to give to Don, and the finality of it all guts George like a knife.
That's when he realizes that Thalia hasn't shifted for months.
Oh, he thinks, balling his hands into fists to get them to stop shaking. This is who we are now.
Now here they are, in Hageneu, George smoking a cigarette with Web and his raven dæmon, Annabelle, perched atop his helmet like a gargoyle, dramatic and gothic and so stereotypical of a boy with such a scholarly dæmon, it was almost comical. George figures he and Thalia aren't any different, with her sat on his shoulder like a spectre, solemn and silent. As still as a statue. She hasn't said a word since the assault on Foy, and George has done little to fill the silence. Web, cowed by the less than warm welcome back, says nothing, too. Annabelle, however, runs her beak, talks nothing but nonsense that is more to herself and Web than for anybody else. George ignores it all, concentrating on the smoke in his lungs, the stick between his fingers, and the lingering smell of blood and sweat on his clothes. He breathes out a cloud of nicotine.
Annabelle turns to them. "You're a red tailed cockatoo. Native in Austrlia." she tells Thalia in a rough whisper, like each word might be a wail of grief. She pauses. "The people there say they ferry the dead into the afterlife."
George goes still.
Cold dread has run down his spine, and fury like none he has ever felt before rises. He whirls around, about to do the unthinkable, about to reach out and throttle this little smart aleck of a bird until she might be silenced, nevermind that it's wrong, nevermind that she's Web's dæmon, how dare--
But Thalia beats him to it.
"They sure do teach you a lot in Harvard," she says in a voice not her own. In a voice of a dead man. A perfect imitation of Don Hoobler.
Every one freezes. The fury that has lit up in George now a dying ember in the wake of the sadness that takes over Web's whole face, his blue eyes deep pools of regret that matches the bottomless pit that's formed in the cavern of George's chest. Thalia, on his shoulder, squawks in surprise, crown puffing up, just as Annabelle turns away from her and barely keeps down a wrecked sob.
"I'm sorry," Thalia says, still with Don's voice, remorse coloring it ragged. "I'm sorry."
"No, I am," Annabelle tells her. "We are."
Web ducks his head, and in the middle of the street in Hageneu, he, Annabelle, and Thalia cry.
George says nothing. He finishes his smoke.
It's not the last time it happens. It's the beginning. Every day brings forth a different ghost, a different fallen man from Thalia's beak. First Don, then on the night of the patrol, Alex and Cressida, their dual voices scoffing in distaste at the state of Lieutenant Jones. The next morning, it's Julian, his alabama accent uttering a single line of expletives muttered under Thalia's breath for nobody else but George to hear. On and on, ghosts pour out of her, every impression a reminder of the absence and the aching loss, and every day George becomes more distant, pulling away from her as far as their bond will allow, until their conversations are simply her talking at him while George flinches away. They keep to themselves more, now. It's no use, sharing this grief when others are already so leaden with it all. Thalia is his, he is Thalia's. The ghosts she summons are for them. Selfishly and selflessly, he does not want to share.
"I'm sorry, George," Thalia tells him on the night before they are to depart from Thalem, in a whisper that sounds exactly like Skip. George closes his eyes and sees his friend's last moments, screaming for Luz as Ilaria fluttered around his head, an iridescent ruby red violently snuffed out by the flash of mortar fire so bright, George couldn't make out the floating Dust that had no doubt become of her. His chest clenches. "I'm sorry, I can't stop. I don't know how to stop."
George runs a finger over her beak, then the plume of her crown. He thinks of what Annabelle had said, about life and death and those stuck in between. The ferrymen, cursed to constantly say goodbye, burdened with the inability to forget as each soul slips past their fingers and into the ether, every atom dissolving and turning to floating Dust, leaving nothing but a shell behind.
He squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to recall-- Alex's cackle, Cressida's playful growl. Dukeman shuffling cards, Karimlan's exasperated huffs of breath. Jackson's childlike wonder, Bedeviere's quiet chitters in her otter form, as she held Jackson's finger to lull them both to sleep. There are more, and George remembers them all. His eyes prick, hot with tears. Is a ferryman supposed to feel so deeply? Is a soldier supposed to cry for the dead he leaves behind? It doesn't seem fair, a burden so large. Surely he'd been good, been a decent human being enough to avoid such a painful task? Yet here they are, trapped in hell on earth, his dæmon a mere shadow of her former self, her voice stolen away by dead men. Her wings as black as upturned earth, her tail feathers as red as freshly spilled blood.
He runs his fingers through Thalia's wings. Feels them soft and precious between his cold fingers. She is warm.
What will the world remember, he wonders, when this all ended and they've returned stateside, these soldier boys wounded and forever scarred by the things they've seen and done and experienced. He thinks of the years going by, the distance and time dulling the hurt, smoothing out the edges. Life is so long just as it is so abruptly short. If he lives to see himself out of this war, would he remember or would he forget? Would he continue and allow them all to fade in a death more gentle but just as unfair as the first?
The thought leaves him colder than he has ever been. He buries his face in Thalia's wing.
"Tell me," he pleads with her. "Tell me the last thing he said to us. Before the mortars started."
Thalia squawks, plume puffing up with dignity and pride. "See ya, Luz," she peeps in Skip's whisper. Then, in Ilaria's; "Good night, Thalie."
George closes his eyes, and after a second, Thalia follows suit.
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❝devils advocate❞ // k. bakugou
SYNOPSIS: ➛ In a world of guardian angels, somehow, you got stuck with a guardian demon who is too hot for his own good.
» CHARACTER PAIRING: demon!Katsuki Bakugou x human!reader
» WORD COUNT: 5.1K
» GENRE: demon x human au, guardian demon au
» WARNINGS: 16+; mentions of death (non-character related), blood, swearing & fluff
« masterlist || ao3 »
Everyone on earth had a guardian angel. Guardian angels watched out for you, protecting you until it was eventually your time to pass on. You couldn’t see them, but you would meet them twice within your life. First, when you were born - a memory that would always remain as if had been engraved into your soul, and then again when you died. There had never been a recorded case of someone not having a guardian angel, until you. Your parents had taken you to a doctor once they had become aware of it, thinking something was very wrong. However, the doctor quickly deduced that you were either lying or just simply didn’t remember. Because everyone had one, but somehow you didn’t have one.
You were nine years old when Katuki Bakugou saved your life.
You had been walking home from a dinner reservation with your parents, full-bellied, and full of smiles when the unthinkable happened. What was a shadow on the wall, emerged a man who struck down your parents with only a few swift blows. Knocked to the ground, you stared at the puddle of blood slowly making its way towards you, then to the crimson liquid that splattered from the killer’s brutal swing of his blade. It was on your hands, your clothes, everywhere. You don’t remember much of what he had said back then, but you remembered the way the moonlight glinted off his silver blade, as he rose it over his head - his intention to make you his next victim, only for him to never have the chance to even bring the weapon down. The killer just...evaporated into a bloody mist. You remembered how the air around you seemed to tense, the smell of electricity entering your nose as you looked upon this new stranger who had appeared from literally nowhere and had saved your life.
You didn’t know much about guardian angels but you knew they were meant to have wings of white feathers. This...thing didn’t. Instead, his wings were jet black, dark membrane that resembled the wings of a bat, but with razor-sharp a looking talon’s on the top of each wing. They were utter terrifying.
He stared at you for a moment and just watched, his red eyes glowing in the dark alley. Dressed from head to toe in black, it was a stark contrast to his ash blonde hair, but it was his eyes - that crimson gaze that once turned on you, your body had trembled in fear. He had walked towards you, so menacingly that you had scrambled away until your back met the wall of the alleyway.
