#he tunes in every single time its playing. alright king | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Pale Jester Chain 1

Prompt: PJ finds himself alone with the Grimmchild after the bug who finished the ritual abandons the Grimmchild charm

By @alaska-ren-works

“Oh, the red casts great and terrifying spells Ones which no one knows The drums go bang and the bats ignite ‘Lo and behold a toad!”

The Pale Jester hummed to the beat of his steps, the atmosphere of King’s Pass having a little color now, PJ thinks. Little taps from crawlids and squawks of vengeflies adding a little harmony to his cheery bells. Ah, to have an orchestra of his own to play and dance to. Never the mind, there’s always his friends he could sneak away with. He’s sure Brumm wouldn’t mind if he borrowed him and his accordian. Brumm was always a lovely companion with his somber mood. Hm, now if only he could remember where he left his lute he’d be on his way to play with the troupe.

The jester paused when mued noise echoed from a tunnel above. Shrugging, his bells jingled as he scaled the stone up and up while wondering what this little mystery was. A statue of a great bug with red eyes a-plenty loomed from the jester's place on the edge, guarding over a single opened chest. The noise echoed from its hollow depths.

A grub? It must be. Unless something else can make such high-pitched sounds.

The jester jingled quietly to the chest, preparing a little song to cheer the poor sap out. Who would leave a child in a desolate place such as this?

He'd have a word with the young one's parents. A strongly worded one at that. If he had a child, he would never abandon them when they needed him most.

Indeed. You have done far, far worse. Strange. Is the wind howling voices? What a peculiar land this is.

The sound whimpered louder and at this the jester froze. It couldn't be. No, of course not. Master had made sure the bug was to be trusted. They would never... They would never do such a thing...!

He hurried and his claws dug into the chest's metal. His heart stopped when he saw what, or who, was inside. The black gleaming horns. The scarlet flame stuttering under glassy eyes.

No.

"Grimmchild?"

A stuttered whimper his only reply.

How dare that excuse of a life betray our child.

Grimmchild did not respond when the jester picked them up, cradling them in his puy-sleeved arms. Dark red stained their cheeks. Dark, sorrowful red.

"Child," he gently cooed, frowning when they hardly moved their head. "How long were you left here?"

No reply. What have they done to you?

“Let’s go home, little one. I am certain you are tired after your long adventure,” he sang with restrained tones, his fury marbled with his grief for this little one. "I have a few tricks I want to show you! Made them perfect while Brumm learned how to juggle. He's not the most dexterous of us all but perhaps one day he can handle flaming darts! What fun that would be!"

No reply.

The Jester trembled with every rocking of his arms for the child. He remembered how the child laughed and beamed when the bug took them to gather the scarlet flames. The child sang with such glee at the bug's performance with the master. The child grew more brilliant with every step this bug took with them down to the kingdom's last flame.

Come to think of it, he had not seen the bug once the heart was defeated. ... No.

"O, child," the jester piped. Taking one step, a stalactite fell from above. His hand moved on its own and in moments, the rock turned to powder under his clenched fist. The child merely curled in his arms, eyes dimming to a close. "Child, you need rest! Once you wake, you'll be in such a lovelier place with the most delightful of games to play with!"

That... fiend... left the child when the ritual was over? Like a mere toy to be buried once play time ends?

That abomination will pay. For every tear this child shed.

Every. Damned. One.

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

By @lametinkerer

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

By The Grimm Chronicler

At first, it was easily muffled by all the noise outside. Then he heard it. A thud, a sudden cry of desperation.

Investigating at the source, there he found it, hidden away within a small chest. A child. A weeping, frightened child, clinging to his robes so tight and desperately as though the mere mention of legging go could mean that they would return to the chest and be trapped once again.   "Oh, child..." The Jester whispers. "Who could do something like this to you? How long have you been there?" Questioned the Jester, though he knew he'd receive naught but silence. Embracing them as gently as possible, he rocked them evenly back and forth until they stilled, having given in to slumber.

His investigation has proven itself to be quite uncomplicated. Within no time, he found out about the child's former guardian and how they were so utterly left aside to simply rot away in the confines of an ornate chest in a secluded area. The mere thought brought forth despicable, hideous emotions he never thought himself capable of experiencing.

Anger. Pure, unbridled anger.

He swore that he'd find the one responsible for this sick malevolence and bring them to justice. Mayhaps even the Master would offer his aid. It mattered little whether he did so or not, the Jester sought naught but to seek out the evil being and he would do so relentlessly. He promised that. As he held the child in his hands, their crimson eyes staring innocently at the funny man with a strange makeup and even stranger outfit and pointy prongs on his head, they giggled at the sight. "That abomination shall pay for every. Single. Tear you ever shed. I shall see to it. They will not go unpunished for such atrocity."

The Jester brought them closer to him, closing his eyes. They giggled at the contact, embracing him back.

"I promise you."

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

By @lagt-duck

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

By @al-the-frog

the unexpected isn’t always desirable

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

By @largeegg

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

By @wasabi-arts

The audience departed, the stage left empty, not a sound. Usually Brumm’s pleasant tune filled the halls draped in red with faint echoes of the notes, but tonight remained silent. It wasn’t often the bug was left with the distinct lack of noise, with no joke to entertain himself or company to keep. All that greeted him was the faint whispers of an audience no more, the spirits that haunted the troupe.

And to think at first you loathed him- a creature created by the king of all nightmares after humiliating your very existence as the king’s little fool. However. . now? You feel pity for him while you watch the jester in red with his head in his hand, sitting on the edge of the stage. He’s weighed by a misery he can’t understand, memories he’ll never recall, all in a world through the holes of a stice striped mask. The stamp of the Grimm Troupe.

On the stage, the jester just stared at something in one of his hands, round and white. Normally, it's something you’d dismiss- perhaps a relic spawning a curiosity that would be short lived- but the curled carving, the white charm shape- it was unmistakable. Something that he and his wife had once shared, then split in two- was suddenly regained.

Several emotions filled your mind as you, in your ghostly shadow of self that remained trapped in the nightmare realm bound by a red string, inched closer to your physical counterpart. The kingsoul. Last you remembered- no, last you knew you held it on your cold dead corpse in the palace long since gone, hidden within a lingering dream. The other half was to your wife, if she even still considered you as much after everything you had done.

Tears ran down his face while he laughed, unaware of the peeking figure standing by the entrance- Grimm, though not the one bound by nightmares. Though the cloaked one’s look of pained sympathy wasn’t where your interest lay.

“Ah. . . .h . a . . ha h.” He laughed through tears, some falling on the kingsoul he held in his hand. “Isn’t this hilarious- laughing over a rock!”

He cringes at calling it such a thing as you do, staring with a mix of disgust and sadness, watching the red flame’s reflection flicker in the charm. The broken crown even seemed to sag even more, a dinky replica of what you yourself once were.

“Did-” A pause from the fool sitting on the edge of the stage- his stage that was built for him in this troupe of misfits. “Did she give this to me to make me cry? Hah-ha! M-Maybe it has a crying effect.”

Your annoyance and anger switched into a deep sadness, watching your counterpart laugh through tears, tears of which he knew not where the source was.

“That’s not what that is-” You say to no one, letting out a sigh as you turn away, responding to a world that wouldn’t hear you regardless. “You won’t know, and I doubt anyone would tell.”

The jester and the peeking Grimm didn't respond, as you expected. Though, finally your counterpart peeked up, catching the taller, monstrous bug in a spare glance. In an instant he hopped up on his feet, charm in hand, greeting the master of the troupe with four open arms- the charm in one.

“H-Hello hello!” He cheered, voice cracking through his tears, the unfamiliar sense of deja-vu crippling his very being. He bowed. “Why, my performance as long since ended, but if my master himself wants another show- then I shall prepare for one-!”

“That is not needed, dear Jester.” Grimm said simply, waving a hand to pause the jester’s actions, finally deciding to enter the room. “While I do enjoy a good show- I didn’t wish to disturb your thought.”

“Thought. . ?” The jester questioned, stature changing from fun to a distinct slouch. You huff- and he looks in your direction, though he doesn’t see you. You’re merely a shadow haunting this jester’s mind. Soon enough his focus drifted back to the round object in his hand. “Ah.”

“Are you feeling alright-”

“Splendid! I am doing fantastically, Master!” He exclaimed as you scowled. Master- what a disgraceful word for a wyrm to call such a makeshift god. Though he’s not a wyrm, nor are you. Not anymore. “I have just been given a cute little charm by a fair lady deep within the gardens. Well- half of it! The beauty said I had the other half, haha!”

Grimm cocks his head, in worry and curiosity, making you wish your counterpart- the one born for the stage and as a mockery of yourself- wasn’t nearly as tone-deaf.

“Hm, you had the other half, she said?” Grimm asked, moving closer to the jester.

“Why, yes! And you’ll never believe where I found it- in some dark little place deep below. How odd!” Grimm let out a ‘hrm’ in response as he spoke. “Found it on a corpse of all things- a hollow shell of armour! Don’t you find it curious, Master?”

“Hmm- that is quite odd. What do you plan to do with it?”

You watch the jester flinch in a rather odd fashion at the question.

“Well- I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll hang it on to it- or perhaps I’ll wear the darling little thing! Maybe it will help me cry on command, wouldn’t that be hilarious?” Silence. A long, agonizing silence greeted both for a moment, the red flame glittering in the dark room. All these tents had for light were shades upon shades of red- you quite hated the color.

“I suppose it is.” Grimm said, extending out a hand. Long, bony, black. He seemed to lack a lot of the segmentation that typical bugs had. “Why don’t you allow me to hold on to that until you decide what to do with it? We certainly don’t need such a thing getting sawed in half during one of your splendid performances!”

“Why- of course, Master! If you would like it- who am I to refuse such a request!” He hummed back, reaching out to give it to the taller bug. The action disgusted you. Giving away such a precious charm that was your’s and no one else’s, let alone to that made your blood boil.

“Are you going to let go?”

You turn, finding that the jester hadn’t let away his grip of the carved white stone. In fact- it was almost like he couldn’t.

“I--I apologize, Master. I feel like. . . I don’t want to let it go? That’s not very funny, though! Ha-ha! I-”

“Then you can keep it.” he said, the slight smile of his pointed teeth not hidden under his collar for once. “It is yours- so you will do with it what you wish.” The Pale Jester turned his gaze from Grimm to the charm once more, turning it in his hands once. Twice. “However, let’s not focus on that- you have a grand show tomorrow, and I would love to view it from the audience this time around.” He turned to leave with a bow. “I expect an even grander performance than before! ANd I am greatly looking forward, my dear Jester. Have a pleasant night.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

And with Grimm gone, you look back on your counterpart, giving a joyful wave with a solemn, sad expression on his face. The charm lay loosely in his hand. And for once, you wonder what he was thinking in that separated mind of his as he left the stage.

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

By @ded-lime

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

By @vivifrage

The wyrm was in tears.

In times like these, it was even harder to remember that the broken, warped Jester dancing around the Troupe’s grounds used to be these lands’ god-king. Cold. Stoic. Unfeeling, many claimed. Ruled by and ruling over pure logic and calculation.

Easily enough disproved with sufficiently annoying input; Grimm’s own memories trotted out tales of delighting in that knowledge over and over. The wyrm was a stick in the mud, a hardass, arrogant and prim and so fun to bother until he was literally incandescent with anger he’d deny up and down and up again.

Yet here the wyrm stood, muddied white carapace given a pink cast from the tent’s fabric all around, tears still slicking the black tracks in his mask, giving them an obsidian shine. And for the life of him, Grimm couldn’t feel that spark of delight in seeing the pale bastard showing some kind of emotion.

(The Heart certainly could, but its smug pulse felt oh-so-alien versus this dismal thing dampening all the rest of his core more thoroughly than any rain could soak an eternally-burning god.)

He couldn’t quite bring himself to a smile, even a polite one, when the Jester hopped over, something clutched tight in one hand. He settled for an inquisitive look, a soft tilt of the head, eyes alert and bright, hands raised in greeting.

The Jester waved back, in that brief moment as cheery and oblivious as ever. But the moment passed, and he hesitated, hands sinking back against his sides, the closed fist kept close to his collar.

Whatever he held, he pressed it to the lower third of his mask, be it in hesitance or reverence.

Or both.

Grimm let him take his time.

It was the least he could do, really. For the both of them. The wyrm to find his words, Grimm to settle the dread rising in his throat. That rather particular sort of dread, too, that one that anticipated an ugly, ugly task.

“Master?” the Jester asked at last, “May I tell you a story?”

“Of course,” Grim said. It was not a lie. It felt like it was.

“Well, once upon a time, there was a- a-” He clicked his fingers together. “Something bright, almost shining. Resplendent. White, white as snow or ash or death. A tree! No, a tree’s root. And she had crystals for eyes, but they’ve long clouded.

“And in exchange for a laugh, a smile, and a goodbye, she told the funniest tragedy. One of two lovers who saw in each other the world, and whose deeds drove them apart. She gave me a token of their story, of their love, and told me to do with it as I will.”

He opened his fist.

Cradled in his palm was half a charm. White, a colder color than even pale ore, so white and with such a sheen that it seemed to cast the tent in winter tones, the most direct reflections twinkling like evening stars. All save for a black stripe cutting across the face, through the hole of the eye, dug through the detail in the same way the marks on the Jester’s and Grimm’s own masks featured their otherwise plain faces.

Grimm’s stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw to keep it from hanging open. Deep within his chest, the Heart sang in shock, confusion, and uncertainty.

That was wrong.

That was so, so very wrong. In so, so many ways. In ways the Jester could not know.

His eyes traced the mark from halved forehead to fractured jawline. That should not be there. It never should have been in the Jester’s hands but that should not be there-

The Heart swallowed his burst of flame-hot anger, echoed it back with the roar of a furnace.

Grimm put on a polite face. It just so happened to bare his teeth.

The wyrm continued.

“Personally, what I would like to do is mug the other half of the other lover’s no-good corpse!” He twittered with laughter in a way the dour king never would have. The sound just made his carapace crawl. “Ah, but that would require finding it, and the Ritual has us so busy, Master. It must be a matter for later fools.

But, in the meantime, I don’t- It hurts. Such a story. It’s cliché, is it not? The doomed lovers? I could tell you six like that with my tongue tied, and I’m sure you could tell me twelve right back, and we’d both laugh at how silly they all are, to think their love could ever be enough. Perhaps it’s something about holding this little trinket but-” He closed his fist again, held it to his throat. When he spoke, his voice was choked, and he pressed two hands to his temples, another two covering his mask. “The sight of her stung my eyes and I drank her words as sorrowful wine, and now my tears fall and my tongue bleeds in all the pretty reds-”

“Jester?”

The wyrm stared at the waiting hand Grimm held out between them, eyes slowly rising to meet his. There was a spark in there, shadowed behind those vacant carvings in the mask, something bright and cold staring back at him. He smiled at it, and let the chill sink into his teeth.

“If it upsets you so, may I hold it for a time? For your respite, of course. I seek no undue pain from my people, and perhaps I could look into this local legend myself, so we could discuss it together. Besides, it is quite the curious artifact, and I would love a closer look.” His hand bobbed, palm up and curved into a perfect receptacle for the little broken charm.

(Well, not perfect. Only two beings in the world had ever had hands for that.)

Wordlessly, the Jester handed it over. It clinked into Grimm’s hand, its weight off-balance in a way that itched at his mind. And, for everything he knew it was, it struck him as so mundane. Like there should have been something to it, holding a wyrm and a root’s wedding charm. Even half of it. But rather, the thing felt…

Dead, it felt dead.

Comatose, at best.

(Or worst.)

(He glanced back at the Jester. The spark had faded from his eyes, replaced with mellow-warm embers.)

(The Heart thudded its relief.)

“Thank you,” he said, and stepped back.

The Jester blinked, visible only as the slightest hint of eyelids moving behind the mask. He stared at his empty palm, touched the tracks of his mask and rubbed the lingering wet he found. “Was I upset?”

He stared up at Grimm, searching his face. “What was I upset about?”

Grimm offered only a shrug before he turned away, and left the Jester standing alone.

“Brumm,” he muttered, clasping the other bug’s shoulder as he passed by, “Prepare a fire. I must commune.”

Brumm hummed in that low, doubtful way he always did when he sensed Grimm was up to something he ought not to ask about directly. “Are you sure you can’t rest for it? I’d not blame you a moment’s respite.”

Grimm paused, reached back, took his wrist and squeezed it gently. “I know. But I must be of clear mind for this.”

His thumb rubbed the halved charm, stroking up and down the new line carved into its face. The Jester’s story turned over in his head, biting in like a sliver of carapace caught between the teeth.

The dread grew sour.

This could not go on.

The Jester didn’t come to dinner. An odd happening; his appetite easily rivaled Divine’s, and he knew it had been suppressed. Allegedly for how recognizable a wyrm trait that was. But also, the Troupe only had so much in their stocks.

Still, a Troupe member in poor state was a Troupe member in poor state, and Grimm sought him out.

He wasn’t hard to find, exactly. Easier than it used to be by far. The Jester was loud, extroverted, and flashy. But even in his quiet moments, he had a pull to him.

No matter his background, though, Grimm should not have found him in the first tent he checked, hidden away under the first curtain he got a suspicious feeling from.

The Heart sank, staring at the Jester’s back as he curled up, sobbing into his hands. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. The Jester was the dancing fool the wyrm had shown himself to be, that was all. If he cried, it was when something got too close, and Grimm had told the Grimmkin to ensure he stayed very clear of anything that could trigger that again.

Grimm sunk to the floor beside him, letting the curtain fall back into place. It brushed his back, the fabric thick and heavy, and absorbed everything but their breaths and the sound of the wyrm’s sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, with all the fireplace warmth he could muster. His hand ghosted against the Jester’s back, bumping over the rings dangling where wings once laid.

(Going back up, stroking again, this time pressing harder, he swore he felt slight swells where the buds should have been burned out.)

“I don’t know.” Desperation bit through the wyrm’s voice, through all the tears and despondence. He shuddered, sucked in a raspy breath. “I don’t-”

He turned his face away, pressing his knuckles into his eyes. He keened, the low sound of a hurt creature, kept close and intimate by all the fabric they’d hidden in.

Grimm just rubbed his back, and let him find the words.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have taken a more directorial role in this two-bug production, and told the Jester what was going on, what his poor soul ought to be feeling. How he was new to the Troupe, and some of the changes took time to settle in, he would be fine. Most everyone had been upset for at least one Ritual, especially their first, and sometimes it was hard to place those feelings, wasn’t it? It would pass, it would get better, it meant nothing, really. Not in the long run.

And, if his memory ran long, that sometimes stories just struck a chord, but he need not be upset at simple trinkets and tragic stories with doomed lovers. They were all so silly, weren’t they? Thinking that, in the end, their love would matter.

Why, he ought to set all of it out of mind, and come to dinner. Surely he was hungry?

His tongue laid still, his mouth stayed shut.

“I- I miss- I don’t know. Someone? Something? I don’t know. I can’t find them, they’re slipping through my hands every time I reach. But Master-” His voice broke, cracking into a plaintive cry. He clutched at his chest, hands pawing uselessly at the fabric over his heart. “It hurts.”

Grimm clucked his tongue and cooed. His arms wrapped around the Jester, drawing his form, at once limp to his touch and much too tense, close, until he tucked him against his chest. Head held to heart, listening to its steady beat. All four arms wrapped around his abdomen, knees bumping against his thigh, while Grimm held him and drew his wings from their resting place to wrap around them, shielding the Jester even further from the world beyond.

“I’ve got you,” he purred. The side of his jaw brushed against the wyrm’s horns. “I’ll make it better.”

The Jester shifted in his arms, head tilting up til Grimm found himself cradling its back. When he stared down to meet his eyes, he found that spark staring back, cold as ice and with just as sharp an edge. “How?” he asked.

It could have been a coincidence. A slip of the tongue, the familiarity in how he spoke, with a voice like a lone gust of wind trailing through a cavern. The weight to just that one word, the melancholy it steeped in.

Grimm fought the chill clawing at his back to give him a smile. Gently, he rested the wyrm’s head against his chest again, where the Nightmare Heart beat. “A nightmare feels so very real, does it not? As false as it may be?”

(Again, the sickly sweetness of a lie on his tongue.)

The Jester hummed. After a moment, he snuggled close, full body up against Grimm’s, cool against the Troupe Master’s warmth. “I guess.”

“Take your respite, Jester. Let me care for you.” He leaned back as far as he could, letting the Jester’s weight rest on him. “Then we can get dinner, yes? I bet you’re hungry.”

“Oh!” The Jester’s hand curled against his stomach. “Yes, that would be good. But… a moment, first. To catch my breath.”

“Of course.”

Forgetting was the greatest kindness he could offer the Jester, and the cruelest punishment the wyrm deserved. Let his troubles slip his mind. Let him cry and wail for things he didn’t know, acting out grief for the horrors he didn’t know he committed.

But there was not supposed to be such a gouge in the Kingsoul’s face. There was not supposed to be that soul behind his eyes. There were not supposed to be stories of beautiful roots or jokes about horrible wyrms. There were not supposed to be wing buds in the Jester’s back. The side of him that resided within the Nightmare was not supposed to have such a strain in its voice, nor was he supposed to feel the snap of spellwork.

Something was going wrong.

And all he could do was watch and try to stuff the wyrm back into the Jester’s shell.

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

By @artisticdragons

#hollowknight #hollow knight #palejesterau #telephoneknight #troupe master grimm #pale king #grimmchild #shadelord #(briefly)

115 notes · View notes

gyucore · 3 years

Text

long live the king

pairing: mage!hueningkai x noble!reader

tags: fluff, royalty au, friends to lovers, hueningkai can do magic

word count: 3.3k

prompts:

011: "May I have this dance?"

019: "I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."

020: "You look incredible in that."

Tonight had been advertised as the night to end all nights— a masquerade ball held by the king at the palace, and a brightly lit ballroom decorated with gold and the continent's finest silk, adorning the kingdom's rose insignia. Entertainers and musicians positioned around the vicinity to perform their best acts and tunes, and the gates were left wide open to welcome everyone who wanted to join in, given that they tried their best to dress for the occasion.

Today was an event open to all the kingdom's citizens, from high seated nobles to common men by the streets, everyone was welcome to participate in the king's annual ball. However, that fact didn't matter for a family such as yours. Your father was the Marquess, which meant that you were invited to every single ball or gathering held by the nobility for the nobility. At least, that was how it had been until the incident.

The peering eyes of both the nobles and commoners alike have left you frozen on your spot by the pillar. Your bright red ball gown, although beautiful, was not helping you hide away from the eyes of the crowd. It was evident they were all thinking the same thing.

The unfortunate daughter of a fallen marquess.

News had gotten out about your family's crisis and had spread to the public like a disease. The Grand Marquess losing money, property, and power: The fall of a great noble. The story made headlines for weeks on end— rumors mixing in with the truth, and eventually, everyone had drawn the same conclusion. Pitiful.

You worry about your parents at the other end of the room, doing their best to mingle with the other nobles. The heavy atmosphere was weighing down on your chest.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try to think of the things that calmed you down: the rustic smell of old books at the public library, the warm feeling you'd get when the rays of sunlight touch your skin as you sit by the window with your face buried deep into your favorite classic, the bright smile the common mage boy would give you everytime you crossed paths—

"Wow."

A familiar voice brings you back from your thoughts.

"You look incredible in that." The same bright smile you'd envisioned earlier now stood in front of you.

You gaze in awe at the man before you, dressed in what you could only describe as the most beautiful and elegant ensemble you'd seen tonight. The way the white suit hugged his waist left little room for the imagination. You doubt even the king himself could top this off.

"Lady Y/N. I believe fate must have brought us together in this fine evening." The man gently bends down, taking your hand and planting a kiss so fleeting that you barely felt it. Even with the golden mask on, you could easily tell who it was.

"Kai.."

"Ah, and here I was hoping I'd be a little more mysterious tonight." Kai holds back his laughter as he gazed upon you once more. You can't help but do the same.

Tonight, he looked nothing of a common mage but that of a king himself. If you hadn't known him beforehand, you would've mistaken him as so, especially with tonight's main event— the reveal of the king's successor. But alas, what the mage boy had going on for him was merely for appearances. A commoner like him could never be king in a world where even dreaming of becoming one was considered to be of highest absurdity.

"I thought you said you weren't attending?"

Kai shrugs, folding his hands behind his back. "And refuse my lady when you so graciously asked me out?"

His response catches you off guard. "I don't recall ever asking you anything of that sort."

"You asked if I'd attend."

"And that counts as asking you out?"

Kai chuckles. "When you asked me with such a cute look on your face, it was difficult to think you weren't looking forward to me being here."

And he was right. Given your circumstances, Kai being here with you was like a breath of fresh air. You'd been praying all night that he'd magically arrive to help you take your mind off of things, and you felt like crying out in joy when he actually did.

Kai looks around, seemingly getting a sense of the pressure you were in. "Shall we take a stroll around the garden, my lady?"

You follow his line of sight and spot the royal garden just outside the window. "I'll let you accompany me if you drop the whole my lady business."

Kai purses his lips as he takes your hand in his. "Can't you let me be fancy for one night?"

Every moment you'd spent with Kai up until this point had been the highlight of your days. As the daughter of the Marquess, you'd spent most of your time holed up inside your manor. Women barely got any education aside from the usual classes on manners and societal etiquette, and that included nobles as well. But that never stopped you. Once a week, when the guards changed shifts by the gate, and the maids and butlers were all busy with the weekly general cleaning, you'd take the opportunity to slip out in disguise, undetected by anyone. The main goal was to get to the public library and obtain access to educational material— ones that didn't involve any prim and proper rubbish that you've read over a thousand times.

The first time outside was rather difficult. You barely managed to get inside the library's more educational section while passing as a man. However, every succeeding attempt became easier and easier until coming out in secret and gaining access didn't seem like that much of a hassle anymore.

At the library, you were free to read any book you want, and used this opportunity to brush up on some business and economics as well as some of the basic sciences. You spent the first few months stocking up on knowledge until you felt it fine to relax a little and start reading novels to pass the time without the help of a disguise.

There was a section in the library that you hadn't checked; one that you'd deemed unnecessary as it only contained children's literature. It wasn't until you'd heard the sound of a man's voice followed by children's laughter that you felt compelled enough to take a peek.

"And then, the dragon swooped down onto the village and attacked the innocent villagers! ROARRR. Breathing fire as hot as, well, uh— FIRE!"

You slipped up and giggled at the young man's amusing narration, piping down a bit after realizing that he had noticed you from behind the shelves, throwing a knowing smirk your way.

It was then that he pulled down his cloak. Wavy brown locks gracefully reaching the back of his neck, bright eyes that could make any person let their guard down— he looked around your age which made you feel more at ease.

The young man steps back, dramatically breathing fire out of his mouth as the children cheered. Some were yelling at him to continue until only smoke came out, and you swore you heard one of them ask if he could make the fire turn green. Ridiculous, you think. But you were no different from these children, only being able to stand there in awe at the young man's trick. Perhaps turning the fire green wasn't such a terrible idea.

You've heard of mages among the commoners before, and had met a few that visited your manor but this was the first time you'd seen one in action. The flames that came out of his mouth looked awfully hot but the young man didn't even blink or showed any signs of pain.

He stops the fire and clears his throat, now kneeling down to face the children. "The villagers were worried sick! What would happen to their crops, their produce, their livelihood? If only a hero would come along and save them!" He makes an overly exaggerated wail before gasping.

"Well, who do we have here? A warrior has come to save the villagers!" The young man points at your direction and you feel your blood run cold as all the children in the room had turned their attention towards you, hopeful.

"A young maiden has arrived to slay the evil dragon!"

You quickly shake your head at his statement, holding your arms out in a cross. "No, kids. Don't believe what this man says. I am not a warrior, and I'm certainly not here to slay any dragons"

The young man raises a brow, getting up from his spot. "Then why do you have the magical sword that was forged to slay the mighty dragon?"

"What sword?"

The young man snaps his fingers. "That sword."

The weight on your hips dip on one side and you couldn't believe your eyes as a sheathed sword had magically manifested beside your waist out of thin air. "How did you— wait, is this a real sword?! You can't play around with real swords in front of children!"

The children turn towards the young man in confusion.

"Well, kids. Do you want the kind lady to slay the dragon with a real sword?"

"YES!" The children cheered.

The young man turns to you with a smile. "You gotta give the kids what they want, Miss."

An exasperated expression makes its way to your face. "I am not slaying any made up dragons!"

"Now, what's all this talk about slaying dragons?"

Taehyun, one of the stricter librarians, had come out of nowhere, surprising everyone. His eyes scan the room and quickly notices three things: (1) the dangerous sword hanging on your waist, (2) the excessive amount of children in the room when the sign on the way in definitely mentioned a capacity of only five, and (3) someone let the mage boy inside the library again. The culprit was evident.

"Jung Kai, I swear to the heavens I will—"

"Alright kids, time to go! We'll end the story next time!" The young man, Kai, rushes the disappointed children out of the section before they heard something they shouldn't.

You were about to walk away yourself but was quickly stopped by Taehyun's hand blocking your path. "Kai, didn't I tell you that you're not allowed to perform magic inside the library? And seriously," He confiscates the sword on your waist, holding it up in the air. "Violence?"

Kai looks at you and grins. "I suppose we could've gone with a more romantic ending. Something like the warrior's kiss saving the dragon from his curse, and he turns back into this super handsome, super cute, and super macho mage."

The way he shamelessly described himself left you speechless, and you steal a glance at the librarian who looked as equally disgusted as you are.

"Just clean up the mess before you leave. And that means you too, Miss Dragon Slayer."

"But I didn't even—" You cut yourself off after Taehyun dismisses himself from the room.

The section falls silent and Kai walks up to you, a smile ever present in his face. "I'm guessing this is the start of our new friendship?"

And that was what started it all. Everytime you'd visit the library after that, you seemed to bump into Kai more often than you liked. He saw through the disguise the first time he saw you wearing it and had promised to not utter a single word to anyone. The mage boy was much more reliable than he seemed to be, often helping you in your studies and teaching you more than the books ever could. Sometimes, he'd convince you to take a stroll around town and had shown you sights and wonders you wouldn't have expected to see inside the kingdom.

Before you knew it, Kai had become someone you'd cherished, and someone whose company you genuinely appreciated. He was patient and understanding as your makeshift mentor, and was this fun and outgoing guy whenever you two were out together. Kai became the first friend you'd made on your own regardless of status and the only friend you wished to keep by your side.

"I take it that the people in the ballroom were too much?" Kai speaks the moment arrived at the garden.

"Please. I couldn't even breathe in there." You play it off with a chuckle but thoughts of worry still plague your mind. "I'm guessing you probably know by now."

"About what? The fact that you're the daughter of the Marquess or that the Marquess has been in a crisis for a while?"

"Both."

Kai reaches for your hand, holding it reassuringly. "I've known for a while but that doesn't change anything now, does it? We became friends without the burden of our status, and we'll stay as friends regardless."

You hated this, hated how he always knew exactly what to say. The heat rushes up to your face and you squeeze his hand tighter, avoiding eye contact. "Thank you."

