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#maybe in my head i can be a little too idealistic at times but. at the same time i know i've gone through so much pain already

porcelainseashore · 24 days

Text

Into the Ether (1)

(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, ...)

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE characters (Chris, Claire, Ada, Wesker, Jill, Sherry, Hunnigan, Rebecca, Baker Family, Merchant, Patrick, Luis), VtM concepts (Camarilla, Anarch, Sabbat, Second Inquisition, Toreador, Ventrue, Brujah, Gangrel, Nosferatu, Malkavian, Tremere, Ghouls).

Authors' Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions — a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh—” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch — which it did — you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a—”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “PI, actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked.

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have—” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.”

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil #vampire au #vampire the masquerade #vtm #crossover #porcelainscribbles

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writerscall · 5 months

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got my first two requests last week and decided i'd make one of them a maybe three part series cause i had ~ideas~, so to everyone and to my ❝ here, let me fix it for you. have you never tied a tie before ?❞ anon, enjoy this little sneak peak of part one <3

[...] because you were well and truly fucked if you agreed to do coupley things with her in what was arguably the most romantic season of the year. Not that you had any prior experience of it, but if those fake dating plots in films and television held any truth, it could only end in extremes: either really bad, as in you two grow bitter and resentful and never speak to each other again, or really good, as in you two make it out and end up together. Or it would get really bad before it gets really good. Too risky though, and you didn’t want to romanticize or be too idealistic about anything. Which is why you should say no. “Also, it’s… it’s not like it’ll be that hard for any of them to believe, you know.” She looks down and fiddles with her near-empty coffee cup, growing shy all of a sudden. “After we both came out, you know they always kind of expected we’d get together at some point.” Another reason to say no. But your track record of denying Hazel anything wasn’t exactly great, so— “Alright, alright, I’ll do it,” you sigh. Hazel’s head snaps back up and her face immediately brightens and god, you knew this could become real messy down the road, but you would do anything to keep her smiling at you like that. “We’re gonna have to set some ground rules though, right? Like what we should and shouldn’t be doing in front of people, what to say when they ask— hey, that one especially, because we can’t go around contradicting each other on how we got together.” Hazel’s silent for a moment, studying your face contemplatively. Then she leans back and, in a tone that you didn’t want to think of as sounding a little too sincere, says, “That’s easy. We can just say that best friends fall in love with each other all the time.”

tentative publishing date is nov. 21!

#stuff here subject to changes and/or edits of course #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan fanfic #hazel callahan

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kay-elle-cee · 7 months

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I would love to know about James' feelings that time they first meet eyes years later. Directors take OR a James POV 😍

HELLO Athena! Thank you for your patience since I've saved this in my inbox to answer after the final chapter of i'll be fine, i'll be good went live. Answer below the cut! (And a reminder that anyone can ask me for thoughts/Director’s Cut for any of my fics at any time!)

(sorry I tried to refine this but it still ended up a bit word vomity!)

ALRIGHT so we learn in chapter six that James was, in fact, really broken up about Lily for awhile (I mean....that's not particularly a spoiler, is it?). I like to think that by the time James sees Lily—like walking into the shop and having face-to-face interaction with her for the first time since he told her he loved her all those years ago (oh my god ow)—he's really processed everything and made peace with it all. He's had his eyes opened a little bit more by his work with the Order to just how difficult and dangerous it was for her. He's forgiven her, and he understands (to an extent) her actions, but he also knows that because of this he can't really be mad at her, and he just...is trying to be as normal as he can (even though a part of him misses her). So he has to be careful.

He's known she's worked at that apothecary for years. Remus absolutely told him immediately (well, maybe not immediately, but definitely within that first month). And he's likely agonized time and time again on if he should go in, how bad would it be to look through the window, maybe one of us should just, like, make sure she's okay...But then you have Sirius (and to a lesser extent Remus and Peter) reminding James of what kind of toll Lily took on him last time, reminding him that if she wanted to see him, she could reach out, reminding him how far he's come and fuck Evans because she hurt you. And James, even if he doesn't feel Sirius' anger at the whole situation, maybe listens to this, lets it bolster him to keep his resolve hardened and his guard up.

But then he gets paired up with Sam for the potions run. And he definitely panics and feeds her some BS line about him needing to wait outside so they're not ambushed in the shop and she's like whatever you weirdo I'm going to go see this really interesting girl I met and could definitely be friends with YOUR LOSS. And then she's chatting and he's out there just getting so nervous because what if Sam lets it spill to Lily that he's out here and then they get to talking, what would Lily say would Lily be mad would she want to say hi why do I care so much about what Lily thinks? He's done so well at living his life in a post-Lily world but suddenly everytime he's around this shop she's just there on his mind. So he gets a little overwhelmed and opens that little door and tells Sam to hurry up without ever looking in because he knows there's a real possibility that the second he sees Lily (really sees her) this resolve he has might crumble.*

*And I think it's important to note here that I'm not suggesting James would fall to her feet and confess his love with one glance, but he'd be James. He'd be kind (maybe too kind), and he suspects that somewhere in his heart he still loves her and is worried that it'd be too easy to fall back into that pattern after all the work he's done.

But yeah so he and Sam leave and he's in the all clear but then he gets injured in the field and Sam has to leave and suddenly he's in charge of the potions supply runs and he has no other choice—he has to SEE HER. He spends the whole morning fretting, trying to remain calm, trying not to run scenarios through his head and telling himself he can do it, that it's no big deal—he's just a patron and she's just a shopkeep. (He's definitely not looking forward to it, even if he had all of those musings about dipping in and seeing her over the last few years—that's idealistic James and this is practical James.) I think he goes so far as to even try to remember some of the anger he had felt towards her at one point of time—really grasping for anything to make sure and keep that distance between them. But it's this weird thing because Remus told him about the Snape encounter so he's also a little worried about her and it's this tightrope of keeping things professional. Not concerned, not angry, but something neutral in between.

And then he sees her. And he thought he was prepared, and he was so, so wrong. There's pain, when their eyes meet. The last time he looked into them echoes in his mind and there's pain and a little bit of that anger comes back and maybe it's anger at her but maybe it's also a little bit of anger for himself—for not understanding her as well as he feels he should have. But he leans on the anger, only giving her the shortest of answers, and he leaves. And he thinks: I can do this.

And when he gets sent again, he holds onto that anger a bit tighter and tries to ignore the undeniable way his heart beats faster when that bell over the door rings.

Listen I might do a James POV of some scenes one day, if the urge strikes and people are interested, who knows?

#asked and answered #ibfibg spoilers #ibfibg extras #athenasparrow

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vigilskeep · 5 months

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Ok very into your cadash in kirkwall thing!! Please keep sharing your thoughts - i vaguely remember dgaider saying they were going to do more with the carta in da2 but had to cut it - (you still get some random enemy encounters with carta that were originally going to be tied into a bigger plot) - is she a representative of them that varric deals with? how is that going? How does she feel about the carta? Do you have any ideas behind why the carta still sometimes attack the party - is it different factions?

i’m not imagining she’s high up enough to be an official representative of anything. she’s more of a useful contact that several of the crew share, and she’s a lyrium smuggler. kirkwall is riddled with apostates, and a lot of them don’t have the connections to get into the market with the big groupings like the collective and the underground and the resolutionists. if the carta wants the money from the little guys on the run, someone’s got to find them before the templars do, win their trust, broker a deal, connect them to people who can help them make the money, and keep them from prying eyes—because as long as they’re free, they’re buying. that’s cadash’s job!

she also relies on the lyrium herself, for her own brand of the templar specialisation. you don’t go wandering around kirkwall looking for apostates, and carrying the thing they want, without being able to defend yourself if they get dangerous. it’s a small price to pay. she has a bad gallows joke about how the carta have a gift from the stone, they can take lyrium without any of the side effects—because their average life expectancy isn’t long enough to deteriorate

mages know they can count on her, even if it’s not always been for the right reasons. but she is soft on anders, who’s been one of her customers since he got into the city, and who has saved her life after a job gone wrong more than once. he has a lot of complaints about her methods and he makes this loudly clear when accepting friends discounts, but he also badly misses a few people she reminds him of. she knows fenris via mercenary contacts and maybe anso, and she calls on him for backup occasionally. she’s the topmost expert on lyrium he knows and after a long time he has been willing to ask her to look into his tattoos. she and varric have a kind of longstanding ‘you scratch my back i’ll scratch yours’ working relationship of exchanged favours but nobody else can tell how or even if they’re keeping count. knowing everyone else kind of snowballs from there. and she would never have bloody agreed to any of this if she knew what big sad wet eyes this whole fucking party has when they want something. little band of bastards and idealists. yeah, she’s fond of them

actually, i wouldn’t be surprised if she was signed on to the deep roads expedition as a lyrium expert too. that’s fun! for the red lyrium plot which i’m counting on as her personal crusade in inquisition. and for her relationship with the kirkwall crew, especially if she left with bartrand rather than take a risk to help them and that’s always lingering in her head...

cadash belongs to the cadash crime family, which suggests the existence of other, presumably rival crime families. she’s also making these very specialised deals with a fair bit of independence, while the rest do business as usual. so i don’t think it’s surprising if hawke and their band still get into scraps with the carta, especially when it’s not like she’s officially affiliated with hawke or anything. (it’s just that she hangs out with them and does them favours free of charge despiting insisting she won’t and also she’s kissing their blood mage.) however i do think another even more valid explanation is that varric totally just throws the carta as enemies into the narrative whenever he’s bored. cadash bitches about it all the time but he insists it’s way more interesting than “we came across some carta thugs in the tunnel but they knew that we know cadash so they were like yeah go on ahead no problem”

she doesn’t like the carta. it’s not... look, little girls don’t grow up dreaming of that kind of work, do they? but little girls do grow up and join the family business. and i’d say she’s seen what happens when people don’t fulfil their obligations to the family. everybody’s got to make a living, right? everybody’s got to get by. and dealing with the lyrium itself, valuing it and concocting potions and taking it herself, is the only time she ever feels connected to anything. raw power. raw magic. the gift of the ancestors, and it doesn’t go to any deep lord or merchants’ guild lackey who would spit in her face. it’s in her hands, and in her blood, now. it’s nice to pretend that means something

#this got Long i’m starting to get into this #scaea cadash

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incomingalbatross · 6 months

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Trick or treat! (Stargate SG-1 edition, especially any fic ideas or headcanons)

Okay so I don't know if this will turn out as a headcanon, a fic idea, an outline, or something in-between BUT what it mostly is is an Excuse. :P So here goes

The first time Teal'c watches Star Wars, the team's been grounded for a week. Don't ask me why - maybe the Gate's shut down, maybe Jack and Sam have leave, maybe Daniel's been exposed to a strange space pathogen and is in isolation while they wait to see if it's deadly. Important thing is, they don't have missions and Teal'c (it's early days still) isn't allowed off-base.

Sam pokes her head in his room with a set of VHS tapes and says, "Hey, I brought some Earth culture you might be interested in!" Explains that Star Wars is a classic and even if he doesn't like them, it'll still be useful to know the references.

Teal'c, very bored and always willing to hang out with one of his comrades, agrees.

He likes Episode IV. There's good vs evil. They're fighting an evil space empire! He gets to see what kind of space combat the Tau'ri have made up for their stories.

He thinks it's kind of...charmingly idealistic? Like, there's an Evil Oppressive Space Empire but there's still enough freedom for Luke to have his ideals and Leia to have a government position (they HAVE a government?) and even Han gets to choose whether he wants to fight the Empire or just slip under its radar. It's a little hard for Teal'c to relate to, but he enjoys it. It seems very much like his friends' views of the world.

Obi-Wan reminds him of Bra'tac. :) Vader reminds him of Apophis. >:/ Teal'c sees something of his team in the main characters.

Episode V! Sam is Very Excited.