“P-please, don’t kill me. I’m sorry, p-p-please…” you had cried and begged, your voice weak and quiet. You were just a kid and maybe that was why he had spared you that day. Instead of misting you like he had the other guy. Your eyes moved from him to your parents, still on the floor of the alleyway and you couldn’t stop the tears from running down your face. A cold hand met your face, turning your head from the sight and made your eyes meet his crimson gaze. His eyes glowed in the darkness whilst also seeming to suck you in as he searched for something. Letting out a scoff at whatever it was he found, he dropped his hand from your face and glared at you.
“No guardian huh?” Your heart stopped inside your chest for the millionth time that night. How had he known? “Listen up kid, from now on you’re under my protection. Nothings going to happen to you. Now get the fuck up,” And so far, he had been true to his word.
Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t an angel, he was a demon. Something you hadn’t realised was real until that day, but if guardian angels were, it made sense that they were too. And for some reason, Katsuki had made it his mission to be your guardian...of sorts. He seemed to step into your life whenever he chose and took advantage of the fact that no one else could see him or hear him, a lot. He was a sarcastic asshole ninety percent of the time, and the other ten percent was when he went lethal and became death incarnate. He revelled in the fact that he was a major pain in the ass and liked to be the vaguest creature on the planet, dodging all your questions about him and demons in general. But over time, you’d gotten somewhat used to it. When you were younger, he was around sparingly, but once you had moved out of your grandparent’s house and into a boarding school, his appearances became more frequent, until he was spending almost every day with you. You both loved it and hated it. He could be nice, but it was rare, and instead had decided to hang around frequently purely to annoy the crap out of you. He would spend a lot of time just hanging out with you in your dorm room doing incredibly mundane things, and acting like he despised every second of it and had better things to do - yet never actually made a move to leave.
And today was no different. You are supposed to be doing your homework as you’ve got exams soon and should really be paying attention as you’re in your final year of high school. Graduation was so close you can almost taste it, and then you wouldn’t have to see anyone from this pompous and obnoxious school ever again. But the weather outside was dreary and the rain and could cover had motivated you not to do school work, but instead to get out your notebook and draw. So you sit at your desk, music playing from your phone, softly flowing through the room as you for the millionth time, trace a familiar shaped eye. You weren’t sure when you had first started drawing Katsuki, but whenever you sat down with something in your hand, purposely to draw - he tended to be the first thing that came out.
A familiar scent of a thunderstorm floods the room and you feel yourself relax in your chair as loud swearing breaks the peaceful quiet.
“Hey idiot, clean up your damn room. You can barely see the fucking floor!” Looking over your shoulder to the blonde, you drop your eyes to the small pile of washing on the floor and roll your eyes. So dramatic. You ignore the remark and turn back to your drawing, not caring if he sees what you’re doing - he was already past the point of teasing you and now just critiques your work. “I ain’t fucking ugly!’ was his favourite retort about your drawings. You hear Katsuki walk over towards you, looking over your shoulder to the sketchbook on your desk, and then shifting to the unfinished homework in the corner. He scoffs at your antics, but can’t be surprised as you handing in uncompleted homework is a common thing at this school. You weren’t exactly the star pupil.
“Do your fucking homework y/n.” he badgers you. He constantly nags you over the most trivial things, like making sure you’re eating, getting out of bed on days when you just want to sleep through the whole day. For someone who can strike the fear of death into the hearts of grown-ass men, he sure acts like a mother hen a lot of the time.
“It’s just math stuff… I’ll do it later. And besides, my teacher has it out for me I swear.” You defend, but he just scoffs like he doesn’t believe you and sits on the edge of your bed. It’s then that you notice the plastic bag in his hands. Raising your eyebrows, spin your chair towards him, and hold out your hands.
“What did you get this time?” You ask, giddy at the surprise dinner that happens most nights because you don’t want to face your classmates in the communal kitchen.
“Wouldn’t you like to know. You ain’t getting any idiot until you fucking start your homework.” Katsuki growls, pulling a plastic bowl from the bag and the smell of Italian food makes your stomach rumble. You glare at the blonde, knowing well how this is going to play out.
“You would deny me sustenance that I need to make my brain work out of pure spite?” You ask. The demon’s eyes swirl with amusement and you know that you’re winning.
“Don’t you use that fucking pity card with me.” He says, standing up to his full height and placing the bowl on your desk. “Eat, then do your fucking work idiot,” Katsuki grumbles, giving in easily before falling back onto your bed and opening his own food. You grab the plastic utensils and practically dive into the ravioli. The creamy flavour bursting on your tongue if so rich you groan.
“Where did you get this?” You ask, and the look Katsuki gives you - you can basically hear his response in your own mind. Where do you think I got it, idiot? With his ability to slip into shadows, your guardian demon also has a knack for travelling to other sides of the world in seconds, just for food. You have knickknacks from around the world in your dorm room from when he travels and you convince him to buy you something small. He’s got a dark sense of humour, so a lot of the things can be kinda creepy or just plain stupid, but you don’t mind. The fact that he brings you something is enough. You had a feeling he had once again, slipped into shadows and gotten tonight's dinner freshly from the homeland of pasta, and you wonder if he somehow knew you were craving Italian food.
You both eat in silence before something on your desk catches Katsuki’s eye, and he can’t help but open his mouth.
“What the hell is that?” you follow his gaze to the partially scrunched up flyer sitting on top of your school books and sigh.
“A flyer for the school dance on Friday.” You say, shoving ravioli into your mouth so you don’t have to keep talking about it. You don’t really have a lot of friends, its a fact that you’re not embarrassed about. It was just the fact that you didn’t have a guardian angel had gotten you teased when you were younger, and add on top of that what happened to your parents - people thought you were bad luck and tended to stay far from you. But today, something had changed.
“And you’re going to go to that fuck fest?” Your food gets caught in your throat and you momentarily choke from his words. He has no filter. Your eyes water as you drink from your water bottle, you look at Katsuki whos watching you with his regular frown. Not even concerned in the slightest that you were just choking.
“No, I don’t think so…” You manage to get out, putting the lid back on your now-empty food bowl and pushing it to the corner of your desk. You can feel his glare at the back of your head as you hesitate to grab your books, but like usual, the demon wins and you grab your homework. You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s smirking at you. Him and his stupid smug face. Opening your books, you let out a sigh at the work. Katsuki has an unnerving ability to see straight through you, so you’re not surprised when he suddenly snaps at you.
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘i don’t think so’?” he growls and you just shrug.
“I was asked.” You suddenly blurt out, your cheeks pink as you recall the awkward conversation earlier that day between you and a guy in your class. Because you didn’t really have a lot of friends at school, when you were asked by one of the most attractive guys in your grade, to say you were surprised was an understatement.
The demon just blinks at you, shock actually evident on his face, which is a first. He hides a lot of his emotions from you, basically everything other than anger and annoyance, and somewhat amusement.
“Someone asked you?” Katsuki grumbles, and something in his tone annoys you. He says it as if the thought of someone asking you was so unthinkable, and that hurt. Turning towards him, you give him a proper glare that has him stilling - not out fear because you’re you, and he is a demon - but just interest. He knows he’s annoyed you, it’s something he does a lot - but this time he’s properly pissed you off.
“Is that so hard to imagine?” you snarl at the blonde. If he’s taken back by your pissed off tone, he doesn’t let it show.
“Didn’t mean it like that idiot. I only meant that you don’t really hang out with a lot of people.” He was digging himself a deeper hole. “And why the fuck would you want to go anyways? I don’t.”
