@enaykin replied to your post “I’ve started glancing over the P&P script and I gotta say, I can...”
I'm reading a wip in which they swap Lizzy to male, and the romance seems to be still intact with an interesting and gay twist to it. I don't know how you feel about gender swap (I'd have preferred they make Lizzy transgender, but life's full of disappointments), but if you'd like I can send you a link to it so you may judge it for yourself.
HMMMM...INTERESTING. I’m ambivalent about gender swaps tbh. I don’t personally find it offensive or anything, but I do think it can be a lazy choice, and that’s the concern I would have about this story you mention.
Like...you can’t just make Lizzy a dude and keep the rest the same. His dynamic with Darcy would have to be very different. And the plot of P&P would have to be completely rewritten if Lizzy was the Bennet’s son instead of their daughter. Cus it entirely revolves around the fact that the Bennets don’t have a son, hence the whole issue of Mr. Collins being in line to inherit their estate and Mrs. Bennet being so eager to marry her daughters to wealthy gentlemen.
If you send me the link, I’ll def take a look, cus it DOES sound interesting, but yeah... I admit I’m NOT SURE how I feel about making such a huge change to Elizabeth’s character and the actual story.
Oh man, I'm way late. o_o; Happy belated Birthday! Hope it was fabulously relaxing! ^^
OH that’s totally fine, because it’s been like 5 days since my birthday, and the fact that i’m still answering these make it feel like it never really ended.. hahaha
It was fabulously relaxing indeed, which is the best kind of day for me. Thank you!! *hugs*
“Oi, Ser Pissbag,” Sera’s greetings were always something Faycen looked forward to on his lunch break, and he sank down next to her on the concrete steps leading out of the back of the garage. Unless they were stocking parts, this door remained locked, which made it a perfect place to eat away from his co-workers. Most of them, anyway.
“Hey, Sera,” he said with light smirk, noticing she was more than halfway through her burger and fries as he opened his paper bag. Lunch that day was courtesy of the deli down the street that always gave him the rarest steak sandwiches. It was delicious as usual, but his enjoyment that day was tempered as he let his mind drift.
“Whazza mahha? Shtale?” Faycen blinked, glancing at Sera’s puffed cheeks and the straw she slurped a vibrant green drink through. The face he’d made while eating distracted her enough to get nosy about it, but Faycen deflected, tearing into the meat-laden sub.
“I’m good,” he said. Sera didn’t buy it. Something was wrong, or maybe that wasn’t the word. Something was… off.
Odd.
“Try that again without lying to my face?” She chirped brightly, and Faycen tossed his head in surprise, forcing a laugh.
“Shut the fuck up,” he chuckled, his elbow knocking her in the side amicably. Just as quickly though he dimmed, a crease forming between furrowed brows. “It’s not anything serious. I had this dream and…”
“Dream about what?”
What, indeed. That night had actually been the second time he’d had it, (the first being the night he’d moved in) but the dream had started the same way. Faycen woke up, on his bed, but his bed would be surrounded by misty nothingness with dead grass beneath it. He would get up and walk to a freestanding door a few feet away, and find himself entering his house, as he would from the front door. Rather, it seemed to be his house, but there were things that were not his – upturned antiquated furniture, shattered paintings, books with torn, blank pages.
Most unsettling were the walls. Pieces were missing; holes of varying size with the same oppressive grey nothing if he looked though them. As he went up the stairs, portions would begin to break away. And by the time he got to the landing, the house wasn't there anymore. Just parts of floorboard and wall, floating frozen in empty space. And in the sloping distance, knees drawn to his chest with his back to Faycen and his head tilted up at a circular window, was an elf. He was always sitting silently on a section of broken floor, ginger hair brushing his shoulders.
Always there, alone.
The light shimmered through a window that looked like the one at the very top of his house, kaleidoscope-like patterns shifting on the glass. All the while, Faycen picked a path towards this person he didn't know, the spaces between the boards getting further apart until he was struggling to clear the distance. There was something overwhelmingly sad about the elf, and Faycen didn’t know why, but he needed to get to him. When he was just a few away, the man’s head would turn slightly, as if he were going to look behind him.
Then the dream would end and he’d wake up, refreshed and confused, holding an inexplicably deep ache in his chest. It wasn’t something he wanted to share with anyone, even Sera -his closest friend- who’d been watching him expectantly for a few seconds.
“Some guy?” he mumbled and shrugged reluctantly, continuing to eat in lieu of elaborating what he couldn’t understand.
“Ooh,” Sera cooed unaware, biting on the end of her straw and leaning in, “What’s he look like? Cute and leggy with a tight arse?”
Thinking of the man, with his body curled up and face just out of view, Faycen’s stomach twisted. “I dunno.”
“Boo,” Sera wrinkled her nose, her drink sputtering obnoxiously as she sucked at the remnants. Faycen stared at the cup, waiting until there was the dry hiss of emptiness and sighed. She thought he was hiding it on purpose.
“I never see his face. It’s over before I get close enough.”
