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quickspinner · 4 years

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Haste to the Wedding

Here’s my fic for the @lukanette-exchange, for @misslenamooney! I hope you like it! The prompts were “Lukanette, happy Marinette, and if you’re feeling a bit salty, you can salt on Alya and Lila.“ I only have the faintest sprinkling of salt here, more like an echo of the past than anything else, but it was a convenient frame for the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! This will be up on AO3 later today.

Come haste to the wedding ye friends and ye neighbours The lovers their bliss can no longer delay. Forget all your sorrows your cares and your labors, And let every heart beat with rapture today. ~ Haste to the Wedding, traditional Gaelic jig.

“Oh, Marinette, it’s so perfect,” Alya breathed, bouncing slightly and then stilling before Marinette could reprimand her. The gown was lovely, the white lace making beautiful patterns against Alya’s darker skin where Marinette had left it open, and forming a more subtle texture in the areas where the dress was lined for modesty. It skimmed Alya’s body beautifully before flaring in a subtle trumpet shape towards the bottom, with just enough train in the back to form a nice shape on the ground behind her. All in all, Marinette felt very satisfied with it. Sophisticated and strong enough for the tough reporter, with a touch of the whimsy and fantasy that one expected in a wedding dress.

Alya was glowing with happiness, and Marinette smiled absently as she selected another pin from a cushion on her wrist. They’d grown apart a bit, going to different lycées and both traveling extensively for their careers, so they didn’t get to see each other often and sometimes didn’t speak directly for months at a time, but they were still good friends, and when Alya had called and asked Marinette to personally design her wedding dress, there was no question of saying no. Marinette had even hesitantly offered to work with Alya on the wedding planning, since she’d be in Paris much more than Alya over the coming months, but somewhat to her relief, Alya had dismissed her offer, telling her she’d run into another old friend who was starting up a wedding planning business and that she was taking care of everything. Marinette wasn’t sorry to be exempted from the planning (and also from bridesmaid duties, since Alya had decided to have only her sisters attend her).

Now she need only worry about the dress, which Alya of course insisted only Marinette could do. Alya had opted for a crisp white pantsuit look for the civil ceremony at City Hall, saving her wedding dress for the fancifully American-style wedding reception they had planned for the next day.

Despite her faith in her friend, Alya had been a bit nervous, Marinette could tell, about having most of their consultations long-distance, but Marinette was used to it, and she had treated Alya like any of her several high-profile clients that couldn’t always meet with her in person. Marinette’s professionalism and smooth process had seemed to soothe Alya’s worries, and they had managed a couple of in-person meetups for the most critical stages.

The only thing that had given Marinette pause was the idea of not having a final fitting until the day before the wedding, but it really couldn’t be helped. Marinette preferred to have multiple redundant contingency plans and plenty of time to implement them. She’d had several mini-meltdowns at the very idea of a huge last-minute problem, and had actually been in the middle of one when Alya walked in the door, fresh from the civil ceremony and glowing with happiness and excitement. The irrational panic that Alya wouldn’t like the dress had melted away as soon as Alya caught sight of it and let out a deafening squeal, and once the dress was on, it became apparent that Marinette’s assistant had been right in telling her to have more faith in her own skill. The dress was nearly perfect. No emergencies, no last minute creative fixes, no (or at least, no more than usual) stress. Marinette only had to pin the hem to the final length for Alya’s shoes and finish it that night, and it would be ready for tomorrow.

She just had to endure Alya’s teasing until then. “Marinette, come on, spill,” the bride urged. “I know something’s going on with you and Luka since he got back from his tour. I just want to know what it is!”

“So do I,” Marinette muttered, selecting another pin from the cushion on her wrist. “I don’t know, Alya, we’ve been flirting a lot and there’s been...I mean, he’s always been a touchy-feely person, so I don’t know if it means anything—”

“Girl, when it comes to you Luka has always meant something and you know it.”

Marinette blushed, but she couldn’t deny it. Luka had never pressed his admiration on her but he never hid it, either, and Marinette had never been unaffected by it. Busy as they were with their own careers, both made it a point to make time to see each other whenever the two of them were in the same city, and the meetings were always comfortable, enjoyable, brief, and just on the edge of flirtatious, charged with potential they never had time to explore. Since he’d come back from his tour and she’d actually managed to be in town for a few months consecutively, they’d met up a few times now (more than a few) and it was—it was so fun, and Luka was so sweet and smooth and it felt so good to be the center of someone’s attention, and they’d always had so much chemistry together, and she was really starting to think that maybe—

Focus, she thought, sticking some pins in her mouth as an excuse not to speak. Fortunately, Alya’s mind was too focused on the wedding to pester Marinette for long.

“We thought about asking if he could play the wedding, but I know it’s not normally his thing, and my friend said she had some other options, and boy, did she! And how amazing will it be to have Jagged Stone playing the reception? It’ll be huge for Nino, for people to know he has enough connections to get someone that big to play—Marinette? Are you okay?”

Marinette’s head had snapped up to stare wide-eyed at Alya, and she was completely frozen now, a sick feeling forming in her stomach. Slowly she took the pins out of her mouth, sitting back on her heels as she looked up at Alya. “Alya,” Marinette began hesitantly. “Jagged’s in Greece. He has three back to back shows scheduled over the next three nights, and two more shortly after. There’s no way he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow.”

Alya’s mouth dropped open slightly, and then she laughed. “That can’t be right, Marinette! He’s been booked for the wedding for six months!”

“Six months?” Marinette echoed, her brows coming together as that sick feeling got worse. “Alya, Jagged’s schedule is booked out for two years at least.”

“Well yeah, for normal people.” Alya flapped a hand dismissively. “But Lila said—” She paused and bit her lip. “I mean—for you know, people with connections…” but she trailed off as Marinette laid her pins aside and stood up.

“You let Lila book the band for your wedding?” Marinette demanded, and then at Alya’s guilty look, she sucked in a horrified breath. “Lila is your old friend that’s in the wedding planning business?”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Alya sighed, twisting her hands together. “I know you guys never got along and I knew you’d be mad.”

“Mad isn’t the word I would use,” Marinette sighed, pacing the floor and pulling at her hair. “Alya, how much of the wedding did Lila book?”

“Almost all of it,” Alya shrugged. “My mom got us the venue and she’s doing the catering, and I insisted on having you do my dress, but Lila booked everything else.” She smiled dreamily. “It’s going to be beautiful, Marinette, she got so many incredible things and her budget was so reasonable. Her business is really going to take off after everybody sees how well she’s done. I was a little nervous, but I knew she could pull it off.”

Marinette just stared at her for a moment, her lips in a firm line, and then she pulled out her phone. “Just a minute, Alya,” she muttered, and dialed. It went to voicemail, as she expected. “Hey, Penny, this is Marinette. I was um, working on a project that I wanted Jagged to see, and since I hear he’s going to be in Paris tomorrow, I was hoping he could make some time for me. No pressure, just, if he’s available. Please let me know either way.”

She hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, trying to keep her face neutral. “Alya,” she said quietly, “What did Lila book for you?”

Alya shrugged. “Everything except the dress, which of course had to be you, the food, which of course had to be my mom, and the venue, which we already had reserved through one of my mom’s contacts. Flowers—oh, you should have seen the pictures she sent me they were to die for—favors for the guests, the band obviously, the cake—she tried to get your parents but they were booked solid and we agreed we shouldn’t bother you about it—the makeup and hair and photographer, from all that modeling she’s done you know, and the decorations.”

Marinette took a deep breath and sat down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hands. This was going to be a disaster. Alya’s wedding was going to be a disaster. Oh, the important stuff was still there, at least no one would go hungry and they weren’t going to have hundreds of guests descend on some poor bewildered staff person demanding to be let in to a wedding that didn’t exist. Alya and Nino were already legally married and they could still—

“Lila doesn’t have the rings, right?” Marinette demanded, looking up sharply.

“No, Nino does,” Alya frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Marinette, what is your problem?”

Marinette got up and swatted Alya’s hands away from the fabric irritably. “Don’t, you’ll soil it. My problem is that Lila has never delivered on a single thing she promised you. Have you actually talked to any of these people yourself?”

“No, but Lila and I have been talking every week and she sent me pictures and samples and she did all the consultations. I didn’t have to worry about a thing!”

Marinette moaned, tossing her head back. “You never confirmed anything she booked?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “She sent me invoices for all of them! I can show you the check stubs if you’re that upset about it.”

“You wrote checks?” Marinette gasped. Charges on a credit card they might have been able to dispute, but—okay, no, this was too much. She’d worry about that part later. “Did you sign a contract with her?”

Alya scoffed. “Of course not, we’re friends.”

Marinette pressed her lips together and folded her arms and reminded herself that Nino would be upset if she strangled his bride the night before the wedding. “We’re friends,” she pointed out tightly, gesturing between herself and Alya. “I still made you sign a contract.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve always been anal like that.”

“Anal like—” Marinette stopped, turning her back for a second to breathe, and before she could formulate a response her phone beeped with an incoming video message.

She set it to play on speaker. “Hi, Marinette,” Penny Rolling said, looking pristine as always despite the chaos behind her. “Always great to hear from you! Unfortunately it seems like there’s been some kind of misunderstanding? Jagged’s not scheduled to be in Paris again for two more months. I know he’d want to see what you’re working on, so text me later and we can work out a video call instead. So sorry for the mixup. Talk to you soon.”

Marinette looked up at Alya, who was doing a credible impression of a fish.

“That’s just—okay, so there was a misunderstanding, you’ve told me how Jagged is, I’m sure—maybe he forgot to tell Penny and she didn’t put it on his calendar, but it’s just one thing, there’s no need to—”

“Alya.” Marinette met her friend’s gaze steadily and Alya cut off, seeming to shrink a little. “This is your wedding. Do you really want to take the chance?”

Alya just stared at her.

“Call the florist first,” Marinette said calmly. Too calmly, she knew, but she also knew that Alya was finally listening, because the color drained from her face and she began fumbling for her phone.

Not bothering to wait for the outcome, Marinette pulled out her sketchbook and flipped to a fresh page, making a list down the page as she frantically thought about her options. In a few moments she had a plan sketched out and was dialing her own phone.

“Adrien,” Marinette bit out as soon as he picked up. “Did you know that Nino and Alya’s wedding planner was Lila?”

There was a good thirty seconds of silence on the other end of the line before Adrien breathed, “Oh no. No, I didn’t know, it never even occurred to me to…what are we going to do, Marinette?”

“We’re going to fix this disaster so our friends can have the wedding they deserve,” Marinette said as if it was simple. “You’re on photography and flowers. I know you hate trading on your name and your contacts but so help me, you better use every ounce of fame you have to get this done—”

“I’ll do it,” Adrien said quickly. “I’ll do it. And count on me to cover the cost of whatever else you need to get. Whatever premium you have to promise.”

“I’ll hold you do that,” Marinette told him, and then glanced over her shoulder. An increasingly panicked-looking Alya wasn’t even paying attention to her. “And call Nino and tell him he better get back here now. Thanks, chaton.”

“You can always count on me, my lady. So can Alya and Nino.”

“All right, I’ll call if I need anything else.” She hung up the phone and dialed again.

“Hi, boss,” a chipper voice greeted her.

“Sabrina,” Marinette sighed, unable to match her assistant’s cheerful tone. “Listen, there’s been a problem with Alya’s wedding and I need you to ransack the warehouse for decorations. Anything that we might use for a wedding photoshoot. And start calling any stylist and makeup artist who’s ever done well for us and get them on board to do wedding hair and makeup tomorrow. I know it’s short notice but we need somebody on board in a hurry. Money is no object. Adrien’s footing the bill so if you need a credit card or something, call him. He’ll be expecting you.”

“Colors?” Sabrina asked, and Marinette smiled at the brusque tone and lack of questioning. She’d been nervous when Sabrina had called her looking for a job, having been fired (again) by Chloe, but taking her on was going on Marinette’s list of best management decisions ever. Sabrina was a huge asset to Marinette’s successful and growing business, and the only assistant Marinette had ever hired that was detail-oriented and organized enough to keep up with her.

“Orange, mint, and forest green,” she replied, making a note on her list to text that to Adrien as well for the florist. “Just have the guys pile it all in the van and we’ll sort through it when we get there. Grab whatever you can find in the scrap fabrics, too. I’m not sure it’ll be much but we’ll work with whatever we can have.” She paused. “Sabrina, this is a personal favor, not a job, but I—”

“Got it, boss,” Sabrina chirped. “Text me the address and what time the venue opens, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Sabrina,” Marinette smiled, making a mark on her list.

Next, she called her mother, made Sabine put her on speaker so that Tom could hear, and begged shamelessly, using every “Papa’s little girl” trick she could think of to get them on board. Naturally, Tom couldn’t refuse. Marinette felt guilty for putting that much work on them but she’d find a way to make it up to them later.

Looking at the next item on her list, she hesitated. She set her phone down and pressed her hands to her face, and then looked back down at the list, feeling her face heat. She knew what she needed to do—she knew who she needed to call, but…

She glanced up at Alya, who was sitting motionless in her chair, the phone in her lap, staring into space with a blank expression that was...bad. On Alya, it was really bad.

Marinette took a deep breath and dialed the phone. She put a hand over her racing heart and pressed as if that would stop the fluttering.

“Hey, beautiful,” a warm, deep voice said, and Marinette smiled in spite of herself. “Didn’t think I’d hear from you today. Figured you’d be busy.”

“H-hey, Luka,” she said, and swallowed, hating the stutter. “I—well, I am busy, but I—that is, I mean—argh.” She groaned, and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. God, she hated to do this. “I need a favor,” she said through gritted teeth, and then sighed. “A big one. Huge. A really big, I-have-no-right-to-ask-you-this-sized favor.”