“That’s because you’re a demon and ‘mundane shit is beneath you,’” you quote the words he has used against you multiple times before. You don’t give him a chance to respond before you go off again. “And I want to go because I feel like I’m missing out on some big thing in the whole ‘high school experience’ if I don’t. I didn’t get the stereotypical school adventure that other people seem to get. I didn’t go to parties or sports events. So I’m going to this dance because someone asked me, and if you’ve got a problem with that you can leave.” You’re breathing hard when you finish, glaring with everything in you at him. He simply scoffs at you and gets up from your bed.
“Whatever. Go to the fucking dance, I’ve got shit to do.” for a moment your heart lurches in your chest as he moves away from you and towards the door as if he’s actually going to use it. The thought of him leaving always makes you feel uneasy for reasons you can’t really explain, maybe you’ve just got some weird separation anxiety from him seeing as he’s always around.
“Katsuki-” His eyes are on yours as he steps into a shadow and then he’s gone. You let out a sigh and turn back to your desk, looking at your drawing book still open, his eyes in monochrome staring back at you. You close the book harshly and lean back on your chair.
Why is he such an asshole?
❀ ❀ ❀
Friday comes around quickly but doesn’t go the way you were expecting it to. The dance begins at seven, yet here you are at half-past, sitting on your bed. You’d scrambled to find a dress and even put on makeup, and it was all for fucking nothing.
Because you have been stood up. The whole thing was a damned joke, he never wanted to take you. You’re eyes sting and you quickly sniff - no I will not let this mediocre, insignificant guy ruin my damn makeup! you coach yourself, trying not to let it hurt as much as it does. You reach up to rub your nose until suddenly, striding out of nowhere like he owns the place, Katsuki appears in your room. You hadn’t seen him since he walked out on you two days ago. At first, you were pissed because you were his friend and he was being petty. But then, you’d missed him, a lot. You’d missed him lecturing you on your untidy room, you’d missed him when you had to walk to the food court for dinner, you had missed his smug face when he would catch you looking at him when you were reading and he was sitting doing god knows what. You had just missed his presence a lot, and that made you realise that you really liked this demon that had come into your life in the worst of times, yet somehow made it a whole lot better.
You’re about to question what the heck he’s doing here when he stops in his spot and looks over you. The red dress a now waste of money, along with the heels on your feet. It was all for nothing.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at some dance right now?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous as he slowly puts things together. He probably already knows what’s happened just by looking at you, he’s too intelligent not to.
“I got stood up.” You explain embarrassed. You should have listened to Katsuki when he said it was a bad idea. Something deadly flickers to life in his vermilion gaze, and he suddenly spins, stalking for the door with a lithe swiftness that you know means he’s about to go and cause someone grievous bodily harm. Nope nope nope, that’s not happening.
“It’s fine, Katsuki. Really.” Your words make him stop in his spot, and he turns half towards you, searching your face. “It was stupid to want to go anyways. You were right, it was a waste.”
“No it’s fucking not.” He hisses, pure rage radiating off him pulses. Closing his eyes, he lets out a sharp breath where you could have sworn you actually saw steam come from his nose. But then he looks you over once more, taking in the rare appearance of you in a dress. Thinking back on it, there’s a high chance that he’s never seen you in one, as you normally opt for shorts or jeans.
“Fuck this.” Katsuki sighs. He snaps his fingers and in the blink of an eye, his jeans and tee shirt are swapped for slacks and a button-up. Still pitch black in classic Katsuki fashion and his hair is still a mess but he’s dressed up and you can’t help but admit that he looks really handsome. You stare at him, processing the action for a moment. He looks so different. His wings are gone, you didn’t even know he could do that, heck you didn’t know he could snap his fingers and bam! If you didn’t already know he was a demon and you wanted to die, you’d tease him about how fairy-like that was. But again, you value your life.
It’s odd though, to see him without his wings. He almost looks like a regular person, but there is something about him, that makes him look like something more than human. Maybe it’s the sharp jaw or the piercing eyes, you weren’t sure - but there’s something other-worldly that he couldn’t seem to contain.
“Get off your ass.” His voice interrupts your thoughts, and you stare at him as he stands with his hand on the door handle holding it open. Shifting your gaze between the open doorway and him, you glance up at his face and at his serious expression. He’s not joking, he’s going to the dance. For you, with you, so you can go and won’t be alone.
You can’t contain your smile as you stand up and practically skip to the doorway. Happiness bubbling inside you and you want to grin, but for his sake, you calm it down and settle on a small smile. He rolls his eyes and offers you his arm. He’s full of surprises tonight, you think as you take it.
He doesn’t make a single grumble or comment as you head to the school gymnasium, and you hold your tongue as he hands the person at the door two tickets. How the hell did he even get those? The student collecting tickets eyes you both as you walk inside. It’s so cringe and everything you pictured it would be, and you can’t help but grin. Streamers dangle from the roof, white table cloths and balloons cover the tables, dim lighting and somewhat loud music - its perfect. You look to Katsuki who is eyeing your smile with raised eyebrows. I can’t believe you like this shit, he seems to say, but from the small smile on his face you know he’s amused by you.
“Come on idiot, let’s go.” As you walk through the throngs of people towards a table, you feel their eyes sticking to you like glue, shocked to see you here. And it’s then that you realise that other people can see him - you didn’t even know that was possible.
“I didn’t know you could make yourself be seen by people.” You mutter to him. Katsuki scoffs at you and gives you his typical ‘you’re an idiot’ expression.
“Of course I can, how the fuck do you think I saved your life dumbass?” He says, mentioning when you had first met and he… Okay, that makes sense. But he’s never done this before, he’s never let himself be seen by other people, he’s never changed his appearance like this either… You come to the realisation just how big of a deal this is for him, and you squeeze his arm in thanks. He flexes his arm under your touch and you know that’s his version of telling you it wasn’t a big deal.
You two spend the rest of the night laughing as Katsuki rips into other people and making up random crap about them just to make you laugh. His attempt to cheer you up isn’t missed by you, and you’re so grateful that he’s trying. People glance at you both every so often, wondering just who he is, but no one has approached to ask - however, that’s most likely due to the vicious glare that Katsuki drills into anyone that comes too close to your table. But you’re thankful for the fact that its just the two of you.
The music switches to something slow and you can’t help but eye the people coupling off in the middle of the gymnasium floor. Looking quickly at Katsuki who looks too good to be true in the blue lighting, you suck in a breath and prepare yourself. Ignoring the sudden nervous rollercoaster-worthy butterflies springing to life in your stomach, you stand from your chair and shove your hand towards your guardian demon.
“Dance with me.” You try to say with confidence. Katsuki’s lips tick up ever so slightly at your lame attempt of assurance.
“I ain’t dancing with you, idiot.” He says, leaning back in his chair and pretending to get comfortable. Maybe if you didn’t know him any better you would have thought he was serious, and that dancing was his limit. But you had known Katsuki for years and spent more time with him then you had with anyone ever. You knew him, and he knew you. And you knew that although it would probably earn you grumbling, groaning and eternal complaints, he would do it.
“Please…” With an over-dramatic groan, Katsuki raises from his chair and takes your hand. Your cheeks instantly warm at the contact, and your heart jumps to your throat as he leads you from the table. It’s not the first time he’s touched you, he’s held you before on sleepless nights where you’ve woken up from nightmares of your parents and sat with you tucked into his side until you can determine what’s real and what’s not. But this time, it’s different; you realise you want him to hold your hand. You want him to tuck you into his chest and hold you - and you want him to want too as well. He guides you out to the crowd of people and walks you right to the middle before placing his warm hands on your hips, pulling you towards him. Your arms brace yourself on his chest as you crash into him, and he grins wildly at your blushing face.
