people going "lol go watch Heated Rivalry instead" or "haha another Johnlock conspiracy" are lowkey pissing me off
because this isn't just about Byler or yaoi, this is about potential executive meddling on an extremely sinister level and you should all be worried about what precedent this whole thing, if true, might set
what's left to those with ash instead of soul if not to cling to those who burn a bonfire?
+
the product of me contemplating about olrox's possible backstory and reading several mexica culture + spanish conquest books for the past 2.5 weeks (was absolutely worth it)
(+ a bit of yapping under the cut)
I've been thinking of him as a warrior from the commoner class or as a priest who was accepted into the calmecac from the same lower class because of his high capabilities (it was possible to accept children who were talented and with good qualities); and the priest version slowly took over - Quetzalcoatl, whose feathered-serpent form olrox takes, is a patron of knowledge, learning and priests; while it is symbolical - for a priest after spanish invasion and all the consequences (erasing of culture, persecution of the religion, converting into the christianity) to have this form in the manner of some kind of support, it also creates a common ground and parallels between olrox and mizrak in the aspects of religion, harsh duty, devotion to divine beings and theological questions, which i found fun to explore :)
i also thought of him being on lesser position in hierarchy - maybe as an offering priest, who could have got higher due to the fall of Tenochtitlan and immense decrease of population.
Anyway, I'm so normal about him and so looking forward to read more about other precolombian cultures now!
A/N: here's chapter 5!!! ch 6 will be uploaded in another 5 days, but if you would like to read more, up to chapter 10 has been uploaded on ao3 here!
(it was uploaded there first, but i've only just started to post everything on Tumblr. btw hope the 5 day wait times have been ok. i haven't wanted to spam yall lol. also i'm so sorry if i haven't responded to your comments!! things have gotten busier than expected the past couple weeks)
as always, hope you enjoy and thank you for the kind comments and support!!!
Harlequin was sitting next to Doctor at the table directly across from Pierrot. The clown in question was eating slowly. His coffee, which he was taking large swigs of, looked darker as well, A few fine lines under his eyes were visible.
“Pierrot, are you feeling alright?” asked Jester.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Doctor then got up from his seat and put a gloved hand to Pierrot’s forehead. Just to be sure, he checked his pulse too.
“Everything seems to be in order. However, your heart rate is slower than normal. If it’s just sleep deprivation, you should be back to normal after several hours of quality rest.”
“So that extra sleep didn’t help you…I was afraid of that.”
“But I’ll be okay! I can still hand out flyers and perform tonight too.”
Jester hummed in thought. He and Ticket Taker shared a subtle glance.
“If you say you’re well enough, I believe you. But just to be safe, Harlequin, keep closer to Pierrot when you two are out flyering today.”
“Of course. Anything to make sure he’s at his best.”
Pierrot gave him a nasty glare from across the table, to which Harlequin returned with a knowing smile.
Breakfast continued as normal. Jester and Ticket Taker provided updates on the technical aspects on the circus.
Meanwhile, Harlequin took a drink of his coffee. Bitterness overwhelmed his tastebuds. He could taste traces of his own coffee, but it was mixed with something else, something harsher, darker, richer. He didn’t know what it was and couldn’t exactly describe it, but it certainly did not mix well together.
He must have really gotten on Pierrot’s nerves this morning. Either that, or the sleep deprivation effected him more than he thought.
He tried to play it cool, but his face must’ve shown otherwise.
“Harlequin? What’s the matter?”
Harlequin turned to his right. Doctor, who had been discussing his latest experiment, was looking at him with concern, along with Jester and Ticket Taker. Pierrot, however, simply continued eating his pão de queijo, a small victorious smile on his face.
“Nothing. My coffee is just stronger than expected. Apologies for the interruption. Please Doctor, continue.”
The culprit behind the act was obvious. The three clowns turned to Pierrot, who looked back at them with wide, innocent eyes.
Conversation slowly started back up again as Jester went over the day’s goals and expectations.
“Is everyone clear on their responsibilities today?” he concluded.
A round of ‘Yes, Jester’ was said in unison.
“Very well. If you run into any issues, you know where Ticket Taker and I are.”
The group dispersed. Ticket Taker, however, remained seated. He continued drinking his coffee, patiently waiting for Jester to speak his thoughts.
“Bil.”
“Yes?”
“I’m concerned about those two.”
“I am as well.”
“First, Pierrot starts to spend less time rehearsing. As a result, his performances became sloppier. Then Harlequin’s performances suffered too. Neither by much, and the guests didn’t take much notice, but you and I could tell.”
Ticket Taker agreed. After looking over the spreadsheets of their performances for the past two weeks, the numbers only confirmed it. Even Harlequin wasn’t immune to this. Like with Pierrot’s, the difference in his performances wasn’t too obvious to the humans, but Ticket Taker and Jester could start seeing his usual finesse decreasing bit by bit.
“The timing of this phenomenon is strange,” added Ticket Taker. “Nothing notable has transpired lately. Sales have been steady. We haven’t had much trouble from guests either.”
Jester had a theory.
“Nothing has happened on our end,” he said, “but I fear something has occurred elsewhere. Namely with Pierrot’s and Harlequin’s little pet.” Disdain was evident in his voice. He could not believe how much of a hold that singular, pathetic, miserable creature had on them. Worst part was, they probably didn’t even know it.