“I’m listening,” Luka said, unruffled as always, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“So, the wedding,” Marinette took a breath and blew it out. “Well, long story short, the band fell through. A lot of things fell through, actually, and we’re really scrambling to fix everything and I know this is super, super short notice and I won’t blame you one bit if you tell me to jump ship, but—but this is really important to me, Luka, and I...I…”

“You want me to find you a band in less than twenty-four hours?” Luka asked incredulously.

“W-well,” Marinette cringed, fisting the fabric of her skirt in her hand. “I was sort of hoping you’d be the band? Not that I don’t trust you, I’m sure anybody you could get would be great, but you’re amazing, and I really need amazing for this. This—I can’t explain everything but this is not going to be the wedding Nino and Alya had counted on and I really, really need it to be the best we can possibly give them, and you’re definitely the best, so—please, Luka, I’m begging, I’ll do anything, Adrien’s covering all the expenses and we’ll come up with a number to make it worth it for you and anyone you can bring with you, and I’m sure there’s going to be industry contacts there because of Nino, and I just—”

“Marinette,” Luka said firmly, and she shut her mouth abruptly.

“Yes?” she ventured, when Luka didn’t say anything more.

“What time do you need me to be there?” he asked, and she could hear his smile. “I’m not sure if I can get the rest of the guys, or even subs, it might just be me—”

“You’re more than enough,” Marinette assured him, and then blushed. “I mean. Well. You are. Anyway, I, um...I’ll text you the details and you let me know how it turns out with the others.”

“Yeah, sure. Be sure and send me anything they wanted as far as the set list. First dance and all that.” He chuckled. “I haven’t played many weddings but I remember that much at least.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, glancing aside as the door opened and Nino came through, expression worried. “I’ll probably have Nino get in touch with you directly about that stuff. I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Luka, I...I feel like I’m taking advantage…”

“Marinette,” Luka’s voice was velvety, rich and alluring, and despite the situation it sent a shiver down her spine. “You can take advantage of me any time you want.”

Mairnette scrunched her shoulders as a fierce blush spread over her face. “Luka,” she whined, and he laughed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, still in that voice. “Save a dance for me.”

The call cut off and Marinette dropped the phone in her lap, dropped her head in her hands, and squealed softly.

Okay. Plenty of time later to think about her complicated relationship with the guitarist and how much she’d been wondering lately if kissing him stupid would uncomplicate it or make it worse. For now, Alya was coming out of her catatonic state, Marinette’s phone was already blowing up with texts from Adrien and Sabrina and her mother, and she had a disaster to mitigate.

At least that was something she was good at. She picked up her notebook and marched over to Alya and Nino.

***

It could have been worse, Marinette reflected with satisfaction as she looked around the party hall. Sabrina was a miracle worker, and that was a fact. Resourceful and much more ruthless than her (current) employer, she knew how to use her contacts and how to trade on Adrien’s name and wealth to get things done. Marinette only hoped they hadn’t screwed anyone over too badly.

“You know it’s bad form to outshine the bride at her wedding,” said a deep voice in her ear, and Marinette jumped and whirled to smack Luka in the shoulder as he laughed. She pouted and shook her finger in his face. “No flirting until after your set.”

“All right,” he chuckled, catching her hand and bringing it down gently as he smiled at her. “You’re the boss today.” His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand in a way that made his words a lie. “Where should we set up?”

“We?” Marinette blinked, her mouth dropping open slightly as she finally tore her eyes from Luka to look over his shoulder, where three other people stood with instrument cases and bored expressions.

“I called in some favors,” he grinned. “I’ll probably be playing dive bars and who knows what else for weeks to pay this back, but...anything for you, Marinette.”

She should have scolded him for flirting again, but she couldn’t because she knew that he meant it. He was only laying it on so thick now because she’d been flirting back and encouraging him over the last few weeks, and when he looked at her like that, well...she had a hard time being sorry.

Luka raised his eyebrows slightly and she realized he was still waiting for an answer to his question. He was still rubbing her hand with his thumb, though, too, and Marinette whipped her hand away and turned on her heel, calling “Follow me.”

“Anywhere,” he said softly behind her, and she bit her lip, trying not to giggle like a teenager.

Once she had led him to the stage and the sound system, he sobered a bit, clearly settling into professional mode as he gave his bandmates instructions for setting up. Marinette hovered while he checked the stage lights and asked for some adjustments. The venue staff accommodated him with admirable speed. Marinette was called away for a bit to consult with the frazzled, tired-but-triumphant florist and figure out how best to distribute what they had managed to acquire. She was surprised at how much there was. A lot of it was white but it was tastefully mixed with the orange and pale green blossoms. It would do, distributed correctly.

When she returned, the band was set up and tuning up for their sound check. Marinette checked the time nervously.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be ready,” Luka’s normally soft voice boomed through the sound system, and she jumped slightly. She looked up to find him at the microphone, guitar slung across his shoulders, and as he tossed back his hair and smiled at her, she was reminded of the boy from the boat, Juleka’s brother, the boy who gave her rides on his bike and smiled at her with soft eyes and played songs that resonated in her heart.

Almost as if he could hear her, his hands went to the strings, but it wasn’t her heart that he played this time. She recognized the intro to Alya and Nino’s first dance song, though it sounded more vibrant with Luka’s distinctive rock edge. It would be perfect for them, she noted absently. Luka’s eyes found her again and he smirked. Marinette was barely aware of the drums picking up the rhythm and the bass coming in a bit late as Luka took a breath and sang, low and smooth, his eyes on her.

“What would I do without your smart mouth, drawing me in and you kicking me out, you’ve got my head spinning, no kidding, I can’t pin you down. What’s going on in that beautiful mind? I’m on your magical mystery ride, and I’m so dizzy, don’t know what hit me, but I’ll be all right.”

He dropped his eyes, and Marinette thought he might be blushing as he launched into the chorus. She put a hand over her heart and sighed at the way it beat against her hand as she closed her eyes to listen to him singing All of me loves all of you…

It gave her goosebumps. Luka wasn’t Jagged Stone, and he didn’t try to be. His voice was so rich and full it seemed to fill the space and make everything sound closer and more intimate.

He cut off abruptly and stepped back, motioning his bandmates to cut off. “Okay, can we bring the bass up just a little bit?” The guy working the sound waved an acknowledgement, and they played the lead-in again. This time Luka nodded in satisfaction, and then turned back to ask his bandmates something Marinette couldn’t hear.

They ran through parts of a few other of the more important songs, and Marinette was more and more impressed at the way Luka managed to fit the songs to his own style, without changing the substance.

When he was satisfied with the way everything sounded, they all put the instruments in their stands and came down off the stage.

Luka opened his mouth to say something but Marinette raised up on her toes, took his face in her hands and kissed him briefly on the mouth. “Thank you so much for doing this,” she told him. “You’re really my hero today.”

He licked his lips, and made a visible effort to drag his gaze from her mouth to her eyes, but they flicked right back again when Marinette bit her lip again to keep in another fit of giggles that wanted to burst from her. He always had that effect on her. She patted his cheek. “I have to go check on Alya, but I’ll catch up with you in a bit, okay?”

“Sure,” he managed finally, and cleared his throat as she turned away. She got a few steps away before he called her name and she turned back.

“You really do look beautiful,” he said simply, and Marinette blushed, hands going automatically to smooth her simple pink and mint cocktail dress.

“Thanks, Luka,” she said, watching his eyes follow the slight shrug of her bare shoulders. “You look really good too. I like your usual look, but you clean up nicely too.” She winked at him. “Don’t forget you promised me a dance after your set.”

Luka’s mouth dropped open slightly and he looked a bit as if he’d been hit in the back of the head with a board. Marinette tossed her hair and blew him a kiss, and if she put a little extra sway in her hips as she walked away, it was just for the sake of making her skirt swish that little bit more.

Behind her, Luka put a hand to his heart and pretended to faint into his bandmate’s arms. “She’s gonna kill me,” he muttered with a happy sigh.

“So long as I get paid first, mate,” his drummer grunted, heaving him off.

***

Alya cried when she saw the hall, despite all the ladies in the group converging on her and begging her not to make her eyes puffy on her big day. In all honesty her eyes were already puffy from the hopeless weeping that had followed her denial and disbelief, but the makeup artist Sabrina found did a masterful job hiding it, and the glow of Alya’s happiness and relief did anything else that was wanted.

It maybe wasn’t the decorations Alya had picked out, or the hairstyle Alya had decided on, or exactly the shade of eyeshadow she had planned on, but it all came together just fine. No one would ever know the disaster the wedding had almost been. Marinette spared a moment to viciously wish that Lila might see the social media pictures of just how lovely it had all turned out in spite of her, before putting the horrible woman out of her mind entirely.

“You’re a miracle worker as always,” Adrien sighed as they paused for a congratulatory fist bump.

“Sabrina gets most of the credit,” Marinette observed. “She did a lot of the legwork, and we for sure wouldn’t have been able to do as much without you backing us. It sure would be nice if I could find the money to put a bonus in her next paycheck.”

Adrien nodded. “How about you overcharge me for a custom suit for the charity ball I have to attend next month?”

“That should do it,” Marinette agreed. “Have your assistant call Sabrina, we’ll set something up.”

“Still,” Adrien said, nudging Marinette with a cat-like grin spreading across his face. “Somehow I doubt Sabrina had much to do with the music for tonight.”

“No, that was Nino,” Marinette replied airily. “He called in a favor with a DJ friend of his that was on the guest list anyway.”

“Uh-huh. And the live music?” Adrien nudged her a little harder and Marinette shoved him off so hard he nearly fell.

“I’m going to check on the cake,” she announced, though she knew her parents had delivered it to Mme Césare’s staff earlier and that they surely knew what they were doing.

The ring ceremony went off without a hitch, with Alya’s sisters at her side and Adrien and Noel at Nino’s, without any hint of the drama that had been going on behind the scenes since yesterday.

And the dress, Marinette noted with satisfaction, looked perfect.

Then Alya and Nino took the dance floor, and Luka took over the mic, and then he was singing again, in that voice that gave her goosebumps. It had been quite a while since she had seen him perform live, and she hadn’t exactly forgotten the way he could command a room, but it still gave her the shivers. She drifted closer and closer to the stage as she moved through the crowd, and then suddenly she was looking up at Luka, and he was looking down at her, and Marinette might have felt self-conscious except that everyone else was locked on Alya and Nino. No one had any attention to notice the way they were looking at each other as Luka sang, “You’re my downfall, you’re my muse, my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues. I can’t stop singing, it’s ringing in my head for you.”

Really, to Marinette, it felt like all those other people weren’t even there.

***

She was looking for him, once the band had wrapped up and the DJ had taken over, and he still managed to come up from behind and surprise her.

“Is now a good time for that dance?”

“Luka, stop sneaking up on me,” Marinette scolded, turning to find him grinning down at her once again.

“I’m not even sorry,” he told her, chuckling as he held out his hand. “May I?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, but she was grinning as she put her hand in his and let him guide her onto the dance floor, where his broad, warm hands settled on her waist as her own delicate hands joined behind his neck.

“You did an awesome job up there,” Marinette told him as they swayed. “Really. Jagged Stone himself couldn’t have done better.”

Luka snorted. “As if Jagged could ever contain himself enough to play a wedding. He’d be upstaging the bride every chance that he got.”

“That...is probably true,” Marinette admitted. She loved the rock star, but she was by no means blind to his faults, which included being extremely self-absorbed and a natural attention magnet. It really was better that he hadn’t been here.

She sighed. “I still can’t believe Alya thought Lila could actually deliver on all those promises. I thought after everything—but she did eventually manage to lie her way into some real connections, so I guess maybe she had just enough authenticity to sound credible this time.”

“Don’t think about her,” Luka said softly, whisking her into a turn. “I don’t like the faces you make when you do,” he teased, lifting one hand to stroke the deep crease between her brows. “You pulled it off, Marinette. Look at Alya and Nino. They couldn’t be any happier, so just dance with me and forget about all that mess. What’s on the big calendar for this week, hm? Or should I even ask?”

“Actually, I was wondering if maybe I could take you to dinner,” Marinette said as lightly as she could manage. “As a thank you.”

Luka looked away for a second. “I think you already know I’d love to go out with you, Marinette,” Luka said, his voice serious even though he was still smiling when he looked back at her. “But I’d rather it not be out of pity, or even gratitude. I want you on your own terms.”

Of course he did. That was just...so Luka. Marinette took a deep breath and shifted a little closer to him, letting her fingers drift up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he repeated, the eyes that had gone half-lidded at her touch snapping open.

“Okay,” Marinette confirmed. “Here’s my terms. I work a lot. My business is very deadline driven and I’m very hands-on with a lot of people as part of the fitting process. It’s entirely professional, entirely necessary, and you have to be okay with it.”

“I can handle that,” Luka agreed, looking as cool as ever, but they were now moving ever so slightly off-beat with the music, so she knew he was rattled.

“I can’t always be home to cook dinner. I might not even be home to eat dinner. I’ve worked really hard to get where I am and in a couple more years I might be able to bring on more staff, but that’s not a guarantee.”

“I’d never ask you to stop pursuing your passion, Marinette,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “But if you’re not taking care of yourself, if you’re not eating and sleeping enough to at least function, I’m gonna ask you to slow down.”

“Fair,” Marinette acknowledged. “I travel a lot. I’ll be in other cities a lot, on my own, with a lot of clients and models. The tabloids like to stir up trouble and it’s only a matter of time before they have me shacking up with somebody. I expect you to talk to me before you jump to any conclusions.”

“Of course,” he said so simply that she believed him.

Marinette took a deep breath. “Sometimes I have to be places that I can’t explain,” she said softly, no longer looking him in the eye. “I don’t want to have to lie and come up with excuses, so...I need you to just trust me. And if it gets to be too much...I need you to tell me that too, so we can stay friends when we split up.”

“Okay,” Luka said, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Is that all?”