But truthfully, there was a little voice in Kai's head that wished you could be something more. Not after you'd shared those intimate moments alone at the library at dusk, not after he rushed in to catch you in his arms when you fell while shelving a book on the top shelves, and especially not after you almost shared a kiss after saying goodbye that night he'd helped you sneak back in.

Even now, as he lovingly gazed at your silhouette beneath the moonlight, he'd hoped that he'd have the chance to tell you how he felt. But then again, the chance could be right now at this very moment. The two of you were, afterall, at the king's ball.

"So, how were the gentlemen earlier?"

"What?" You raise your head to face Kai.

"I've no doubt that hundreds of people had been lining up to dance with you all evening." Kai grins as he gently lets go of your hand.

"Please, I haven't danced at all tonight."

"I find that quite hard to believe."

You sigh, recalling the events from earlier. "No one would want to be seen dancing with a fallen Marquess' daughter now would they?"

"Not when you look this beautiful?" Kai jokingly walks around you and you shy away from his gaze.

"You know I never say things I don't mean, Y/N." Kai bends down and holds your hands in his. "And believe me, I don't think anyone could ever be as lovely as you."

"Is flattery your main personality trait now?" You say as an attempt to not let his compliment affect you any further than it should but fail miserably so.

Kai stands before you with an unreadable expression. You'd argue this was the most serious look he's ever had since you'd met him.

"Care to dance?" Kai asks, leaning in closer, your faces merely inches apart. You feel your heart beating loudly in your chest, and you're almost afraid he might hear.

The moonlight casts a shadow on Kai's face, and despite the darkness, his eyes glistened, reflecting your own as you stared into his. You've never seen anyone look so beautiful. And here he was, telling you that you're the loveliest person he's ever known.

"Right now?"

Kai nods, taking off his mask and tossing it over to the side. "And I'd like it if we could dance without our masks too. I've been wanting to get a good look at your face all night."

You chuckle, removing your mask and tossing it to to the ground next to his. "And how do you suppose we dance without music? My reputation's already dirt at this point and I do not want to be branded as the crazy noble dancing at the royal garden in complete silence."

Kai fails to suppress his laughter, holding on to your shoulder to maintain himself upright. "Well, I wouldn't want to let my dear lady look crazy now would I?"

"And what are you planning to do?"

"Well, I am a mage." Kai smirks as he manifests a scepter out of thin air, leaving a trail of golden dust flurrying down.

This was the first time you've ever seen it in person. Kai had mentioned how he needed the aid of his scepter to perform high level magic, but he'd never taken it out in front of you until now. One look at the scepter and anyone could tell not just any old mage owned the darn thing. It looked majestic by all means, intricately decorated with gold and topped off with a brightly colored red gemstone you couldn't seem to identify. You'd heard that mages often created their own unique gemstones as a manifestation of their mana but for Kai's to be red, which had been said to be a quite powerful variant, made you wonder just how powerful your friend had been.

"And here we go." Kai takes the scepter in his hand and drives it into the ground. The impact causes a wave of light to burst from the scepter and spread throughout the reaches of garden. In a split-second, the wave of light rushes back into its source, compressing into a huge orb of light lifting up into the sky, rivaling the moon with its glow. The orb splits into smaller pieces and starts to dance around the garden, leaving you in awe at the spectacle.

Kai finds himself grinning from ear to ear at your reaction. He'd studied magic as an expression of rebellion against his father but now, he'd found another purpose to perform these little tricks of his. He places his hand on your waist and pulls you closer. "Wait for it."

The orbs of light find their places around you, slowly taking the shape of various instruments you've seen inside the ballroom, from strings to percussions, and even wind instruments. Smaller pieces of light continued to hover the surroundings, resembling glowing fireflies in the dark.

"Kai, this is beautiful." You look up at the young man, and he steps away, bowing his head as he plants yet another kiss on the back of your hand.

"May I have this dance?"

His eyes meet yours and you feel your heart skip a beat. It was rather difficult to explain. The Kai in front of you right now had been the same Kai you've always known, but somehow.. different.

You raise your hand for him to take, guiding your other hand to find perch on his shoulder, and his finding its place on your waist. With the first step, the instruments started playing. It's a piece you've heard before, one that Kai had fondly hummed nearly everytime you were together at the library.

It was as if the world had faded into the distance, and at this moment, there was only you and him, dancing alone in the garden. He pulls you close, his hold gentle and warm. Kai spins you around. The heel of your shoe collides with a rock, and you nearly stumble back until Kai manages to grab you by the waist on time, pulling you back into his arms.

You spot the smirk on his face under the moonlight, and you press a finger against his lips. "Not one word."

"I wasn't going to say anything." Kai lets you go, and you quickly grab a hold of his arms to find balance.

"Of course you weren't."

"Well, I do have something I have to tell you. A few things, actually."

You cock a brow at him, and he steps forward. "I'll tell you the most important part first."

"And that is?"

Kai reaches out to cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes as if asking permission. You didn't need to say anything for him to understand, and he closes the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours. The feeling was foreign but certainly welcome, and you soon close your eyes and reciprocate, wanting to feel more of his soft lips, and wanting to hold him closer and closer.

For long had you held out on this, on actually acknowledging your growing feelings for the lad in fear of having to live with the thought of him not feeling the same. But in this moment, you felt a heavy burden being lifted from your shoulders.

"Kai, I.."

The light from the orbs dim down and soon dissipates. Kai pulls away, gazing upon your flushed face. "You mean the world to me, Y/N. I don't think my life would ever be the same without you."

The trumpets blare in the ballroom, a signal that the new king was to make an appearance soon. You feel Kai's hand around yours. "As for my other confession, I think it's best we head back first."

He leads you back into the ballroom, and disappears the moment you find your parents in the crowd. You join them in the center as everyone gathers to get a glimpse at the new king.

The herald makes his way beside the grand staircase, straightening himself up to make the announcement that every citizen had been waiting to hear all evening.

"Presenting the next in line to the throne, to rule the vast lands of our esteemed nation, and lead us into a continuing era of prosperity! Our future King, His Royal Highness, Kai Kamal Huening!"

The doors open, revealing Kai, your Kai, adorned in the royal family's crest, robes, and jewelries as he made himself known to his loyal subjects.

Behind him was public librarian, Kang Taehyun, who had been revealed to be serving as one oc the King's advisors, and now, for the new monarch.

"Long live the King!"

Kai could pick out your from the crowd in a heartbeat, hos gaze meeting yours as he flashes you his signature smile. You couldn't believe what was happening— Kai, your best friend in the whole world, had just confessed his love to you. And now, that same Kai had revealed to you and to the public that he had been the future ruler of the country all along. The crowds cheered.

"Long live the King!"

"Long live the King." You whisper to yourself, wondering what the future has in store for you.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt fic #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai imagines #huening kai x reader #huening kai imagines #hueningkai scenarios #hueningkai fluff #.reqs

134 notes · View notes

miriel-therindes · 2 years

Text

TAD lines that I adore

God made all man in his image / Honey, I’m, I’m no man / I’m what’s left when children go to war

Do you like my dress, its got pockets

O let the land come at you, love / With all its sand and sin, a-singing / A song you once knew well's begun / Run until your lungs are numb

Gonna go home and show my cat some memes / Cos he’s awesome like me

Write me well, my love, write me weird / Write me willing, write me well

Get a grip, we’re grownups!

I look into those secret worlds you call eyes

If I’m good will you come back, if I’m good will you come back, if I’m good will you come back to us?

You do not get to hurt me just because I asked you once if you were alright

That wine that you saved, it’s saving me now, love

Cos I’m not trapped with you, you see / You’re the one who’s trapped with me

If I don’t make it back from where I’ve gone, just know I loved you all along

This here is not make-up, it's a porcelain tomb / And this here is not singing, I'm just screaming in tune

I cry out to the Lord / Cos if we join our hands in prayer enough, to God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause

Give me back my heart you wingless thing

And although you hold my hand and say / “I love you,” you are wrong / Because love does not exist here / In this garden, there's no feeling

It’s what my heart just yearns to say / In ways that can’t be said / It’s what my rotting bones will sing / When the rest of me is dead / It’s what’s engraved upon my heart / In letters deeply worn

We’re drunk but drinking / Sunk but sinking / They thought us blind / (We were just blinking)

I'm the face that stares back when the screen goes to black / When your mum says you look healthy / But you know she means you got fat

I tried, I really fucking tried

Let’s hide under the covers / We don’t know what’s out there / Could be ghosts or monsters or a robot vampire, I dunno!

Cos darling I was born / To press my head between your shoulder-blades at night when light is fading

I’m the papercut that kills you and the priest that you ignored / I’m the touch that you crave and the plans that you made / But fuck all your plans, I’m bored

Cos now I get to meet you for the first time every single day

Filming shit on that camera you nicked (It's my dad's!)

You’re not flawed, darling / You’re just a little under-rehearsed

Sing me awake with a song about pirates / I will try to harmonise / And sip the sunlight from your eyes

And you, you reply, with a glint in your eye / Saying “I don’t know, but I’m here, I’m all yours dear heart don’t cry”

Back then, I wasn't hopeful / But now my ink's blood-red, not black / And I'll blink like ripping envelopes / In the hopes that you'll write back

Hey darling hey, hey darling hey, I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep / But a place for crows to rest their feet

Give me two damn minutes and I’ll be fine

Are you god or devil, ghost dishevelled / Childhood friend or drunken revel / I cannot stop, I’m bleeding out for you

Pick your chords well, loves, but sing your notes off key / You dad will forget the words (oh, uh, fucking bastard, what is it?)

Where have you been? / She'll whisper, I've waited oh so long for you to come

This isn’t a breakup, dear heart, it’s a season finale

But your smile tells me I'm safe / And that voice unspoken's heard / 'Cos if God made us all in his image / Then God's a fucking nerd

You angel heart, you monster oh / Some godforsaken prospero

My head's not yours it's mine / And I'll take my fucking time

And in the wreck of all we burnt, stands our piano like a wound / I play our song to see if it's in tune (I'll sing silence)

Are you Cain, cos I’m not Abel

And he adores her / And he watches her get dressed as though she’s hurtling through time / Oh darling please be mine

You were a king and his castle, I was every dirty rascal

I look into the waters and see a face I don't understand / We're both unwanted daughters / But there's more than water in these autumn hands

I know the kindest thing / Is to never leave you alone

I get to watch you grow up now and make me proud / Make all of those mistakes that made me laugh / Oh darling lord how you made me laugh / Get drunk for me, sing louder than you’ve sung for me / Grow young each time that thunder in your lungs / Begins to rumble at the world

I will be the man my father never was

Don’t you think I look pretty / Curled up this bathroom floor?

'Cause I'm between that just-one-more / And drank-too-much-again / And I promise you I'll write "I love you" / With my fingers on your sleeping hand

As I make myself acquainted with the saint of never getting it right

And I run (love, run), and I run (love, run)

We built our castles (they are my rascals) / Just to watch them wash away (I can't let them walk away)

And I promise to be patient / And you promise to be, promise to be kind

But we'll burn a hundred theaters / If it means we get the wallpaper right

And I’ll speak with my eyes / You think I’m weird, one sympathises

And to those gods, I will speak bluntly / We've an accord, if you ever touch or harm him / Please rest assured that you might not fear a man / But to a woman, by the end, you'll kneel and plea / 'Cos I'm more than what my mum told me to be

I know you’re strong enough to do this on your own

It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you / It's not fair, 'cause you make me laugh / When I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something

Love run, love run / For all the things we wished we’d done / Run from all you know that’s coming / Run to show that love’s worth running to

But like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it's my curse / To try and make it right, but by trying make it worse

And as I walk away I know that I've been through the wars / But that creaking you hear in my bones, it's not pain, it's applause

#asdfghjkl i love them. so much.#how do they write lyrics like this???????????#i dont' understand #the amazing devil #joey batey #madeleine hyland

5 notes · View notes

daddy-chiluc · 3 years

Text

No Future (unedited)

Tw: Breakup, depression

Vent fic

——

What was he to expect? He knew from the start it’d fall apart. Crumble and wilt away, not giving them nearly enough time to bask in each other’s love and warmth. No...there would never be enough time. It was all just faded memories, moments once filled with an untamed happiness turning sour in his mouth, his throat soar as the screams he wanted to let out where trapped. He was trapped. Trapped in his own mind as a pile of regret sat along his once confident shoulders. His burning eyes becoming dark, desperate to hide whatever painful memory had come to mind.

They were fresh. New. The moment he found out he was a Harbinger though it was too late. He was already so deeply in love it filled his lungs, drowning him, grasping at his heart strings and violently pulling him down deeper and deeper. He shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have asked him to be his partner that night. Maybe they were just high off of Valentines day. High off of the floating, elated feeling of finally being loved by someone. Trusted by someone. Just reminiscing was enough to make his eyes burn. He didn’t want to remember. He never wanted to remember...but it felt like he didn’t have a choice.

They flooded him, swallowing him whole as he gasped for whatever remaining air was left. He felt weak. He should have done more. Why didn’t he do more? Childe could be suffering even more now. Suffering without his aid. This idea alone was enough to cause many sleepless nights filled with anxiety. The suffocating feeling of loneliness returning to its perch overhead. They never had enough time.

His memories were vivid. Vivid and gut wrenching. It made his fingers twitch and his work take up his desk space. He couldn’t distract himself anymore...at least not for awhile. No matter what he did or where he went, there’s was always that faint memory of him haunting him. Even on his darkest evenings, he’d go to his closet and grab the maroon shirt that hung idly behind. Burying his nose into the soft fabric his ex lover left behind, tears staining the dark fabric as his scent overwhelmed him, a broken sob breaking his throat.

He should have done more.

A sad smile caressed his features as his grip tightened on the forgotten shirt. He laughed coldly as he remembered his first kiss. Hidden in the restroom of the tavern as Childe looked at him so fondly. A look of pure adoration and love — the look he gave him burned into his memory as he remembered the Harbinger gently rubbing his thumb along his cheek while he held him so closely, the silent fear of letting him go dancing quietly behind his façade. A fear Diluc didn’t notice. A fear Diluc chose not to notice...because he himself feared the same thing.

He remembered the soft kisses they had, they were long and amateur, his heart fluttering like a teenager. He shouldn’t have been so elated. He should have ended it while it was still fresh...but this thought hadn’t come to mind at the time, far too enamored in Tartaglia’s love. His love blinded him.

His body tremors as recalled their first, and last date. The way they held hands. That’s when he got the maroon shirt. It was a birthday gift. That and many other items. But that was something he held onto dearly. Far too scared to let it go, terrified that he’d forget him. Forget what they had. Perhaps a part of him didn’t want to let it go. He wasn’t ready too.

He tried to recall their moments together. He remembered the day he was horribly sick. He wore his shirt all day, a heavy, nauseating feeling settling in his throat. He returned to the winery, Adeline aiding him as his workers took care of his work for the day. Childe had written him letters that day while he was out at Liyue, too far from Diluc’s reach. He had sent over music for Diluc to listen too, aiding him in finding sleep before he woke up heaving over a toilet.

After that it felt like things started to go downhill. Diluc sending and receiving letters everyday. Good mornings, afternoons and nights. He was so deeply in love with the harbinger that it became reckless. He listened to his stories. Storied of home and pets...stories of himself. How he had dated another male before the Fatui found out. That should have ended it right there...but he was so determined to make them understand.

Six months. Six months was all he needed. An absurd amount of time that was never achieved. The rest of his memories were blurry, his mind swarmed with that day. He had written and sent several letters to Ajax that day...but it wouldn’t subdue that uneasy feeling that filled the pit of his stomach.

The anxiety he felt that day. All he wanted was for him to be okay. To be alright. He didn’t care if he didn’t love him anymore. All he wanted was for him to be safe. Hours ticked by as he checked in with Adeline over and over, asking about any letters from Ajax and always getting the same answer. No sir.

Every time those words left her lips his heart would ache. Where was Ajax? He negotiated with himself, trying to come up with some logical situation. Perhaps he was just on a mission, or, maybe, Ajax had finally gotten tired of him. Diluc started to shut down. Becoming cold in his words and actions as he worked and worked, anything to push away whatever thought haunted him in the back of his mind.

When Adeline rushed to him with a letter however...and overwhelming sense of relief washed over him, perhaps a little too quickly. When he opened the black envelope, he quickly noticed it was from the Tsarista. He read through it over and over.

Ajax had ran from the Fatui? He was safe but...this woman could have very much so seen every “I love you” that Diluc and Ajax exchanged. Every intimate moment and their private love story was out on display for all of Snezhnaya to see. The red head’s body was numb. This was it. This is where it was to end. Only lasting for three, almost four months. It became apparent to Diluc now. It didn’t matter how long they waited...Ajax would never be able to be with Diluc. It was too dangerous.

Diluc had watched the fire mindlessly, asking Adeline go put any letter from Snezhnaya aside until morning. Even amongst the fire, the book that sat heavy in his palms wasn’t enough to distract him. It would never be enough. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat or focus on the task he had given himself. It was so short lived Diluc couldn’t do anything. He felt helpless.

He wasn’t sure when, but soon enough Lisa, Jean and Kaeya had silently made their way into his winery. They saw the winemaker sitting absentmindedly in the seat wearing a deep maroon shirt as he seemed almost lost in the flames performance. They were silent, the pain Diluc felt seeping just under they’re skin. The Uncrowned King of Mondstadt was happy with the Harbinger. Genuinely happy. He smiled and laughed more when he was with him, far too affectionate for a single person to even recognize that it was in fact Diluc with that Harbinger.

It was late now, midnight, and Diluc had disappeared to do his nightly routines. Lisa, the kindhearted woman she was, searched for him only to hear broken sobs from his bathroom as he sung a Snezhnayan tune through his cries. Deciding to let him have his space, Lisa notified Jean and Kaeya, a look of dismay dancing wearily along their features.

Too engorged in the agony the night had brung, they fell victim to sleep while Diluc grasped at the cold empty spot in his sheets. Where Ajax once laid as he quietly played the tune in his room, silently crying himself to sleep, slipping in and out of what was once peaceful to what was now a pained filled memory.

By morning, Diluc was too scared to leave the comfort of his linens. Too scared that if he left, what was left of Ajax would disappear too quickly. He wasn’t ready to let him go. He wanted to see the world with him. To move far away and own pets together, calling them their children and creating their own family out in the middle of nowhere...but now it was all just a dream too out of reach for Diluc to hold on.

Carefully, Kaeya walked in and held Diluc as he broke down in his arms. He had dealt with this woman that had intentions of hurting Diluc. He had read every note this woman had dare sent to the winery and disposed of them, a brutal back and forth of letters that should have taken days but it all happened within an hour. Diluc wouldn’t leave the bed. He would never have a happy ending...he couldn’t. The archons wouldn’t allow him to have a happy ever after.

Hours ticked by as he hugged Childe’s pillow, resting in his spot on the bed as he stared out the window. There was never enough time. He laughed bitterly at himself, Jean had even warned him this would happen and he made no effort to listen. No effort to put a stop to whatever forbidden love story he had hoped to achieve. Here he was now, lying pathetically in his bed because of this impossible love story.

Night had fallen once more and he had never been happier to get a letter from Ajax. He read it over and over. The Harbingers didn’t care for their little escapade...the Tsarista, however, would take “time” he said. Time. Something unknown to Diluc. There was no such thing as time. He knew if he stayed Ajax would only get hurt. He already suffers so much, Diluc didn’t want to add to that list if it wasn’t necessary.

And so...he wrote his, hopefully, final letter. He told Childe that he believed in him from the start, encouraging him to chase his dreams and to be himself even if others said not to. At that, he wished him the best of luck as he sent the letter, signing it and crying on his front porch.

They didn’t have a happy every after. What they had was no future at all. Their moments trapped behind an hourglass that would flop over and over in their minds. That’s all it was.

No future.

—

I’m sorry if it’s messy and a little ooc. I needed to vent pretty badly and Chiluc is my comfort ship and this situation that I went through is kind of the reason why I ship them at all.

Ah, the art of forbidden love.

#ajax #childe #chiluc #diluc #ragnvindr #romance #diluc ragnvindr #gay #hydro and pyro #angst #breakup #depression #trigger warning #forbidden love #rarepairs #red and blue #water and fire #genshin impact

28 notes · View notes

nillegible · 4 years

Text

Not Death, but Sleep

(A 3zun fix-it fic)

‘Not death, but sleep,’ the story went. The little well spirit, too weak to break the death-curse that a greater dark spirit that had placed over the innocent baby, had pressed her hand to the infant’s forehead. She had poured all her soul into a single blessing, all her strength for one thing only; that the child would sleep, not die.

“Why couldn’t she practice and grow stronger?” Meng Yao would ask, and Mother would laugh and poke his cheek and tell him that well-spirits are very small, but she tried her best. The story always sat wrongly with Meng Yao. Back then it had, at least. It was not fair that the well spirit couldn’t fix what was wrong. It wasn’t fair that the princess had been cursed as a baby, before she’d done anything to deserve it. It wasn’t fair that the queen couldn’t find anyone but a forgotten little well-spirit to try to save her child. “It’s not fair,” he’d tell her, each time the well-spirit blessed the infant and fell short of her desire, and each time his mother would smile.

“Ah, my precious A-Yao, you are right. But the world is not fair, and she could only do what she could do.” Mother would say, smiling in that soft way of hers, pinching his cheek lightly, before she continued the story. “Because it seemed hopeless, the king demanded that every spindle in the land be…”

Meng Yao Jin Guangyao likes the story no better now, but he understands more than he did back then. Jin Guangyao was also too weak. “She could only do what she could,” Mother would say, and he now understands the heartbreak of that being not enough.

“I want you to kill Nie Mingjue,” Father had told him, two weeks ago, now. His voice had been low but pleasant, like he’d only been asking Jin Guangyao to pour him more tea.

“Father, I’m trying to get him to stop asking about Xue Yang, I’m sure that I can–”

“I have given you time. And it is not just that boy. Nie Mingjue grows troublesome in other matters as well, he seeks to destabilize me at every turn. You will remove him.” His voice had stayed pleasant. His eyes had glittered coldly with warning: Jin Guangyao was far less valuable than a Sect Leader, and would be far far easier to dispose of.

“I understand Father. I will take care of it,” Jin Guangao had said, and has not had a moment’s peace since.

It doesn’t take him long to decide on a method.

Or rather, it’s not long before the ideal method is dropped straight into his lap. Er-ge requests a favor, asks him to please learn Cleansing, a powerful Lan sect technique to clear resentment and settle an unquiet spirit. Nie Mingjue’s temper and health were in decline, and Er-ge wants Jin Guangyao to help him heal. His hope – that this would give them an opportunity to mend the broken trust and friendship between them – was transparently obvious, but Jin Guangyao has never found place in his heart to deny this man anything.

“We can help him, A-Yao. We must. Da-ge is not himself, and we need to… We cannot lose him.”

Lying is no harder than speaking, for Meng Yao, but this time the lie tears into his lungs. “Of course, Er-ge. His brothers will support him until he is well again.” I’ve been asked to kill him, Er-ge. Why would you trust me with this?

It does not matter that he does not want to do it. Jin Guangyao practices Cleansing at Qinghe under Lan Xichen’s careful tutelage. At Lanling, he spends sleepless nights perfecting a darker, foreign melody, meant to tear someone’s sanity apart.

His heart is troubled, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the lack of sleep, the discordant notes he coaxes from his guqin each night, or the cold, lingering gaze of his Father that seems to ask, have you begun? Will he die?

The answer is yes. Yes, Jin Guangyao will kill him, because he has been asked. Because when it comes down to it, he is the dark spirit that had lost its way, and would destroy someone who was undeserving of the malice. Someone who was loved.

The first time that Jin Guangyao plays the piece for Nie Mingjue, his heart pounds in fear while his hands elegantly play the butchered, chimeric tune. He’s afraid that his eldest sworn brother would notice the difference in the song, would notice that it felt wrong, even after the last note is played and lingers in the room as he looks up to meet Nie Mingjue’s eyes. But Nie Mingjue, even tenser and more ill-tempered than he was before Jin Guangyao started to play, just nods and thanks him shortly and walks away.

It’s terribly rude; Jin Guangyao would be injured by such treatment on any other day.

Today, he has begun slowly killing the man. He will not take insult.

Jin Guangyao spends his time after returning to Lanling terribly nervous, unable to focus as usual. Perhaps Nie Mingjue had not confronted him immediately, but would reached out to Lan Xichen with his suspicions?

His fears are unfounded; a letter arrives for him a week later from Sect Leader Nie. Could he trouble Jin Guangyao to return and play for him soon? He did not wish to disturb their second brother, who was still busy with the rebuilding of his sect.

Jin Guangyao promptly sends a response: He would be honoured to help, he would make the time to visit as soon as possible. (His fingers do not tremble on the guqin strings as he practices the song alone, in preparation. He wonders at the monster he’s become.)

It’s while he’s playing for Nie Mingjue the second time that it happens. His eldest sworn brother is doing his best to relax – there’s incense, and the tea they were served has calming properties – but Jin Guangyao’s music is doing as intended, and Nie Mingjue’s face is visibly tense, his jaw locked, and the longer it goes on the worse it gets.

It’s partly the music, partly the frustration that he isn’t calming down as he should be. Jin Guangyao imagines that it is not unlike the panic that insomnia brings him, the desperate desire to just fall asleep making him anxious enough to drive any semblance of rest from him as he lies awake in the dark.

His fingers fumble on the strings and he stops, startled. Nie Mingjue’s eyes open and he looks to him questioningly. “Is something wrong, Meng Yao?”

It’s the wrong name. Always the wrong name. But at the moment, for what he wishes, it may just be the right one. Nie Mingjue has wronged Meng Yao many times, but Nie Mingjue was also the one who had defended him from cultivators who taunted and mistreated him. Nie Mingjue was the first person to value him, to give him a chance to prove his worth, and then acknowledged that he did well.

It was because the queen had swept the well-spirit’s forgotten shrine, Jin Guangao remembers. That was why the well-spirit stepped up to divert the curse.

He stares a moment longer at Nie Mingjue, long enough that he frowns, and this time Jin Guangao imagines his brows are creasing in worry not anger. “Are you alright, you’ve gone pale.” His voice still betrays his temper; a barely contained inferno, but Jin Guangyao is partially to blame for that.

“Forgive, me, Da-ge. May I start again?”

“If you need a break, you can have one. You can play for me later,” Nie Mingjue says.

“No, please, close your eyes again. I merely realized something.”

Still looking faintly suspicious, Nie Mingjue does as asked and shuts his eyes.

Jin Guangyao sets his fingers to the guqin and plays again. This time the music is simple and clear, lifting and rejuvenating. When Jin Guangyao plays the last notes and looks up, the anger has melted away from his sworn brother. He’s smiling faintly, and Jin Guangyao’s eyes catch on the softness of it.

When Nie Mingjue opens his eyes, and sees Jin Guangyao watching, the smile doesn’t fade. “You figured something out, didn’t you? This time felt so much better.”

“Yes, Da-ge. I was a poor student, Er-ge will not be pleased with me for taking so long… but I understand now.”

“Xichen will never be displeased with you, that you play it so well without the Lan’s rigorous training is a credit to your skills. And I thank you,” Nie Mingjue says. He breathes deep, as if enjoying that he can. That faint smile has still not vanished. “I am much improved.”

Jin Guangao knows. The spiritual power of Cleansing is considerable, and when played correctly and regularly it could bolster Nie Mingjue’s spirit and life for decades longer.

“You’re welcome Da-ge. I promise. I promise to do what I can to help you.” And this promise is not a lie, not a vow he means to break.

Father wants Nie Mingjue dead, and Jin Guangao does not have the means to stop him.

But he can divert the curse.

Not death, but sleep.

That, Jin Guangao can do.

[Author’s Note: The particular form of the sleeping beauty story used here I got from Vathara’s fic Embers! It’s a gorgeous version and I love it.

Somehow an old post of mine, where I said I should write a fic about MY hiding NMJ away and faking his death to appease JGS popped back up? I’d completely forgotten about it. But well, it’s a lovely idea, so I thought I’d start on it! I hope you liked the fic!]

#meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #mdzs #the untamed #fairy tale castle #fix-it #3zun fix-it #nieyao #nielan #sleeping beauty

213 notes · View notes

notspazztrapavacado · 3 years

Text

'Poor Touch-Starved Bastards'

Dr. Kondraki x Reader fluff

(Y/n)'s eyes scanned over the paperwork one more time. (He/She) was finally done with them, and could afford to file tomorrow. It was already two hours past their time to leave anyway.

The late night silence was welcoming, where the rowdier workers had gone home or finally got tired, where the hush that enveloped the facility was only broken by the sound of rhythmic, tapping keys or shoefall on the outdated, smudged tiles.

Finally standing up, (Y/n) stretched, the soreness in (his/her) stiff muscles leaving just as quickly as (he/her) had noticed the ache had been there at all. (He/She) really hadn't moved around in a few hours, and was obviously out of tune with the demands of (his/her) mortal prison. Striding across the room in purposely long strides to stretch just a bit more, (he/she) flopped over on the loveseat that was put in this office when it belonged to (his/her) predecessor, who apparently slept in here.

(He/She) chuckled into the quietness about how (he/she) once thought it was absolutely absurd to sleep in one's office when (he/she) got here, not even naps were acceptable. That mentality lasted just short of a month, before (he/she) realized that this place really couldn't afford to fire anyone and had more important things on their hands than who was sleeping in their off time. It's not like this place ever closes.

The door opened with a small creak, but (Y/n) paid it no mind. If they need (him/her), they'll get (his/her) attention.

"Going to bed?" The stifled laugh from (his/her) crush of the last 10 months had (him/her) shooting up to greet him in a matter of seconds, wide awake.

"Ben!" (he/she) greeted eagerly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" (he/she) noted that, as he walked past the desk, he was not here for work. He looked kind of . . . upset? Was (he/she) in trouble?

"Need your table." He sat down on the edge of the coffee table and turned, laying over it and groaning loudly. He draped his arm over his face dramatically, though it was really just to block the light.

"Someone's missing a stray princess." (He/She) had caught a glimpse of the individual instance of SCP 408 he had with him today perched on the side of (his/her) coffee creamer, probably smelling the sugar and getting some that had dribbled down the side without (his/her) noticing.

"I'm a king, not a princess." He moved his arm enough to peek at (him/her) under it.

"Kings don't talk to butterflies and stare at the stars for hours on end. Plus, you're single, can't be a king without a queen." (He/She) partly said it to remind (himself/herself) of that. He wasn't taken and that meant the crush was totally valid, not at all morally corrupt… Maybe hopeless, but not particularly wrong.

"You flirting?" He managed a lopsided grin, left eyebrow raising at his question as he finally moved his arm fully.

"You want me to be?" (He/She) retorted.

"I want you to lay on me." He mumbled it, but, upon realizing just what he had said, his face turned cherry red instantly.

"I meant f-for the weight! My back hurts. That's why I'm here." He corrected his statement and his blush faded to a pink.