Jester saw Ticket Taker resting his hand on the table. Despite how aggravated he was, he placed his hand gently by the other’s. The two simultaneously interlaced their fingers together. Ticket Taker rubbed his thumb across Jester’s knuckles, immediately soothing him.
“I can look at the city’s local calenders to see if anything of importance was written down,” Ticket Taker assured. “News outlets haven’t mentioned anything atypical so far either, but I will conduct further research and report anything I learn back to you.”
“But—”
“There is no need to concern yourself with such frivolities. Continue doing what you do best. I will take care of everything else.”
“As you always do so perfectly.”
They stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence. With one final squeeze, they let go of each other’s hands.
“I’ll collect the plates, Jester. Oh, and please tell Pierrot I’ll make lunch and dinner today too.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Jester nodded once. He got up from the chair to begin flyering with the others, but not before a final look back at Ticket Taker, who had collected their plates and was already beginning the process of washing dishes.
Jester smiled to himself as he grabbed his stack of flyers.
What would he do without him? Without any of them?
Jester’s smile immediately disappeared. Two hypothetical questions that did not need answering…
He exited the circus and passed by Harlequin and Pierrot. So far, they looked fine, though Pierrot’s posture was a tad hunched over. He relayed Ticket Taker’s lunch and dinner responsibilities to which the other two clowns nodded. Pierrot was especially grateful. He needed to save up as much energy as he could for tonight.
Jester soon departed, but not before giving a sideways glance to that cafe.
It looked crowded. Full of people sitting at the many wooden tables, some in line at the register, chatting away over coffee and pastries, enjoying their morning.
The sight disgusted him.
Then his eyes landed on you, at the epicenter of everything.
You looked awful, especially pitiable today. And the constant stream of orders did not help your state at all.
His gaze lingered.
You jogged this way and that, always carrying either plates of food, drinks, or small takeout bags. You nearly tripped over your feet a couple times in the process.
Had Jester not known you, he would’ve called the sight before him mildly entertaining. However, that was sadly not the case. He did know you. Even more so, he knew his family and just how much Pierrot and Harlequin cared about you.
Jester sighed softly.
He continued on past the cafe, not daring to linger for too long.
Hi, I have an elderly Jigglypuff I grew up with. He's so important to me and watching him age has broken my heart. However the worst thing happened recently. His voice has gone raspy and he is too embarrased to sing anymore. Is this normal? Can I help somehow? I don't want him to be upset!
it can be hard to watch a pokemon grow old. i hope you two have plenty of good time left to spend together. i know it's tough, but try your best to focus on the time you still have rather than the thinking of it as your time coming to an end. as long as he's still comfortable and happy, make the most of that!
as for the problem with him not singing, it's not because of embarrassment- pokemon generally don't have the cognitive structure for that kind of emotion, as far as we can tell. if he's not singing, it's likely because he simply can't the way he did before. this is the sort of thing you need to go to the vet about to see if it's a concern. jigglypuff do sing less and less as they age and their lung capacity starts to decrease. vocal chords also start to atrophy with age, resulting in reduced vocal quality and causing it to take more effort to put out the same volume. this isn't necessarily something to panic about, but you should get him checked out to make sure that the cause isn't from something else like cancer or infection. if it's simply a result of ageing, your vet can help you find ways to keep him comfortable and help him continue singing for as long as possible!
prompt: the chain makes the mistake of giving Wild proper weapons and training, and it turns him into a monster
it started with Four’s absolute frustration at Wild breaking his weapons. No matter how often he reforges the Champion’s swords, they always either snap in half or (in rare cases) shatter into several pieces. For a while they contemplated giving him the master sword just so he’d have a consistent weapon, but Sky refused (mainly because he had seen Wild breaking rocks with it).
Then, on reforge number three, Four inspected Wild’s weapon and realized that what was wrong with it wasn’t Wild, or the way he was forging it- it was the fact that the steel was objectively some of the worst quality he’d ever seen. It was Hylian Steel, like the rest of their weapons and tools, but thousands of years had weakened and diluted and the steel to the point where it was impure and a fraction of the strength of the Hylian steel from Four’s era. He hadn’t noticed it, the difference was small even under scrutiny, but he noticed it. They inspected a bunch of swords, even the newly forged ones, while in Wild’s era, and it confirmed his suspicion that this Hyrule’s metal apparently sucked.
the next time they went into a town in Four’s era, he bought steel and materials from the Minish, and forged a completely new sword for Wild fit with proper, stronger steel (and some minor durability enchantments). And it worked perfectly; Wild described it as invincible, managing to avoid breaking his sword for the rest of their journey- and that’s saying something, considering what he was doing was just as dumb as before.
Next, during the occasional sparring, Warriors noticed two things. The first was that Wild’s edge alignment was terrible; in the Captain’s words, it was more akin to hitting monsters with a blunt object than anything. A few hours of training with Tatami mats helped correct this, and Wild was slicing cleanly and perfectly (he was a fast learner).