Marinette shrugged and tried to smile. “Mostly, yeah.”

“All right then,” Luka grinned, twirling her around. “I accept your terms. Are you ready to hear mine?”

“O-okay,” Marinette stammered.

“We’re in the same boat on the travel. I work a lot of odd jobs and weird hours,” Luka began. “My schedule’s never the same from week to week. I work a lot of late nights and I hate mornings.”

“Me too,” Marinette giggled. “I think I can live with that. What else?”

“I get hit on kind of a lot,” he said, looking away slightly as a faint hint of red colored his cheeks. “When I play a gig. And this tour was—it was crazy, even though we were just the opening act. Some people get a little handsy. I don’t like it, I don’t ask for it, and it’s got nothing to do with things between us—no matter what it looks like when you walk up. So, same courtesy? Talk to me before you freak out?”

“I don’t freak out as easily as I used to,” Marinette mumbled, blushing herself. “But yeah, I got it. Okay. I don’t really like that people are touching you when you don’t want them to, though. I can’t promise I won’t bend a thumb or two if they’re where they don’t belong.”

“Hmm, we’ll negotiate on that,” Luka chuckled, pinching her waist lightly. “I don’t personally mind but I don’t want my girlfriend getting kicked out of every club in Paris.” He gave her a soft look. “And you would be my girlfriend. I’m not interested in dating around if being with you is an option.”

Marinette blushed harder, but put her nose in the air and pretended to consider. “Hm. That sounds reasonable. Besides, I don’t mind making time for you, but otherwise I’m way too busy to date.” She held her “Chloe face” for another moment and then broke down in giggles, and Luka laughed too, and they collapsed against each other for a moment, Luka’s forehead coming down to rest on hers as they snickered. Marinette closed her eyes, breathing in the peace and contentment she always felt with him, and wondered why they hadn’t had this talk sooner. It felt so...right.

Reluctantly, Marinette pushed him back after a moment, pulling him back into the dance.

“I don’t want to steal Alya’s spotlight,” she murmured, glancing at her glowing friend, floating around the room on her new husband’s arm. “She’s already going to be mad enough we stole her song.”

“Did we?” Luka chuckled, and Marinette grinned.

“I think we did. It sure felt like it to me.”

“Yeah, it did,” Luka sighed. “I should probably be sorry about that. Hopefully everyone else was focused on the bride and groom. But seriously, I think you’ve already kind of stolen the show here. You say you didn’t do much but I was talking to Adrien a bit before.” He shook his head. “You’re amazing. Anyone else would have just patted her back and left her to figure it out on her own.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Marinette sighed. “I just happened to have the resources to make it happen.”

“Because you’re amazing,” Luka chuckled.

Marinette’s lips twitched as she tried not to smile too broadly, pretending to dust something off his shoulder as an excuse not to look at him for a moment. “Maybe. It did turn out pretty nicely, after all. I guess I deserve some credit for that.” She glanced up at his face, half-afraid he’d be put off by her lack of modesty, but he just squeezed her waist lightly and nodded.

“Absolutely. The business you’ve built at your age, it’s incredible. You’re so dedicated and driven and passionate, it blows my mind. Makes me feel like I’m really slacking. If I had your dedication I’d be on my third album by now.”

“You would be,” Marinette chided, squeezing his arm. “If you’d accepted Jagged’s help.”

Luka sighed and looked away. “That’s complicated, Marinette.”

“I know,” Marinette said, giving him a sympathetic look. “And you’re doing great on your own. Are the final numbers in from the tour yet? I know you were waiting to hear.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Luka’s mouth. “Yeah. They’re, um...they’re pretty good. Really good, actually. Nothing’s certain yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to pick up our option for the next album.”

“Really?” Marinette screeched in a whisper, bouncing on her toes. “Luka, that’s amazing!” She popped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Her eyes went round when she realized what she’d just done, but Luka’s went heavy-lidded and dark.

Suddenly he made a sharp turn and pulled her into an alcove they’d been about to pass, shielded from the rest of the party by a draping of fabric that some professional corner of Marinette’s brain recognized as leftovers from her spring collection. Then Luka’s hand was cradling the back of her neck and his lips were pressed firmly, though gently, to hers, and she was pulling him down into her, pressing up on her toes to deepen the kiss while Luka’s other hand found the small of her back and pulled her closer.

“Marinette,” Adrien’s amused voice was low, and when Marinette gasped and looked behind her, she saw Adrien was standing casually (or what passed for casually when one was an internationally famous model) with his back to the entrance of their little alcove. “They’re about to round up all the single ladies, and Alya’s going to come looking for you.”

“Right,” Marinette gasped, reaching up to touch her face. “Do I—”

“You’re fine. Me?” Luka smiled at her with so much happiness that Marinette almost didn’t register his question.

When she did, she reached up and wiped away a smear beneath his lower lip with her thumb. “I think that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Luka sighed. “We’ll have to do better next time.” He laughed when Marinette gasped and smacked him in the chest before flouncing out of the alcove to punch a snickering Adrien in the arm.

“So violent,” Adrien moaned, rubbing his arm. “Do you know how much money that arm is worth?”

“You’re insured,” Marinette huffed, eyes narrowed as she got in his face and flexed her own arm. “And we both know I can take you so don’t be giving me shit, Agreste.”

Adrien rolled his eyes and turned to Luka. “Are you seriously signing up for this, Couffaine?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka sighed, clapping a friendly hand on Adrien’s shoulder and shoving him away from Marinette. “That was hot,” Luka grinned, putting his arm around Marinette’s shoulders as Adrien jokingly pretended to stagger into a drink cart.

Marinette giggled. “I think growing up with your mom warped your personality.”

“Almost definitely,” Luka chuckled, his arm slipping down to squeeze her waist, but before he could say anything else, the DJ was calling all the single women to the floor.

Marinette tried to hang back but Adrien was blocking her exit, so any attempt she might have made to hide was thwarted, and then Alya grabbed the microphone and yelled into it, “Get your ass up here, Marinette, front and center!”

“Favoritism!” someone yelled, and Alya just laughed.

Marinette reluctantly wandered over and let herself be pushed to the front. She tried not to feel self-conscious as she stood with the other single ladies, all of whom were quite a bit taller than she was. Stupid Alya and her tall genes and her tallish friends. She exchanged a look with Nora, who looked bored and was clearly only participating because her mother had ordered her to be for the sake of having all the sisters in the pictures.

It was a stupid, meaningless tradition anyway. She’d much rather still be basking in Luka’s calm yet electrifying presence. Marinette pasted on a smile and prepared herself to make the minimum effort necessary to look good in the pictures

“Ready?” Alya called, turning her back to the group. “One...two…”

Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around her waist and a familiar voice softly murmured, “Jump” in her ear. She obeyed without thought just as Alya yelled, “THREE!” and flung the bouquet back over her head. For a moment Marinette felt weightless as she was lifted up high—very high—high enough to snatch the bundle of flowers out of the air. She looked over her shoulder and found Luka grinning up at her as he lowered her to the floor.

“That was cheating,” Ella pouted, and Marinette very maturely stuck out her tongue at the younger girl. She giggled and leaned back into Luka’s chest, his chuckle rumbling against her back before they made their way back off the dance floor as guests began to trickle back onto it.

Marinette grinned down at the fragrant bundle in her hands, feeling a little flutter as Luka, still behind her, leaned his face down beside hers.

“So I know we only just became official and everything, but I’m just saying, you know, whenever you’re ready—”

“Luka!” Marinette laughed, turning in his arms to look up at him. He grinned and shrugged.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he teased. “I’m not saying I won’t wait for you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but I wouldn’t be sad if I didn’t have to anymore.”

“Mm-hmm,” Marinette grinned wickedly, and then pulled her phone out of the hidden pocket of her dress. “Hold that thought.” She dialed and brought the phone to her ear. “Hi, Sabrina, sorry to bother you but hopefully this will be quick. I know this is short notice, but you know that flight for Vegas I have booked for Monday morning?” Marinette continued, watching Luka’s eyes go wide and his mouth drop open. Oh, that was fun, taking him off guard for once. “I need another ticket. Mm-hmm. Great! Let me know when it’s booked.” She hung up and slipped her phone back in the pocket. “You should know by now that I don’t hesitate anymore,” she teased, looking up into his shocked expression with a grin. “So if you were bluffing you better speak up now, Luka Couffaine.”

“You know I wasn’t,” he breathed, voice low and serious. “So don’t mess with me here, Marinette.”

Marinette shrugged slightly, blushing as she picked at imaginary lint on his sleeve. “You’ve always been more honest with your feelings with most people, so...yeah. I didn’t think you were.” It was an effort to meet his eyes, but she managed it, though it brought the heat to her face again. “Neither am I.”

A single beat.

“Well all right then,” Luka grinned, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. “But we probably should stop by City Hall on our way to the airport just to make sure.”

“You know I like to be thorough,” Marinette agreed, and then squeezed his hand hard. “But if you let a word of this slip before then I’ll kill you. I’m not upstaging Alya’s wedding after all the work I put into saving it.”

“That would be a shame,” Luka agreed. “Also a crappy thing to do to a friend, so.” He tugged her hand lightly. “You know the sooner we get out of here the less we can give away.”

“I like the way you think,” Marinette giggled. “Let’s see if I can keep it together enough to say goodbye.”

Fiction Master Post

I hope you enjoyed it! Here’s the cover I had in mind when Luka played the wedding song.

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#quickspins #lukanette-exchange #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fics #prompt fic #lukanette exchange 2020

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aymayzing · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @oxygenforthewicked!! 💕 Finally, I have something to share! I got back to writing, it probably won't go very fast as I have lots of uni stuff to take care of but even planning a fic is so much fun, I missed it

This will be a Pavellan fic (I don't think anyone's surprised)

The Herald’s Rest, a fancifully named tavern in Skyhold, was one of the first places that got fully repaired, furnished and equipped when the Inquisition arrived and quickly became the most lively place in the hold. Sure, the snotty Orlesian nobles that arrived in Skyhold stuck to the throne room but all the scouts, soldiers, guards, servants, smiths and messengers prefered to spend their free time in the tavern and since there were many such people in the castle, Herald’s Rest was crowded and loud at all times, though it was especially difficult to find a free table there in the evenings.

But Dorian managed. He grabbed the bottle of wine and a wooden cup Cabot gave him and began meandering through the crowd, which seemed to split before him. If he were in Tevinter, it would be out of respect and fear - his family’s symbol hanging from his neck, marking him as a member of Tevinter’s highest class opened doors and made life much easier. Laying a hand on him by lower classes was punishable, so everyone stepped to the side and let him pass, if he wanted to sit in a place taken by someone else, all he had to do was look and they’d scurry away, scared of starting a fight and being accused of disrespect.

But in Skyhold, people stepped away from Dorian’s path not out of respect but fear and distaste. He was a Tevinter mage in the South and he was not to be trusted. Interacting with him was dangerous, because no one knew what to expect from him and no one wished to risk him turning them into a frog. So the crowd stepped away from Dorian as he made his way through the crowded tavern in search of a free table. No one would free a table for him, no one would offer him a seat with them. After a few nights of this, he knew how things worked and was resigned to sitting alone with a book and the mediocre wine that Cabot had.

I'll tag @hawkeish @blarrghe @emerald-amidst-gold @mywitchcultblr

#thank you for the tag!#wip wednesday #may writes #dorian pavus

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atlas-tries · 4 years

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Shatter Me

A Patton angst fic by yours truly

Read on AO3

Summary: All the sides have secrets, but none have one as lethal as the one Patton is keeping. Can he keep it under wraps long enough to resolve it or will the trauma of it all spell his undoing?

Hey guys, so this has been a long time in the making (aka since January). But I finally got this finished and I’m very proud of how it turned out. This was all based on a simple headcanon I had about how Patton experiences emotional pain. I hope you enjoy it, and the next chapter will be out next Monday! Check the notes for definitive links to the next chapter.

Chapter 1: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones but Words Hurt Far More Deeply

At some point or another, all the sides had kept secrets from each other.

Mostly, it had to do with where they had been in the past or something silly, like the time Roman “accidentally” ate all of Logan’s Crofters. The others still kept some, likely to make a well-placed or dramatic reveal of it, and Patton was no different. He himself occasionally had physical manifestations of emotional pain. However, there was one thing he knew that wasn’t a secret.

Patton knew how they all really felt about him.

Sentimental.

Overbearing.

Naive.

Worthless.

Even if they rarely said any of those descriptors out loud or in his presence, the unspoken words came through loud and clear every time they thought he would mess something up. Which was in almost every video he appeared in. They thought he didn’t notice the dismissive remarks or the eye rolls whenever he had any ideas to share when Thomas had an issue that needed working through. It’s just ol’ Patton spouting off whatever random thoughts and/or dad jokes pop up in his head like always.

For the most part, Patton could handle whatever emotional turmoil they threw at him. He knew that despite what they thought, they still cared about him and valued his opinions. The occasional pain was worth it if they were happy. And they were, especially after Thomas had introduced them to his online community of Fanders (the part that made him the happiest). Even Patton himself had been ecstatic to reach out to so many other kiddos out there. At least, he was until they had gotten in front of the camera.

Yeah, his jokes didn’t land with the others, it wasn’t a big deal. That was no different than telling them in the Mindscape on most days. However, he really wanted to do that four-part harmony when Roman suggested it, even after they immediately shot it down when he came in. But Patton could shake that off, too. He was strong. So, imagine his surprise when he discovered short, thin cracks radiating from over his heart when he was changing into his cat onesie that evening. “Oh,” he said, running his hand delicately over them, “That must’ve gotten to me a little more than I thought.” No matter, though, they always went away within a few days.

Everything went back to relative normal in short order and Patton was back to being a happy pappy. The next few videos came and went without much fanfare. He was even featured by himself to help Thomas with his adultery! There was nothing better than that. The cracks didn’t return until just before they started planning out The Mind vs. The Heart.