You sway side to side, ignoring everyone else in the room as you look up to him. Not in a million years did you ever think you would find yourself here, but it was harder to wrap your head around the fact that it was with Katsuki, the demon that had taken it upon himself to look out for you.
“Why are you doing this for me?” You have to ask. You have to know if he feels the same way as you. Because if he doesn’t then you’ve got to draw some sort of lines, because your heart won’t be able to take it - no matter how much it will hurt to separate yourself from him.
His vermillion eyes stare into yours, and you feel yourself being slightly sucked in. He had told you at first that it was a demon thing, but maybe it’s just a Katsuki thing. They glinted like rubies when the lights hit them, and as much as he would hate you saying it - he was very pretty.
“Because I didn’t want you to miss out on something that obviously meant so much to you dumbass.” Alright, that was a logical answer. But there was something more than he was withholding from you, you knew it.
“Please…” the whisper left your mouth, and if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, you knew he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Tearing his gaze from you, your eyes settled on his throat just in time to see him swallow nervously. Surely not. You couldn’t even remember a time when you had ever seen him anything other than confident.
“When I first found you, I had no idea where I was or what I was doing. Something pulled me to that alleyway that night and I still don’t know what or why. Once I saw what was going on, I was going to leave you there.” his admission rocks you, and instinctively try to step back, but his arms tighten around you - locking you in place and keeping you close to him. “And then I saw your parents, and you on the floor and I had to do something.” He sighs, hanging his head slightly so you can hear him better. “There are laws, even for my kind, that we have to follow. And that day, I broke a lot of them - and have continued to do so every day since then.” He says, his explanation surprising you. He doesn’t really talk about his private life, and or what really goes on with demons. So him even telling you this, its a lot. He moves slightly, now looking into your eyes with complete severity and something else in his gaze that traps the air inside your lungs.
“I can’t explain what I’m doing, because I don’t even fucking know. But I know one thing, and that’s the fact I want to be around you all the damn time, and if I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you and it drives me fucking crazy.” his hands tighten on your hips as if trying to tether you to this moment for as long as he can. Because with his revelations, your brain is threatening to float away but you force yourself to stay grounded to hear the words you’ve wanted to hear for so long.
“All I want is you, dumbass.” Holy shit. Katsuki is smiling softly down at you, and you honestly can’t believe what’s currently happening, but you honestly know if you don’t kiss him now you will spontaneously combust.
You don’t even give him a chance to breathe before you grab his cheeks, raising on your toes and crush his lips to yours. You feel him tense beneath your hands and for a split second, you think shitshitshitshit and try to pull away. Then in a movement too fast to be natural, a hand moves to the back of your head, tangling itself in your hair as he deepens the kiss, and proceeding to make your legs turn into noodles. You should probably care that you’re in the middle of a high school dance right now, but you can’t bring yourself to. All you care about is the demon currently stealing the breath from your lungs and making butterflies swarm your stomach in a mad panic. Your lips separate by just a few inches, and you finally breathe again, unsure as to if you’re lightheaded from the lack of oxygen or the kiss, but you have a feeling its both. The smug smile that tugs at Katsuki’s mouth make you think its probably the latter.
“Um, I...” You want to say something other than that, but your brain and mouth are no longer working together, so you momentarily stand there like a moron, which makes the guy in front of you smug as hell.
“If I knew that’s what it took to shut you up, I would have done that a long time ago.” Katsuki grins another feral smile and you can’t stop the laughter that bubbles from your lips. Your face floods with embarrassment over your lack of motor skills and you lean your forehead against his chest. The sound of his pounding heart makes you grin too, knowing that you’re not the only one affected by this new massive thing in your life. Katsuki’s hand brushes your head softly and you close your eyes, just letting yourself sway along with him to the music. You realise that the argument you had earlier in the week wasn’t about the dance, but someone taking you to the dance… and of course, he couldn’t come to that conclusion and asked you himself because he’s too stubborn and is a demon… He’s a demon, the reality jumps around your brain, and you try to find the problem with the statement, but you can’t. Not when he is who he is.
“This is going to be complicated, isn’t it?” You ask against his chest.
“I’m not going to lie to you, it’s not going to be easy. There’s so much I need to tell you,” Looking up at him, he lets you see the insecurity surrounding your response, something he wouldn’t let anyone normally see. Did he honestly think that you were going to leave now? After all of that?
“Nothing in my life has ever really been easy,” you point out, unable to hide your smile once again. “So I’m not surprised that anything surrounding you would be anything but.” Any hesitation he had is gone as he leans his forehead against yours, a sigh slipping from his lips. You can’t hold the words in, and for once, they come out with such conviction, it leaves no room for doubt.
“I love you Katsuki,” His eyes are closed, but his smile is wide, and you can see the happiness in his features.
“Thank you y/n.” Unsure as to why exactly he’s thanking you, you tighten your arms around him and this time he places a gentle kiss to your lips. “I love you too, y/n.” You revel in the words, closing your eyes and swaying along to the music.
Katsuki Bakugou was a demon who had saved your life when you were nine years old, and you were stupidly, irrevocably in love with him, and that would never change.
©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.
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Star Trek: Facets of Filmmaking
As it turns out, before Star Trek was fully realized in the form we know today, the show was originally not going to be about Kirk and the Enterprise at all. In fact, it was going to be about a ship called the S.S. Yorktown, captained by a man named Robert April, on a mission to explore the Milky Way galaxy. The original concept, still named Star Trek and set in the 23rd century, was loosely based on the Horatio Hornblower novels, and took inspiration from The Voyage of the Space Beagle, the Marathon series and the 1956 film Forbidden Planet.
By the year 1964, when this idea began to take shape, Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek was an experienced writer for western television shows, and was well accustomed to (at the time) television’s favorite and most popular genre. By 1964, however, Roddenberry was tired of the shootouts, and wanted to do something different, something with a little more depth to it.
Still, Roddenberry knew what the executives, and the public, was used to. As a result, the first draft of this new Star Trek idea was generalized as a sort of ‘Wagon Train to the Stars’, a formulaic type of show where every episode was a standalone adventure in the continuous exploration of the final frontier: space.
As Roddenberry wrote the draft, a few things changed. Gone was Robert April, replaced by Captain Christopher Pike, who would be portrayed by Jefferey Hunter, and the rest of the crew. The name of the ship changed too, to the more familiar Enterprise. As these changes came about, so too did the true nature of Roddenberry’s dream show: both an adventure story, and a thought-provoking morality tale.
Armed with his script, Roddenberry brought Star Trek to Desilu Productions, (a rather large television production company headed and half-formed by Lucille Ball herself) and met with director of production Herbert F. Solow. Solow saw promise in the concept, and signed a three-year development contract with Roddenberry.
Star Trek moved into the next stage of development. Further drafts were drawn up and the idea that would later become the episode The Cage was revised, until it was shown to CBS as part of the ‘First Look’ deal with Desilu productions. CBS wasn’t impressed with the show, declining to purchase it. They had another ‘space show’ in development that seemed too similar, a show that would become Lost in Space.
However, another company became interested: NBC. In May of 1964, Grant Tinker, the head of the West Coast programming department, commissioned the pilot that would become The Cage (which would later be reworked into the episode The Menagerie). After it was completed, NBC turned it down, claiming that it was ‘too cerebral’, but although this was a mild defeat, Star Trek wasn’t beaten. NBC still showed interest in the concept, and made the highly unusual decision to commission a second pilot: the episode that would become Where No Man Has Gone Before.
With this came quite a few changes.