He also noticed that Wild’s attacks didn’t have the proper power and form that they should; no one had ever noticed, the decrease in power was hardly noticeable considering that Wild was the second or third fastest in the chain, besides Sky and maybe Four, but Warriors noticed it. A few more hours of training and sparring, and Wild was fighting perfectly, able to match Twilight and Warriors better in their matches. He described it as “his old knight instincts coming back” which no one refuted.
the final thing that they noticed was that Wild’s defense just… kind of sucked. As Legend quickly noticed and pointed out while washing Wild’s clothes (and inspecting the magic on them), the magical defense Wild was utilizing wasn’t quite working right. They were enchanted by the Great Fairies to the max level, but the magic flowed through them weirdly. Hylians clothes, specifically Heroes’ clothes, were often made with enchantments, or were otherwise designed so that if they were enchanted, that the magic would flow through them properly and enhance their durability. Wild’s clothes didn’t do this, at least not properly.
After Legend and Hyrule spent a few hours working both metaphorical and literal magic over Wild’s clothes, they fixed them so that they’d give better defense. They didn’t plan on testing it, but the results were clear when Wild was able to take hits that would normally level him, and take only small cuts from attacks that normally would have torn through his arm.
All of these changes were small and incremental. But what they hadn’t realized was that they unintentionally turned Wild into a monster. He could fight for hours without having to change his weapon or risk breaking it. He could tear through enemies with insane speed and power, cutting through small hordes before anyone even noticed, and could fight in duels much better than before (Sky described his Flurry Rushes as torrents of steel, slashes, and monster guts that could casually level a black-blooded lizalfos). And even when he did get hit, both his vitality and defense were high enough that he could shrug it off, at least until he could get a potion. They unintentionally turned Wild, the cook and designated archer, into a war machine who probably could have slaughtered the calamity if this adventure had happened a little earlier.
(based on an old post / joke I made about Wild having bad edge-alignment lol)
[One of my favourite tropes in all variations: getting rescued, one way or the other - and I really need more people to write about it 😇]
I guess enough of us have probably already made certain experiences with that one kind of guys who simply wouldn't let the issue drop when you tell them that you're not interested, no matter what you say (in decreasing stages of politeness), unless...
{Only this time, we turn the tables a bit. 😏}
Claimed
Sometimes you need to be rescued - and sometimes it's the others…
About 5.2k words
Established Ghoap, civilian afab!Reader; (almost) no specific description (except that Reader has got soft hair that's long enough to run one's fingers through + Reader might appear rather tall at some point, but nothing in detail); no use of y/n
Warning: no smut actually taking place, just some references (mostly implied, intention to have sex); taste of alcohol
[[In case you want some more info: first meeting; aggressive, unrequited flirting: pestering and being a nuisance (when 'no' is interpreted as 'try harder' or simply ignored, but neither by Reader nor Ghost/Soap); fake kiss; What do we think about a threesome {MMF/MFM}?]]
Your original plan was to go out and spend some quality time on your own, focussing on nothing in particular, just floating through your own mind. However, it's one of those nights...
The bar is crowded in a pleasant way. When you enter, you can nontheless still get you favourite spot in the small booth not too far away from the bar counter. The perfect place for treating yourself to your favourite drink and indulging in the typical noises here that let you relax after an ardous week full of work. Normally...
The night is still young, you're in good spirits altogether. On such lazy evenings, you like people-watching, in case someone catches your attention. Then you wouldn't actively listen to their conversations, of course, but discretely observe them a bit, guess their mood and wonder what circumstances brought them here. A good training for staying attentive and creative alike.
Taking a sip from your drink, you casually start scanning the taproom with your eyes, when suddenly you notice a tall, broad figure in black appear from the back of the spacious room and lean against the counter, just a few seats away from you. For the shortest of moments the man takes you in and briefly nods at you in acknowledgement. You have hardly any time to reciprocate his gesture before he turns away again to order two drinks.
Of course you remember this stoic man from several other visits here, outstanding as he is, always looking the same, clad in the darkest colours only, his face covered by a black surgical mask he never takes off fully. He's one of the regulars (even if he's sometimes away for weeks), just like you - but you wouldn't have thought that he’s ever noticed you in here, let alone make it known to you...
In all the past months, you never saw him look your way, not even slightly. He always seemed totally concentrated on the guy he kept company - that boisterous, ever-grinning mohawk with his fiercely piercing blue eyes that winked at you playfully one night when you passed them on your way out to head home. A contagious smile. Handsome man in his extrovert personality, but you don't find his mysterious, calm mate any less attractive, though you haven't seen much of him so far, except his short blond hair, some fair skin and now his dark, steady eyes a few moments ago.
You save his expression in your memory. Definitely something worth remembering.
To be honest, these two are your favourite people to watch.
Together, they take a presence in the room that's unmatched, draws you in, clouds your thoughts, if you allow yourself to go astray. You've never witnessed anything like that before. These two men have captivated you right from the start and it took you some time to put it into words: blowing through the landscapes of your mind, Mohawk is a storm, Mask is its eye... They belong together.
Such a beautiful couple (you're absolutely sure that's what they are, you can’t have misread their interactions), radiant energy, all easy-going, just pure affection, content with and enough for each other, never any drama.
Well, there's always a first time...
When Mask picks up his two drinks, he manages to take two steps back into the direction where he came from before he stops midmotion. Mohawk has just entered the stage of your field of vision, approaching fast from the backroom and stepping at the counter behind his mate. He leans his back against it, sighing audibly. You wouldn't need to be as close to them as you are in order to notice his furrowed brows and the tight line of his lips. It's easy to tell that he’s frustrated - massively so. Slowly Mask turns around, handing Mohawk his drink.