That morning, Patton had been making breakfast for everyone as he almost always did. This morning was especially pleasant for him because Thomas had actually listened to Patton yesterday when he suggested he go and pet all the puppies in the pet store on the way home. Having that thought at the forefront made it easy to softly sing to himself as the bacon sizzled. Roman was already eating his as fast as he could fancifully manage.

“Roman, I know my food is good, but please don’t choke up on your swallow through,” Patton said with a smile, taking the last batch of bacon out of the pan and putting it on a plate. Roman just nodded and kept doing exactly what he was doing. “Say, you didn’t happen to see Logan when you came down, did you?” Patton was getting a little worried about Logan. It was early, yes, but the logical side always made his appearance long before now.

“Haben’t sheen ‘im thish morning,” Roman said with a mouthful of pancake.

Patton hummed, set his and Logan’s plates on the table, and grabbed some forks. He sat down at the table, picking at the eggs a little. He would feel better about eating when Logan came. As if on cue, soft squeaks came from the staircase. “Huh, speak of the devil,” Roman mumbled. Patton immediately perked up.

“Good morning, Logan!” Patton shouted. Logan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and covered his ears.

“Too loud, Pat,” Logan grumbled, making his way slowly to the table.

Patton softly replied, “Sorry. I made breakfast.” He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles beneath Logan’s eyes as he approached; they were almost dark enough to rival Anxiety’s. Patton was very much hoping that Roman wouldn’t notice, if only to preserve the peace (and the rest of his good mood, but Patton didn’t want that to be the focus).

“Thank you.” Logan sat and went straight for the coffee, downing half of it in only a few seconds. So far, so good. “Ugh, aren’t I a little old for cat-shaped pancakes, Patton?”

Patton shook his head with a smile. “You’re never too old to have a Patton paw-ncake!” he said cheerily, batting a pawed hand in the air for emphasis.

“Wow, looks like someone’s been to the dark sides this morning. Can we get a bag check on Logan’s eyes?” said Roman, going for another mouthful of bacon.

Logan wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry some of us have to work overtime to make Thomas make the right decisions,” he spat. “Sometimes it’s like I’m the only adult here.” Patton felt that familiar pain ghost across his chest.

“Ex-cuse me, how dare you say such a thing, and when Padre was nice enough to make you breakfast! And anyways, you are NOT the only one who has to pull late nights, Snide and Prejudiced,” Roman countered.

Patton said, “It’s fine, Roman, ple—”

“Really?” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Because it seems to me like you only keep Thomas up at ungodly hours fantasizing about the things you want.”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“As the most important side, no, I don’t.”

“Oh well ex-cuuuuuuse me, Mr. President—”

From there it devolved into them shouting over each other. Roman slung eggs and syrup everywhere while wildly gesticulating. Logan kept smacking the table trying to make his points. Chocolate milk was going everywhere. They had never been so tense with each other.

“Um, kiddos?” Patton said. Neither of them heard him in the midst of their shouting match. “Kiddos?” he said a little louder, reaching out toward them. “Maybe if we just—”

“THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU, PATTON!” both of them yelled. Patton recoiled. Another crack split painfully across his chest. Both of them went back to screaming at each other. He couldn’t stand to see them like this, even if they were hurting him in the process. What else could he do but meet them at their level?

Patton stood abruptly and slammed his hands down on the table. “That’s ENOUGH, both of you!” he scolded. They instantly hushed, flustered and in awe that Patton could even raise his voice. He took a breath and calmly continued, “Roman, I appreciate you defending me like the noble Prince you are, but it’s okay. We know that Logan isn’t the only one that works the graveyard shift, but we shouldn’t make fun of the sides that do when they’re not in their best shape. And Logan, I know you’re tired, but—”

“Yes, from trying to mitigate the effects you had on Thomas yesterday,” Logan interrupted. “We almost adopted one of those puppies when we have neither the resources nor the time to look after one. And who was the one who had to convince him that it was a bad idea? Me!”

Even though Patton wasn’t sorry about that in the slightest, he still apologized. “You did the right thing, Logan. Why don’t you go back to bed for a little while? You’ve earned it,” Patton said. “I’ll even keep your breakfast warm for you.”

Logan nodded and left wordlessly, taking the coffee mug with him back up the stairs. With him gone, Patton looked to Roman. “You owe him an apology, mister,” said Patton.

“What? Me? He was the one being snippier than an Edward Scissorhands wannabe!” Roman cried.

“Well, you didn’t help that, now did you? But he also owes you an apology, too.” That garnered a little “oh” from the Prince. Patton sighed and took Logan’s plate to the oven, turning it on to the lowest setting.

“You know we would’ve worked it out on our own eventually, right?” Roman said. “This is just what we do.”

“I know,” Patton responded. “I think … I should start cleaning up. There’s chocolate milk everywhere.”

Roman nodded. “Okay, Padre. Is there … something I can help with, at least?” He got up and handed his mostly empty plate to Patton.

“Thanks, but I can handle it,” Patton said softly, voice barely above a whisper. He felt Roman’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at the Prince.

“You shouldn’t worry about us so much. We’ll be fine. And, uh, I promise I’ll make it up to the Grinch up there,” said Roman with a small smile.

We don’t need you smothering us.

Great! Now Patton’s thoughts were going to take it upon themselves to put translations after the other’s words! Patton tried to return a smile despite the pain in his chest growing. It must’ve convinced him because Roman, with a final pat on his shoulder, turned and left. As soon as Roman was completely out of sight, Patton rubbed at the cracks to try and soothe their aching. It never worked, but it made him feel a little less like a sad dad. Oh well. At least they’d disappear soon enough.

Or not.

A few days after Losing Motivation came out, Patton had once again busied himself in the kitchen, this time baking chocolate chip cookies while humming along to the Disney showtunes that Roman had playing in the living room. No doubt Thomas would have them stuck in his head by the end of the day. Not that it was a problem in Patton’s mind; the music really helped him ignore the constant throbbing pain that those ugly fractures left on his chest. Better to have Disney showtunes on the brain than a recent ex-boyfriend, right?

The oven timer let out a short ding! at the start of the chorus to Prince Ali. “Oh cookie, where would I be if you weren’t hooooot,” Patton sang over the lyrics. He danced over to the oven while putting on heart-patterned oven mitts. “So full of sweets from eating way more than I ouuuuggghhht. To.” He took the finished cookies out of the oven and twirled around to the music, kicking the door closed and sliding the baking sheet onto the stove in one smooth motion.

Patton made quick work of getting them off the baking sheet and onto a plate. “Cookies are ready!” he shouted. Quick, thundering steps met his cry and in seconds, Roman was in the kitchen juggling three.

“Don’t mind if I do, Pat,” said Roman. Fear never deterred Roman, not even when in the face of third degree mouth burns from oven-fresh cookies. Patton would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of his son for being so brave (even if another part of him was terrified of Roman getting hurt). “Hanksh,” he said with a mouthful of molten cookie, pretending that it wasn’t actually too hot but still doing the hashafashafa thing to cool it down while he ate.

“You’re welcome, son,” Patton replied. He looked at the cookies and remembered why he was making them in the first place. Ever since Anxiety had made himself known, Patton had been trying to reach out to him. Sure, he was dark and broody and sometimes the others had a little trouble seeing how important his contributions were, but he wasn’t the villain that they made him out to be. Anxiety deserved to feel welcome, and that was something Patton would always advocate for.

He set a few of the cookies on another plate for the rest of the sides (and himself) and poured a glass of milk. “Anxiety’s gonna love this!” He picked the cookies and milk up and danced them out of the kitchen, making sure to pass by Logan on the way. Not that it was hard, he was almost always studying at the dining room table. “Hey Logan, do you wanna eat a cookie?” Patton sung to the tune of Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?

Logan glanced up from his book. “I would prefer not to as I am attempting to set a good example for Thomas by abstaining from sugar,” Logan responded.

“Ah. Well, more for me and Anxiety, then!” said Patton. “If you change your mind, there are some more in the kitchen.”

Logan put the book down and said, “Hold on, are you telling me you’re still intent on making friends with him?”

“Well, yeah, what’s so bad about that?” Patton asked.

“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you again. Anxiety has no place with us, Patton, and it’s time that you stop pandering to him. There’s a very good reason why he lives with … them, and not us.”

The little fissures began slowly spreading. Patton was getting good at keeping it under wraps. And under shirts. “Now Logan, just because he’s a little different from us doesn’t mean that he has bad intentions. Sure, he started out in a bad place, but who’s to say that he can’t grow out of that? Sometimes, people just need a push in the right direction to shine. Bright like a diamond~,” Patton sang the last part, which earned him a groan. “I promise, if I felt fishy about any of this, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Why would you feel like a fish? Do fish even feel?” Logan said, genuinely perplexed.

Patton sighed. “Gosh, words can be tough. What I mean is that I don’t feel bad about reaching out to Anxiety, not when he’s been reaching out to us in his own way. I don’t get the feeling that he means us harm.”

“But you have to admit that when it comes to character judgement, you can be too forgiving,” Logan said.

“… Is that a bad thing?” Patton quietly replied, wincing a little as the cracks splintered further.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Patton, are you feeling alright?” he asked.

Oh, no.

“Of … course I am!” Patton said. “I’m Morality, why wouldn’t I be feeling?”

Logan grunted and adjusted his glasses. “Let me rephrase that. Patton, moments ago, you clearly indicated you were in pain. Am I interpreting this cue correctly?”

“Um …” Patton stalled. Maybe it was time to tell someone about this; it wasn’t like he could keep hiding it forever. With a sigh, he replied, “Yeah.” Oh no no no no, he couldn’t do this.

Logan stood there silently for a few moments before realizing that no explanation was going to come out of him without prompting. “Would you care to explain what’s causing it? I can perform first aid if necessary,” he said, stepping toward Patton.

Patton backed away and put his hands up. “I’m alright, really. It’s just … a little heartburn is all. You know me, not waiting until the cookies are cool to start munchin’! It should go away soon,” he replied. He couldn’t describe how badly he wanted to get out from under Logan’s scrutiny.

“If that’s all, then, here,” Logan conjured some Tums, “please take two of these.” He offered the bottle to Patton, who took it with a smile.

“Thank you, Logan, where would we be without you?” said Patton. He took some out of the bottle and made a show of chewing them up. Even if he didn’t really need them, he wanted to be sure that Logan felt listened to.

“What is that on your neck?” Logan asked, gesturing on himself where he thought he saw something.

“Hmm?” Patton felt around in that general area, squeaking softly when he felt a small but deep fracture across his skin. How did he not notice that before? Quick, Patton, think of something! “It’s uh … it’s chocolate!”

Logan’s eyes narrowed again. “Chocolate?”

Patton smiled. “Yeeeaahhhh, I must’ve gotten chocolate on myself when I was making these cookies. Silly me,” he lied, waving a dismissive hand. Well, it wasn’t totally a lie; he did still have some chocolate on his hands.

That seemed to sate the logical side. “Very well then, be sure to wash that off. And I know that no matter what I say, you’re still going to take your cookies to Anxiety. Just, please be careful around him, no matter how he makes you feel. We do still need you to help keep Thomas functioning normally,” said Logan.

“Thank you, Logan, I appreciate that. I promise I’ll be careful,” Patton said with a smile. Logan gave him a curt nod and went back to his studies. Some of the pain subsided with that last comment, which Patton was very grateful for. If it had been anywhere near what it was before, he couldn’t have done what he had set out to do without cuing Anxiety on to his problems. With as much of a smile as he could muster, Patton picked up the cookies and milk and headed down to Anxiety’s room. Thankfully, Logan didn’t notice him adjusting his cardigan along the way.

Patton always thought it was odd that the doorway to the darker side of Thomas’s mind would be inside the broom closet at the end of the hall. In another way, it made a lot of sense when he thought about it a little harder. Anything he wanted hidden would be stowed in here for safe keeping until he was ready to confront it. Plus, it made an excellent visual pun that made Patton giggle every once in a while. He opened the door, carefully balancing the plate on his arm.

“Let’s see, last time I made two rights, a left at the weird eyeball painting that stares at you, another right, then a left, and it’s the last door on the left,” Patton mumbled to himself as he walked through the dark side’s labyrinthine corridors. “Please let there be no spiders this time.”

In between the first two rights, a yellow-gloved hand slithered its way around the edge of the corner in front of Patton, making him stop dead in his tracks. No no no, not now! “Well well well, if it isn’t Morality,” Deceit stepped out in front of Patton, “have you finally decided to join us AND bring us cookies? I know we would all be devastated if you did.” His ever-present smirk seemed even more delighted than normal.

“Um, no. I’m just bringing Anxiety some cookies like I’ve been doing for a while now. You know that,” Patton replied. This definitely wasn’t making him uneasy.

“Indeed I do, and I also know something else.” Deceit strode forward until he was uncomfortably close. “You’ve been hiding something I find to be … most exquisite. If you keep that up, you’re liable to put me out of a job. Tell me, how long do you think you can play my game but keep me away from the field? Or even better,” he slowly circled Patton, eyes ever trained on him, “how long do you think you can keep their prying eyes away from your little secret?” He gently touched the center of Patton’s chest, which made him hiss and nearly drop the cookies and milk.

Patton had to take a moment to catch his breath. “I refuse to … make this their problem,” he gasped. He could’ve sworn he saw a few glowing drops of his essence through his shirt where Deceit’s finger had been.

“Oh, of course you don’t. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one. They’re obviously trying to hurt you by saying and doing all of these little things and telling them this would only make them want to do it more,” Deceit said, coming to stop in front of Patton.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to look out for me in your … own way and I appreciate it, but please, Dee … I can’t tell them this. It would break them even more than it’s breaking me— and I won’t have it.”