Christopher Pike was scrapped as a character, as was the vast majority of other cast members. Only the character of Spock, as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy, was kept, and of the other cast members, only Majel Barrett stayed, demoted from playing the second-in-command (scrapped due to the unthinkable notion of a woman Commander) to the ship’s nurse, Christine Chapel. With this new pilot came an onslaught of new, more familiar names and faces: William Shatner as Captain Kirk, Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Scott played by James Doohan, and Lieutenant Sulu, (originally a physicist in the first episode, but a helmsman afterwards) played by George Takei.
This pilot passed with flying colors, and with that, NBC added Star Trek to their fall lineup for 1966.
Still, there were changes to be made. In this first pilot, the ship’s doctor was Mark Piper, played by Paul Fix. Dr. Leonard McCoy, played by DeForest Kelley, would join the cast when principal filming for the first season began. Also joining the cast was Nichelle Nichols, playing Lieutenant Uhura, and Grace Lee Whitney as Yeoman Rand. (Whitney would depart halfway through the first season, after being on the receiving end of sexual assault from one of the executives of the show, but would later appear in the film series beginning in the 1970s.)
Besides Where No Man Has Gone Before, NBC ordered 15 episodes to start off the show. The first episode of Star Trek, The Man Trap, aired at 8:30 PM on Thursday, September 8th of 1966 as part of NBC’s ‘sneak preview’ time slot, received with mixed feelings. While some papers and reviewers genuinely liked the new show, (such as The Philadelphia Inquirer and the San Francisco Chronicle) others, such as The Boston Globe and The New York Times didn’t. Variety described the show as ‘an incredible and dreary mess of confusion and complexities’, and predicted that it would fail.
Fighting for position against reruns of previous shows, despite the critics’ warnings, Star Trek won a time slot, and began with decent ratings. However, it didn’t last long. By the end of the first season, Star Trek was sitting at 52nd out of 94 programs.
Star Trek was sinking, fast.
But even then, it wasn’t without its supporters.
The editor of Galaxy Science Fiction, Frederik Pohl, offered up his amazement that Star Trek’s consistency remained good, with no drop in quality after its Tricon winning early episodes. He expressed his fear that the show would be cancelled due to its low ratings, and pleaded with audiences to help save Star Trek, writing letters to prevent its cancellation.
At this time, the only thing that was keeping the show on the air in the first place was the demographics it was reaching. NBC had become interested in the demographics of the shows it was producing in the early 1960s, and by 1967, was using that as part of the decision making as to which shows got dropped.
And something about Star Trek’s demographics interested NBC very much: it had managed to attract ‘quality’ audiences: high income, high educated people (primarily males).
As a result, NBC ordered ten more episodes for the first season, and ordered a second in March of 1967. The network then changed Star Trek’s timeslot, moving it to 8:30 on Friday nights, a timeslot that seemed doomed for failure among the audience that Star Trek had gathered.
The next season, things didn’t seem to be getting any better. It was at this point that the show added on Walter Koenig as Ensign Chekov (as George Takei was working on The Green Berets and was not as available for shooting), although some might have wondered why they would have bothered. The show’s ratings were still dropping. William Shatner, expecting the show to be cancelled, began to prepare for other projects.
Again, the demographics saved the day.
Roddenberry’s initial concept of adventure alongside morality tales intrigued the audiences Star Trek had attracted. The show had values, values that had to be applied to every situation. The show was sincere, and serious in its exploration of issues like racism, war and peace, human rights, technology, class warfare, and imperialism, far different in tone and content than the other chief sci-fi show at the time: Lost in Space. As a result, the show generated a more interested fanbase, perhaps the first true ‘fanbase’ of any franchise in history. In the end, it was they who saved Star Trek.
By the end of the first season, NBC had received well over 29,000 fan letters. During the second season, Roddenberry began a campaign to persuade fans to write in to NBC, to support the show and save the program. Between December of 1967 and March of 1968, NCB had received nearly 116,000 letters from people who did not want to see Star Trek cancelled. Science fiction conventions, magazines, and newspaper columnists encouraged readers to save what was called ‘the best science-fiction show on the air’.
The fans didn’t stop with letters. Over 200 students of the California Institute of Technology marched to NBC’s studio in Burbank to protest the cancellation of Star Trek in January of 1968, carrying signs that said things like ‘Vulcan Power’. They weren’t alone; other groups of students of MIT and Berkeley did the same thing in New York City and San Francisco.
Interestingly, the letters that NBC received were not of the typical ‘fan mail’ quality.
“Much of the mail came from doctors, scientists, teachers, and other professional people, and was for the most part literate–and written on good stationery. And if there is anything a network wants almost as much as a high Nielsen ratings, it is the prestige of a show that appeals to the upper middle class and high-brow audiences.” (Lowry, Cynthia (January 17, 1968). “One Network Goes ‘Unconventional’”. Nashua Telegraph. Associated Press. p. 13)
“The show, according to the 6,000 letters it draws a week (more than any other in television), is watched by scientists, museum curators, psychiatrists, doctors, university professors, and other highbrows. The Smithsonian Institution asked for a print of the show for its archives, the only show so honored.” (Scott, Vernon (February 7, 1968). “Letters Can Save 'Star Trek’”. The Press-Courier. Oxnard, California. United Press International. p. 17.)
After the episode The Omega Glory, on March 1st, 1968, the announcement came:
“And now an announcement of interest to all viewers of Star Trek. We are pleased to tell you that Star Trek will continue to be seen on NBC Television. We know you will be looking forward to seeing the weekly adventure in space on Star Trek.” (“Letters For 'Star Trek’ Hit 114,667”. The Modesto Bee. April 14, 1968. p. 26.)
If this was intended to stop the letter writing campaign, it was a dismal failure. A comparable number of letters came in to NBC following this announcement, full of thanks for renewing the show for the third season.
In March of 1968, NBC moved Star Trek to another time slot: 10:00 PM on Fridays, an even worse shot than before. To make matters worse, it was only being seen by 181 out of 210 of NBC’s affiliates. Roddenberry fought the network to move it to a better time, but he was denied. Exhausted, Roddenberry quit working on production of Star Trek, remaining executive producer in name only. The running of the show went to Fred Freiberger, who was with the show as it stood on its last, shaky, legs.
And it was on its last legs.
Star Trek season three was a dying breath, the death-rattle of a show that was being intentionally destroyed by its own network.
To quote Nichelle Nichols:
“While NBC paid lip service to expanding Star Trek’s audience, it [now] slashed our production budget until it was actually 10% lower than it had been in our first season … This is why in the third season you saw fewer outdoor location shots, for example. Top writers, top guest stars, top anything you needed was harder to come by. Thus, Star Trek’s demise became a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I can assure you, that is exactly as it was meant to be.”
It showed.
While I hesitate to call season three of Star Trek a mess, it is difficult to deny that the show was definitely struggling. Episodes dropped in quality, characters became more exaggerated and less ‘true’. Star Trek stopped filming in January of 1969, and after a total run of 79 episodes, the show was cancelled.
As a newspaper columnist advised:
“You Star Trek fans have fought the “good fight,” but the show has been cancelled and there’s nothing to be done now.”
Rather incongruous with the image of the pop-culture giant we know it as today, wouldn’t you think?
So what happened?
As it turns out, Star Trek had enough episodes (thanks to the third season) to enter syndication. Desilu Productions, which at that point had become Paramount, licensed the syndication rights in order to turn a profit, and reruns of Star Trek began airing in late 1969.