"Well, Johnny, no more damsel in distress, I take it?"
"Ach, haud yer weesht."
You can’t avoid becoming a witness to their talk. Despite the other people around, it’s a quiet evening and their deep voices carry over to you easily, closeby as you are, the tension not to be overheard.
Johnny takes a sip, looks at his partner and rolls his eyes. He's just noticed someone behind his friend. You've never seen him that annoyed: "No second act, please..."
Then you see the beauty beeline towards the two men.
You bet every guy in here would give her 10/10 - and you could readily agree - if not for her flawless outward appearance desperately trying to cover up that one specific look in her eyes, with which she holds her chin up just one bit too high. Though, nine of ten would probably gladly ignore that streak of arrogance (- which you feel so obviously oozing off her in case one is willing to take one closer look - ) if that meant getting a chance to know her better - and her pants.
She's all seductive smiles: "How impolite of you to keep me waiting!", she chirps, addressing both men equally, voice like sugar syrup, sticky, dripping. Used to getting what she wants...
Taking another sip, Johnny doesn't even bother to look at her at this point anymore.
First-row-seat, you can watch the drama unfold.
Mohawk: "We'd rather be alone."
Beauty (flirtatiously): "Now we're getting closer. Just my thought. So we're leaving?"
Black Mask: "You are very welcome to go."
Beauty: "Well, you already got me going, mystery, but I'd love to come as well."
You almost choke on your drink. This woman is terrible, fully ignoring both men clearly pointing out that her attention is unwanted! It has become obvious that she must have already been digging on your two favourites for quite some time, finally even making them change their place...
Yet she doesn't stop: "If you know what I mean."
Mask: "We get it, but we choose to ignore the implication."
Beast: "Ohh, playing hard to get, sweets? I like me some good challenge!"
Mask: "Nice. Then show us how fast you can get away."
Beast: "No problem. I'm off in less than one second if you take my hand."
"I'd rather take yer head", Johnny mumbles, but in contrast to you, she can hear him and grins wickedly: "And I'd give you head willingly, Scotty too Hottie!"
She reaches out to him, but Mask's cold voice actually makes her stop.
"Don't touch him."
Beast chooses to let Mask's words play into her favour: "No need to be jealous, killer."
"Go pick someone else."
You're convinced that he'll finally get through to her, but Beast gets distracted.
"Yeah, pick me, sugar! Anytime!", some random guy in passing by turns to her, immediately posing, showing her his upper arm, flexing his biceps, clearly quite taken with her outward appearance.
"Not now", she dismisses him, noticeably annoyed, but he only shrugs, grinning, before calling back over his shoulder: "Change your mind, lemme know, gorgeous."
Mask: "You should go with him."
She gives that bloke a swift lookover. "Not my type."
"We're nae yer type, either", Johnny points out.
Beast: "Oh, but you are. Love that brogue."
Mask: "Let me rephrase: you are not our type."
Beast: "Don't worry, I can become anybody's type."
She wants to touch him, both of them, badly so, you can tell, from the way her fingers are twitching at her side, but something's holding her back. So she does have a slight idea of boundaries, at least.
"We might nae be interested in women altogether", Johnny states matter-of-factly and has her head snap into his direction again.
"Hot - but you've never had a woman like me before, I promise."
"True. And ah hope we'll never meet one like ye again in future, either."
"You won't. I'm unique - and you really don't wanna miss this one chance, boys. I'll make it worth your while."
Rather worst your while, you think to yourself while you notice their patience wearing thin. It is beyond you why she doesn't take 'no' (all those 'no's') as what it is. It makes you angry, this full display of blunt disrespect, every rejection - in decreasing stages of politeness - just a spur for her to try harder, eagerly pushing an ego that is non-existent...
It's now that Mask furrows his brows and rummages in a pocket of his jeans: "We don't find you attractive at all." On finishing his sentence, he takes a look at what he's holding in his palm now, a silently vibrating mobile phone. He shoots the other man a swift glance: "I'm'a take that call now, Johnny. Make her leave." His tone has changed, laced with finality.
Mohawk straightens, the command initiating a subtle but nontheless visible transformation. He responds to his masked partner with one single firm nod: "Yes, sir."
The mask exits.
Beast was quiet during their exchange but now she's biting her lower lip and turns to Mohawk seductively: "Sexy."
He looks at her, the bright summer sky of his eyes now the cold of the frostiest glacier: "Oan yer bike!", a deep, low rumble.
You can sense that this was his last attempt to give her a decent way out - unfortunately she doesn't take her chance: "I'd rather ride you, handsome."
You know this type of person - man or woman, makes no difference. She won't stop.
Mohawk has just realised this sad fact, too. He breathes out deeply and while his eyes are wearily drifting towards the exit, he grazes your gaze for a split second.
Meanwhile, Beast dares to get closer, the attempt of a huntress, about to reach out and - what? Touch his hips?
It crosses your mind that this insufferable person would have already been removed from the bar had she been a man harassing two women. However, with switched roles (and a beautiful woman being after two broad blokes) nobody (except Mohawk, Mask & you yourself) seems to fathom any fundamental problem...