Deceit’s smile faded. “You don’t want to listen to reason? Fine. But I leave you with this,” he shook a finger and slowly began sinking out, “what would hurt them more: the others finding out about this now or the others finding out about this when you’re in itty. Bitty. Pieces?” His last words echoed through the empty halls, chilling Patton to his core.

He knew Deceit was right, in his own roundabout way. That was one of his greatest assets: he was a brilliant analyst despite his airs, one that could keenly rival Logan’s perceptive inclinations. It was also what Patton dreaded about him. He couldn’t hide anything from Deceit, not that there was much he could do to hide all the cracks given how many there were.

“No!” Patton said to himself. This wasn’t the time for getting absorbed in thoughts! This was supposed to be bonding-with-his-precious-anxious-baby time, gosh darn it, and he was not going to waste any more time thinking about all the things that were hurting him! Putting on his best determined dad face, Patton quickly marched toward Anxiety’s room.

Before he could get too far, though, he saw Anxiety’s familiar, brooding figure lurking through the halls. He perked up almost imperceptibly when he saw Patton coming. “Oh, there you are. Not like I was worried about you being late or anything,” he said, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

Patton just smiled, relieved that Anxiety hadn’t noticed the little, slightly glowing stains on the front of his shirt. “Of course not. Shall we?” he replied. Anxiety nodded.

The two shared a nice, albeit short, time in Anxiety’s room talking through everything they could. Anxiety’s particular favorite seemed to be picking through Disney movies (or really any movie) to find all of the dark origins or morbid underlying themes they held. While Patton liked being able to spend time with Anxiety, the combination of being in his room for longer than around half an hour and the negative talk were lying heavily on his chest. Still, he never let it show that those cracks were slowly spider-webbing across his skin.

By the end of the day, every step was a Herculean task for Patton. He barely made it back to his room without stumbling. Still, there was one last thing to be done: survey the damage he had accrued. He trudged into the bathroom and grasped the sink with shaking arms, head hanging heavily. “Alright, head up on three, Patton. One, two, three,” he said, letting go of the sink and looking up in the mirror. Despite his weathered appearance, not much could be seen with his shirt still on aside from two small fractures that forked up either side of his neck. The few that had made it past his sleeves were so thin that he didn’t even notice them at first. Patton sighed. He really didn’t want to look at the epicenter of the damage. “Right after this, you can go to bed,” he bartered with his reflection. He gently lifted the hem of his shirt up and nearly fainted from what he saw.

The cracks at the center of Patton’s chest had turned more into chasms where his skin had chipped away like broken porcelain. His essence shone through, now a raging blue storm that threatened to break through the invisible barrier where his skin should be. From there, the light bled through into the smaller fissures that spanned his entire torso, front and back. He knew it was bad, but it had never been to this extent. He gently touched the edge of the center break and accidentally dipped his finger into the blue fluid. The tears he had repressed welled up in his eyes, spurred on by a jolt of raw emotion. Patton quickly wiped the fluid off onto his pants. The tears no longer had any driving force behind them.

“Oh Patton, you’ve got to remember not to do that,” he once again told his reflection. He had forgotten how much emotional sway his essence had when he touched it. Patton knew he couldn’t keep the happy act up like this. So, what else could he do but make himself as scarce as possible until it healed at least a little bit?

And that’s exactly what he did.

#atlas writes #patton angst #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #long post #this first chapter is a little more than 4000 words #which honestly that's just a tiny chunk in comparison to what i have written #shatter me #shatter me story

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justforbooks · 4 years

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Are you watching Mad Men? You have not been getting a truly balanced view of what it was like to be gay in advertising in that time period.

I was there, as a junior writer, then a senior writer, then a group head through the 1950s, and then a creative director in the 1960s. I went on to become one of the highest-paid creatives in the world through the ‘70s and ‘80s.

I beg to differ on the show’s representation of the single gay character, Salvatore, who was fired by the fictional ad agency for being more open about his sexuality. According to the show’s creator, Matthew Weiner, as quoted in The Advocate, “I felt it was an expression of the times that he couldn’t work there anymore. It’s the ultimate case of sexual harassment.”

But there were plenty of gays who, like me, didn’t bother to stay in the closet, succeeded, and thrived in this tough world.

Yes, some agencies were like the one where Don Draper works. But these stuffy, old-line agencies were the big ones — BBDO, J. Walter Thompson, Leo Burnett — not agencies like Draper’s. They were top-heavy with upper-level management from Ivy League schools; they were agencies where women could only be secretaries or work in what was called the “Women’s Division” (food, fashion, and cosmetics). In those kinds of agencies, if you were gay, you were probably closeted, like that poor character on Mad Men. But more likely, if you were gay, you didn’t stay long at such an agency, as many of the smaller agencies were quite different — fun agencies to work for, where being gay was not an issue.

The fact that no one at the Mad Men agency changes jobs is very unreal. In the advertising world I knew, you rarely worked anywhere more than two years, as other agencies wanted you for your knowhow on whatever account you had been working on. And your salary soared. You almost doubled your salary each time you moved. I went from $95 a week when I started at Kenyon and Eckhardt to something over $22,000 a year at Hockaday Associates in four agency moves. In the early 1960s that was good money. I spent two years at BBDO and only about a year at J. Walter Thompson, and voilà! Everybody did it. Why didn’t Salvatore?

After I left BBDO, a friend told me he’d overheard comments about me in the elevator, along the lines of, “So, they were in a lot of trouble here when the queer that was writing all the great stuff left. But then they found another queer who could write just as fancifully.”

When I finally hit Hockaday Associates, a small agency specializing in high-end fashion, furniture, cosmetics, and the like, it was a different world.

All the art directors were gay, and all the account executives were women. The agency president was in fact a Miss Hockaday, and she had her own take on the 1960s. Everyone really dressed to the nines. ��Everyone was good-looking, and there was wall-to-wall green carpeting in the foyer. A lady with a cart served tea every afternoon at 4 o’clock. Clients came in and were overwhelmed by the chic and wonder of it all. We were famous in the advertising world because Miss Hockaday dropped the Elizabeth Arden account. After Miss Arden kept her waiting for an hour for a meeting, Miss Hockaday swept in and said, “Miss Arden, you are a tyrant. We do not want to have this account,” and swept out.

Can we please have more scenes like this on Mad Men?

The gay men on staff knew everything there was to know at the time about clothes, interior décor, you name it. I learned a lot. This was the early 1960s; being witty was important then. And let’s face it: This was New York, where being gay was hardly a hidden-away phenomenon. In Greenwich Village the gay men were lined up every night along the western side of Washington Square. They sat and lounged against the low pipe railings there, which were called “the Meat Rack.” You could drop in at Mary’s on Eighth Street or go dancing at the Cherry Lane bar (men did the two-step there, clasped in each other’s arms), right next door to the Cherry Lane theater. There was a large sign by the door: “Out of Bounds to Military Personnel.” If you were gay in New York, you didn’t need to run around hiding it.

And there were plenty of places in the advertising world where you could work and it just didn’t matter. What outsiders little realized was the tightrope danger of the advertising industry. There was not a day you went to work that you couldn’t get fired, regardless of whether you were straight or day. If the client vamoosed, the entire group servicing that client was fired. Immediately, to not waste salaries. You deserved “flight pay,” we called it, like the pilots in the Air Force. Employees who could hang onto those slippery, shifting clients were highly valued. I was one of those employees. And I didn’t care who knew I was gay. I was myself. Lots of ladies in the office told me that their closeted gay friends would sigh, “If only I could be as openly gay as Leddick.”

And then I went to Grey Advertising...

I always said that everything I was or ever hoped to be in advertising I owed to Revlon. I was hired as the Worldwide Creative Director of Revlon at Grey Advertising in the mid-1960s. Grey Advertising was huge, the largest agency in the U.S. It was not like stuffy BBDO and other biggies. It was like Hollywood. It had scale, it had dough, and it was heartless. Revlon was the same thing, but only more glamorous, with more money, and heartless in their way, but very loyal to those they valued.

I was never “in” the closet, and actually, I enjoyed making all those white, heterosexual, tough guys face up to the fact they had to have me in that job, because Revlon liked me; they liked a creative director who was taller, blonder, and better-dressed than anyone else in their meetings. When they screamed and cussed and bellowed in their meetings, I would say, “Keep this up and I will lose my enthusiasm.”

And during a tense meeting, when I took out my lip balm, my crew knew the meeting was over.

Every year on Advertising Age‘s “worst clients list,” Revlon was always voted the number-one worst client in the United States. And I didn’t care, because Revlon liked me, and they liked me for what I could do.

In meetings with Revlon, a head honcho would be chewing out the president of Grey Advertising, saying things like, “You guys are useless. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re a waste of time. The only reason you have this account is him!“ And they would point to me. Gee, it felt great. They were loyal to those who truly were on their team.

At one point, my staff went on strike and told management that it was either me or them. They didn’t want to work for me anymore. The head account executive called Revlon while they sat in front of his desk in assembled mutiny. He spoke briefly to the client and hung up. He said, “They like David. You’re all fired.” I only found out about this later.

Revlon spent $34 million a year on advertising. They were a big deal. That’s $246 million in today’s dollars, and the agency got 17 percent. We had enormous budgets and tremendous creative freedom, to an extent that was never seen again. One of my favorite creations was this commercial for Revlon’s Jontue fragrance.

Some people call it “groundbreaking” and “iconic.” I just thought it was a lot of fun.

Their world included major gays like Mr. Kenneth the hairdresser, Bill Blass the designer, and Mr. John the hat designer. And Halston, who went from hats to being a major design name. Believe me, none of those guys did anything but roar around town looking swell. One of my female writers said, “Some people think homosexuality is a crime. And some people seem to think it’s a sin. But you, David, seem to think it’s a luxury.” Well, Mick Jagger wasn’t out there acting very butch, nor was David Bowie and a host of other entertainers. This was the ‘60s, which I have always thought prefigured our 21st century.

And I think the gay advertising world of the ‘60s that serviced the major beauty and fashion clients like Revlon anticipated the gay liberation that is still in full-swing today. These were big people handling money and taking big chances. They didn’t have time to care about what other people did in bed. They only cared about what you did in the office. It was refreshing, liberating, tough, and unprejudiced. They were only prejudiced against the untalented, and a little bit against those who were not good-looking and didn’t know how to dress.

Revlon was the megastar of the cosmetics industry. It was headed by Charles Revson, whose head creative director at Revlon (and my counterpart) was Kay Daly, the highest-paid woman in the U.S. (hint, hint, Mad Men writers). She was paid $100,000 a year back then, a stupefying salary when writers started at perhaps $9,000 a year. My own observation is that as women became more and more liberated, attitudes toward gays became more liberated, too. Women in business simply did not care. The presence of gay men in the office did not make them examine their own inner sexual feelings as it did straight men.

Revlon was exemplary for this — very macho, but not in the Ivy League, Brooks Brothers tradition. Revlon was much more European, and they realized that they were in a woman’s business. Kay Daly led us to create the Revlon woman: single, beautiful, with a good job, and certainly not a virgin. She was welcomed by millions of women. Headlines like “Fire and Ice” and “Jungle Peach” let us all know something sexy was going on.

C’mon, Mad Men, bring us more juicy stuff like this, please!

In many ways it was also very American: If you can do it, you can be it. As a French friend recently said to me while visiting me in Miami Beach, “The great thing here is that you feel anything is possible.” And so it was, back then, in many parts of the Mad, Mad advertising world. But it wasn’t all just Mad men. Much of it looked ahead to the world we are finally beginning to find ourselves in now. We were anticipating the 21st century about half a century before it arrived.

Every year I negotiated a new contract, and toward the end I was only working 32 weeks a year, finally. When the management at Grey asked Revlon if this would be OK, they said, “As long as he’s here when we need him.” I lived in Paris part of the time and would fly into New York on the Concorde for meetings late in the morning and go back the same night on the 7 o’clock Air France flight.

That was glamour. The fact that I was gay meant nothing and never came up.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water...

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

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meteor-writes · 4 years

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#FFF40 Mysterious Masquerade

I know it's slightly late and slightly over but I was very excited by this prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial!! Thank you!

Mischievous Masquerade

The mask of a masquerade ball was the fancy of most. A ball had its gowns, its music, its laughter but a masquerade had mystery. With the possibility of not being quite seen, there was a chance to be someone bolder, smarter, kinder. A freedom Constance had craved when she adorned her silk painted dress and delicate white mask. Tonight, she was Lady Constance, a woman of refined taste.

With an air of elegance, Constance floated through the ballroom, admiring the lavish chandeliers and sipping cherry flavoured wine. She did not stop to talk, nor to dance. Just walked amidst the aristocracy wearing an effortless smile that said she enjoyed their company, but was far above it. She was Lady Constance after all, as aloof as she was grand. And so, when she reached the edge of the room, she slipped out onto the balcony and finally breathed.

It was a cool night, though the breeze welcome compared to the sweltering ballroom. Constance found it soothing and leaned against the battlements, humming along to the bass that rumbled through the stonework. From here, she could see the moon. It was small, a thin glowing crescent fallen into an ocean, and yet it couldn’t help drawing her eye. In the cellar, her window was so low that this view had become unreachable.

But tonight, she was Lady Constance, a woman who could gaze fancifully at the sky anytime of the week. She wouldn’t stand for doing so at a ball. Constance pushed off the wall, intent on wooing herself a dance, when a noise stopped her short. She peered over the side of the balcony.

An uninvited guest was scaling the wall, dressed entirely in finery but strangely without a mask. His shirt, waistcoat and breeches were unusually black. In fact, his entire outfit was, aside from three garish red feathers sticking out his hat. Constance lay her elbows on the stone.

‘You know, there’s stairs right there.’ She called, eyeing the masonry that spiralled up to her balcony.