"If that's what you want." (Y/n) could feel (his/her) heart trying to break (his/her) goddamn ribs as (he/she) tried to play this cool. It's for his back. It's for his back. Because you're his friend. Single or married or whatever, doesn't matter, he sees you as a friend, be a good one.

Fighting (his/her) own blush, (he/she) set a knee on the table on one side of him, and swung the other over him, effectively giving a position to lay (his/her) torso over the pained doctor's own.

Kondraki was absolutely thankful, just downright believing in god right now, that he hadn't popped a boner on the spot from the excess of skin contact that he was in no way used to. Also counting his luck at the fact (he/she) was now unable to see his face turn red once more. He practically felt his pupils morph into tiny hearts.

"Been quiet awhile… You okay? Was that a joke?" (Y/n) went to move, but he pulled his arms up around (him/her) to keep (him/her) right where they were.

"You're helping greatly, don't move." His voice broke, betraying him.

He could feel (his/her) heartbeat quicken as (he/she) drew a sharp breath, surprised. He followed their gaze to the source of the surprise, to find 408 now sitting on his mess of dark brown hair…

And much to his horror, the SCP was trying to play matchmaker, fluttering and putting simple little heart patterns over its wings, ones he'd recognized as his doodles on the backs of outdated documents he tended to draw on before shredding so no one found out he could. Last thing he wanted was Clef, Rights, or Bright demanding he draw them…

"408's just glad you're here, they do that." He tried to validate the behavior as normal of the SCP, and had (him/her) nearly fooled as the insect stopped…

Before an old sketch of (him/her) appeared on the surface of their wings, fanning out to get the whole thing.

"Who drew this?? It's beautiful." (He/She) marveled at it, lifting a finger to let the butterfly step on so (he/she) could move it to see the intricate details better.

"I don't remember posing for a picture?" (Y/n) was not tolerating his silence now.

"You didn't. I… I used one of the ones I'd taken of you as a reference…" He guiltily admitted to the picture. "It was the reference I had on hand, okay?" He defended it, trying not to sound creepy and really hoping (he/she) didn't ask again.

"Oh? What's this? more?" (Y/n) was now more than smug as their free hand went to the table, propping (him/her) up so they could both easily see the dozens of art pieces across the surface of the insect.

"I swear, I'll put you back right now!" He threatened it, face practically on fire at this point, as it just continued to do it's thing.

"You got a crush, Benny?" (he/she) purred close to his ear. He tensed up.

(Y/n) could hardly believe it, eyes widening. That was a joke, but he'd obviously taken it seriously. Was it true?

408 fluttered back off to the coffee creamer, letting (Y/n) move (his/her) hand to his chest.

'Well. We broke poor Konny. But I'm not one to pass up opportunity.' (He/She) gathered some courage, eyes closing so (he/she) couldn't see the horrible mistake (he/she) was making, grabbing a fistful of the front of his shirt to steady (himself/herself) further and went for it. Lips pressing to his carefully, sealing a kiss that was every bit as sweet and passionate as (he/she) wanted it to be. His eyes, upon realizing what was happening, closed fast as he reached up with his left hand to tangle it in (his/her), (h/c) locks of hair, deepening the kiss.

They pulled away with hesitance, and (Y/n) laid back down on him.

"Alright… 408 can stay out more…" Ben chuckled, a smile as he was just happy with whatever that was. He was in desperate need of affection.

"My back really didn't hurt all that bad, I just want to keep you here." He admitted.

"Thanks for clarifying." (he/she) breathlessly muttered, embarrassed.

"You do know you're stuck with me now, right?" he held (him/her) a little tighter.

"I'd hoped." (he/she) broke into a smile of (his/her) own, relieved that the answer was clear and verbal now to the burning insecurity that had plagued (him/her).

"Let's move this to the cot in my office before I actually do have worsening back problems." They both laughed lightheartedly at the statement before getting up. They'd be sleeping very well tonight, poor, touch starved, bastards.

#scp fanfiction #scp foundation #reader insert #dr. kondraki #fluff #affectionate #cute #scp 408 #i just really liked this idea #you can have it #I should have never been allowed to write #Im a grown ass adult writing fanfiction like a twelve year old #what is life?#im tired

43 notes · View notes

pandawritesmanythings · 4 years

Text

(Loki x Reader Medieval AU)

Chapter Summary: Time to meet Asgard!

Warnings: Mentions of war,

Word Count: 3,259k

A/N: I’m having a lot of fun figuring out how this world works and figuring out the lore! Let me know what you guys think!

Masterlist

"Do you know when your brother and Lord Strange will arrive?" Wanda asked as she folded the sheets of your bed.

"With any luck, between today and tomorrow." You answered, absentmindedly turning a page of the book Loki had given you.

It was a most interesting read. It reminded you a lot of Victor Hugo's, Les Miserables. However, this wasn't fiction about a revolution in one of the provinces of Midgard. This was based on a true story of 6 people's lives who intertwined and ended in a tragedy.

How the author had come about the documents to write this story left you utterly baffled. It was so descriptive, so precise, that she must have been an eyewitness.

But the fact is that upfront, she had said that this was based on a story from the beginning of Asgard's ascent as a kingdom. She wasn't alive then, you had rushed to the library to confirm that after finishing the third chapter.

It was a beautifully written piece of history and literature.

"I take it prince Peter will be excited to see you."

Oh, right. You should probably pay attention to what Wanda is saying.

"I think so too. He had that look on his face, you know?" You placed your book on your lap, a leather bookmark in the place where you had left off. "Kind of like when I would leave him in the library when he was very little. Like I wasn't going to come back."

A small pressure was on your chest. A sense of longing for those older days. When you were a teen and the worst of your worries was a good posture for Pepper and a charming smile for your father.

"Well, to be fair you did threaten him a couple of times with doing so if he didn't behave." Your friend laughed.

"That I did!" You laughed alongside her.

When it died down, you looked at the red-head earnestly. "How long has it been since we spent an afternoon together?"

She pursed her lips, thinking back. "With all that's been going on... I would believe at least a month."

You clapped your hands, with newfound resolution. "Well, since the Asgardians seem to think I am just a walking trophy, let us spend one evening together."

"But, don't you have to meet up with prince Loki tomorrow?" A bit of worry was on her voice.

"Of course, but he said he was going to be busy for the rest of the day and I am far beyond the chapters he proposed." You smile, a flare of mischief in your chest.

Wanda, quick on her feet, fluttered over to where you sat by your window with excitement and sat next to you.

"What are we to do, then?"

"Whatever we wish for, my friend."

"Are you sure this is it?" Sigyn asked the red-head in front of her.

"Yes, Lady Sigyn. These are all of the loaves." He cleaned his hands in his apron.

About 100 loaves of bread were sitting on the counter in front of her. Maybe she should have brought more baskets.

"Alright... I might need to make a couple of trips, Kassian" She smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, you don't have to worry!" He walked towards her, starting to place some of the loaves in a huge basket that you could strap to your bag. "I'll help."

She rushed forwards, "No, please don't!" He looked back at her with curiosity. "I know your father is usually busy around this hour, I wouldn't want you getting in trouble my dear friend."

"Don't worry! I've helped some of the other servants before, it will be no problem!"

His smile was kind, and although she was still a bit hesitant, in the end, Sigyn nodded and began helping Kassian pack all of the loaves.

The hike back up the castle was much easier with the help of the friendly baker. Walking along the narrow streets and up the stairs that led to the kitchen, both quickly made it to their destination without much chatter.

"Thank you, Kassian."

"It was my pleasure." He seemed to smile a lot.

"I'll go by later to pick up my own order for the week. Is that okay?" She asked as she unloaded the bread from the make-shift backpack.

He nodded. "Of course! You know you are always welcome home."

Soon after finishing the unloading, they said a quick goodbye, and Kassian scurried out of the palace. Sigyn began humming a tune as she stocked the cabinets that held the bread, and taking out the older ones.

It's not that they were moldy, in fact, the oldest bread in the palace was only three days old. But by order of the king, they had to restock every single day on many things. That included bread.

"Was that Kassian just now?" Sigyn heard a voice entering the room.

"Yes. He helped me carry some of the bread up here." She said, turning to find Astrid, the head baker, standing there.

Despite her young age, she was one of the best bakers that Asgard had ever seen.

"That's quite nice of him. Usually, his father is too busy, or in too much pain to help the one in charge of bringing it."

"That's a shame."

In fact, this was the first time Sigyn had ever gone to pick up bread. She wasn't part of the cooks, so she usually didn't have anything to do with the kitchen except taking the dishes. But since Princess Stark had her own assistant, she had found that she didn't really have much to do. Each morning, when she came by, Wanda had already prepared you and there was not much left for her to do. You were an early bird, that much was for sure.

But she needed her mind occupied. Otherwise, she felt as if a dark void would consume her with despair.

"Your majesty?" Sigyn suddenly heard Astrid squeak, and she turned to find you and Wanda, your assistant frozen in the middle of the kitchen. As if you were two children being caught doing something they should be doing.

"Hello!" You chirped. "We were just- Does this door lead to town?"

Both your maid and the baker looked at you in surprise. "Well, yes. But, your majesty-!"

"Ah! Wonderful. Then shall we go on Wanda?" You pulled on her arm trying to coerce her to keep moving.

"A-Ah. Yes! Let us go." She said and you both scurried off through the door and down the passage.

Astrid turned to Sigyn, concern obvious on her face. "What are we to do?"

Sigyn furrowed her brow. She had to admit that even though you had been kind to her, she didn't have a certain resentment towards you. After all, you were the one that was going to marry her beloved. Even if you had no say in the matter.

It should have been her, not you.

"I do not know. But it would serve them right if they get in trouble. They should not go out unaccompanied."

Astrid seemed to descent into panic as the seconds ticked by. "But we saw them leave! If something happens to them, don't you think the king could hold us responsible for not saying anything or accompanying them!?"

Sigyn drew in a deep breath. Despite her personal biases she had to admit that getting in trouble with the king was probably not the best idea.

"I shall follow them. I will offer them to act as a guide. If we are not back by sundown, call for an audience with Prince Loki. He will act right away."

Astrid nodded, and then she proceeded to head out the small door to keep an eye on your little escapade.

You and Wanda were "sneaking" past the guards. In all honestly, you were just stumbling around in a fit of giggles. But you were having fun, so you didn't mind that your cover might be blown.

"Your majesty?" Speaking of.

You turned to find a stern-looking Sigyn standing behind you. "Oh, hello! How are you doing?" You smiled, a bead of sweat rolling down your neck.

"Your majesty, I'm sorry to say this but you two shouldn't be here alone." She completely ignored your question.

"You do not have to worry, my dear. We'll be fine."

"I must disagree. You two are strangers in the land and know very little of the streets and people of Asgard." She tried to interject. "Besides, I could get in trouble with the king."

"He doesn't have to know." You smiled at her, mischievously.

"But he will. And if something happens to you and he finds that I let you go out unaccompanied, I will be in deep trouble with him and the prince." She stepped closer to you two.

You turned to look at Wanda who gave you a look, as if to say, listen to her.

"If you must insist, then we'll be happy if you acted as our guide." You chirped.

The blonde seemed to want to sigh, she had a look on her face as if she had to keep it together. Her expression changed as soon as it was there and she plastered on a pleasant smile.

"Of course." She held up some dark fabric towards you. "But you must wear these."

"Cloaks?" Wanda asked as she took the items.

"To better conceal your identity. We would not want bandits to be hot on our trail, would we?" She asked, seemingly with a reasonable expression, but you could feel how little patience she had just judging by her posture. She didn't want to be here.

You just smiled kindly at her and wrapped the cloak around your shoulders. "Of course not. Thank you very much, Sigyn."

"Oh, how precious!" Wanda was inspecting the jewelry that a vendor was offering to her.

The bustling market was alive in its own way. Vendors yelled for the attention of the passing costumers. People went to and fro about their daily lives. The smell of spices and fish was seeping through the air. Corridors that led to other parts of town were decorated by hanging clothing. Kids rushed through the streets, chasing each other at play.

It was absolutely mesmerizing.

"Thank you so much, my dear, for accompanying us." You spoke to Sygin who stood by your side as you inspected the textiles that the lady was trying to sell to you. They were very pretty, maybe you could make something to keep yourself occupied in the upcoming weeks.

"No need, your majesty. It is my duty." She responded, dryly.

"Ah. Your duty." That was a word that had been thrown around a lot lately, wasn't it? "I understand how I must seem."

She turned to look at you with a puzzled expression. "Pardon me?"

You paid for a couple of yards of fabric and the lady placed it on a bag for you, which proceeded to rest under your arm. Then you began to wander again, a confused Sigyn still following you close.

"How I and my companion must look like in your eyes, of course." You began. "A pair of strangers drawing entertainment from the peasantry."

"I-I don't-"

"It's alright. I've heard it all before," You winked at her and flexed your arm. "I'm a tough girl."

That seemed to relax her since a confused breathy laugh left her lips.

"Wanda and I used to do this all the time back home. Asgard and Midgard are not quite that different in that regard." Your eyes wandered throughout the bustling area. It filled you with homesickness, while at the same time, it felt eerily similar.

"You must miss your home." Sigyn offered timidly.

"Very much. Being with the people was something I always loved to do. It is where I belong. Not among the royalty, and the fancy parties, and dances."

Sigyn saw something in your eyes, something fiery as you uttered your next words.

"My place has always been with my people. On the battlefield and in the streets is where I feel most at home."

"On the battlefield?"

She couldn't place you on a battlefield. She just couldn't. You, with a gentle smile and patient retorts? With a fancy dress and gliding through the dancing hall? In bed curled up with a book or in the market with fabric under your arm? She just couldn't.

But your gaze told her it was true. There had been a hidden fire in your eyes, behind your politeness, that she immediately saw through. Because she had learned to see it on someone else.

Loki...

"You don't know, do you?"

Sigyn shook her head. The war between Midgard and Jotunheim wasn't a wide known conflict. Everyone knew that Asgard and Jotunheim weren't exactly friends, but Midgard never was something considered in the equation when discussing the subject.

You pointed to a nearby bench where both of you could sit down and Wanda would be able to see you and sat together.

"Ever since my grandfather was a child, the war against the Jotuns has been in motion. That is four different generations. Maybe five. That have been submitted to an ongoing conflict." You began. "The battles haven't been many, but the ones that have occurred have been terribly gruesome."

Sigyn remained silent, it wasn't every day that a princess got to tell you her firsthand experiences.

"I, myself, have been able to be on the strategy meetings and helped keep trespassers off the city limits. Even if that meant getting my hands dirty." You continued. "I remember the first time I came face to face with the enemy. I was probably around... fifteen years old..."

The material of your cloak brushed against your hands, the snow and wind blowing past you as you ran across the mostly empty streets of the desolate town.

You sneaked past the ten where your dad was with his counsel, Steve following you close by. He kept guard beside you as you whispered into the ear of the man in front of the tent that was right next to your dad's. He looked at you with suspicion, but you were the princess so he allowed you passage.

"Come on!" You pulled Steve behind you.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" He asked, worry in his expression.

"Of course! It'll show my father how serious I am about all this stuff!" You beamed at him as you turned to grab one of the crates full of fresh food.

You grunted and struggled as you tried to lift it. "H-Hhgk!"

Steve chuckled behind you. "Need help?" He asked kindly, but with smugness in his voice.

You pouted in his general direction. "No! I'm fine!"

He grabbed one of the handles of the crates and with little effort he lifted it. You directed him a pointed look but grabbed the other handle with both your hands.

"Better?"

"Oh, hush." You teasingly glared at him.

Walking backward, you exited the tent. Crate separating the two of you. Those distributing the crates of supplies seemed apprehensive of letting the princess do heavy-duty, but after insisting they had no choice but to comply.

They pointed towards a rundown house and said you could take the crate to that family. After wobbling all the way over there, you knocked on the door.

A lady in raggedy clothes and with a child on her arms and another one standing by her side opened the door.

"Who are you?" She asked, apprehensive.

"This a delivery from the palace, ma'am. Some supplies for you and your family. We know the northern families have been going through a lot, so we brought this for all of you!" You beamed at her.

She looked at the crate and back at you in disbelief. "W-Wait... Are you...?"

"I am like you." You cut her off. When people made it about you being a princess annoyed you. "And since I can help I wanted to bring this to your family!"

She seemed on the verge of tears. "T-Thank you... Your majesty, thank you..."

"It is our pleasure." A voice behind you spoke up. You tensed up at the sound of it.

The woman took the crate inside with Steve's help, and then you felt a tug on your arm. Just as you suspected, you found your father when you spun around.

"What are you doing out here on your own, young lady?"

"I'm not alone. Steve is here." You tried to excuse yourself.

"Sorry, that doesn't work with me. Missy, in case you haven't noticed we're in the middle of a war zone. You shouldn't be outside without supervision." He spoke with controlled frustration.

"We're not in any danger, I swear!" You tried to convince him. "I just wanted to help..."

He kneeled down to your level. "I know kitten. But you can't go away without me knowing." Steve exited the house and you heard him say goodbye to the lady behind you. "If anything were to happen to you, or Pete I-"

He didn't have time to finish, around you the horrors of war suddenly displayed.

A surprise attack...

...

You stayed silent. The words were in the tip of your tongue but for some reason, they seemed to have gotten stuck there. They wouldn't come out.

But then again.

Who likes talking about the horrors of war?

You took in a deep breath. "I never saw that woman again. The soldier in front of the tent of supplies died too."

Sigyn seemed shocked. Like a dam of emotions had opened up. "Y-Your majesty... I-I-"

"You don't have to say anything. It was a long time ago." You reassured her. "And besides, if anything it helped me realize what was at stake. Who our enemy was. Who I was protecting."

You pulled down the hood of your cape and showed her a scar at the nape of your neck. It was ugly and you knew it, but you wanted her to see it. "This is a reminder of that day. Helps me keep my eyes on the prize."

Sigyn had seen it, but you usually kept it concealed with makeup.

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

Pulling your hood back up again you smiled. "I rather have you as an ally more so than an enemy. And for that I want you to know my intentions. I know that the lower classes tend to mistrust royalty. And you correct in doing so. Many in power are greedy and could care less for the people. But I want to help, and if you help me I'll be able to do so."

She looked at you with skepticism. "What do you want?"

A smirk was painted across your face, clever girl for not trusting in your every word. "I was told by someone that the wolves tend to feed each other with gossip. And I would be fully interested in finding out what's being said behind closed doors."

A second passed, then another. An informant. But could she...

"And what would I gain?"

"What would you like?"

Loki. Was her first thought, but she couldn't really say that now, could she?

"Could I come back to you on that?"

"Of course." You agreed, "After all, we ladies need to help each other, right?" You took her hands in companionship.

Sigyn laughed, it felt like you two were conspiring or something of the sort.

You really weren't what she was expecting, were you?

TAG LIST:

@chxrryycola - @midnightmystic - @deathkat657 - @thatonefangirl111

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki odinson #lady sigyn #loki x sigyn #steve x reader #loki #medieval!au #medieval au

43 notes · View notes

sanders-sides-fics · 4 years

Text

In My Dreams: Chapter Two

Warnings: food mentions, Deceit (named Dorian here)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2204

Author’s note: I will be reblogging with the link to AO3, which will also be on the masterlist!

Virgil fidgeted uncomfortably in his spot at the main table next to Remy. Even once the court was seated, he could feel the eyes on him. When he looked out of the other tables, he could never see who was staring, but he knew they were. He was sure it would be worse if he caught someone staring at him.

The crown felt heavy on his head as he looked around again. Logan had advised him the weight would be unnoticeable once he wore the crown enough, but combined with the feeling of being watched, it felt heavy and very uncomfortable.

“Not hungry?”

Virgil looked over to Remy and shrugged, “It’s weird being on this side of things.”

“Nothing to do with lords that keep looking at you?” Remy asked. “I got that too, the first time we had an event at the castle after the attack.”

Virgil frowned at him and made a point to move around some of the food on his plate around with his fork, just to make it look like he had eaten. He could still feel the eyes on him and that helped nothing.

“Why did they stare then?” he asked quietly.

Remy shrugged, “To see the poor little orphan playing prince.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose and set down his fork. He glanced around the feast hall once more. Nothing had changed. Lords and Ladies still chattered at each other as servants bustled around as Virgil had every time there was a feast in Sandres.

“Did they not like you?”

Remy scoffed, “No, they just wanted to feel some pity. Got it out of their systems real fast. Now, eat up.”

Virgil turned back to his plate and tried to eat a bit. He still pushed things around before settling on the roast beef. He picked up a juicy piece with his fork and bit into it. It was good, but he preferred how his Dad made it. He hoped he was okay without Virgil there to help him in Sandres. Virgil would have to write to him soon and try to figure out how long he should wait before he made a visit.

He kept eating quietly until his plate was mostly cleared. As he ate, he listened to Remy and Logan’s discussion of their trip to Sandres and what steps would be needed next. Remy suggested that they could arrange trade between the kingdoms to foster the relationship and Logan smiled proudly.

“We could write to King Thomas to make arrangements tomorrow,” Logan said. “What do you think, Virgil?”

Virgil startled at the mention of his name, “Um, it sounds like a good idea? What do we have to trade?”

Logan smiled approvingly, “We have our fabrics and fruits. Meat from the northern border and salt from the east and south.”

“Salt?” Virgil asked.

“From our lands bordered by the ocean,” Logan explained. “I can show you a map after the feast, though I often find myself pulled into the dances following dinner.”

“That’s because you’re still not married,” Remy teased.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “As are you, due to my refusal to allow for an arrangement for your hand as your regent.”

Remy shivered at the mention. Virgil watched curiously, pondering what Picais was like under Logan’s reign as Regent.

“I would never marry someone so tasteless,” Remy commented. “She didn’t know matean from silk.”

Virgil tuned out the rest of the conversation as the conversation dissolved into gentle teasing. Before he knew it, the plates were being cleared from the table and the court began to stand from their seats to move to the ballroom. Remy tapped Virgil’s shoulder and offered his hand to guide him out of the feast hall.

“If you need to get away, go to the library. No one usually goes there during our feasts,” Logan advised. “I have gone there a few times to hide myself.”

Virgil smiled, “Thank you.”

Virgil made sure to think of where he knew the library was from the brief tour the night before. It sounded like the perfect place to escape to. Virgil took Remy’s offered hand and followed his brother to the ballroom.

Remy smiled at him, “Do try to mingle for a while before you run off to the library, alright?”

Virgil rolled his eyes at his brother as Remy let go of his hand.

“What makes you so sure I will?” he asked.

“Brotherly intuition,” Remy answered.

Virgil snorted, “Yeah right.”

Virgil looked around the ballroom as his brother walked away. There wasn’t a single face he recognized beside Remy’s and Logan’s. He wasn’t surprised by the lack of familiarity, but would need to grow used to the idea of it being expected.

He went about the room, ducking his head with care not to lose the crown. He had never experienced a feast where he was being served instead of being serving others, but perhaps it would not be hard to cruise through the night near the wall, talking to the servants.

Was he avoiding his court? Yes, but he would also like to know those that were serving him and his brother. They were just as important as the court members, Virgil knew a castle couldn’t function without its servants from experience.

“Prince Virgilius!” a voice exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve been hoping to catch you all night!”

Virgil flinched at the outburst and turned to face the person who called his name. Before him stood a heavy set man in bright green. The man bowed to him and smiled.

“Hello?”

Virgil wasn’t sure how he was to acknowledge this. He had seen Roman dance around the ballroom and talk with nobles frequently, yet the mannerisms fled his mind as he looked at this man.

“I am Sir Gary Ashdown, your Highness, I worked with your Father, the late King Dorian,” he explained. “It is an honor to meet you and see you returned to us alive and well.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, fidgeting.

“That’s all I wanted to say, your Highness. I look forward to seeing what kind of leader you’ll become.”

With that Sir Gary turned and disappeared into the crowd of nobles.

Virgil wasn’t sure what to make of that conversation, but guessed the rest of the night would be full of them if he stayed in the ballroom. Quietly, he made his way to the hallway, sticking close to the servants as he walked, knowing most nobles ignored them unless they needed something during a feast.

Virgil walked down the halls, trying to find the doors he knew lead to the library. The main floor was much smaller than the one in Sandres’ castle. If anything, this would make the search much easier on him.

He kept walking around until he found the door Remy had shown him the night before. He opened the door and the candles around the room all flickered to life. He jumped back and looked around for someone who could have done so.

“Hello, Prince Virgilius.”

Virgil yelped and back to the door again.

“Sorry, sorry,” an older woman stepped out from the shelves. “I am Mavis, I am the caretaker of the library. My eyesight is not very good so I do not use the lighting system, but when I heard you, I started it.”

“Light system?” he asked.

Mavis smiled sweetly, “Your father created it with his magic. He was a talented fellow.”

Virgil looked around at the candles, “They’re magic?”

“They are. He created them when he grew frustrated from trying to carry books and his candle around at night. Too stubborn to ask for help,” Mavis smiled. “Solved his issue quickly.”

Virgil nodded, “It seems.”

He glanced around the library. Wondering if he could find anything from King Dorian’s life or study within the library.

“Shouldn’t you be at the feast, my prince?”

Virgil awkwardly shrugged, “I just… got overwhelmed. I wanted some quiet. Can I look around?”

“Of course! This is your castle, dear,” she reminded.

Virgil smiled and walked into the array of shelving to see what he could find. Many of the texts were unfamiliar to him. He picked a book off the shelf and examined the cover. The cover had an intricate design of flowers and vines surrounding the title, “Guide to Herbology and Medicine”.

Virgil opened the book curiously and flipped through a few pages. The pages were old and worn, clearly studied meticulously. As he turned the pages, a leaf fell from between the pages. Virgil knelt down to pick it up and place it back into the book.

Kneeling on the floor, he reached for the leaf and took it into his hand, something sticking out from under the shelf catching his eye. He grabbed the item as well and stood up. He put the leaf back into its book and replaced the book on the shelf. Virgil then examined the item.

It was a leather bound book with pieces of paper sticking out from pages. Virgil walked over to a table with the book and sat down, before wiping the thick layer of dust off of the book and untying the string around the book. He opened to the first page, curious yet not expecting anything from the plain covered book.

On the first page of the book was written Dorian Picani in a neat script. Virgil’s eyes widened and put his finger on the page to trace along the name. He wondered what one of his fathers’ books was doing under a library shelf…. He could ask Remy…. After he’d gotten the chance to look through the book himself.

He flipped to the next page and began to read.

I haven’t spoken to Emile about the possibility of Virgilius’ developments becoming permanent yet, hoping that it is residual magic from being carried by a magic user, as Remy’s were. If the developments continue and do not disappear, I will need to tell my husband before something happens. I haven’t noticed anything permanent yet.

Details of developments:

1. Speaking to spiders in the castle:

This could be due to developing magic in my son, or this may be antics of a toddler. I will be watching for these interactions as he grows older.

2. Levitation:

Levitating objects that he wants, such as his bottle or his stuffed animal. The heaviest thing he has lifted is a large story book so that I could read from it for a bedtime story. This is undoubtedly a sign of magic.

Similar instances to these occurred when Remington was still toddler, but he grew out of them by age two. Virgilius is approaching his third birthday without a cease of magical activities. As the day grows closer, I will continue monitoring my son. The traditional test for magic is still years away but if these instances do not cease prior to Virgilius reaching ten years of age, it will merely be a formality.

Virgil’s eyes widened as he read on, reading his father’s words about him and his magical development. The King seemed anxious about something the more he went on about Virgil’s powers. Now that Virgil had faced the Dragon Witch, he understood that worry. King Dorian had feared her finding out about his son’s abilities…. Fears that were justified when Virgil considered his family’s fate and the Dragon Witch’s final actions in Sandres.

He flipped through more pages, coming across more stories of his powers and listings of what he could do before his loss of memory. As it became clear that these powers came from Virgil’s own magic, the King’s tone changed to fondness as he described what he did to teach Virgil.

Virgil paused in his reading to examine a page that was entirely full of scribbles and mysterious splotches of ink. After a moment, he flipped to the next page and looked for an explanation.

Virgilius’ masterful use of a quill and ink. Today is the first day he managed to steal my journal without my notice and begin to take his own notes on his magic. Upon an examination of his input, I have found it extremely valuable and will ensure the page remains within my journal for further use.

Virgil smiled at the note, relieved to see his father did not punish his younger self for the instant. A tinge of sadness pulled at his heart, knowing he would never know the man who spoke so fondly of him. He shook his head and continued his read through.

“Virgil?” Remy’s voice called through the library. “Are you in here?”

Virgil closed the book and looked around for a place to hide it. He knelt down and quickly put the book back where he had found it, vowing to retrieve it later when he could sneak it to his room. He wasn’t sure why he was hiding it from Remy, but it didn’t feel right to share it just yet.

“Yeah, I’m over here,” he called, standing up.

He stepped out from the shelves and walked toward his brother.

“I’m sorry, I got a bit overwhelmed by it all,” he explained.

Remy smiled softly in sympathy, “At least find anything interesting in here?”

Virgil shook his head.

#sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #ts-storytime 2020 submission #prinxiety #Remy Sanders #Logan Sanders #Janus Sanders

24 notes · View notes

blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Cosmic Scheme Pt 2

Katy Perry : Dark Horse - Pt 2 - This one is cuter @deepestfirefun

I knew you were

You were gonna come to me

And here you are

But you better choose carefully

'Cause I'm capable of anything

Of anything and everything

One long stretch of jagged stones lay between you and the mountain sitting underneath the sun rising to the top of the sky only to drop again every two minutes to rise again seemed to be a distant goal. Where Thorin had suggested the long stretch of stairs as you grew closer you noticed something off about the tide on the river flowing out from underneath Erebor. Hard and fast it would rush out to the lake in the distance with the town Thorin swore to be destroyed now baffling him in his stagnant stance staring at it confused how this could happen. “Come on Thorin,” you said panting out the words to the song you were using to keep your pace hopping from stone to stone instead of climbing over each that was nearly as tall as you and only growing more clustered the closer you grew to the peak.

Make me your Aphrodite

Make me your one and only

But don't make me your enemy, your enemy, your enemy

Thorin turned asking in his own hop from one stone to another, “What are you singing?”

“Just a song, keeping the pace.”

So you wanna play with magic

Boy, you should know whatcha falling for

Baby do you dare to do this

'Cause I'm coming atcha like a dark horse

Thorin, “I could imagine twelve more helpful tunes than that.”

“More of a hype builder.”

“Hype?” He asked climbing over another stone ensuring his makeshift kilt wasn’t getting snagged.

Are you ready for, ready for

A perfect storm, a perfect storm

'Cause once you're mine, once you're mine

There's no going back

“Like, some cultures have war chants, it’s to keep your mood and confidence up to do your best.”

“This world of yours lacks all logic on occasion.”

That had you giggle and he jumped ahead to catch you as your hands hooked around the top of the stone your boot had slid down. Holding your hips with feet on two opposite stones to keep you in place he looked to the side of your face in your saying, “You’re being generous. Far more than on occasion.”