Vader is still alive? Teal'c is disappointed by what, honestly, seems like an incursion of reality. Why won't the evil galactic rulers ever ACTUALLY die when they look like they've died.

He's invested in all the action on Hoth, though. These heroes still read as very Tau'ri to him, with their emphasis on loyalty to their friends and their hope and all that. He wants them to succeed.

He does guess the Yoda reveal. A little too similar to the Nox. :P

Then it's back to Darth Vader on his evil spaceship and

Darth Vader goes down on one knee and asks "What is thy bidding, my master?"

And they've taken plenty of pauses before while watching these movies, so Sam can answer questions about effects or plot conventions or other things lost in cultural translation, but this time when Teal'c says "Pause," he doesn't really have anything to ask. Just, "That...is the Emperor?"

Sam says, "Yeah," and they keep going. But suddenly the fun Tau'ri escapist fantasy is a little harder to watch, as Teal'c processes the fact that the villain of the piece to date isn't actually a System Lord.

Darth Vader is a First Prime.

Everything Vader does now leads to new questions Teal'c isn't sure the story even thinks it's raising. Like, does he want to be doing this? and Does he think he has a choice? and Why is he doing it? and How did he get to this position?

Teal'c watches Vader torture Han and tries not to think about his own past.

And then. AND THEN. You know what comes next.

(Turns out the movie did want him to be asking at least some of those questions about Vader.)

Turns out the evil Emperor's right hand is also a FATHER. He's the HERO'S father. But he also cuts off Luke's hand because the only option he'll apparently countenance is for Luke to join him in the darkness.

But he's a FATHER. He IS a person, not just a faceless villain. But does that make him better or worse?? If he's a person and he chooses to be part of the Empire, then all the questions Teal'c has about him have bad answers.

But also how is LUKE - the idealistic, hopeful shining figure of a Tau'ri hero - going to deal with his idolized father turning up on the Empire's side.

...Suffice to say, Teal'c is glad to see Han rescued and all at the start of Episode VI but he is REALLY REALLY waiting for expansion on the Vader plot.

Luke thinks there's still good in his father. Luke thinks he can SAVE him. Luke sees his father and he BELIEVES in him.

Listen. I believe in Teal'c's right to be a nerd, in general. I also believe that watching Vader say it's too late for him and Luke point-blank refuse to accept that is the MOST INVESTED Teal'c EVER is in experiencing any fictional story, ever.

And

LUKE IS RIGHT

VADER IS SAVED

Vader breaks free!! For his son!! Darth Vader hears his son's cries for help and is able to LISTEN and CHANGE and he is LOVED AND FORGIVEN AND ACCEPTED and he DIES FREE

The Emperor's enslaved right hand is REDEEMED and DIES FREE. That was the story all along

Anyway this is why Teal'c has watched Star Wars nine times. In conclusion.

#stargate sg 1 #you get a long one because this has been Simmering and i'm delighted to have the push needed to unleash it

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aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

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A Whole Man is Hard to Find - chapter 12

An Elvis Presley Fanfic AU

I posted the AO3 link before and thought why not plop the chapter here as well. Much love ♥️

“Now, now hear me out, it’s a sensible plan but it’s got a major catch.” Elvis mumbled into Bean’s withers and got a derisive snort from his horse in return, “Nah, don’t call me a coward boyo, I’m just sayin Nevada Territory is a long ways away, Lord knows what’s even out there. What if there’s no water, huh? What would you do then?” Beans just nuzzled his leg with his impossibly soft muzzle, “Yeah, you’d look to me to get ya water but I’m not the Almighty, I can’t make something outta nothin, and then you’d die on me like er’ybody else, yes you would, don’t argue the point, you would. These are the things ya gotta think of before ridin into the sunset like you suggested. Sunsets can fry ya up, ya do know?”

Beans stretched his magnificent self lazily as he laid on his side, hoofs kicking out and shuffling round the hay they were both sat in. Every time his horse nearly drifted off to sleep he’d startle awake as if Captain Presley’s constant, four hour long monologue of romantic, spiritual and monetary woes intrigued him too much to snooze through. Or maybe it was the way the Captain’s hand would stall in its petting when he really got himself worked up recounting one betrayal or another. Either way, Beans would then shake his mighty neck in Elvis’ lap until Elvis remembered what was truly important in life and went back to braiding his mane.

“I know, I know I keep you shut up in here all the time and death in the great big desert sounds nicer than another day here, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I’m rather shit at taking care of anybody, aren’t I? Keep ‘em alive and fed but are they happy? Hell no, don’t know a single happy person or horsey in my acquaintance. Would you be happy in the desert Beans, hmm?”

Elvis let his head fall back against the rough wooden post he had his back against. He heard shuffling in the adjoining compartment next to the stables, in the boiler room, and in a few minutes voices raised.

Hymn sing. Had to be dawn by now.

His right leg was numb where Beans rested the weight of his neck, his mouth was dry as dust and his hands shook with chill, but he felt sober, rational, as much as he ever was which had always been a matter of contention with folks -was Elvis Presley naturally mad? Beans said he was, Beans said it was nothing to take to heart either. Beans understood him, except about the logistics of eloping with nothing but a horse and the shirt on your back. Beans was an idealist who didn’t think about where hay and water and the next brushing down would come from. Beans had never had to go in and apologize to a lying woman for being cruel to her. Beans didn’t know what it was like to love somebody ya didn’t really know.

Elvis ignored the pins and needles in his leg and gave himself five more minutes on the stable floor. Besides, he wasn’t finished with the braiding and you can’t leave a pretty fella like Beans half undone.

Five minutes turned to ten and he wondered idly if now that his pulse no longer ricocheted in his skull that perhaps he might catch a wink of sleep.

The swish swish of a skirt displacing hay caught his ear and he opened his eyes, raising his head to find Sister Rosetta approaching gingerly through the hay and dung, moderating her usual commanding gait as she picked a path across the stables, balancing a jug and greasy brown bag such as confectioners used.

“You sweet woman.” he murmured as he spied her goodies and she startled a little at him being awake, then smiled in gratification at the clear eyed greeting he gave her.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” she asked, gently kneeling down at Bean’s head and reaching for his shoulder.

“Lil better.” he assured her but his voice sounded like a croak.

“Did you manage any sleep?”

“No.”

“You need this.” she pushed the jug in his hands and he greedily drank down the melon water in it, his shakes calming for a minute. “And you’d best eat a little, so as to keep your strength up and your temper down.”

He wasn’t hungry but they both knew that wasn’t the point. He had removed himself from you last night in a bid to regain some fraction of sobriety and rantional before hearing a confession he was pretty certain he could recite beforehand -verbatim. But it had seemed the wise, kind, just thing to remove himself until he could hear it in a steady frame of mind. Even if it had felt a little cold to close the door on your tear stained face and “Elvis, Elvis please, don’t go!” echoing down the hall after him as you scratched at the door, sounding every bit the child he used to play with.

The half gnawed biscuit stuck to his throat and he had to gulp in more water to force it down. That alone took energy out of him. He flicked idly at the rest of it, tearing pieces and fiddling with them till they crumbled before they could reach his mouth.

“You are going to go to her, aren’t you?” Sister Rosetta asked and he was too tired to play dumb or tell her to mind her own. In fact he could use some womanly advice at the moment.

“Yeah.” he whispered.

“Jerry sent me to find you,” she went on, “the Colonel was about ready to break down the suite door, thinking you were in your room and unconscious since no answer came out. One assumes Miss Beaumont has either fainted inside or simply won’t deign a reply.”

“Oh Lord!” he exclaimed making to rise, puffing in effort to extricate himself from under Bean’s sturdy neck.

“Before you go,” she laid a delaying hand on his arm as he brushed off the hay from his trousers, “I’m not one to divulge a trust, and what that little woman told me as I dressed her last night was in strictest confidence despite her emotion, but seeing as how I have a sense you are about to make a very heavy decision in her regard, I think it excusable that I tell you a secret in her favor.”

“What’s that?” he whispered, fear and hope warring in his eyes.

Ten minutes and the damn brute still pounded on the suite door, rattling your overwrought nerves with every barrage and fruitless clamor of Elvis’ name. “My boy, my boy” again and again in that loathsome accent. You sourly hoped the Colonel’s deafening assault against the hinges stemmed from fear that he’d overdrawn the bank of life and killed his cash cow at last, as he truly almost had. You sat at the rickety vanity chair, not a bit of your outfit touched since the Captain had left you hours ago, only your boots taken off and the pretty pistol from them laying cold and heavy in your lap, pointed at the quivering door. If you were to be killed or rejected or taken to prison, you might as well have it done in the prettiest dress you had ever worn, bought by the kindest man you’d ever known. And if you killed Parker with the pistol Elvis had won for you, there was a poetic justice to it, even if he wouldn’t give you time enough to explain it.

Suddenly, there was quiet behind the door. Then the murmur of voices. You stood up and tip toed to it, pressing your ear to the wood in hopes to catch a snippet of conversation or a clue as to who had pacified Parker. You could not hear the voices clear enough, you could not make out if the pitch belonged to Elvis. You strained and held your breath, closed your eyes and tried to focus on the murmur outside, to give you some hint if he was coming in or not, if he was even there. If he was even alive.

A rattling from the famous shutters covering the windows opposite startled you out of your skin. You yelped and spun round, back pressed to the door and pistol raised at the hidden intruder currently picking the shutter’s lock after raising the window with remarkable quiet. The shutter kicked open and in streamed early morning daylight, painting a golden backdrop behind Elvis as he crouched in the window sill, hands raised and a look of pleasant surprise on his face,

“Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot.” he actually laughed.

You dropped the pistol to the floor in your shock, needing to clutch at the door handle lest you crumple to the ground on seeing him again, looking remarkably alive and whole, “I didn’t know it was you.” you explained hoarsely.

“Course, course.” he nodded, “Good girl, be it anyone else and I do expect you to blow their heads off.” he looked you up and down and took in the gala finery still laced tight and the pale color of your face, the way you stared dully at him as if you had not expected conversation to be made. Neither of you had done any sleeping, it would seem. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight on the sill, “May I come in?” he asked gently.

You frowned in confusion, “Of course.”

“Thank you.” he murmured and let himself down, knees creaking as he straightened out. “I went round the deck on the back way so as not to get caught, whole damn crew is after me with one thing to tell or ask. A-a-and I wanted to get here first.”

He was alive and stutteringly polite and your exhausted heart did not know what to make of it. While he looked like hell in many ways, he carried himself soberly, only dead beat weariness detectable in his red rimmed eyes. You had some flicker of hope that maybe he’d hear you out. A whole night to prepare and you still had no set speech, but you had an idea of how to begin it.

“I don’t deserve it,” you settled on as beginning while wringing your hands, more a gust of breath than a true voice coming out your throat, “but would you be so good as to hear me, as there was something I wished to tell you last night, and it can no wait.”

“I’ll hear ya out.” he replied gravely, his eyes had not met yours since he stepped down from the window into the room, they kept roving from the bed to the vanity to the double rataan doors. There was not an unstoried inch in the whole suite. “But first, you’ll hear me out, no, no really, you must.” he put his hand up as you went to protest and you folded meekly, too scared and tired to risk angering him. “Move dear, I wanna see that we’re alone for this.” and he motioned you away from your place by the door as he strode up to it and unlocked it with his key, flinging it open.

Seemingly satisfied that there was no one lurking, he shut it again gently and locked it once more. He picked up your pistol from the floor, putting it and the key on the dresser, his discarded overcoat flopping atop it. You now stood where he had by the windows, and he took to leaning on the dresser in his shirtsleeves, one hand rattling out a nervous staccato rhythm on its shiny top, while the other shielded his smarting eyes from the light.

Every time he looked at you it was as if his voice dried up, he wished now he had left the shutters closed, so as not to be tempted to make an inventory of the year’s toll on your face before he could get out what he needed to say.