The man’s eyes widened a fraction at her sudden address. Then he saw her and a grin stretched across his brown lips, a mischievous type that fitted so well on his rugged face she imagined it had been worn time and time again.

‘Yes!’ The man cried, dropping from the wall and landing on the rooftop beneath her. ‘But what if I got recognised!?’

Constance remained carefully unimpressed. ‘It’s a masked ball.’

‘Ah.’

The man bit his lip. ‘You’re good at this.’

Constance smiled coyly.

‘I like to think.’

She turned back around, but kept sly watch as the man hopped onto the stairs with an athletic kind of bounce.

‘So what’s your recommendation?’ He asked on arrival. ‘You take my hand and we waltz through this door undetected?’

‘We?’

The man grinned. ‘If you weren’t my partner in crime you would’ve called the guards by now.’

Constance could not fault this logic.

‘Maybe.’ She said, taking another purposeful sip of wine. ‘I don’t want to assist a fool though. How come you didn’t simply wear a mask and wander in amongst the other guests?’

The man hummed, sidling up to her. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Constance. Now tell me why you were trying to live like ivy?’

‘Constance.’ He repeated. Then he sprang backwards, sweeping into a full bow. ‘It is a privilege to meet you fair Constance, however, I am displeased you think this noble prince to be a fool.’

Prince? This man was not the image brought to Constance’s mind. Prince was the sour Crown Prince who dealt in money, taxes and prosecution. Prince Zaphron could be seen licking his lips at executions. This handsome, albeit slightly dishevelled man, seemed to get his kicks out of narrowly escaping execution. This was no Prince Zaphron. Which meant...

‘Prince Mikhalis?’

The younger brother grinned.

‘At your service.’

Constance felt a sudden thundering in her chest. It would be no good to flounder now though, so she forced it down.

‘Why does a prince need to sneak into his own party?’

Mikhalis smirked. ‘I think you’ll find I was trying to sneak past my own party.’

‘You’d snuck out.’ Constance thought aloud.

Mikhalis hummed.

‘And now will you help me sneak back in oh wise one?’

He fluttered his eyes, stealing her free hand. Constance looked at the moon.

‘I’ll make it with your while.’ he crooned and when Constance looked back he winked.

‘Fine.’ She said, feeling her tummy full with bubbles. ‘Do as I say.’

If she had a prince at her knees, she was going to have a little fun.

‘Take off your hat.’ She commanded, sliding off her shoes.

‘Put these on.’

The Prince’s eyes flicked up with a familiar spark.

‘Kinky.’

Constance scoffed, ripping the feathers from his hat. ‘They’ll change your stature.’

‘Whatever you say,’ the prince sang, sliding them on with a shimmy.

Constance was starting to believe this was a little bit too much work. Still she wound the feathers together, and bent down to place them across the prince’s eyes, fixing them into place by shoving the hat over the top.

‘How do I look?’ The prince asked. Constance found the feathers made his green eyes pierce.

‘Acceptable.’

The two stumbled through the party, ducking under flying arms and swaying around groups of dancers. Each time the prince tripped, Constance stumbled and the two giggled as they tried to style out the movement, ignoring the indignant faces of diplomats. They’d blame it on being spiffy. And once they’d burst into the corridor, Constance cried, ‘kick off the shoes!’ Already running into the stairs.

‘I don’t want to break them.’ Mikhalis shouted in alarm.

‘It’s alright they’re not mine!’

Mikhalis made a face. ‘Isn’t that worse.’

Constance laughed, jumping back down to reel him forward, forcing him to stumble out of them.

‘You’re trouble.’ He said without a hint of fear.

It was Constance’s turn to smirk.

Then Mikhalis grabbed her hand, and took off running, racing them through plush corridors and winding stairs. In little time at all, they were bursting into a spacious oak room.

‘Finally.’ Mikhalis announced, letting the door slam shut behind. He bounded across the room, landing in front of Constance and spinning her into his arms.

‘What now?’ He asked, flashing wild eyes.

Constance smirked. Without waiting for an answer, she kissed him. Quickly, with the same fervour as the running. And her heart raced just as fast. She pushed at the feathers, hating the way they tickled her cheeks as Mikhalis pulled the ribbons of her own mask. It seemed they were finally free. Then there was a huge crash.

‘BROTHER!’ A voice boomed and the couple sprang apart. It was Zaphron. Constance’s heart stopped. ‘What have I told you about sneaking out! We have guests and diplomats and-‘

He stopped, eyes landing on Constance. She squeezed her nails into her palms, stomach turning as the tie on her mask finally gave.

There was an indignant gasp.

‘Why aren’t you in your cell!?’ Zaphron demanded, staring at her with unbridled rage. Constance cringed.

‘Cell?’ Mikhalis asked, in a single masquerade shattering syllable.

#romance #flash fiction #storytime #writeblr #masquerade #masked ball #my writing #fff40 #mysterious masquerade #flashfictionfridayofficial #story 9 #short story #romance story

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soymimikyu · 4 years

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Witcher Episode 7 Notes

Continued rambling notes for a future ficky (fic-ee? ficee?) mess. Today’s notes are being scribbled out while listening to Eunomia [ARCD0070].

Also, there is sadly no Jaskier in this episode. He was a major source of most of my notes. To make up for his absence, these are going to be less filtered. I am not sure why I wrote some of these things down, but you’ll get to see them.

* Ciri is so much more colorful than anyone else in that town. She does realize she stands out right? She should know better...she put a fair bit of effort into hiding and disguising herself earlier in the season. Also she has matured so much at this point...probably something to do with recent life experiences.

* Why does Geralt care about the gender of the child surprise? He clearly doesn’t care about destiny, but since it is a girl does it remind him of what Renfri told him? Makes him question his world view perhaps?

* Cintra is really pretty! [which I followed by] Calanthe is really grumpy -- is that embroidery? (Karolina and her sister did an excellent analysis of the costuming in the show -- I highly recommend).

* (I wrote something I can’t read anymore...It is entirely in block letters, but does not form any sort of word or coherent thought. I am not sure what was going on...but it appears to be some comment on a face?)

* Calanthe as a Tragic Hero? Her hubris brings her down fall by fating her to death? This is likely a much broader subject unfit for the moment.

* AHHH the description of Eist of a “Broken Lion” fits really nicely into the episodes opening symbol. I have been very pleased by each of these symbols.

* Wtf are they digging? Magnalith? (verbatim note). Why does niflgard care or do they actually have an end goal with this project? Are male sorcerers also sterile?

* Is Yennefer really using Istred as a rebound? Or is she just looking for possibly the last comfortable relationship she knew? Istred really looks pained.

* Lol -- studying “botany’. That is the flimsiest showing of a plant ever.

* What happened between when Tissaia and Yennefer last met that changed Tissaia so much? She seems different...less aggressive perhaps?

* How do Triss and Yennefer know each other? Do we just assume that they knew each other from Aretuza or am I missing / forgetting something.

* Why is Fire magic always considered evil? The necromancy and demonology -- sure, sounds evil. But fire magic? Fire does a lot of nice things and other cultures have a lot of respect / reverence for fire. I definitely lack the background, but is this attitude towards fire magic more common in European fiction?

* I really liked Tissaia in the meeting room. She felt like a strong matriarch voicing reason.

* There was a lack of really fast sword play in this season. It is fun to see Geralt mow down people fancifully.

* Geralt’s expression when he sees Calanthe’s body is one of shock and awe. I am not sure if we such surprise on his face earlier in the season.

* Assuming Geralt killed some random Nilfgardian solider when looking for Ciri, that soldier displayed a very impressive level of zealotry or religious brainwashing. For an army that is supposedly mostly forced conscripts, that is a bit odd. Magic? Perhaps things are so bad and the promise of a new religion with meaningful purpose is sufficient?

* AHHHHH CIRI IS TALKING TO A HORSE WONDERING WHAT CRAZIES TALK TO HORSE (IT IS HER DESTINY TO TALK TO HORSES). The horses name should be Clip -- that horse is definitely more of a Clip.

* wtf was that ending ... good sound mixing

1 more episode...and then I need to go back and take notes on episodes 1, 2, 3, and 4.

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt #no jaskier #clip the horse #talking to horses is my destiny #ramblings #clip and roach should meet and talk about their crazy ownders

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redsoapbox · 4 years

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MY TOP FIFTEEN TRACKS BY WELSH ACTS IN THE PAST DECADE.

Pictured - Davey Newington. Davey features in the list twice - as Boy Azooga and as a member of the gone but not forgotten Houdini Dax.

In my introduction to Pop Hack, my debut collection of reviews/interviews, I make the claim that ‘some of the best records I have heard in my lifetime come from the unsigned and unsung acts that I stumbled upon covering the Welsh music scene’. I repeated that claim the other day while being interviewed by Bill Cummings for his Cymru Am Bop podcast (see link below), so I thought it was about time I put some flesh on the bones. In no particular order, then, are fifteen tracks from some of the best singer/ songwriters and bands in Wales.

1. Dan Bettridge - Third Eye Blind (2015)

Released as a single in 2015, and wisely included in Dan’s exceptional debut album Asking For Trouble three years later. “Third Eye Blind” is a stirring soul workout, hugely influenced by Van Morrison’s classic track “Real, Real Gone”, and a surefire set closer by anybody’s standards.

youtube

2. Pretty Vicious - Cave Song (2014)

The mighty tune that famously sent the major record labels into a lather and into a headlong race to Merthyr in pursuit of the teenage rockers. I caught the band at the EVI (Ebbw Vale Institute), a few months after they had signed on the dotted line, and filed one of the earliest national reviews of the band for Wales Arts Review. I spent most of the review decrying their major label status; ‘Pretty Vicious has signed with Virgin, it’s the first uncool thing they’ve done’ I moaned. I ended the review on a note of caution - ‘Pretty Vicious would be wise not to rush into the recording studio just yet. You never get a second chance at a debut album’. My scepticism about the multinational’s motives was on the money - the band was unceremoniously dropped by Branson and Co in 2017 without even releasing an album!

https://soundcloud.com/prettyviciousuk/cave-song

3. Houdini Dax - Found Love In The Dole Office. (2015)

I was a huge fan of Cardiff’s sadly defunct power-pop trio, whose two albums, You Belong To Dax Darling (2011) and, particularly, Naughty Nation (2015), are packed with bangers/earworms/crackers - take your pick. I was bemused by their complete lack of success, but nevertheless surprised when they morphed overnight into Monico Blonde. Drummer Davey Newington went on to bigger, if not necessarily better things, with Boy Azooga of course. “Found Love In The Dole Office” is a typical Dax track, matching a punchy melody with a clever lyric.

youtube

4. Jodie Marie - Everyone Makes Mistakes (2015)

Taken from one of my all time favourite albums, Trouble in Mind (2015), “Everyone Makes Mistakes” is one of four or five outstanding ballads that form the centrepiece of this truly fine record. This is a heartbreaking song that leaves the listener reeling!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNBraJss7-4&feature=youtu.be&autoplay=1

5. oblong - Light Sleeper (2019)

I tossed a coin with this track. Llanelli’s bilingual post-punk combo has released two scorching albums, Brilliant...Gwd (2017) and Hollalluog (2019), which are brimming over with terrific tunes. Any one of them will set the pulses racing.

https://oblong1.bandcamp.com/

6. Danielle Lewis - West Coast Sun (2016)

When we beat this virus and lockdown truly ends, this is the record that I’m going to emerge from my hideaway playing. A joyous tune that deserves the sun on its back and for people to be of good cheer when they listen to it. Danielle’s current single “Flowers” is another beautiful composition.

https://daniellelewis.bandcamp.com/track/west-coast-sun

7. Aled Rheon - Wrap up Warm (2016)

It’s never the done thing to quote oneself, but as this feature is partly to publicise my book Pop Hack I’m going to take a diabolical liberty! In my review of the song I write ‘It’s a beautifully judged lyric with a performance to match, as Rheon’s fine-grained vocal manages to make James Taylor sound like Jello Biaffra’. Not bad, even if I say so myself!

youtube

8. Armstrong - Gratitude (2019)

Although this song dates back a good number of years, it was included in the deluxe release of Armstrong’s majestic album Under Blue Skies (2019). As with oblong, above, I was spoiled for choice and very nearly chose the exquisite “My Resistance”, then again I very nearly opted for the heartaching “Perhaps It’s Time To Say Goodbye”. “Gratitude”, though, has a life-affirming quality that somehow transcends the times in which we live.

https://bigtakeover.com/recordings/ArmstrongUnderBlueSkiesTheBeautifulMusic

9. Climbing Trees - Aliosi (2013)

Does this song really contain ‘the most romantic couplet in the history of pop’, as I somewhat fancifully speculated in my review of Hebron, the Pontypridd combo’s debut album? Perhaps not, but that’s what a great pop song can do to you. I happily plead guilty to getting carried away by ‘Sunlight streams into my eyes, It always brings me to / I didn’t mean to wake you darling, but I can’t keep my eyes off you’. If that doesn’t set your heart racing, what will?

https://ilikeclimbingtrees.bandcamp.com/track/aloisi

10. Silent Forum - Limbo (2017)

Silent Forum had a great 2019, with their debut album Everything Solved At Once earning them rave reviews across the board. It’s a wonderful album and it would have been easy to choose its centrepiece, the stupendous “How I Faked The Moon Landing”. I opted, however, for “Limbo” an old favourite of mine and a song that stood out for me the very first time I saw the band play in 2015. This is Indie-noir incarnate!

https://silentforum.bandcamp.com/track/limbo-2

11. Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard - Love Forever (2019).

