#As far-fetched as the premise always seems to me - these things just happened and the timing was such?? But stranger things have happened

[valiantarcher]

I have random and assorted thoughts on my Constance Savery reads over the past couple of weeks. I’ve categorised them by work (Magic in My Shoes, “The Waswytch Secret”, The Reb and the Redcoats, The Good Ship Red Lily, and Enemy Brothers) so those who haven’t read all of them have the option to (hopefully easily) scroll past the unread ones if they so desire. I have also put them under the cut due to length.

Magic in My Shoes: I enjoyed Sally as the narrator, and the premise was engaging even with me knowing the secret early in the book. I was a little surprised by the accusations of ill-nourishment and neglect against Aunt Persis, but in retrospect, I appreciate that realism - four growing children are not going to flourish off even generous portions for two of them. Which brings me to my main complaint - Tandy and his unwillingness to see gorging himself was selfish and wrong on many levels. Despite the thin excuse that he had been delicate and sickly at times in the past, I really expected Josset (with Laurence’s support) to put his foot down instead of continuing to baby him (after all, as someone remarked, triplets are all of the same age). Tandy didn’t ruin the story for me, but he made certain parts of it very irritating. I did love the plan involving ten-year-old Laurence becoming a schoolteacher and, when Aunt Persis declared that was nonsense, all the children bring up a moral tale with a six-year-old being so studious that she became a teacher as solid proof.

“The Waswytch Secret”: Given that it was in a collection of ghost stories (well, sort of - most had some sort of haunting element, if only a little, but I’m still not sure why “The Red-Headed League” was included), I wasn’t sure what to expect at first. It was thoroughly Savery, though, and an enjoyable read with an element of mystery. It felt slightly different from her novels, and I think that was due to the choice of one of the younger children as narrator.

Reb and Redcoats: This was a reread and I found it a pretty fun one this time around. Randal’s integration into and relationship with the Darringtons was charming. I couldn’t decide whether Tim Wingate’s inaptitude for stealth and secrecy was more irritating or amusing, but I swung towards the latter by the end, especially given his cheerful nature. My main gripe is that I still feel like the Patty switch was kind of cheating.

The Good Ship Red Lily: I struggled with this one a lot even past (or maybe because of) the tense start. Violet was a horrible child, and I loathed Ingram and disliked Sir Timon. Objectively, of course it’s good that there was reconciliation with Ingram and that he repented and asked forgiveness, but I could not make myself invested in it (though the tiny glimpses we had of it from Michael’s perspective helped a little). I enjoyed Toby as primary character a lot and especially appreciated his resolution to deny the pleasures when he felt accepting them would go against his conscience. I wasn’t very pleased with the treatment of Patience, though - Toby said the others didn’t join him in his denial because they were too young to understand; while that certainly makes sense for the younger ones (and Violet is a category in and of herself), Patience is a year older than him and - although not privy to all the knowledge and trust from their father that Toby is - was Toby’s confidant about plans to escape. She showed a lack of wisdom in following Violet up the chimney, but that could partially have been explained by her caregiving to the younger children. Regardless, especially since all knew about Ingram’s betrayal, I think Patience at least should have been given a reason for not seeing the pleasures as a betrayal of their father instead of being pushed to the side and under the general but false umbrella of “too young to understand”.

Enemy Brothers: Especially after The Good Ship Red Lily, I was afraid this one might not live up to the positive recollection I had of it - but it didn’t disappoint. I very much appreciated that, although Dym was the one who had a special connection with Tony, Tony belonged to the entire family and they to him. I know Tony takes it lightly at the end and chalks it up to their keenness for detective work, but James and Porgy cycling 60 miles after him and the German in the car was no small thing. And, while it bugs me a little bit that Ginger doesn’t recgonise Tony despite the marked resemblance to Dym, I’ll let it go with the idea that he thinks he’s familiar but his brain doesn’t provide the correct context while on ship. I have a new appreciation for Dym. On one hand, of course he is gentle and doesn’t take harm easily from Tony - he’s been searching for Tony for years and so he’s been choosing to love Tony for years. And, on the other, you can tell he still hasn’t forgiven Max’s Mutti for stealing Tony and just how much effort it takes for him to choose to tell Tony to still love her and that he will take him to see her after the war. I also appreciate the honesty that Dym had in discussing England’s past and how they were not always on the side of right but that this time, they were. Also, Dym was a bomber pilot! I don’t know the exact statistics, but this was an incredibly dangerous job. I’m sure it varied some between organizations and aircraft, but if you were on the crew of a US B-17 bomber doing runs, the odds were you would only make it halfway through the 25 runs (I believe that’s right for the year it was published?) you were supposed to before being killed, captured, or severely injured. Even if you beat the odds and made it through all those runs (as some did), you would have had multiple crewmembers who did not and so would not have kept your full crew together (Were there rare exceptions to this, crews who made it all together? I hope so, but I don’t know). At any rate, when Euphemia comments to Dym and his friends to leave croquet until the summer when it was warmer and the way they all looked at each other for a moment as if there was no certainty that summer would come hit hard this time. (Oh, I just found someone noting that the RAF flew night missions and had a higher casualty rate than the US bombers, though it did depend on the year, of course - if they weren’t in the worst year yet, they were heading into it.) And the moment when Tony finds Dym and comes up behind him, nervous and afraid, and whispers “Please, George, I’ve come back” is just wonderful. I think there’s an idea of fear and justice vs. love and mercy, along with the hope that the choice of coming back will make a difference, but I haven’t figured out how to put it into words. I’m actually kind of shocked this book has never been made into a movie or a mini-series, especially when WWII stories have been so popular in somewhat recent years. But perhaps the strong Christian threads have put producers off (...not that that’s stopped others from mangling or removing them from other works).

The Good Ship Red Lily and Enemy Brothers: Enemy Brothers feels like a kind of inverse of The Good Ship Red Lily. Both books deal with children meeting and spending time with family members (and because of kidnapping, no less) and making decisions as to where home is and who true family is, but the role of the family is drastically different. In Red Lily, the dapper uncle is the kidnapper. Ingram tries to act like he is filling the kind, wise, but fun adult role and the children do love him for that. However, he is directly and actively responsible for their kidnapping, for previous imprisonment of their father, and for the current attempt to capture their father. In Enemy Brothers, Dym is ostensibly in the enemy role (being English and responsible for Tony’s “imprisonment” in the White Priory), but his actions are kind, loving, and (mostly) wise. Even when Tony is hating him, he can’t deny there’s a magnetism around Dym that all the children, including him, recognise and respond to. It’s not quite that serious, but I am reminded of the exchange in The Fellowship of the Ring about the enemy’s agents seeming fair but feeling foul, while the good may look foul but feel fair. But where an understanding of Ingram’s true nature leads Toby to separate from him and his grandfather, a deeper understanding of Dym and his true character helps Tony to make the hard but right decision about his home and family. In both cases, repentance and returning bring about reconciliation and restoration, but Ingram is the one repenting in Red Lily, confessing and asking forgiveness of his brother. In Enemy Brothers, Tony is the one who comes back, finally seeking the brother who has sought him for so long. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness from his brother in words and indeed doesn’t need to because his actions speak so loudly of it, but is fully received with love and restored.

#Constance Savery #Enemy Brothers #The Good Ship Red Lily #The Reb and the Redcoats #Magic in My Shoes #The Waswytch Secret #books #I'm sure I'm forgetting lots of thoughts but this is so long already #Thanks to past!Valia for having acquired much more knowledge of WWII since the first Enemy Brothers read #No thanks to past!Valia for not having done any research into the RAF #I am also always struck by the reminder Enemy Brothers was written during the war - maybe that's part of why it feels so real #As far-fetched as the premise always seems to me - these things just happened and the timing was such?? But stranger things have happened #Providence after all and I'll forgive it here even though I tend to like a stronger recognition of it #And now to send all the books back to their own libraries *sighs*

[yatgb]

WHOS READY FOR CRINGE ON MAIN BOYSSSS

I don't have a name for this drabble but the premise is "I selfship with Xornoth and Joey is mad about it"

I'm not gonna subject normal tag scrollers to 1,288 words of c!Joey and c!VZ yelling at each other over a demon deer so the majority of the fic is under a readmore. If yall like VZ i might write more, if yall hate him ill still write more <3

"So."

"So."

An impatient ruffle of feathers.

A collected flap of a coat.

Joey's foot tapped on the Blackstone floor. "Can you at least look at me when I'm talking to you?"

VZ just barely turned his head from where he was gazing onto a lava ocean outside his window. "We can hear each other just fine."

Joey's feathers ruffled again, just as impatiently as the first time. "What game are you playing, pig-man?"

"Hm… none, at the moment," VZ replied. "I've been meaning to invite Pixlriffs over for a game of chess. He seems like an interesting lad to play chess with, wouldn't you say?"

"Not like that!" Joey uncrossed his arms to flail them at his sides. "I mean, what is your deal?"

That question earned a quarter head-turn. "What do you mean by that? What are we talking about?" VZ fixed his coat by the shoulders. "I'm not a pig-man, by the way."

Joey flinched as an ember singed the tip of his nose. "I mean the fact that you've been more reclusive than ever lately. I've sent you five messages and only now was I able to get this meeting!"