Mark my words

This love will make you levitate

Like a bird

Like a bird without a cage

But down to earth

If you choose to walk away, don't walk away

Three more miles you climbed, jumped and skidded your scuffed little way to the bridge at the front gate panting up at the sky watching the sun rise again as you asked, “You can swim, right?”

“Yes, why? None can swim these waters.”

“I can go alone if you like.” Walking to the edge luring him after you.

“Not while I draw breath!”

Smirking back at him you said, “When I say we dive in. How long can you hold your breath?”

Thorin wet his lips eyeing the water, “I have not timed it, however you are not accustomed to these frigid waters.”

“Well I’ll just have to channel my inner polar bear.”

“What does that even-,”

“Now!” You said diving with hands joined together into the water skillfully while he practically cannon balled in after you. A moment he eyed the still water and kicked hard to catch up to you already swimming onwards towards the shadows of the mountain walls and floor.

Sharply at the surface you gasped for air and muttering the count in your head you turned looking for a place to climb out feeling Thorin’s hands on your hips surfacing with a gasp of his own behind you. “Over there,” he said guiding you to the rocky ledge that he lifted you onto leading to the farming peaks and climbed up himself with a helpful tug from you bringing him up just in time to miss the sudden surge of water racing out of the peak again. Watching the water he heard you steadying your breath and take a few blind steps in the dark, the fourth slipped turning him to grip your hips again. “Careful.”

“It’s pitch black in here, Thorin,”

“What?” That made you groan and he eyed your hands he turned to lay on his shoulders saying, “Follow me, my apologies. Dwarves have more acute eyesight in the dark.” Nine more steps came and he muttered, “Mind the step,”

“The, wh-,” into his back you fell forward at the toe of your boot colliding with the sudden step making you huff in his pause to glance back at you confused still how you had hit it even with a warning. “You know what?” Over his shoulders your arms looped and in a hop your legs were around his waist parting his lips at his first thought for the easiest way to cross through this portion of the mountain he assumed you might not wish to try for proprieties sake without a formal courtship announced. “You’re carrying me.” To yourself you kept your shock that he seemed unaffected without a single sway or flinch at your weight being added to his back and simple turn with hands lowering to support your thighs to continue onwards.

Miles he walked until even you could see what was obscuring the path, thick jungles of vines and stems of tall tangled flowers made of gemstones had your legs easing down allowing you closer. Each stalk and stem glowing and softly lighting up whatever hall you seemed to be at. The step you took had Thorin’s hand folding around your wrist, “You have no idea where we are.”

“True, but I do know you have nothing under your kilt.”

For a moment his lips puckered and he nodded, “True. Carry on, Bunnanunê.”

Down to a crouch you lowered to ease between two vines in the start of a long winding path. Easy enough you thought only to feel when a ruby vine lost a leaf that snagged on your sleeve a singe on your arm, the hiss from which had Thorin hurrying forward breaking off a green leaf and your hand rose to cover your mouth from the gag triggered by the horrid stench of the stone. Shaking his head he said, “Emerald reeks, ruby does what? You aren’t hurt?”

“Just a small burn. Carrying on away from that stench.” You said continuing to move onwards.

Topaz broke and an annoying buzz sounded for what seemed like hours until he groaned feeling a sting at just brushing another topaz stem. Another snap came not ten feet later from you and Thorin’s eyes traveled to your back instantly smelling a wave of what seemed to be musk exuding from you. The light blue stone leaf shattered to the floor and at your deep exhale to battle the heat flash wracking through your body you pushed forward ignoring the urge you had to not do anything but turn around, tear that kilt of the King you could make great use of to calm this hormonal hunger. “Was that a blue vine?” struggling through the widening of his pupils to your lingering musk wafting back to him already hinting at what it could be, what he deeply hoped it could be not minding a distraction to sate your needs before continuing on again. “What does it do?”

“I’d, rather not talk about it. But I’m fine. Don’t break any.” Not wishing to push you on sharing he remained silent.

Behind you he gave you directions and a couple times he caught you with an arm around your middle when your foot nearly slid off the mist coated walkway. “Forgive me, however, the walkway leads that direction.” He said pointing in front of you earning a nod in return as he corrected your footing and released you trying to control himself and his clear bubbling reaction to the lingering musk coating you still.

Sudden arms around your middle and a drop to the ground had you wide eyed laying flat on Thorin’s rising chest as one of the giant ax wielding statues dropped its weapon into a swoop. Just barely you had missed the attack in the upper half of the hall pitch black even with the glowing waist high vines you were now lying in. “What, the, ever, loving, fuck. Thorin, what sort of booby trapped hell did you grow up in?!”

Unable to help it he started to laugh watching the next swoop of the ax, replying to fight his tears at the sting of ruby flowers heating his arms to a painful degree just shy of a burn he had crushed to keep you safe, “I swear to you our home is not normally like this.”

“Better not be. And remind me to have a word with Gandalf, ‘she will know what to do’, oh ya, right old master of all this right here!” making him chuckle again. Tilting your head back you watched the blade soar over head again and you said, “We fell back, so, we just have to crawl the other way.” Awkwardly on top of him you turned to the side until your feet were by his head and you rolled onto your belly to watch the next swing and begin to crawl granting him room to twist and turn himself.

On all fours you crawled only to stop at his hand gripping your ankle to murmur, “Another ax. This one vertical.”

“Lovely.” Trying to see it you asked, “How far?”

“Ten feet.”

“Um, just stop me when I get close.”

“Please don’t tell me you can’t measure ten feet.”

“Please don’t tell me that you won’t warn me if it isn’t ten feet on the nose, because if I lose my hand I will bludgeon you with my bloody stump of an arm.” His chortles behind you had you shaking your head and continuing onwards. Roughly ten feet you halted asking, “So, right in front of me?”

“About another step it should fall.”

“How thick is it?”

“About five feet, I wager.”

“Lovely. We can discuss odds and winnings later.” You wet your lips and knelt trying to see anything above the vines without lifting your head over the top. “Anything over these?”

Thorin looked over it saying, “Not that I can see.”

You nodded and wet your lips reaching back only to widen his eyes at your fingers inching under the slit in his kilt, “Give me your hand,”

Biting his lip to say your finger was brushing his upper thigh and not his forearm he simply lowered his arm to be in your reach he pressed forward and scooted forward nearer to your back as you lifted it, “Okay, path is that way, right? Just straight ahead no twists or cutouts in the floor?”

“Correct.”

With a nod you shifted your feet and sharply inhaling you released his hand you lowered again to his actual thigh this time, “Alright, bring on the stupid.” His lips parted and up you darted and a smirk ghosted across his lips seeing your leap most of the way and foot falling through air making you tuck forward and curl to land on the other side of an unseen gap in the floor to crash into a row of vines splattering around your curled up throbbing self. Your goal to simply cover your face from any shards through the crash of the ax falling sending more down around you.

“Bunnanunê?”

Deeply your stomach lurched and you groaned out, “You got to be fucking kidding me.” Clearly in the slow lift of the ax your gag was heard followed by your groan of, “I broke, so much, green,” again you gagged and covered your mouth easing onto your knees for him to see you in the dark trying not to dry heave to the horrid stench. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Shaking his head to hold back a relieved chuckle he said, “Take your time, Bunnanunê.”

You nodded and steadily while staying down you scooted away from the edge and grumbled, “There’s no ground there.”

“I got it, one moment I’ll be there.” Smoothing your hand over your face you missed the full display of his Kingly Jewels on display through his near split of a jump ending in a roll scooting you back more into more green vines causing him to turn and curl around you holding you as you calmed from his overpowering natural scent disguising the gag reflex soon enough. “There you go,” he said smoothing a hand over your back and in looking around he said, “Appears to be another horizontal ax ahead.”

Shakily you inhaled and turned still feeling his hands smoothing over your back and on all fours you eased through more vines straight ahead until a bump of a stone block stopped the path to blindly try to inspect what it was. “I think there’s steps ahead.”

“The path ahead leads to a tunnel we require to move deeper into the mountain. I should go first to inspect it.”

“okay.” The response wasn’t really needed as he was already eased around you and inching up the steps leaving you alone in the dark unaware of where he had gone to.

Biting your lip you waited having flashbacks to your night terrors from when you were little at being left alone in the dark, a fear you have no clue how it was mastered leaving it free to creep back in again. Above you however Thorin rumble calmed you in saying, “All clear, I’m straight ahead of you twenty five steps.” Turned to watch your timid climb up the steps he asked, “I’m still here, don’t be afraid.”

“Question.”

“Mhmm?”

“How dark does it have to be for you not to see? And is it different seeing in the dark form light, like it’s tinged in green or does it all look the same when the sun sets and you can’t tell the difference in day or night?”

Again he was grinning and replied after wetting his lips, “It is more of a silvery blue, we can tell the difference. Were we in a forest I would require a torch, but stone gives off light to Dwarf eyes.”

“Well no offence, it’s just all dark to me.”

“Are you afraid?” His tone dripping with concern wondering how he might be able to help you.

“Um, well, I used to have these night terrors as a kid when I was left alone in the dark.”

“How did you beat them, I could help you.”

“See, that’s the thing, I can’t remember.” When his head turned to double check there was no dangers ahead at your crawling closer he missed your blind reach up that landed your hand on his ankle. “That you?”

“My ankle, it is wide enough for two,” he hummed back and easing timidly up beside him making him smirk again at your hand lifting to pat him on the butt and tap up onto his back so you didn’t bump into him all the way to the top step. Fondly his hand settled on your back and he rubbed it a few moments allowing you time to calm then join him in inching up, “I don’t see any traps, let’s try standing.” His hands lowered to your hips hoping to help build your confidence to stand and step up onto the landing listening to his hum of, “Just ahead is the hall we require.”

Not fifteen steps later and your foot recoiled from a deep violet tile now growing brighter sending you back into Thorin’s chest panting at the mist of hands springing up from the ground to snatch at you. Around you his arms draped and timidly you stepped in the row of dark tiles continuing on a tile at a time to get through the hall to whatever else was on the other side. “Thorin, what’s on the other side of this hall?”

“That would be the Throne Room we have to cross to reach the hall leading to the Royal Wing.”

“What’s in the Royal Wing?”

“I, am not certain.”

“Then why are you taking us there?”

“I am not certain.”

“Is it more of a hunch or are you looking for some clothes?”

That had him chuckle and say, “Hunch, though, clothes would not be turned away.”

“Gandalf, when you talked to him he said they were in the depths of the mountain. Are we heading there next?”

“Some part of me believes it to be a trap.”

“Unlike the rest of the mountain, which is clearly child friendly.”

Again he chortled and replied, “Something dangerous, or more dangerous rather. The hoard as well I would suggest we steer clear of.”

“Ok, pants first, plan later.” Making him smirk again following your single tile step to the left and to the right again back to the former straight path. Endless darkness with the King to guide you just a step behind peering over your shoulder lingered on until in the edge of the Royal Wing you caught a ghostly glow reflected on a picture frame turning your head to find a floating fox in misty blue who eased through the portrait on the wall not allowing you a good look at it. Back and forth either the same fox or several began to pop out and at Thorin’s silence he either hadn’t noticed or this was somehow usual to this Wing. A doorway in the center of the maze of halls was opened and in you went to the pitch black apartment that once inside right where they had always been matches were found to begin lighting each lantern along the way for you.

While he was on the hunt for clothes you turned for the study that right smack in the center of it sat a glowing checkers board. Strolling around it you eyed it and stopped lifting a piece you moved forward luring the faces of dozens of fox ghosts out of the walls. Hunched in this tall room a massive owl stood eyeing the board that with his lifted foot continued the game onwards luring a chair from along the wall to ease under your legs. Fully focused you sat becoming immersed in the game deaf to what Thorin said once he found you fixed in a game with a great guardian of this peak. Now it became clear, in Smaug’s invasion and capture of Erebor the Great Owl’s statue must have been destroyed or damaged entrapping any who dared to enter to be forever trapped in a loop until they beat the being at a game of their choosing cherished from their childhood.

Narrowing his eyes Thorin eyed the identical pieces in differing colors making him wonder how the game proved troubling at all. So similar to chess, save for the fact that everything moved diagonally. A five jump move had his eyes widening and the feathers on the Great Owl puffing out before the click of its beak in thought when you double stacked your piece making it to the other end of the board. That piece was now rogue to Thorin compared to the others soon joined by two more until with a trio of pieces left the Owl conceded its defeat looking you in the eye to ask, “In return for besting me in this game of skill I must know what is it that you wish for?”

To your eyes Thorin still hadn’t entered the room and was otherwise distracted with who knows what and from a long look at the board your eyes met the Owls and Thorin bit his fist to keep from openly sobbing at your heart clenching wish. “I wish the Durins could have their home back.”

The Owl’s head cocked to the side then straightened to lean forward inches from your face saying, “I asked for what you would wish for.”

“I don’t have a home, I know what it feels like to have it stolen from you. I wish for the Durins to have their home back.”

Blinking a few times his shimmering green eyes locked on your face before saying, “I will release this mountain along with the innocent within. The dragon however I shall keep for penance and you shall have one winter to decide what it is you wish for. Then I shall return for my answer.” Whispering through the mountain a breeze flowed and all the enchantments faded away.

Tightly in a hug Thorin pulled your wide eyed self struggling to think of when he had gotten there. And to the chime of the clock along the wall he smiled brightly at you as your eyes dropped over his fully adorned self with several shirts, a vest and some boots you really wanted a pair of lined with fur that looked so cozy. His hair braided back for the top half to keep it from his face and beard freshly trimmed after what seemed to have been a break to scrub his face at least as well as his hands, on of which extended that you accepted beginning the hurried gleeful path with lantern in his hand to guide you through the mountain. This time straight for his friends, and one Hobbit who seemed all too familiar with a branch of Sackvilles all the same to shame you for destroying the home they wished to take from you.

A new home here was promised to you and as part of your Durin accepted lineage to their hired Burglar you were as good as family to Dwalin who aimed to court dear Bilbo by Spring and be wed by Fall. Learning how to handle one Dwarf was a handful, but a whole mountain full, this would deepen your already instant bond with the kind new cousin of yours, with whom you were sharing an apartment with in the Royal Wing.

@himoverflowers��, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim, @jotink78, @pastelhexmaniac

x Thorin – @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @queenoferebor

Pt 3

#Thorin x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr #Fallen to Middle Earth #soulmate #Request

23 notes · View notes

catsafarithewriter · 4 years

Note

“I want to say it was worth it. For a while, it was.” I think it’s cute of how Haru is now grown from a girl who couldn’t dance with Baron from a girl who could fight and make remarks better than baron. I just imagine how Haru is either in a situation where she dances with Baron for both of them to get out of a dangerous situation and both get carried away with the dancing cause it reminds them of their first dance. Sorry I just love fluffs and Haru is just so amazing in your stories.

A/N: I’ll be honest, the line itself is so beautifully tragic that using it for fluff stumped me for a good while, until I eventually remembered the music box scene out of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang that I loved as a child, so I’m stealing that concept for this.

Also, this is set in a timeline when Haru and Baron have finished dancing around each other (metaphorically) and are adorable together.

The plan had been simple.

The plan had been simple and flawless and brilliant and definitely hadn’t involved Baron getting kidnapped by a mechanically-obsessed monarch.

The execution of aforementioned plan... had left some things to be desired.

“Hey, Chicky, I really don’t think this suits me...”

Haru tugged the rough tweed jacket around Muta’s broad shoulders and slapped the flat cap between his ears. “Yes, well you should have thought of that before you let Baron get kidnapped by a crazy king.” She paused, recalling her own first encounter with the Bureau, and snorted. “Not that the Bureau has a stellar record when it comes to that.”

“The birdbrain also lost him, and he’s on escape duty.”

“Toto’s on escape duty because he’s very, very good at it.” She finished fiddling with the cap. “So unless you want to be dancing instead, you’re filling the role of toy-maker extraordinaire. Honestly, Muta, it doesn’t look that bad.”

“I look like I should be yodelling from the nearest mountain.”

Haru snorted and gestured loosely to her own outfit - a white blouse layered over by a blue pinafore, with a yellow apron tied around the waist. “All I need is a shepherd’s crook, and I’d be ready to join you. Now, help me up into this box before I chicken out.”

Muta did so, and he didn’t miss the way Haru tensed as she stepped up. “Yer gonna be okay in there, Chicky?”

“Fine. Dandy. I’m just getting boxed up like some sort of twisted Christmas present so we can sneak into the palace for this royal celebration, then I’m going to have to dance like a wind up music box, and hope nobody spots the fact that I’m very much not a wind up music box until we get Baron back, and then escape without the kind of mishap that we are oh so well known for.” She grinned, far too brightly, at Muta. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be worried.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just... be careful wheeling me up to the palace.”

“Gotcha. Run over every pothole and speed-bump I find, roger that.”

Haru laughed and bunched up her skirts. “Thanks, Muta.” Somewhere, a clock tower began to boom. “Alright, it’s time. Box me up.”

Baron had been mistaken for many things in his long lifetime. Some more flattering than others - there had been at least once incident where a Bible had been thrown at him - but being mistaken for a mechanical toy was fairly unusual, even for him.

He sat in the seat he’d been assigned, head drooped, shoulders gently slumped, and hands tucked neatly on his lap, and tried, for all the world, to look like a clockwork creature wound down. At first, he had tried to convince the king that he was no mechanical toy, but a living, breathing individual, but that had only incited the monarch’s greed more and he had proclaimed the ‘unique, unrivalled design’ of the newest addition to his collection for all to hear.

Somehow, Baron had suspected that if the king learnt of Creations, he would just become an even more valued part of the collection.

So he had decided to play along. Eventually, the king’s interest would wane and he would be able to escape while attention was grabbed by the next new toy. Especially since he had feigned ‘winding down;’ sinking into a seat and refusing to move, and nobody had been able to work out how to wind him back up again.

Even so, the king had still seated him along the royal table, like a prized pet for display, and it seemed escape would have to delay a little longer.

He kept his eyes dulled, his breathing shallow, and wondered how long this farce was going to go on for. He listened as three of the entertainers’ acts were deemed unsatisfactory by the king and his short attention span - citing each one as nowhere near as impressive as the mechanical figure beside him - and sent packing.

“Whoever’s next better make it good!” the king roared, and Baron nearly smirked, reminded of another monarch with a very similar outcry. Now, if he wasn’t the one captured, this would have been the perfect time for a dramatic entrance-

“Your Majesty, I can make the toy dance.”

It took everything in Baron to not immediately look up at Muta.

“Impossible,” the king grunted. “My finest toy-makers have examined the toy and have produced nothing-”

Surprisingly quick for one of his girth - at least to those who didn’t know him - Muta made his way around the royal table and set to examining the ‘toy’. Baron felt his head tilted back, and was treated to the unexpected image of Muta in a tweed suit and flat cap. He felt his eye twitch at the attempt not to laugh.

He suspected Muta saw it regardless, for he was dropped back to his original position rather harshly. “Yeah, see this is part of a set, so once it’s wound down, it ain’t gonna work again until it’s reunited with its partner.”

‘What are you playing at?’ Baron wondered. His head dropped down, he could only listen as Muta paraded back across the room to what Baron had briefly glimpsed as a large red box.

“And you have found this partner?” the king asked, his scepticism only outweighed by his hope.

“Course I have. I made ‘em both.” There was the sound of Muta opening something, followed by awed muttering from the royal guests. Baron caught a few strains of “well, they don’t look the same,” from a couple of onlookers, and dearly wished Muta had left his head at a more convenient tilt.

“So how does this work?” the king asked. “Do you have to wind them both up or...?”

“Nah, it’s... uh, wireless winding,” Muta bluffed.”Look, just wait and see.”

Baron wondered whether that was Muta-speak for: no idea how this is going to pan out, so let’s not make any promises. All the same, he could have done with a better indication of what Muta had planned. As things went, he could only listen as there was a mechanical whirring, and then a strain of music box melody. A few delighted gasps.

He raised his head and saw Haru.

She was poised on a red stand, the interior of the box opened out into a trifold mirror that reflected back on her still form. As the music fell into a familiar tune, her head snapped up. It ticked from side to side in time with the music, searching, searching, until her eyes settled on him.

Then, with precise movements, she stepped down from the box and made her clockwork way to the royal table. Her path wasn’t direct - the steps were that of a waltz, a shifting box step - but there was little surprise in him when she halted before him. A single sure hand rested between them.

“Would you care to dance?” her eyes asked.

Mechanical toys did not smile, he reminded himself as he took the hand.

Still, he knew his eyes replied, “Always.”

Around the table he was led and he found himself surprised when Haru’s eyes were level with his. He shouldn’t have been, he noted; they had adventured much together in the ensuing years and she had not grown since her return to the Bureau, and yet...

His mind went, unbidden, to a dance under similar circumstances a good decade ago, only he had been the rescuer and she the rescued then. How the tables had turned. How things had changed as, with a confidence that had only been a foundation all that time ago, she guided his hand to her waist and laid her own on his shoulder. She leant in.

“I suppose this makes you the damsel in distress then, huh?” she breathed, a teasing smile ghosting her lips.

“I could get used to it with such a fetching knight in shining armour,” he returned.

“Oh shush. If I blush, I’ll blow my cover.”

With a flick of his wrist, she spun, her skirts swaying and her steps sure, and when she was swept back into his arms, it was not awe, but calculations that lit her eyes. Her gaze slid past him and across the room.

“I take it you have a plan?” he asked, drawing her close to hide the telltale flicker of lips.

“Of course I do. Unlike some, I don’t rush in without an exit strategy.”

“You did, however, stop for a costume change.”

He heard the quick intake of breath, a laugh smothered. “I needed to look the part, and combat boots and trench coat don’t exactly match the music box aesthetic.”

“It looks lovely on you.”

“I want to say it was worth it. For a while, it was.” She wiggled her eyebrows, their faces so close that no onlookers would catch the discrepancy. “But this dress has like a hundred layers to shape it properly and I’m melting like a snowball in summer right now. Be glad I love you enough to suffer through this.”

“Be careful, Haru; keep proclaiming your love for me and I’ll have no choice but to kiss you and that’ll definitely blow your cover.”

“Oh, just shut up and dance with me.” She twirled away as if to remove the temptation, but when she settled back into his arms they were closer than ever. “Kiss me when this is all over and I’m not melting into a puddle.”

“Is that a request?”

“It’s a promise.”

Somewhere along the way they had both forgone their mechanical deceit and their movements had smoothed into an intimate duet that sent Haru spinning again, head tilting back in unshed laughter that nearly broke through as she was gathered back into his arms and dipped.

“That wasn’t part of the dance I remember, Mr Gikkingen,” she admonished. Her hair, which had been so carefully pinned back into a doll’s bob, had now begun to lose its way, and wayward strands curled about her face.

“Things change,” Baron whispered back, and he resisted the urge to tuck her hair away.

Another sudden breath, another laugh hidden away, and Haru dropped her head back, knowing full well that if she stared into those emerald green eyes any longer she was definitely going to do something to give the game away. She let her gaze drift across the grand hall, across the king and his royal entourage, across the amassed guests, across Muta furiously gesturing--

“Shoot,” Haru muttered. She shifted her weight, signalling to Baron to pull her out of the recklessly romantic dip. “Okay, I think we’ve just been rumbled.”

“Why?”

“The music box ran down a good thirty seconds ago.”

The king slammed to his feet with a sound like a gunshot. “You’re not a toy! Guards, seize her!”

“Ah,” Baron said. “Would now be a good time for your exit strategy?”

“Yeah. Run.”

#Anon #the cat returns #replies #I felt like some fluff is needed after TBF #also effs sake it keeps effing up the keep reading line #i'm so sorry fokls #excuse me vvhile i go beat up tumblr #everything said and done though that was an adorable prompt to get #also i now have both 'truly scrumptious' and 'doll on a music box' stuck in my head #lowkey slain by the understated romance of Potts singing about how much he loves Truly while he's meant to be on rescue duty #like that's just meant to be their disguises #ya didn't have to go so hard with the romance #and yet here we are #the cat queues #cat writes

35 notes · View notes

exosmutfactory · 4 years

Text

How I Look On You 001

Chun-hei is stuck between feeling too busy to commit and too young to settle down. And with her bustling book publisher business, bachelors and alike are all swarming around her for a chance at publicity. She’s doing a good job at keeping the men at bay—until Byun Baekhyun, that is. Doesn’t mean he’ll have it easy though.

A/N: I’m tired of this bad boy staring me down in my drafts so! Here we are. Hope you enjoy 🌹

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

The Bar

---

"He might got money, but I bet she got her own

You know she independent, when she leave here all alone

You already know, you know, you know, you know, you know

But you could still get it though

You could still get it (Uh-huh), you could still get it

Only if you wit' it though"

---

An all-nighter every now and then never hurt anybody.

I tell myself this as I let my friends drag me to the newest bar in town; ordering a round of drinks for everyone once we secure a table. Thankfully none of us plan to leave for the next 2 hours, although, as the mom friend, I keep my consumption to a minimum.

“I’m glad this new place opened up,” One friend mumbles; already halfway gone, “The last one lacked good looking men.”

“You could always go to a club, Seoyeon.” Another states.

Seoyeon scrunches her nose, “Yeah, that’s where all the hookups and spread of diseases happens, Jihun. But bars,” She emphasizes, tilting her drink towards her at a dangerous angle, “Is more…”

“Subtle?” Another supplies; tucking her short black hair behind her ear.

“Classy.” Seoyeon concludes.

I can’t help but snort. “Y’all are a trip.”

“Says the southern nun,” Seoyeon slurs, head tilting to the side. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

“I don’t know.” Shrugging I idly stir my drink, resting my chin on my palm.

“It’s been a good 6 months,” Turning to glare at Jihun, she puts her hands up in defense. “I’m your secretary and you haven’t had a “sick” day in a long ass time.”

“Why haven’t I fired you yet?” I mutter; her being quick to reply with a “You need me.”

“But seriously, Chun-hei.” I turn to my soft-spoken friend, “Are you okay? Everything alright last time you saw the gynecologist?”

“Her pussy isn’t falling off, Minji.” Seoyeon rolls her eyes, “She’d be much more uptight, trust me.”

“Wow geez, thanks doc.” My tone is dry; a grin breaking out on my face as she scowls. “Guess that cosmetology degree taught you more than the rest of us.”

“You never know,” She replies tossing her freshly dyed red hair, “Maybe you’d learn something if you left your office for once.”

“Publishing books is a long process,” Mumbling with a shake of my head I take a sip of my drink, “And you know how my workers like to slack off when I’m not around.”

“That’s what you have Jihun for,” She points to the said blonde who calmly lowers her offending finger. “Hell, I was shocked you agreed to come out here tonight...”

Not meaning to tune her out, my eyes catch sight of someone across the bar. Their purposely messy black hair complimenting their all-black outfit. A black coat with the first two buttons undone, matching jeans and a striped black and white scarf tied leisurely around their neck. Feeling eyes on him, he meets my gaze; a smirk playing at his lips.

I casually lean back in my chair; tilting my head with a single brow raised.

“Oh shit.” Jihun gasps. “Girls she’s in the zone.”

“Who? Who?” Seoyeon craned her neck around; trying to catch sight of the man.

“Yah!” Minji whisper shouts, lightly smacking the back of her head. “Leave her be, she needs this.”

Chuckling internally, I gracefully bring my glass back to my lips; looking down as if analyzing its contents before flickering my eyes back over to him. His own gaze still locked on me. Gotcha.

“Girls,” Slowly dragging my eyes over to them, I swirl my drink; crossing my fishnet-clad legs. “I think I’ll be leaving early.” Smoothly shifting my eyes back over to the man running a hand through his hair and biting on his bottom lip, I feel a familiar heat in my stomach.

Jihun whistles, shaking her head. “Good luck, girl.” Her grin mirroring my internal one as Minji gives congratulations as well. Seoyeon is busy studying her nails as I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Locking gazes with the man once again, I bite down on my bottom lip as he approaches the table with confident strides.

“Good evening ladies,” He greets in a deep voice. Just the sound alone has more heat pooling between my legs, and when his dark brown eyes meet mine, I know that tonight will be a good one.

As they reply in unison he struts his way over to my side of the table; eyes locked on my own the entire time. “You mind if I accompany your friend for the night?” He asks with a charmingly raised brow. My red lips curl into a smile, an action he’s quick to notice as he flashes his own; biting down on that admittedly sinful lip of his.

“Oh no,” Jihun waves a hand, “Please. Take her off our hands. She could use the,” She smirks, “Company.”

He chuckles politely, holding a hand out to me, “May I?”

More than happy to comply, I place my hand into his open palm; flashing a flirtatious smile, “Gladly.”

With another handsome smile of his, he firmly kisses the back of my hand and starts leading me out the bar; an action that’s more arousing than I would expect. Taking one last glance back at the girls, I send them a wide-eyed excited look as they quietly cheer.

Once out into the cool night air, I take a peek at him; he’s a good 4 inches taller than me while I'm in my one-inch combat boots.

He steps closer; the streetlight above casting an alluring glow on his handsome face as he rests his hands on my hips. His brown eyes search my own as I place my palms on his chest. He pulls me closer; lips quickly slotting over mine in a kiss.

There’s something in the way he takes his time as if savoring the feeling of my lips with every thorough smooch and bite from his own. I can’t help curling my hands in his coat the longer we stand there; the sounds of our wet kiss loud in the vacant street adding more to the heat between my legs.

With one last suck on my bottom lip, he pulls back to look me over again, “My place?”

“Yes.” I breathe; more than affected. Quivering internally at his lick of lips and devious smirk.

As he hauls us a cab, I study his side profile. Appreciating his long neck, angular jawline, soft lips, and a button nose. What a catch he is; I think with a lick of my lips.

When our ride pulls up, he opens the door, waiting for me to get in first. Once inside he rests a warm hand high on my thigh as he tells the driver the address; gently kneading and stroking me with his thumb. I’m soaked by the time we pull up to his apartment complex.

He pays before getting out; holding the door open and a hand out to me. I take it as I climb out, looking up at him again as he sends the driver on his way.

His eyes move back to me as I drag a hand down his chest; his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I never caught your name,” He mumbled with a brow raised.

For a moment, I contemplate telling him; looking over his handsome features. “Chun-hei. Or-” Grabbing him by his scarf and pressing my body to his, I smile at the way his breath hitches; peeking at him from under my lashes, “Yours.” I can't help purring, “For tonight.” A smirk plays at my lips as his eyes darken in lust; my arousal growing farther.

“Baekhyun.” He utters with another lick of his lips; resting his hand comfortably on my waist before leading me inside. My eyes sweep over the state of the building. It’s interior surprisingly spotless for this side of town; known for housing the most rambunctious college students. The elevator is in tiptop shape as well.

My eyes drift back to Baekhyun when he chuckles. I have to gulp down the urge to take him right then and there as he leaned casually against the wall. His dark eyes settled on me from under the veil of his messy hair. A smirk on his lips that I surprisingly find confident rather than cocky as we keep up the intense eye contact.

Once the elevator dings, we both look towards the opening doors. Baekhyun's hand settling back on my waist as we exit out into the hallway. The walk to his apartment is short-literally four steps away from the elevator. I find myself catching sight of his hands and damn they look eternal in proper lighting. The flexing of said hands as he opens the door increases the throb between my legs.