Can there be any doubt that Tom Rees and his band are heading for the big time? The man writes killer tunes and has the chutzpah to carry them off. Rees is a real political animal, but he tends to separate that out from his music. On “Love Forever”, an ‘all you need is love’ protest song, he puts a hippy-dippy toe in choppy political waters for the first time.

youtube

12. Boy Azooga - Loner Boogie (2018)

After missing the boat with Houdini Dax and Monico Blonde, Davey Newington’s ship finally came in with his solo project Boy Azooga, leading to support slots with the likes of Bob Dylan and Neil Young. This tune is as fun ‘n’ funky as pop music gets.

youtube

13. Burning Ferns - Bullet Train

Newport’s Burning Ferns are often compared to stellar names like Big Star, Teenage Fan Club and The Byrds, so if you admire classic songwriting, chiming guitars and three-part harmonies then their two fine albums on Country Mile See Saw Seen (2013) and Public Mono (2017) are must-have records.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TM6m3GTm7DE

14. Georgia Fearn - Catch Me When You Can (2018)

An edgy and imaginative songwriter, Georgia Fearn was just 17 when she released her debut album, the dark delight that was Perfect on Paper. Equally influenced by TV, cinema and literature’s tales of the macabre, Perfect on Paper is something of a black comedy, one that you might want to listen to crouched into the foetal position whilst hiding behind the sofa!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgVmBKAbn6c

15. Head Noise - Microwave (2018)

It defies explanation that Mitch Tennant left the mini-masterpiece “Microwave” off last year’s 14-track debut album Uber Fantastique. A fun pop artefact in the vein of Landscape’s “Einstein A Go-Go”, every home should have one - “Microwave” the song, I mean, not an actual microwave. Although I’m given to understand by the cooks in the household that a microwave is a product that comes in handy, personally I never venture into the kitchen, so I can’t properly comment!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wXV_7fr7k8

The five next best

Travelator - Anonymous Iconoclasts, That Night at the Table - Beth Goudie, Just Rock ‘n’ Roll - I Fight Lions, Obsolete - Matthew Fredricks (not yet released), High -Clwb Fuzz.

http://www.godisinthetvzine.co.uk/2020/05/11/podcast-cymru-am-bop-episode-three-featuring-kevin-mcgrath/

All of the above acts are featured in my book Pop Hack

http://bit.ly/PopHack

2 notes · View notes

wilddaydreamingcat · 4 years

Text

The Untamed Episode 3- translation of Chinese subs

The Untamed – Episode 3

Notes:

The line breaks mostly correspond to each line of mandarin subtitles within the episode. However, I have switched some around so that the English translation can make more sense and flow more smoothly.

Please do not post this outside Tumblr, thank you.

[Jin Zhen He Inn]

Translation Note: I guess a literal translation of the name of this inn would be “Rest Stop River Inn”

Jiang Cheng:

Waiter, what happened?

Why did you suddenly tell us there’re no rooms available?

Waiter:

Sirs, there’s nothing we can do either.

An extremely extravagant customer arrived today

and booked the entire inn.

Those that are not part of their retinue must leave.

That’s why,

it’s better for you guests

to find another inn to rest in.

Mianmian:

Waiter!

Waiter:

Welcome, guests!

I followed your instructions and prepared the rooms.

The other guests have already been sent away.

Mianmian:

Please place these scented pouches

in Young Master Jin’s room.

There are sliced medicinal herbs within

that keep mosquitoes away.

Jin Disciple:

Mianmian, you really are considerate.

No wonder Young Master Jin likes you so much.

Mianmian:

What are you talking about?

Jin Disciple:

You’d better be careful with your task,

our Young Master is not just someone from a common clan .

Waiter:

You can rest assured.

Mianmian:

Let’s go up and have a look at Young Master’s room.

Waiter:

Ladies, this way please.

Jiang Cheng:

So, it’s the Lanling Jin Clan.

I guess they’re here to attend the lectures

and decided to rest here while passing by Caiyi Town.

Jiang Disciple:

Senior Brother*, the Jin Clan members are so few in number,

yet they booked the entire inn

and sent us off even though we arrived first.

All the other inns in this town are full,

we have nowhere else to go.

*Translation Note: The same problem with episode 2. The Jiang Clan disciple addresses Jiang Cheng as 师兄 (shī xiōng), which is the senior male fellow student of a martial clan/sect, but in the Netflix subtitles, it is simply ‘Jiang Cheng’.

Wei Wuxian:

Young Lady Mianmian,

can you give me one of your scented pouches?

Mianmian:

Who are you?

Who gave you permission to call me Mianmian?

Wei Wuxian:

It’s her!

She called you Mianmian,

so why can’t I?

Mianmian:

Who are you?

You’re not allowed to call me by that name!

Wei Wuxian:

It’s fine if I’m not allowed.

Why not tell me your real name, then?

I will stop calling you Mianmian.

Mianmian:

Why should I tell you just because you asked?

Before asking for someone’s name,

please introduce yourself first.

Wei Wuxian:

Of course! Once I say my name, you must remember it.

I’m called ‘Yuan Dao’.

Jin Clan ladies:

‘Yuan Dao’?

Jin disciple:

Mianmian,

I don’t remember which clan’s Young Master has this name.

But, looking at his appearance and bearing,

he doesn’t seem like someone from a common clan.

Mianmian:

You...

You’re making fun of me!

Jin disciple:

What’s wrong?

Mianmian:

Think for a moment, what’s the next line after “Green, green, grass by the river”?

Jin disciple:

“Green, green, grass by the river,

Mianmian misses Yuandao.”

Translation Note: It’s difficult to express the wordplay in the subtitles:

青青河边草 (qīng qīng hé biān cǎo), 绵绵思远道 (mián mián sī yuǎn dào)

Netflix subtitles for this is quite accurate –

Green, green, grass by the river (青青河边草), long, long, missing the far road (绵绵思远道).

Since the lady’s name is Mianmian (绵绵), and 思 (sī) can mean “to miss/yearn”, 绵绵思远道 can be interpreted as “Mianmian misses Yuandao.”

青 = green

河边 = river bank

草 = grass

绵绵 = continuous / an uninterrupted period of time, 绵 can also mean soft.

思 = to think / miss / yearn

远道 = far road

Mianmian:

How can you say that out loud?

Who would ‘miss’ you?

How shameless.

Wei Wuxian:

Looks like Young Lady Mianmian is from the Lanling Jin Clan.

It is said that the ladies from the Lanling Jin Clan are as beautiful as celestial beings.

Now that I’ve seen with my own eyes,

you are truly extraordinary.

Mianmian:

Such a glib-tongue.

Wei Wuxian:

I am Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian of the Yumeng Jiang Clan,

We are stopping by Caiyi Town for a rest while

going to the Gusu Lan Clan to attend the lectures.

As fellow cultivators,

I’m sure Young Lady Mianmian cannot bear to see us sleep on the streets, right?

Mianmian:

Oh, so this Young Master ‘Yuan Dao’

has another, more pleasant sounding name.

However, regarding the rooms...

Jin disciple:

Mianmian,

the Young Master won’t be able to bring so many people anyway.

These rooms will just remain empty.

Also, they did arrive first.

Mianmian:

If that’s the case,

there’s no harm in letting Young Master Wei stay here.

I will also not inform the Young Master of this.

Wei Wuxian:

Please accept my thanks, ladies.

============================================

Jiang Cheng:

Only the actions of a frivolous loafer like you

could succeed in getting a few rooms from those ladies.

Wei Wuxian:

Senior Sister,

did you hear what he said?

Jiang Cheng, I somewhat believe that this is due to your jealousy and envy of me.

Jiang Yanli:

Why don’t both of you just have a fight right here?

Wei Wuxian:

But, Senior Sister,

who was the Young Master Jin that Mianmian spoke of?

Jiang Cheng:

Who else can it be?

Among our peers

from the Lanling Jin Clan,

besides the youngest master of the Jin Clan, Jin Zixuan,

who else would it be?

Wei Wuxian:

I wonder if the Young Master Jin

is still as fancifully dressed*

as the time when he was a child.

*Translation Note: 花枝招展 (huā zhī zhāo zhǎn) – Wei Wuxian uses an idiom that’s usually for describing women being beautifully dressed.

Waiter:

Master Cultivators, my apologies.

There are not enough rooms in my humble inn,

so I will have to trouble you to vacate these rooms as well.

================================================

Jin disciples:

Young Master Jin!

Jin Zixuan:

Is this the best inn in Caiyi Town?

Jin disciple:

Yes, Young Master.

Jin disciple:

Even the best inn will never compare to the Carp Tower.

This chair is one of Jin Clan’s, and is made from black ebony wood.

The teacups we use are of peacock green glazed porcelain.

Jin Zixuan:

This tea is stale.

[Jin Zixuan – Lanling Jin Clan]

Let us look at the room.

Mianmian:

Young Master, this way.

Jin Zixuan:

I see, it is the Yunmeng Jiang Clan.

Jiang Cheng:

I suppose the Youngest Master Jin

is also here to attend lectures at the Gusu Lan Clan.

Jin disciple:

Mind your words!

This is our Young Master Jin,

not Youngest Master Jin*.

Translation Note: 金小公子 (Jīn xiǎo gōng zǐ) - Jiang Cheng adds a ‘小’ (xiǎo) to the title of “Young Master” (公子gōng zǐ). ‘小’ xiǎo can mean “little / small” and somewhat demeans the status of Jin Zixuan, implying that his status is beneath Jiang Cheng, who is of the same age and status. This is why the Jin disciple got offended.

Jin Zixuan:

Young Master Jiang is also passing by?

Jiang Cheng:

We intended to have a rest here.

Jin disciple:

That’s really unfortunate,

as we, the Lanling Jin Clan have booked

all the rooms in this inn.

You should all find another place to stay.

Wei Wuxian:

Hey, we were here first.

Jin disciple:

So what if you were here first?

You can complain to the innkeeper.

Anyway, we’ve booked the entire inn,

as our Young Master does not want

to squeeze in with a bunch of common rabble.

Wei Wuxian:

Each cultivation clan member can only bring a few people

to attend the lectures at the Lan Clan.

Young Master Jin ostentatiously

brought so many people with you,

for what purpose?

Jin disciple:

We’re all part of Young Master’s Jin’s retinue. So what?

Wei Wuxian:

The Lanling Jin Clan are really full of extravagance.

I’ve heard that the rules of the Gusu Lan Clan are very strict and they lead austere lives.

Young Master Jin made a grandiose display,

bringing so many people as part of your retinue.

I’m so worried

that Young Master Jin won’t be unable to take the hardship.

Jiang Yanli:

A-Xian.

Wei Wuxian:

Senior Sister,

I’m just giving him giving him some friendly advice.

Jin disciple:

How dare you speak insolently to our Young Master!

Where are the manners of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan?

Wei Wuxian:

Which parts of my words are insolent?

Speak out.

Also, if you want to criticise me, go ahead,

but don’t drag the Yunmeng Jiang Clan into this.

Jiang Yanli:

A-Xian, A-Cheng,

pack up your things,

we’ll find somewhere else to stay.

Young Master Jin, farewell.

Jin disciple:

Young Master, your bedroom is the one next door.

Jin Zixuan:

I beg your pardon, Miss Jiang.

I entered the wrong room, apologies for the offence.

Wei Wuxian:

Is there any need to say that?

Aren’t all the rooms in this inn yours?

I’ve long heard that the Lanling Jin Clan places great importance on bearing and etiquette,

Now that I’ve seen for myself, it’s barely acceptable.

=================================================

(Gusu Lan Clan)

Jiang Cheng:

This Jin Zixuan

is arrogant to the extreme!

Wei Wuxian:

I agree.

He flaunts around like a flowery peacock!

It’s just a pity,

I couldn’t get my hands on a jar of Emperor’s Smile.

Jiang Cheng,

You’re still thinking of liquor during such a moment?

Didn’t you see the expression on Sister’s face?

Wei Wuxian:

I don’t know what on earth Uncle Jiang is thinking.

Why did he insist on arranging Senior Sister’s marriage engagement with that flower peacock?

===============================================

[Cloud Recesses]

Lan disciple:

This is the rule of the Gusu Lan Clan, students who are here to attend lectures

are not allowed entry without the invitation.

Wei Wuxian:

Little brother, I’ve already told you many times.

We lost our invitation by accident; it was definitely not done on purpose.

Also, we are all standing right here,

how can we be faking?

Lan disciple:

Young sir, I am unable to verify everyone’s identity

without the invitation.

Wei Wuxian:

Look, the sun is about to set.

You’re can’t just watch us sleep out in the open, right?

How about this? Please request your Clan Leader to come over.

He has met our Senior Sister before.

Once he sees her, you’ll know that what we said was the truth.

Lan disciple:

Then I ask for everyone to wait here,

until my shift changes at 5.45pm*

to inform...

Translation Note: 酉时 (yǒu shí) is the period of the day from 5pm-7pm. 三刻 (sān kè) is three quarters of an hour.

Wei Wuxian:

5.45pm?

But the sun is about to set!

Jiang Yanli:

A-Xian, you must not be rude.

Wei Wuxian:

But, Senior Sister...

Jiang Yanli:

Father instructed us

no matter what, we must not lose our sense of propriety.

Let’s leave the mountain entrance before deciding what to do.

[Lan Zhan, courtesy name – Wangji]

Lan disciple:

Second Young Master, you’ve returned.

Lan Wangji:

Who is causing a scene here?

Lan disciple:

They said they were the Yunmeng Jiang Clan...

Jiang Cheng:

This Second Young Master Lan...

Lan disciple:

...here for the lectures, but they do not have the invitation.

Jiang Cheng:

...I suppose he is one of the Lan Clan Twin Jades, Lan Wangji,

Clan Leader Lan Xichen’s younger brother.

Wei Wuxian:

Then I’m sure he can let us in.

Lan disciple:

This is...

Lan Wangji:

Carry him inside first.

Jiang Cheng:

How did he die so horribly?

Wei Wuxian:

Dead? I don’t think so.

He’s more likely hit by some evil spell.

Jiang Cheng:

Evil spell?