“It’s come to my attention,” he cleared his throat gratingly, “that, that, I,” he coughed again and then straightened up, taking his hand down from his eyes and giving you the courtesy of meeting your startlingly famillair eyes, a penance for his sins he thought, “that I owe you a heartfelt apology for my horrid behavior last night.”

“You needn’t-“ you assured him in a hurry,

“No, no, I-I really must say I’m ever so ashamed, and I’m sorry.” his fingers stippled faster, “For all of it. Handlin you so rough a-a-and I dunno what all I threatened but Sister Rosetta informs me I’m an awful sorta man, t-t-to ya, and I’m sorry. I’m real sorry-“

“What did she say?” you paled, and made an aborted motion to go to him before thinking better of it, “I didn’t complain of you to her! What did she-“

“She said enough.” he ignored you gravely, “She said enough and I recall enough that I-I-I am real sorry for it, and I want you to know I didn’t mean it, that weren’t me in my right mind. I never,” his voice shook and his hand flew up to his mouth to force his lips to stop their trembling, he went on after a minute, “I’d never in a million years want to see you nothin but loved and cared for, none of that awful shit I said.”

You swallowed hard, torn between holding your peace, taking his unexpected gentleness to heart and using it to bolster your failing courage to confess, or assuring him that savage as he had been in his jealousy, you were not so deeply wronged as he thought. You were not so good as he yet maintained. You had wanted him, too.

“And for that…thing…with the Binder fella,” he interrupted your thoughts as he looked over your head, unable to keep eye contact, “I’m sorry to have embarrassed you like that. A-a-and for anything else I’ve omitted, i-I-i‘m real sorry.”

His sins were nothing, all things considered, not when measured against what you had done against him, and you felt a fool being made to listen to the apologies of a man who knew you had wronged him deeper.

“Are you -mocking me?” you asked in confusion, unable to make sense of it.

“What?” he startled, “No! Hell no, I-I-I’m very sorry. I’m askin ya to forgive me, if you can.” he added, giving you that strangely effective look from under his lashes.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” you muttered.

“There is, goddamn it!” he pounded his fist on the dresser top and you flinched, “Those days of you putting up with no good men and bastards are over, I’ve told you that! Now why won’t you listen to me? I done told you before to slap the next fella that was disrespectful to you! Why didn’t you?”

“I did.” you cringed backwards.

“You did?” he repeated comically, then looked spooked at the notion he had forgotten more of last night than he thought, “You slapped me last night?”

“Yes.”

“Well -good, good that’s, that’s good.” he rubbed his jaw nervously.

“Can I say my piece now?” you asked, timid and impatient all at once.

“Yes.” he agreed sullenly, leaning back against the dresser again, “Though we needn’t engage in dramatics or a listing of your goddamn family tree nor a drum roll reveal that you are who you are.” your heart pounded in your throat and you watched as his soured mirth turned shrewd, “Cause I know exactly who you are, Cricket.”

The shock you voiced at hearing that old nickname drop from those once familiar lips sounded closer to a sob gusting out than any word, forced out by melancholy sentimentality and a shaking relief at being known. “Oh Elvis.” you whispered, unable to think a damn thing except ‘I’ve missed you, my old friend’.

“Must've been real hard not to laugh every time you felt me trying to puzzle together why Savannah Beaumont would look so shockingly like the late Miss Maddy Hodgkins.” he went on, his cold tone and the bitter twist to his mouth stamping out your initial relief, “Bet you barely held it together every time I looked at you, asked you bout your folks, my folks, made goddamn fervent love to you, and only you knowing I was bein’ had every fuckin second of it.”

“No!” you wailed, and shook your head frantically, “No, no it wasn’t -I, I was only shy and terrified, it had been so long I didn’t know you any more!” you pleaded with him.

“You once told me you’d lost all your friends when MY women died.” he jabbed a finger at you, “What was that but a goddamn joke? MY women? That was your sister! Your mother! Those were your folks every bit as much as mine, more in fact. And my mother too, who loved you dearly a-a-and you stood there and lied about it! Said I was the one with the greater grief! Hell, you told me anythin I wanted to hear, this whole goddamn time I thought you understood and you did, oh you did but you played it, every step of the way, every hour or the day you played it.”

“No.” you moaned, “No, not, not after-“

“After what?” he demanded fiercely.

“I don’t know when! Helena maybe, or the bath, I don’t know, but I-I, when I stopped being scared, I stopped lying about, about, about the things that mattered!” you stammered.

“Oh?” he mocked, “Tell me, Miss Hodgkins, what things matter to a woman like you?”

“You!” you near screamed at him and that shook him out of his derision. You watched him swallow hard. “You, I have not lied in any of my sentiments in regards to you.” you swore solemnly, “And there has not a single passing moment I did not regret my choice to lie to you.”

He squinted hard at the full, formidable, womanly shape of you and the glare of sunshine behind you, and it was near unbearable to reconcile it all. He wanted to cry and fight and scream at heaven for making it all so warped. That this sweet child of memory should be so cruel and beguiling a lover. He had left you behind him one day a barefoot child and not thought of you since. You were stuck there, grinning and muddy in a daffodil patch, waving him farewell. His mind had buried you there, you couldn’t be the woman who saved him and goaded him and cared for him and stirred his blood.

“I’ve got this memory I’m tryin not to recall but,” he spoke up after a heavy silence, “but it’s got ya in pigtails, tooth missin so your words whistle when ya talk, barely coming up to my hip ya were, and you’re fussin over my scrapes and I-I-I shoulda seen it. Shoulda seen it the minute you couldn’t even manage to hide behind your fear that mornin I first l-I, ya just had to tend to me didn’t ya? God, I shoulda seen it, seen that lil girl in you, but see, no, no. That little girl was supposed to grow up and cause her father a little worry and her mother much pride and she was gonna make a feisty wife for some good man and she was gonna be good! Life was gonna be good to her, she was gonna have it good. She, she, she, she’s not you. She’s not this!” he swooped his hand up and down your rumpled glamor. “Not even life would be so cruel.” his voice broke and he sobbed, “God wouldn’t be so cruel, not to her.”

“Captain,” you hushed him, an impotent hand stretched out to stay his heartache though you dared not take the liberty of touching him, bewildered by the turn this had taken, “you needn’t lose your faith over this, over her. She’s happy now, can’t you see that? She has you, if she has you, then she has it good, life has been good to her at last.”

He took his fingers from his eyes and drug them down his cheeks, stretching his face into a wane pantomime of his exhaustion. “I’m sorry that I did not take more care to search for you when I returned to Memphis,” his voice shook terribly, “that I accepted your death. What’s one more? -I had thought when I heard, seemed like the world was gettin cleansed of all that I’d loved and all my kin. I just, I didn’t think of ya then. ‘Cept that, least you’d been spared growin old in this cruel world.” he laughed, mirthless and sharp, “God! God!” he screamed and thudded his fist against the dresser with each invocation.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, “I’m sorry but I’ve done alright,” you soothed, “I’m alive and I am here. I’m safe here, you’ve given me that!”

“Done alright?” he repeated in disbelief, “You’ve lived a lie and you’ve done murder and been sold and been defrauded and you’re so fucked in the head from it all you think that fallin in with me is a goddamn heaven sent reprieve. Ha! Fuck!”

“You didn't deserve what happened to you either, what you had to do to be here now, but I don’t see your faith crumpling in the face of it.” you struck back, miserably.

He shook his head as if trying to shake out your logic from his ear canals.

“You needn’t have lied! My god, not to me, not to me!” he looked like he was pleading with you now, as if you could go back in time and choose honesty. “I’m your, your, -Elvis.” he whispered, defeated, as he thought of all the times you’d called him Captain, never used his name even when he’d needed to hear it, even from the stranger he thought you were.

“Even if, upon being bought at a auction block, I had been tempted to tell you, to trust your hideous reputation with so demanding a truth I-“ you balled your fists and pounded them against your hips in futile frustration at your inability to impress upon him your rotten form of sincerity, “even then, Captain, I would not have been speaking much of a truth! You can call me by my given name all you wish, you can sentence me to any judgment you see fit with it written in damming ink but the truth remains that I have not answered to it in nigh on a decade! A decade! All this time you have been playing at whatever life you call this circus I have been embodying a corpse! I did not concoct this lie to hurt you, I was nearly a child when I took it on, and all I have learned of life has been in Savannah Beaumont’s skin. Who I am now, who you found in that brothel was no more the child you knew than the next whore.”

“That can’t be,” he whispered like he personally found it insufferable that you should have no recollections as clear as him, “that can’t, you must -you do- remember some of it.”

“A little.” you agreed. “But it is as if it happened to someone else. And I had not thought of it, of you as I remember you, until that afternoon in Helena. I am not myself and I am not miss Beaumont but, I-I,” your lip shook so badly you had to pause, salty tears running onto your tongue, “I I-I , or rather you, gave me the one firm notion of who I am. I am your Rosey.” you said simply, “And even if you no longer keep me, I’ll be yours all my days now you’ve made me into someone at long last. Can’t be undone, once someone’s born you can’t send them back. You cannot! Don’t, please don’t take that from me.”

You stretched your hands out to him, begging him to hear you. Understand. He looked at you through a sheet of black hair that had fallen across his forehead and into his glittering eyes. He was terrified he’d not met a mate but a mirror in you, and he didn’t know how to tell you his own soul was cracked beyond repair. The stupid, glimmering hope that maybe you were still repairable had him gentling his expression and murmuring in tender warning lest you come nearer,

“I need a reason, Cricket, give me a reason for all this, the lies, not to me but the world.” he sniffed hard and pointed towards the chair at the vanity, “Sit down dear, you’re shakin.” he commanded gently.

Obeying took you further away from him but you found it easier to breathe with the distance, and sitting felt a little less like standing before a firing squad. He was still being kind and it gave you hope for this last little test of his limitations. You forced your hands to uncurl and lay limply atop your lap. “They were going to blame Savannah Beaumont’s murder on an innocent freedman.” you summarized simply, relief palpable from sharing the weight of that truth that had been carried alone for all these years. “Not by accident or any proof, but because one of their own had done it, and they did not expect a soul to appear in his defense. They did not expect Savannah Beaumont to show in court and exonerate her supposed murderer.” it was your turn to laugh mirthlessly.

Elvis had taken to breathing out his mouth, his weeping having clogged the other route. His bottom lip shook with every inhale. “Who is ‘they’, honey?”

“Memphis City Council, a judge who was in on it, even the Secretary of State, I was later informed by Mr. Moore.”

“Why, why would you though-“

“I was asked.” you whispered simply, “The whole plantation came to the front steps and begged me to step in her place, for his defense and to keep Belle Mead. It was so outlandish it worked, all the women folk had been reclusive, none recognized her by sight save my father, the overseer. He pointed her out for slaughter in her own foyer. So you see, with the entire plantation swearing as my witnesses, those councilors looked like fools.”

“Bet you felt real clever.” his voice was flat but his eyes showed a memory of the precocious little girl you had been.

“I had a brief moment of elation when they ceded that the coloured man was to go free.” you bit your lip savagely, “Yes, yes it was very clever and I thought maybe heaven had blessed my efforts, to protect them and the place. That was before I learned the price.”

His squint eyed stare lifted and he looked suddenly gentle, worried, fearful, “And what was that?”

“My father, sir.” you stuck your chin out and smiled bitterly, “I killed my father, by my testimony if not by my own hands. You see, I had seen the murder, I saw Savannah be beaten to death by a Carpetbagger working for one of those northern investment firms, he stated his name and his occupation on the front steps as he crowed over taking away the roof and floors and last shred of hope we had. My father was with him, made me go and rouse the young heiress dying of consumption to make her come downstairs and cede the family property in person. Savannah came downstairs, sure enough,” he watched your eyes waver and then unblinking your mind went far away, “she came down and plopped all those due taxes in his hand. He’d been over hasty. My father said she was gonna die anyway, they could wait the two or three months the tuberculous needed to finish the job. No heirs to the place, it would be auctioned. But the man was in a great hurry, so many appointments, so many business ventures. I’ve never seen something so, so sudden, so unprovoked. Before or since. And when I went to stop him, I got a pair of hands around my throat for my trouble, and my father telling me over that demon’s shoulder that I could live if I would just cooperate. You may recall that is one thing I was never very good at.”