The layout of his place is actually cute from what I can see; a closet right across from the door as we step in. To the right of it is the rest of the apartment; a relatively nice sized kitchen that takes up the whole front wall beside the front door and a small table able to seat four people. I briefly catch a glimpse of his fully furnished living room before I’m whisked away to a door beyond his comfortable looking couch. I have to hand it to him for being able to be a gentleman until we reach his bedroom.

He locks the door and something about the resounding click fills me with even more anticipation.

“Nice place.” I look around, admiring his king-sized bed covered in a simple yet elegant black blanket; the covers perfectly made. Two fluffy white pillows adorning the top.

Baekhyun chuckles, stepping closer. “Thank you.”

We have a little staring contest; eyes locked on each other’s gaze. It goes on for longer than a minute and Baekhyun’s eyes flutter a little; wanting to close as I stay firm in my position. Until an unsuspected hand wraps around my waist and pulls me against him; his erection prominent on my stomach. I gulp, blinking automatically. Baekhyun flashes a grin before his lips are once again meeting mine.

We walk to the bed, my knees soon hitting the back of it. Before Baekhyun can think to lay me down, I quickly spin us around; pushing the wide-eyed man onto the mattress. He looks up at me; gaping a bit as I pulled off my crop top, keeping my skin tight mesh shirt on. “Sorry.” I smile down at him, gracefully climbing into his lap, “I prefer to be on…” My eyes drag up his body from his obvious bulge to his alluring eyes, “Top.”

Baekhyun visibly gulps, nodding as he rests his hands on my hips.

My smile turns into a smirk as I settle my hips on his; near chuckling at the way his breath hitches. I can’t help sliding my hand down his chest, teasingly tugging open a button on his coat, “May I?”

Baekhyun nods, watching me undo each button at a slow pace. By the time I reach the last one, he is covered in a thin layer of sweat as my hungry eyes take in the sight of his hot body. “Wow,” I utter, lifting up a bit to pull off my mesh top as well. Internally giggling at how his eyes widen even more at the discovery of me not wearing a bra.

Slowly grinding on his lap, I trail a finger down his neck, “Mmm. You are quite handsome, Baekhyun.” I relish in the way his cheeks redden at the compliment; feeling his arousal twitch. Chuckling, I decide to put him out of his misery and smash my lips back to his; moving to unzip his pants.

Baekhyun groans, head falling back when I add a bit of pressure, “Chun-hei.”

My own breath hitches; lip between my teeth as I watch him. It takes both our efforts to get his tight jeans off. I quickly pull down his boxers, nearly gasping as I take in the sight of his cock. It's not the biggest I've seen, but its girth…. Fuck me.

I pump him a few times; he’s so hard and leaking so much my palm easily slides over his throbbing cock as I hum deeply at his little gasps and quiet moans. The more noises he makes the more my arousal grows.

Not able to take anymore, I lift my skirt and pull my g-string to the side; smirking at the dazed look on his face, “Condom?”

Baekhyun takes a deep breath, eyes falling shut when I rotate my wrist, “T-Top drawer.”

Humming in approval I walk over to his nightstand; purposely bending over as I retrieve a silver packet. Coming back to him, I carefully rip it open with my teeth; taking my time in putting it on him. With his cock safely wrapped, I start to slide down on him, then think otherwise, grinding on him instead.

“Chun-hei.” He sighs, biting back a whimper when I grind hard in response. “Chun-hei, fuck. Please.”

Chuckling although a bit breathless, I press his cock to my wet entrance; slowly sliding down onto him. I bite my cheek hard to contain my own whimper; lightly scratching at his shoulders from the stretch. “Damn you are thick Baek.” I hiss, moaning loud when he unexpectedly jerks his hips. He sends me a sheepish look when I glare at him.

“S-Sorry,” His eyes flutter shut as I lift up to the tip then slide back down onto him again; taking him deeper every time. By the third time, my hips are pressed firmly to his. I rock back and forth, swirling my hips at random intervals just to hear the noises he makes. His voice growing louder as I quicken my pace.

“Chun-hei.” He breathes, sliding a hand down to my clit.

I jump a bit at the contact with a gasp, “F-Fuck.” My eyes fall shut as he speeds up, his hard thrusts from below bringing me closer to cumming, “Baekhyun.”

He groans loud in reply, pounding me harder as I fall over the edge, “Fuck. Yes, Chun-hei.” He breathes, fingers not leaving my clit as I squirm above him, “Come for me.”

Moaning loud as all my muscles tense up, I continue slamming myself down on his cock; thighs shaking from all the pleasure as I feel him throbbing inside my clenching walls. “Come on, Baekhyun.” I purr, egging him on. “Give it to me.” Leaning close, I rub my hand down his chest, lightly sucking on his earlobe, “If you’re good, I might let you come in my mouth next time.”

“Christ.” He hisses, slamming up deep into my tightening walls and filling the condom with a loud groan.

Chuckling, I wait a few moments before sliding off his member with ease. “You’re so hot,” Trailing my eyes all over his naked form; chiseled, heaving chest and a long bared neck, I lick my lips; touching his heated skin. “I’d love to go another round.”

“What’s stopping you?” He mumbles sleepily, running a hand through his messy hair; eyes glazed over in post-orgasm bliss.

“Oh, nothing,” I bite back a smirk at the way his throat bobs when I caress his thigh, sliding my hand back up his body, “Just don’t want to wear you out. I don’t know if your stamina is par with mine.”

Baekhyun lifts his head and his hands are on my hips at once, grip tight as if preparing to flip me over until he stops, taking a good look at me. “I can go all night.” He declares.

“No, no,” I shake my head, gently patting his hip and moving to get off his lap, “It's alright, I should get going.” Pretending to search for my crop top around the room, I continue, “Don’t want to disturb your beauty rest.”

A low growl comes from the man under me before he grabs my wrist, pulling my clothed body flush to his naked one as he regards me with dark eyes blazing in lust. “Want to bet?”

Smirking, I press my chest to his, growing excited at the telltale sign of him hardening against my thigh. “Bring it on, Baek.” I purr before my lips are taken again.

Two rounds later and he’s sleeping like a babe; pouty pink lips slightly parted on every exhale and eyelashes brushing the top of his glowing cheeks. He’s sleeping without a care in the world and it takes everything in me not to giggle at the sight.

I’ve just reached out a hand to smooth down his unruly hair when a low buzz fills the room. I freeze, glancing over the bed to find my phone lighting up on the floor. Carefully lowering myself off the bed to pick it up, I swear under my breath. Jihun. Calling to probably make sure I’m okay. Quickly grabbing my disregarded crop top, I slip it on and pad out of the room on light feet, swiping to answer with a perfectly manicured finger, “Hello?”

“Chunhei!” Her voice has risen an octave higher than usual, “Are you okay? Why are you whispering?”

Taking one last glance at the sleeping man, I grab my forgotten heels by the door and gently close it behind me. “Sorry, I’m still at Baekhyun’s place.”

“Baekhyun?” I navigate my way to the front door, pulling my heels back on with a low hiss. “You haven’t left yet? It’s 3 am.”

Remembering the slight wobble to my legs, I blush. “I’m leaving now, don’t worry.” Slowly registering her words, I straighten up. “I’m not coming into work tomorrow.”

“I figured as much.” She pauses, the sound of juggling keys loudly ringing into the phone. “Want me to come get you?”

“Please,” I whisper, giving the address and waiting for her to arrive.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

#baekhyun smut #I dont know how to tag this tbh #should have thought of this sooner XD #baekhyun angst #baekhyun romance #baekhyun fluff

66 notes · View notes

calumcest · 4 years

Text

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back) - chapter four

[ao3]

is it technically tuesday? yes. are we going to talk about that? no. everybody lives in at least gmt-1 now suck it up

@tirednotflirting yet again...i cannot sing your praises enough for reading this ENTIRE fucking thing!! although it looks a bit different here to how it looks on the google doc because its not in bold and theres no ‘finishh’ in sight nor my insane random words that i write down when i know exactly the words i want to say but i’m too lazy to write them. am i the worst writer known to man? possibly

we are getting to the juicy stuff now...its quarter to fucking malum o’clock...

also if you saw the title of this chapter before i went to check you didn’t see it. close your eyes

By the time Calum wakes up the next afternoon, they’re already halfway back to Manchester, somewhere on the M40. Predictably, Liam's up, vibrating with that impatient energy he’s always got when he can’t snort or drink it away, and Calum’s the second one to rise, padding into the lounge area sleepily, yawning loudly and rubbing his eyes. His head’s fucking pounding, and his mouth is dry and disgusting, but Liam, because he sometimes is the angel his doe eyes and full lips make him out to be, has already put out a cup of water and two paracetamols for him.

“How the fuck are you never hungover?” Calum grumbles, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Liam and nestling into his side as he downs the paracetamol.

“Luck of the Irish,” Liam tells him, resting his cheek on Calum’s head. Calum makes a noise of discontent and turns to press his face into Liam’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut like it’s going to stop his head from hurting.

“You deserve a hangover,” he mumbles. “You were off your fucking head last night.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Never said that.” Liam huffs out a soft laugh.

“Nearly fainted in the fucking toilets, you did.” Calum scowls.

“Fuck off,” he says, as his memory flashes back to last night - yeah, he did almost fucking faint in the toilets, but that was only because- and then his eyes fly open, because fuck. Jesus fucking Christ.

Michael.

“Our kid barely even made it back to the bus last night,” Liam says, and it’s just meant to be casual conversation, maybe a little contemptuous, but it makes Calum’s lungs collapse in on themselves with guilt.

He’d spoken to Michael. He’d come to some sort of a fucking understanding with Michael, something he can’t quite remember and doesn’t quite understand. Fuck, he might have even called Michael pretty. Jesus Christ. He’s fairly certain any and all of that goes against his promise to Noel.

“Oh?” he says, when he remembers to speak. Liam just hums, and Calum tries not to exhale too shakily as his mind races.

It’s not his fault, he tells himself. Not really. He’d been there first, hadn’t he? Michael had been the one to walk up to him, and the one who hadn’t walked away. And sure, maybe Calum had been the one to strike up conversation, but it hadn’t exactly been friendly, had it? And Michael had been the one to ask questions, to change the topic, and to level the playing field when Calum had accidentally let something slip. Plus, Calum had been drunk and high, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions, can he?

Liam’s still talking, but Calum’s not listening, and it doesn’t even matter because Liam cuts himself off when Tony stumbles into the lounge area, bleary-eyed and yawning. There’s no paracetamol set out for him, and Liam makes no move to get any.

“I’m looking forward to a fucking break,” Tony says a little hoarsely, and flops down on the sofa opposite Liam and Calum.

“Fucking when?” Liam says. “We’ve got Top of the Pops in two days.” Tony groans, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Fucking Top of the Pops,” he mumbles. “Why the fuck did we agree to that?”

“For the money,” Liam says.

“Don’t even get to play the fucking drums,” Tony says, muffled by his palms.

“Thank fuck for that,” Liam mutters.

-------

Top of the Pops is exactly the bland, boring nightmare Calum expects it to be.

They’re shepherded into some kind of studio for a rehearsal and informed that they’ll be recording a live track then and there which will be mixed together with the album version, and none of them will actually be playing live. Liam’s having absolutely fucking none of it, and for once neither is Noel, and Calum, Bonehead and Tony all decide to step back and enjoy the show that is both Gallaghers on the same team for once.

After a lot of shouting, swearing and a few threats of violence, it’s decided that they’ll go ahead with recording the backing track but Liam will sing live. Noel’s absolutely fucking furious about not being allowed to play live, but it’s almost entirely forgotten when he sees the setup for the stage - Tony on drums in the front, Calum and Bonehead on a step behind him, and Liam and Noel on another step right at the back. The BBC aren’t budging on that, though, despite Calum, Bonehead, and Alan all weighing in to agree that it’s fucking stupid to have the stars of the band stood right at the back, and a nasty row breaks out between the Gallaghers and the production team, ending in Calum having to move at the speed of fucking light when he sees Liam tense into the all-too-familiar I’m going to fucking deck you stance. A lawsuit with the BBC is still well beyond their budget, no matter how well the singles have been doing.

Calum manages to talk Liam down, and Liam manages to talk Noel down, and they’re only ten minutes behind schedule by the time that the brothers have reluctantly agreed to do the show, which is pretty good going for them. They trail to the stage to the sound of screaming and cheering, which makes Calum’s head spin a little bit as he picks up his unplugged bass. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks in awe, as he looks out at the sea of excited faces and spots a few white Oasis shirts. They’re really fucking doing this.

They get set up and pretend to play Shakermaker, and Liam sounds fucking gorgeous, like he’s making a point to the producers, and Noel slings his arm around Liam as they walk off, a protective, proud gesture that Liam grins at and leans into. They’re fucking unstoppable, Calum thinks, as he trails after them, Noel’s arm tight around Liam and Liam stumbling over his own feet as he tries to press as close to Noel as possible. The two of them on the same side is a fucking sight to behold.

They’re at a hotel that night, and Liam and Bonehead decide they want to go out but Tony and Noel want to stay in, and Calum decides he’s too tired to stay up for the length of time it’s going to take him to find someone willing to fuck him.

(“What d’you think coke’s for?” Liam says to him, and Calum rolls his eyes.)

Calum falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow, and he wakes up early to the sound of Liam stumbling into the room, high and drunk and probably something else, bruises blooming all over his throat and grinning giddily.

“Good night?” Calum says.

“The best,” Liam declares, and then passes out on his bed.

They have to drive back to Manchester that day, though, because they’ve got a show in Leeds tomorrow, so Liam only gets about four hours of rest before Alan’s banging on the door and yelling at them to get the fuck up, lazy fuckers, didn’t I fucking tell you bus call’s at twelve? To his credit, though, he only complains about a hundred times, and stops when Noel rolls his eyes, holds his arms open and lets Liam snuggle into him and have a nap while Noel chats to Alan about the setlist for America.

Calum tunes most of it out, because he’s not fussed about what’s on the setlist and he trusts Noel to pick the best of his own songs, and spends two hours getting absolutely thrashed at chess by Tony. By the time they’re back in Manchester, Calum’s lost a game of chess to literally everybody on the bus, including Liam, who's being taught the rules of chess by Noel and Bonehead as they play, and Calum decides he’s never fucking playing chess ever again.

(“We’re fucking buying some new games,” he says moodily, when Liam flicks his king over nonchalantly.

“No need to get so mardy,” Bonehead says, stretching out and grinning at Calum.

“Fuck you,” Calum grumbles, sweeping all the pieces off the chess board. “We’re getting a game that I can fucking win.”

“Alright,” Noel says, grinning. “How about Frustration?”)

Calum’s mum has dinner ready for him when he drags himself up the path and into the house, and she fusses over the state of his hair and his clothes and says really, Calum in a disapproving voice whenever Calum uses colourful language to describe exactly what he thinks about the production team of Top of the Pops. Calum rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when she tuts at him for fondly calling Liam a silly cunt for the fourth time that evening, because it’s nice. It makes him feel like a kid again, but in the best possible way; warm, protected, like someone’s still looking out for him.

His dad gets back from work around seven, and they sit down to watch the Top of the Pops performance together. Calum’s heart swells with pride when it’s their turn to play, because they look fucking cool. The staging’s still shite, granted, but Liam looks every inch the rock ‘n’ roll star he claims to be, and the rest of them look lazily and effortlessly cool, helped enormously by the fact they’re half in the shadows, lights focused on the Gallaghers.

Calum’s parents are polite about the song, and he can see they’re beaming with pride, but he can also tell they don’t really get it. It’s okay, he thinks, unable to help the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches his parents watch him on TV. They like jazz. It’s probably for the best that they don’t think it’s good music.

Calum’s mum switches to some soap opera after Top of the Pops, and his dad grumbles not this again and pulls out his newspaper, but Calum can see his face popping over the top of the paper every two seconds. After three minutes he comments wasn’t Sheila dating Mark last week? She’s not having an affair with Bertie, is she? Calum snorts, and his dad glares at him, opening his mouth to make a defensive remark about how he doesn’t follow this show, it’s absolute rubbish, but then the phone rings.

“I’ll get it,” Calum says, before anyone has the chance to say anything, mostly to avoid having to listen to his dad’s I’m not watching this, Calum, don’t be cheeky spiel, and his mum just nods absent-mindedly, waving a dismissive hand at him, eyes glued to the TV. Calum heads for the phone in the kitchen, just because it’s the closest, jogging to get there before it rings out.

“Hello?” he says, when he picks up. There’s silence at the other end of the line, and he frowns. “Hello?” he tries again.

“Hi.” Calum’s stomach drops.

“ Michael? ”

“Yeah.”

“What the f- how the- what? What? ” Calum’s heart is beating out of his fucking chest, almost covering the embarrassment that’s flaring up as foggy memories of their last conversation drag themselves to the forefront of his mind.

“Sorry,” Michael says, and he sighs, and Calum can just imagine him running his fingers through his hair, a small crease between his brows. “Fuck, I- sorry. I shouldn’t’ve-”

“No,” Calum says abruptly, clutching the receiver, dreading the fucking dial tone. “No, I just- how did you get this number?” There’s a moment of silence.

“Only so many Joy Hoods in the book,” Michael says, and Calum exhales, hoping the crackling static of the phone line will hide how shaky it is.

“Oh,” he says. Michael had sought him out. Michael wants to talk. Michael still remembers his mum’s name.

“I saw you,” Michael says suddenly, into the uncomfortable silence that’s blossomed between them, neither of them knowing what to say next. “On Top of the Pops.”

“Yeah?” Calum doesn’t trust himself to say any more, but the question on the tip of his tongue is evident in the eagerness in his tone, anyway.

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Sounded good.”

“That’s because it’s a backing track.” Michael huffs out a laugh, sounding a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it to come out.

“I guess,” he allows. They lapse into silence again, loud and uncomfortable, before Michael sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds a little regretful. “I shouldn’t’ve called.”

“No,” Calum blurts. “I’m glad you did.” The phone’s warm against his fingers, slippery from his hot, sweaty hands, and he’s clasping it so hard he thinks it might break. He tries to focus on that rather than on what he’s just said, on the knife-edge he feels like they’re poised on, each word a weight that could unbalance them.

“Are you?” Michael sounds a little doubtful, and a little sceptical.

“Yeah.” Michael hums, like he’s mulling something over.

“Do your bandmates know?” Calum’s heart skips a beat.

“Know what?”

“That we talked.” At Glastonbury, while you were drunk and high and out of your fucking mind. You called me pretty, by the way. He doesn’t say any of that, but Calum’s mind tacks it on helpfully anyway.

“Do yours?” Calum says, deflecting, because his stomach’s bottoming out with the sheer weight of the guilt, of the broken promise. Or was it broken? Calum barely remembers, just remembers the look on Michael’s face, the tiny microexpressions, the glassiness of his eyes.

“No.” Calum inhales sharply, can’t fucking help himself - Michael’s talking to Calum, and the rest of Blur don’t know. That's got to mean something, even if Calum isn't entirely sure what.

“Oh.”

“Do they know?” Michael asks again. Calum stares at the hob opposite him, weighing up his answer.

If he says yes, he’ll be lying, and whatever the fuck him and Michael have going on right now is so fragile that one lie like that will send it all crumbling down, pulverise it so thoroughly that it’ll never be able to be built back up again. If he says no, though, he’ll be doing the same to Oasis, to his best mates, to his career. There's no right answer.

“Not yet,” he settles on eventually, straddling the line between Oasis and Michael. It’s the truth - he hasn’t told them, but they might find out at some point.

“Are you going to tell them?” Fucking hell. Trust Michael to pick at the loose thread.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” It’s true, and that’s the best Calum can offer him.

There’s a moment of silence, neither of them really knowing what to say, and it’s fucking gut-wrenching because Calum’s never had that with Michael. He’d never even had to think about what to say with Michael - he’d just existed, just been, and that was always enough.

“Luke and Ashton asked about you,” Michael says, and Calum’s breath hitches.

“Oh?” he says. “How are they?”

“Good,” Michael says. “They’re good.” He pauses for a moment, and then adds: “Luke’s a pilot, now. Or training to be, I think. I don’t know. Ashton’s a teacher.”

“Oh,” Calum says, voice small. Two of his best mates, in an earlier life; two spotty blonde teenage boys laughing on the beach at Calum splashing Michael in the water, shooting each other furtive glances across crowded rooms, getting high just for an excuse to shotgun. A fucking pilot and a teacher.

“Yeah,” Michael says.

“Did they ever get their shit together?” Calum asks.

“What? Oh, yeah. Fuck, has it been that long?” Michael exhales heavily. “They’ve been together for years.”

“Oh.” Calum doesn’t know what else to say to that. He’s trying to imagine it; a pilot and a teacher, fucking hell. Maybe Luke brings Ashton little gifts from his trips abroad. Maybe Ashton writes Luke postcards while his pupils work. Who does the cooking? Luke definitely doesn’t clean. Or maybe he does. If Michael’s changed this much, maybe Luke has, too.

“What about you?” Michael asks.

“What about me?” Calum’s not sure what Michael’s asking. Michael knows what he’s up to - he’s in Oasis, spending all his money on intoxicants, trying to exist alongside the supernova that’s the Gallagher brothers.

“Y’know.” Calum doesn’t know.

“I have no id-”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Michael says it all in a rush, like it’s taken a lot of courage to say it. It probably has, Calum thinks. He wouldn’t have asked Michael. It’s sort of reassuring, actually, makes something a little warm blossom in his chest, because that’s still so Michael . Michael always blurted out questions, always demanded answers, always kept social etiquette and politeness as an afterthought.

“No,” Calum says. He swallows, and then adds: “Are you?”

“No.” Good, Calum wants to say, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t have Michael like that anymore; he doesn’t have the right.

“Why did you call?” he says instead. Michael hesitates.

“I saw you on TV,” he says eventually. That’s not a reason.

“Why did you call?” Calum presses. Michael inhales, and doesn’t exhale for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he admits eventually, on a long, heavy exhale. Calum doesn’t blame him. None of this really makes sense to him either; the fact he feels like this after five years of not seeing Michael, after four years of not speaking to him, after three years of not thinking about him. He’s not sure why he wants this, whatever this is, not sure why he wants more of Michael, not sure why his heart feels drawn to Michael like it’s north and Michael’s south.

“Yeah,” Calum says, hoping it conveys I understand.

“I almost reached out,” Michael says suddenly. “A few times. Over the past year, I mean.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Why didn’t you tell your band?”

“Didn’t know how,” Michael says. Calum gets that too; he’d thought about it as well, entertained the idea, turned it over and over in his mind, but he’d never known what to say. I fucked the guitarist from Blur - I was in love with him actually - and I don’t know why I can’t get him off my mind would probably have sparked even worse reactions than the way it had come out did.

“They seem really protective of you,” Calum says.

“They are,” Michael says, and there’s a small smile evident in his tone. “Not like yours, though. I don’t think all the money in the world could get Graham to start a fight on my behalf.” Calum can’t help the startled laugh that escapes him.

“I don’t think all the money in the would could get Liam not to start a fight on my behalf,” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a soft laugh.

"I'm glad you found such good friends," he says, and the smile is ripped off Calum's face at the jarring reminder that they don't know each other anymore. It sounds so distant, like Michael's content with this arm's-length distance between them, two people who used to know everything about each other and are now making polite small talk.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “I’m glad, too.” He can’t bring himself to say what he really means - I’m sorry it was good enough to take me from you. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say it.

“I should go,” Michael says after a minute. Calum wants to say no, don’t, stay, but he forces the words back down and nods, still staring blankly at the hob.

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Me too.”

“It was-”

“Don’t,” Calum says abruptly, as his stomach twists. It was nice talking to you. It was nice catching up. He doesn’t want to hear the finality of the words, the forced politeness, the jarring dissonance that is the boy he’d known and loved for so long and the man he is now.

Michael doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs.

“Look,” he says. “I- you don’t-” he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, and starts again. “D’you want my number?”

“Do I- uh, yeah,” Calum says, a little stupidly, glancing around wildly for something to write on.

“I’m on tour for the next few months,” Michael says, as Calum snatches up a recipe his mum had left lying out, and an incredibly unsharpened pencil. “But I’ll- y’know. When I’m home.” I’ll call you. He can’t bring himself to say it, and Calum doesn’t blame him.

“Okay,” Calum says.

“You got a pen?”

“Yeah.” Michael rattles off a number, some area code Calum doesn’t recognise, something starting 071. He writes it down hastily, hoping he’s heard it right because he doesn’t want to ask is that five like hive or nine like fine , and then rips the corner of the recipe off and tucks it into his pocket.

“Got it,” Calum says, dropping the pencil onto the counter with a clatter. “071, where’s that?”

“London.”

“Oh. Uh. Cool,” Calum says.

“Well,” Michael says, a touch awkwardly. “See you around, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum echoes. There’s one more moment, the two of them listening to each other breathing, a second suspended in time, and then it’s broken by a click and a dial tone.

Calum puts the phone down a little dazedly, just as his mum wanders into the kitchen.

“Who was it?” she asks. Calum hesitates, and she raises an eyebrow, which means he’s lost the opportunity to say oh, just a cold call.

“Michael,” he says, and her eyes widen.

“Clifford?” she says. He nods. Who the fuck else is it going to be, Michael the sound engineer that had mixed two fucking tracks in Cornwall? “I didn’t know you two still spoke.”

“We don’t.” Her face softens.

“Oh, honey,” she says gently, and Calum swallows. He hasn’t told her yet, hasn’t told her about the awards ceremony and Glastonbury, and somehow, he doesn’t quite want to. She seems to sense it, though, because she just sighs and pulls him into a warm, tight hug. Calum wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder. Even though he’s half a foot taller than her, even though she only comes up to his collarbone, it still feels like she’s the one protecting him, like he’s small and cocooned in her arms.

She lets go after a minute, fussing over him messing up his hair, and he groans at her and ducks out of the way of her meddling fingers, but the warm feeling stays, and when she smiles at him and tells him she’s going to bake him his favourite biscuits tomorrow, he feels seventeen again.

(Or maybe that’s just Michael.)

-------

July and August pass in the blink of an eye.

After Leeds, they have three weeks off. Calum finally fixes the garden wall, and for the first few days, he finds himself jumping every time the phone rings. It’s never Michael though - most of the time it’s one of the brothers, asking whether Calum wants to go to the pub or get high or go out on the pull, and sometimes it’s Alan, reminding him that he’s got to be here on this day at this time and there on that day at that time and is he writing all this down because he’s going to be responsible for getting Liam there too since Noel’s going ahead this time.

They go down to London for a few days, record a few new versions of songs and one demo of a new song that Noel’s written but isn’t sure about yet. As soon as he’s heard Liam’s vocals on it, though, his eyes light up, and Calum files the bassline away, because he knows it’s going to be on the next album now, no matter how much Noel’s pretending to hum and haw about it. He can’t fucking let Liam have anything, though, so when Liam comes out of the live room, bright-eyed and desperate for Noel’s affirmation, Noel curls his lip and tells him that sounded fucking shite, Christ, you’re almost as useless as Tony. It culminates in a huge fight that Calum and Bonehead manage to duck out of before it begins, only finding out about it when they get woken by a sombre-looking Alan in the middle of the night and informed they’re all being kicked out of the hotel because Liam’s trashed the bar and Noel’s chucked a TV out of the window of his room that landed on the hotel manager’s car.

They play their first show in America on the 21st - their first show outside of Europe - and it goes well. Noel’s not impressed by the country, having toured there with the Inspirals half a decade earlier, but the rest of them are in fucking awe, and Calum catches tiny, fond smiles playing on Noel’s lips when he sees Liam staring at the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, lips parted and eyes wide.

Noel’s finally managed to get his way on Live Forever too, it seems, because they’re shepherded into Central Park a few days later, half of them hungover and half of them still blind drunk, to film a video. The director seems to be even fucking higher than they are, because he comes up with ideas like Liam singing while sitting on a chair nailed to a wall, and the band take it upon themselves to start suggesting ever more ludicrous ideas, just to see what sticks. Liam throws in chucking a bucket of water over Bonehead, and Calum suggests burying the drum kit, and Noel goes why don’t we just bury the fucking drummer? The director thinks that’s a fucking brilliant idea, inspired, creative, and Noel shoots Calum a look and says wow, is that how easy this is? You just fucking randomly suggest nonsense and people just go and film it?

(He doesn’t bother showing up for most of the second day of filming, and Calum can’t really blame him.)

They fly back to the UK and play another festival on the 31st of July, and as Calum passes by one of the posters on the way to the stage he does a double take, because Blur are on there. Liam sees him looking, though, and taps the top of the poster wordlessly as he walks past - Sat 30th July. Calum can’t help the way his stomach sinks at that. Michael was here yesterday, and Calum’s here today. Maybe that’s a sign, he thinks. Maybe fate is trying to tell him something.

Live Forever comes out in early August, and people fucking love it. Calum’s getting stopped in the street in fucking Wolverhampton - Wolverhampton - and asked to sign autographs, which makes his head spin. They’re really fucking making it now, he thinks, when he calls his mum from a payphone and she tells him that they’ve had people turning up at the door asking for interviews. This is what the rise to the top feels like, powered by coke and booze and Noel's guitar.

They play a festival in Sweden which sees Noel, Liam and Bonehead smashing up a hotel bar with the guys from Primal Scream, who they’d met at T in the Park, and Richard Ashcroft, who they’ve known for years, and once again Calum’s woken up in the middle of the night and informed that they’ve been asked to leave - not just the hotel this time, but the country. He’s driven to the police station where Bonehead, Liam and Noel are being held, and has to stand with the harsh lights hurting his eyes while Alan tries to hash things out with the Swedish police, and then the three fucking delinquents come stumbling out, grinning and reeking of alcohol.

("Are you trying to get arrested in every single fucking country we visit?" Calum asks Liam, as they make their way to the car.

"No," Liam says, "but that's a fucking mega idea, that."

Shit.)

They have to film another music video in August, but since it’s for Cigarettes & Alcohol Marcus at the record label lets them bargain the video down from a full on shoot to the filming of a live gig at the Borderline in London and hiring a few pretty faces to mingle with them backstage. It’s not bad, Calum thinks, as Liam hands him a beer and grins drunkenly for the cameras. Slap a fucking black and white filter on it and it’ll look almost intentionally dingy.

A week after that, the album comes out.

Calum hadn’t really realised what album releases would entail, but apparently, it’s a lot of fucking interviews. The first few are quite exciting - they’re still not that used to interviews; a few radio shows, a few TV shows, the odd magazine - but after days on end of answering the same questions hour after hour, Calum starts joining Liam for his hourly smoke breaks, just for something to liven the mood.

They play a show in London the day the album comes out, and Calum finds himself scanning the screaming crowd for blonde hair, pale skin, sea-green eyes, a pretty smile, but Michael’s not there. Calum hadn’t really expected him to be - it’s a small venue, and apparently it’s been sold out for weeks - but it doesn’t stop him feeling disappointed all the same, having to turn to the back of the stage for a minute to collect himself. Tony shoots him a strange look over his hi-hat, but doesn’t say anything, and Calum sends up a quick prayer of thanks that it was Tony and not Noel that had noticed.

