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borbonsg · 5 months

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send me 🍹 for a short fanfic/headcanon of our muses // @notprinceadonis

i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you.

— no archive warnings apply, jason hatzis/nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, bisexual disaster nicolás amadeu borbón y grecia, violence, period typical violence, blood, angst with a happy ending, getting together, and they were medieval roommates, adonis mentioned, not actually medieval, like early 1800s, no beta we die like men.

DIA 1.

jason foi carregado para casa por dois homens desconhecidos. seu rosto e corpo tinham múltiplos machucados e aqueles eram certamente o motivo pelo qual ele estava desacordado. na sua mesa de trabalho nico cortou a roupa que ele estava usando, encharcada de sangue e obstruindo a visão do que era o maior corte de facada que nico já tinha visto. limpando com mais cuidado ele pode ver, sem tanto sangue no local, que não foi uma facada e sim um corte de uma ponta a outra, profundo no músculo e feito com lentidão. quem quer que tenha feito aquilo com jason queria que aquilo fosse lento e doloroso.

— o que foi que aconteceu com ele? — seu sotaque espanhol atrapalhou suas palavras enquanto ele gritava olhando sobre o ombro, mas os homens apenas deram de ombros. um deles estava claramente bêbado e o outro não parecia estar em completa posse de suas faculdades mentais. inúteis.

nicolás fez questão de expulsá-los antes de seguir cuidando do seu amigo. limpou tudo com cuidado e por mais que torcesse para que ele seguisse dormindo ao suturar seu braço, jason acordou com gritos de dor no segundo ponto. ele havia servido ao exército britânico na guerra, trabalhou como médico e ajudou incontáveis homens a não morrer com a perda de sangue: estava acostumado com os gritos e com a luta que pessoas travam quando sentem dor. era claro que jason ia tentar sair de perto dele. ele estava pronto para a luta, mas não para ver o amigo em dor.

— jason, sou eu! — ele tentou segurar os braços do outro contra a mesa, mas jason já estava delirando de dor a ponto de não conseguir ver que estava seguro. nico podia ser um curandeiro, mas ele não tinha tudo em mãos. precisou desmaiar o outro com uma mistura de ervas que nem deveria ter dentro de casa. ver o outro de olhos fechados e saber que ele não acordaria tão cedo ajudou nicolás a fazer o seu trabalho.

duas horas depois, nicolás havia terminado. quatro horas depois, jason acordou.

— o que aconteceu? — nicolás não estava ao lado de jason quando ele acordou. a voz grave dele fez seu caminho até a cozinha, onde o espanhol estava limpando toda a sujeira que ele havia feito. quando percebeu de quem se tratava, nicolás largou tudo e foi correndo até o quarto, assustado com algo que não sabia o que era.

— você está bem. — ele sentou-se nos pés da cama, cenho franzido e deixando bem claro que não estava nem um pouco feliz com toda aquela situação. em que confusão jason havia se metido? — em que confusão você se meteu dessa vez? — sua voz não saiu tão controlada quanto ele imaginava.

— eu… não foi culpa minha. — sua voz estava fraca, rouca. — eu não lembro direito. eu estava voltando da padaria e… eles me cercaram. — enquanto tentava de forma desesperada lembrar dos fatos, jason levou a mão a cabeça e sua expressão se transformou numa de susto. — meu cabelo…

— está horrível, eles cortaram quase tudo. — jason não tinha cabelo longo, mas com certeza não estava tão ralo quanto estava agora.

— por que… por que eles fariam isso? — jason tentou se arrastar na cama em busca do pequeno pedaço de espelho que guardava numa mesa de cabeceira, mas foi impedido por nicolás.

— não! nada de se mexer! ordens médicas… — ele mesmo pegou o pedaço de espelho e ofereceu a ele, mas jason apenas ficou olhando para o mais velho. alguns segundos se passaram antes que nico tentasse indicar o espelho novamente, mas ao invés de pegar o objeto, jason deu um tapa na mão do amigo e se retraiu. nico estava pronto para começar uma briga ao ver que o único espelho que eles tinham agora era lixo, mas foi impedido ao ver que jason estava com medo genuíno. — eu acho que… eu acho que é melhor eu ir.

acima de tudo, nico não queria forçar respostas de jason. o que quer que tenham feito com ele foi o suficiente para fazer ele ter medo de uma aproximação de quem conhecia tão bem. ele jogou o peso do seu corpo com força sob a cadeira da cozinha. encarou a cadeira do lado oposto, onde nessa hora jason estaria dividindo os detalhes do seu dia após voltar do trabalho e nicolás estaria escutando tudo religiosamente. trabalhar de casa o fazia entrar em um tédio típico, mas estaria mentindo se dissesse que esperava jason só porque sentia-se entediado.

aos poucos, ele terminou a limpeza do local, intercalando em ficar com ódio daquela situação toda e com medo. medo das reações futuras de jason. ele já havia visto aquilo, é claro. homens que iam para a guerra tinham seus traumas. mas aquilo não era guerra, aquilo era diferente.

— jason? — nicolás bateu na porta do quarto uma hora depois, carregando consigo um prato de sopa. era tudo que eles comiam, normalmente. o dinheiro era apertado e eles faziam questão de dividir tudo que tinham, comida principalmente. a cabeça loira, agora meio raspada, levantou levemente. — eu trouxe comida, você deve estar com fome.

aquilo foi suficiente para que jason tentasse, da melhor forma, levantar seu tronco. nicolás ajudou ele, com movimentos lentos para não piorar a situação, tanto do emocional quanto do físico dele. levou o prato na direção do colo do dele ainda com movimentos lentos, mas conseguia ver que seu olhar estava distante. apático as coisas que aconteciam ali.

— você consegue comer sozinho?

— sim, consigo.

— eu vou te deixar sozinho. mais tarde eu busco o prato. — mas não era aquilo que ele queria dizer e sentiu-se estúpido por dizer. queria ficar ali, do lado de jason como o outro havia feito tantas vezes por ele. queria ser burro e teimoso e insistir naquilo, insistir em mostrar que era seguro confiar nele. porém, o lado de nicolás que sabia que aquilo não ajudaria em nada falou mais alto.

quando ele mesmo havia terminado de jantar, na cozinha, ele retornou ao quarto para recolher o prato e viu que jason não só havia comido bem, como já estava dormindo novamente. contra todos os seus instintos, ele se permitiu olhar o outro dormir por um instante. um pé já fora do quarto, mas suas costas encostadas no batente da porta. o peito dele subia e descia no seu ritmo normal, estava sem camisa ainda, seu peito coberto por ataduras que provavelmente ainda doíam mais do que nico podia imaginar. havia botado um pouco de sonífero na sopa, é verdade, pois não sabia se jason iria receber bem remédios vindo dele depois do episódio de mais cedo.

ele conseguiu se arrastar até a cozinha ainda mais uma vez e jogou os pratos usados na pia, jogou com um pouco mais de força do que o necessário. sabia que ia voltar para o quarto dali alguns segundos para dividir sua noite ao lado de alguém que amava tanto, que estava tão machucado e ele nem ao menos sabia o que tinha acontecido. não sabia se ainda corriam risco ou se jason ficaria bem. talvez fosse esse o momento em que sua sabedoria falharia com ele, talvez não tivesse dado remédio suficiente ou o remédio errado e seu prezado amigo nem acordaria na manhã seguinte. talvez não tivesse percebido algum detalhe sobre a saúde de jason que o fosse levar no meio da noite. os talvez o acompanharam ao tirar a roupa, o acompanharam ao entrar debaixo do lençol da sua cama e o acompanhariam em seus sonhos.

ele deitou-se virado para a cama de jason, mas não o conseguia enxergar, de qualquer jeito. logo quando começaram a dividir a casa, que por via das dúvidas, era minúscula, ele foi o primeiro a dar a ideia de usar um armário velho e um lençol para fazer algum tipo de divisão no quarto e há um bom tempo ele já se arrependia. com certeza aquela não foi sua escolha mais sábia e agora ele talvez não fosse mais ter a oportunidade de mudar de ideia.