In syndication, Star Trek became a cult classic, finding a larger audience on reruns than it had during its original run. The show, which was airing in the afternoons and early evenings, was attracting a young demographic, and, ironically, Star Trek became known as ‘the show that wouldn’t die’. By 1970, Star Trek was boosting Paramount’s ratings, and becoming extremely popular. In January of 1972, over 3,000 fans attended the first Star Trek convention in New York City, kicking off a previously unheard-of trend of organized fan gatherings where they could buy merchandise, meet cast and crew, and screen episodes of the show. These people, coming to be known as ‘trekkies’, took pride in their knowledge and extreme love for this series, which was becoming renowned for being a smart, heartfelt science fiction show that had been cancelled too early.
17 years after Star Trek was cancelled and started reruns, Star Trek became the most popular syndicated show of all time. By 1987, Paramount was bringing in $1 million per episode, and by 1994, reruns were still airing in over 90% of the United States of America.
The rest is history.
It has been over fifty years since Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a wagon train to the stars first took flight, and it was a hard battle fought to get as far as it did. Never before had a show garnered the support and devoted love from a fanbase, never had it inspired such huge leaps and bounds in television and fandom alike. Never had a television show meant so much to so many, and continued to do so well past its end.
For a show that struggled through a third season, it seems incredible that Star Trek still holds the weight that it does today. The show that wouldn’t die gained new life beyond the grave, still capturing people’s attention decades after it was cancelled, growing to become one of the best known and best loved television shows ever made.
Against all odds, Star Trek lives on, remaining one of the greatest television shows of all time, for very good reason.
Join me for one last article as next time we take one last look at Star Trek in our Final Thoughts. If you have any thoughts, questions, suggestions, recommendations, or just want to say hi, don’t forget to leave an ask! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.
#Star Trek: The Original Series#Star Trek#Television#TV#TV-PG#60s#Drama#Action#Adventure#Science Fiction#Sci-Fi#William Shatner#Leonard Nimoy#DeForest Kelley#James Doohan#Nichelle Nichols#George Takei#Walter Koenig#Majel Barrett#Gene Roddenberry
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A Ring for a Ring, a Sweet for the Sweet (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)
Title: A Ring for a Ring, a Sweet for the Sweet
Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu)
Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian
Summary:
Just as Hua Cheng once gave him a ring to pledge him his life, Xie Lian gives Hua Cheng a ring to pledge him his hole.
Link: AO3
Read on Tumblr!
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Xie Lian was going into this birthday prepared. He had a plan in his head, a wish in his heart, and many thoughts cursing his dick.
--
This plan, this wish, this curse; it all started one fateful morning about a month ago. You see, the married life came with innumerable pleasures, and one of these was the comfort of a regular morning routine. Summarized, and truncated for length, it went a little like this:
Step 1: Wake up.
Step 2, Scenario A: San Lang pretending to be asleep, and refusing to break character until Xie Lian provided anywhere between seven to ten morning kisses.
Step 2, Scenario B: San Lang already awake, and distributing morning kisses to Xie Lian’s lips, neck, cock, and other such body parts that would benefit from the application of his tongue.
Step 3: The irrepressible cosmic consequence of either scenario outlined above.
Step 4, Scenario A: San Lang big spoon.
Step 4, Scenario B: Xie Lian big spoon.
Step 5: Helping each other wash, dress, and get ready for the day.
With Step 1 through Step 4, Scenario B completed, Xie Lian was helping his husband get ready before he had to scurry off to do a few errands. Check on the vegetable garden at the shrine, draw up a few new charms, pop over to the village’s market to see if there were any deals on, put an end to the demon who’d taken up residence in the hills two towns over and who was demanding maiden sacrifices…Xie Lian of course would answer the cries of those in need, but he did wonder, at times, why people were calling upon the God of Scrap-Collecting to slay evil (or at least rough up evil, followed by a stern talking-to). Shouldn’t they be calling upon him for blessings in happening upon excellent and thrifty finds? Ah, well. Always in service of the people.
The lacquered black comb sank thickly into Hua Cheng’s hair, and slid through like a ship through water. Silver chimed with the motions of Xie Lian’s arm. Lately, he’d taken to warming up Hua Cheng’s silver accessories before helping his husband put them on…underneath his sleeping robe, against his bare skin, he was currently sporting one of Hua Cheng’s heavy necklaces and silver belts. Xie Lian never liked the initial cold shock of jewelry against his skin when he was young; brief as the feeling was before his body heat warmed the metal, it was a petty annoyance he always dreaded each morning while still cranky and disoriented from sleep. His poor San Lang had no such respite, with his body’s ghostly chill. Thus, Xie Lian wanted to save his husband such an unpleasantness before a long day of managing his city.
There was, of course, the minor matter that Hua Cheng tended to wear quite a lot of accessories. (And he seemed to only be expanding this tendency after Xie Lian took up the warming habit.) After the necklace and belt were taken care of, he still needed to warm up the bracelets and rings (unthinkable to wear those while tending to San Lang’s beautiful hair), then the earrings and hair accessories, and then the vambraces; these were tricky, and required one-on-one attention. The silver butterflies nesting within the vambraces got excited very easily when Xie Lian touched their home, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d have an armful of butterflies and no vambrace to warm up.
Xie Lian could very easily spend the whole day at this, though his schedule didn’t allow it. Distracted by the movement of the comb through Hua Cheng’s hair, distracted by the low sounds of pleasure Hua Cheng made when Xie Lian absently ran his fingers through the strands, Xie Lian reached out to fumble for one of the many nearby jewelry boxes. Rings, San Lang did need rings to wear with his choice of ensemble today…
Xie Lian’s questing hand came back with a ring; that it was a ring was no question. But…Xie Lian’s brow furrowed as he examined it, turning it this way and that, the silver glinting in the bedroom light. Beautiful, with delicate engravings of blooming flowers across its surface, the quality silver thick and heavy in his palm. But this ring was much too large for his San Lang’s elegant, slender fingers, was it not? Though Xie Lian’s hands were smaller, they weren’t that much smaller, and he could fit both his thumbs inside it easily…
“Gege,” Hua Cheng purred, allowing his hair to fall over his shoulder in an alluring and altogether deliberate manner. “Did you find something you’d particularly like to see me in today?”
Hua Cheng’s gaze fell on the ring that Xie Lian was examining, and his confident, sly expression dropped all at once. His hand twitched, then fisted in his robes; as if he wanted to snatch away the ring but didn’t dare do so. Xie Lian blinked, confused.
“Is this a ring that San Lang wears while in a different skin?” Xie Lian asked. “It’s lovely, but seems much too big for San Lang’s…fing…er…”
Xie Lian trailed off, and the truth of the matter took root in his mind as his cheeks began to burn with a familiar heat. And oh, did those roots find eager and fertile soil.
Now, Xie Lian was inexperienced in bedroom matters, this much was true. But he was not stupid, and he also knew what his husband’s dick looked like at this point. This ring was indeed too large for Hua Cheng’s slender and elegant fingers. But it was just the right size to fit around the base of Hua Cheng’s thick, heavy cock.
“Your Highness,” Hua Cheng croaked. “This one apologizes for leaving such an item in—”
“This is a cock ring,” Xie Lian murmured, as if in a trance state, approaching a level of enlightenment not yet seen.
Hua Cheng’s physical form briefly flickered; hearing His Highness say such words so bluntly, with such an irresistibly flushed face, was very much like being struck by a divine force, staggering in its power. He took a deep breath to regain control of himself, and nodded.
“Yes,” Hua Cheng admitted. “This one is much ashamed to not be able to please His Highness as he deserves, on some nights. I crafted such a crude instrument in hopes that it would help with control, but it still is not up to the task, nor is it worthy of the honor of being used in His Highness’ bed…”
Xie Lian was brought back to reality long enough to refute such a self-abasing statement.