The album goes gold in three days - the fastest-selling debut album in British history - but they barely even have time to celebrate because they’re heading to Sweden again the next day and Alan tells them with an unusually stern expression that he’s had to twist a lot of arms to get them back in and they’re absolutely fucking not allowed to get drunk or high or fight anybody until they’ve been in and out of Sweden. Liam moans and bitches about it but accepts reluctantly, spending the entire journey to Sweden yawning and rubbing his eyes and making sleepy conversation until he falls asleep on Noel’s shoulder.

The show in Sweden goes off without a hitch, and they’re in Dublin the next day - their first Irish show - and the brothers go fucking mental. Calum joins in for a bit but can’t keep up; two Irish Mancunians in Dublin is far too much for his Australian stomach to handle. Belfast is no better, and the day after that they play the Haçienda in Manchester - one of the most famous clubs in their hometown - and after the three-day-binge even the Gallaghers are worn out and sleep for the majority of the two days they have off before heading to Europe and then to Japan.

Japan is fucking insane. Fans are swarming around them the minute they step off the plane, drunk off the free little bottles of booze, and the crowd sings their songs back at them louder than any English fans ever have done. Calum’s glad he’s not singing, because he gets choked up when Liam steps away from the microphone for a second during Live Forever and the crowd scream did you ever feel the pain in the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone? He sees Liam’s eyes widen, sees the way he swallows before starting the chorus, sees the way his gaze flits to Noel and they hold each other’s gazes for a split second, something that only the two of them can read in it, and his heart swells with pride and love. God, he fucking loves his job, he loves the music, he loves his band, he loves the fans, he fucking loves it all.

They’re riding off the high of Japan when they get to America again, due to play a whole host of shows throughout the rest of September until the end of October, when it all goes wrong.

They’re not made for America, Calum thinks. They gets thrown out of a radio show for swearing live on-air; they get in a fight with the bouncers at some famous club in Hollywood; and one night in LA they even get a visit from the police, who arrive with their guns drawn, because Bonehead won’t stop playing Supersonic with his amp on full volume at six in the morning. Noel cackles when he sees them and tells them to fucking go ahead, shoot the cunt, and Maggie, their poor, overworked, underpaid tour manager, rushes out in her pyjamas and bargains with the police, tries to smooth things over. Calum thinks that’ll be it, that’ll be the big story of the tour, but it’s all overshadowed when they get to the Whisky a Go Go, some famous club that they’re told repeatedly it’s an honour to be playing.

Oasis being Oasis, they’re looking for coke. Someone procures a bag of white powder at soundcheck, and Liam grabs it greedily and starts cutting it into lines as the rest of the band circle around it like vultures, and as it goes up Calum’s nose he thinks fucking hell, this feels a bit fucking different. He shrugs it off, though, and hands the rolled up dollar bill to Bonehead - maybe American coke’s just stronger.

It hits him like a fucking train. He’s buzzing with the kind of energy that he’s never had from coke before, higher than he’s ever been before, more euphoric, feels fucking unstoppable, but there’s a dirty edge to it, something gritty and nasty that he just doesn’t like. It’s too late, though, because it’s gone down, and he thinks fucking hell - well, at least it’ll wear off in about half an hour.

It doesn’t.

He’s sweating, heart pounding in his chest, vision sharp and blurry at the same time when they get on stage. Everyone else seems to be in a similar situation - Bonehead’s eyes are wide and flitting left to right, right to left, and Liam’s jittery and bouncing on his heels. Noel’s somewhere else completely - he starts playing fucking Bring It On Down when the rest of them start up with Fade Away, and he plays the solo of Supersonic during Cigarettes & Alcohol. They have to play Roll With It one-and-a-half times, because Calum’s bass amp explodes a minute in, and Liam starts shouting at the audience after a crowdsurfer knocks his mic stand over, and then starts shouting at Noel for fucking God knows what, yelling at him to fuck off, until he launches his tambourine at Noel, hitting him on the shoulder, and storms offstage as the set ends.

Calum heads off dazedly, trying to slow his pounding heart and thinking fucking hell, what the fuck was in that coke? The brothers are still yelling at each other backstage, pupils dilated and faces red, and don’t stop yelling as they’re herded into a car to get back to the hotel, are still screaming at each other as Maggie ushers them up the stairs and into their separate hotel rooms. They each shout a venomous fuck you, you fucking cunt at each other before slamming their doors, and Calum, who’s due to room with Liam that night, decides he’d rather sleep on Bonehead and Tony’s floor than brave that.

He can’t fucking sleep, though. The high just doesn’t stop. He’s so wired, feels so fucking strung out and awful, barely cognisant of what’s going on around him but hyperaware at the same time and he just wants to fucking sleep, just wants to rest. He can’t, though, and neither can Bonehead or Tony, and they just pace around the room, vibrating with energy, muttering what the fuck do they do to the coke over here, eh? every few minutes.

Time passes so fucking slowly, every minute inching by painfully, and by the time it’s morning Calum’s starting to finally, finally come down. He feels semi-human by the time the knock on their door for breakfast comes, and wrenches it open, still dressed in last night’s clothes, to find a serious-looking Maggie, a crease between her brows.

“What?” he says, because he knows, he just knows something’s happened.

“Noel’s left,” she says. Oh. Well. That’s hardly grounds for a face like that.

“Will he be back for soundcheck?” Calum asks.

“He’s gone, Calum.”

“What d’you mean, he’s gone?” Calum’s not quite getting it.

“He asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says. “And he’s gone.” Calum stares at her. Noel can’t be gone. He might have left, sure, but he can’t have gone.

“Wha’s tha’?” Bonehead calls groggily, from across the room. He’d come down a few hours ago, managed to force himself to sleep, and he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Noel’s gone,” Maggie repeats, a little louder. Tony turns from where he’s sat in the corner of the room, twisting his fingers this way and that, eyes wide.

“Gone where?” Bonehead asks.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says.

“What d’you mean, you don’t know?”

“He’s gone, Bonehead. Took his passport, took some money, and left.” There’s a moment of stunned silence.

“Does Liam know?” Tony asks. Maggie bites her lip, and shakes her head.

“I thought I’d tell you first.”

“Shit,” Bonehead breathes. “He’s gone? ” Maggie nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “Suitcase and all.”

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” Calum mutters, and sits down on the bed. “He’ll come back, though, won’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie admits. “He sounded pretty certain about it.”

“Why the fuck did you let him go?” Bonehead demands.

“I can’t hold him hostage, can I?” Maggie says. “He’s fucking twenty-seven years old.”

“Shit,” Tony says. “Oh, God. Shit. ”

“I’m going to tell Liam,” Maggie says, sounding a little nervous about it. She probably should be, Calum thinks distantly, staring unblinkingly at the carpet. Noel’s gone.

“I’ll come with you,” he finds himself saying, more for Liam’s sake than Maggie’s. He stands up robotically, completely on autopilot, and follows her out of the room, leaving Bonehead and Tony in shocked silence.

Liam answers his door on the first knock, already awake and showered, and his face falls when he sees it’s not Noel. Oh, God. The kid’s going to be fucking beside himself.

“Can we come in?” Maggie says, aiming for sweet. Liam’s eyes narrow.

“What’s happened?” he says. Maggie hesitates.

“Noel’s gone,” she says softly, after a moment.

“Where to?”

“He’s gone, Liam,” Calum says. The words feel strange on his lips. Noel can’t be gone, not now, not when they’re finally getting somewhere. Not without fucking saying anything to them.

“Where?”

“We don’t know,” Maggie says, still gentle, still kind, still trying to soften the blow. Liam looks about five years old, damp hair plastered to his face, eyes wide and shining with something that looks like fear, maybe, or loss, or rejection. Or maybe all of them with a sheen of anxiety.

“Fuck,” he says, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Is he going to be okay? Is he alright? Did you speak to him?”

“He just asked for his passport and some money,” Maggie says.

“But he’s okay?”

“I- he seemed okay, yeah, but-”

“Okay,” Liam says, like he’s trying to steady himself. “When’s he coming back?”

“I-” Maggie cuts herself off, and takes a deep breath. “I think he’s gone for good, Liam.”

Calum can see it, the moment it registers in Liam’s mind, sees it in the way his eyes widen and his lips part, in the panic that rises in his eyes.

“He’s not,” Liam says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He wouldn’t fucking do that.”

“He’s gone,” Maggie says again, softer than before, and then reaches inside her coat pocket. “He left you a letter.” Liam stares down at the folded envelope in her hand, and then snatches it and shuts the door in both of their faces.

They stand there for a moment, and then Maggie turns to Calum.

“Well,” she says, like she’s bracing herself. “That could’ve gone worse.”

“Yeah,” Calum says vaguely, still staring at the door.

It couldn’t be worse, though.

-------

Alan tells them not to worry, for the first few days. Noel’s disappeared before, and he’s quit before, and he always comes back.

So they try not to worry. Bonehead starts drinking at eleven in the morning, and Calum tries not to worry. Tony and Maggie have hushed conversations under their breath, and Calum tries not to worry. Liam doesn’t leave his room, and Calum tries not to worry.

They get a fucking bollocking about the gig from Alan, from Marcus, from fucking Maggie, even, but it feels hollow because they all know they’re not going to get the only bollocking that really matters - the one from Noel. They sit there silently while Alan rages about how embarrassing it was, while Marcus runs through numbers and statistics about sales and how they’re going to be affected, while Maggie gives them disappointed looks and says really, snorting meth hours before a concert, what were you thinking?

Yeah. They’d snorted fucking meth. Some absolute fucking idiot - William John Paul Gallagher - had mistaken meth for coke. It’s why they were absolutely out of their fucking minds, why Calum hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and why Liam and Noel’s argument had been more ferocious than usual. It might also explain why all of this feels even more overwhelming than usual, why the comedown feels like it’s just not going away, why whenever Calum walks past Noel’s empty hotel room he feels like he’s suffocating.

By the third day, even Calum’s at a loss. He’s been getting out of the hotel, going for long walks and getting lost and having to ask for directions to get back, standing by the sea and breathing in the salty air to try and clear his mind. He’s worried about Noel, more than anything - Noel doesn’t usually leave without saying anything, without getting the last word in, which is what makes this feel all the more real, like this is the time it’s going to stick.

Although, Calum thinks, maybe Noel did get the last word. He’d written a letter to Liam, after all; maybe he’d said something in there about where he was going, what he was doing, something that makes this whole situation make any sort of sense. Maybe Liam knows something the rest of them don’t.

He knocks on Liam’s door after he doesn’t show up for lunch again, and Liam answers, looking a little dishevelled, and a lot drunk.

“What?” he says dully.

“What did the letter say?” Calum asks. Liam stares at him for a minute, and then opens the door enough to let Calum walk in.

The room’s a fucking tip. Liam’s clothes are strewn all over the floor - which, granted, isn’t exactly new - and Calum can see white powder residue on the coffee table, the desk, even the fucking bedside table. Next to the smudges of powder on the bedside table is the letter Noel had left, rolled up tightly, but creased all over. Liam’s been reading it, using it to snort drugs, smoothing it out and reading it again, rinse and repeat.

Calum sighs, and sits down on the chair next to Liam’s bed, throwing him a doleful look. Noel’s Calum’s best friend, sure, and Calum’s not got a clue what to do without him, but he’s Liam’s brother. His flesh and blood, the boy who held Liam’s hand while he crossed the road, who nursed him through his first black eye, who writes songs with lyrics like please, brother, let it be, after a fight. Liam's never not had Noel looking out for him - through exasperation and curses and fists connecting with jaws, but there nonetheless. Liam hasn’t got a chance without Noel.

Liam throws himself down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, and Calum puts his hand on Liam’s shin, fingers resting lightly against rough denim. I’m here, he’s trying to say, but it feels hollow to the both of them, because he’s not Noel.

“What did he say?” Calum asks again. Liam stares up at the ceiling, blinks once, and then opens his mouth.

“He told me he loved me,” he says. Calum’s stomach twists. That’s not a good thing, not from Noel. He’d never say that, least of all to Liam, unless what he was trying to say was goodbye.

“Oh,” Calum says, and tries not to let the panic seep into his voice. “Did he say where he was going?” Liam shakes his head.

“Just a bunch of shite about how can we be brothers anymore, blah blah blah,” he says, voice rising mockingly on Noel’s words. Anger works for Liam, especially where Noel’s concerned. It’s the only way he knows how to feel about Noel. “Can’t do this anymore, it’s not me it’s you, all that breakup bullshit.”

“What about your mum?” Calum says, even though he knows the answer to that, because Alan’s been calling Peggy pretty much every hour. Liam shakes his head.

“She’s fucking beside herself,” he says, fury licking at the edges of his tone. “I get doing it to me, up and leaving like that, because that’s us, innit, but to mam? I’ll fucking kill the prick myself if I ever see him again.” He doesn’t mean it, but Calum lets him pretend that they both believe it.

“You should eat,” Calum says, after a moment of silence.

“Probably,” Liam says, to the ceiling. He blinks up at it one more time, and then rolls onto his side.

“He’s a fucking cunt,” he announces, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and his voice wavers a little. Calum sighs and reaches his hand out, and Liam extends his own to lace his fingers with Calum’s, blinking at him with glassy, tired eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, and his voice is definitely wobbly now. “I didn’t mean to push him away. I love him.”

“I know,” Calum says, and squeezes Liam’s hand in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “He knows, too.”

“I wouldn’t’ve said it if I knew,” Liam says, swallowing hard. “I wouldn’t’ve been such a cunt.”

“Yeah, you would’ve,” Calum says, but it’s not unkind. “That’s how you two are.”

“Cain and Abel.”

“Doesn’t Cain kill Abel?”

“Isn’t Noel killing me?” Calum’s not really sure what to say to that. He supposes, in a way, Liam’s right. One of them’s got to fall off the tightrope at some point, and Liam’s never going to push Noel. And Liam would be all too happy to fall off, if it were for Noel.

“He needs you,” he says eventually. “He’s always needed you.”

“Does he fuck,” Liam says flatly.

“He’d never let anyone but you sing his songs,” Calum says. “That’s the highest praise you can get from Noel.” Liam’s silent for a moment, because he knows Calum’s right, and then he sighs again, loud and heavy.

“I’m hungry,” he says, and Calum closes his eyes in relief. "I want fish and chips."

“Order room service,” Calum suggests. Liam blinks at him.

"Do they do fish and chips?"

"They will if you offer them enough money." Liam hums, like he's thinking about it.

“Will you stay?” he asks lowly. Calum hesitates, and then nods.

“‘Course I will,” he says, and gives Liam’s hand another squeeze. Liam smiles at him, small but genuine.

“Love you,” he says. Calum smiles back, soft and fond.

“Love you too,” he says.

“Enough to find me good fish and chips in LA?” Liam says hopefully, and Calum laughs.

“Nowhere near enough for that,” he says, and Liam sighs dramatically, but he’s smiling too, which is the best Calum can hope for.

-------

A few hours later, while searching for a pack of cigarettes, Calum comes across the spare room key to Noel’s room that Noel had pressed in his hand wordlessly on their first night. Calum hadn’t really been sure what to make of it - was it an invitation for late-night songwriting, or the first acknowledgement of that night a few years ago either of them have ever made? - but it hadn’t even mattered, because Noel had left so soon anyway.

He’s heading to the room before he’s even really thought about it, unlocking the door and taking in the too-empty, too-clean room. The bed’s been perfectly made by the staff, nothing like the slapdash job Noel usually does, and there’s no suitcase with clothes spilling out of it kicked in the corner of the room, no shoes strewn across the floor as Noel had kicked them off on his way to the bed. It’s almost overwhelming, to know that this room housed the decision that could end Calum’s career, and that this is the last connection he could ever have to Noel. It feels almost suffocating, like the walls are too big and too white for Calum, and he finds himself sitting down on the bed and reaching for the phone before he’s really thought through what he’s doing.

He’d memorised the number, of course. He hadn’t really meant to; he’d just read the little scrap of paper so often that it had stuck. He barely even hesitates as he dials, chest so heavy with the crushing weight of the empty room, of the silence Noel's left in his wake.

The phone rings four times and Calum doesn’t even realise his fist is clenched until there’s a click and a shuffling sound, and his fingers relax.

“Hello?” Michael sounds casual, relaxed, a little sleepy. Calum clutches the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” Michael repeats.

“Michael.” He hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Calum?” Michael says. “Aren’t you in America?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking hell. You’d better make this quick, then.” He doesn’t hang up, though, which is something. Calum just listens to him breathing for a minute, not really sure what he actually wants to say, or if he wants to say anything at all.

“Calum?” Michael says, jolting him back to reality.

“Noel’s gone,” Calum says.

“What d’you mean, he’s gone? Where?”

“Dunno.” There’s a pause.

“You lost your songwriter?”

“He’s gone. Left.” Michael inhales deeply.

“Where? Where’d he go?”

“We don’t know.” Michael exhales.

“Oh, Calum,” he says, and he sounds sorry and sad. Calum’s eyes flutter shut, trying to soak in the sound of his voice.

“I-” Calum cuts himself off, because he doesn’t actually know what he’s trying to say.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, and he sounds like he means it.

“Are you?” Calum can’t help but ask, a little bitterly. If Michael rang him and said Damon had left Blur, Calum would probably feel honour-bound to tell Noel. Or, he wouldn’t, now. Fuck.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Michael says, tone a little hard. Calum puts his head in his hands.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Why did you call me if you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Calum says again, hearing the hopelessness in his own voice. “I just- I don’t know.” Michael sighs.

“How’s Liam taking it?” he says. He’s trying, Calum can tell. He’s trying, for Calum’s sake.

“Fucking terribly,” Calum admits. “Noel wrote him a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Yeah. A- a fucking, like, goodbye note, I don’t know. He’s a mess.”

“Jesus.” Michael hesitates for a moment, and then adds: “What happened?”

“Him and Liam had a fight,” Calum says. “And we played a fucking awful gig in LA.”

“Don’t they fight all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“Why this time, then?” Calum shrugs.

“We did meth,” he says.

“You- you did meth? ” Michael sounds horrified. “ Calum, fucking-”

“We thought it was coke,” Calum says.

“How the fuck- ”

“I don’t fucking know, Liam’s a fucking idiot,” Calum says, even though he’d put the stuff up his nose too.

“Fucking hell,” Michael breathes. “Alright. Jesus. And Noel just- just, what, took off?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, gut twisting at the words. “Took his passport and some money and left.”

“Passport?” Michael says. “Did he go home?”

“No.” There’s a pause.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Calum agrees, and it sounds listless, but he means it with every fibre of his fucking being.

“I’m sorry, Calum,” Michael says softly. Calum blinks at the wall.

“Yeah,” he says again. “Thanks.” Michael sighs.

“What are you going to do now?” he says.

“I have no fucking idea,” Calum says, the words acrid in his mouth. What the fuck are they going to do now? None of the rest of them can fucking write, can they? Not like Noel, at least.

“Are you going to finish the tour?”

“I don’t know, Michael,” Calum says. All the questions are making his head hurt. He hasn’t even thought that far ahead, hasn’t really considered anything beyond where the fuck is Noel, I hope Noel’s alright, I’m going to fucking kill Noel. He doesn’t even know if they’d be allowed to play Noel’s songs - there’s got to be some kind of legal bullshit about royalties involved, hasn’t there? God, Noel’s always handled that stuff. Calum’s never read a fucking contract in his life, just signed where Noel told him to sign. Noel had been the one to sort out their management, to negotiate the record deal, to get the contracts for the tours. Who the fuck are Oasis without him?

“Hey,” Michael says gently. “It’ll be alright.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah.” Michael has nothing to back his words up, no events or facts he can point to and say see, it’ll be fine, but somehow, Calum believes him. Maybe because he wants to believe him, with every scrap of his soul, or maybe just because it’s Michael.

“Thanks,” Calum says, and it comes out tired. Michael just hums in response, and they lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable, though, not like the last time Michael had been at the other end of a phone line. They’re existing in tandem, and it feels like something slotting into a place that Calum didn’t know was empty.

“I can’t believe you did meth ,” Michael says after a while, in disbelief, and Calum can’t help the way his lips hitch up in a faint smile.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says.

“Y’know, the tabloids aren’t wrong about you,” Michael says, and there’s a smile in his voice too. He’s teasing Calum. “Always calling you a bunch of hooligans. Taking meth because you think it’s coke, fucking hell.”

Calum huffs out a laugh, fingers curling around the receiver as his heart flips in his chest. Michael reads about him in the papers.

“That’s just Liam,” he says.

“So you weren’t deported from Sweden?”

“Well-”

“Exactly,” Michael says, and Calum can hear him grinning.

“That was because of Liam,” Calum says. He pauses, and then adds: “And Noel. And Bonehead.” Michael laughs, soft and melodic, and for one split, giddy second Calum thinks fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life hearing you laugh. He’s sure he doesn’t mean it, though. It’s probably the fucking days-long comedown, and the fact he’s feeling Noel’s absence like nothing else. It's the first time he's heard someone laugh since Noel left, after all.

“I can’t believe that’s what I’m up against,” Michael says, and it’s still soft and amused, but Calum can hear the slight tinge of sadness to it.

“Yeah,” Calum says, smile fading. “That’s your competition.” Michael exhales heavily, and Calum thinks they might be thinking the same thing. How did we go from us to competition?

“Why did you call me?” Michael asks. Calum’s fingers twitch against the phone.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just- I don’t know.” He hesitates, and then adds: “Why did you call me? After Top of the Pops, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Michael says. He’d said the same thing two months ago. But, two months ago he hadn’t added what he does this time: “D’you really want to do this now?”

“Do what?” Calum says.

“Talk about this. Us. Now.” Calum swallows.

“No,” he says. He never wants to talk about it. He wants to walk the edge of this precipice forever, doesn’t ever want Michael to say c’mon, let’s jump, because he doesn’t know what he’ll find at the bottom. He doesn’t know whether Michael’s just biding his time, waiting until they can have their big what happened to us? talk to say everything that he’s thought for the past five years, get it all off his chest, and then fuck off and leave. He’d be well within his rights to, Calum thinks, but that doesn’t stop the mere thought of it from making his heart ache.

“Okay,” Michael says. “But we-” he’s interrupted by Calum and Liam’s door slamming open. Calum starts in surprise, phone slipping out of his fingers, and whips around to see Bonehead standing in the doorway.

“We’ve found him,” Bonehead says breathlessly. “He’s in San Diego.”

“You’ve found him?” Calum repeats. “What? How?”

“Maggie got his phone bills and traced all the numbers,” Bonehead says. “Found one in San Diego. Remember that girl, whatsherface, Leah? Dunno, doesn’t matter, we’ve found him. ”

“And?” Calum says, heart in his mouth. “Did you talk to him? Is he okay? Is he coming back?”

“Yeah,” Bonehead says, grinning widely. “He’s coming back.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Calum mutters, stomach somersaulting. “Does Liam know?” Bonehead’s smile falters.

“Yeah,” he says. Oh. Noel’s going to have fucking hell to pay.

“Oh,” Calum says. Bonehead looks at him for a moment, both of them thinking the same thing - there’s going to be fucking fireworks - and then he grins again.

“Well,” he says, “at least we’ve got our fucking songwriter back, eh?”

“Yeah,” Calum says, and laughs, a little lightheaded. Fucking hell. Noel’s coming back.

“Bonehead!” he hears someone yell - Liam, he thinks - and Bonehead sticks his head back out of the door.

“Aye?”

“...go out...fish and chips...you ask Calum?” is all he can make out. Bonehead casts a glance over at Calum.

“Fancy going out for tea?” he says. “Liam reckons he’s found a chippy.” Calum raises his eyebrows. Fucking hell. Might as well have one last supper before Noel gets back and all hell breaks loose.

“Alright,” he says, and gets up to leave, making the phone clatter to the floor. He picks it up hastily, and Bonehead frowns at him.

“Who’ve you been talking to?” he says. Calum clutches the receiver to his chest.

“No one,” he says. “Was going to ring my mum.” Bonehead’s face doesn’t clear, and his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to work something out. Shit, it’s fucking three in the morning in England, isn’t it? Fuck.

“Bonehead!” Calum hears Liam yell again, sounding more aggravated this time, and Bonehead sighs in exasperation and turns back around.

“Fucking hell, who the fuck are you, my missus?” Bonehead yells back. “I”m fucking coming, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“I’ll just-” Calum motions at the bed vaguely, hoping it’ll come across like he’s got some final organising to do - fucking make the already-pristine bed, or something, anything to make Bonehead leave so he can hang up on Michael - and Bonehead just nods, already halfway out of the door and on his way to Liam.

Calum brings the receiver back up to his ear, ready to make some excuse to Michael, but all he hears is a dial tone.

Michael’s already gone.

taglist: @callmeboatboy @sadistmichael @clumsyclifford @angel-cal @tirednotflirting @cthofficial @tigerteeff @haikucal @queer-5sos @i-am-wierd-always @stupidfuckimgspam @bloodyoathcal @pixiegrl @pxrxmoore @currentlyupcalsass @clumthood

if you’d like to be added to my taglist pls fill in this form!

chapter five

#malum #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sos slash #god do you know how long it takes to format fic on ao3 because of how i write it in google docs #a solid 15 minutes of deleting line breaks #anyway i hope everyone is well i have been busy but i will be back on my bullshit #imminently might i add #might even write some more of soulmate au but don't hold me to that #odds on i put some cheeky britpop references in #everyone will hate me but you know what! its my fic! i can make them hear dlbia in costa if i want!#anyway now that i'm safely at least 8 tags down i can mention noel gallagher #i can't even tell you how much i fancy this man its actually uncouth #like yall thought richard madden was bad this is richard madden but x834273472349234 #and its NOEL FUCKING GALLAGHER #can my brain make a SINGLE good decision please i'm BEGGING you #this is going to be my quarantine memory #like in years to come when people are like what did you do during quarantine!#oh just thirsted over a 53 year old man wbu :)#anyway off topic i have missed being here #im signing off for the night now but i'll be back tomorrow #please leave inane shit in my inbox and especially comments about noel gallagher #although if i see ONE submission of that picture of his feet this blog is getting deleted

11 notes · View notes

ericsonclan · 4 years

Text

A Feast Fit for Kings

Summary: The Ericson Pirates must sneak into a fancy party to steal food when their own supplies run low.

Read on A03:

The crew gathered around the deck, confused by what Louis would have called them up for. They talked amongst themselves when Louis dramatically threw back his coat, standing on top of the ship’s edge and causing the crew to quiet down.

“Alrighty, crew! I’ve called you here today to tell you of the great adventure I have in store!” Louis exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. The youngest boys gasped with excitement as they began hopping up and down.

“What’s the adventure this time, Lou?” Marlon looked up at Louis while Rosie hit her paw against his leg, demanding that his attention be on her.

“We are going to a ball!” Louis shouted, lifting up his hands in hopes to raise up everyone’s enthusiasm.

Ruby and Brody seemed excited, talking amongst themselves about it, but Violet definitely wasn’t. Her eyes focused on the deck with a grumpy expression, her arms crossed. “I’ll pass.” she mumbled, turning to leave when Louis spoke up once again.

“Wait!” Louis shouted, reaching out his hand. “We’re going to the ball to steal food!”

“We’re broke again, aren’t we?” Aasim’s eyes shot up at Louis, the annoyance clear in his voice. “Yes.” Louis mumbled, taking off his pirate hat and twirling it in his hands. “But!” he held out a hand, “With this plan we will feast like kings!”

“Food!” Willy screamed, grasping the sides of his head and high-fiving Tenn with so much passion that it nearly knocked him over. Sophie also seemed really excited about the prospect of food, beaming with an excited smile. After a lengthy description of the plan that was far too long considering that it boiled down to the crew stealing food and hiding it in their clothes, Louis stood impatiently waiting for the crew’s vote.

“It sounds like a pretty shitty plan.” Violet grumbled, still not willing to go to a ball on such a loose plan.

“I don’t know.” Sophie smiled over at Violet. “From what I’ve heard this crew has done crazier plans and succeeded.” She hoped that the crew would go with the plan. Sophie was down for it if it meant getting some good food. “I say aye!”

There was silence for a few seconds before one by one the crew agreed.

Louis jumped down graciously, landing on his tail coat and tripping before turning towards Aasim and Mitch. “Okay, lads! If you’d follow me, we can prepare for the evening.”

“Why the fuck are you calling us lads?” Mitch snapped, walking forward to follow Louis who led the guys to one of the sleeping quarters.

The girls followed Clementine who led them to the other sleeping quarters. Before beginning, each group went to their hammocks and opened the chests below to grab the right outfits to begin their transformation. The girls quickly began to change, putting on outfits that had the most pockets and hiding places for food.

Sophie casually threw off her shirt and went down to reach for her new one when she heard Brody gasp. Sophie felt her stomach drop. For just a moment she had lost herself in the thrill of a fun evening and had forgotten about the scars.

“Soph, your back...” Violet whispered in horror at the sight before her. Her voice cracked with emotion from seeing the overlaying scars that plagued her friend’s back.

Sophie’s body tensed at the comment. Every muscle in her body felt tight, an overwhelming fear filled her stomach. Reliving the day that she got the scars. An awkward tension filled the room before Sophie answered. “There’s no great story behind it.” Sophie tried to force a smile, hoping to play it off, but it was clear they weren’t buying it. Sophie felt her throat tighten at her next words. “I disobeyed this captain’s order and paid the price.”

The room fell silent. The mood had changed from what was once a giddy, bubbly excitement at the prospect of the ball to the tense reality of Sophie’s scars. Each girl tried to come up with some way to change the subject but failed to find the right words. Suddenly they heard someone from across the hall scatting.

“Do be do ba, do bee da doo...”

“Mitch, you can’t wear that!” Louis’ voice broke the tune.

“Why the fuck not?” Mitch shouted back.

“Because it has no pockets for one thing and the cut of the shirt is so low you’d be dropping more food than carrying!”

“It’s just not practical, Mitch.” Aasim’s voice rang out.

“What? Like your fancy outfit with the handkerchief?”

“It’s cravat!” Aasim snapped back, taking a huffy breath “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Ok. Ok. Guys, let’s calm down.” Marlon’s voice was level as he tried to deescalate the situation. “Mitch, we have to get food for this to work, so can you please just change?”

A few seconds passed before Mitch responded. “Fine.”

---

After 20 minutes had passed everyone stood on deck ready for the evening. Prisha and Aasim quickly went over the strategy that they had made even though they knew that probably half of the crew wouldn’t even follow it. The crew talked excitedly on the way to the ball. Sophie talked with Willy, each of them dreaming about which food they hoped they’d find at the ball. Tenn added his own favorite foods here and there when a break in the conversation appeared.Mitch and Brody were talking about something that had to do with the argument he’d had with the other guys and Aasim also seemed to be getting drawn into it.

When they arrived at the location the crew carefully made their way through the front, sneaking into the ball with ease. Their eyes widened in awe when they realized Louis wasn’t kidding when he called it a feast. Platters of meats and cheese filled the tables. Breads of all shapes and sizes covered each and every inch of open space. Bowls upon bowls of fruits were laid out around the room while servers walked by with fancy drinks. It really was quite the spread.