You can see that this might get ugly (situations easily do with people like Beast) - and since you know how things can be... Your turn.
Ready to avoid the catastrophe...
He doesn’t get the time to say anything, nor does she to lay hand on him. You're faster.
Within one heartbeat you've grabbed your drink and pop up at his side, so much out of nowhere, that you manage to catch Beast by surprise and get her full attention.
You press yourself against Mohawk's side (as unobtrusive as possible under these circumstances) and, by reflex, you guess, his left arm comes to rest around your waist, a pose the two of you have fallen into so naturally, nothing odd about it, no hint of hesitation from either of you.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t act surprised. He simply gets what you're doing here - but Beast doesn’t have a clue.
Showtime...
This is the guise you've chosen to present, and you perform artistically: there's a hint of defeat in your features, a slight hue of regret and a thin-lipped smile pointing downwards, emphasising that you know when a game is over.
You make sure that Beast gets enough time to study your facial expression. Then you donne Mohawk a genuine smile: "OK, honey, you win. I am fucking jealous seeing you flirting with some random woman. You were right, I was wrong. It really pisses me off when you tease her. I need this bad charade to end right now or I’ll forget myself", you notice a spark of mischief in his eyes, "And yes, darling, for the records, you have just won our bet. Happy now?"
Mohawk smirks at you, "Wasnae too painful tae confess now, was it, luv?" and makes you wonder how a grin can be so subtle and triumphant at the same time. You can feel him squeeze your waist in affection.
Now you turn to the other woman: "Really good job, dearie, digging on my man, testing my limits. So, have a nice one and farewell."
You can see the wheels in her head turning.
Does she call your bluff? No, at least not yet.
Doesn't mean it's over, though...
She gives you a calculating look-over, probably wondering why this man would be with you [in general, but especially] when he could have her - but she doesn't voice you're not his league, as some might say. She notices his hand caressing you softly, small gestures that make your acting convincing - the final proof, you think, to make her believe your claim is true.
Yes, "OK, I get it, the two of you belong together", but "but then I won’t let that blond enigma off the hook, for sure!"
Your heart skips a beat.
"Pity", a deep voice chimes in. Neither that woman nor you have noticed the masked man's return, his eyes fixed on Beast. So both of you stare at him when he takes one final step, "I'm all hers as well. Actually", to put his arm around your shoulder and drag your body into his possessively, "we're a throuple."
That poor woman is speechless for a second, blinks, flummoxed. "Throuple?", she repeats, utterly dumbfounded, her voice dripping with doubt.
"Aye, throuple, ye ken?", now Mohawk closes back in on you as well, his hand sliding to the small of your back. His once mischievous smile grows darker as he pulls up one eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, showing teeth, grinning - it's the wolfish way: "We fuck each other relentlessly and live happily ever after, just the three of us."
The blond wolf knows to add an eloquent thought: "With just the right amount of cocks 'n' holes to take care of, one sweet, perfect cunt. Yours not needed."
Her eyes go wide at their crude, blunt proclamation, a behaviour so different from before, but you yourself can’t help the smirk that creeps on your lips. Too much information for her...
Her eyes dart to the upturned corners of your mouth, the way you can hardly conceal your grin gets her suspicious.
However, your own focus finds a reason to shift when at the same time you feel the two men moving you in perfect sync. While Mask's right hand is sliding up from your shoulder to your neck, his left hand is tracing your left arm downwards until his long fingers can intertwine with yours. Using only soft, sweet pressure, he's holding your hands against your hip. Meanwhile, he's turned your body away from facing the other woman so that your back is firmly pressed to his front.
You feel the outlines of his muscular body, too fascinated to do anything else but comply - and why wouldn't you? It's too delightful a moment not to simply bask in - hyperaware of how your handsome 'darling' has also fully turned to you.
He's the counterpart to the man behind you, pressing his chest to your front, radiating heat that directly pools into your core. It comes oh-so naturally for you to place your right arm on his shoulder, your fingers sliding up his neck and into the soft strands of his hair, by instinct. You could swear you hear him faintly moan in pleasure; you can see dark night dawning in the shining sky of his cerulean orbs.
Caught between two predators, you couldn't be a prettier prey for them to play with... They're a sling that grows tighter around you, a closely woven net you don't want to escape.
You just concentrate on the feeling, let it swallow you whole, relishing in the moment, pretty sure you'll never get anything comparable again.
It's a perfect moment - apart from the fact that it’s not real.
However, maybe that's just what's made it all possible for you - no self-doubts, no fear of overstepping or misreading anybody's signs, no fear of rejection - for you won't ever be close to one of these guys, who aren’t into any woman after all. That has been clear to you from the very beginning, undeniably. Maybe it’s the first time you really feel at ease in a situation that could be part of a fantasy (literally your own fantasy!) - and the way they play along (a bit exaggerated in a way, perhaps) does some good to your self-confidence, despite only being a play pretend.
Suddenly you are pushed back over the edge of reality when the reason behind everything disturbs your haunting demon of harmony.
"You do them both?", Beast inquires, voice too shrill.
Don't let her catch you, this was your idea! Play cool!
Your remark sounds casual enough: "Well, yes... Not necessarily at the same time, though..."
"Not necessarily not at the same time", Mask clarifies pointedly, just loud enough for the four of you to hear and he lets his hips roll against the curve of your arse in one smooth motion that holds enough pressure to softly push you forward.