His laugh was watery and forced. This was familiar territory now, not that he knew this story, but he and countless others had lived their own version, peppered always with corruption and bribery. He nodded for you to go on, finish this, like the last death stroke to a dying pet.

“The man I meant to accuse, the man who did the deed,” was on this boat, was his friend, “he was nowhere to be found, but they had the freeman in his stead. There had to be a culprit, I had gone into that courtroom in a flurry of shock and applause only to find no one to accuse. Save one. One who had nearly let me die at the hands of a brute, who’d held me back as he turned Savannah’s brains to a melon.” you realized you’d picked your fingernail bloody when it smeared on the white silk in a pinkish stain, you met Elvis’ eyes and found him looking about as hollow as you felt, “So I told them my father had done it, for he had done enough. And you should have see the Judge’s look of relief at having scapegoat.”

“I bet.” he muttered.

“I thought I had not done such an abominable thing as it took two witnesses to hang a man and there was only me.” you began to plead, the weight of unconfessed guilt finally tumbling free. “I thought he’d only be confined!”

“But they offed him in prison, didn’t they?” he murmured in realisation, “Mr. Moore said so, but you knew why. You knew it was so they could cover the tracks of their botched scheme.”

“Yes,” you scrubbed under your nose miserably, “and they covered mine while they were at it. A mercy, that is what they called it back on the Plantation. A kind act of Providence.” you scoffed, “And so it was for all of them. Nearly ten years I lived the lie of a damned woman so they could be free, unbothered, diligent, prosperous even -once we had worked ourselves to the bone for it. And at times,” you stared hard at the floor, all of it out now, nearly all of it out, “at times I fancied God may have forgiven me, understood me, took into account the good I’d done. But, believe me, I never felt sure of it until you, you were forgiveness and reward and understanding all at once. Now I think you, after this, or life without you, that would be the cleverest judgment ever imagined.”

Sunbeams, reflecting off the river's surface, were dancing and cavorting and intertwining along the polished wood of his floors, slicing golden and playful through the rich carpets near his feet. It was the farthest your eyes could make up his figure as he stayed leaning against the dresser like a man cast up from the sea onto a rocky beach. Your eyes retreated to your own feet, pink toes sticking out from under silk. You stuck a toe out to catch a sunny fairy dancer, all it did was cast a shadow. Your lip wobbled in disappointment, then fear as the precious silence was cut by the heavy clunk of his boots closing the distance, a faint tinkling of spurs suggesting he gave some thought to fleeing in the night. As he came close and closer you watched as he trampled the sunny dancers on the carpets and then on the wood and then dark, worn cavalrymen’s boots were beside your pink toes, just short of crushing them, too.

You thought then of the princesses and the queens you’d read of who held their heads high when the executioner's ax sliced quick and cruel. You did so wonder where all your strength had gone. If you swayed forward one tiny bit you’d have your face pressed to the warm planes of his lean belly, you’d be anchored to the earth again. It was as if you spoke it into existence,

manifesting your weakness, suddenly it was a fact, your nose buried in the body warmed cotton of his shirt, the unmistakable poke of wiry hair separated by fabric coming to the fore at the wet ghost of a sob from your mouth. If you had any strength you would have wrapped your arms around his hips and clung. You wondered if his loneliness was so strong he’d take even a wretched sort of company like yours.

Your body nearly convulsed with the strength of the shudder that ripped through you when his warm hand engulfed your jaw, gently but inexorably tilting your face away from his body and up, upwards to his face, to the mirror of his feelings and my god, his face was morphing ceaselessly and his eyes churning in tormented unsurety until he saw yours. Yours was the look of a woman in pain, resigned to losing the man she loves. He would know that look, he had put it on Maddy’s face when he’d gleefully gone off to war and then found she’d had the right idea all along, nothing awaited him but strife and a dreadful weight of loss.

Here was something he could mend, could fix -that was his own intention with you all along, wasn't it? When had he gotten sidetracked and fell in line with you saving him instead? You were sent for him to mend, to forgive too, it seems, -if he could wipe away the bitter taste of seeing himself in you. That weak and sickening feeling of undeservedness in forgiving some part of his own wretchedness if he were to forgive yours. His hand spasmed against your jaw in his inner struggle, tan and elegant fingers digging into creamy plushness. To forgive you would be to forgive himself, to forgive what was necessary. What was necessary. He had never been ashamed of what he had to do, but my god he had not forgiven it. Suddenly that seemed very cruel, very childish, very lonely. He bent down, blue eyes locked on yours, closer and closer, his gripping palm searing your cheek.

He meant to say something, some absolution or assurance, but he could only choke and heave on his breaths as he bent and descended. And then his lips were slotted against yours, vigorous and unmistakably intentional. A kiss, searing and deep, his hands gripping your skull, bending your delicate neck back as he devoured you from above. A kiss of life it felt, this first interaction of your real self with another soul, and to be met with want and unashamed gusto? Your arms grew strong again and you grabbed him to you, elongating your body in your seat to push back into the kiss. Back and forth you two were grappling and kissing and plunging into the other's mouth, a near constant fight of “no, no, no you too! you too must know you are wanted!”

The chair creaked with the force of your passions, his knee pressed to the seat between your legs and you squeezed the muscle between yours, engaging every part of yourself in pouring out your devotion. He was shaking once he pulled away, just far enough to heave in necessary breaths and grip onto the back of your chair for support instead of snapping your shoulders. Your head lolled back, faint without his support. You gazed up at him dazedly, feeling small and nostalgic as he loomed over you. You savored it. Your hand, on its own accord it felt, raised to his face and you touched the gorgeous curve of his cheekbone, trailing down his jaw, his throat and down, down to his collarbones and the heaving width of his chest. You spread your palm out over the tacky skin guarding his heart.

“Is this really you, Cricket?” he took a shaky hand from the chair back and hovered it over your face, the face of a woman, the face of an old friend. He blinked rapidly. Clever and brutal and beautiful you were to him all at once. “Oh, you, you, you -you terrifying, magnificent, irresistible creature.” he thundered, hand descending to your throat and pulling you back in for another kiss.

“You see,” you gasped between his plush lipped assaults, “you see what kind of men I am used to? You see why I though I should fear you?” you had to know he understood, you had to get the whole of it out. He was pouring into you the very strength to land the final blow.

“Yes, yes I do.” he panted into your mouth, nearly crouching over you in your chair as not only his mouth but his body sought yours, “Gimme their names, and if there’s any left I’ll make ‘em scream for ya.”

“One of them is aboard.” you whispered into his ear as he attacked your neck with fervor. He went stock still. His lips pulled away from their suction listlessly. His hand tightened round your neck then dropped. He stood up in confusion.

Bleary eyes blinked down at you as his exhausted mind tore through possibilities and came up with nothing but a sinking feeling of being had.

Again . “What’s this?” he asked in a low and wounded voice, “Some goddamn riddle? Gonna quote some scripture and tell me ‘thou art the man’, hmm? Do you mean me?”

“No, my darling!” you sprang up from the chair and clasped your arms around his middle, pulling him close, “no, no never you!”

“Who then?” he asked wary, stiff in your embrace, watching as you fought with which expression to donn while delivering the truth. “No pandering or fudging now, goddamn you! Who?”

“Your benevolent colonel is the murderer, sir.” you got it out and the relief it gave you was soon replaced by dread as he looked very much as if he knew what you meant but did not agree. “Colonel Parker is the one who ought to have been hung in my father’s stead, but his contacts, your contacts, saved him. Made him vanish from the reach of justice. Ask Mr. Moore, he’ll tell you of it. The strange case of the vanishing man.”

The Captain’s eyes flitted over your face contemplatively, trying to see if he could yet define which expressions of yours were lies, truths and half truths. You had proven shrewd, and he could forgive you for that, but trusting you? That was a bit much to ask, right and good as it felt to have your arms around him. At worst you might be vindictive over the Colonel’s distaste for your presence aboard. More likely, or what he hoped was more likely, your head had been turned by the event, your memories muddy, recollections bending under the horrid strain of it. One tiny reminder and suddenly you thought you had your culprit, one stout foreigner was as likely to earn your accusation as the next.

He knew how it worked, an entire portion of his own life’s memories were very resolutely kept under lock and key, only when the Colonel hinted or Scotty accused did a searing flash of some nauseating recollection flash vibrant and unbearable across his mind and he was quick to shove it down. Many times over the years as he passed through the streets he thought he saw faces of men from hazy memory who were always faceless until they weren’t. The men had been strangers, blameless of the horror with which he recoiled from them on the sidewalk. He had learned the mind keeps back what it needs in order to go on, but it’s a delicate wardenship. He no longer recoiled from innocent pedestrians, and one day you too would grow strong enough not to suspect every foreigner of being the man who haunted your dreams.

Something of this thought process must’ve shown on his face since you began grasping at him frantically again, even as you kept a moderate tone when exclaiming, “You don’t believe me.”

“Honey,” he began, trying to keep his own voice light and pacifying as he patted your cheek, “I-I-I didn’t say that. It’s a lot to process, alright? Just, calm down and yeah, calm down, sit down.”

You let him back you towards the chair and sat yourself down again with childlike compliance. You kept your hands on his hips, loath to be separated after the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. Every gentle touch and kind word of his had you startled, so certain had you been of his inability to forgive. After some amused deliberation on his part, looking from your hands on his trousers to your fretful face, he sat himself in your lap, sideways, as he had last night. The crushing weight of him was welcome, as was the sweet grin he gave you as he wiggled into a comfortable recline. You buried your face in his chest and tried to bite your tongue, allowing him a minute to ponder what you said. You tried to focus on breathing, on his gentleness and the heavy thud of his overworked heart beneath your ear. He rubbed your arms over the rough lace of your sleeves, just holding you and letting himself be held, biting his tongue as well.

“What on earth am I to do with you, child? Hmm?” he murmured into your hair at last.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” you observed again, miserably, forgetting why you cared now you were being stroked and petted.

“I-it’s not like that, honey, really it’s not. Time and pain -they muddle things, darlin. And I’ve known that man for the better part of a decade and now -here you come wantin me to believe somethin entirely uncharacteristic of him. This fella you’re after, why he weren’t with you for more than a few minutes! And I’ve had an entire decade with the colonel. So no, no, it ain’t a matter of believin it’s a matter of actin on it. And I can’t just act on it yet. I can’t.”

“I’m not after anyone!” you insisted, “And I don’t except you to trust me implicitly after all i've done-“

“-well that’s real sensible of you.”

“-don’t joke! Please don’t!” you begged, “I’m not after anyone, he is after me! He sat in that carriage last night and threatened my life and Cal’s!”

“What’s that now?” he pulled away so he could look down at your face and study you closely. You figured he thought he had mastered some trick to tell if you were lying or not. You were not, you had run out of lies, for good.

“He knows me, he admitted as much! And threatened Cal if I were to expose him to you!” you watched the Captain as he bit his lip and studied you, a thousand different puzzle pieces swirling in those stormy eyes, “Elvis I wouldn’t be so impertinent, so insistent that you believe me after what I’ve done if it weren’t so dire.”

“This is why you told me to watch the boy.”

“Yes! You have, haven’t you?”

“Calm down honey, yeah, checked him last night and then charged Jerry with the same. He’s fine. Now, you say the Colonel said he knew ya?” he pressed the point.

“Yes.”

“Well, darling don’t ya think,” he worried his bottom lip between his fingers and gave another moment to formulate his theory, “ain’t it likely he meant he knew who you were, that you were responsible for killin the dug up Yankee buried in your arbor? -speakin of, that case will rain down a heap of investigations on my head.” he added in a disgruntled mumble.