Mitch snagged a drink when a server went by, downing it in a single swig. Letting out a satisfied sigh, he turned to the rest of the crew. “Alright! Let’s get to work!” he announced before making his way to the nearest table with the younger boys. Willy and Tenn were busy sneaking food into AJ’s afro as Mitch stored some in his upper pockets, his eyes scanning the room to make sure no one was watching them.

Prisha and Aasim immediately put their plan into motion, methodically taking the food that would be the easiest to steal and store. Violet turned to the nearest food at the table before her and grabbed a few items only to drop them on the floor. “Shit.” Violet angrily whispered under her breath. Depth perception really was her worst enemy at times.

Ruby made her way to the fruit bowl that stood next to Aasim, glancing around before grabbing the side of the bowl and tossing the entirety of its contents down her shirt. She spent a few seconds shifting the fruit around in her shirt until it was hard to tell if she had stored anything in there at all. “No one would dare to check here!” Ruby winked playfully at Aasim. Aasim felt his face overheat. This situation was far too overwhelming for him.

Clementine, Brody and Sophie were by the meat and cheese taking turns snagging different cuts while the other two watched their backs. Brody frantically searched the table, panicking and throwing pieces of cheese in her pant pockets when Sophie gave the signal to stop; someone was nearing the table. Brody slammed hard against the table before she leaned her back against Sophie’s. The pair tried to smile normally in hopes that the man wouldn’t notice them. Clementine leaned on the table, snatching a roll and tucking it away while they waited for the man to leave. When he did so, Sophie turned around, grabbing up a whole platter of meat and hiding it away in her outfit. Giving a thumbs up to the other two, they made their way over to another table where they took turns swiping bread and other baked goods.

After a half hour the crew regrouped, checking to make sure they had snagged enough. Everyone looked pretty normal with the food safely stored inside their outfits except a few. Willy’s was especially bad; it looked like his pants were bursting at the seams in some places.

Prisha looked over at Mitch whose shirt was bulging with food. It seemed to prominently be around his chest area. Prisha snorted. “Nice moobs, Mitch.”

Mitch mockingly repeated the sentence then snapped back, “Shut up, Prisha! I bet I got more food than you anyway.”

Before she could respond, Violet let out a frustrated growl, cussing angrily under her breath as she took out her stash. “What kind of fucking idiot am I? I grabbed a bunch of wax fruit!” she groaned as she tossed a wax apple aside. It bounced on the floor, stopping at Mitch’s feet.

“Stupid assholes and their fancy fake fruit.” Mitch grumbled in agreement.

Suddenly a few guards walked by, causing Louis to panic. “Quick, everyone! Act normal!” He whispered, proceeding to lean aesthetically against a wall, his hat tipping slightly from the weight of the food hidden inside it. The rest followed suit, all striking unusual poses.

Willy instantly sat down, gasping in horror as he grasped his butt. “My buns!”

“Which ones?” Louis looked over with a mixture of concern and confusion.

Immediately Willy sat up to reveal two large dark colored splotches on each of his cheeks. The crew didn’t have time to react, however, as the guards had taken notice of them thanks to Willy’s exclamation. Their faces squinted in concentration before changing in recognition as they realized who they were. “You there! Hold it!” A guard shouted while he unsheathed his blade.

“Holy shit! Run!” Louis shouted, picking up the nearest of the younger boys and sprinting off in the direction of Ol’ Kickass. The rest followed close behind. Violet passed out the wax fruit to Sophie and Mitch who immediately started throwing it to distract the guards. Violet’s aim wasn’t the best. Most of her hits were connecting with the ground rather than the guards, but Mitch and Sophie were able to get a few good hits in.

“Eat it!” Sophie grunted, tossing a plastic banana that whacked one of the guard’s directly in the face. Mitch gave a proud smile and high fived her before pelting another guard with more wax apples.

As they scrambled back onto the ship they quickly got ready to set sail, but not before two of the guards jumped on deck. Aasim and Marlon fought them back while the others tried to get the anchor pulled up and the sail put down. Marlon and Aasim shared a look and smiled at each other. They tag teamed one guard, sending him off the side of the ship. Before the other guard had a chance to react, they kicked him over into the sea to join his fellow guard.

Only when they had gotten a good distance between them and the town did the crew stop to celebrate. They really did steal a meal worthy of kings. Each member continuously dug into the meal. Multiple hands snagged the different assortments of meats and cheeses. Marlon and Omar had even managed to steal a few drinks. Bottles clinked together as the crew celebrated another successful adventure.

“Here’s to many more to come!” Louis announced, standing up proudly in front of the crew who cheered in agreement, laughing and talking until the night turned to morning.

#fanfic #a pirate's life for me au #twdg louis #twdg sophie #twdg mitch #twdg violet #twdg prisha #hijinks and shenanigans

2 notes · View notes

blackkudos · 4 years

Text

Darius Rucker

Darius Carlos Rucker (born May 13, 1966) is an American singer and songwriter. He first gained fame as the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of rock band Hootie & the Blowfish, which he founded in 1986 at the University of South Carolina along with Mark Bryan, Jim "Soni" Sonefeld, and Dean Felber. The band released five studio albums with him as a member and charted six top 40 hits on the Billboard Hot 100. Rucker co-wrote most of the songs with the other members.

He released a solo R&B album, Back to Then in 2002 on Hidden Beach Recordings but no singles from it charted. Six years later, Rucker signed to Capitol Nashville as a country music singer, releasing the album, Learn to Live that year. Its first single, "Don't Think I Don't Think About It", made him the first black artist to reach number one on the Hot Country Songs charts since Charley Pride in 1983. (Ray Charles hit number one in March 1985 in a duet with Willie Nelson with "Seven Spanish Angels".) It was followed by two more number one singles, "It Won't Be Like This for Long" and "Alright" and the number three hit "History in the Making". In 2009, he became the first black American to win the New Artist Award from the Country Music Association, and the second black person to win any award from the association. A second album, Charleston, SC 1966, was released on October 12, 2010. The album includes the number one singles, "Come Back Song" and "This".

Early life

Rucker was born and raised in Charleston, South Carolina, where his family history goes back generations. He lives in Charleston with his wife and three children. His single mother, Carolyn, a nurse at Medical University of South Carolina, raised him with his three sisters and two brothers. According to Rucker, his father was never around, and Rucker saw him only before church on Sundays. His father was in a gospel band called The Traveling Echoes. Rucker has said that he had a typical Southern African-American upbringing. His family attended church every Sunday and was economically poor, and at one point, his mother, her two sisters, his grandmother and 14 children were all living in a three-bedroom house. But he says that he looks back on his childhood with very fond memories. His sister, L'Corine, recalled that singing was always his dream.

Hootie & the Blowfish

Darius Rucker has been the lead singer of Hootie & the Blowfish since its formation in 1986. He met fellow band members Mark Bryan, Jim "Soni" Sonefeld, and Dean Felber while attending the University of South Carolina. Bryan first heard Rucker singing in the shower, and the two became a duo, playing R.E.M. covers at a local venue. They later recruited Felber and finally Sonefeld joined in 1989. As a member of Hootie & the Blowfish, Rucker has recorded six studio albums: Cracked Rear View – 1994, Fairweather Johnson – 1996, Musical Chairs – 1998, Scattered, Smothered & Covered – 2000, Hootie & the Blowfish and Looking for Lucky – 2005, also charting within the top 40 of the Billboard Hot 100 six times. All six albums feature songs that Rucker, Bryan and Felber wrote. As the frontman, Rucker began to be called simply "Hootie" by fans, though the band title combines the nicknames of his college friends. Before his rise to fame, he lived in the basement of the Sigma Phi Epsilon house at the University of South Carolina, attempting to launch his career through the college bar scene.

Rucker's signature contribution to the band is his baritone voice, which Rolling Stone has called "ingratiating," TIME has called "low, gruff, [and] charismatic," and Entertainment Weekly has characterized as a "barrelhouse growl." Rucker said they "flipped" the formula of the all black band with a white frontman, like Frank Sinatra performing with Count Basie. Musically, he has sometimes been criticized or spoofed for not being "black enough". Saturday Night Live ran a sketch of Tim Meadows playing Rucker leading beer-drinking, white fraternity members in a counter-march to Louis Farrakhan's Million Man March. He also received death threats for singing the Hootie song "Drowning," a protest song against the flying of the Confederate flag above the South Carolina statehouse.

Shortly after gaining a measure of fame, Felber and Rucker (who consider themselves best friends) moved into an apartment in Columbia, South Carolina. With Rucker's recognition as the frontman of a successful band came increased opportunities. In October 1995, he was asked to sing the national anthem at the World Series. Frank Sinatra invited him to sing at his 80th birthday party; he sang "The Lady Is a Tramp." That same week, he made a voice cameo in an episode of the sitcom Friends. He also joined Nanci Griffith on the song "Gulf Coast Highway" for her 1997 album Blue Roses from the Moons, and sang backing vocals on Radney Foster's 1999 album See What You Want to See. He encouraged Atlantic Records to agree to a deal with Edwin McCain and made a guest appearance on McCain's debut album, Honor Among Thieves.

In regard to the future of Hootie & the Blowfish, Rucker was quoted by CBS news as stating in late 2011, "I don't think we'll ever break up totally. We're Hootie & the Blowfish. ... We'll make another record and do another tour someday. I don't know when, but it will happen. There's one more in us." After a ten-year hiatus, Rucker and the band announced that they will be touring with Barenaked Ladies in 2019 while releasing a new album the same year.

Their sixth studio album Imperfect Circle was released on November 1, 2019.

Solo career

In 2001, he made his solo R&B debut album, The Return of Mongo Slade, for Atlantic Records. Because of contractual changes, it was never released by the label. Hidden Beach Recordings, an independent label, acquired the masters from Atlantic and released the album as Back to Then in July 2002. The album included work from the production team of Jill Scott, and she made an appearance on the track "Hold On." The single "This Is My World" was featured in the 2001 comedy film Shallow Hal. In regards to the album, "That was just a minute in my life," he later told The Arizona Republic about the record. "I was listening to a lot of Notorious B.I.G. and Lauryn Hill at that time, and I wanted to make a neo soul record." He also said in the article that he doesn't anticipate recording an R&B-styled disc again. "Country music is my day job now. I'll probably do this till it's all over, but that album was a lot of fun."

Rucker appeared on a pop-star edition of the quiz show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? in July 2001. He also portrayed a singing cowboy in a television commercial for the fast-food company Burger King, promoting its TenderCrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch sandwich in 2005. In the commercial, he sang a jingle set to the tune of "Big Rock Candy Mountain." In 2006 Rucker lent his voice to the track "God's Reasons" written by Dean Dinning and Joel A. Miller for the film The Still Life.

Country music2008–2009: Learn to Live

In early 2008, Rucker signed to Capitol Records Nashville as the beginning of a career in country music. His first solo single, "Don't Think I Don't Think About It" (which he co-wrote with Clay Mills) debuted at No. 51 on the Billboard Hot Country Songs charts for the week of May 3, 2008. It is the first single from his second album, Learn to Live. For this album, Rucker worked with Frank Rogers, a record producer who has also produced for Brad Paisley and Trace Adkins. Rucker also made his Grand Ole Opry debut in July 2008. The single reached number one in September, making Rucker the first solo, African-American artist to chart a number one country hit since Charley Pride's "Night Games" in 1983.

Learn to Live was certified gold by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) on February 6, 2009, and received a platinum certification on August 7, 2009. The album's second single, "It Won't Be Like This for Long", spent three weeks at the top of the country chart in mid-2009. Its follow-up, "Alright", became Rucker's third straight No. 1 hit, making him the first singer to have his first three country singles reach No. 1 since Wynonna in 1992. The album's fourth single, "History in the Making" was released in September and peaked at No. 3. The singles also crossed over to the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at 35, 36, 30 and 61.

Billboard magazine said that "there's a sense of purpose that makes Rucker feel like a member of the country family, rather than calculating interloper." Rucker made visits to various country stations around the United States, explaining that he was aware that he was the "new kid on the block." Mike Culotta, the program director of Tampa, Florida, radio station WQYK-FM expected that Rucker would be "somebody who would have entitlement," but instead said that "Darius engaged everybody." When Rucker found that "Don't Think I Don't Think About It" went to number one, he cried. On November 11, 2009, Rucker won the Country Music Association New Artist of the Year award (formerly known as the Horizon Award), making him the first African American to do so since the award was introduced in 1981. Only one other African American has won at the CMAs: Charley Pride, who won entertainer of the year in 1971 and male vocalist in 1971 and 1972.

2010��2011: Charleston, SC 1966

Rucker released his second country album, Charleston, SC 1966, on October 12, 2010. The title is inspired by Radney Foster's solo debut album, Del Rio, TX 1959. Its first single was "Come Back Song," which Rucker wrote with Chris Stapleton and Casey Beathard. It was his fourth country number one as well as a NO. 37 hit on the Hot 100. The album's second single was "This", which was released to radio in November 2010 and also reached No. 1 in the country chart. Rucker wrote it with Rogers and Kara DioGuardi. "I Got Nothin'" was the album's third single, peaking at No. 18. Also included on the album is a duet with Brad Paisley titled "I Don't Care". Charleston, SC 1966 received a gold certification.

2012–2014: True Believers

On May 20, 2011, Rucker delivered the commencement address to the graduating class of the Medical University of South Carolina.

On December 14, 2011, CBSnews.com reported that Rucker was working on a third country album with recording set to begin January 2012 followed by the release of the album early in the year. The album's lead-off single, "True Believers," made its chart debut in September. On October 12, 2012, Rucker told Broadway's Electric Barnyard that his album would also be titled True Believers. "True Believers" peaked at No. 18. Its second single is a cover of Bob Dylan and Ketch Secor's "Wagon Wheel" (previously made famous by Old Crow Medicine Show), featuring backing vocals from Lady Antebellum. "Wagon Wheel" reached No. 1 on the Country Airplay chart in May 2013. True Believers was released on May 21, 2013. The album's third single, "Radio", was released to country radio on July 22, 2013. The album's fourth single, "Miss You", was released to country radio on February 3, 2014.

On October 2, 2012, Rucker was invited to join the Grand Ole Opry. Halfway through his set at the Opry that night he answered questions from the audience which included a question from Brad Paisley. Paisley said: "I have two questions. One, are you still the worst poker player in the world? And two, would you like to become the newest member of the Grand Ole Opry?" Rucker accepted, and it became official on October 16.

Rucker was a featured performer at the C2C: Country to Country festival in London on March 17, 2013, which was headlined by Carrie Underwood.

On News Year's Day 2013. he sang the national anthem at the Outback Bowl in Tampa, Florida.

On May 11, 2013, Rucker was the speaker at the commencement ceremony for the University of South Carolina in Columbia. Before his speech, he received an honorary doctorate of music.

Rucker also sang the national anthem at the NBA finals on June 16, 2013.

On December 6, 2013, it was announced that Rucker's version of "Wagon Wheel" had earned him a nomination for Best Country Solo Performance for the 56th Annual Grammy Awards. At the awards ceremony on January 26, 2014, Rucker won, becoming only the third African American recording act (the first being Charley Pride, the second being The Pointer Sisters) to win a vocal performance Grammy Award in a country music category.

2014–2015: Southern Style and Home for the Holidays

On August 25, 2014, Rucker released a new single titled "Homegrown Honey" to country radio and to digital retailers. It served as the lead single to his fourth country studio album, Southern Style, released on March 31, 2015. It reached No. 2 on the Country Airplay chart in April 2015. The album's second single, the title track, released to country radio on May 4, 2015.

On September 15, 2014, it was announced that Rucker had completed his first Christmas album and that it would be released on October 27, 2014. Included is a collaboration with Sheryl Crow on "Baby, It's Cold Outside".May 30, 2015 Rucker headlined Philadelphia's famous XTU 31st Anniversary Show at the Susquehanna Bank Center. Christopher Bousquet named President of the Hootie fan club

Rucker makes an appearance on Sister Hazel's new album, Lighter in the Dark.

2016–present: When Was the Last Time

On January 6, 2016, Rucker announced that he was working on his fifth country album. The album's lead single, "If I Told You" was released to country radio on July 5, 2016. It reached number one in the Country Airplay chart nearly a year later, and peaked at number four on the Hot Country Chart. Rucker also returned to the C2C: Country to Country festival in the UK in March 2017, where he was second on the bill to Reba McEntire.

On May 29, 2016, Rucker performed the national anthem prior to the 100th running of the Indianapolis 500. Rucker also performed the national anthem for a game between the Buffalo Bills and the New York Jets on September 15. Rucker agreed to perform the song at the behest of personal friend and former Bills player Bruce Smith, whose jersey was being retired that night. He sang the national anthem again ahead of the Saints-Dolphins game held at London's Wembley Stadium in October 2017, as part of the NFL International Series.

Rucker was selected as one of 30 artists to perform on "Forever Country", a mash-up track of "Take Me Home, Country Roads", "On the Road Again" and "I Will Always Love You", which celebrates 50 years of the CMA Awards. On July 24, 2017, Rucker released the second single from his upcoming album, titled "For the First Time." On July 26, 2017, he shared details of his fifth country album, titled When Was the Last Time and it was released on October 20, 2017.

Rucker appeared as a mentor on seventeenth season of The Voice for Team Blake.

Personal life

Rucker is an ardent South Carolina Gamecocks fan as well as a Miami Dolphins and Cincinnati Reds fan. He also likes the film Stir Crazy, which he has seen more than 100 times.To show his loyalty to his University, he gave a free concert which was held at the Colonial Life Arena after the football team was able to win 6 games following a pair of losing seasons after joining the Southeastern Conference.

Rucker's mother died in November 1992 of a heart attack. His grief inspired two Hootie & the Blowfish songs: "I'm Goin' Home" and "Not Even the Trees." On April 21, 1995, his girlfriend (Elizabeth Ann Phillips) gave birth to Rucker's first child, Carolyn Pearl Phillips. His second daughter, Daniella Rose, was born to his wife, Beth, on May 16, 2001. They had a son, Jack, in 2005. The Hootie song "Where Were You" is about Rucker's strained relationship with his father, and was released only in Europe, where Rucker thought that his father would be unlikely to hear it. His country single "Alright" was inspired by his marriage.

Rucker is a friend of the golfer Tiger Woods, whom he met in a bar when Woods was 18. Rucker sang at the golfer's wedding with Hootie & the Blowfish and at his father's funeral. His interest in golf goes well beyond his relationship with Woods; he was a VIP guest of Team USA at the 2016 Ryder Cup, and he attended Arnold Palmer's funeral shortly before the Cup.

On November 7, 2016, Rucker told ESPN that he had become a partner in MGC Sports, a sports agency that currently represents golfers (among them Steve Stricker and Kenny Perry), football players, and coaches. He added that he was planning to reduce his performance commitments from 100 dates per year to about 30, and that he thought that his experience in the entertainment business would be an asset to potential clients. Rucker will be able to work without restrictions for golfers, but because he is not registered with the NFL players' union, he initially will only be able to meet with NFL players under very limited circumstances.

For the Undercover Boss series episode "Celebrity Undercover Boss: Darius Rucker" which premiered May 12, 2017, Rucker disguised himself as a 62 year old music teacher, ran an open mic night and worked as a roadie.

Philanthropy and impact

Rucker has regularly worked with charities that support sick and underprivileged children, via benefit concerts, volunteering, the PGA The First Tee Program, and the Hootie & The Blowfish Foundation which has raised nearly $4.5 million to provide funding to public education systems throughout South Carolina.

He serves as a board member of the MUSC Children's Hospital in Charleston, SC. where his mother worked for over 30 years from the time Rucker was a child, and has helped fundraise millions of dollars to help build a new hospital.

He also made a commitment to support St. Jude Children's Research Hospital after touring the facility in 2008. Since then, Rucker has spearheaded an annual event focused on amazing music, memorable collaborations and heartfelt stories resulting in over $1.6M raised for St. Jude's to date.

#05/13

1 note · View note

captainstrekkinlog · 4 years

Text

Star Trek: Picard - 1x01 “Remembrance” In-Depth Analysis

Let me start this off by saying, I think this is the strongest series premiere of any of the live-action Star Trek shows to date.

There is a confidence in this episode that none of the other shows had. It’s no secret that every single Trek show has sometimes struggled in finding its footing in the beginning, it’s not easy to make these shows after all. But it seems that from the onset Star Trek: Picard was a show that knew what it wanted to be and what it needed to be. What struck me the most watching this episode is how very deliberate each action is taken. This story was crafted with meaning and intention, they knew what they wanted to convey and they’re going to take their time walking down the path they set.

If the rest of this season are at the level of this premiere, then this might just become one of the best first seasons of any Trek show.

Now with that out of the way, let’s get to breaking down the episode in all its delicious details. This will be a long one as I break down scene by scene.

SPOILERS AHEAD

So we begin with a dream sequence as Blue Skies (sung by Bing Crosby, grandfather of Tasha Yar’s actress Denise Crosby) plays. A wonderful shot of the Enterprise D with Picard and Data playing poker. Picard looks to be in civilian attire, while Data is seemingly in his Nemesis era uniform. The way this scene is set up immediately feels dream-like, especially with the song, which we heard Data last singing it at Riker and Troi’s wedding.

There is a feeling of melancholy in the scene, almost as if Picard’s own consciousness knows this is not real but he wants to keep pretending that it is. As he even says, he doesn’t want the game to end. He much rather wanting to cling onto the past than be awake in a present-day that he isn’t enjoying. As he even says later, it’s the waking up that he’s beginning to resent, and as we find out later on in the story, this dream world is probably a happier place for him than what life is like for him in the years since Data died.

Here in Picard’s dream, he gets to keep holding onto the past - more time with Data, more time playing the poker game that he never got to enjoy until the end, more time for all the things he was in many ways, robbed of doing.

One funny note, Picard offers Data milk, but we did see in one of the TNG episodes where Data comments that he hates milk.

Data is also holding 5 Queen of Hearts, which Picard frowns at. I’m not sure exactly yet what this may represent, it is possible that this could be a foreshadowing to something else down the line. As I said before, the writers and director were very deliberate with every single detail, so I would imagine this Queen of Hearts thing to have a meaning, we just may not know it yet.

This scene ends with the Mars attack that we saw in the Children of Mars Short Trek and leads to Picard awaking rather violently from his dream. Now if this is how all his dreams end, I can definitely see why he wouldn’t want to wake up because that’s rather horrifying.

Now one thing I have to mention, simply because it’s being made such a big fuss over, the whole thing with how Ten Forward isn’t in the right location. First of all, it’s a dream. Dreams never make sense. I dreamed once that my house had wings and was full of plants and my bathroom was outside. Dreams are weird because they are suppose to be. Secondly, this sort of fuss over technicalities, and rather pointless ones at that, are what I would like to call “missing the forest for the trees”, because what is mattering in this scene isn’t the location of Ten Forward, but rather the scene of Picard and Data and what this means for Picard’s state of mind. THAT is the story, THAT is the substance. The location of a place in a dream sequence really is not what should be the take away of the scene, nor should it somehow ruin a scene. Honestly, people need to realize that the STORY is what is important, any small technical things are not the point. We don’t watch Star Trek because we want to point out all the inconsistent and illogical and wrong continuity details. We watch Star Trek because of the stories and the characters. If I was to let every single of those technical details bother me so much that it ruined the story, I would never be able to watch any Star Trek because quite frankly, there’s a whole lot of it in Star Trek, and acting like that one detail is what ruins a perfectly written and acted scene that sets up Picard’s state of mind for his character development is quite frankly very disingenuous.

Now, moving onto the rest of our story. We have Picard waking up to Number One running to him. I imagine Number One is in many ways a service dog, especially given how he was immediately there noticing Picard’s disturbance. The most interesting part of this scene with Picard waking up and looking out into the vineyard where people are working is that he keeps saying to Number One “it’s alright”, but really, he’s not saying it to the dog, I think he’s trying to convince himself that everything is alright, even though he knows it isn’t, and we know he certainly doesn’t feel it.

Then we move locations to Greater Boston, where in the night time skyline, we notice some glowing light ads with the Federation News Network symbol, some Ferengi Alliance and ad products, a London Kings banner, and it looks like Kasidy Yates is still somewhere in the galaxy with a booming interstellar freights business. Good for her!

We finally meet Dahj with her boyfriend who is a Xahean, a nice link to our beloved Queen Po, whom we met in Discovery. I am now curious who is the ruler on Xahea at this time, after all, we don’t really know how Xaheans age. But it looks like Xahea is a part of the Federation, which also makes me curious if Po did eventually reveal her innovation for recrystalizing dilithium crystals. Oh and the eagle eyed folks at Trekcore noted from Dahj’s call logs later that her boyfriend’s name looks to be “Caler”.

So they’re having a great time, Dahj reveals she got into the Daystrom Institute and that she’s a fellow in Artificial Intelligence and Quantum Consciousness, which is an interesting field for her to go into given how she reacts later on to Picard calling them “soulless murder machines”, which seems to reveal her bias. Which also makes me wonder why she wanted to study something that would only be theoretical and she already had judgement against.

Oh and we also see in Dahj’s apartment is the flower, Orchidaceae Dahj Oncidium, that her father made.

This nice moment with the couple gets ruined, as usual, by Romulans. Always out there spoiling people’s fun. They immediately kill Dahj’s boyfriend and capture her. They put some devices on her head, likely to scan her and commenting on the fact that she’s not been activated yet. Somewhat hilariously, one of them gets admonished for speaking in their native alien language and to speak English. I guess it’s still called English? Or is it Federation Standard? Or is it both?

They ask her “where’s the rest of you” and where she’s from. She says Seattle. I guess if you’re from Seattle these days, you should check if you’re either an Android or a Klingon spy.

And just as she put a bag over her head and try to knock her out, she finally “activates” and kills them all. This was a very well choreographed fight scene where we got to see a good amount of the action. Now I’ve heard some people out there complaining about shaky cam, but that’s not what we have here. The camera didn’t shake, and it only does a minor tilt in one scene. Otherwise, this is one of the calmest camera movements in a fight scene. In fact, the directing for this whole episode is very steady and calm. Honestly, it’s a bad faith take to say this show is just all action crazy shaky cam, because it’s not true. In both of the fight scenes we get, there is considerable restraint on the camera work to make sure that we as the audience can still see what is going on and know what’s happening in the scenes at all times. The rest of the show is all steady cam work. I know that people often like to label “New Trek” to be all action and weird camera angles and “not real Star Trek”, but Picard’s camera work is much more in tune with TNG’s steady cam work than it is to anything else. Other than the two big fight scenes with Dahj, every scene is very steady.

So as Dahj is leaning over her boyfriend and mourning him (note that he is bleeding the same orange color that Po did in the Runaway Short Trek), and then she gets a vision of Picard. The interesting thing about this vision is that it looks to be the same shot from one of the very early teasers. I am curious why she keeps seeing this specific scene and if there is any meaning to it.

Now there is one issue I’ve seen pointed out that the first character to be killed on Picard is a character played by a black man. And this is a very valid thing to be concerned about considering the treatment of characters of color, particularly TV’s issues with black men that both Agents of SHIELD and The Walking Dead had gotten flack for before (the rotating door of black characters), and certainly horror movie tropes have been criticized extensively. So I definitely understand if someone saw this and was worried about this sort of thing becoming an issue. I can’t speak for how black people may feel about this, as I am not black and I do not know all the nuances of this problem, but I wanted to bring to attention what director Hanelle Culpepper commented on in a twitter conversation with someone who had brought up this very concern.

I think this is the thing that could sometimes feel like a double-edged sword. In our current entertainment and media, we are still not there in terms of fair and equal representation, and thus when female characters, characters of color, or LGBTQ+, and other minority group characters die or are treated badly in a story, we pick up on it. But I think with the Star Trek shows, both Discovery and Picard, they are trying to show vast array of characters and treating characters from various minority groups in a normalized way. They can be heroes, they can be villains, they can live and they can die. This kind of normalization in treatment of characters is what we hope for, but I just think the rest of TV have not caught up yet, so when characters of color in this case, do die, we notice.

But hopefully, as Hanelle Culpepper states, we will see more characters of color show up. And as we do know, we will be having more characters of color in lead roles joining us soon.

Now, onto this opening credit sequence. There is a lot of unravel here and I could probably talk for hours about what this opening makes me feel. Let’s first talk about the music. Jeff Russo deserves an award. Seriously. He does. If you guys have not seen the Ready Room aftershow where Jeff Russo talks about the choices made for this theme, you really need to. Because you see the care and attention to detail that he brings into even just choosing what instruments to add to the music and what chords used to call back to the past. The flute at the beginning alluding to Picard’s time in The Inner Light, representing his past. And then the cello and the occasional chords of the TNG theme, just slowed down and slightly in a different tone, all building up to what feels like a triumphant rebirth. The flute sneaks back in showing the past and present coming together for Picard. The use of the cello and strings is just perfect. It really gives a melodic and somber feel to it. And as a violin player myself, any time I hear the strings, it’s like coming home. I’ll be very excited to get back on my violin at some point and play this.

The imagery of the opening credit sequence also tells a story. We see a piece of the sky breaks off like glass, it floats down to the vines in the vineyard, then to the quantum archive, which forms into a borg cube, and the broken piece falls through the cube and forms into fractals, and the pieces float around seemingly becoming like a neuro-pathways which becomes like the iris of an eye, and then it becomes a borg eye maybe, and then the planet Romulus, and finally the cracks form back into Picard’s face. It’s all very beautiful imagery and clearly very deliberate as no doubt all these elements will somehow come into the story that we are seeing.

And also interesting to note that only Patrick Stewart, Allison Pill, Isa Briones, Harry Treadaway from the main cast are credited, with Brent Spiner as “special guest star”, which means that I guess actors will only appear in the credits if they actually appear in the episode, much like how Discovery season 2 did the same with Shazad Latif and Wilson Cruz, and how Game of Thrones used to do this with their cast members too. So this should make it easy for us to notice which characters will appear in an episode or not.

Now back to the Chateau in France, Picard is walking through the vineyard with Number One and joking with him in French. I’m pretty sure this scene existed to poke fun at the people always saying why is Picard so British if he’s French. So LOL, now he speaks French finally!

We get to meet Laris and Zhaban, two Romulans who seem to live with Picard and basically be his attendants. Some people may not know, but Laris and Zhaban both appear in the Picard Countdown Comics, the three issue comic series shows us their relationship to Picard. Long story short, they are former Tal Shiar agents who broke the rules falling in love and wanted to leave because they wanted to help people instead. They feel indebted to Picard for helping them and sees him as their rescuer/savior. I also thought it was funny that Laris jokes about Number One being “our little assassin”, given what she and Zhaban used to do for a living with the Tal Shiar.

It is also interesting to note that Laris doesn’t have ridges on her forehead but we do see a slight bit of ridges on Zhaban, making this the first time we see both types of Romulans on screen together. Usually, it’s either one or the other. But it’s nice to see finally some variety even within one species.