VZ chuckled at that, and tucked his hands behind his back. His robotic arm clicked and whirred at the elbow. "Reclusive, you say? I don't think thats what Pixlriffs would say of me. Or Lizzie, I made a trip to the Prisma Palace just yesterday! Lovely smell the saltwater has, no?" He only offered a short beat of silence before continuing. "It's taken so long to pencil you in because my schedule has been rather busy. The Brutes were switching shifts all day yesterday, I had to take inventory at the trading hall, I had the trade all the way at the Ocean Empire— as lovely as Lizzie is, a trip to the overworld is enough to put me out of commission for the rest of the day. Not to mention Joel put in an order for a whole shulker of warped wood, and Shrub has an order for some fungus…" 

Joey finally got a glimpse of his glimmering yellow eye.

"I have been the opposite of reclusive, Joey. What are you really irritated with me for?"

Joey fell silent. His arms crossed again, and he looked down to his feet. "Well… it's b-because…"

VZ smirked. He had a hunch. "Why, is it because Xornoth is on this side of the portal more often than not?" He knew he had hit a nerve when Joey's hand clenched into a fist, bundling up his sleeve. "That's what this is for?"

"Xornoth… has been distant," Joey said, trying to force out the anger in his tone. "He's always coming back from the Nether, and it always looks like he wants to go right back in. No matter what I try to do for him, he doesn't seem to want to stay!"

"Mm-hmm." VZ turned back to his window.

"I just… I don't know what's happening, but I can only assume you're behind it. Has he been stopping by here?"

VZ's head tilted, and he shifted his weight to his other foot. "Would that upset you if it were true?"

The facts stated that Joey's accusations were true. VZ had seen his fair share of the demon called Xornoth, and heard his fair share of things about Joey. It wouldn't be a far fetch to say that the two had grown oddly close— much to the dismay of a couple of his trading partners. And as it seems, much to the dismay of Joey.

"It would," Joey admitted, and he looked around the office, at the bare walls and dark floors and crimson desk and lack of seating arrangements. "Be-because that means Xornoth keeps seeing you."

"And why would that upset you?" VZ asked. His tone remained calm, his arms behind his back. His robotic hand clutched his organic wrist and the joints clacked. 

Joey snuffed then, his anger flaring up again. "Because! Xornoth is supposed to be with me. I'm his husband, after all! I-I've done nothing but support him, and show him love, and now he's just up-and-leaving! He's leaving me alone! Leaving me for some-some pig-man like you, who spends all his days in the Nether of all places!"

VZ stayed quiet, offering no response. The only response that was given was the wind blowing through the window, sending ember flurries through the breeze. The smell of crimson fungus and the pungent heat of the dimension sunk in. 

"Joey," VZ finally said, "can I ask you a question?"

Joey replied with a tut. "What is it?"

And finally, VZ turned to face his guest. He was expressionless, his tone gentle as though they were discussing any other topic.

"Has it crossed your mind that, as much as you care about Xornoth, he does not return those feelings?"

Joey growled. "He told me he does."

"Told you," VZ echoed, cocking his eyebrow. "But has he shown you?"

Joey faltered. His eyes tremored as they looked VZ up and down. His wings ruffled again, and this time it was to get the hot air moving. And then, he spoke; quick and haughty. "He has, actually. Many times, you know! I've kissed him, and he's kissed me back, and—"

"—Joey." VZ held his organic hand up. "I wasn't challenging you. I was asking you."

Joey's snarl didn't go away. "He has."

VZ sighed then, turning back around to stare outside his window. "It's not me you need to lie to; it's yourself you have to be honest with." When he got no reply, he hung his head and placed his hands on the windowsill. "Is that all you came here for, Joey? To accuse me of stealing your supposed husband from you? To accuse me of having any form of control over the ages-old demon that just-so-happens to enjoy my company?" A quarter head-turn. "Is this what you've wasted my time for?"

Joey, once again, didn't answer right away. His feet dragged along the floor, bringing him closer to the door. "Just… stay away from him." It wasn't a threat. It was a plea, and both of them felt it.

"I can't control when he comes to visit," VZ said. "And I'm not keen on intentionally avoiding him." He decided to give him one more chance. "Were you aiming to set up a trade deal, or is that all you wanted to tell me?"

Joey did another shuffle to the door. "I'll be going, now."

A nod. "Very well. Watch the Brutes on your way out. Have a nice afternoon."

Joey left with a flare of his wings and anger darkening his eyes. He stalked through the hallway, down the stairs, and then along the opening bridge of the bastion. The Piglins patrolling the halls snorted angrily at him, their fists clenched around their swords and crossbows. It was then he realized he wasn't wearing much gold. The Piglins seemed to be hardly restraining themselves; Joey got the feeling that just one snap of the fingers from a certain leader would set them on him in a flash.

"Joey."

Joey's head snapped up, and he turned around. He was walking his way down the entrance/exit bridge, and the voice boomed from the second floor. His eyes found the glimmering iris of VZ's, staring at him out the window.

VZ's voice seemed to carry over the wind. "I don't want to be your enemy, Joey. Vultures don't hunt the living. You're only unwelcome if you make yourself unwelcome."

Joey gave a nod. "I get it," he called back. 

VZ gave a wave. Even over the wind, Joey could hear the robotics clacking together.

And Joey was off.

#theyfriend talks #empires smp #ESMP #do we have a fic tag? idk it #uhhhhhh #VZ chronicles #there we go thats what ill tag all my posts about him as #yes be fully prepared for me to make analysis posts about the fucker like hes a canon character #because im that close #mcyt

[rorodawnchorus]

The Devil Judge, Ep.1 Meta

(On the re-imagined justice process, imageries, parallels in South Korea and our world today) 

As with all dystopian fiction, it is not exactly a far-fetched imagining of our world. Instead, it is a critique of our society which seeks to amplify the inequalities and suffering of society through some exaggeration. 

The Devil Judge is that: it "re-imagines" South Korea today with a sprinkle of cyberpunk aesthetics (a little too much bluish green tint) and dystopian imagery (of homeless people, a very dirty subway and dingy backalleys on a rainy night).

I kept thinking it was a dystopian "future" but was wondering why they were using only Samsung Note 20 instead of some Samsung futuristic prototype phone. So, those phones do keep audiences grounded in the reality it is portraying -- this is the alternative South Korea of today. 

We are barely halfway into the first episode and we've got this extremely charismatic, anti-hero male lead strutting red carpets and making verbose declarations like "I am the power. By the judicial authority delegated to me by the people of Korea, I will run this court. And it is the people who hold this power." (Not verbatim but that's the gist). 

Then, meet associate judge Kim Ga-On who seems to be against how the system is running. He seems to be the outlier who rose to his ranks from the bottom class of society (which his colleague Oh Jin-joo says, he looks like he's from the shanty town of Seoul). We start off, barely into the drama at this point, with a dramatic scene of a kindergarten bus ramming down barricades and charging towards the Court building. A group of kindergarten children crossing the road there (I've just no clue what businses kids would have near the court building tbh). A little girl tripping as they were rushed across the road, Ga-On jumping to the rescue, and unable to pick her up in time, shields her with his own body. Kang Yo Han is just there, taking a heavy gun from the guard and unhesitantly opened fire at the bus driver who was flooring the pedal. He misses the driver's head and hits the headrest before firing again. The bus swerves and flips. The driver loses consciousness and Ga On (again!) jumps to the rescue. So, here the tone is set. We've got this "devil judge" who seems to be the ultimate modern day anti-hero who's given immense amount of power. 

Much more interesting is that in this dystopian South Korea, we've got what seems like a publicly elected judiciary (or Kang Yo Han is perhaps the first?) and that has always been something that has been discussed in legal academic. Not the idea of electing the judiciary but that the argument of the judiciary not being publicly elected can be seen as slightly out of tune with democracy. (In legal academic, however, this is theoretically seen as being balanced by the separation of powers; ie. the executive branch (=government) and elected members of Parliament/Congress are supposed to be fully separated from the judiciary and should therefore never interfere with the judiciary. But, of course, these are all theoretical stuff. They look good on paper and when discussed in legal essays but in reality, it can often be different (if not, the exact opposite). This series takes things to yet another level by imagining the inception of a publicly televised and publicly voted trial. 

This goes against the nature of trials in general because in our world today, the judiciary (wherever it may be) typically have mechanisms (ie. laws and codes) to prevent manipulation by media. The principle of fair trial requires that no external influence affects the process of adjudication (ie. the judgement by judges). There also tends to be avoidance of trial by public opinion because the way the law is interpreted and applied can be rather technical and different from what people may say or think about a certain trials, the decision delivered and also sentencing. Trial by jury is the nearest it gets but that too can be a fairly technical process which do also include considerations like avoiding a two-day trial to prevent influence by the media or other agents on a jury member's decision. (A recent drama mentioning this is Law School). The thing about this idea of trial by the public is that standards of morality can be very subjective and varies from person to person. Judgement by judges are not entirely free from the influence of morality, but the process is a litle more stable through the processes of interpretative practices, case precedents and legal theories. Previously in another Kdrama, Miss Hammurabi (2018), Judge Lim Ba-reun became slightly frustrated by his friend's comment that having a jury trial is like "true democracy" because the "people gets to decide" and he even thinks the judiciary should be elected too. Lim Ba-reun sarcastically said he must have loved every elected politican since they were elected by the public. He tells him grimly that no jury has ever found a policeman who had beaten up a Black man to be guilty. He also pointed out that Nazi, the Holocaust and Hitler were all supported by the public. 