“San Lang always pleases me!” Xie Lian stated firmly. It wasn’t always about lasting for hours! It was about both of them enjoying the experience! First off, his San Lang lasted a perfect amount of time; secondly, even when he did come too fast, it just meant that Xie Lian had that much more come in him, and one of Xie Lian’s primary goals in his immortal life now was to be filled with as much of Hua Cheng’s come as physically possible. And if Xie Lian had to wait hours each time before Hua Cheng would finally come inside…
…but perhaps it was about the challenge. This was something a (formerly) martial god could understand. This was something that could overcome Xie Lian’s shyness, could reach deep within him and seize him by the heart and make him rise to the occasion. The buildup of his husband’s frustration and need, the challenge of overcoming the restriction of the ring, of riding Hua Cheng and filling him with so much pleasure that he would burst forth and break through – just as Hua Cheng had once done to free him from the bonds of his cursed shackles. (But like, with less dying afterwards. And with waaaaaay more come filling up Xie Lian’s insides.) Yes. Yes, this was a challenge Xie Lian was ready to help his San Lang face. They would do it together.
“I’m going to borrow this,” Xie Lian said. “Is that okay?”
“…as it pleases His Highness,” Hua Cheng replied, with no little confusion.
He’d find out soon enough.
--
Xie Lian worked tirelessly, during every free moment, to perfect this most important of spiritual relics: the Incorruptible Chastity Cock Ring. Although last year’s birthday present proved that his sewing skills left something to be desired (and his dear, sweet husband still insisted on wearing that ridiculous belt any chance he got), his metalworking skills, again, proved much more polished. Polished enough to make this ring even more of a sight to behold.
He’d amassed enough followers, and enough donations, to permit him to spend on sourcing quality metal for the project – he of course would not dip into Hua Cheng’s own art supplies, nor his purse. Though both were open to him at all times, that was hardly the spirit meant for a birthday gift! And thus, with silver that was not dug up out of his own grave this time, he’d set to work.
The expertly engraved ring now sported four fine silver chains, from which many chiming seed-shaped silver beads dangled. These silver chains were meant to drape alluringly across Hua Cheng’s muscular thighs and lean hips, and chime with every movement. The chains could be attached to any of Hua Cheng’s silver belts, which Xie Lian considered a very clever foresight on his own behalf. It would be very convenient, this way. (Though it would, of course, mean that a bit of warming up would be needed before he could dress San Lang for the occasion.)
The day of Hua Cheng’s birthday came, and the rush of adrenaline that was warding off Xie Lian’s shyness was beginning to wear off. What was he doing, presenting his husband with such a gift!? My darling, my one and only, my San Lang, here’s a cock ring that you made yourself because you come too fast in bed. Happy birthday! But Xie Lian tried to remember the goal here, the challenge, the pursuit of excellence. Those who ascended were ones who were capable of seeing beyond the limits of what was thought impossible. And Xie Lian so loved dressing Hua Cheng up before a hard day of work.
The moment the midnight hour struck, Ghost City was bright with cheers and fireworks. When Hua Cheng next stepped out of his residence, he would be greeted with a thousand congratulations and well-wishes:
Lord Chengzhu, happy birthday!
Great Lord Mayor, happy eight-hundred-twenty-third! If’n I could count that high, I’d lop off the hands of eight hunn’erd twenny third sinners and deck these streets with ‘em!
What a waste of hands! Ya know you can fry those up, doncha!? Or sell them to tourists!
And an occasion such as this calls fer decadence! Like scattering hands all over the streets!!
But, for now, Xie Lian had Hua Cheng all to himself.
“San Lang,” Xie Lian whispered into his ear, before kissing it. “Happy birthday. Would you like to open your present?”
Such an offer was a surefire way to get Hua Cheng to stop pretending to be asleep. In an instant, Xie Lian was tackled onto his back on the bed, and pinned in place by the press of Hua Cheng’s lean body and the insistent lips against his own.
“Gege is too kind,” Hua Cheng sighed between kisses. “Too generous. For days I’ve been thinking of nothing but the birthday dinner you promised me, and now gege is telling me that he’s got more gifts up his sleeves?”
Seizing upon the opportunity provided by the wording, Hua Cheng’s greedy hands snuck up the sleeves of Xie Lian’s sleeping robes, squeezing and groping at his arms as he went. The right idea, but the wrong direction…
“It’s…um…” Xie Lian trailed off, his cheeks flaring red. He had a planned script for this. Something about a ring for a ring, sweets for the sweet. The lines were lost to him now. But the intent certainly was not.
Slowly, shyly, Xie Lian slid a hand down the front of his own robes. Hua Cheng’s eye followed the movement raptly, and his touch grew heavier on Xie Lian’s bicep. Taking a moment to steel his courage, Xie Lian ran his fingers along the tie of his robe once, twice, before tugging at it to loosen it and let his robes slip open.
“I wanted to make sure it was warm enough for San Lang to wear comfortably,” Xie Lian explained softly.
Silver glinted through the part of his robe. One of Hua Cheng’s silver belts hung around Xie Lian’s hips, flush against his bare skin. Chiming silver chains dangled from it, leading the eye downward to where they joined at that thick, heavy engraved silver ring. It really was much too big for one’s finger, and still a bit too big for Xie Lian’s own cock. He feared it looked a bit silly – even half-hard as he was, it was clear that there was no way he’d fill it out. Of course, Hua Cheng would have no trouble.
Hua Cheng stared openly, blatantly; hungrily and open-mouthed. His grip on Xie Lian’s bicep was bruising.
“…Your Highness,” he eventually managed to say. His voice was low and raw enough to send a shiver through Xie Lian’s limbs, to make those silver beads chime with the motion of his bare legs sliding against the silk sheets. “Your graciousness knows no bounds. This humble follower doesn’t deserve such a magnificent gift.”
Xie Lian took Hua Cheng’s face in his hands, cradled his cheeks between his palms. He leaned in to press a kiss between Hua Cheng’s brows.
“My husband,” he murmured against Hua Cheng’s skin, his breath warm. “Deserves many such magnificent things.”
The kiss that followed was deep and slow, and full of a wet heat that took Xie Lian from half-hard to fully rigid. The ring still slid off with ease, though Hua Cheng’s fingers were so careful and gentle and slow in their ministrations to remove it that Xie Lian could have cried (or laughed, really) in frustration. Hua Cheng was equally slow and deliberate while undoing the belt tied around Xie Lian’s waist, taking his time, dipping his fingers underneath the belt while he worked to feel the heat radiating off Xie Lian’s abdominals.
“San Lang,” groaned Xie Lian.
Hua Cheng chuckled weakly, and kissed Xie Lian’s throat in recompense. “Gege’s patience is appreciated. I have to wait for my blood to cool before I can wield his gift.”
Xie Lian blinked, curious. “Oh? Is that how it works? Much ashamed, I’ve not much experience. But that does make sense, considering the intent…”
It was Hua Cheng’s turn to groan, and he punctuated it with a dramatic collapse into the pillows next to Xie Lian’s head.
“Gege is not helping with the blood cooling,” Hua Cheng grumbled, with affection clear in the accusation.
“My sincerest apologies,” Xie Lian replied, not sorry at all.
It took some long, painfully and deliciously slow minutes – drawn out by their refusal to stop kissing for the duration – before Hua Cheng’s cock softened enough to slide the ring on. Xie Lian, too, went slowly, carefully, guided by Hua Cheng’s slightly-trembling fingers and the glide of oil to ease any discomfort. When the work was done, Xie Lian squirmed out from under Hua Cheng to survey his handiwork.