“No I- I don’t think he meant that.” you sighed, stroking his thigh absently, “it was all very metaphorical and shrouded but the threat was real! He knows me.”

“We don’t know what he knows!” Elvis grunted, “No, no you can’t hand me riddles an’ shit and say that you’ve been found out. You existin on this damn boat is enough reason to piss the colonel off, makin’ you a purser was sure to send him into a rage. I was hoping to give a few weeks to cool him off but then, sweet baby Jesus, you just had to have a Yankee buried in a shallow grave behind the house! Look honey, I’m real sorry he was an ass to ya but you aren’t the first, and I’d think a lil knife wielder like yourself wouldn’t be so shook by it.” he tried to tickle your neck but you reared back, you fear stoked by his maddening nonchalance.

“He threatened Cal!”

“Tell me what he said, word for word.” he asked, patient but in the manner of a professor about to explain that it isn’t the math that is wrong, but your own calculations.

You focused on his hand swooping up your arm in its comforting pace, the grounding weight of his body in your lap, the musky smell of him after a night of revelry and no soap. “He said he knew about your little causes,” you began, “and that Cal was a bright boy and that he suspected that if anything were to happen to him I’d be crushed. He then suggested that were the boy to witness some untoward behavior of the Colonel’s he counted on me to tell Cal that he did not see what he thought he saw.”

“The hell does that mean?” his eyebrow quirked in frustrated bewilderment,

“It was a threat! To put me off confessing to you.”

“You got all that outta…all that.” he waved his hand around.

“Do you not?” you cried.

“I dunno what the hell to make of it!” he declared, “After all, you two are the only ones aboard the damn boat carryin on in metaphors. You don’t see me an’ Jerry talkin in goddamn parables whenever it’s time to drop the anchor chain. A-a-and it ain’t no reason to start dreamin up threats and makin up fuckin history that you don’t share with him!”

“I didn’t make it up! You don’t have to believe me then.” you huffed resignedly, “But for god’s sake spare an eye out for Cal.”

He could see you were in a state about it, and that alone assured him you were not creating a narrative against his partner for mere vengeance sake. Your muddled little mind truly believed your own tale and he knew the Colonel well enough to fully accept that the fellow had probably tried his damndest to scare you off. This had been a long-standing habit, the Colonel running off women who got a little too comfy, domestic, protective of Elvis and he’d been successful up until now.

There were the occasional cases when Elvis himself had finally ground down their patience to nothing, and then they had gone. And that was that. Loyalty to your stalwart, though deceptive, attachment to him made Elvis more inclined to give some credence to your fears, if not your narrative. But it wouldn’t do to be hasty in a judgment of the situation, not with a cotton filled head like his own this morning.

“I’ll look into it, I will.” his tone suggested that this was the end of the discussion, his gentlemanly soothing only serving to drive you near batty with his seeming insouciance, “Now, how bout breakfast?” his grin was bright and you wanted to scream in frustration over it, “I can’t overemphasis how badly I need a half a dozen eggs and some sausages to mop up all that tonic and the maudlin display we just engaged in. Gonna take some grease to counterbalance that shit. Whadda ya say, hmm?”

“I’m not really hungry.” you admitted, watching him in a heartsick daze as he clapped his hands and rose from your lap, the topic of your greatest secret and terror shelved in favor of breakfast.

“Well, that’s cause you’re laced up within an inch o’yer spin. Get up dear, let’s give ya your stomach back.” he wagged his finger in command for you to give him access to your back lacings. “Y-you don’t mind me doing this after…ya know -after last night?” he added very softly when you turned your troubled face towards the window to give him access.

You flung your hand behind your back and grabbed one his own, bringing it over your shoulder to kiss his knuckles.

-I spent most of the night weeping over the fact I could have been a mother at this moment if I’d just allowed you- seemed too heavy a confession after all he had sustained this morning, so you held your peace and kissed his knuckles, savoring his heavy exhale that ghosted against your neck. As he worked on your fastenings you thought of that first night aboard, how tall and strong and virulent he had seemed. The way you’d braced and waited for ravaging, the way he had hummed a hymn instead.

“That first night,” you whispered, cool air hitting your back as more and more of the fancy dress began to slip off your shoulders with each of his tugs, “I thought you were going to take me, every day after I’ve been wondering when you would. And I went from dreading to wanting it. Because I’ve realized I was wrong, you’re no stranger, you’re still you.” the dress fell to your ankles and you yanked open the fastenings of your corset, taking the first full breath since last evening. You used it to tell the him, “I still love you. After all this time, I learned that I still love you, how could I not?”

Not a peep of sound came from behind you at this admission. Strangely this felt like the greatest confession of all, acknowledging you loved him. Peace came with having said it. You shucked your bloomers with more haste than decorum, leaving you in just your shift and turned to face him.

The bow of his lip was trembling in an effort to keep his mouth firm, blotchy red splashed across his face and that old pinched look around his sapphire eyes that betrayed an effort not to let the gathering tears spill. He hadn’t expected love. Not for the way he was now. A sentimental fondness and a perverse interest perhaps. Not love. Captain Presley was as little like the Elvis of your memory as Cricket was akin to Rosey. He had not expected to be loved for it.

“Child-“ he warned in a rough voice, stepping backwards.

“Elvis,” you stepped out of the pool of fabrics and followed him, hands outstretched and latching into his forearms, “I love you, I do, please, please look at me!”

Looking at you was to look at a woman, ripe curves faintly veiled through finely woven linen, cherry dark nipples always peaked when close to him, that mouth he’d taught and that throat he’d used and that face that belonged to a dead girl. He shook his head and turned his face away.

“Elvis, call me Rosey.” you demanded, fingernails biting into the meat his arm and he shuddered from it, “Please, I’m not a child, please don’t muddle this up, it’s me! Me!” you took his hand and tried to pry the stubborn fist open, to bring his hand to your breast in that old familiar way, “Please touch me.” you settled for that, voice trailing off in a whine.

You sounded like a child, desperate and petulant. If he’d just touch you would know you were forgiven. You needed him to touch you. In that way. That particular way that only he had. “You can’t teach me a language then tell me not to speak it!” you accused.

“D-don’t! I know but I-, please don’t-“ his voice sounded so near a whimper when he finally spoke you let go of his arm from pure, maternal instinct that somehow you were hurting him, “I will, if you ask me I w-w-will d-do anythin ya ask, I’ll t-t-touch, so please don’t. Please d-d-don’t ask me that. N-n-not now. N-not yet. Please, darlin. I-I-I just…” he scrubbed his face viciously, “I just want some goddamn breakfast.” he cried out into his hands.

“Of course!” you repented your selfishness ardently, backing away from the bed you’d chased him to in your wantonness. “Breakfast yes, yes, you need food. Rest, too.”

You couldn’t bear to stay staring at his shaking form and those elegant hands as they covered his face, you turned and hauled out the first sensible frock in the wardrobe and a day corset with it, intending to dress and leave him in peace. He had borne enough. And he knew you loved him. It was enough for now, it had to be.

You heard him crossing the room, away from you towards the door and your head swiveled to watch, fretful that he was leaving without another word. He opened the door with lethargic clumsiness and poked his head out again, “Bill, what’re you doin out here?” his tone was full of surprise at finding his friend in the hall, “Be a good fella an’ fetch Rosetta for me!”

“EP, you gotta listen to me, Mr. Schilling sent me to fetch you!” you heard Bill Black explain from the hall, “Says a couple of government officials are aboard and the Colonel's been giving orders to unload half the staff from the boat! Bastard just told me I won’t be needed for the coming trip, something bout not needing a House where we’re going? The hell does that mean? It’s pandemonium up there, boss.”

“You been drinkin, Bill?”

“Wha-? No man, really, all hell is breaking loose up there without ya, been trying to find you for the last hour. Thought you weren’t in here last night.”

“Who gives a damn where I was, none of y’all’s business.” Elvis snapped, “Well go on now, ya found me and delivered your message, go on and tell Rosetta to come down and dress my girl. And if Crudup doesn't have breakfast ready in fifteen minutes I will rethink his position aboard. Go!”

He shut the door with a pointed briskness and thunked his forehead against the wooden panel. He was going to need more tonic in order to endure whatever fresh hell today had in store. His stamina couldn’t take it at this rate. First few hours of the day had shown him that he’d spent that past month violating a childhood friend, how could it possibly get worse? He had a sinking feeling it could.

“You don’t need to bother Rosetta or yourself, I can dress on my own -go eat.” you whispered, already in the process of yanking up your own laces behind your back.

“No you ca-“ he turned round and his expression morphed comically from sullenness to an impressed admiration at the way you managed it solo with practiced deftness.

“I’ve been dressing myself all my life till I came aboard.” you admitted, and you saw his face fall and he rolled his eyes.

“Course ya have.” he muttered before starting to shuck his own party clothes hastily, hopping on one leg and strewing the materials about as he searched for fresh linens, “I want her down here all the same. Want her to keep an eye on you, and I want you to cooperate. You hear me?” he barked, wheeling round on your as he shimmied on fresh trousers -you couldn’t help but notice that he was finally flaccid, “If you’re sorry and if you really give a single shit about me, you’ll behave and you won’t do nothin rash, yes?”

“Yes.” you swore vigorously.

“Swear it!” he insisted, tucking in his shirt tails.

“I swear.”

“J-j-just try to stay outta trouble and d-d-don’t get killed on me, alright?” he begged, as he shrugged on a rather demurely embroidered waistcoat -silver fleur de lis on cobalt this time-, “If what you say is true, then I can’t do a damn thing about it right now, do you understand that? I can’t do nothin, my hands are tied and if I try anything hasty then we lose everything, got it? So if you wanna help, you’ll let me do it my way, test him as I tested you, and you will keep playing your part. Didn’t hurt you to do it all this time, what’s a little more, hmm?”

That stung but it was warranted. Bereft of his touch or the warmth of his spend in your mouth or the explicit admittance of his love, you were left to find contentment in his compliment of your impressive deceit. It would have to do. It was far better than you expected or deserved.

“I understand.” you murmured.

“Good.” he muttered, fully dressed now and with a hand pressed to his stomach as he tried to regulate his breathing. He picked up your dropped pistol from the sideboard and walked over to you, that same stalking gait he had when he came and kissed you earlier, but now he kept a respectable distance. “And keep this on ya,” he said, “just know, if you shoot my friend, ill not only be mad as hell but I’ll be in so much goddamn trouble with the law I might as well turn myself into the police right now, you understand?”

“Is he really so powerful?” you took it with a solemn nod, “Everyone nearly ignored him last night!”

“Liking and being beholden to are two different things, honey.”

“And to which camp do you belong?” you asked with a sad smile. He gave you one back.

“Both, I reckon, never was stupid enough to test it.”

“So he threatens you?” cold and bitter validation settled in your gut.

“He don’t have to.” he raised an eyebrow at you, “I-I-I wouldn’t speak of this to anyone else, but since you’re on the damn warpath and since you already know so much, I-I-I think you know…” his voice trailed off and his eyes flitted away from your face to, “Darlin, you gotta understand, men who’ve been where I’ve been, we don’t pull ourselves up and manage all this alone. Without him I wouldn’t have a cent to my name or the ability to hold my head up in the street. I don’t know how to disentangle that obligation, never wanted to before, not really. And I don’t know how to now, not now that I’ve got all these people who depend on me keepin on the course I’ve set. There ain’t no court of appeal! I’m sending Scotty down to Memphis to free daddy but I’m sending him with a fuckin chest of gold instead of legal arguments cause that’s the only language those damn judges speak. And that gold won’t come without what the Colonel does. And he could skip one month of payin them and arrangin contacts with them and off I go to prison -it’s simple as that, darlin. He don’t need to threaten me, he ain’t my enemy. We’re both two outsiders trying to squeeze the better folk.”