In this series, the premise allows all of these imaginings to be realised and played out. It is peak criticism, I think, when they portray the scenes of the TV producer being excited about the real-time ratings and viewer ratings. And also the scene of the broadcasting channel's chairman dancing in joy when he received realtime report of the ratings (vowing to treat his equally wealthy friends to a meal). Even when his other friend seemed appalled by the decision delivered by Judge Kang, the Chairman could not hide his joy in the skyrocketing viewership ratings. This really reminded me of the entire Produce 101 franchise which also heralded the shows for putting the decision in "The Nation's Producers" (ie. voters) and emphasised how it is the Nation Producers who put together ("produce") the National Kpop group that is bound for success and set to receive national love. All of this illusion collapsed (and the Korean franchise died along with it) when the court finds its producers guilty of voting manipulation. The Devil Judge seemed to have a similarly dramatic flair in its emphasis of TV production gimmicks, camera angles, cuts of a person's reaction, etc. The President of South Korea (who has a very light voice, a penchant for orotund speeches and a lack of concern for national policies) and all these top 1% of people tuned in were on the edge of their seats watching Judge Kang orchestrate this theatre of public trial. Kim Ga-On watched him closely and was sure that Judge Kang had something up his sleeves and was definitely up to no good, yet he couldn't tell. When he finally delivers a verdict (that yes, this was a case of professional negligence and not negligent homicide), Ga-On was crestfallen and frustrated because it carries a mere 5 year imprisonment maximum. But Kang turns the table and brings up the newly passed legislation which allows accumulative sentence which then resulted in 235 years of imprisonment. 

This sounded very much like how some Korean netizens had previously wondered (online) why Korea couldn't have a sentencing system like the US where the years of imprisonment can go up to 100 years or 500 years. Again, this was like realising an alternative South Korea that many have perhaps tried imagining. Episode 1 ends with Judge Kang stepping down from his high seat when a victim's family member bowed deeply with her hands clasped, as though in prayer, and even kneeled to him. This corresponded well and tied perfectly into the religious/godlike imagery represented in the justice's robes which is reminiscent of the pope's robes and resembles a priest's robe, and the app they named DIKE or Diety of Justice (正義의 神). When Judge Kang hugs the old woman with a compassionate smile, teary eyed and full of empathy, he ends up yawning barely a minute into consoling the weeping woman. Ga-On witnesses this and realises, all of this must have been a gimmick after all. He had his hopes up when Judge Kang serves the sentence of 235 years. The episode ends. 

I think this series is set to be a great one. (Just as Law School was amazing too!) It has tons of stuff to unpack, lots that goes into the cinematography and camerawork. While characters do seem a little more like caricatures rather than realistic people that are properly fleshed out in the narrative, there is still promise to push beyond these caricatures. I think there is also a lot in the imagery of dystopia and the constant bombardment of messages from the government (which is often the mainstay of dystopian fiction) which emphasises a certain narrative which they want the people to believe. For example, Kim Ga-On is travelling up the escalator when there were ads of the DIKE app, ads on electronic billboards on the justice system, paper posters plastered in the dark backalley where a high school girl is being dragged away by two men saying "The government will now create a safe South Korea". That last one is perhaps the most glaring one to me because when I was in Korea, it was repeated to me by different Korean individuals: "Your things are safe. No Korean will steal it. (Not sure about foreigners though!) You are safe. Crimes don't happen. I checked and there are no sexual offenders living in this neighbourhood." But... spycams can be anywhere. Men secretly follow women to their homes and try to break into them. Sexual harassment can happen anywhere. Robbery and theft can happen.

Personally, my paranoia and anxiety won't ever let me believe such words. No narrative, self-made or otherwise, can convince me enough to think that I am in a safe place. I would always have a nagging thought at the back of my mind telling me danger can be lurking just about anywhere. I think Koreans today do have high levels of confidence in their country. Most people do think it is safe to be walking around in the dead of night without any worry. (Again, I do not quite share the sentiment.) But this is a kind of self-made narrative because I also know my countrymen who travel to other countries like the UK and say "I feel absolutely safe walking the streets in the dead of night while I won't feel the same in my own country" when those are simply ideas they've planted into themselves through the mindset that [This country is better than my country and therefore safer.] There is absolutely no correlation between a "better" country and crime rates (or potential of becoming a victim of crime). Not to mention, being an Asian in a Western country sets you up as a likelier victim of hate crime... 

So, I was saying.... This narrative of "safe Korea" is already existing in South Korea today. The need for mass surveillance or a spycam detecting task force in public toilets don't add up with a "safe country" image but the sentiment planted into the people seems to be strong despite all of this. However, Koreans do call South Korea "Hell Joseon". Youth unemployment can be a concern is a country like South Korea and a graying population, increasinly empty gray towns like the one mentioned in the series are all concerns which are ever-present in the public conscious. The mention of plauge and unemployment too must be a major concern now. In a rather similar vein, this narrative of DIKE or trial by the public through app voting creates a sentiment that people can take into their own hands and deliver justice. But what about the people at the margins of society who are homeless and do not own smartphones? What is this concept of democracy that places power in the hands of people? Is it a mere illusion or is power really in the hands of people?

..................................................................................................

(A side note on how the indicted chairman of the company responsible for mass poisoning of an entire town had brushed off concerns about a failing filtration system and the move of industrial plants to Southeast Asia. As a Southeast Asian, it is also something on my mind how South Korea has moved out of China and moved most of its plants to Southeast Asia for cheap labour. But what about the pollution here, the appallingly low wages they pay Southeast Asians (both white and blue collars!) in comparison to the few Korean expat managerial staff or engineers they station out here? I remember how I was at the hospital at 2 am and a small group of blue collar workers in their work uniform came in with their injured colleague; this can only mean they were at work past midnight due to some accident and we are still in the midst of the pandemic. What kinds of welfare and benefits are these blue collars provided with?)

#The Devil Judge #Park Jinyoung #Jisung #악마판사

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Heloo !! I hope all of you are doing well. I was wondering if there was another chapter planned for The High Road and the Low Road? I find the premise very intriguing and I can’t wait to see what happens next !!!!

After learning the truth from Claire, a furious Brianna runs to Craig na Dun to prove her mother’s crazy only to fall through the stones herself.

Part One, Part Two

The High Road and the Low Road - Part Three

“1968,” Roger repeated, almost in a trance after what Claire had told him. “Then… there’s a chance she hasna gone back yet.”

“A chance,” Claire agreed. “Though I couldn’t tell you the first thing about how we could even begin to find her… save camping out at the stones and watching for her.”

“And ye think it’s an ability that passes down from mother to child?”

Claire shrugged. “Or father. My own parents died when I was so young – when they were still very young – I doubt they ever even knew they had the ability, wherever one of them it came from.”

Fiona never took her eyes from the familiar road as she added, “Grannie and the others talk of it running in families – the fairies’ interest, that is. The tales say the fairies are like to take the daughters of women they stole before, mistaking the daughter for the mother.”

“Sounds like a way to explain something bein’ hereditary,” Roger conceded. “But all the tales I’ve heard speak of women taken. D’ye believe a man can pass through?”

“Geillis was only the first traveler I met,” Claire confessed, launching into an abbreviated account of her time in Paris and Master Raymond. 

“But the question of whether you can is easily solved – you touch the stones and something either happens or it doesn’t,” Claire said, looking at Roger, watching him and the grip he had on the small pack of clothes and supplies he’d hastily grabbed on their way out the door. “The more important questions is will you try.”

“I wouldna feel right watchin’ ye go on yer own,” he said too quickly. “And I feel Brianna going is partly my fault. My contributions to the conversation hardly calmed her.” He looked out the window, avoiding Claire’s knowing gaze. 

“Whatever your reason, I thank you for being willing to come and help me. I don’t know what might go wrong, but if anything should happen to me, it’s a comfort to know Brianna will have you there too.”

Roger continued looking away but nodded. He didn’t want to think of having to tell Brianna that something had happened to her mother (and that he hadn’t been enough to stop it). 

“We’re here,” Fiona announced, turning onto the road that inclined gently upward to the hill and the standing stones crowning it. 

**************************************

“Have you run away from home before?” Brianna asked quietly as she held tight to the edge of the cart, praying they wouldn’t hit a bump strong enough to send her falling to the dusty road below. Ian looked far too comfortable where he was perched on a wooden crate next to one of the back wheels. He swayed but Brianna quickly noted that his movements worked with the swaying of the cart, adjusting and correcting for every tilt and jerk.

“I dinna see it as running away,” he explained. “Put that way it sounds like I dinna mean ever to return. It’s more… a brief change of scene. And I do try always to make myself useful,” he added. “This visit I’m fetching my da what he needs for farmin’ the fields and to help my uncle wi’ his business. He usually has plenty of work and no enough help for it. One of these days, I’m goin’ to ask him can I stay wi’ him for good.”

They had walked for a few hours before a man with a cart came up along the road behind them. Ian ran alongside and launched into Gaidhlig so Brianna had no clue what he’d said to convince the man to let them ride along, but within a few minutes the cart slowed enough for Ian to help Brianna up into the back. They didn’t dare take out Ian’s food stores with the cart jostling along (and a third party who might request a portion as payment for the ride). Instead, they chatted to cover the noise of their grumbling stomachs and Brianna glanced around at a landscape more lush and beautiful than she felt she’d ever be able to appreciate fully in her own time. 

“And what about you?” Ian asked, drawing Brianna’s attention back. “What were ye doing that ye became so lost?”

“I had an argument with my mother and took a walk to cool off. I just went further than I realized or meant to,” Brianna admitted, fighting the nervous impulse to laugh. She couldn’t have traveled much further if she’d tried. 

“So… ye ran away?” Ian teased. 

Brianna rolled her eyes at him, flushing as she heard him laughing at her. 

“What was it ye and yer mam argued over? Was it to do wi’ yer da? Ye said she told ye it wansa the man ye thought. Did she tell ye much about the man who is yer father?” 