Sera looked at her friend curiously, kicking her legs out on the stairs idly as he took another bite. He hadn’t really told her anything, and it was clearly bothering him, but Faycen was like that sometimes with personal shit. Besides, it was only a dream. She would roll with whatever he gave her, but a faceless guy? “I don’t get it. Was it a nightmare?”
His thumb swiped absently though the chilly condensation sliding down his water bottle as he thought about it. A nightmare? Faycen had had his share of those in his life; of nights where all he could do was sit and cling to his sweat-drenched skin until the sun rose. “No. I don’t think so,” he said a moment later. There was never any feeling of fear when he woke up, no desperate breaths or frantic heartbeats. In it’s place, something… hurt and longing? “I don’t know. I’m not making any fucking sense. Can we just leave it?”
“If you want?” she hesitated, watching him crumple the remainder of his lunch into the parchment paper as he stood. Break-time was over for him, but Sera only had a morning shift most days, helping run a youth centre in the afternoons.
“Oh, wait.” He said, turning on his heel as Sera got up. “You think Dagna would let me borrow a ladder? Harrit’ll slit my throat if I take stuff from work again.” Also, Dagna had a car, and carrying a ladder on his bike wouldn’t be easy.
She canted her head to the side, nodding thoughtfully. “Widdle’s got a few around, yeah. We can drop one off later?”
Faycen agreed and thanked her, carrying on with his average workday, before returning home. True to her word, Dagna and Sera showed up around seven that night, ladder lashed haphazardly to the roof of Dagna’s jeep. Dagna told him he could hold onto it for as long as he needed, but declined the offer to stay for a while, claiming she needed to check her stock in the morning and had to go to bed. A remark about working hard at home from Sera sent Dagna giggling, and Faycen waved them off with a pleasantly bemused smile, not wanting to know the intimacies of whatever story hid in those words.
He left the ladder leaning comfortably on the staircase, only tripping over its feet once as he went around the house looking for a flashlight. The plan was to drag it up, take a quick look around the attic, and close the hatch. He’d go up again to clean it on the weekend and then he’d hang onto the ladder for peeling some of the stained wallpaper off, maybe do some painting once he remembered to actually buy some. Faycen sighed, finally closing his hand on the heavy-duty lantern torch among a pile of engine parts.
Keeping a house this size was hard; there was so much to do of one task to do. Where it used to take him five minutes to swing a broom around his apartment, now it took him twenty-five. Storms knew how long it would take to actually paint the fucking thing. He pulled the ladder up, a coolness tickling along his back as he stepped onto the upper floor. For the life of him, he could not figure out where the draft came from. It didn’t matter if he was upstairs or down, and it hardly happened in the same place twice.
Metal clicked and screeched as he unfolded the stepladder, and he was climbing in seconds, shining the light up into the darkened hatch. The attic was… unimpressive. Faycen sneezed as he crawled in, standing up and thumping his head on a low crossbeam immediately. More dust floated down from the rafters, and he pulled his shirt up over his nose to stop him coughing through his flurry of curses.
Coming up at night had been a bad idea, he’d admit, but he was only curious. The steady beam of the torch swept along the walls, but the room was as empty as he expected. If there stood someone watching among the shadows, it was never for him to notice. With nothing else left to see, Faycen turned back, but stopped short, eyes catching the only window in the room.
The oval one from his dream. It was covered in thick dust, and Faycen thought of the man, sitting and staring out at the colourful light. In a few strides he was standing before the window, clearing a path through the dust and covering his hand with grime. He didn’t know why he’d done it, and he laid his dirty palm against the cold glass, closing his eyes with a slow breath. Silently, he stood there, until something touched his hand.
Faycen’s entire body flinched, eyes locked wide on his hand, still pressed against the window. It wouldn’t move. Nothing was holding him, but he was stuck fast, his body frozen as a chill sank into his fingers.
And suddenly he was free, feet stumbling over themselves in backward motion. Faycen shook the tingling coolness from his fingers, staring numbly at the window and his residual handprint. What was that about? He went forward, as if to touch the glass again, but hesitated. Then he decided to do it anyway, and placed his hand near to the same spot, but there was nothing. No weird feelings, no sticking.
Absolutely nothing happened, but it left him more uneasy than it should have. Not too long after, without a solution to the hatch door and bristling with restless energy, he left the attic, cleaning himself up and watching TV until he dozed off on the couch.
“Please…”
Faycen jolted awake, sitting up more in his bed as he saw the static around him, recognizing the dream for what it was instantly. The mournful plea surrounded him again, twisting his heart and driving him out of bed, into the bizarre version of his own home. Faycen didn’t stop moving until he was near the man again, but this time the elf was standing with his hand hovering, trembling, just above the surface of the glass window. Faycen got closer, and soon, there was hardly any distance at all, the elf next to him, Faycen staring at his profile.
The strange elf was beautiful, the ginger hair he’d seen before brushing rose-blushed cheeks and a delicate face. And his eyes were the most brilliant green Faycen had ever seen, but the beauty of his features was marred with melancholy and frustration. He looked on the verge of crying, and Faycen, without thinking, reached for him. The man shied away before they could even brush, staring back at him in both wonder and fear.