His mouth turned up in a winsome little smile, trying to prompt you to understand, but those soulful eyes were glazed and hopeless. You understood, you truly did, and it made you angrier than you’d ever been. “I’ll hold my peace.” you murmured.

He took a great breath in his relief at your submission and rubbed his eyes, “We’re gonna need him for Daddy and for the case of your Yankee buried in the arbor, we’re gonna need him real obligin and generous, you understand?”

“I’ll behave.” you insisted.

“I-I-I know it’s hard to let go, honey,” he conceded softly, as he stepped away, “but we all done things we regret, even the colonel. Maybe him more than most, but he’s done a lotta good.”

“He gambles the money you give him to do good things with.” you laughed scornfully, “And as for his job you think he does so well -Scotty says he’s keeping your father imprisoned.”

“Sweet Jesus, of course he does, he’s always had a chip on his shoulder over him.” Elvis groaned, “I’ll thank ya to behave yourself as promised, to mind your own business and to refrain from listening to Mr. Moore, ya hear me?”

If the Captain were not so exhausted and hoarse you were certain he would be shouting at you by now, his hands shook by his sides all the same.

A knock on the door saved you from a full outpouring of his wrath or the rash decision to press your point.

“What?” Elvis yelled at the harmless intruder through the door.

“There’s a Mr Binder coming up the gangplank, sir, Mr Schilling told me to send for ya!”

You and Elvis stared at each other with wide eyed horror for a good few seconds upon hearing this, both curious if the other fully remembered all the events of last evening.

“I could speak with him in your stead!” you gasped out, heartsore for him, “You need breakfast.” you added as if meals were not commonly skipped by adults weighted with responsibilities such as his.

“Sweet Rosey.” he murmured and your expression perked up hopefully at the affectionate moniker. He let out a ghost of a laugh at how easily pleased you were, “Nah, nah I’ll handle him, then I’ll eat breakfast. Ya never know, the delightful Mr Binder might have my girl’s pardon with him.” he pointed out cheerfully, though his expression suggested he doubted that to be the case.

You gave him a watery grin in return, feeling a fool for continually underestimating how easily he could multitask, how effortlessly he wore his own mask, provoking you with his unperturbed geniality when he was plotting his own rebellion all the while. It had been so long since you’d had a comrade in scheming, forever trusting only your own company on the plantation, that meekness and trust when the stakes were so dire was hard to manage. But you could see now that while he did not include you into his thoughts, Elvis was not so benign as he appeared.

“Godspeed then.” you commended him, chipper tone hiding the fear of knowing full well that Mr Bidner might be just as likely arriving with an arrest warrant.

Hands on your hips, dressed in sensible cotton with that familiarly brave grin on your face -he thought he must’ve known who you were all this time, just couldn’t stomach it until a month’s worth of gentle touches and cheerful care had somehow worn him down to this magnanimous fool who was about to risk his life to get you that pardon.

#elvis fanfiction #mine #a whole man is hard to find #austin butler elvis #elvis x you #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis presley

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 11 months

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succession finale thoughts!

romangerri:

i don’t know if any tv show has ever given me as much of a stomachache as this episode, oooooooooof!!! the STRESS. (but honestly, the stomachache was 100% just suspense over whether gerri and roman would ever interact again. everything else, i was very zen about.)

gerri in the video radiantly reciting a dirty limerick like a roman daydream come true and roman watching her fondly!!!!! ugh!!!!! that was so schmoopy, especially for this show!!! he still loves her (not that that’s news)!!!!! and him panicking and losing it at the very sight of her and really feeling the crushing weight of his potential that she so believed in because she could have got him there!!!!!!!!!!! she also gave him a couple little not-hateful looks that might have even been sort of nice or concerned or at least ... okay, and i will cling to those for the rest of my life. but i’m so, so sad we never got to see them talk to each other again. OOF.

i have the most hope for roman just because he wound up self-aware enough to see the reality of the situation. jesse armstrong might think you’ll be a sad guy in a bar forever, but to me, there is nowhere for you to go but up, bb. and into the arms of your woman.

i hate the idea of gerri sticking with the company with tom as the ceo just because her disdain for tom was so strong; putting up with logan was one thing, putting up with roman was another even, but TOM????? tom, getting his melancholy everywhere?? however, i think it’s probably too idealistic of me to suggest that she’d turn it down for that reason. but also, maybe she would? isn’t she tired of idiot men yet??? doesn’t she want to go to the g.d. south of france already???? like, the contrast of the old camaraderie in the video of the party with logan with, like, the stupid dudebro tech culture of mattson ... ugh, i just don’t want gerri to be up in that mess! i want her to reject tom! and stand in solidarity with karl & frank! GIRL, IT’S TIME TO RETIRE!!!!!!! in any case: gerri being un-fireable remains hilarious.

gerri not really having any lines in the actual events of the ep = thumbs down forever. NOPE!

however.

roman martini-pining for gerri as his very last act onscreen.

dear GOD.

AAAAAAAH.

though i’m sure the intention of canon is for their relationship to be over forever, it was so wobbly in its over-ness that i’m pretty pleased. i do think it’s in a place where it can be very patched up in fanfic in a way that’s still canon-compliant. hell, she might roll up to that very bar and order another martini and keep him company and be like, “uh, babe, why is that cut on your forehead burst open???”! anything goes! forever! whoohoo, ao3!

i’m so relieved this is over!!!!!!!!!!

THEIR SCENE AT THE FUNERAL WAS INDEED THEIR LAST EVER SCENE AND IT GOT CUT, CLEARLY FOR MAXIMUM PAIN AND ESTRANGEMENT REASONS, AND I’M JUST GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THAT FOREVERMORE. jesus. will some rebellious intern just edit it back into the episode for me?

in my head they will make up tho. 💗 let the era of fix-it fics begin!

other stuff:

the sibling moments!!!!!! the rollercoaster!!!!! it’s funny how when they were getting along, i believed as much as they did that they HAD IT! and then watching them fall back into the old patterns ... it was that thing this show does best, condensed into one episode of agony. amazing acting, amazing chemistry!

ken starting to get physically abusive toward roman with the crushing hug and then smooshing his face!!!!! when before he stuck up for roman against their father’s abuse. jesus christ. :(

the contrast between the scene in the kitchen and the scene in the conference room ............... OOF!

tom and greg having their little bitchy slap fight in the bathroom, lol. tom putting his little sticker on greg’s forehead, lol.

tom really did marry up! jeez.

conwilla: the not-long-distance era, because democracy shall prevail

even beyond the flawless beauty of limerick gerri (obviously the highlight forever <3), that whole video and the kids watching it?? the emotions!!!!!!

KENDALL IS THE OLDEST BOY!!!!!!!

this episode made me feel So Bad.

roman and gerri need a spinoff where they are just cute and silly. someone please get this happening for me.

#dollsome's deep thoughts #succession spoilers #succession #roman x gerri #romangerri #and bits of everything else!

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sailoryooons · 1 year

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F*ck Christmas | Teaser | myg

❆ Paring: Yoongi x f. reader

❆ Summary: Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog.

❆ Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers

❆ A part of A Hyung Holiday Collaboration

❆ Warnings: Light depiction of inner turmoil, not liking Christmas in this teaser

❆ Collab Masterlist

❆ faq | my masterlist

❆ Authors Note: I cannot wait to share the holdiays with my favorite hyung line @nabiolive @here2bbtstrash and @gimmethatagustd! Keep your eyes out for our absolutely ridiculous holiday madness hehe

COMING EARLY DECEMBER

Yoongi’s breath turns to fog as he laughs. You watch the way his eyes crinkle, shining with mirth under the gray light of the moon. He glows under the night sky – cheeks frozen-blush, lips chapped a little from the winter wind, nose cherry read. Droplets of dew cling to his long hair, a crown of diamonds on a prince spun from moonbeams.

At least, that’s what it feels like as you watch his laughter settle. Yoongi smiles up at the sky and that tight feeling constricts in your chest again. This version of him is so much softer than the teenager you remember. Warm at the edges, melted with a lifetime of experiences that have thawed that hard exterior.

Something like envy slithers through you. Envy that Yoongi has long healed from his hurts. That he seems to have settled in who he is now, in happiness and knowing his path. He doesn’t have everything but he has enough, and as he turns to look at you, dark eyes sparkling, you can’t help but avert your gaze.

You don’t want him to see the inside of you. You don’t want him to see that you aren’t there - that you’re not healed and the thing inside you is ugly.

“It’s more about Christmas as a concept,” Yoongi sighs, looking back up at the sky. Marshmallow clouds drift across a midnight canvas. You can only make out the brightest of stars here, the light pollution dimming the effect. “I’m not religious either, but the effect that the holidays can have on people is touching. Heartwarming. People love others a little extra.”

“Yeah, well they should do that year-round.”

“Small steps, small steps. Maybe it’s an open conversation at a dinner, or maybe it’s someone seeing family they haven't seen in a while. There are so many opportunities for love and warmth and chances to open your heart.”

“You sound like a Hallmark commercial.”

“Make fun of me all you want,” he chuckles. “I know it sounds idealistic and a little bit naïve. But I’ve experienced too much sadness to keep thinking that’s all there is, and I’ve seen people’s lives change around the holidays. It’s special.”

You hum. “Why wait until the end of the year for all of that so-called happiness, then?”

“Life is hard - like really fucking hard. Sometimes when the end of the year is staring you right in the face, or when you're realizing it may be your last Christmas with an aging loved one is the push people need to take that first step to being happy.”

“You’re celebrating procrastination.”

Yoongi sighs. He rolls over on his side and props his head up with his hand. You feel a flush of warmth curl through you under the weight of his full attention. Suddenly the cold hard ground you’ve opted to lay on doesn’t feel so bad.

“I’m celebrating people being moved to do something.” His tone is gentle. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He seems thoughtful, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I’m celebrating that sometimes the holidays are the worst time for people. But maybe something small will happen to make them feel even a moment of happiness. Just one small second of relief from the fucking madness.”

You think about everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. A tightness constricts your throat and you try to swallow past it. It takes you a few moments, but you imagine what it would be like to have just a fucking second to catch your breath. To have a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

“I just…” Yoongi’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I want people to be happy. And it feels like maybe this time of year has more potential than most. So that’s what I celebrate. Not the gift and the capitalism and the hypocrisy of it all. But the little seconds in between.”

A long, slow breath of air leaves you. You watch it steam and curl toward the sky before fading. “Well, Yoongi. I wish I was nearly as optimistic.”

“Maybe you can be.” You glance at him and see him smiling. “Just give me a chance to persuade you, yeah?”

#yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #suga smut #suga fanfic #bts smut #minors dni #a hyung holiday collab #yoongi fluff #suga fluf

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blackdragoness · 1 year

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👔 WHAT DO YOUR COWORKERS THINK ABOUT YOU? 👔

Wonder what your coworkers think of you? This is the PICK-A-PILE for you! Lesssssssss'go.

Pile 1 -

Pile 2 -

Pile 3 -

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Pile 1 - The Keystone 🔐

Overall Tarot Card: The Hanged Man

The Right Hand Man, or should I say, The Right Hanged Man 😉🤫😂

-reliable

-dependable

-employee of the year vibes

-overachiever

-popular

-great multi-tasker

-adaptable

You are the coworker that everyone can count on to cover their shifts in case an emergency occurs for them. You may juggle lots of things and have a lot going on in life but you do it with ease and elegance. Your coworkers see you in a really good light but it's a little unrealistic. Very idealistic view of who you are. It's giving me Super Woman vibes. Your coworkers see you as someone who does very well under pressure. Someone who can handle a large work load all on your own with or without the help of others. Some may think you have the perfect life with absolutely no problems because everything seems to be so effortless and easy for you. Your coworkers see you as very flexible and adaptable. You barely ask for help but are always willing to help when asked. Your coworkers may have a tendency to take advantage of this willing spirit and flexibility of yours but you are like an endless well of love that never stops giving. A lot of your coworkers see you as a relief from the stresses of the workload. If they are working with you that day, they know it's going to be an easier shift to get through. When you are not around, the shift drags on for what seems like forever. Your coworkers really enjoy your presence and for a second you make them forget about their worries. Some of your coworkers are a little jealous at your flexible and free life style but worry not, my dear. Their opinion ain't got shit to do with you lmao. Your presence makes the entire work environment more enjoyable. You sacrifice a lot for your job, for your company and for your position. A lot of your coworkers feel you take your job a little too seriously but they are also the same coworkers who crave the respect that you have because of your serious nature. You are able to solve any problem in the job field under any pressure. No pressure is too heavy for you, at least that's what it looks like on the outside. You have the potential to climb very high in any company that you are apart of.