DIA 2.

nicolás sempre acordou cedo, era natural para ele. escutou o sino da igreja próxima tocar e ele, com seu sono leve, se pôs de pé. observou enquanto se vestia que jason ainda estava dormindo. bom. a dose ainda não havia passado e pelo que parecia, a noite havia sido tranquila.

ele largou todos os seus afazeres, botou uma placa de fechado na frente de casa, onde normalmente atendia enfermos tão pobres quanto eles e correu para o outro lado da praça principal onde a padaria que jason trabalha fica. tratou de avisar o chefe, que não ficou muito gostoso, mas que aceitou ao nicolás dizer que o homem poderia ir ver o empregado a hora que quisesse. felizmente, o homem barbudo preferia aceitar do que se locomover algumas quadras.

nicolás voltou para casa de mãos cheias, tendo usado suas últimas moedas para comprar um pedaço de pão, uma garrafa de leite e um pote de mel. o mel era para os machucados, mas dependendo de quanto jason pedisse, nico deixaria que ele usasse no pão. ele nunca foi um homem extremamente rígido e jason tinha o dom de amolecer ainda mais o coração e as supostas regras impostas por ele.

a casa ainda estava silenciosa quando ele chegou, mas meros segundos após ele chegar, um estrondo seguido de um baque surdo fizeram nico largar tudo correndo na mesa da cozinha e seguir pelo corredor até o quarto.

— eu disse que você não podia levantar ainda! — ele quis gritar, quis ser rígido, mas não conseguiu. jason havia tentado se apoiar no armário que separava as camas de ambos e acabou derrubando um vaso de flores que tentava, falhamente, decorar o quarto sem vida.

— eu lembrei de algumas coisas, acordei assustado e… — sua voz ainda estava fraca, mas agora ele tinha um pouco mais de certeza nas palavras. — foi uma briga de bar, eu acho…

— o que? te torturaram por causa de uma briga de bar? — aquilo não fazia sentido para nicolás e ele não fazia questão de esconder. seu olhar incentivava o loiro a seguir falando, mas sua prioridade era ajudar ele a voltar para a cama.

— não! não foi exatamente assim, eu não estava no bar. o senhor walton pediu para eu ficar até mais tarde trabalhando, eu acabei saindo muito tarde, já tinha passado da meia noite quando eu resolvi voltar. — nicolás não se orgulha disso, mas quando jason não voltou naquela noite, uma pequena parte dele sentiu ciúmes. agora ele se arrepende de ter pensado o que pensou. — eu só vi quando eles me cercaram e…

— você não precisa continuar… — ele começou, mas foi interrompido antes de terminar.

— eles acharam que eu era o príncipe adonis.

o silêncio tomou conta do quarto. nico ficou encarando o amigo, procurando qualquer sinal de que ele esteja brincando, mas era óbvio que não. ele jamais brincaria com algo assim. o fato de que jason carregava uma semelhança absurda com o príncipe já havia sido muito discutida, o próprio príncipe já havia conhecido sua cópia plebeia, apesar de que havia ficado bem claro que aquele não era um fato apreciado.

— por que eles fariam isso? — nico perguntou, não mais alto do que um sussurro.

— eu não sei. — jason sibilou ao tentar dar de ombros, a dor com certeza tomando conta de si. — eles acharam que tinham conseguido sequestrar o príncipe, estavam bêbados e queriam dinheiro.

— isso não um simples… sequestro. eles quase te mataram. — sabia que havia levantado o tom e sido ríspido demais quando viu que o outro se deixou ser fraco e começou a chorar. de todas as situações possíveis que nicolás havia imaginado durante a noite, enquanto tentava desenhar a sombra de jason dormindo do outro lado do lençol, nenhuma delas chegou nem perto disso.

ele deixou que jason chorasse por alguns minutos antes de se levantar e ir até a cozinha. da pata direita da pia, dando cinco passos para a frente e um à direita, havia um alçapão escondido. era um buraco pequeno, mas lá estava o bem mais caro de nico: um rifle. ele sabia que não podia esconder a arma de jason se pretendia levá-la para o quarto, então não tentou.

— eu sei que você está com medo, mas você confia em mim, não confia? — ele saiu falando antes que o outro pudesse pular para conclusões. o medo de ver uma arma poderia cegar ele, mas ainda era nicolás ali. ainda era o homem que havia gasto todo a sua energia em cuidar dele nas últimas vinte e quatro horas, que teve todas as chances de machucá-lo e não o fez. jason apenas concordou e deixou seu olhar fugir enquanto nico largava a arma em cima do armário.

— eu preciso trocar o seu curativo. — nico já tinha pegado o mel, as ervas e as ataduras limpas. sabia que o processo de limpar os curativos seria longo e doloroso, então optou por fazer as coisas ao contrário do que normalmente fazia. — mas antes você precisa de um banho. eu tentei te limpar o máximo que consegui, mas ainda tem sangue seco no seu pescoço e no seu cabelo. falando no seu cabelo… — ele aos poucos se aproximou, levando a mão com todo o carinho do mundo a cabeça de jason, tocou algumas partes e tentou olhar onde ele estava encostado no travesseiro. estava claramente mal cortado, mas aquilo era o de menos, considerando que eles haviam cortado a pele de jason em vários locais. — a gente precisa fazer algo sobre o seu cabelo.

jason apenas concordou e nico percebeu que ele havia voltado ao seu estado apático. essas coisas iam e vinham, era normal. nicolás guiou o amigo pela próxima hora, ambos sem falar uma palavra. o espanhol havia esquentado água do lado de fora da casa e a princípio pensou em lavar o cabelo do outro nos fundos da casa, onde tinha mais luz, mas não achou que seria uma boa ideia. acendeu uma lamparina perto da bacia e lavou com calma a cabeça dele. às vezes jason se esquivava, considerando a posição vulnerável que estava: sentado num banco, de costas para nicolás, mas nico era insistente. quando isso acontecia, ele segurava o rosto de jason com calma, olhava nos olhos dele por alguns segundos, esperando que o homem voltasse a si. que as memórias parassem um pouco. nesse ritmo, lento e preciso, nico conseguiu lavar o cabelo dele e depois tentar alinhá-lo com uma tesoura. algumas partes doíam, por causa dos machucados e nessa questão ele não insistiu muito.

— obrigado. — foi tudo que jason disse quando nico terminou de secar sua cabeça. o mais velho ainda estava sentado atrás dele e portanto eles não estavam se olhando diretamente. — obrigado por cuidar de mim, sei que estou tomando seu tempo e…

— não. — nico o cortou. tudo que ele menos precisava agora é que o loiro se culpasse. — você não toma meu tempo. você faria o mesmo por mim, não é?

— sim, mas…

— mas?

jason apenas negou com a cabeça e nico o deixou. o que quer que eles tivessem para conversar poderia esperar, como estava sendo adiada há muito tempo.

de novo deitado, jason não falou uma palavra enquanto nicolás trocava suas ataduras. era óbvio que doía, o tecido grudando nos machucados e nos pontos, precisando ser retirados com toda a calma do mundo por nicolás, que observava cada mínima reação para tentar evitar que aquilo tudo piorasse. voltou os mesmos remédios de antes e o mel.

— eu trouxe pão e leite. está com fome? — e em resposta, o estômago de jason roncou em alto e bom som.

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mais tarde naquela noite, ambos já estavam deitados em suas camas e quase dormindo, mas algo ainda incomodava nicolás.

— você não devia ter aceitado ficar até mais tarde naquele lugar. o seu chefe é um ser humano horrível.

o silêncio se prolongou por um tempo a ponto de nicolás achar que o outro já havia dormido, mas jason não dormia tão fácil e ele não havia posto sonífero dessa vez.

— eu perderia o emprego se dissesse não. você sabe disso. — jason pareceu irritado com o comentário do outro, mas ele sabia que nico carregava uma teimosia imensa e aquilo não era suficiente para ele.

— talvez você não devesse trabalhar lá. — nico já pensava nisso há muito tempo, mas tinha receio de comentar. — peça demissão.

uma risada veio antes da resposta de jason: — e o que você sugere que eu faça da minha vida?