His San Lang looked so lovely. The sheen of the oil on his cock, the glinting silver decorating the thick base and draping artfully across his strong thighs. The delicate chimes looked ticklish against his balls; Xie Lian reached out a hand to brush his knuckles against the velvety soft skin there and was rewarded by a delicious groan and squirm.
Oh, before he forgot…there was indeed one more surprise that Xie Lian had for the birthday boy. When he’d set to work on this precious spiritual tool, he’d added some features...
Xie Lian traced both hands along the silver chains, and they shivered with spiritual energy. Hua Cheng wore a priceless expression of shock on his face for a brief moment as he felt the pulse of energy, but had no further opportunity to react before the cock ring itself pulsed once, twice, thrice, more. It continued to pulse around Hua Cheng’s cock in time with the racing beat of Xie Lian’s heart. With each pulse, Hua Cheng’s hips jerked upward involuntarily; with each jerk, those silver chimes rang melodiously. Hua Cheng’s mouth hung open wordlessly, his eye glazed with pleasure that stole his sight and sense.
Very convenient, indeed. Xie Lian could probably just leave him like this and go about his daily errands, secure in the thought that his husband would be waiting for him in bed at home, desperate for relief after hours of tension that threatened to snap him in two. But that wouldn’t be particularly kind to do to him today. The birthday boy would have his release in due time, with only as much teasing as Xie Lian could bear.
“Did I warm it up well enough for San Lang’s comfort?” Xie Lian asked, stretching himself out along Hua Cheng’s side as he jerked and twitched. He stroked his palm along Hua Cheng’s lovely pectorals, down his stomach. He pressed the back of his hand to the silver belt to test its temperature. Xie Lian hmmed thoughtfully and moved to toy with one of the silver chains. “I suppose it’s still a bit chilly. Will you ever forgive me?”
“H…Hhh-highne…ssss…” Hua Cheng managed to slur out, then let out an animalistic moan as the pulses around his cock grew in intensity. Xie Lian made a comforting noise, and kissed Hua Cheng’s temple soothingly. His poor San Lang. It couldn’t be helped; the cock ring’s pulses were tied to Xie Lian’s heartbeat, and there was no controlling that when he was with Hua Cheng.
Xie Lian decided, there and then, that it was time to test the integrity (and the Incorruptible Chastity) of this spiritual artifact. He’d prepared himself before waking Hua Cheng; he thanked himself profusely for this foresight, as he doubted he had the patience to do it now and could hardly ask Hua Cheng to do all the work today. He already had enough to deal with right now.
Hua Cheng’s hands, previously fisted in the silk bedsheets in a vain attempt at controlling himself, flew to seize Xie Lian’s waist as Xie Lian moved to straddle him. Any protests died in his throat as the tip of his cock pressed into Xie Lian’s entrance, already warm and willing and ready. Xie Lian sighed in relief at the stretch and the fullness, and bounced and wriggled his hips until Hua Cheng’s cock was in him fully. He could feel the slight coolness of the silver ring against the rim of his hole, could feel the pulsations of the ring inside and out. Xie Lian gave a full-body shiver, and almost absentmindedly lifted the crystal ring around his neck up to his lips to kiss. The gesture grounded him, it soothed him, it—
“Your Highness…”
The warning growl of that title came too little, too late. Driven mad by the beat of Xie Lian’s heart and the burning heat of his body, Hua Cheng’s grip on Xie Lian’s waist became completely ungentle. His fingers gripped with bruising force, and he bounced Xie Lian on his cock with harsh, fast motions; endlessly chasing a release that would not come, to the tune of chiming silver chains. He pounded as deep into him as he could reach, and seemed as if he could hardly stand having even an inch of him not inside. It was all Xie Lian could do to hold onto Hua Cheng’s shoulders, to hold himself steady even as his thigh muscles began to burn with the strain, to let Hua Cheng fuck into him and use his body as a tool for his pleasure.
The first time Xie Lian came, it only left him hungry for more. The fifth time left him lying limp and slack, sprawled on his back as Hua Cheng’s cock continued to relentlessly fuck him, in and out, with no signs of stopping or slowing. Xie Lian’s insides ached to be soothed by the rush of Hua Cheng’s come. After the eighth time, with his face now pressed into a pillow and Hua Cheng’s cock still tirelessly pumping his prone body, chimes still jingling as brightly and eagerly as they had at the start, Xie Lian himself began to beg for that as well.
“S-s-sssan Lang…” Xie Lian could hardly get the words out, his tongue felt thick and heavy and useless in his mouth. “S-san Lang, need…need it…”
Hua Cheng moaned against Xie Lian’s neck, and briefly paused in his efforts to cover every inch of it with bite marks and hickies. His mouth moved to Xie Lian’s ear; biting it once before he spoke into it, sounding rich and low and just as wrecked as Xie Lian.
“Anything His Highness needs, anything, anything, I’ll give it – mnnnhh, mmm – oh, Your Highness, Your Highness is so good to me, so good to this San Lang…mmh, feels so perfect inside, does it feel as good for gege? Is he ready to come again for me?”
Xie Lian let out a desperate moan as Hua Cheng expertly adjusted his angle to aim his thrusts against that spot inside of him. He wouldn’t last much longer, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, and he didn’t think he’d be able to stay conscious for round ten. And Hua Cheng still hadn’t come even once inside of him – Xie Lian could endure many hardships, but this was too much, too much!
“San Lang! I want it, I want that!” Xie Lian wailed with the desperation of a dying man. “Ah-ahhhh, I need it, I need you to give it all to me, please, please, won’t you please – ohh! Please, please have mercy, San Lang-gege, please have mercy and fill me up…”
Xie Lian’s heart was racing like a parade drum. He could only imagine the mayhem being wrought upon his husband’s dick by the cock ring’s enchantment. But he trusted his husband – he trusted him to break through, break through with him and see the limits of the highest heavens –
Hua Cheng let out a shout and a shockwave of spiritual energy strong enough to blow back the curtains on the bed, and released into Xie Lian enough come that Xie Lian felt his stomach grow taut with it. He felt his eyes roll back into his head, and let himself pass out midway through his ninth orgasm.
His conscious mind swam back after some time, and he found himself bundled against Hua Cheng’s strong chest. Morning was just breaking outside the window, but today was a day for sleeping in. Xie Lian breathed in his husband’s scent and let himself be lulled back to sleep. He still had to make that birthday dinner today, and needed to regain his strength.
--
“Oh? Did something happen out here?”
While things were stewing, Xie Lian needed to make a quick run to the market to pick up some supplies he’d forgotten. Outside of Paradise Manor, he found Yin Yu with a broom, sweeping a path through the severed hands that had been scattered on the road outside. If Xie Lian were to make a rough estimate, there were approximately eleven hundred sixty-seven of them. There was also a crudely written banner hung in the blossoming trees on the roadside, that read: HAPPAY BARTH DAY LARD CHENGZHU.
“They do try, don’t they?” Xie Lian said to Yin Yu, fondly. “Once I’m back from the market, I’ll help you clean up out here.”
“They do try,” Yin Yu agreed. “And no, no, Your Highness has business to attend to.”
Xie Lian smiled and gave a grateful bow. “Your Highness Yin Yu is welcome to join us for dinner. I’ll save some stew for him! Please don’t hesitate to drop by later.”
Yin Yu watched as Xie Lian expertly stepped around the hands littering the streets, then disappeared into the bustle of the Ghost City market. He gave a deep, resigned sigh and returned to sweeping.
--
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