His partner knows how to catch you, perfect timing, by letting his own lower body meet you less than halfway. If you thought the three of you were close before, then you were wrong. Now you definitely feel the outlines of their dicks against your body. The vice their muscular frames create presses a shaky breath out of you that you didn’t know you were holding. It sounds too close to a wanton moan.
Suddenly feeling caught out, you hurry to hide your face from her in the crook of Mohawk's neck, blushing.
"Careful", you whisper into his ear, in a mild shock regarding your reaction to the two men. Mohawk makes you look him in the eye, tenderly thumbing your chin, and grins like a challenge. The way he then gingerly licks his lips makes him look hungry, almost lets you assume he might actually want to try and get a bite of you... What a silly idea for you to have...
Time seems to stretch and leaves your mind in a dizzy state.
"Lucky you." Her comment startles you. Why is she still there?
You sigh. Ultimately, you've put yourself in this situation - which isn't unpleasant in itself, rather the opposite. So don't be shy in the last few metres. Keep playing until the curtain falls...
"Luckiest girl in town", you confirm and mean it, "Can always have my favourite sandwich whenever I want."
You turn your head so you can have it leaning against the cheek of the man behind you, who closes the distance between your faces immediately. He welcomes the gesture like a purring cat and you feel the low sound vibrate in his chest.
Finally Beast truly takes a look at the two men and the woman who has claimed them. She can’t but feel betrayed. Her face turns into an ugly display of her defeat.
She snaps at both men equally: "You could have just told me right from the start that you got a girlfriend."
"Less fun", Mask comments deadpan and doesn't care about how she looks at him, fury raging in her eyes: "Arsehole! Wasting my time like this with your childish games! Grow up!"
How you despise her for her ignorance, for not letting the issue drop at once unless another woman has put a valid claim on the objects of her desire... How you loathe people not accepting 'No' and blaming others...
There is a jet black feeling boiling under your skin like the most Stygian gloom.
Beast is still glaring at the three of you, she might be even waiting for an apology that will never come.
"We're done talking now", your voice is ice crashing on her heated temper.
Mohawk knows a drastic method to underline your words. He turns your face away from her, his warm hand cupping your cheek, and draws you in. For a kiss...
You feel bold, (wrath coursing in your veins because of her) moving your lips as a tribute to all these Hollywood film-kisses you've seen in your life, mimicking passion; no tongues, no such line would be crossed with him. This will stay safe, you assume.
He tastes of whisky - tar notes and peat with tangy crisp seaweed and smoky bacon swirling on the surface, hints of sweet vanilla. Mouth feel is superb, dark and sweet, grounding you.
How long is this imitation of a kiss taking that you can process all these impressions? What's your flavour on his lips?
The woman watches you kissing for an endless moment, but how would you know?
You're focalised on the open-eyed dance of your mouths that you're sharing with this stranger of your dreams, concentrated on keeping up the façade while the two of you are holding each other's gaze, his boyfriend pressing your backside to his own body. What a strange intimacy...
When you feel the man behind you carefully untangle your intertwined fingers to let his hand find its way between Mohawk's and your own body in order to have his wide palm spread below your heart, his other hand wandering up your neck and into your hair, soft strands gliding through his fingers like liquid silk, a pull that's not a pull, you know that the other woman has finally left.
It's time for you to break the kiss, observing the man in front of you, that smug smile spreading on his delicious lips and reaching into his eyes, half-lidded now like those of a well-fed cat. You are preparing for an awkward feeling to set in, but it never comes. Somehow you stay caught in that surreal bubble the three of you have created.
Should you have a bad conscience towards the man in your back for your having indulged in kissing his partner? You decide against this notion. He has no reason to be upset or jealous, has he? You did nothing wrong, only responding to a kiss, not initiating it yourself; somehow it wasn't even a kiss, all just a fake, a game, nothing serious...
Right here, right now, you don't have the slightest idea how right and wrong you are at the very same time...
[Prepare to learn, dearie dove - choices have consequences.]
"Pure dead brilliant, bonnie", Johnny beams, "Tha was the nicest way out of this fucked-up situation. Ta."
Your proud, sly smile replies: "Just couldn't tolerate her disgusting behaviour anymore." Then you shift your weight to prepare for stepping aside in order to give up the formation of your human sandwich, but the man in your back reaches out his left hand, placing it on his partner's biceps.
Your cerulean bliss smiles impishly at the masked man in a way that leaves no question as to their feelings for each other (Beautiful!) and lets the fingers of his right hand come to rest on Mask's lower arm.
Just a gesture of affection among them, for sure, but your attempt of leaving this flat triangle has failed miserably, keeping you caged between the two of them. (Probably for the better since Beast might still be around!) Anyway, why would you complain? So when his two saphires return to you, you add: "I knew I simply had to do something when she was about to get all handsy with you."
He grimaces in repugnance: "Aye, got too close, that one", then he addresses his boyfriend, "Bloody bint was about tae grab ma bahookie, ye ken?"
"English, MacTavish."
You can hear the grin in Mask's deep baritone.
"Sorry, sir", he's not sorry at all, "Let me translate: my arse." He flashes you one of his flawless smiles and a conspiratory wink you bathe in. Their banter is enjoyable!