“Yes, we fought about that. She lied to me my entire life – and about who I am. You’d be mad too if you found out yer father was someone you had never met.”

“Oh aye,” Ian agreed. “I’m named for my da. Dinna ken what I’d make of it were he no my father by blood… But I dinna ken it would change too much. He’s a good man, my da – better’n I ever manage. I dinna ken how to be like him so I dinna think it’s worth killin’ myself tryin’. Uncle – that is, I dinna feel my uncle is as disappointed in me when I do things wrong. Ken… there have been times when I wished my uncle was my father.”

Brianna said nothing. She had never wished for a different father – not that she could recall, anyway. There had been a few times she’d wished her mother were different – not that another woman was her mother, but that Claire had behaved more like other mothers, that sort of thing. But what if Frank had wished she were different? What if he had wished for a daughter more like him, a daughter who was actually his and not a reminder of the man his wife had left him for – a reminder that he was the consolation, that he was what was left when the love of his wife’s life was gone…

“Did she tell ye about him?” Ian pressed. 

“Only a little and I wasn’t to inclined to pay attention. She said I look like him – my hair, my eyes, my height… She said he was smart and kind, that he spoke several languages and was a strong leader to the men who fought with him,” Brianna listed. She was amazed she remembered so much of what Claire had told her. She was ashamed it wasn’t more. 

“Sounds a good man,” Ian told her. “Are ye sorry ye cannae meet him?”

Brianna shrugged. “You can’t miss what you’ve never had. I had a dad and he was pretty great. I’d want to have him back more than someone I never met… I think,” Brianna hedged. “I don’t know. Maybe part of me is curious, but what’s the point of wishing for it when it’s never going to happen?”

“I suppose that makes sense. Ye cannae be disappointed if ye never meet him, either,” Ian replied, a somber note in his voice. “But he might also be better’n ye could know if ye dinnae meet him and see for yerself.” 

“Which, again, doesn’t really matter as it’s never going to happen.”

“Right,” Ian agreed quickly, looking away to where a small flock of birds startled upward from the moor – perhaps disturbed by the sound of their cart passing.

Brianna and Ian allowed the silence between them to stretch comfortably as the miles slowly accumulated behind them. 

**************************************

Roger came to first, but it took him a while to sort out where he was and what had happened. 

He was on the ground in the stone circle and everything seemed to pulse around him, a distracting buzzing fading in and out, ringing in his ears. When he turned his head, he saw Claire crumpled and unmoving a few feet away.

Cursing under his breath, Roger tried to roll in her direction but he found his body resistant to the idea, crying out in pain and frustration instead.

The noise succeeded in rousing Claire, however. With a loud gasp, she jolted upright, looking around until her eyes found Roger… and no sign of Fiona.

“Looks like we made it,” she declared, groaning as she struggled to her feet. “Though a little worse for the wear.”

“It was worse than ye said,” he grumbled, crawling to his pack which had ended up a few feet away.

“It gets worse each time,” Claire said. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be able to get through again.” Panic hovered at the edges of her voice as she glanced to Roger. He could see her pushing it to the side as she moved to the edge of the circle and gazed down the hill toward the road. 

“She has a significant head start on us, whichever direction she’s gone,” Claire started. 

“Do ye think we ought to split up?” Roger asked. “If we go down the road in opposite directions, we can ask after her of anyone we meet. Then, if we know we’re on the right path, we keep after her and if we find she’s no been seen, we can turn back. We wait here till the other returns wi’ her and we all go back together.”

“That assumes she sticks to the road,” Claire countered.

“Have ye any reason to think she’d stray from it?”

“You mean besides the fact she took off here on her own in a huff and fell through inadvertently? It was dark when she came through. There’s a very good chance she missed the road altogether,” Claire theorized, yielding to her worst fears as she ran her gaze up and down the road, searching for impossible signs of Brianna.

“Do ye have another suggestion then?” Roger asked, the lingering headache from the journey and his own fears for Brianna adding to his frustration and erasing any care he might take for Claire’s position. “Hemmin’ and hawin’ willna accomplish anything but wastin’ time.”

“Well it looks like it’s delayed us enough to bring a small bit of good fortune our way,” she exclaimed, taking care as she started down the hill toward the road. “There’s a rider headed this way. You need to call out to him and ask if he’s seen a young woman hereabouts.”

“And why must it be me?” Roger queried, still frustrated and ornery as he followed her path of descent.

“I’m a sassenach in the Highlands,” she reminded him. “And a woman,” she added with annoyance.

“Right,” Roger sighed before beginning to wave his arms and call out to the man approaching on horseback.

The man slowed as he drew closer but he did not appear inclined to stop.

“My apologies, friends, but I’m on an errand that–”

He stopped the horse abruptly, color draining from his face.

Claire reached out and gripped Roger’s arm tightly, causing him to wince.

“Claire?” the man on the horse asked with breathless disbelief.

She responded in kind, “Ian?”

#Anonymous #;mod lenny #the high road and the low road au #alternate universe #canon divergence au

[shijiujun]

[SPOILERS KIND OF] TLTR2 - Thoughts on the last 10 episodes + EVERYTHING

Ahhhhh the found family trope gets me every single damn time!!! Honestly Zhu Yilong’s TLTR is the best I’ve seen! 

Okay first things first, TLTR as a whole was EXCELLENT in terms of characters, script, twists, SETS (wow damn TLTR creeps me out episode after episode) and the whole premise seems a little far-fetched but actually melds together really well. Pacing could be slightly better (HAHAHAHA like Wu Xie was stuck in Warehouse 11 on his own like FOREVER in the first half) but they remedied that with S2, the pacing was spot on and I was literally jumping on my feet EVERY WEEK. Reunions? Check. Xiao Ge badass catwalk from the shadows every time Wu Xie is in danger? Check. TEAM BONDING WITH LIU SANG WHUMP?! CHECK. HAPPY ENDING?!!! CHECK (could have done with an alive Jia Ke Zi to be honest, but we’ll take what we can get).

And one thing TLTR does really, really well is like touching, reminiscing scenes? Even with Er Jing?!!! And of course everytime Pang Zi and everyone else thinks Wu Xie is dying, and when Wu Xie himself thinks he’s literally going to die the next moment, wow the script is amazing?!!! I cried (okay but I admit that I cry really easily) soooo many times?!

On Er Jing - The Mole

The moment when Wu Xie recalls Er Jing saving him when he was younger, and how much he trusted Er Jing, and I do feel so sad for both Er Jing and Wu Xie? Like I don’t believe each moment for Er Jing was spent like scheming and tbf he’s not that good of a schemer, ISTG his greed and glee shows up EVERY SINGLE TIME the second he steps into warehouse 11 and Pang Zi is right, “It’s so obvious it’s Er Jing please.” Wu Xie says it as well - if Er Jing truly was a scheming little bij, he would have been seen throughout the 20 years?! So Er Jing perhaps through the years, did think about Er Shu and Wu Xie as his family, I do believe that. It’s just sad af that he chose treasure that he never saw over riches with Er Shu ya know?! 

Not sure if Er Jing and his band of crazy friends are dead or alive? Seems at the last episode Wu Xie asked to send doctors down to treat them, but I guess...

On Liu Sang

In the book apparently Er Jing isn’t the mole but Liu Sang (in a different setting, not the same situation if I recall correctly), but San Shu admits that he was drunk or smth when he was writing the ending and Liu Sang and Xiao Bai ‘disappeared’ LOLOL but San Shu has been supportive always in Liu Sang’s character, so I am soooooo glad my Liu Sang BB is pure, innocent, sometimes scheming, always whump?!! AHHHHH LIU SANG!!!!!

Liu Chang as Liu Sang is fricking amazing damn I LOVE HIS LOOK? Honestly, Liu Chang is my new obsession, I love this man. I really, really do. I love his hair, I love him with glasses, anything tbh. 

And he’s so protective of Xiao Bai?!!! LIKE LEGIT GENTLEMAN?!!! The first time when he tried to save Xiao Bai from Boss Jiao’s people in the cave, and then in the last ep, when the black thingys came flying over, he shielded her with his coat?!!! Not that it would have made a difference but damn, my pure, competent bb Liu Sang.

Also Liu Sang still DOES NOT GET HIS HUG FROM XIAO GE ISTG?!!! XIAO GE HUGS EVERYONE BUT HIM. DAMN. I REST MY CASE.

On IRON TRIANGLE + 4th sister Xiao Bai

Wu Xie is amazing. ZYL is damn frickin amazing too, and Chen Minghao as Pang Zi IS GOLD. HE’S SO DRAMATIC ASS?!!! And young Huang Junjie as Xiao Ge, damn. This is the best trio I’ve ever seen. This is the best trio you need. All the brotherhood shit, all the meaningful stares between Xiao Ge and Wu Xie, COME ON!!!!

And also Pang Zi taking care of Xiao Mei?!!! And Xiao Mei calling him dad?!!! I love it. AHAHAHAHA

Xiao Bai, I don’t even know where to begin. I think it’s cute, her and Wu Xie, and when Wu Xie called her and she didn’t pick up and in the last ep when Xiao Bai left him behind to run towards Pang Zi and the rest and Wu Xie’s AFFRONTED LOOK, I think he’s fond of her somewhat too. Although to what degree, in what sense, well... I just think it’s cute (ALSO DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT MAO XIAOTONG WHO PLAYS XIAO BAI IS THE SAME AGE AS ZHU YILONG?!!! LET THAT FARKING SINK IN. THEY ARE BOTH 32 YEARS OLD OKAY?!!)