Channelled Song: That's My Girl by Fifth Harmony

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Pile 2 - Incognito 🥸

The Overall Tarot Card: Rev. Tower

The Mysterious One 😏

☮️😂

-mediator

-level headed

-calm

-serene

-stable

-very quiet and reserved

-observant

-hot tempered at times

You could be working in an environment where you constantly have to prove yourself. Maybe the company you work for is lucrative or the field is competitive. But I'm seeing a lot of effort going towards proving your self worth. This could have led to arguments or disagreements other coworkers had with you and vice versa. However, they have seen you transform and tame yourself in a very short amount of time. You have become very mysterious and your coworkers are so eager to know what goes on in your life. You seem more stable and more financially secure. Your coworkers can be investigating you on the low. Searching your name in all social media and Google search boxes trying to find anything about you. They may mention your name in conversations with people outside of the job environment. You are very mysterious and hidden. Your coworkers don't really know what to think about you, to be honest. You may be misjudged and misunderstood by your coworkers quite often. But overtime as your true colors are revealed, they start to understand why you stopped fucking with dey fake asses. Cuz, hello? Who did they think they were playing with? Fucking Big Bird? be fucking for real right now😑. Anywho, your coworkers also feel like you have strong boundaries. You like to keep your home life at home. At work, you keep everything strictly business. People respect and admire that about you and wish they could have that characteristic within themselves. You are viewed as setting a standard. As much as people want to respect your privacy, they cannot help but feel the urge to know more about you. The gist of this all, is that your coworkers highly admire you but may overstep their bounds with you if you don't remain true to your boundaries.

Your coworkers are highly entranced and entertained by you. You may be an individual who transforms and changes many times in the shortest amount of time. There's always something brand new with you. Most of your coworkers live a very mundane lifestyle so a lot of them love to live vicariously through you. You are a dream. A fairytale. A fantasy. Can't really get a good grasp over who you are. You're so real it seems unreal.

Channelled Song: Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre

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Pile 3 - The Class Clown 🤡

You are the Comedic Relief 🤣🤡

-funny AF. Like I'm just barely channelling this energy and y'all already got a bitch cracking tf up! I'm so dead and I don't even know why, dafuqqqq? 🤣🤣🤣

-light hearted energy

-your life's battle scars shine brightly through you

-hope and life

You are the coworker that has probably gained a reputation of being a little bit lazy but a really good time 🤣🤣🤣 I'm hearing, "this guy does the bare minimum but boy is he hilarious!". Your personality definitely makes up for your lack of work ethic, and I hope you don't take that personally 🤣🤣 However, you are so relatable and personable. You can get along with anybody ranging from the newbies to the higher-ups. You are a shape shifter as its finest. It is your witty sense of humor that brings all walks of life, together. People don't care about your work ethic after a while because your presence alone elevates them as an individual. They love having you around. In fact, your coworkers would pick up any type of slack just to have you at work. Your coworkers want to serve you and help you succeed at this job. Your sense of humor really heals a lot of your coworkers, I don't think you fully realize it. You help people take a step away from their emotions and laugh at the situation instead of mopping over it. Your sense of humor helps the higher ups zoom out a little and release a bit of control when necessary. Your sense of humor pushes the newbies to laugh at their outrageous mistakes to push them to be a better worker moving forward. You make the work force a place that makes your coworkers happy to be at. Before you arrived, your coworkers felt like they were sleepwalking through time. When you popped up, you added color, a pep to everyone's step and you woke everybody up through laughter.

Dammmnnnn, y'all are mf GEMS! Y'all might be very attractive but super humble. Your coworkers see you as someone who isn't power hungry. They view you as being someone who is content with the position they currently hold and don't care to be a leader lol with less responsibility, means more time to tell jokes 😂 people may not take you seriously....like ever but it's fine because 99.99% of the time you're not being serious 🤣 I love this vibe. I love this energy! Stay blessed 😘

Channelled Song: Shining Star by The Manhattans

#Spotify #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #tarot community #intuitive readings #astro community #art #astro notes #astrology #zodiac #spirituality #spirtualawakening #channelled message

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dungeonmalcontent · 1 month

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Man, any time a creative person shows me their project and they're like "What do you think? Where could I improve?" I really need to go "I like it. Maybe not how I would have done it but it works well. I'm excited to see where this goes."

But no, the stupid idealist person in my head keeps going "Don't sugar coat this. Offer the advice you'd like to hear. Better yet, offer to help if they're up for it." And then I do. And then they accept my offer. And then I sit down to see what I can do, because I'm gonna stick to my word darn it, and I either get so invested in working on it that I lose track of time and it's hours later than I thought it was or I'm so hopelessly out of my depth I have to apologize for even thinking I was up to the task (except for that one time the solution was literally just to delete an element from the page for print accessibility; that was an easy one where I knew exactly what I was doing and it was easy to do).

Anyway I'm struggling to remember my training in page layout. It's been years since I've had to do anything really innovative with page layout, but I'm working on a TTRPG character sheet redesign (and it isn't for 5e, not even d&d) and I'm both very into it and also struggling to keep up with myself. Mostly because I really like flowery line art but can't do it and get really self conscious when I make something really blocky but functional. But the layout is what's important. And for the life of me I can't remember which was the dominant model of page scanning for persons between the age of ~15 and ~30. Because there's a way that people look across a page and it changes depending on how old you are (or really, what generation you're from). And I'm too stubborn to do a web search right now.

You can see why I'm making this post, right? I'm losing my mind a little? Getting sucked into the project maybe? I'm about 10 steps from ranting to my reflection in the bathroom mirror about ideal proportions for vector graphic text frames, and those 10 steps are the literal steps between my bed (where I'm writing this) and the bathroom vanity.

#small rant #writing #game design #TTRPG

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chrysopoeias · 9 months

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Hi :) Just wanted to say I love all your analysis regarding Roy and Riza :) I'm also a big fan of this otp and sometimes I wonder when they fell in love and who was first? Was it Riza, who seems to have first loved the idealistic dream of a naive young man to the point that she also recognised it as her own? Or was it Roy, who, at the lowest point in his life, found someone who still believed in him? I'm really curious about your opinion.

Hello! :) Thank you very much. Sometimes I feel a little insane with thoughts running through my head, so it's nice to write them down and that others read them too. I really appreciate it and read every response.

But on the topic, I think it would have been Riza. She talks in one of the untranslated spinoff games that she tried to impress Roy once by cooking something elaborate for his birthday. It tasted terrible and it gave him an upset stomach. But he ate it without complaining and still praised her for her efforts. She was so moved by his kindness she vowed to get better at cooking to impress him better and she did! She is a good cook now. (I'd have married her on the spot wtf).

I can imagine her kinda disliking and distrusting him at first. Here is this stranger who suddenly moves into her house and steals her dad. But he keeps being annoyingly nice to her, and actually cares about her and tries to connect with her. How could she not fall in love kek. But at that time their age gap may make it a bit awkward so Roy should do the proper thing and littlesisterzone her.

I can see Mustang being the first to fall in love after Ishval when they are working together. I think after the war Hawkeye could (or should tbh) hate him a little, yet at the same time she pinned all her hope and her will to live on him. Very conflicted feelings. For both of them. Mustang also hates himself, he is her boss now and feels responsible for her choices. He wants to be someone she does not regret trusting. So I guess he falls harder and faster then 🤔 But he'll probably have to keep it to himself until Hawkeye falls in love again or make some move. I don't think he would want to take advantage and he's still her boss... eh I don't know. Fanfic writers probably have better thought out scenarios. And in the end their mess is mutual.

I still also kinda want them to get together between flame alchemy study sessions, but then it would have not been about love. Sure they care for their former childhood friend/housemate, but they also have not spoken for a couple of years. Maybe it's more for Riza about doing everything her dad would have hated while Roy gets laid with his cute childhood friend so he ain't complaining. I'm sure Roy being a hopeless romantic will try and make it good, but yeah, there is not much or deep love involved. They never intended to see each other again after anyway.

Sorry it got long :")

#ask #when my hand and workstress allow it I will draw them again...

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galaxicide · 7 months

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𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 .

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Bold always applies. Italics applies sometimes.

ARIES: tries to do everything at once, doesn’t know when to stop and take care of themselves, bends over backwards for everyone even if someone did them dirty, has entirely too much on their plate.

TAURUS: idealistic, spends a lot of time trying to impress others, doesn’t like to apologize, eating is a coping mechanism or just addictive personalities in general, a tad co-dependent.

GEMINI: the most flip floppy people ever, what’s today’s mood?, never apologizes, in denial 90% of the time, their way is the highway, desperately needs a break, they have a hard time setting goals because their goals scare them.

CANCER: the literal meaning of i’ll give you the shirt off my back, isolates themselves in fear of someone hurting them, wants to change but is scared of change, complains a lot but never takes advice people give them.

LEO: no one takes them seriously because they feel they always have to portray themselves as the fun one, is actually really sad inside, honestly needs a hug, exhausted always.

VIRGO: can dish it but can’t take it, rushes everything, anxious, plans their future but forgets to live in the moment, sometimes ignores their friends because they have so much on their mind, talks about themselves a lot and sometimes forgets to ask the other person how they are.

LIBRA: solves everyone’s problems but their own, is actually really sad and lonely, gets easily heartbroken but tries not to show it, will do anything to justify bad decisions , honestly just wants everyone to love them but doesn’t really love themselves.

SCORPIO: easily set off, will give anyone the cold shoulder at any given time even without reason, keeps a lot in, so observant that they oftentimes find out things that hurt them, too many “what ifs” swirling in their heads, has trouble showing their true self.

SAGITTARIUS: impatient, brash, commitment issues, body issues, doesn’t realize they don’t need to change for anyone, has a lot of different goals to a point where they get overwhelmed, just wants to disappear and do what they want without anyone questioning them.

CAPRICORN: scared people won’t like them unless they’re at the top of their game 24/7, takes a lot for them to talk about their feelings, secretly struggling, fake happy, needs a plan but doesn’t know what that plan is, confident but insecure at the same time, wants to be stable but sometimes wishes they could drop everyone’s expectations of them and live normally.

AQUARIUS: gets heartbroken like 30 times a week, trust issues, can be unmotivated and disinterested, feels they have to adapt to every person they meet so they can be liked, doesn’t know how to tap into their emotions despite being very intuitive, confused, expects little.