— é óbvio, não é? abra uma padaria aqui em casa.

— nicolás…

nico soube automaticamente que havia tocado com toda a sua força em um machucado ainda aberto. jason já tinha tido uma padaria antes e foi assim que eles se conheceram. ele ainda morava com a sua família e trabalhava com seu pai, dedicando seus dias a fazer o que amava e fazendo do seu jeito. e é claro, nicolás lembra com a maior clareza do mundo do dia em que eles se conheceram. ele tinha acabado de voltar da guerra, estava descontente com tudo e com todos e desejava imensamente voltar para o seu país de origem um dia. trabalhava igual um cavalo, dia e noite, como ferreiro na esperança de juntar dinheiro o suficiente para embarcar de volta para a espanha. esse plano desandou quando conheceu jason. era o homem mais lindo do mundo inteiro e de repente sua vontade de ir embora sumiu e sumia toda vez que ele gastava libra atrás de libra comprando tudo e qualquer coisa que jason produzia. eles viraram amigos rapidamente e ainda eram amigos quando a padaria fechou.

as vezes que nicolás deixou claro para jason que a culpa em nenhum momento foi dele ou de sua capacidade foram incontáveis. era importante que o outro soubesse disso.

— eu não estou brincando. tente novamente.

— eu já falhei uma vez. — foi tudo que jason respondeu, mas nico não estava feliz.

ele se levantou rápido e impulsivamente, sentindo sua visão ficar preta por um segundo. a determinação sumiu do seu corpo antes mesmo que ele pudesse puxar o lençol da sua frente. alguns segundos se passaram antes que ele se sentisse estúpido. o que faria se passasse dali? tomaria, finalmente, a coragem de dizer tudo que pensa para jason? tiraria todo aquele peso de seu peito que insistia em lhe incomodar?

— nico…? — sua voz foi um sussurro, puxando o espanhol de volta para a realidade. claro que jason podia ver ele ali, ponderando entre o que fazer. — eu nunca gostei desse lençol.

— nem eu. — confessou também, tirando o tecido do seu caminho, podendo finalmente ver o outro. aquilo não o ajudou muito, sentindo o afeto que nutria pelo outro queimar no seu peito ao vê-lo ali. quando tudo isso passasse, nicolás se perguntaria como que conseguiu cuidar dele sem sofrer junto.

— pense sobre isso. eu vou te ajudar quando puder.

— não quero falar sobre isso, não mais. por favor.

e nico acatou, como sempre fazia. se fosse daquela maneira, tudo bem, mas aquela resposta não acalmava seu coração. as implicações de como jason ficaria quando ele fosse embora haviam mudado. aquele era para ser seu melhor amigo. nas peças e livros que nico havia lido, um homem como nicolás deveria descrever jason como um irmão. alexandre dumas, charles dickens, ernest hemingway e muitos outros já haviam escrevido amizades como a deles, mas nunca terminaram como nico queria que terminassem. será que esses homens sabiam da existência do amor que nicolás nutria por jason? será que eles sabiam que homens como nicolás jamais descreveriam jason como a outra metade de sua alma e o chamariam de irmão logo em seguida? que se o destino reservasse para nicolás uma vida sem jason, isso simplesmente não lhe bastaria?

— nicolás? — jason chamou e pela expressão em seu rosto, ficou claro que não era a primeira vez que o chamava. — você pode… pode me dar remédio para dormir? eu estou sentindo muita dor.

a resposta certa seria não, mas a clareza de que nunca poderia dizer não a jason já havia tomado conta dele.

— claro.

nicolás deitou ao lado de jason após dar o remédio eles dormiram juntos, o sono tomando conta de nico bem depois do que o normal.

DIA 3.

nicolás acordou com o barulho da porta dos fundos batendo. ele saltou da cama apenas quando viu que jason já não estava ao seu lado. pavor tomou conta do seu corpo, automaticamente se culpando: se haviam entrado aqui e pegado jason novamente, como que ele não havia acordado? saiu correndo da maneira que pôde, sem sapatos e com rifle em mãos, pronto para atirar em quem aparecesse na sua frente.

os fundos da casa deles era um chão de terra, molhada pela chuva constante, um banco velho embaixo da janela e um cocho que há muito não via comida pela ausência de um cavalo, pois o último que nicolás tinha foi vendido no último aniversário de jason.

esperava tudo, menos ver jason sentado no banco, como se não estivesse completamente remendado, chorando enquanto olhava para um pedaço de papel que ele conhecia muito bem e achava estar guardado muito bem.

— onde você achou isso? — com certeza não foi o seu momento mais inteligente, escolhendo mal suas palavras.

— você vai embora?

não havia hora certa para contar para o seu amigo machucado e traumatizado que você tinha comprado as passagens para a espanha. não havia momento certo para contar ao homem que você ama que você o ama e apesar disso o vai deixar sozinho.

— eu… — jogou seu corpo no banco ao lado de jason, encostando o rifle do seu lado no banco. — eu vou. — automaticamente a expressão de dor e traição tomou conta do rosto de jason, seus olhos com claras lágrimas. — são muitos motivos, não é apenas porque eu quero. eu recebi uma carta da coroa, eles estão me expulsando do país, eles não querem que eu siga praticando… meus trabalhos aqui.

— e você não pensou em me contar isso antes? nicolás eu…

— você o que, jason? — agora nicolás estava com um pouco de raiva. ele não devia nada ao outro, na verdade não devia nada a ninguém e tinha feito questão disso. — o que mudaria se eu tivesse lhe contado antes? seria só mais tempo para você ficar me olhando com essa cara. — nicolás arrancou o papel das mãos do amigo, botando o rifle no seu ombro novamente e estendendo a mão livre para que o outro pegasse. — e eu achei que tinha deixado bem claro que você não pode se mexer, muito menos se arrastar até aqui fora. está frio! você quer pegar uma gripe e morrer? — a bravura na sua voz era inexistente, deixando bem claro que estava preocupado apenas.

DIA 6.

três dias haviam se passado e nada havia melhorado, como nico sabia que ia acontecer. jason é bom demais para fingir que a notícia da partida de nicolás não havia o afetado. nada daquilo melhoraria até que ele estivesse em um navio para o outro país. ou talvez isso só fosse piorar tudo. talvez jason iria o atormentar eternamente. de qualquer modo, ele precisava tentar e descobrir.

— voltei! — jason já estava um pouco melhor, já conseguia caminhar normalmente e já conseguia limpar seus machucados sozinho, então nico voltou a anunciar quando estava em casa.

— de onde você tirou esses livros? — foi a primeira coisa que jason perguntou quando nico pisou no quarto deles, segurando dois dos quinze livros que o espanhol tinha guardado.

nicolás havia começado a fazer as malas dois dias antes, não era muita coisa como sempre, mas agora ele estava juntando toda a sua vida para levar para outro país. precisava de mais organização.

— eu roubei. — ele deu de ombros, sorrindo ao ver jason deixar seu queixo cair, surpreso com esse lado secreto de quem conhecia tão bem. — antes de trabalhar como ferreiro eu trabalhei como jardineiro. pessoas ricas tem muitas coisas que dão valor e vão perceber imediatamente quando forem roubadas, mas livros normalmente não faz parte dessa lista. e você tem que saber quais roubar e tudo… mas é, roubados.

— você nunca me disse que tinha livros. — jason pareceu um pouco chateado com isso, mas não era nada muito profundo.

— você nunca perguntou. — ele deu de ombros, tentando ignorar a leve melancolia que tomou conta dele. — fique com eles… os livros. — nico separou a pilha de livro de suas coisas e botou do lado de jason do quarto. — será meu presente de despedida. vou arranjar livros na minha língua materna quando chegar lá. — a dor que sentia em dizer tais coisas com certeza não tinha nada a ver com seu apego aos livros — agora chega disso, vamos jantar. eu comprei batatas novas.

foi durante a janta, ambos a mesa, que jason falou:

— eu… eu posso ir com você.

não foi uma pergunta, mas mesmo assim nicolás respondeu com rispidez e certeza.