Hei Yang Jing, Huo Dao Fu, Li Jia Le, Kan Jian, Xiao Hua

AHAHAHAHA I just wanna laugh at these few - LJL especially was so mean in Warehouse 11 but the moment S2 starts he’s just a cute, clumsy bun bun who keeps getting KO-ed, glad he’s alive tho!!! Kan Jian too, so skinny and crying all the damn time, who loves his boss so much, he’s the cutest. I see a lot of fics shipping Kan Jian and Liu Sang, and tbh, in S1 I did see it quite a bit.

Hei Yan Jing and Chu Chu is frickin alive?!! Damn Xiao Hua, I knew you would have done something. Honestly, if you have so much damn money, and you let Chu Chu go without a fight after warning her that you take HYJ’s request to keep her safe seriously?!!! DAMN THE REVEAL IN THE LAST EP. Hope they meet. Baron Chen is... gosh, I love this man. Also Baron Chen and Huang Junjie were in The Pillow Book tgt and oooooof I love it I love it.

And all of you know just how much I love YOUTIAO DOC?!!! He was such a major side character in the second half of like S2 and I am all for it. His sass, his eye rolls, the way he takes care of Wu Xie and does things for him even tho he grumbles about it?!!! Damn. I need a friend like that.

On Er Shu

Honestly Er Shu was the mastermind in the novel? If I recall, it was his plan basically to get Wu Xie to go to Thunder City to get himself cured, because Wu Xie would not have done it otherwise. In fact, everyone except Wu Xie knew it was Er Shu’s plan to get him to go and that he schemed it all?!! 

And when the reveal happened, everyone was like “yeah we knew it was him and that we’re all part of his plan but we didn’t say anything” because no one knew which roles they were playing in Er Shu’s plan?! And then yeah Liu Sang turned out to be a mole but I didn’t manage to see why, but he was kind of a morally ambivalent character? And Wu Xie in the novel at one point said that he believes in the kind of person Liu Sang is and that he’s not all that bad after the reveal, so... anyway, ER SHU WAS MEANT TO BE MORE BADASS THAN THIS?!!!

I’m so sad he was really paralysed ;-; I legit thought when he stood up in Ep 29 it was really him and I freaked out but it was HYJ CRIESSSS

--

Overall this was definitely a drama of friendship? Forged over creepy tombs that were a mix of Frankenstein, The Mummy Returns, Aliens vs Predator and Indiana Jones?!!! FRIENDSHIP!!!! At the end of it all, Wu Xie found so many new friends that are definitely going to come running the next time they have to find another tomb? 

Like I was sad Liu Sang didn’t turn up in the last scene but he’s alive thank god, and you can imagine that the next time they need help, Liu Sang will roll his eyes but turn up?!!! And LJL also maybe?! And HDF, everyone!!!!

One thing I wanna know is what the hell is going to happen to the Wu family business?!!! Wu Xie looks like he not going to deal with the power shit, argh IDK he’s back to hobo-ing with his bros which I guess is best life.

EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE BEEN GREAT IF ER JING WASN’T A MOLE ARGH I’M SO MAD. AND IF JIA KE ZI DIDN’T DIE?!!

I’D WATCH THIS WHOLE DAMN THING AGAIN. 10/10 FOR BROMANCE, FRIENDSHIP, FAMILY AND CREEPY ASS TOMBS.

#spoilers #the lost tomb reboot #reunion: the sound of the providence #重启之极海听雷 #chongqispoilers #盗墓笔记 #the lost tomb reboot 2 #chongqi #dmbj #wu xie #wang pangzi #zhang qiling #liu sang #huo daofu #kan jian #hei yanjing #zhu yilong #huang junjie #chen minghao #baron chen #liu chang #HAHAHAHAHAH

[bigskydreaming]

IGN’s recent Bat-focused article (Batman: What Does Red Hood Need to Do to Get A Good Story?) praises fanfic writers and also is an amazing critique of how stagnant Jason has become under recent DC management and I’m so surprised at how good it is and how well thought out the solutions were

Hmmm. I just looked it up and I mean, I’m not trying to start anything but I both agree and disagree? Like, it makes some points for sure, I mean, its not like its saying things that I haven’t said a thousand times about Dick, like.....these characters need to be allowed access to a full range of emotions, both good and bad, in order to be fully fleshed out, so I mean yes on that premise alone I absolutely agree this is as true for Jason as it is for Dick or anyone else.

Tbh my only real criticism of the piece is it thinks Jason exists in a particular predicament the other characters aren’t in as well. And that I just don’t agree with, like they kinda lost me a bit with their first paragraph:

His complexities and moral ambiguity make him a compelling and distinct character among his more strait-laced Robin-brothers. Sadly, the character has seen little growth since his rage-filled reintroduction into comics. The ‘former Robin becomes a villain’ idea was enough for DC to coast on for a while but since rejoining the heroes, Red Hood has done little else.

First off, this may just be me being pedantic but I’m ALWAYS going to go fetch a grain of salt before continuing reading anything that pits Jason against his brothers in a war of his moral ambiguity against their strait-lacedness. Because to me, that’s just a fundamentally shallow view of the Batfam that caters to the idea that they each must have their own distinct niche in order to be fully viable individual characters, when a) no, and b) they don’t fit neatly into the niches people keep trying to slot them into and it never ends well for anybody. 

Like Jason is morally ambiguous in a lot of ways too, yes, but umm, even if we assume that the writer is only speaking of Dick, Tim and Damian, we’re talking a guy who beat the Joker to death with his bare hands and has ten assassins and mercenaries on his speed dial and who co-led the Outsiders, a guy who was deeply immersed in weighing the pros and cons of getting revenge for his father by getting Captain Boomerang killed and is forever being DMed by Ra’s because he’s convinced he can get Tim to say He Has Some Points Actually, and the kid who was an assassin with a body count by age ten and who has struggled constantly ever since his debut to define his OWN personal view of morality that is not wholly predicated on what he was taught by any single individual.

And this is a big part of where I part ways with the article, because I think it falls into the same trap that a lot of people do by believing fanfic is inherently better by doing the same thing from just a different angle. Fanfic CAN be better than the canon, I absolutely believe that, I believe it is at times, but to do so, it has to like, BE BETTER. It has to do things differently, and not just paint a slightly different veneer over the same things. Like, pedantic though it might be, I outlined the above issue because its a mode of thinking the canon absolutely falls into again and again, and just like the writer of that article themselves, like....I think fandom as a whole is no different? 

Like, yes there are great stories about Jason out there, some writers have done great and interesting things with him, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a huge trend in fandom of doing the exact same thing I see here.....which is honestly a huge part of the exact same problem the article is decrying canon for......LIMITING Jason (and all the Batfam) by reducing them and their stories to finite niches as a way of spotlighting them as different from their siblings.....except they’re not that different! And that’s okay! They don’t have to be! Families can have lots in common, families DO have lots in common due to like.....shared variables during their formative years. 

I mean Jason was heavily influenced by environmental factors in how and where he grew up before he ever met Batman, but like the article goes into itself, he was no less influenced by Bruce himself as his father figure.....which is something he absolutely has in common with his siblings, thus its not hard at all to see how his siblings could have similar complexities and moral struggles that stem from trying to reconcile Bruce’s influence with the many other things and people that have influenced their childhoods.

And similarly, while the article is dead-on about Jason’s stagnancy....this is something that applies in equal measure to the rest of his family, because they’re all facing the same issues in terms of how DC views and utilizes them, and fandom as much as it likes to condemn DC for doing just that....frequently does the same thing. Like, Jason’s stuck in canon, absolutely......but Dick keeps being popped out into his own microcosm to experience a couple years of stories that essentially turn him into completely different characters isolated from every communal part of his character’s history, and then ERASE everything that’s happened at the end of each of these stories and reset him to square one.....and that’s just a different kind of stagnancy that again, still never allows for actual character progression or development. Tim has LITERALLY been regressed back to Robin, like a hard reset that’s its own kind of stagnancy and Damian has had years of character development upended just to kick him back to where he started, effectively strip away all the connections he’s developed at least in any meaningful way, etc.....and the same holds true for Babs and Cass and Steph and even Bruce himself IMO, in a lot of ways.

Its absolutely a problem, but its a problem that extends far beyond just Jason even if he is a great example of it. And its also a problem that extends into fic itself, and that’s why I don’t agree with a lot of the conclusions that article draws beyond just the fundamental “these characters need to be allowed access to a full range of emotions.”

Yes. That. That right there, THAT I think is crucial, but I think that writer needed to widen the scope a little to take in the full impact of what that actually MEANS for the characters....so as to not accidentally repeat the same problem they’re being critical of by essentially arguing for a full range of emotions for Jason....while still defining or viewing Jason through a finite lens of “the more morally ambiguous Bat character, at least as compared to his brothers.”

Because its that last part that’s so detrimental, because it seems like such a little thing at first, until you realize that essentially its just putting a ceiling, a cap on how far those full ranges of emotions can be expressed. Like the problem with Dick Grayson in canon and fanon is NOT that he can’t be written with a full range of emotions.....its that his character absolutely can encompass a wide range of opinions and viewpoints and emotional stances from “I don’t believe in killing as a first option” to “I absolutely can, will, and have beaten a damn clown to death for joking about murdering my brother”.....and he can still walk away as Dick Grayson after expressing both those things, because his character is big enough to include them both. HE’S not limited as a character, its canon writers and fandom writers that both heap artificial limitations of their OWN on him, say that his character is so defined in such a specific way that there’s no way for the latter expression of his character to actually be IN character.....and the fatal flaw here is fully fleshed out characters are never just one thing. They don’t fit in niches anymore than people do, and notice the problems we all run into when we try and pigeon hole people as being just one thing, like humans can’t be contradictory or act against their own self-interest or be hypocritical or evolve or even regress past prior viewpoints....basically, any time you try and sum up a human being in one line, no matter how accurate that description is, there’s still SOME things that are going to be left out of that picture. 