Second Young Master Lan? I am Jiang Cheng,

son of Clan Leader Jiang Fengmian of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan.

This is my sister Jiang Yanli,

and my Senior Brother Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian.

We have long heard of your name, Second Young Master Lan.

Lan Wangji:

You flatter me.

Jiang Cheng:

Second Young Master Lan, we misplaced our invitation by accident.

The sky is getting dark, and it is inconvenient to sleep in the open.

May we trouble Second Young Master Lan to make an exception for us?

Lan Wangji:

Visitors without the invitation are not allowed entry.

Wei Wuxian:

Second Young Master Lan, we’ve travelled from Yunmeng

without stopping, and are tired and travel-worn.

We’ve finally arrived and hurried to the Cloud Recesses before sunset.

Yet you refuse us entry because of an invitation,

that’s way too inflexible.

Lan Wangji:

Visitors without the invitation are not allowed entry.

Wei Wuxian:

Second Young Master Lan, we lost it by accident.

It was definitely not on purpose.

Please make an exception this once.

Lan Wangji:

Find it and return.

Wei Wuxian:

Second Young Master Lan, the sun is about to set,

and the distance to Caiyi Town from Cloud Recesses is more than 20 li (10 kilometres).

To tell us to find it during this hour,

you’re forcing us to do an impossible task.

Second Young Master Lan, if it’s impossible, we can...

Lan disciple:

Second Young Master Lan has put a silence spell on you.

It cannot be removed by those not of the Lan Clan.

You must wait for the time of one incense stick

before it is dispelled.

===================================================

Jiang disciple:

How can this Second Young Master Lan be so unsympathetic?

Jiang disciple:

I agree.

There are so many rules here at Cloud Recesses,

Yunmeng is better.

Jiang disciple:

That’s right.

I didn’t want to come here.

Jiang Cheng:

Sis, don’t worry.

He’s just gone back to the inn to find the invitation,

nothing will happen to him.

Jiang Yanli:

I’m just worried...

Jiang Cheng:

Sis, Jin Zixuan...

that’s just the way he is.

Don’t take it to heart.

Jiang Yanli:

I haven’t taken it to heart.

However, with A-Xian’s character,

I’m worried that Young Master Jin will make things difficult.

Jiang Cheng:

So long as he doesn’t provoke anyone,

will other people cause trouble for him?

He’s probably with some ‘Mianmian’,

or some ‘Yuandao’ right now.

Translation Note: Jiang Cheng is referencing the line of poetry spoken previously in the inn: 绵绵思远道 (mián mián sī yuǎn dào). ‘Mianmian refers to a female, ‘Yuandao’ refers to a male. Jiang Cheng is implying that Wei Wuxian flirts equally with both men and women. :)

Jiang Yanli:

A-Cheng,

you know that A-Xian never fools around when he has important matters to deal with.

Second Young Master Lan?

===================================================

Wei Wuxian:

Senior Sister!

Jiang Cheng!

Why isn’t anyone here?

No wonder nobody is here.

Magical barriers like this are meant to be broken.

What a coincidence! We meet again!

Second Young Master Lan, you’re out this late at night...

to admire the moon?

Second Young Master Lan, I’m here to find my Senior Sister and everyone else.

Oh right, I found the invitation. It’s right here in my robes. I’ll show you.

Lan Wangji:

Breaking through the barrier is a violation of the Lan Clan house rules.

Late night visitors are refused entry before 5am. This is a violation of the Lan Clan house rules.

Bringing liquor into the premises is a violation of the Lan Clan house rules.

Translation note: 卯时(mǎo shí) = 5-7am in the morning: an ancient system of telling time in China. The time system in ancient China is separated into 2 hour intervals.

Wei Wuxian:

Second Young Master Lan,

I, er...

This is my first time here at the Gusu Lan Clan.

I’m definitely not familiar with a lot of your rules.

But I swear, I will never ever break them again.

Also, I’m just anxious

to find Jiang Cheng, Senior Sister and everyone else, right?

How about this, you can let me in to take a look.

I’ll just have a look.

How about...

The Emperor’s Smile, I give you a jar.

Can you pretend that you never saw me?

Lan Wangji:

Bribing the person enforcing the rules

is the most serious violation.

Wei Wuxian:

Second Young Master Lan,

you cannot be this unreasonable, right?

Just now, at the mountain entrance,

you put a silence spell on me indiscriminately.

No matter what, you should still bear some responsibility.

(I didn’t expect this little antiquated stiff to have such good martial arts skills.)

I still have things to do today,

I’m not playing with you anymore!

Lan Zhan! Pay for my Emperor’s Smile!

Lan Zhan:

Turn around.

Wei Wuxian:

What’s this?

Lan Zhan:

The Gusu Lan Clan rules.

Wei Wuxian:

That many?

Lan Zhan:

Put down the liquor.

Now that you are here to study,

count how many Lan Clan rules you have violated tonight.

Wei Wuxian:

Seriously, I’m glad that I don’t belong to

this antiquated and fearsome Gusu Lan Clan.

Since Cloud Recesses bans liquor,

then I won’t enter.

I’ll sit here and drink.

That’s not considered breaking the rules, right?

Lan Wangji:

Impenetrable thickhead.

Wei Wuxian:

Among the female cultivators in every clan,

who doesn’t admire the famous Second Young Master Lan?

It’s a pity.

Lan Wangji:

What pity?

Wei Wuxian:

It’s a pity they don’t know

that the person they admire

is a cold-hearted, unreasonable,

inflexible and pedantic man!

It doesn’t matter. Once I’m back home at Yunmeng, I will definitely...

Lan Wangji:

Come along.

==================================================

Lan Xichen:

Uncle.

[Lan Huan, courtesy name – Xichen]

This man’s manner of death is strange.

I have not encountered such a situation before.

[Lan Qiren, Gusu Lan Clan]

He seemed to have suffered from some evil spell.

Lan Qiren:

Did Wangji only bring back one corpse?

Lan Xichen:

Recently, the clans around Gusu have come to report,

saying that many cultivators have gone missing.

So I requested Wangji to go and investigate.

This person was

formerly one of Gusu Lan Clan’s guest disciples*.

*Translation Note: 外性门生(wài xìng mén shēng) literally means ‘other surname disciple’, meaning that he was a student of the Lan Clan but was not surnamed ‘Lan’. I am translating this as ‘guest disciple’. Most clans in this series have two types of disciples: 1) those that are directly related to the family, with the surname and are therefore part of the main clan, and 2) various outsiders that the main family take in to teach as apprentices.

Lan Qiren:

An evil spell.

Lan Xichen:

Uncle.

Who is outside making noise?

Lan Wangji:

Elder brother.

Translation Note: The Netflix subtitles translate this as ‘Xichen’, but Wangji is addressing Xichen as ‘兄长’ (xiōng zhǎng), which is a respectful way of addressing an elder brother. At no point in the series does Wangji ever call Xichen by his name.

Lan Xichen:

Young Master Wei,

the Cloud Recesses is not comparable to Lotus Pier.

There might be a lot more rules,

but this is your first time here,

so we do not blame you for not knowing.

However, you cannot, for this reason, violate the rules in Cloud Recesses.

You will still need to be punished.

As for what the punishment is,

Wangji, you decide.

Lan Wangji:

Transcribe the house rules 300 times.

Lan Xichen:

Wangji,

release the silence spell from Young Master Wei for now.

Wei Wuxian:

You little antique stiff!

Zewu-Jun, listen to me.

What Lan Zhan said was not correct at all!

Lan Zhan, this little antiquated stiff,

will never speak a full sentence as long as he could say it in three words. I’ll tell you!

This was what happened – this evening, all of us

arrived at the mountain entrance of Cloud Recesses,

and discovered that we forgot the invitation.

But, reasonably speaking, you really can’t blame us.

If anything, the only person to blame is that flower peacock, Jin Zixuan!

Anyway, everyone reached the mountain entrance,

but we were refused entry.

There was no other option,

so I went to look for the invitation by myself.

The Gusu Emperor’s Smile is well-known around the world,

It’s not unreasonable of me to buy two jars, right?

Who would have known that before I could take a sip,

Lan Zhan had broken one of them.

I haven’t gotten him to pay for the Emperor’s Smile yet.

On the contrary,

he put a silence spell on me.

Lan Xichen:

Young Master Wei, regardless of what happened,

you have still violated the rules of the Lan Clan.

You also cannot blame Wangji for breaking one your liquor jars.

Besides, Wangji has clarified the details with me

regarding Young Lady Jiang and Young Master Jiang, and...

Lan Wangji:

Elder Brother.

Wei Wuxian:

My Senior Sister and everyone else have been let in?

He let them in?

Look like you’re not so distant...

Hey, Lan Zhan, seriously?

I’ll apologise to you, all right?

Lan Xichen:

All right, Young Master Wei.

Since this was just a misunderstanding, you may go back and rest.

Wei Wuxian:

Zewu-Jun,

is he dead?

Why is he covered with a white cloth?

Lan Xichen:

What did you say?

Wei Wuxian:

Was I wrong?

But at the mountain entrance this afternoon,

he was definitely not dead yet.

==================================================

[Nightless City]

Wen Ruohan:

Did you understand

all the things that I said just now?

[Wen Qing, Qishan Wen Clan]

Wen Qing:

Yes, Chief Cultivator, I understood.

Wen Ruohan:

I will have Wen Chao accompany you,

to bring you to the Cloud Recesses.

But after that, you will have to depend on yourself.

You must remember,

this fragment of Yin Iron is exactly the same as the one at Dafan Mountain.

You should not forget this.

Find it and bring it back.

Wen Qing:

Chief Cultivator, I...

Wen Ruohan:

Speak.

Wen Qing:

A-Ning has been prone to sickness since he was a child.

Can I request your permission to let him come with me?

Wen Ruohan:

You are thinking that he will be badly-treated in Nightless City?

Wen Qing:

I wouldn’t dare.

Wen Ruohan:

So be it.

Do as you will.

Wen Ning’s special constitution

may help you somewhat during the investigation.

Wen Qing:

Please accept my thanks, Chief Cultivator.

Wen Ruohan:

Leave at daytime tomorrow. You may go.

Wen Qing:

Yes.

=================================================

Wei Wuxian:

Everyone look, this person may look dead,

and seems dead when I touch him,

but he still gets affected and influenced by the movement of spiritual power.

He cannot be considered as a truly dead person.

At most...

Lan Xichen:

At most, what?

Wei Wuxian:

I’m not sure how to say it,

but it seems like he’s lost his spiritual senses.

Lan Wangji:

Spirit absorption.

Lan Qiren:

A puppet.

Wei Wuxian:

That’s right,

he’s just like a puppet.

Like a puppet that can be controlled by somebody.

===============================================

Lan Xichen:

Wangji.

Lan Wangji:

Elder Brother.

Lan Xichen:

Wangji,

were you looking for me?

Lan Wangji:

You and Uncle seem very worried with regards to the puppet incident.

Lan Xichen:

I just had a discussion with Uncle.

Although we have yet to determine the reason,

we can make an initial deduction that

this was caused by a person practicing evil spells.

If our guess is correct,

then this person has ill intentions.

And the disappearance of the cultivators

may only just be the start.

Lan Wangji:

Have you made any plans?

Lan Xichen:

As of now, we can only start investigating.

But if...

Lan Wangji:

Elder Brother?

Lan Xichen:

It’s fine. Perhaps I’m thinking too much.

Wangji, investigate the cultivator disappearances again.

But remember, do not act rashly.

Lan Wangji:

Yes. Rest assured, Elder Brother.

Lan Xichen:

You have never caused me any worry.

Ever since our father passed on,

you have become more mature.

Sometimes, I do wonder

if my expectations of you are a little too high.

Lan Wangji:

You are working hard. I am merely sharing your burdens.

Lan Xichen:

As for the lectures, it is good that you will be there with me.

Many disciples from the various clans are of the same age as you.

It’s about time that you made some friends.

Actually, I think that Young Master Wei is not bad.

Although he is sometimes too eager to overstep his boundaries,

he is intelligent and intuitive.

His character is lively and free-spirited.

Wangji,

are Young Master Wei’s martial art skills not bad?

Both of you fought to a draw?

=================================================

[Xue Yang]

Wen Ruohan:

Xue Yang.

[Wen Ruohan, Qishan Wen Clan]

Why are you laughing?

Xue Yang:

Chief Cultivator, I am laughing

at these puppets being nothing more than an experiment.

What the Yin Iron can do is far more than this.

Wen Ruohan:

Is that so?

Xue Yang:

If Chief Cultivator does not believe me,

and does not believe in the power of the Yin Iron,

why would you put so much effort into

capturing so many cultivators

to refine this fragment of Yin Iron?

Wen Ruohan:

Xue Yang,

you dare speak in this manner before me?

You really do not fear death!

Xue Yang:

I am not afraid of death,

I only fear living without a purpose.

Wen Ruohan:

If you help me locate the other three fragments of Yin Iron

and suppress the other clans,

your life can be considered worthwhile.

Xue Yang:

Chief Cultivator, do not forget,

that I have absolutely no desire to dominate the cultivation world.

I have already stated my request before you

when I first entered Nightless City.

I hope that you haven’t forgotten it.

Wen Ruohan:

Do not worry.

Once I have collected all four pieces of Yin Iron,

I will definitely let you fulfil your wish.

Xue Yang:

Then, I offer my thanks beforehand.

Wen Ruohan:

Xue Yang!

Dafan at the west, Gusu at the east, Yueyang at the north,

where is the last piece of Yin Iron hidden?

Xue Yang:

Chief Cultivator, you must not forget the promise between us.

When you’ll finally let me retrieve the fragment of Yin Iron at Yueyang Chang Clan,

I’ll then tell you where the last piece is.

#CQL #chen qing ling #CQL episode 3 #the untamed #the untamed epidode 3 #chinese to english translation

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