— não. — ele negou com a cabeça e seguiu comendo, como se dizer aquela palavra de três letras não fosse contra tudo que ele queria dizer naquele momento.

— nicolás, aqui não é seguro-

— não. você não vai comigo. se mude para o país de seus pais, vá para a frança. você se daria muito bem na frança, sabia? — nico seguia comendo, observando seu prato com a maior atenção do mundo. — mas não para a espanha.

— olhe para mim. — o pedido veio com uma voz calma, diferente do rumo que a voz do espanhol estava tomando.

— você não pode fazer isso comigo, jason… — foi quase uma súplica. apenas de olhar nos olhos azuis do outro, nico soube que não poderia ir embora sem deixar as coisas claras. — eu vou tomar isso como uma chance de recomeçar, de esquecer você. não peça para ir comigo.

— você quer me esquecer?

— sim.

— por que? — agora sim jason estava machucado, no escuro e sem entender o que havia feito para o amigo para receber uma reação tão drástica. por mais óbvios que seus sentimentos por nicolás fosse, ele jamais imaginou que o outro iria correr dele daquela maneira. ele nunca imaginou um final feliz para eles, mas sempre esteve longe daquilo.

— amar você é a coisa mais fácil e desesperadora que eu já fiz. eu me pergunto se você sabe o que significa quando eu tento de todas as maneiras afastar você de mim. você sabe? — jason apenas negou, tentando processar as palavras que tinha acabado de ouvir. — não é porque eu te quero menos. é porque eu te quero tanto que acho que o mínimo passo em falso vai fazer você fugir de mim.

— então você vai fugir?

— você sabe que eu não estou apenas fugindo.

— está sim! — jason não havia gritado com nico há tanto tempo que o ato fez com que ele encolhesse os ombros. a comida estava na mesa, há muito esquecida. — você pode usar qualquer desculpa que você quiser, mas você está indo embora por um motivo muito claro! e é por minha causa. você quer olhar nos meus olhos e me dizer que está fazendo isso para me esquecer? como você ousa dizer isso se nunca ao menos teve a coragem de me beijar?

aquilo quebrou nicolás e qualquer fachada que ele tentou manter. foi o suficiente para ele se sentir a pior pessoa do mundo. ele quis beijar jason desde o primeiro momento em que se conheceram e não o fez por medo. medo das implicações de um beijo correspondido acima de qualquer medo de rejeição. nunca houve medo de rejeição pois nico sabia que o que quer que sentia, jason sentia o mesmo. então quando ele tomou o rosto do loiro e o beijou, nico sabia que seria correspondido. sabia que não poderia voltar atrás, que não importa o quão longe ele fosse, ele jamais esqueceria jason.

DIA 44.

— eu sinto que você ama mais essa cavalo do que eu. — jason observava nico escovando o animal de pelagem castanha da porta da casa deles. o sol da espanha batia forte na cabeça de nicolás ele sabia que já deveria ter entrado há uns bons minutos.

— não me peça para escolher entre você e strawberry. não temos dinheiro para mandar você de volta para a inglaterra. — nico tirou suas compras das costas do animal, entrando em casa e sentindo o alívio ao estar na sombra novamente.

— como estão as coisas na cidade?

— a senhora martinez pediu que você faça mais dois pães de nozes, o senhor e a senhora gomez querem aqueles negocinhos pequenos… os…

— croissants? – a voz de jason vinha da dispensa, já separando algumas das compras para começar a produção de pedidos na primeira hora da tarde, para que desse tempo de nico voltar na cidade com tudo pronto e fresquinho.

— isso mesmo, croissants! eles querem trinta desses para um chá da tarde amanhã, então esses eu levo amanhã de manhã… a esposa do barbeiro -

— marta?

— isso, marta! ela quer uma torta de maça com conhaque. tem também pedido de cinquenta pães para a padaria do centro da cidade, eles disseram que pagam mais dessa vez e eu disse que falaria com você primeiro.

— cinquenta é muito, eles vão ter que pagar bem. — jason parou para comentar, antes de voltar para a dispensa com ainda mais coisas. strawberry era um cavalo forte.

— quinze por cento a mais do que da última vez foi a oferta deles.

— diga para eles que pode ser, mas você vai ter que me ajudar! - o grito de aviso veio antes de jason voltar para a cozinha. nicolás odiava cozinhar, mas ele fazia o melhor quando o assunto era ajudar o outro nas encomendas que tinha.

ele estava morto de cansado, o caminho entre a casa deles e a cidade levava mais que quarenta minutos e ele o fazia de manhã e de tarde, fazendo o máximo para manter os clientes felizes. seu corpo doía por inteiro, mas nico era um homem forte o suficiente para não se ver cansado, pelo contrário. toda vez que via jason na porta de casa o esperando sabia que precisava repor as energias o mais rápido possível para que toda vez ele pudesse puxar o outro pela cintura para mais um beijo para a lista de tantos outros. para poder sentir o corpo dele grudado ao seu, justificando todo o resto.

— ouvi dizer que você criou confusão com o joalheiro. — jason comentou, entre um beijo e outro, fazendo nico se afastar levemente, com um sorriso culpado.

— isso foi ontem de tarde, como que essa fofoca chegou aqui tão rápido? — mas ele sabia, é óbvio que nicolás sabia da índole fofoqueira de vários vizinhos dali, de alguns em específico. — não foi uma confusão… — ele começou a se explicar, ignorando a expressão de desdém de jason. — ele só não para de insistir em saber para quem eu dei aquela aliança.

nico não precisava olhar para saber que a aliança estava no dedo de jason.

— e o que foi que você disse para ele?

— com certeza não que eu dei ela para o meu… parceiro de negócios.

#answered.#notprinceadonis.#não abram o read more vcs irão se arrepender #no beta we die like men da metade pro final #se tiver erro foi escolha artística #eu escrevi errado nas tags vsf

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daincrediblegg · 10 months

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JFJ + to shut them up (please ily)

James loathed nothing more than a pause in conversation. It was an absurd anxiety, he knew, but he'd always tried to fill it. It became easier when he had a wealth of valorous stories to fill that silence with, ones that in good company would find amicable laughter, spark anecdotes from his peers (men and women, who in truth he never felt an equal to), but it never gave him long enough to think about what they must think of him. In his youth, a silence was the sound only of an elephant in the room, and more often than not, that elephant was his, carried it around like a dutiful pet, feeding it the more he told his stories, the more he held up his glorious existence on display. It never sated the silly thing, in the end. The quiet would always come after one way or another. But at least he alone would sit with it, and not another.

He felt lucky, when he realized he didn't have to hide that from you, from Francis, two of the precious few people he could call true friends to him. The silence was comfortable around you. Perhaps for the first time in his life there was a safety in the lull that found him in your company, in your knowing what hung over his shoulders. You didn't need to hear his acts of valor to love him, nor would the truth of him dissuade you from it. Either of you.

And years he never felt the need to don his mask, but on his return to England, it found him again all the same. It found him tonight, stuffed into his naval blue coat and pauldrons, medals and gold hanging off him and trapping him in it. And the need made itself known again. Helpless to recount "that damned sniper story" again, as Francis so liked to remind him. But somehow, the words didn't come as easy as they used to. He found himself pausing more often than not, the flare in his voice gone. But he pressed through, despite so desperately wanting to tell what came of the wound. What scurvy had done to it. But that wouldn't be very pleasant conversation, would it?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him from his train of thought. His head snapped to find a kind smile, and something of a knowing look in your eyes, peering up at him.

"James, may I borrow you for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

Your eyebrows raised as you nodded towards the door. He nods his excuse to the party of invisible faces he found himself surrounded by, muttering a quiet "of course" before following you into another room, unoccupied, and dark, secluded.

"What is it? Are you all right? Is Francis-" is all he had the time to say before he was forcibly silenced by your quiet caring lips, slotting over them. He felt his heartbeat pick up a moment as your lips lingered, then as he settled into your soft embrace, felt it slow. Parting he found he could not produce another word for a moment.

"Shhh... it's all right James," you crooned, a gentle hand on his cheek, tracing his dimple with your thumb.

"You were doing it again. Looked like you needed saving."