Now, these things don’t always have to matter that much, like if I look at a serial killer and say that’s a serial killer, like, I might be leaving out of the picture that once he helped an old lady across the street and didn’t kill her and he doesn’t even know why, and I for one, simply do not care that I leave that out of the picture. Its irrelevant to the big picture for me. I can acknowledge that it adds a smidgen of nuance to that particular picture and then go yeah but also I don’t care, nuance denied.

But in terms of fictional characters, these things that get left in the discard pile when we try and sum up characters as just one thing, like, they can be hugely significant, because characters unlike real people, are simply WHAT WE MAKE OF THEM. That stuff that’s been left out of the big picture look at that character because its stuff most people to DEFINE what that character looks like have deemed irrelevant....its still there, and still perfectly relevant for anyone who wants to pick that stuff up and make something of it, use it to change the overall picture or even just point to ways and places that picture can absolutely encompass and include these other elements and STILL fundamentally be that same picture, that same character.

And this isn’t to say that characters can never be written out of character, its to say that usually IMO what ACTUALLY makes the difference between something being out of character and something just being an unexpected but still valid character choice is just.....how these things are executed. The latter is when writers make the effort to JUSTIFY their character choice, to sell audiences on why and how this is absolutely something this character would do, to take them on a journey of what led the character to making this choice and let them see how those steps actually line up, that’s an actual journey that character might take. The former is when writers just don’t bother and are just like, well here’s a thing that character did, and you know it was in character because well that’s the character and that’s what I wrote them doing lol, what more do you want. No. Yawn. Next.

But the trick is if you’re going to try and make a character a SPECTRUM of emotions and choices rather than just a same datapoint recurring over and over again endlessly, a literal sticking point that never advances, never progresses, never changes......you have to actually give that character free range to utilize that spectrum of emotions and choices.....not just confine them to accessing all those possibilities but ONLY within a narrowly defined niche that is its own kind of limitation.

A character can START from a logline, absolutely. Can BEGIN in a narrative niche as a way to INTRODUCE them as seemingly different from their surroundings or their peers when they do not yet have the backstory, the evidence of past stories and character choices readers can use to interpret their actions or guess their choices.....but narrative niches, IMO, are meant to have a shelf life, an expiration date. They’re a seed for characters to grow FROM, to grow PAST, not return to over and over again.....because that’s when a niche just becomes another house that stagnancy built.

Anyway, thanks for the thoughts and the article mention.....it was an interesting exploration of thoughts for me even if I didn’t ultimately agree with a lot of what was already said....still a worthwhile read though I think and I mean hey, its cool if you still agree with it more even if I don’t, lol. This is just my take.

[thesungod]

the problem about Gaia as a villain that the Triumvirate doesn’t have is... how is Gaia connected to what happens in PJaTO?

We find out in THO the emperors have financially helped Luke’s army because they seek the gods’ demise. It may seem a last-minute idea, it probably is, but it still makes SENSE.

It actually makes sense to say “Luke didn’t have ships and weapons and technologies because he’s the villain and I say so, but because he was helped”. It doesn’t ruin previous canon. It’s an addiction, we find out the Triumvirate has always existed and they are not coming out of thin air, fine. If you read ToA, you’ll be happy to have this explanation, if you don’t, nothing of the previous canon will be ruined for you. Win-win.

But Gaia? Choosing her as the enemy wasn’t even that far-fetched, she actually uses giants to go against the gods in mythology, but why now? why immediately after Kronos? were they allies? not even six months later the last global threat, Gaia starts to wake? are you seriously telling me it was simply BAD LUCK?

why couldn’t Gaia wait 20 years? 200? 2000? she’s immortal, she’s a primordial goddess, it’d ne nothing for her.

it makes sense for the Triumvirate to help Kronos, notice that he’s failed and shoot their own shot.

it makes no sense for Gaia to sleep so deeply that she doesn’t even notice Kronos is doing that whole mess but CASUALLY wake up two minutes later and decide she wants to destroy humanity too.

furthermore, Gaia as this incredibly old powerful primordial entity was supposed to be worse than Kronos and not only she wasn’t it, but she also cheapened the conflict of the first series, as if the war against Kronos was training ground for this second one.

Basically the first war was downsplayed as “not so bad after all” for NOTHING. Because Gaia wasn’t really scary, or more powerful or more cunning. She was just there.

The triumvirate doesn’t destroy the premise of the first series (because 1.that was already done by HoO 2.Kronos is still worse than them 3.they were basically part of the Kronos’ army) and you can still take them seriously because they are better villains than Gaia. Even just because they... do things, say words, breathe air.

I still don’t believe Camp Jupiter needed to be decimated like... three times in a month but pobody’s nerfect.

I don’t know if I’m making any sense bye.

#trials of apollo #toa #heroes of olympus #lester papadopoulous

[the-bromance-rec-blog]

Not that I know much about K-Drama, but 2019 sure has been a fun one for a bromance lover like me.

This one gives a slightly similar vibe to Strangers From Hell, albeit it’s a comedy. The ‘bromance’ is hilariously portrayed too.

Presenting you a very recent show with a pretty unique premise and a highly refreshing plot. An outstanding blend of fun and thrill!

Psychopath Diary (K-Drama)

Genre: Comedy, Detective, Thriller, Drama

Synopsis (taken & modified from MyDramaList):

Yook Dong Sik is a 34-year-old office worker who is so weak and timid that he is used by everybody around him. After a corporate incident, he becomes the scapegoat of his company. Facing the prospect of losing the job and his family turning their back on him, he decides to commit suicide. While doing so, he unexpectedly stumbles across a murder scene, but gets into an accident while running from the murderer. He wakes up with amnesia with the psychopath’s diary in his possession. With no other clues to his true nature than the diary and his fragmented memory lining up with the diary entry, he begins to believe that he is in fact a psychopath serial killer.

Follow Yook Dong Sik on a hilarious, full-of-mishap journey to get back his memory while helping the police to track down the actual killer!

Length: Completed - 16 episodes, 70 minutes each

Personal review:

+ The bromance.

A great thing about this show: You get two bromances in 1 package.

The CEO and Male Lead

A wise one once said, “A picture speaks a thousand words”. So, yeah, you get the idea (￣▽￣).

Also another precious scene:

Don’t you hear the wedding bell already ringing in the background?

The Gangster Sidekick and Male Lead

This one is super adorable. The sidekick is also a major element of humour in the show. He supports the Male Lead wholeheartedly and is always there for him. Truly the kind of friend that we all secretly wish for.

Bonus (subject to personal preference): Female Lead and Male Lead

Well, this isn’t bromance per se. Also, you could tell that this pairing is meant to be non-platonic (very subtle though). Not that I mind them developing a romantic relationship post-finale, but as far as the show progresses, I’d like to think of them as my BrOTP. Both of them are so cuteeeeee, and they work amazingly well together. Also, the fact that a full-blown romance between these two isn’t awkwardly shoehorned into the ending is great, because don’t we all have enough of under-developed, forceful relationship that pops out of nowhere? ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯

+ The plot. As said above: Very unique, very refreshing. Our Male Lead witnesses a murder, happens to pick up the murderer’s diary, gets hit by a car and thus loses his memory, ends up thinking up that the diary was his, resulting in him getting convinced that he IS the murderer. Like, what again?

The first 4-5 episodes are real fun, with lots of ridiculous situations taking place and the CEO trying desperately to win over Male Lead’s heart. Toward the second half, the tone shifts slightly as the show starts diving deeper into the actual drama/murder mystery. That being said, it maintains a light-hearted, comedic feel throughout. Even the final showdown between Male Lead & the Villain is hilarious AF.

+ The acting. I think I’ve been abusing the word “cute”, but honestly most characters in this show are so cute, including the murderer (I know that sounds kinda wrong, but don’t forget that this is a comedy, so they make fun of everything). Also the Male Lead is impossibly likable. And full of nonsense.

Look at him eating A BLOCK OF TOFU. You can’t get cuter than this.

In general, once again, (I seem to say this for all the Korean shows I review) you can’t spot a single actor/actress that is doing a bad job. Granted, this is a comedy - but no character is annoyingly over-the-top, obviously trying-too-hard or downright cringy. I’m so thankful.

- Sure, the show isn’t perfect. Say, I’m not particularly impressed by Female Lead’s “deduction” ability - it’s too far-fetched to be believable. Certain elements are illogical considering the plot revolves around crime and solving crime. But then again, it’s a K-Drama, and a comedy at that. I think if you watch enough K-Drama (that isn’t a full blown thriller/investigation/mystery) you will soon learn that they sometimes brush off logic to move the plot forward.

Honestly, I’d like to believe that everyone (including the creators/actors of the show) has lots of fun with this. I read somewhere that “this show has one brain cell” - and I agree completely. Just sit back, grab a drink, laugh out loud a have a hella good time. After all, an evil serial murderer writes diary and a soft-and-pure dimwit deludes that he is a murderer - how serious do you think it will get? (｡-ᴗ-)✧

——

With this, I’d also like to officially declare The Guest, Strangers From Hell and Psychopath Diary as my Holy Trinity of Korean ‘Bromantic’ Thriller Series (as if there exists such a genre, but oh well). Thank you for being such amazing dramas, for crossing my path, and for satisfying this thriller fanatic’s never-ending thirst for some good ol’ bromance.