Grinning, you present your own theory: "I bet she would have even kissed it right on the spot if you had told her to or simply let her..."
The man in front of you says nothing in reply, but you see his eyes flick to your lips. You feel the weight in your back shift when the tall blond leans forward to whisper in your ear, just loud enough for his friend to hear, too: "I think he liked your kiss much better."
Then you feel a soft press against your jaw that confuses you. Has he just put his masked lips on you?
You need to blink several times, clear your throat and reply: "That wasn't... real. Only some sort of film-kiss. No real kiss, you know?"
"It was lips on lips, hen. Half way up tae geez a winch, eh? Sounds much like a kiss tae me."
"Bloody looked like one as well."
"And tasted so, too. Yer such a nice addin tae Scotch whisky, bonnie."
You swallow - speechless, considering the turn this conversation is taking. You want to come up with some witty remark - but you totally lack any clever ideas... You play for time, reaching out to the bar counter, taking a sip from your drink.
You notice the blond's hand close around his own glas. It's only when Mohawk places his right hand on your hip that Mask lets go of the other's arm. To you it’s nothing but coincidence. The only thing you do know is that Mask will now turn his face towards the bar, away from the crowd, before pulling one sling of the mask off from behind his ear to take a good swig of his beer. You watched him do so many times in the past while you were observing the two of them. - Enough of a reprieve for you to sort out and contemplate your feelings.
You convince yourself that you shouldn't read too much into their flirty behaviour. After all, these two men are a gay couple. You will just enjoy yourself. Clearly no reason to get flustered, right? Have fun and flirt back - and let them kiss you if they like. For your part, you liked the kiss(es?) - real or not!
Then the fabric is back in place and Johnny grins at him, a thin-lipped, intense little smile, that suits his half-lidded eyes: "Ah bet she'd taste delicious with tha drink of yers as well, Simon."
The pale man hums in anticipation, a deep, rich sound, promising. "We shall see."
Still trapped between the two of them, you turn to Mask as far as possible, attempting a self-confident smile in response: "Now shall we?"
His right hand lands at the nape of your neck, his thumb ghosting soft circles on your skin. "Guess so, sweet'eart. Or do you think we haven't noticed you staring and watching", your eyes go wide and the crinkles growing around his eyes tell you that he’s smiling, "at any occasion, right, Johnny?"
"Aye, very accurate, Si. Studyin us as if it was her job."
Despite the fact that he's talking to the mask (Simon!), Mohawk (Johnny!) is looking at you solely. "Like some spy, gatherin intel or so."
Spy?! Something in his voice makes you believe that this might not entirely be a joke. On the one hand, you're shocked about the fact that - obviously - you are far worse at people-watching than you thought. How embarassing! But on the other hand, it’s such an appealing idea that they think you capable of actually being such femme fatale. Thrilling! (Or worrisome?)
However, ... what would there be to spy about them, anyway? Despite their scars, testimony of various hardships, they'd hardly be some modern James Bonds...
Well, you couldn't care less! This evening is the most exciting thing since... Oh, don't rack your brains, honey!
You bite your lower lip as not to let them see the wide grin that would definitely threaten to appear on your face. "I'm no spy." A soft smile in your voice can be heard unmistakenly as you are about to look down to where your and Johnny's bodies are touching, but, within a split second, Simon's hand reaches around your throat, with the softest of pressures only, and keeps your head tilt up with his index finger.
"Luckily, you're not", Simon's voice, close to your ear, sends a shiver down your spine.
Johnny's words make it whip straight into your core, the promise of an underlying danger: "Good fer ye, lassie, and good fer us. Win/win situation. Rare enough." His hand seems to burn on your hip. And once more your world shrinks down to these two strangers.
Simon's mask touches your earlobe: "Had a bet whether you would take the first step, doll."
"And what a first step tha was, bonnie, placin yerself in my arms, makin me yer man. Sweetest compensation fer me losing." He winks at you conspicously, daringly, but you are still processing their words.
Simon lets go of your throat when you take your drink again. You drain the rest of your glas in one go.
"Finished?", the Scotsman asks, "Then cummoan."
You glance around the taproom. "Have you seen where she went to after she'd left us alone?", you ask.
It's Simon who answers your question. "Left the bar some time ago with her friends."
You nod, relieved immensely, for you wouldn't like her to come across you sitting here all by yourself. "That's good. OK. Have a nice evening then, you two." You try a good-natured smile. It makes you a bit sad that your night together has already come to an abrupt end.
The roguish look Simon and Johnny exchange with each other goes completely unnoticed by you.
Now Mohawk playfully nudges you with his shoulder, slowly, tenderly, as not to really push you away with it. "Wiz talkin tae ye, hen. Had the impression it got pretty obvious that the three of us would be leavin thegether."
This is an unexpected turn...
You stare at the grinning man in front of you, dumbfounded, kind of, speechless.
Could I possibly misinterpret their intention regarding the things to come?
The way Johnny's looking at you makes unmistakenly clear: he means it; however, they won't coax you into anything you wouldn't want - you can decline, put a stop to it, anytime; they themselves wouldn't offer anything they disliked, either. No obligations.
You turn to get a look at the man behind you. He holds your incredulous gaze, unblinking, followed by one single affirmative nod.
This can’t be happening...