He chuckled a little at that, half out of nerves, half from relief. How many times had you and Francis teased him for that damned sniper story? Too many to count by now.

"I suppose... I was," he sighs, leaning into your touch, close enough to touch his nose with yours. He breathed again, soaking in the blessed quiet, the faint chatter from the party outside feeling far away now.

"Thank you."

You nod, hand reaching to the back of his neck to pet the curls that draped below. He let your quiet reassurance embrace him, wrap him up and calm him, enough his eyes softly shut in contentment for a moment, and then a few more.

"We can leave, you know," you said once the time had passed enough, and James' eyes fluttered open to yours, doe-eyed and concerned and content. Now that was a thought. He'd been so wrapped up in his words, in his nerves, in truth, that he hadn't fully considered that as an option. He considered it seriously now, as you looked at him encouragingly.

"Shall we go?" you ask. James smiled. A sincere one. One that he'd only ever shown to two individuals in his whole life. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Please, I... I don't think I have the stomach for much more of this."

You returned his smile, and kissed his cheek again, soundly.

"I'll go get Francis. Get our coats and we'll meet you by the door."

He enjoyed how you gave orders. They always sounded so pleasant he couldn't help but widen his smile to know such care as this. He kissed his confirmation to the corner of your mouth gently, before withdrawing again.

"Don't be long."

"We won't."

Your hand grazed his cheek softly as you went, making its absence even fonder. He stood a moment, plucking up his courage from the floor where you had draped it, and made his exit a short moment after, heading towards the hall where a footman retrieved your coats for him to carry as he waited, already having put on his own.

He was only stood there a few short minutes before hearing the familiar sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and James turned to find you and Francis, walking arm in arm towards him. A great sigh left the older man's lips as he trekked down the hall to him, relief washing over his shoulders as he dropped the straightness in his back and square in his shoulders.

"Thank bloody Christ that's over," Francis groaned, eliciting a faint chuckle from his walking partner that made him smile.

"You can say that again," you replied, taking your coat from James' hands, wrapping it around your shoulders with grace and gloved hands. Francis reached next for his own, fingers gripping James' arm gently as he plucked his own coat, lingering a moment.

"All right, James?" he asks, his eyes warm, searching, concerned, glinting a warm pale blue in the candlelight. James nodded, soundlessly save the the small whimper that escaped him in the effort. Francis nods his understanding, a warmth renewing his grip before letting go to don his own coat.

"Home then?" Francis asks. James smiles with thoughts of fireplaces, and a shared warmth, and quiet.

"Yes. Home."

#could be read as lt or a reader. either way. whatever #james fitzjames x reader #the terror #kiss bingo #ask games #no editing we die like men you WILL hear me use the same handful of words many times #PLEASE SEND MORE FOR THE BINGO #lmao cherry I cannot escape lady terror voice now for reader inserts it's just how it is #UP NEXT WE HAVE: GOODSIR #egg’s fics

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kiwibirdlafayette · 8 months

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chaos and balance- the capsize

"i don't think you understand what's actually happening here. If you'd just open your bloody fucking eyes, it's pretty obvious."

Chaos and Balance is a narrative playlist that basically comprises, in a chronological order, my headcanon for the progression of cTom Syndicate and cJordan's relationship through the course of S1, S2, the divorce arc (post-canon part 1), Mianitian Isles and the Aftermath (post-canon part 2, aka Gays on A Boat, Aitheaca, etc.) It started mainly because I really love the potential of using music to tell stories, and how lyrics can be representative of feelings seldom expressed any other way- based on both canon moments, moments I've interpreted as significant to their relationship/overall arcs, and little interludes I've written that take place in between episodes/"off camera" that connect things together in my head. All this being said, it is primarily headcanons, and is purely for fun. dont like dont read lmao

This specific being how keeping in the canon nonsense of capsize x jordan plays a role in cSyndisparklez from my pov :] enjoy!

(Red lyrics are representative of Jordan’s voice, green is Tom! Bolded black is both of them)

The shenanigans of Capsize happen just after falling for the villain,

in which Jordan is forced internally for the first time to come to terms with the fact that yes, he is in love with his friend/enemy/however you wanna put it. Despite how much he annoys him, despite all of his questionable behavior, despite it all, he has fallen head over heels for this absolute bastard of a man, and hates to admit it, but deep down has longed for a kind of affection that he could have.

I'll take my timeI'm not the forward thinker; you read my mind-

But a part of him still remains hesitant, and for one reason or another, refuses to give in, to openly admit it to not just others but himself. It’s at this point (I’ve written in) that Tom’s kissed him twice. The first, just a little peck on the lips he was able to brush off as a joke, just a hahaa ok cool bro that's funny. But the second time, as a cheap play by the zombie to get a purge kill having already caught the Ianitee off guard. It's irritating for sure, to have him weasel his way into free points by taking advantage of a distraction that worked a little too well, but why could he not get it out of his head? It hadn’t felt so wrong, actually, and… he had almost hoped it had been genuine. If it had been genuine, maybe he would have returned the gesture.

Better to leave it unsaidWhy can't I leave it unsaid

Instead they dance around it in banter, blathering on and on to one another in often complete nonsense, refusing to address what’s really on his mind. (You know I talk too much) He could confess, sure. But what happens then? All the meanwhile, Tom is scared he’s losing him. (As I hold your face, I can't find the words I need, and soon the opportunity is drowning)

Never someone all that good with words, he kind of hopes that Jordan will catch on. He has to catch on, sooner or later.. Right?Z

And then Capsize and the Ianitee pirates show up. To Jordan, it seems like she’s interested in him beyond him just being another follower of Ianite, and there’s his escape. Play along, play the part and maybe- maybe he’ll get over this.

You know my type, tightrope across the table I can't keep holding my breath

She seems to be into it. She’s responding to his flirting at least. See. He doesn’t need Tom. An Ianitee and another Ianitee seems more acceptable to him in his head, and maybe would be easier. That about, he’s not really sure.

New wave, no time Red velvet under pressure

But what Jordan does know is that he’s drawn to her. To him, it could be a way to forget about Tom. To the varied onlooker, it could just be that he’s happy to have another Ianitee around. Someone who can relate to his experience, someone who’s out to find their goddess just as much as he wants to. But he continues to conflate the two and pursue her in a way that he won’t realize for years is less than ideal.

It sparks my memory when we parked aside the shore, I kissed you there, the ocean air enchanting It escapes me quickly

Tom on the other hand, is for lack of a better word furious. Not in like a “I’m gonna murder this pirate captain for stealing my man” (because if he’s honest she’s one of the coolest people he’s met and he’s gonna befriend her whether Jordan likes it or not, with him claiming it to be ‘Mr. steal your gal’ which is??? Because does it really seem like he wants Capsize, if not as a spiteful thing)

When Jordan’s not around, Tom and Capsize hit it off, as she finds this zombie who doesn’t want to flirt with her at any given moment a lot more of an interesting person. As a Dianitee, he’s supposed to be their enemy, but for someone so supposedly dedicated to his god, he knows how to carve his own path away from being more than his god’s messenger- something she’s always admired in champions.

You call me poison, but you won't stop coming around- No, you won't stop coming around

For the purpose of perhaps getting Jordan to get the hint, Tom plays into their supposed love triangle, pretending to do things to ‘steal away Capsize’, only feeding into Jordan’s confusion. *Now Tom’s interested in her too? Is he trying to move on from me too? *- clearly to dense to realize Tom’s trying to get his attention back. She even admits to Tom that it's amusing that men seem to keep coming after her, when she’s very much more into women (abridged, but direct quote)

All I want is you- Your violet disposition, My unsound intuition

It all sort of culminates in that moment on Jordan’s ship where Tom, annoyed from his perch, watches his friend make an absolute fool of himself over Capsize, and decides to intervene, taking on the role of “fighting” Jordan over her. Capsize in a way is having a good laugh watching them roll around on the deck of the ship (I’ve drawn this, this is where it all started), starting to see it all sort of come together as to where Jordan could be coming from. At some point, Tom’s got Jordan pinned to the deck, and as one last desperate attempt at trying to communicate what he’s been trying to all along, he kisses Jordan, and much to his surprise, he kisses him back. They pull away, to Capsize’s approving nods, and it's all over.