Thank you for a great 2019. Here’s to the hope that more series of similar nature continue to be produced. ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

#psychopath diary #bromance recommendation blog #bromance drama #seo in woo #yook dong shik #yoon shi yoon #park sung hoon

[eamesandbellamyaremyheaven]

Somewhere, Now and Then Ch1 || Arthur x Sansa (Kalots/GoT Outlander AU)

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword x Game of Thrones  Outlander AU (there’s no such thing as canon)

Warnings: None for now, later smut and violence. 

Summary: England, 1945. After serving in the war as a nurse, Sansa Bolton (former Stark) seizes the opportunity of going on vacation with her husband Ramsay to rekindle their relationship. But what happens when Sansa finds herself travelling back in time, to the 6th century, where she meets the King Arthur and his Knights?

A.N.//- Needless to say, this is loosely based on the Outlander premise. The story is told through Guy Ritchie’s interpretation of the Arthurian legend, and for that locations and traditions - and the time itself - had to be adapted to work accordingly. Any questions you have, feel free to ask!

A.N.//- This chapter will centered in Sansa and her life in the present time, so our King and his Knights will not be making an appearance yet. Fear not, I’ll be updating the next chapter sometime today!

Chapter One - The Stranger

England, 1945

How Sansa got bamboozled into vacationing through England, she would never know. One day, she was visiting her aunt Lysa and her husband Petyr after being three years apart, the next, she was walking through grass and mud, her eyes overlooking the ruins of stone, the last remainder of what must have been a majestic castle centuries ago.

Petyr Baelish had always bragged himself of being descendant of noble heritage, a direct progeny of one of King Arthur’s Knights, an information the Baelishes passed from one generation to the next without any concrete proof. As the Second Great War devastated the world , he used the time provided by his lack of involvement to study his ancestry.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Petyr asked, his gaze following the same path as hers “These ruins were most likely the house of King Arthur and his Knights, including my ancestor Sir William”

Sansa turned to him, arching an eyebrow as her curiosity peaked “Most likely?”

Petyr’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly proud for capturing the young woman's attention “Yes, well, there are no factual evidence of the man himself, only tales.”

“Folk tales of magical swords, and stones, and wizards, my dearest” Ramsay’s voice echoed from behind her, in its natural arrogant tone “I highly doubt of the veracity of any of it”

Petyr had arranged the union between Sansa and Ramsay at the early years of the war, but as both enlisted the army, as a nurse and MI6 officer respectively, their marriage consisted in a few months together followed by years of correspondence. They had little in common, she had medicine and botany, he had secrets and a general disdain for life. But they were still married, and Lysa insisted that the young couple would benefit from a countryside vacation, even if it’s one to accompany Petyr and Lysa through their historical quest. After all, it was due to Ramsay’s stationing in London that they had discovered long lost records that placed Petyr’s ancestor in that castle during the 6th century.

“You don’t believe in the Arthurian legend?” Sansa asked, as she entwined her arm in her husband’s, following Petyr and Lysa inside the ruins

Ramsay scoffed “A man that pulled a magic sword from a stone and was crowned King? How can anyone actually believe that happened?”

“Now that you put it that way, it does seem far fetched” Sansa agreed, with a frown

“He was just a man, Sansa. All those extraordinary stories were made just to impress dreamers like you and your uncle” 

Ramsay had spoken bluntly, as they walked past an archway, his words clearly meant as an offense. Sansa jolted her arm free from his, a little too harshly than she had wanted.

“Do you think of me as just some easily-impressed girl?”

Ramsay looked around the stone walls, making sure they were alone before speaking

“That was not what I meant, but even you have to admit... Coming all this way to England just to search for a man that lived 1500 years ago, just because your uncle might be his descendant? That’s insane.”

Sansa took a few steps back, creating physical distance between them. She shook her head, her anger and disappointment flushing through her cheeks, her vision blurred by stubborn tears that came through, unwelcomed.

“I didn’t came to England for Petyr. I came here to save our marriage”

He tried to reach out to her, but she refused to let him touch her. He was never the loving, caring kind of husband, but Sansa was coming to realize that not only Ramsay was not the romantic partner she had hoped for, he was also cold and bitter and had not an ounce of empathy in his entire body, not even towards the woman he had promised to love for the rest of his life.

Had he ever loved her, at all?

※※※※※

Sansa and Ramsay had barely spoken for the rest of the day, after their previous argument. She was hurt, he felt insulted. Even at that moment, as the four of them were dinning with Mr. Manderly, their host and a fellow local historian, they briefly partake in the conversation, but never address each other.

“So, what did you think of the castle, Mr. Baelish?” Mr. Manderly asked, although his eyes came down to his plate, focusing on the stake instead

“It’s quite a sight. I wonder what it must’ve look like in its prime”

The man nodded “Majestic, I can only imagine. Do you truly believe it to be the seat of King Arthur’s throne?”

“The records clearly state that Sir William lived there. Since he was a Knight of the Round Table, one can only assume that it was, indeed, the court of King Arthur.”

“It’s such a shame we can’t find actual proof to support any of those claims” Ramsay spoke, then taking a sip of his wine, his eyes focusing on Sansa’s, obviously trying to get any kind of reaction from her

“Maybe it’s for the best” Sansa retorted, her voice vicious “The truth could destroy the myth. I’d rather hear tales of incredible heroes than accurate stories of flawed man.”

The table felt into a discomfort silence. Ramsay watched her, his icy blue eyes piercing her like daggers, to which Sansa replied in kind. After a few moments of awkwardness, Mr. Manderly cleared his throat, and tried to change the mood of the table.

“Mrs Bolton, your uncle told me you’d taken quite the interest in botany”

Sansa looked from her husband towards her host, softening her features “Yes, for medicinal purposes”

“Then tomorrow you should visit the Stonehenge. There’s plenty of variety, you’ll find something useful, I’m sure of it.”

“I read that it used to be the ground for pagan rituals, because people believed that the stones had a very powerful, ancient magic energy” Petyr boasted, never missing the opportunity to show off his knowledge

Mr. Manderly paused, seemingly considering what to say next “Actually, the rituals still continue to this day. Tomorrow, at dawn, the local women will be celebrating the Samhain, but I advise you not to be lurking around during the act, they do not take kindly the presence of strangers.”

※※※※※

Although Sansa had read about pagan traditions, she never found the matter interesting enough to pursue. But now, being able to see one of their rituals being performed in front of her, that had peaked her interest. That, and knowing she definitely shouldn’t be there.

And that was the reason why she was up an hour before sunrise, had borrowed her uncle’s car, and had wondered deep in the forest into the clearing only in her dress, shoes and wool mantle. She had been afraid of waking Ramsay, so she’d put on the first items she managed to found in the dark. At that moment, she was starting to regret that decision.

That was until she heard voices approaching.

Sansa hid behind a rock, watching the group of women walk towards the stones. They were all dressed in white, and each one of them held a torch in one hand.

Then, they started to dance. Well, it was not actually dancing, more like swaying around, spinning and swinging their arms and torso, as if they were being guided by the wind. Their dresses flowed in unison, the light fabric coming up and down in waves. The torches emitted an yellowish glow, tracing momentarily the air with each of the girls movements. They sang harmoniously, in an ancient dialect, creating rhythm and energy to their bodies to follow.

Sansa stood watching, in awe. Her skin had turned into goosebumps, and although there was a voice inside telling her to leave, she dare not to move. The voice, more like a soft whisper at the ear, disappeared as soon as the women stopped.

They dispersed quickly and quietly, a sense of peace was all they left behind.

Sansa waited a little while longer, making sure none of them had been aware of her presence. She finally rose to her feet, and walked towards the stones, her eyes set on the taller one, that stood right at the centre.

The wind was stronger now, rushing through her with all of its fury, merciless against her skin and hair.

Her steps were firm, unknowingly determined, as if she was being commanded by an unseen entity.

Sansa stopped in front of the rock, her heart drumming wildly, and she felt the urge to touch it. She held her hand up, five fingers spread wide, and finally she allowed the trembling palm to come in contact with the cold stone.

One moment she felt it all, the next there was only dark.

Taglist is OPEN!

#sansa x arthur #sansa stark #arthur pendragon #king arthur legend of the sword #game of thrones #outlander au #time travel au #crossover #sansa stark fanfiction #sansa stark imagine #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur pendragon fanfiction #eabamh masterlist

[jimlingss]

The President’s Son [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 2.5 OR Chapter 3

➜ Words: 3.5k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

➜ Warnings: Slowburn.....

“You know, if you hate me so much, you should just punch me.”   Taehyung’s trying to aggravate you again. You can tell with that pout on his face. Maybe he’s sad about something.   But he continues to peel stickers off the sheet and smack them onto your hair, knowing full well that it’ll be a pain to pull them off later. You don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say anything, move, flinch, blink. And you know it makes him more upset that you don’t indulge in what he wants — a reaction.   “Dad said I’m not allowed to punch anyone,” you say out of the corner of your mouth, continuing to do your multiplication homework. It’s hard to do the questions without using your fingers or the chart — but dad said you don’t need them. You can do it in your head.   It’s still hard.    And Taehyung can’t even help you. He can barely add and subtract.   “Why are you such a goodie-two shoes?” He whines, getting mad and he sticks a rainbow sticker harder to your scalp, knocking your head in one direction enough for it to hurt. You still don’t move away from him. “You’re no fun. You don’t need to listen to adults all the time.”   There’s silence.   Your pencil scratches against the paper as you solve the whole page of questions. Taehyung continues his antics with sticky fingers until he runs out of stickers and huffs, arms falling into his lap. He looks up to find your hair decorated in sparkles, slices of cake, rainbows, stars, unicorns.   It’s pretty, but he almost feels bad. It’ll hurt to brush them out later.   In his full frustration to squeeze a response out of you, he shoves you with all the might in his arms. But you don’t waver. Not pushed. Not flinching once. Like a wall. A wall of focus and concentration at age eight, miraculously continuing to do your homework like he didn’t even touch you.   Taehyung wants your attention. He wants you to look at him.   He wants to cry. But he won’t. Or at least, he’ll try his best not to.   “I know you can beat me up, dumbo! Just do it! Just punch me and I’ll leave you alone forever!”   The corner of your mouth moves again. “Dad said I’m not allowed.”   “You’re stupid!” He tosses the empty sticker sheet at you, but the paper is light in weight and doesn’t even come close to hitting your face like he intends. It flutters to the ground in front of him and he falls onto his back, onto the floorboards and whines, kicking his legs up in a storm of anger.   Three times six is eighteen. Ten times seven is seventy. Five times nine is forty five.   The pencil in your hand never stops moving.