Their directness, sincerity, makes your decision an easy one.
Too good to be true...
A playful smile starts to spread on your lips. You only wish your voice sounded firmer when you finally answer. "I'd like that. So what happens now?"
Johnny's palms run up your arms and down again. "Listen, bonnie: ye set the pace. All ye need to ponder about is the timing, eh?"
"The timing?", you ask, slightly confused.
"Aye. Make up yer mind, take a moment tae decide. We've got plenty o' time. Ye can have anything."
You're still no wiser when Johnny addresses his mate as if you weren't there and listening: "Ah'm curious tae see what she will pick. Ah bet she's already gone through every scenario in her head since she started watching us, our wee minx." Simon slowly nods in response. "Got that impression, too."
On your way out, you're comfortably tugged in between the two almost-strangers who have just happened to become your two boyfriends by accident. Johnny’s got his arm around your waist again, a heavy, pleasant reminder, solid warmth, whereas Simon's massive hand is a crisp burn at the back of your neck, alluring autumn on your skin, the phantom of a chill ready to reach under your surface.
The moment the three of you are out of earshot, the masked man helps you to see things clearly, to understand the transition from fantasy to reality:
"So, how do you want us, love? One after the other - or both of us at the same time?"
(OKAY SO! this is not a comprehensive list this is just off the top of my head!)
- asexual maxwell (i think he acknowledges that his profession has a level of intimacy but considering he sees kissing his hand as making out, i think he wouldn't be into Intimacy of that kind)
- torsewell as a qpr if nothing else (because i think their bond is crazy strong but i dont think torse would call it romantic i think theyd just be content to live together and support each other as long as possible) (as much as i love them romantically as well i think in canon if they dipped in any direction itd be platonic soulmates)
- maxwell majored in business and hated it so bad he kept going to school to try and find something better to major in (his dad is rich and has 7 sons i don't think he'd care enough to keep track unless it was ruining his reputation) (also explains him being 29 and still in college)
- maxwell and olethra bestfriendism (they don't express it normally because neither of them are Normal. but they are best friends. warriors bond (fandom kids) affects no others like it does them)
- maxwell looks up to van (not in an aunt way in a mentor way. shes strong and shes intimidating and she has tentacles for arms- and she can get people to listen up in 5 seconds flat. shes incredibly cool and if she knew just how much maxwell looked up to her, he'd instantly throw himself off the ship)
- maxwell thinks the latter half of montys books fell off because they were straying further from reality into more fictional tellings of the crew (since the books are primarily meant for children- this also might be because of nostalgia not hitting as hard as more books came out, and the decrease in quality actually just coming from growing out of the target audience)
(those are all the big ones and THANK YOU FOR ASKING. i love maxwell gotch fiveever)
when people say el doesn't need mike, but will does...
first of all, i agree. but i want to add some clarity to what i, and i think many of us, mean by the statement.
i saw a post the other day about addiction, saying: when an interest decreases the range of things that make you happy, it's not a healthy interest.
i think the way that el needs mike (i.e. the kind of interest in him she shows) is just like that, not just with happiness but with self-worth and normalcy, too:
el relies on mike and only mike to give her validation, to make her feel happy, valued, loved, normal. (that is, except for that brief time in s3 where she hung out with max and dumped his ass and we all cheered, plus the latter part of s4.) and it comes from things like her superpowers, her saving the world, and her appearance as a 'normal girl' – all things that don't really have to do with el's inherent value as a person.
el's arc is about detaching herself from that need. it's like they say: give a man a fish and he'll be fed for a day, but teach a man to fish and he'll be fed for a lifetime. she's teaching herself to fish, finding validation within herself, thus opening herself up to greater joys and a higher, more sustainable self-worth.
the way that mike needs el is the exact same: he sees her as his sole source of normalcy, his only avenue to being seen as a respectable person, and relies on her to fulfil that role. and while she loves him and kisses him and writes him letters, she never really shows him why she values him as a person, why he couldn't easily be replaced by any old teenage boy. he expresses this insecurity in the van: he worries he's not good enough for her, because she never expresses valuing him as anything more deep than 'boyfriend', something she may come to not need at all. he feels like she doesn't need him for him, for who he is. (i obviously don't think they ACTUALLY don’t value each other as people, and i think el and mike really love each other, but not as a boyfriend/girlfriend, that's my point here.)
now, the way that mike and will need each other is different: will is a perfectly healthy, functional person without mike's validation (supernatural trauma notwithstanding). he doesn't need mike like el does; but he is made happier by him, not in a way that cuts off his ability to derive happiness from other things but in a way that makes him feel better about himself. mike makes him feel like he's not a mistake and like he's better for being different; he makes will's internal sense of worth grow rather than binding will's worth to himself as the only source, like he did (unintentionally ofc) with el.
will does the same thing for mike in making him feel like a 'hero', letting him know that he's a good person who can do great things – again, it's a case of increasing his range of happiness rather than decreasing it by showing that his worth is an inherent part of himself.
because true happiness comes from within.
in this sense, will teaches mike to fish, and vice versa... while el and mike are one another's go-to fishmongers. and they've got a membership with them now so it really doesn't make sense not to shop there, right? even though the fish isn't very high-quality. even though they only sell just enough so that the other doesn't starve. even though they're running out of money to offer in return.