(Jordan’s attempts at saving this are my interpretation of this conversation, aka one of my favorite chat threads of S1)

In the aftermath of all of that (If I had any semblance of a memory I’d pinpoint when exactly this interlude takes place, but im just ballparking it somewhere after Jordan dies in Tom’s vault bc Capsize doesn’t save him); in which he’s still thinking about what happened that day. Jordan reluctantly confronts Tom who spills it all. He tells him how much and how long he’s been in love with him, and how frustrated it made him that every time he kissed Jordan, Jordan never seemed to reciprocate no matter how obvious his feelings were. He’s tried so hard to make it clear that all he wants is Jordan, he wants to be loved back, he wants to be able to call him his lover. He did what he did in front of Capsize cause the fake ass courting set him over the edge because it pissed him off that Jordan would so quickly go after someone he just met just because she was an Ianitee or whatever to get away from him, because was he really that bad that Jordan had to try to hard to stay away from him? Tom knows he had himself to blame as well, but it felt like a step too far.

Always been looking for something to lose, when I needed something to hold onto.

(This sequence is followed by Pull Me Up, which. If you haven’t seen my CMV that’s the one xD)

Note. For my sanity I choose to perceive that any capsize x jordan moments following are more related to Jordan’s ‘holiest of all Ianitees’ attitude and feeling like he has to be her savior (which is a different aspect of his character arc from the romantic side, which is what I mostly wanted to focus on with this ramble, but i do touch on it a little. It's not as ever present as it could be because I haven’t found the right song to incorporate it into outside of Violet and Talk Too Much) But there is definitely more. This is from what i have notated in my stuff for these two sequences :] enjoy!

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cantuscorvi · 8 months

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Is there any life philosophy that young Raum has had to let go over the years? Any hopes or dreams Raum used to cling to even in his 20s that he has gradually abandoned or ones that were ripped out from him by force/trauma? Or perhaps opinions/beliefs he had that were crushed by experience? If older Raum, late 30s/early 40s, could say something to his 19yo self, what would it be?

@nezumivc103221

Oh absolutely. A bunch of things that shaped how Raum sees the world actually hit before he reached 20, especially regarding trauma, but you asked about this time period specifically, so I won't mention those here. The development of 20yo to 40yo Raum is like, a problem of just generally being young and stupid. His inexperience, decadence and idealism.

Raum has always had an issue with selfishness and with idealism of his own capabilities. He always wants to have his cake and eat it too. When he was younger — it made him a bit of a fence-sitter. He didn’t really have to think hard, or make any tough choices. He would follow whatever his father told him, and when he decided he didn’t like it, he would run to his uncle instead. He would jump back and forth on that seesaw however it suited him, basically playing them against each other so that he could feel the most comfortable.

Growing up spoiled like this, he was lazy. He had a philosophy that things should be handed to him without having to choose, or to take action. Or, that he could choose both options in any scenario and take advantage without having to lift a finger.

When you don’t commit to anything, then you never lose. Right?

Eventually he even grew fed up of that game of seesaw. He felt alienated by his father and suffocated by his uncle. So what to do? Well, nothing seems to be working out, so you throw it all away and start again.

Raum had an intention to leave his current life (both it's privileges and responsibilities) behind when he was eighteen. Travelling abroad to study seemed like a perfect excuse. Tired of feeling pulled in two directions by his family, and in effort to create distance and rethink the direction of his life, he wanted to take some steps toward independence. At that time, there was some part of him that wanted to disappear. He had an — admittedly, naïve — idea that he could just go to where nobody knew him and try becoming someone else.

A period of experimentation, Raum spent the time in university trying to live as ‘normal’ a life as he could. He studied pretty hard because he was genuinely interested in his subject matter, ( history & conservation) but he also did a lot of drinking, partying, experimentation with sexuality and drugs. In the end, mostly normal student behaviours. After spending a lot of time under the control of others, he went a bit wild when away from their magnifying glass. He had a sense of freedom he hadn’t held before, but also a lack of personal growth. However, he was only able indulge that fantasy life for one year before Friedrich died.

Friedrich’s death essentially threw a grenade on any plans Raum might have had (tentative as they already were) and forced him to take over his position as the head of WC due to the process of his will. He didn’t really have room to refuse, to prevent the company stock from crashing and burning into the ground and everything being saddled under a mountain of debt. It was a time of emotional turmoil and fragility in his life. One where all of that pressure he had been avoiding was put upon his shoulders without warning. He couldn’t escape anything.

In the end, Raum crawled back to Cyrus for guidance on how to pick up the pieces, meanwhile silencing his negative emotions using those hedonistic activities that he had previously only dabbled in. He had to fix what he considered to be a broken company with a severely outdated business model, meanwhile the previous allies had turned into new competitors trying to profit from their potential demise.

In the end, he realised that by not choosing anything to start with, he gave up his free will entirely. Even with how he behaved to avoid his emotions ; he essentially got addicted to escaping. He gave up his opportunity to choose the path in his life. And throughout his twenties, even though it was still something he sometimes wished for, he eventually gave up on the idea of escape. From then on his approach to life totally flipped and he became very proactive about setting targets, making decisions, and taking steps to obtain what he wants.

To be honest, if Raum had to talk to his younger self he would just get so caught up in berating him for being dumb that he wouldn’t be able to offer any important advice LMAO. Hindsight really is 20/20 in this situation, there’s almost no way he could’ve predicted or prepared for what was out of his control. And, the only way Raum could offer any warning is if he knew the circumstances that caused Friedrich to die.

#nezumivc103221 #ask #long post cw #( ;corvinum )#v: undercover #v: undercover ; prodigal prince #no read mores we die like men #but i tagged it lmao #so i have been slowly chipping away at a timeline for this verse #part of that is in here.#which is why it's so fucking long #but oh well. i hope i answered your questions ksdjnflksdg

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celebregol · 2 years

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I think that moriquendi probably have a much stronger attachment to family (and staying with family) than calaquendi do. When the Noldor come over, most of them are divided into their own lands. Some seal themselves off, some haven’t heard from others in years. Not to say that the Noldor don’t love their family, they obviously do, but there is this overall detachment even within family raised together (like I don’t expect the feanorians to be close with the rest of the family as a whole cause of feanor but even in the sons of feanor they split off into groups and mainly interact in those smaller groups unless something big comes up). Contrast this with the little we know about moriquendi families. For example, Thingol. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s not an exemplary family guy, but he does obviously want to keep his family close (hence why he was so mad at Beren). he accepted the Arafinwes as his kin, and in some versions of Beren and Luthien, after Beren reveals his missing hand and says that he’ll get the Silmaril in person for Thingol, Thingol tells him not to, and to stay in Doriath. Eol’s a darker side of that considering how he kept Eol and Aredhel, refused Aredhel to visit her family, and when he did catch up with them, while he would let Aredhel go, he wanted to take Maeglin back with him, whether it was back to their home or to the death. Neither one is better than the other but i think it’s interesting to examine, because if it’s truly the case, it does make sense. Valinor was safe so yeah, the kids can wander from home and do whatever they like because nothing really bad will befall them. However, the moriquendi dealt with a world under morgoth for a bit longer than the calaquendi and in addition to that, middle earth can be dangerous enough by itself. So with dangers it’s better to stay in that community setting. Like, for instance, a family group.

#silmarillion #elves #meanwhile I think all elves have the habit now of accepting anyone into their family #like how various men were accepted into elvish families #mainly because once again living in a tumultuous environment such as middle earth where you lose a lot of people #you probably lean more toward found family #tho I perpetually think Gondolin is interesting because of maeglins treatment when he’s taken in #it very much reads to me ‘we’re letting you stay because we don’t allow anyone to know about Gondolin so you can’t leave anyways’#ugh maeglins early treatment makes me so mad because like. literally it’s like you can stay here or die and it’s all the choice of your #father you get no say and none of us will do anything to stop this. like tf???#also thinking about how the guards were like ‘yeah there’s this elf outside we didn’t kill cause of the law…’ and the only thing they knew #about eol then was that he was a ‘dark elf.’ like :////#anyways rant over another interesting thing is the attachment to land #aka thinking why elwing didn’t leave sirion. makes sense to me ngl #c.posts

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hoohoobeanie · 4 months

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"gold rush has hit 10k words"

#everybody cheered #and i definitely only have a couple more paragraphs to go #do i have the energy to reread it all for typos and such?#no #but alas i have nobody to beta read #so no beta we die like men #gold rush

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waatched · 9 months

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_WHO'S IN CTRL?