Zhaban comments that Laris heard Picard talking in his sleep, Laris notes that he’s not sleeping and wonders if it’s bad dreams, which leads Picard to comment that his dreams are lovely but it’s the waking up that he’s beginning to resent, connecting back to the moment at the beginning of the episode with Data where he says he doesn’t want the game to end. His dreams are happier than his present.

So it seems that Picard has to get ready for an interview, and as he enters, Zhaban says that Number One still won’t take breakfast from him with Picard joking “old dogs”, to which Zhaban replies “which one?”

The relationship between Laris, Zhaban, and Picard is very well established even in these early scenes. There is an unspoken bond, camaraderie, and care. Even if Picard says sometimes Zhaban treats him as if he was “a benign old codger”. They act like a family, a family that’s found each other since Picard no longer has his old Enterprise crew family anymore. Also Picard is drinking decaf Earl Grey tea.

Now as all three of them are talking though, the news report plays on in the background. I couldn’t make out all the words because of the dialogue on top of it, but it looks like something about disturbances continue across the Alpha and Beta Quadrant due to the commemoration of the destruction of Romulus, so there seems to be some unrest still even to this day about what’s happened. And there is also something about a new Romulan capital, and maybe some three state council or something like it that declared it an interplanetary day of mourning for all citizens. I thought this interesting because we do not really know yet what the state of the rest of the galaxy is feeling about all of this, or how Romulan politics may have changed since then, so this news report is giving a tiny glimpse of the status of the galaxy. It’s good background world building, which is always a good thing, and sometimes Star Trek tends to falter at doing things like this beyond just details about Starfleet and its ships. It’s nice to get a look at the civilian part of life, which is the majority of the galaxy after all.

As the first of the visiting news crew arrives, Laris reminds Picard to not forget to wash his hands, and that ten years and she still has to remind him. She also jokingly calls him “your highness”, which I think it’s a funny nod to both the Romulan culture and also her being aware of herself being a “butler/housekeeper” for Picard as if this was a royalty sort of thing. The ten years mention though seems to point to Laris and Zhaban having stayed with Picard from at least 2389 to current day 2399.

Among the news crew doing set ups is a Tellarite, the first we see on screen in the 24th century outside of just archival footage. There is also a Trill among them as well. It also looks like there is some screen projection thing that does make up touch-ups? Oh man I would love to use one of those instead of having to put on real make-up. I really hate make-up, well, I should clarify that my skin hates make-up, SO MUCH. Someone please invent these screen projection make up things! I need it!

Picard is all dressed up and insisting that he’s not nervous, and asks Zhaban if he went over the terms with the news people and Zhaban says “three times, sir” that they wouldn’t inquire about his separation from Starfleet. Laris says that she thinks sometime he’s forgotten who he is and what he did but they haven’t, and Zhaban reminds him to “be the captain they remember.” These two clearly care about Picard a lot, genuinely. And it’s a really lovely moment as they send him off to this interview.

It’s kinda of fun to see the intro to his interview is showing off a bunch of TNG promo photos and episode screencaps. I always find this funny because I’m like, wait, there were no cameras there in those moments, how did they get those pictures!

So we learn in this scene that Picard has never agreed to an interview before until now, and that he’s been writing books on various historical analysis, and that he’s very passionate about working on raising awareness of the lingering impacts of the supernova. It’s clear from the beginning of this scene that the interviewer is looking for something else, that all this stuff they agreed to talk about is not what she actually wants to hear, she very deliberately steers the conversation to things about the Mars attack and why Picard left Starfleet.

Through her, we also start to see the view point of perhaps people who aren’t a part of Starfleet, the civilian side of the galaxy, which she noted that many felt there were better uses for their resources than aiding the Federation’s oldest enemy. And I have no doubt that there were people who did think that. This plays to exactly the sort of sentiment we saw in ENT, when after the Xindi attack, humanity shrank back and started to be xenophobic towards all alien life, not just Xindi. Terra Prime and that whole “Earth First” mentality are all playing again with what we see from this interviewer and her implications. She deliberately pokes at Picard calling for the massive relocation of Romulans. She points to Romulans as an enemy, and she points to the mass number of 900 million Romulan citizens they had to relocate, and how 10,000 warp-capable ferries had to be constructed for the rescue fleet. All of this is clearly a roundabout way of saying that it was a waste of resources, that those resources shouldn’t have been used, and the implication that if they hadn’t build the rescue fleet, then maybe Mars wouldn’t have been targeted and thousands of people wouldn’t have died.

Now, I’ve seen many bad faith takes saying “oh they are making the Federation behave like Nazis!!” or “they are making the Federation into xenophobic racists!!!!” but all of that is disingenuous and ignores what the story actually says. Picard was able to persuade the Federation to help the Romulans, and we know clearly that Spock was also working on the matter to help. The Federation intended to help but only stopped after the rescue fleet was destroyed and thousands upon thousands of people died. There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE between outright refusing to aid and stopping aid after you’re attacked and your rescue fleet got destroyed. There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE between maliciously deciding you don’t want to help someone and just watch them drown, and trying to help but you got injured and you are tired and you gave up.

Of course we all want the Federation to keep going and never give up. Of course we want the Federation to always stand up to its ideals of hope and justice. But giving up when you’re hurt is not the same as outright xenophobia, and it certainly doesn’t make you a Nazi. We KNOW from previous Trek shows AND films that the Federation isn’t perfect, that sometimes the Federation makes mistakes, and even has a hard time letting go of grudges and prejudices. I’ve said it many times before, utopias are pretty to look like but they don’t just magically grow out of a vacuum, a perfect world needs work. The moment you become complacent and you don’t put in the effort, a utopia can easily fail. Hell, in this very moment, we are seeing exactly how democracy CAN fail if we don’t work hard to maintain it. And I get it, some people are mad about political allegories, some people are mad that the perfect utopia of escapism isn’t happening. But Star Trek has always held up a mirror to our own world, it has always pointed out our own failings and how we can be better. And THIS is no different. The Federation gave up and shrunk from its duties, yes. They gave into grief, pain, and fear. But it does not mean they are evil. It is telling us that very same thing. We are not evil if we give into fear, but we can also be better, and do better. The world isn’t just magically built, democracy didn’t just happen one day out of the blue, we worked at it, even if it’s sometimes one step forward and two steps back.

Anyways, as we go on with this interview, there’s the bit where the interviewer says it’s only “Romulan lives” at stake and Picard counters her with “No. Lives.” Picard’s very powerful statement that we are all lives, doesn’t matter Romulan or not, is something that is necessary to say not just in the context of the plot, but also in the context of our current society. Right now in this very world we live in, people of color, people from minority groups, are all being dehumanized and otherized, and a populace is basically being fed propaganda hating on people not like them, dismissing people not like them, and somehow forgetting that we are all living breathing beings. So what if our skin pigmentation are different? So what if we speak different languages or have different cultures or beliefs or love different people? We are all still breathing, still living. And this continued otherization has only caused more harm to not only the groups being oppressed, but also to all of us as a species. And yes, I know some people don’t want to hear it, they don’t want “leftist politics” in their Star Trek, but this message has been the same message that Star Trek has been sending out for over half a century. You understood it as kids, you took all that in, so where along the way in your growth did you forget that message?

As Picard stated, lives were at stake and the Federation and Starfleet understood that, they had all those ships out there in the shipyards because they had every intention to help. And if not for the attack on Mars, it would have happened. If 92,143 lives weren’t lost, and 10,000 warp capable ferries weren’t gone, they would have been ready to help. Instead the galaxy mourned, and Starfleet and the Federation withdrew because they too were licking their wounds.

The interviewer compared this logistical feat to the Pyramids, which Picard calls vanity. He points out Dunkirk, the rescue of 400,000 troops on the beaches done through calling in civilian boats. And it’s a more than apt comparison.

We learn that the planetary defense shields were dropped, and Mars’ defense net was hacked, all of this indicates that I think something more than just the synths themselves were involved. Picard says they still don’t know why the synths went rogue. So I think that the synths were nothing more than someone’s means to an end. Either someone in the Federation wanted a reason for the Federation to pull back from helping Romulus, or Romulans from the Tal Shiar wanted to prevent the Federation from helping because they didn’t want to be indebted to Starfleet and the Federation. Whatever it is, it’s covert, and the synths were just the scapegoats for the attack.

And as if the 9/11 analogy isn’t more complete, we know the Mars attack was the reason that synthetic life-forms are now banned. And just to give it some sort of scale that we can understand, it is said that 2,977 victims died from 9/11, the attack on Mars had casualties at least 30 times that of 9/11. Not to mention the shipyard and all the vessels. It would have shaken the Federation, and especially those on Earth, to their core. The fact that the interviewer points out that Mars is still on fire to this day is another thing to note of the effect that is still lingering, much like how 9/11 still is a collective trauma for those who lived through it, even to this day.

Now we see the interview becoming more and more heated, in many ways, the interviewer bringing up Data and asking if Picard lost faith in him, to which Picard says “never”. And we also know that Picard thinks that banning synthetic life-forms was a mistake. The interviewer finally gets to what she clearly wants to ask, why he left Starfleet and what was it that he lost faith in. And Picard answers that he left because “it was no longer Starfleet”, he angrily states that Starfleet had slunk from its duties, and that the decision to call off the rescue was not just dishonorable because they had sworn to help, but also downright criminal, and he wasn’t going to be a spectator about it.

Now, there is something interesting in this moment that I don’t see mentioned much, and it’s that you see Zhaban and Laris watching the interview, and they hold hands. This is clearly something that hurts them too. You can see the emotions on their faces. And while this interview is focused on Picard, we should not forget that this matters to them too. This was Laris and Zhaban’s home that was destroyed, probably people they knew too that died, their families and friends. They are watching an interview that is not just disparaging their race but also discounting the meaning of their lives. And this moment will speak to anyone who has been part of any oppressed groups seeing themselves dehumanized by their lives being an “other”. Picard is standing up not just for Romulans or synthetics, but he is also standing up directly for the two of them, two refugees who have lost everything except each other. It’s a small moment, but it really meant a lot to me watching it, because I understood those feelings. And it made me connect to Laris and Zhaban so much more as characters.

Picard at this point is ready to tear into the interviewer, stating that she has no idea what Dunkirk is, because she’s a stranger to history and stranger to war. And how it isn’t easy for those who died and those who were left behind. Now this moment is very powerful, and clearly the meaning of this scene is meant to be also calling us as viewers to realize how much of our own history that we are a stranger to, and how forgetting that history is the reason we get into the sort of messes that we have today. And I am sure that the writers and director didn’t intend for this to be viewed as anything other than Picard giving all of us a lesson. However, as is with the case of the Xahean boyfriend who died, it is noticeable that it is a white man lecturing a black woman about history. Of course, in universe this isn’t an issue, and as with the issue from before, this is no doubt them wanting to cast actors of color in as many roles as possible, and this is a big scene to have with Picard so of course they cast a brilliant actress for it. But nonetheless it is something noticed, and I think if people make a criticism of that, I would understand, even if I understand also that this is clearly not the intention of the writers or the director.

By the way, the interviewer’s name is credited as Richter, which is a german word meaning “judge”, though I was reminded of the richter scale for earthquakes, and giving she looked to be causing her own little earthquakes during this interview, and being a judge in many ways, both meanings are appropriate.

Finally, Picard walks away from the interview, and this interview is going down, we see Dahj walking in the rain, seeing Picard on the screens nearby doing the interview and recognizing him.

There is also a sign in that scene that says “behold the future, preview next year’s padd tech today” so I guess even in the future, we still get new tech updates like those Apple iPhone conferences and whatnot.

We get a “commercial break” and we’re back at the Chateau. Picard is sitting with Number One quoting "there is no legacy as rich as honesty” from Shakespeare's All’s Well That Ends Well. Number One barks at Dahj approaching, runs over, but seems okay with her. Picard wants to know what she’s doing here and Dahj says she saw his interview and wants to know if he knows her. He does a “what????” expression that kind of made me chuckle because I can just see the question marks in his head. He’s just so confused.

Now there is an interesting thing to note here, Dahj immediately comments “you’re not sure, how do I know that?”, as if she is reading his mind somehow. So could this mean she has some sort of mind reading abilities too? Or is it just that she can read people really well?

Dahj describes all the things that’s happened, saying that her abilities came to her like “lightning seeking the ground” and she’s clearly very upset. Picard, who has every reason to turn away someone who could be rather alarming, instead takes her hands and tries to calm her down. I’ll expand on this later in another scene, but the kindness that he immediately has towards Dahj’s situation is just such a good thing. Compassion is something so lacking right now in the world, and having him being kind to her and not push her away even though he doesn’t know her, is so important. And when Dahj says “everything inside of me says that I’m safe with you”, we the audience certainly believes that.

We cut to Laris healing up Dahj’s cut, and Zhaban puts a blanket on her. Again, showing how kind these two people are, and the caring and kindness that surrounds Picard. No wonder Dahj feels safe. Picard gives her Earl Grey tea and says it “never fails”. The whole scene that follows is just a really sweet and lovely scene of two people connecting. Picard never treating her as if she isn’t to be believed. She asks him if he’s been a stranger to himself, and he answers “many, many times”, which we have seen throughout TNG. If anyone knows how Dahj is feeling, it is Picard. And I love that he connects with her, never dismissing her feelings.

Picard also comments on Dahj’s necklace, saying it was unusual. Dahj said that her father gave it to her. Now some have wondered why it would be an unusual necklace as it doesn’t look unusual, but I don’t know, I guess it looked kinda strange to me. Or maybe Picard recognized the symbol from somewhere and thought it was strange. Dahj says she doesn’t just know Picard because he’s famous, but she knows him from something older and deeper, and Picard says she may be right, clearly feeling like maybe he does know her from somewhere. He again reiterates that he believes her, joking that if she were dangerous, Number One would let him know.

Laris takes Dahj to her room, and she thanks Picard before she goes, clearly very grateful for someone believing in her. Dahj does leave the necklace behind on the table, which Picard looks at.

Next day, he opens up the window and nobody is working. I realized at this point immediately it must be another dream sequence and sure enough Data is in the fields painting. Both him and Picard are in their TNG era uniforms, and Data asks if Picard wants to finish the painting which has no face and is a hooded figure standing overlooking an ocean. Picard says he doesn’t know how, but Data says that’s not true. The moment Picard takes the brush, he’s awoken by the clock, and he immediately turns around to look at the painting behind him hanging up on the wall, which is almost exactly the painting from the dream, only the head is turned away. Obviously his dreams are a way for him to work out things he’s busy thinking about when he’s awake. God if only my dreams work out life’s problems for me. It would be so useful!

Laris comes in to say that Dahj is gone. Now this scene is logistically a little bit oddly placed. I don’t know when Picard wakes up from his dream, but it doesn’t look like 5am. And Laris comes in rather calmly to tell Picard that Dahj is gone, so did Laris just get up at 5am, saw Dahj gone, and went about her day until Picard woke up? Now Picard could have woken up just minutes before too. They just didn’t exactly make it explicitly clear. She did note that Dahj’s door was open, Number One was on her bed but she was gone, and they checked the feeds and she’s not on the property.

Picard, who now has an idea of what to look for, says he has to go but for them to contact him if Dahj returns.

We then change locations to Starfleet Archives, which uses the same museum symbol that the Star Trek Tour folks have. So that’s a nice little touch, nodding to the fans. It’s really sweet. Star Trek Tour is canon now! :D

Now at this moment when we see Picard approaching the archives, the Jerry Goldsmith theme from the Motion Picture plays a little in the background. Again, a beautiful addition from Jeff Russo knowing exactly where to add in the music to make everything feel perfect.

Picard is with a program called Index, who seems to keep an eye on the quantum archive. Picard wants to be sure that his archive is locked in stasis and no one has access, Index makes a joke about selling tickets with Picard noting the humor and saying “don’t give up your day job”. I love funny snarky holograms.

We then see Picard going into his archive and this is certainly a room full of easter eggs, so I’ll just note the items I saw and double checked with Memory Alpha to make sure I had the correct names:

USS Stargazer model

USS Enterprise D and E models

Captain’s yacht from Enterprise E model

Kurlan naiskos – ceramic figurine statue made by Kurlan civilization – gift from former mentor Richard Galen?

TNG era Bat’leth and D’k tahg

Captain Picard Day banner

Picard’s edition of The Globe Illustrated Shakespeare: The Complete Works, usually seen in his ready room/quarters – book is opened to first two pages of Act III of All’s Well That Ends Well – quote from earlier

It was noted from the Ready Room aftershow with Hanelle Culpepper and Michael Chabon (the showrunner), that the Captain Picard Day banner is an interesting way to tell the story of Picard’s change. He used to not like that day at all, and now he keeps that memento as if to remind himself that he maybe should have had more of those moments, showing a bit of his regret.

We get some updated LCARS, which the Picard production crew did give a shoutout to Mike Okuda on twitter. It’s always great to see these original designs get a little update with the times. It’s got more muted colors, which I quite like. And also, the object that covers the painting and retracts back is similar to the mechanical hood device that they used in the Ask Not Short Trek that Pike wore.

Index notes that this painting, which we see has Dahj’s face, is item 227.67, painted by Data in 2369, one of a set of two, gifted to Picard on the Enterprise, and the other is hanging on the wall at the Chateau. And the title of the painting is called Daughter. This confirming that Dahj somehow is Data’s daughter, which makes sense given her resemblance to Lal.

Picard asks Index to be sure that no one has been in the archive, not even for servicing. This means that no one else could have known Dahj’s face unless they were someone who actually knew Data or somehow had access to Data.

Back in France, Dahj seems to be hiding in an alleyway. She contacts her mom who tells her to get somewhere safe. Dahj notes that she did tried but she couldn’t stay because she didn’t want to put anyone else in danger. Her mom says she has to go back to Picard, Dahj frowns because her mom couldn’t have known. We see the image of the Mom glitching somehow? At this moment we don’t know if she’s a hologram or a memory or maybe a person who is being used or coerced? Her mom insists for her to find Picard and that he can and will help her. I can’t be sure if the mom is good or not, but her insisting that she goes to Picard does seem like she wants Dahj to be safe. So maybe the mom is also Dahj’s own defense mechanism? A program that makes sure she stays on course and doesn’t stray? The mom tells Dahj to close her eyes and focus, as if giving her directions on what to do. Next we see that the transmission has terminated and Dahj pulls up new information to find Picard’s location.

We also note that in her call list of favorites, there’s Soji’s name too, which connects to the later scene we see.

Back at the Starfleet Archives again, Picard sees Dahj and is clearly relieved that she’s okay. Dahj points out that she knew how to track him here, “I know stuff now, I can hear conversations a block away.” She then tries to insist that she did research and that she must have schizophrenia or something. Picard says she doesn’t have that and tries to assure her that she isn’t a freak, and instead that she may be very special. He starts telling her about Data, and you can hear the emotions in his voice about what Data meant. Dahj doesn’t know why Picard is telling her that and Picard gently tries to let Dahj know that she may be like Data and that the attack may have acted like a positronic alarm bell. But Dahj doesn’t react well to that, comparing synthetics to the ones who attacked Mars, even at one point calling synths “soulless murder machines”. We can see from Dahj’s comments that resent and fear still exists in the Federation towards android/synthetic life-forms, which from what we know, the attack was only about 10 years ago, so it would still be rather fresh on everyone’s minds.

Picard tells Dahj that Data painted her over 30 years ago, she still tries to resist, stating that she’s from Seattle and that her dad was a xenobotanist who spliced two genuses and named the offspring after her. Dahj clearly feels like she’s losing her sense of self if she is not real, but Picard tells her that her beautiful memories are hers and that no one can touch it or take it away. Picard’s insistent kindness and compassion are just SO VERY IMPORTANT. It is not always in entertainment media that we get these unabashedly kind characters, especially with male characters. And sometimes I think Star Trek is the only kind of show where truly kind and loving male characters are allowed to thrive because that’s the world we expect it to be. But even so, having characters like Picard, an older white male in a place of authority, still being so kind and caring and willing to help people instead of judging them, is important. Because this allows younger generations watching this to have someone good to be their role model, to teach and instill in them that kindness is what you need to have more of in this world. I am especially thankful that new Trek has been able to bring forth these kinds of kind characters, and especially white male characters. We see it with Picard, and we saw it with Christopher Pike in Discovery season 2. Both of these characters’ kindness is what allows others to not only feel safe, but allow people a place to grow and learn, and to have people standing in their corner even when they feel alone. That sense of safety and love, like having a safety blanket over you, is so essential to characters that are eschewing the toxic masculinity that is often very prevalent in entertainment media these days. In many ways, Star Trek, through Picard and Pike, are pointedly stating that men, especially white men, being kind and understanding, is not something to be belittled or dismissed, but rather important things because kindness is its own super power, and it’s with that kindness and love that they can stand up to institutions’ whose ideals have gone astray. Picard standing up to Starfleet is really no different than the scene of Pike calling out Starfleet’s use of drones and stating that “giving up our values in the name of security is to lose the battle in advance.”

Principled and kind lead white male characters are what we need more of these days.

Picard insists to Dahj that she was “lovingly and deliberately created” and that “You are dear to me in ways that you can’t understand, I will never leave you.” And adding that they will go to Okinawa to the Daystrom Institute and get this all figured out. He brightens up when Dahj mentions her having been accepted into the institute, happy for her even if Dahj is no longer happy anymore after all that’s happened. Picard reminds her “You are the daughter of a man who was all meaning, all courage, be like him”

This whole thing of him talking about Data to Dahj is just really emotional, you can see how much he wants to protect her, and how he genuinely means it that he will not leave her. And you can sense the guilt that still clings to him about Data dying for him.

Of course, nice moment again gets interrupted by Romulan assassins, because Romulans just love to ruin your nice moments. Dahj notices someone coming after them and runs with Picard, who can’t really keep up with her. They get to the roof and the assassins start shooting. Dahj tells Picard to stay down and gets on with some serious ass kicking. Again, as I said earlier, this whole fight scene is just so well done. The action is steady that you know exactly what is happening at all time and what she is doing and who she is fighting. You’re not lost, it’s not shaky and blurry.

One of the assassins gets his helmet taken off and as he falls down the stairs, Picard notices that they are Romulan. Another assassin gets knocked over a railing but seems to beam away. Dahj is about to shoot another one when this assassin bites down on a capsule and spews out some kind of liquid acid which gets on the gun and on Dahj’s face and her clothing. She and Picard exchanged a horrified look, she screams and Picard tries to reach for her as the energy gun blows up and Picard is knocked back and blacks out.

Now this moment was certainly a surprise. Through all the marketing, they kept talking about Dahj being the mysterious girl, they never mentioned someone else, so we just always thought it was one character. And I remember looking at the trailers and thinking, did Dahj get out of the cube and run to Picard and then gets taken back to the cube somehow and Picard has to go get her again? But it looks like they were just hiding the surprise of the twins in plain sight and we just didn’t have the information to realize it until now. Dahj’s death is certainly very tragic. Though I don’t know you could call it fridging a female character given that she was always meant to be a catalyst role so they could get to saving her sister? I’m not sure, simply because the story is set up in this way and I’m not sure it would work as well if they told it another way simply just to avoid character death. But perhaps someone would disagree.

But we get back to the Chateau where Picard wakes up after having numerous flashes of previous scenes that’s happened. We see Laris and Zhaban worriedly leaning over him as he’s laid up on the couch. He’s got a bad knock but other than that he’s okay. Picard reveals that Dahj is dead and Zhaban and Laris are surprised because the police didn’t mention her. They only said that Picard was alone when they found him on the roof. There was no one else on the security but him running. Zhaban suggests Dahj could have had a cloaking device and that’s why she wasn’t seen on their property feed either, and Picard thinks it may have activated automatically. So this explains why Dahj couldn’t be seen. But this doesn’t necessarily explain why even the Romulan assassins weren’t seen either or why the police said he was found alone. Which means that between the time the police found him, someone, possibly Romulans, could have wiped all the traces of what happened, and maybe even administered some healing stuff on Picard. OR as some have suggested, it could be that the Federation police could be involved in it, maybe it is some massive cover up. Maybe the Federation is infiltrated somehow by Romulan agents. This certainly wouldn’t be unusual tactics for the Tal Shiar, and we know even back in Discovery, the Klingons made one of them look like a human just so he could be a sleeper agent. So there’s no reason to not think that Romulans couldn’t do the same.

Picard tells Zhaban and Laris that Dahj was a synthetic and that the assassins were Romulans, which surprises both of them, given that they are Romulans, can’t be easy to hear their people are up to something shady. Of course Laris and Zhaban wants him to rest and that he’s done a lot for everyone. But Picard delivers a really powerful and brilliant line that really explains a lot of things.

He says: “Sitting here, after all these years, nursing my offended dignity, writing books of history people prefer to forget, I never asked anything of myself at all. I haven’t been living, I’ve been waiting to die.”

If you look back to the interview when the interviewer asks him why he left Starfleet, that he left in protest, and how angry he got. I think Picard left Starfleet to try to force their hand to help, essentially doing a last desperate bid of if you want me then you better go help these people. And Starfleet basically called his bluff and let him go. That is the “offended dignity” that he’s been nursing. That he tried to do something, using his reputation and importance, and Starfleet basically said, yeah okay, you can go then. I think, more than just Starfleet and the Federation deciding to withdraw, he felt a personal betrayal. The organization that he had given everything to didn’t even bother to fight for its ideals or fight to hold onto him, they gave up on their ideals and they gave up on him, so therefore, he lost faith in them as well. And all this time he’s been wallowing in anger, guilt, and essentially being the spectator that he said he didn’t want to be. He’s been wallowing in self pity, and in that moment, he’s realized that’s not what he wants to do, he’s not going to just slink away from his duties like Starfleet did, he’s now going to do something about it.

We then go to a new location, finally the Daystrom Institute on screen for the first time, in Okinawa. There is this little orbital station in the sky, it looked like one of those stations from The Girl Who Made The Stars Short Trek that young Michael and her dad were on.

Picard meets up with Dr. Agnes Jurati, and asks if it’s possible to make a sentient android out of flesh and blood, she laughs. I find her to be very adorable, a quirky scientist type but not entirely socially awkward, so it’s not the full on nerd girl trope. Once she realizes that he’s serious, she tells him that “even before the ban, a flesh and blood android was in our sights, but a sentient one, not for a thousand years”. She also notes that a sentient synthetic inside and out was the grand slam they were hoping for.

She leads Picard into the Federation’s Division of Advanced Synthetic Research – now a ghost town - because the Androids that attacked Mars came from this very lab - so now they can only operate theoretically – study, publish, run simulations, but they can’t make anything because it would be a violation of galactic treaty.

Jurati shows the drawer containing B-4 to Picard, says he was an inferior copy of Data, but noting that Data tried to download the contents of his neural net into B-4 before his death, almost all of it was lost. Note that she said ALMOST all of it. Which means that they did have some pieces of Data to create things from him. She also brings up Bruce Maddox, whom we saw in the TNG episode “The Measure of a Man”, and despite him trying to get Data to be declared property, we know that he and Data did keep in contact afterwards. Jurati says that Maddox recruited her out of Starfleet, and apparently they came close to create other synths like Data before Data died, and then when they got shut down, it crushed Maddox and he disappeared after the ban.

Now, I suspect that someone may have taken Maddox, and maybe used him to somehow get the synths to go rogue and attack Mars. Maybe even got him to somehow bring down the defense nets. And maybe Maddox could have even created Dahj and her sister Soji for whoever is controlling him as well? Agnes does say that if they had Data’s neural net, then making a flesh and blood body is relative simple, but Picard says Data’s neurons died with him, and thus Jurati says that’s why she kept telling Picard it wasn’t possible to create any other synths. Picard then shows Jurati the necklace from Dahj, and Jurati recognizes that the symbol is for fractal neuronic cloning, an idea of Maddox’s where the theory was that Data’s entire code, even his memories, could be reconstituted from a single positronic neuron.

So given that Jurati said they almost lost all of Data, I assume Maddox took that bit of Data they still had from B-4 and somehow got his theory to work to make Dahj and her sister, modeled from Data’s painting.

Picard learns that the cloning would be created in pairs, twins, realizing that there is another one. And showing us who were surprised at Dahj’s death that the rest of the season must be with the sister instead.

I’m still not entirely sure if Jurati knows something more about what’s going or not. I also don’t know if maybe she helped Maddox create the twins? It’s possible but maybe she is also just a good person and I’m being way too suspicious. But who knows. Anything is possible. TV is making it hard for me to trust people.

Then we get this beautiful transition shot from Dahj’s necklace symbol to a similar shaped rings of light in space as a new looking Romulan warbird flies through space and reaches the Romulan Reclamation Site.

We get the first shot of Narek walking through some smoke with purpose as the Romulan theme from TOS episode “Balance of Terror” plays on in the background like the Imperial March every time with Darth Vader. I LOVE this newly updated rendition. Honestly, someone please give Jeff Russo some awards because his music in this episode is just SO SPOT ON!

Narek is clearly the president of the Romulan division of the Emo Spock Fashion Fan Club? I’m just waiting for him to actually be Spock’s secret son with some Romulan, I mean, we know Spock was on Romulus for a time. And Narek sound close to Sarek. (I’m secretly hoping for this because it would just be hilarious to me!)

He meets with Doctor Soji Asha, Dahj’s twin. I noted that Dahj sounds like an Indian name perhaps? And Soji is a Japanese name. Which seem to be appropriate given that actress Isa Briones is also Asian, being part Filipino, and having spoken about Asian representation in entertainment.

Narek comments on her necklace, which Soji says her father made it, one for her and one for her sister. There was some confusion as to if only Soji knew about her having a sister, but as the earlier call list from Dahj shows, she knew about Soji too. They clearly just held it back from showing it for this reveal. Narek says he had a brother and they were really close but that he lost him last year very unexpectedly. I have a feeling we will get to see what went on with that, or maybe we even know who his brother may be? I originally thought it was Elnor, but I don’t think it works with what we know about both characters, as Elnor was said to have been raised by female warrior monks? So the “last year” comment wouldn’t work for timeline purposes. So the brother is likely someone else who died in 2398, again I don’t know this may be a character we know from any other of the older Trek shows.

He’s clearly trying to flirt with her and get close to her. He also notes that she spends her day fixing “broken people”, so is she fixing Borg survivors or androids or maybe both? We do see in the this season promo of her with Hugh somehow, and other people who look like they got implants, so are the Romulans kidnapping Borg survivors and trying to use them to make androids or something?

Anyways, Narek seem to succeed in ingratiating himself to Soji, looking like they’ll be spending some time together. And the camera then pulls back to reveal the site is in a Borg cube. Meanwhile, that beautiful Romulan theme comes back and plays til the end of the episode.

There’s a “this season on” promo that I’ll probably talk about maybe in a separate post. But YAY we have reached the end of this LONG analysis. If you’ve managed to get through all of it. I commend you and thank you for reading my ramblings.

This episode was a really solid start, setting up great characters and mystery, and reminding us why we love Jean-Luc Picard.

I can’t wait to see where the story will take us next and meet the rest of the cast!!!!!!!!

#star trek picard #star trek picard spoilers #in depth analysis

2 notes · View notes