In that moment, there were so many things Faycen wanted to ask. But as he looked into the elf’s eyes, he only felt a desire to hold him. “What is this?” he asked softly, his voice echoing off in the emptiness. The man said nothing in return, taking a timid step towards him instead. “Who…” Faycen started again, but the elf took hold of his hand, and all words left him. Their palms fit together, fingers prickling in unfamiliar warmth. With a gentle tug he was pulled to kneel on the floor with the man, his palm spread flat against the boards.
“I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head as he was stared at earnestly. The elf glanced up at the window, then down at the floor again, covering Faycen’s hand with his own. “What is it?” he tried, wanting to know what any of it meant. The elf smiled sadly, not meeting his eyes anymore, and when Faycen next blinked, he was in curled up in his living room, staring out at a fuzzy television screen. Moving slowly, he splayed his hand in front of him, trying to hang onto the memory of a caress that had never happened.
He saw him, Faycen thought as he sat up, stretching out his back. Finally, he saw the man. But what did it mean? Carefully, he covered his hand with the other. And why did he seem so afraid?
Sometimes I’m not sure why I post some of my fics...
*big internet hugs* I feel like an awful friend, but I have a list of fics that I plan on reading and gushing over after I finish mine finally and yours are right near the top! I’m sorry it’s a down day for you, it will get better, I promise! <3
@enaykin I didn’t realize that you changed your name, so I don’t think I’m a very good friend either lol. Oh, and did I mention that you’re like the sweetest person ever? Because you are. Thank you so much, it really means a lot <3 <3 <3
7) Their tickle spotsOh gosh. Um. Lots of places? Back of neck, feet, inner arms, under arms… Pixy is rather ticklish from head to toe. Tickle his sides and he’ll explode.He doesn’t really laugh when tickled either. No musical giggling, nothing pleasant or dignified…only terrified baby goat screams. The one time a certain not-magister went on a whim and did a tickle attack on Pixy, Dorian was the one who ended up on the floor and wheezing with laughter.They do not speak of the incident since.13) What gets them flusteredWas talking to @gladiolus-red about this one, which prompted multiple reactions ranging from “Awww” to “AWWWWWWWHH!!!!!!”
Surprisingly enough, the answer is simple, yet genuine compliments. You’d think with an ego the size of Orlais he’d be to full of it to appreciate them. But if they’re candid and heartfelt, he’ll turn red and look town and mumble and babble a lot. …Mostly swear words. And call the person daft.If you call him cute, he WILL get flustered AND irritated!Also, if my icon is any indication, getting hugged really suddenly will also freak him out a bit, even the platonic hugs. Squish him and he’ll freeze up. And turn red. And YELL.For the record, he likes hugs. He really does. You just wouldn’t tackle-hug a nervous cat, would you?Well, maybe Dorian would.
-hideous baby goat screech-20) What-ifs/Alternate TimelinesSo I always imagined that Pixy and his daughter Marin would reunite somewhere down the line between Inquisition and Trespasser, but what if it happens earlier than that?When Pixy was evicted from his former clan, circumstances disallowed him from taking his daughter with him. The clan wouldn’t allow it, the deteriorating templar/mage relations were making the Free Marches dangerous, Thedas was still going through post-Blight, etc etc. Papae says its too dangerous for little Marin to come with, basically.Some years later, a few clan members, more competent spies than Pixy, to be blunt, return with riveting news. The Conclave blew up, there’s a demon-barfing hole in the sky, Shemlens kidnapped Papae and BEAT HIM UP, his arm went radioactive, Venatori and Red Templars are running rampant, Papae got attacked by an army and a DRAGON and buried himself underneath an AVALANCHE… Marin hears all this and thinks to herself, okay, so Papae wasn’t freaking kidding when he said the outside world was scary and dangerous.So naturally, she picks up her nine-year-old self and makes the journey to see her long-missed Papae before he does another stupid thing… BY HERSELF.Cue Pixy and his party receiving a report about some confrontation between Venatori mages and… a kid?! He and his team of Dorian, Sera, and Cassandra intervene personally, kick some Venatori ass and rescue the kid…who turns out to be Pixy’s much spoken-of Da'len.After some furious arguing on both sides (“WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE CLAN WITHOUT AN ADULT?” “WELL WHY DID YOU BLOW UP THE SHEMLEN TEMPLE?!”), they hug, cry, officially reunite, and return to Skyhold, and Pixy is happier than ANYONE has seen him in weeks.So Marin becomes something of a permanent fixture in Skyhold, making herself at home, and making sure Papae doesn’t do any stupid things. Also befriending the Shemlen (who aren’t that bad, as it turns out). Like that funny Tevinter Turnip who seems to really REALLY like Papae, with the curly whiskers and the one weird freckle on his face.Dorian: It’s a mole.Marin: They are not the same thing??Dorian ends up teaching her magic and helping her improve her reading. Funny how everyone thought she would be a Knight-Enchanter / Arcane Warrior like her Papae, but she ended up having a talent in necromancy.Marin: Dorian helped me animate my first skeleton today!Pixy: I’m so proud of you, Da'len!