Aiden's face dropped. Aiden’s father? The only one who he really really admired, even if he couldn’t really remember him? But from Aiden’s view... his father was a freedom fighter. Until the end.. He fought for what he had. No. His father was something he’d dream to achieve. Aiden knew he was good. But he could never reach his father’s level.

His name was Edward. Aiden had always idolized him. He couldn’t remember everything about Edward.. but what he did remember were some of the beatings he had receive. They were harsh. But to Aiden.. that meant sucking it up. Fessing up.

How dare this man even try to talk to or about Edward?

He finally replied,

"I'm sorry?"

Aiden stood dumbfounded. Edward meant a lot to Aiden, regardless of the actions he did back in the day.

“Exactly what you think, Pearce. Your father, Edward. He served me well. Until he had to die. And you knew when he passed away, didn’t you? You already had started your career in vigilantism… taking after him. Like father, like son, they say. ”

Quinn knew it all. He knew the vigilante. He knew the old Aiden.

He couldn’t remember one single time where he actually saw Quinn face to face in his whole childhood. In fact, he couldn’t remember his childhood in entirety. It was all a blur. He remembered the lessons he used to pay for himself, but not instances with his father. Nothing. A haze. A long-lasting fog. He never thought about it because he always focused on other jobs. He never had time to reflect on things. Aiden took a deep breath, thinking carefully what to reply to Quinn.

“Whatever my family does — is none of your business. You go out of your way to put this play for Chicagoans to believe, but I see right through the bullshit you spill on radio,”

Aiden was pissed. It showed. He gritted his teeth. Anger showed through his eyes. Shattered glass in his heart. He continued.

“I also know you grew as an orphan, but that’s nothing new. Everyone knows that. You made sure they knew. What they don’t know — is you use this façade to your advantage. Nobody knows your plans. And if they do? — They stay quiet. They know you dominate them.”

That was right. Quinn toyed people. Easily. He had a massive impact on everyone with his tragic, sad story. Yet Aiden didn’t believe it. Not one bit.

#no beta reading we die like real men #god this is old #watch dogs #aiden pearce #lucky dermot quinn #lucky quinn #depressing childhood memories #headcanons and all of that #i should post more of musings here #i got a lot of ideas and 0 motivation #short but i guess it is what it is #eat up thatvigilante people!#if there are any...

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zavr-fara · 9 months

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——— the Basics.

Full name: Zavr Fara Age: 347 (appears 33) Pronouns: He/him Race: Djinn (elemental; fire affinity) House: Contracted to house Savarem, under Typhon. Bound object: A refined shard of blue sandstone, carved from the desert ruins he once called home.

——— the Story Thus Far.

Djinn are notorious for being headstrong and impulsive, and when you couple that with a centuries-long lifespan, mistakes will eventually be made.

Born to a long and proud lineage, Zavr Fara grew up well-loved and surrounded by family. He's lost count of his siblings and cousins at this point; the Fara branch of the family is close-knit but independent, sometimes going decades without contact only to come back together like no time had passed at all. The turning of seasons and passage of years mean little to beings who easily surpass a thousand, and Zavr was no exception. Mercurial and curious — not to mention powerful, with little sense of or concern for danger — Zavr set out to explore the world at a relatively young age, weaving a wandering path across the globe to see everything there was to see and meet every other species there was to meet.

He should have heeded his family's warnings about the humans, particularly those with dragons' blood and an affinity for war.

Still young and impetuous, the concept of a binding contract meant little to Zavr. What was a hundred, two hundred years of his centuries-long existence when humans' own lives were so brief? Tying himself to a house heir with promises of action and glory was an enticing prospect, and one that seemed to boast few downsides for the djinn eager to make his mark on the world. Ignoring the fine print that would bind him to an entire bloodline over a single discrete lifespan, Zavr pledged himself to House Savarem and altered the course of their shared history for decades to come.

Gifted to the family Savarem's newborn heir, Mallick, Zavr watched the boy grow from a fiery child to a well-respected and expertly trained man — and after no time at all the two rode into battle, shoulder to shoulder, to fight the wars of other houses. Zavr cared little for politics but much for Mallick, willing to follow him to the ends of the earth with or without the power of the djinn contract hanging over him. Their partnership became a thing of legend, dragon rider and djinn, and elevated house Savarem to high esteem in the eyes of house Typhon and the greater continent.

But nothing so glorious was built to last.

Mallick's brief lifespan passed all too quickly for Zavr, particularly as an heir born for battle above all else. Fortunately the dragon rider left behind heirs of his own, a handful of worthy children eager to live up to their father's legendary name, and Zavr respected Mallick's memory enough to be happy to serve them each in turn. Again and again he went to battle for the Western Isles, and again and again he watched the heirs to the Savarem family fall. But humans are resilient and house Savarem was prolific, so even as the decades wore on and Zavr wondered from time to time if the entire family wouldn't be wiped out, they continued to persevere.

Unfortunately, as the decades wore on, house Savarem also began to take their glory and their family's prized weapon for granted. Generations diluted their purpose and honor, and the house Zavr was once proud to serve and be associated with became steeped in politics and corruption. Zavr grew tired of war just as he grew tired of subterfuge and posturing, and the more the family began to treat him as a tool rather than a partner, he found he grew tired of his contract. The final blow to his pride came with his most recent assignment: a family heir born human, with none of the proud dragons' blood in his veins or any of its fire in his heart. In a time of relative peace Zavr was given the position of bodyguard and glorified babysitter, contracted to serve the man-child with grit teeth and suffer abuses he was magically bound not to retaliate against. He watched the family's other heir, Kaya, grow up bold and rebellious and with much more of the family's old spirit that Zavr wished they would reclaim.

So when Kaya came to him one night, as her half-brother was indisposed at the bottom of some bottle or between someone else's sheets, Zavr didn't hesitate to agree to abandon the family and run away with her.

Contracts can be flexible if you know which loopholes to thread, and as long as Zavr serves a Savarem, his vow remains unbroken. He may be incapable of raising a hand against the family until his 200 years' servitude is up, but that doesn't stop him from joining Kaya in plotting future vengeance — as well as pursuing ways to undo the djinn's now-unwilling captivity.

With only a couple weeks of relative freedom under his belt, Zavr is taking to the mundanity surprisingly well. War-tired and sick of violence, he’s free to appreciate the simpler things the village of Elissa has to offer. Extensive knowledge of arms and metalwork made employment with the local blacksmith the obvious choice, though it’s often that the djinn has to remind himself to keep his fire abilities tucked away until he’s working alone. For now, the quiet life suits him — until his impulsiveness or fugitive status make ‘quiet’ an impossibility.

@kaya-savarem

#founders:intro #about.#no read-mores we die like men

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swingstep · 1 year

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Please drop mrd theatre au lore????

OH HOO BOY so. genuinely did not remember i never explained that au huh ksjdngd its been a hot minute since ive messed with that one, but lets see what i can dig up for it. as a disclaimer, its kind of an... abstract au, very rough around the edges as well. dont expect it to be anything too concrete WAHAHA

anyhow. tldr: the mrd theatre au is exactly what it sounds like: the plot of the game described entirely through the lens of a theater production! alternately referred to as the dance au, because... its a musical! major events are described through dance, each piece pushing the story forward with the power of music and expression. literally-- the story won’t move on without it. starring mad rat as the lead role, rat god as the director, and heart as... That One Guy, Sure!

the abstraction kicks in in its presentation though-- it's told through the framing of a stage-- however, the story itself is Real to the characters. their world is real, and as characters, they see it as such. to everyone else, it's exactly as its namesake: a play. the term "actor" and "character" go hand in hand, practically synonyms. actors are the characters. the narrative is their world. all in all: the theatre au is an inspection of the meaning of Reality and Perception, the meaning of what it is to be a Character or a Person, and a play on Stories and Roles. more under the cut.