PISCES: empathetic often to a point of no return, plays the victim, doesn’t know when to say no, cynical, hermit, is very impatient, trusts everyone too much, can be secretly very critical and judgmental, can only tolerate maybe ten minutes of social interaction, needs a lot of validation.

tagged: non. i nicked it from lucas poocas xoxo tagging: @desireandduty @walkpathe @folksonged @affcgato @alootus @inevitablehe @s1thcall

#omg no pls don't be a libra #i'm a libra ffs #i still can't decide which sign ben is #and this didn't help lmao #ooc: sad man muse number three.#ii. HEADCANON. 🌓#i. ABOUT. 🌓

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twinkle-art · 1 year

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i know this isn't the website where you posted it but your wol andromeda seems really cool. you mind saying a bit more about her

i would be THRILLED to tell you all about my beloved daughter. pics and exhaustive description below the cut

andromeda elo (or andromeda viator caecus) is, as you could probably sus out, my mixed garlean/roegadyn girlprince wol💗

she's very into the whole "embodying a super idealized image of The Hero" thing. some would say to her detriment. her decision to run away from her upbringing in garlemald and throw herself headlong into life as an adventurer was, initially, a pretty childish and impulsive one. then some stuff happened and now she's eorzea's champion so. that's pretty irreversible at this point

she's quite cagey about her past- despite hardly being the only garlean defector among them, she has it in her head that the truth of her identity would get in the way of being a perfect, uncomplicated symbol. and for reasons she's not yet willing to self-reflect on, the thought of losing that (totally definitely attainable) status is unbearable to her.

that said, if you spend enough time with her, you'll probably notice that her various stories don't quite add up or that the way she talks can be a bit strange at times. she was raised to be a proper lady, and even though she's rejected that box her whole life, it's not something she's truly free of, even as Thee warrior of light

she (by which i mean me, but i'm doing it for immersion) spent arr/hw as a paladin (it has the aesthetic she likes and isn't magic heavy- she grew up taking for granted that this was out of reach for her. but it's not.) then switched to red mage early on in sb after getting her shit rocked by zenos and having a full-on crisis of identity

the deeper Lore to her backstory is that her mother, lucretia eir caecus, was once an idealistic adventurer in her own right- in her time outside of the empire, she had a passionate affair with a man that she no longer speaks of. despite this, she ultimately found herself becoming the second wife of the head of a particularly stifling military family.

already bearing the mark of being an illegitimate child (and one othered by being visibly not-garlean among what i imagine was a pretty damn hostile environment, at that), lucretia raised her daughter strictly, believing that her keeping her head down and playing a more demure role was the only route she had to a comfortable life in their environment. naturally this didn't go over well with teen andromeda, who was just old enough to remember a time before her mother was so embittered and resigned to their fate, and resents her for it.

as for her father, i still haven't figured that part out andromeda knows next to nothing about him. she's not even sure if he's alive or not. her only keepsake from him was signed e. loetwilfsyn which, due to her not knowing a word of roegadyn, became bastardized into elo, the name she adopted in eorzea.

uhh this has gotten really long so here's some lightning round notes on relationships

she's a lesbian but i'm not sure she's properly sorted that one out yet despite a very long string of intense female friendships because her weird sense of identity keeps getting in the way

in ARR, she had a little crush on minfilia that had absolutely nothing to do with her as a person and everything to do with liking feeling like a dutiful little knight who answered to a woman who was authoritative.. but still gave her ample opportunity to feel like the big hero saving the princess. she thought this was normal

in HW, she was utterly taken by ysayle for slightly adjacent reasons. this went just as poorly as the first one. maybe worse.

has a DEEPLY personal vendetta against zenos for. you know. being both an embodiment of her homeland and being a real prince. except her animosity crumbles into primal, bone-deep fear in his actual presence

(i haven't actually finished sb yet so i'm jumping the gun with this last one but i'm too obsessed with it not to share)

emet-selch reminds her of her mom. it's going to be exactly as psychologically harrowing as that sentence suggests. please look forward to that it's gonna get really weird over here in about a month

i'm.. definitely forgetting stuff because she's been in the slow cooker of my mind for about. three months of playing this now and i feel like i'm starting to lose it. all of this is subject to be fleshed out further in the coming months. you're welcome, or i'm sorry

#ffxiv #andromeda elo #<- now that i've broken the seal and outed myself as a ffxiv player i suspect i might end up using that a bit #wrote this without explaining all of the. final fantasy stuff in it so sorry if anyone is interested in a more general oc sense #i'm pretty sure the bigger ideas come across

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kidfoundonstreets · 8 months

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okay uhm the scarf guy and the pigtsail guy from yttd . and charlotte and lime from wh. and uhhhhhhhhh anyone from cinderella game

head in hands HIAAIIEY HYEHEYEH HAII ROBIN <333!!! TAHNKYOU please know the opffer is pen for you anytime.. anywhere.. smooches your forehead okay so i like the pgistial and scarfie scarf guy because theyre so fcuked up ina ll of the ways. i like how they make me wanna throw up and shove my head inside a sewer while inhaling fanfiction of them like toxic gas. that aside the angst and to put it simply fucked up potential in their dynamic is what draws me to them, i enjoy how complex it could be - your abuser could love you but not in all the right ways, it could exist, shin and how they care about one another with the idealistic frankly obsessive posessive view midori has with him as well like the cut scene of him c rying over shin HELLOOO?? anyway theyre silly to me. guy who lives in your house is also your roomammte old friend bestie lover worst person you know etc jerk weird weird satrange weird. i could write a lot more if it was speciifc but im very bad with words sooaoaahahdhwh <3 oh and gore chalrtotoe and lime are also one of my fav dynamics yesss horrible yuri. chalrotte never wnating to give up on lime while lime has al;ready given up for any sort of proper undertsnaidng she craves bwteen them, heyre friends but one wants more while the other doesnt, it doesnt even have to eb romantic it just hurts because charlotte was all by herself or maybe just singled with the others apathy toward semotions so seeing lime full of emotion and passion and pain who could get chalrotte probably also ironically struck a chord in her - and shes always worried for her, like she might go too far, and when she does she just starts crying. thats the good shit. a hoepless ending a hopeless dynamic but they kiss sometimes in my brain to make it worse. perfect. that cinderlelal game ,, ,,,, !! oh god please dont stirke me here IM SO EMABRARSED i dont have any ships in that game so ill go on with that xoxoxoxoxooxox dorpelts one ive been playing ! i really like how with shiloh theres this fake "is this true is this not" with him, you never really know and thats what the fandom loves about him whcih i agree its an addicting type of thang, and even in the end its not completely clear. all we relaly get is that its sure at least that he does value jb at least a ltitle or see her as of value, as she does end up consistnetly vomplimented talked to and by his side through the end. he cant have a verison of hismelf that isnt manipulative, long gone, and you need to accept that. theyre awful divorce. i cant get enough of it. jbs overflowing confidence and shiloh right beside her like a dog with a knife, begging for any sort of scraps because hes a liar. a mnaipualtor. like jeoekr! or kokcichi . ezxcept hes actually good . can you imagine it. ironically hes probably the most untrustworthly one there becausre atleast the others say what theyre thinking. shiloh is a mixed bag and every word has at least a little bit of a truth and lie to it.

ut thats how they like eahcother and its fun interesting we arnet here for a long time we're here for a fun time for nate it givess a bit more of a genuine perspective, im not used to jb being comforitng or nice tbh lol. but its clear that they atleast fiteachother even if jb isnt the nicest one for him - i think shes the only one who can keep up with his intense moods and issues stacked on him and his rough exterior. hes honestly a pretty decent guy if you dont piss him off whcih is easy. closeness issues. commitment issues. nothing is ever stable issues. i get it bro. the thing with all of these dynamics in this game is that they do somehow in a hilariously awful way is complete eachother, i cant say if any of them will end well but its obvious that theres chemistry in all of their interactions and i love love love this game. anyway i also relaly liked how with nate you dont kiss him at all and instead get a hug at the ened, its nice compared to shiloh who just goes along with everything and how jb is pulled to his wants at times (while with shiloh shes the one ofc usually taking all of the lead while hes the jester) - i think it really digs in how much he trusts her to go that extreme and vomit-inducing lengths at the end because he wants their kiss to be perfect qnd it isnt perfect right now. but hes ready to keep going because of this stupid bitch (jb). and i find that super sweet

#long post

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tiredassmage · 9 months

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5,10,17 for the interview asks

who am i but a vessel to torture tyr with honesty sknlsfsldf

[oc interview questions]

5. Do you have any role models? Tell us a little bit about them.

A light chuckle tumbles from him, only partially concealed by the way a hand masks the upward tilt of his lips. Just a few. And only if you promise not to tell. The hand scrubs contemplatively against the stubble along his jaw. I’d… never admitted quite so much to the old man’s face, but ah… the Minister, Keeper… He shakes his head slightly, eyes cast to a wall behind you both - or perhaps something you can’t see. I’d always thought he was looking out for me from the start. There’s that faint smile again - only at one corner of his lips, but present all the same. For all that he called me an idealist, I don’t… I don’t believe he ever gave up on them nearly as much as he said he did. Things… Well, this business is rarely ever… Your hands don’t stay clean in this work. Ever. Both hands drop back into his lap, one toying idly with a stylus, twisting it back and forth between and over his fingers in one hand. Fingers of the other tap a pattern against his thigh. He did what he could though. I’ll… I’ll always respect him for that. He was… A lot of the agent I was - am - is his influence. I’d… never wanted to let him down, for everything… Tyr nods, mostly to himself. I… suppose I wish I’d said as much more directly, last we spoke. He puffs a faint breath of an almost-chuckle. He was a good leader. We shouldn’t have lost Intelligence. They don’t know what they lost. But… perhaps, at least, the dejarik games were enough, in the end. At least one for one of us.

10. What’s your biggest goal? How do you hope to achieve this?

This makes him frown before he rolls his jaw. His hands still. Silence for several moments. I’d like to see an end to this war, I think. As bloody unlikely as it seems. He scoffs. Irritation flashes in his pale eyes. Something more fiery than the usual stoic facade. I think I’d burn it all to the ground if I could. Maybe. He blinks, inhales carefully, and twists the stylus around his fingers again before flashing a smile - convincingly cordial, if not quite entirely reaching the corner of his eyes like before. But that’s not for polite society. And it wouldn’t do any real good, anyway. I’m getting too old for all this shit anyway, I suppose. Be a gem and buy us some drinks, why don’t you? That ought to take the edge of it off.

Still, I reckon I'll... settle for just... doing what I can. I'll never change what I was; I wouldn't want to. But I've got a lot of blood on my hands. More than enough. Still, it's given me the tools I have now. So maybe... maybe there's still enough left to actually make change. Good change. Maybe there'll be enough of this galaxy left to actually retire out of some day, eh?

17. Have you ever been in love?

A proper, hearty laugh this time, no effort given to conceal the grin across his lips. I’d certainly hope so, if I’m married. The smile turns sly. Careful, you’ll make Shan blush. Though… wouldn’t be such a shame, I suppose. He's pretty cute, you know? The ex-Cipher winks.

His head shakes slightly with his own amusement. But, yes, in short - and… several times, I suppose. I… knew a brilliant woman once, named Shara; we’d worked together, back in the day. Hard not to want to get to know someone you’ll have in your ear analyzing your every move for a couple hundred hours, I think I’d told her at least once. He leans back, a bit quieter again. A bit of distance has returned to his eyes. It was… unprofessional. She wanted nothing to do with me at first, outside of the work. Still, he smiles faintly. But it was… it was nice. We were… I guess it’s young love. Let it happen, anyway, and I… Eventually, I didn’t want to distract from her promotion; we still had to work together, of course… He shakes his head as if to clear it, though the nostalgic cock of his head suggests there’s more he’s not quite sharing. She was… brilliant. Beautiful, of course, but… a brilliant mind. And a better, sharper sense of humor than she’d ever let you claim on the job. I guess we were both like that, in a way. But, such were the demands of our work… He straightens again. Yes, in short. It’s… Not everything in this galaxy is so doomed, y’know? I… I am thankful for that much, at least.

#answered #ch: tyr #[ic] tyr #imperial agent #swtor ocs #giggling and kicking my feet. making him talk about his feelings!!! giggles!!!!#still. naturally. of course there's more he -could- say but [inhales] we don't have time to unpack all of that. not in an interview lol #i hear he likes kaasi brandy tho perhaps you can make it up to him?#rattling him for his shara feelings like a piggybank #he needs. god he needs to talk about it more.

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