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

As it does in canon, the narrative starts with Mad Rat waking up, and Rat God telling him his situation. Y'know, he died, she's giving him a second chance, etc etc. However, she Specifically tells him that he is, in fact, a character in a play and, as someone outside of the narrative, she knows what to do and what paths to follow. As long as he followed her, he'd be able to make it to the end of his story a-ok, and finally get the ending he deserved!

In the beginning, Rat God starts out with a whole musical number as she narrates the scene (to both the audience and Mad Rat) to catch him up to speed on where he is, who she is, and why he died. As she finishes, hands off the (metaphorical) mic to Mad Rat to get a word in for his debut scene. Unfortunately, Mad Rat, having just recovered from a terminal case of Being Dead, Does Not In Fact Have The Nicest Voice. Seeing this, Rat God quickly interrupts and redirects to another option: Dance. Which is where a major quirk comes in: every character has a specialized dance style!

Rat gods style is tap/swing, which is what the intro scene Truly is! It's Rat God introducing Mad Rat to the concept of The Show in a duet swing performance. Specifically, in this performance, Rat God takes the lead role in this one for several reasons: 1) She's Extra and Likes Showmanship. 2) She's ensuring Mad Rat goes in the direction he's supposed to-- making sure he's following along. And 3) She's effectively re-teaching Mad Rat how to move after. Y'know. Being Dead. Swing is a heavily motion-focused and improvisational dance: Mad Rat Does Not Know How To Dance. However, Rat God is good enough at it that she can take the lead and turn his stumbles and missteps into motion and flair. It's essentially the tutorial stage!

The narrative is pretty much the same through the first third of the game, more or less. Mad Rat meets Heart, who doesn't really Dance but rather just cheers him on, and they begin "travelling" together, with periodical "intermissions" where Rat God, off to the side of the stage presents recaps, narration, and questions-- but it's never clear if it's to the audience or Mad Rat. Maybe both. What's really important is the Framing, though. Mad Rat (kind of) acknowledges he is just a Character, but doesn't really Understand it.

Despite the knowledge, he still functions through the frame of a Character. He perceives the stage as The World Around Him rather than A Stage, while Rat God is the opposite. This leads to Mad Rat essentially just Following Her Lead. Which ends up just seeming... brazenly reckless and incredibly dangerous-- because Mad Rat doesn't think it will lead to anything. Obviously he's the main character, so he's probably going to just... get to his goal and whatever happens happens, right? Rat God said which way the story goes so... whatever, right?

Which all culminates at Heart's intervention: Heart notices all of this and gets worried. Whatever this Mess about "shows" and "story" and "directors" is, Mad Rat is still being really really flippant about how many Near Death Experiences he's had (not to mention the whole "Seeing Things That Heart Doesn't" thing.) So he decides to step in.

This is the first time we ever see Heart dance! He'd always insisted on being moral support/backup for Mad Rat, not really stepping in in any major way. Turns out, he's really good at a lot of dance styles. It's the first time we have a music genre outside of showtunes and the adjacent. It's heart basically trying to tell him that, whatever bullshit about "Narratives" he's following, Mad Rat is still Here. He's still a contributor to the world around him-- he can affect It, and it can affect him. It doesn't matter what he knows about Whatever This Is because it all wont matter if he gets himself into Real Trouble. Which is a convenient segue to the next arc-- they go off-script.

The following arcs are pretty much just those two figuring out what to do and where they’re going. Mad Rat, up to this point, was just (kind of badly) trying to imitate the swing style from the beginning, but slowly starts figuring out his own specialty on his own. Mad Rat kind of dabbles through a lot, but is Particularly good at breakdance/krump. It’s a bit of a slow process, but he slowly forges his own place in a world he technically does not belong in.

All the while, Rat God is suspiciously quiet. They weren’t supposed to go that way, or do any of that, But she could improvise. She passively tried to mess with them from offstage-- changing the background scenery, tossing obstacles after them-- but they just. Kept going. Mad Rat even began Understanding the nature of The Stage and learning how to use that to his advantage, predicting the way things would move or shift, and using that knowledge to move even faster. It was only after Mimolette’s scene (which was Not supposed to be this early in the script, to Rat God’s chagrin,) that she Really started to get particularly miffed. They’d completely gone off-script, avoided Everything she sent after them-- but there was still an ending that needed to be told, and she was going to tell it no matter how messy it was to get there. Which leads to an intervention of her own.

As the director, she had direct control over a lot of things-- but she herself could never interact with the Narrative. She had no real Hold, as it were. She was barely a concept to the characters in the narrative-- they could not really perceive her. So, she decided to break that rule-- and interact with them directly. Rat God’s scene is incredibly similar to that in canon: Incredibly Chaotic and Hard To Track. She mostly keeps to swing, as that’s her specialty, but regularly switches it up to try and throw Mad Rat off. But things are different than their first dance.

Mad Rat has a grasp on himself and his goals. Rat God’s plan is already off its rhythm-- it was clear from the start that this was a last-ditch effort on her part to kill him. Despite her still trying to take control, Mad Rat was nothing if not stubborn. He was just as good at deflecting and navigating the scene as she was. But it’s hard to truly get rid of something like Rat God. She isn’t done until the Story was done. There was still a story to be told, so here she stayed. She could keep going as long as he could, and longer. So knowing what he did now, and understanding the circumstance, he did the only think of. The two had, to some extent, switched places: Rat God taking the stance of a Character/Participant in the scene, and Mad Rat seeing the full scope of The Stage and how it worked. The show was still going, so all he had to do was end it.

Tricking her into a monologue, he truly exits the frame of the narrative for the first time, grabbing one of the curtain ropes and letting it free, closing the curtains on the stage-- with Rat God behind them. And... silence. In the end, it was just the closed curtains, the audience, and Mad Rat and Heart in front of them. They saw the audience, truly, for the first time-- that larger force constantly watching over him from beyond his view, pushing the show forward not of their own actions, but of their presence alone. This is who it was all for. And seeing this, Mad Rat makes the decision... to ignore them.

They weren’t important anymore. The show was over-- the audience had no more use here. No more power here. They meant nothing to him. Nothing to them. He has one last talk with Heart-- they knew they weren’t alone, not truly-- but all that mattered right then was just the two of them. What they’d seen, what they’d been through-- it all had to come to an end eventually. But not by the hand of someone who had no stake in their story-- in their lives. Mad Rat gets to make his own choice about his future: And with no story left to tell... he gets up, and walks off the stage.

The Story Is Over.

#pikasks #mrd theatreAU #long post #no fandomtags we die like men #anyhow. thanks for enabling another essay of an infodump ur a real one <333 kdjgnkdjf #this au means The World to me but because its so... [waves arms around.] its very hard to explain in a way that feels Correct.#a lot of it is Vibes alone. feelings and concepts and notions of motion and song. as it is in canon too i think.#as with canon; its a play on tiers of personhood and control-- of who truly gets to choose fate; or if it really exists at all.#its about grabbing on with such fervor that the fabric of the world around you bends to your will.#about the inescapability of Role and Expectation; of Progress and Actions. how nobody in this story; truly; could choose how it ended.#not alone; at least.#rat god is equally bound to her role as director. she has no sway in this world. no matter how deeply she may want it.#the difference between her and mad rat is something tragic; to me.#two people in such similar roles reacting so differently they mirror each other perfectly.#surrender to a role you have no control of and hope it eventually benefits you-- or fight tooth and nail against forces stronger than you.#but these are the tags. im just waxing poetic at this point.#if you want a more clear read of the vibes this was inspired and started entirely by the mrd piano medley by tmsy.#please go check it out it slaughters me. id point out a specific part but its kind of all of them.#anyhow. thanks for reading and also enabling me. have a lovely day !! <33

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