[Present Day]   Bang!   The Glock 17 semi-auto pistol in your hand lowers — it’s a simple handgun, but one you’re used to using. The bullet hole is right in the center of your target, exactly where you were aiming. You’re relieved, having been afraid that your skills deteriorated without practice, but you’re glad you came here to brush up on it.    “Nice shot. You got good. They do a lot of firearm training there?” It’s a rhetorical question and the brunette smiles, his foot coming to kick yours out and make your legs spread wider, knees bending. “But you’re still not in proper stance. Looks like even the academy couldn’t change that. Old habits die hard, huh?”    You scoff, standing straight. “I can probably shoot better than you can.”   “Maybe,” he hums, sincerely considering it. “But at least I don’t look like I’m trying to be part of an action movie. Who stands at an angle with one arm extended more than the other?”   “And you’re still competitive, aren’t you, Jungkook?” There’s a small smile and you put your gun in your holster, taking off your earmuffs as you walk out of the shooting range.   “Can you blame me?” Your old school friend grins, eyes shining. “I’ve pushed myself this far cause I like beating others.”   “That’s healthy,” you remark in sarcasm, but your smile doesn’t waver. “You should’ve joined the army or marines. You would’ve done well there.”   “Nah, I’m happy working in Security Service. There are better benefits,” he quips with bubbling laughter. “You should join too.”   “I’m not here looking for work, Jeon.” You grab your duffle bag, swinging it over your shoulder.   “Then what are you here for?”   “Not to work,” you throw it right back at him. But with the drawn out pause, you take a good look at the male standing in front of you. Jungkook is less boyish than before, grown up. The agent is tall, seemingly reliable with stronger eyes. You still remember when you moved away to live with your uncle and you ran into this weakling classmate of yours. Never would you have guessed that he’d eventually come to the capital and you’d run into him again like this. “How have you been? It’s been a while.”   “It’s been a hell of a long time. Congratulations, by the way. I never got to say that.”   “You did. You sent me a letter and delivered a bouquet. You do that to everyone?”   “Only friends I went to school with for three years and taught me how to throw my first punch.” Jungkook grins and when you thank him for the gift, he nods and asks, “How are you?”   “I’m good. Still haven’t decided where I should stay yet or what I’m gonna do.” The small talk wanes away and you can’t help your next question. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”   The man in his black suit shrugs. “Why are any of us here?”   “No, seriously. Why are you here?”   The corner of his mouth tugs upwards, unable to continue deflecting. He retreats and admits his purpose. “Your dad’s looking for you.”   You don’t want to go, but you have to acknowledge that the older man knew what he was doing sending Jungkook to fetch you.    The Presidential Security Service is responsible for protecting members of the Blue House, the president and his family, as well as anyone deemed important enough to protect. There are hundreds in this house alone and you’re aware that the career carries a job culture, a hierarchy, complicated in its own way. You’re not sure why the chief would want to see you when you have zero affiliations with the organization.   “There’s a job for you here,” he says it bluntly, sitting across from you.   “I already said no,” you repeat, “I’m not qualified.”   “You seem qualified to me.” Your dad puts his briefcase onto the table, popping the latches open. He pulls out your resume and you’re not surprised he has it. “You have a high school diploma...says here you worked at the National Police Agency as an officer for three years, went to the police academy for six months prior for proper training. A background in taekwondo, know first aid, firearms training…..”   He lowers the crisp page. The way he reads it is not because he’s proud or he’s particularly happy with your achievements. He assesses you. It’s a job interview for a job you don’t even want. “You have the necessary qualifications for the assignment I have in mind.”   It’s quiet. You stare at him. He stares at you.   A deep breath is taken into your lungs. “No one who starts off in the protection bureau gets an instant promotion to become the primary bodyguard of someone from the president’s immediate family.”   “It’s a special case. You’ve been personally requested by the family.”   “Even so, I can’t accept such a high position because I have connections. It’s unprofessional and may even be deemed as nepotism,” you reject for the second time. “If this is all, I think I should leave.”   It remains silent as you stand. Perhaps he’s accepted it — he’s always been calm and composed after all. But he calls after you, not for any loving words, not to ask you questions a father should ask, not to address things other than job prospects. “You should at least join the protection bureau. Even if you don’t want to accept this assignment. You have merit for it.”   You turn away, closing the door.   //   Unfortunately, you don’t even get a chance to consider it. There are no nights or days spent dwelling over the proposal and weighing the benefits and consequences of the job.   The old man’s blood works on efficiency and he won’t have time wasted on you considering if you want it or not. The worst part is that he knows you well, knows your weaknesses, and he’s already planted someone else to persuade you before you can even leave the premise.   This time, it’s not Jungkook who’s come to convince you or fetch you a second time, keep you from leaving. It’s a certain someone that you run into that has your eyes growing wide, your heart stuttering for a second as a rare smile spreads onto your face.   “Is that who I think it is?” The older man is dark-haired, carrying shining eyes and a playful smile, yet retaining a mature air around him.   “Seokjin?”   “Hey there, chickpea.” His hand plops on top of your head affectionately before it slides off, arm returning to his side. He takes a step back and nods. “Look at you! You’re so tall now!”   “You’re the one to speak. You look….great.”   “Psh. I know.” Jin grins, ears reddening from the complement. “But I’ll admit, you’re the one who looks even better. I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve shaped up to be real pretty and sturdy, huh? How about we go catch up? There’s a coffee shop downstairs by the gift shop. It’ll be my treat.”   It’s hard to refuse the offer.    Ever since Jin enrolled in the same taekwondo class as you years ago and your dad began teaching him as well, you’ve admired him. He’s kind, sweet, compassionate, capable…..and it’s probably inappropriate to stare at him for too long.   “I heard you were my dad’s protégé. Aren’t you the team leader for one of the main groups?”   “Something like that.” The two of you are sitting on the concrete stairs outside. It’s quiet with no one around this early in the morning. “It really isn’t that impressive.”   “That’s not true.” You turn to look at him. At this angle, the sun shines in your eyes and it forces you to squint — he’s too blazing. “You’re gonna get the vice position, aren’t you?”   Seokjin laughs, sound sweet and endearing. “I got a long way to go, chickpea. Maybe in a few years...or decades. There’s a whole hierarchy and those old guys aren’t gonna die any time soon so, it’s gonna be a while for me to get there if I ever do get there. Hopefully I won’t break my back.”   “You won’t. And someday, you’ll get the job. You’re….great.”   “Thanks.” Jin smiles and shifts to lock his eyes with yours, still nursing his coffee cup in his hands. “But how about you? I heard you made one hell of a police officer. Did you switch branches to come home?”   “Well...not really.” You learn forward, taking a sip of your warm drink. “I’m taking a break.”   The suited man hums and leans back, considering the hue of the sky. “That’s good. I was worried about you, y’know. Seemed like life was moving fast for you. I’m glad that you’re slowing things down a bit. But are you doing anything here? Any plans?”   “I don’t know yet,” you respond truthfully. Right now, you were staying at a hostel. You had to figure out your housing arrangement, look for a job, and decide how you were going to approach the reason why you decided to return home.   “You should join us then,” he says suddenly, breaking your train of thought. “The Presidential Security Service. It’s a good job. You’d get to work with me too.”   Your small smile matches his and you look off to the street. “Did my dad put you up to this?”   “Kind of. But I wanted to see you too, chickpea. I missed you. It’s been like what? Close to nine years? I know we kept in contact, but it’s different now that you’re here. Better. I think it would be a lot of fun to work with you too.”   “You mean for me to work under you?”   Giggles bubble up his throat again and it’s infectious, making you smile. “I swear I won’t boss you around. Why would I? For all I know, you might be better than most people who work for me.”   The two of you laugh and as you take a moment to contemplate, Jin adds, “It’s a good thing for you to do even if it’s temporary. You could do it for now before deciding what else you want. It’s a good job, I promise.”   It means a lot for someone like Seokjin to be personally requesting you and genuinely at that too. “I’m used to working on important cases,” you tell him, “I don’t want to work as a bodyguard for someone. I don’t think I suit babysitting.”   Jin smiles, making you feel at ease. “Promise you won’t have to babysit anyone, chickpea.”   //   Nothing official has been decided. In the span of a single day, you don’t want to make a hasty decision that you’ll come to regret later. For now, it’s empty words of maybes.   People have been on a wild goose chase for you and as flattering as it is, you can’t help but feel bothersome to their lives. They call you here and there, catching up, trying to convince you to stick around. If you knew you were so popular, you would’ve had a reunion party. Then again, probably not. You’re not one to like attention drawn onto you.   But what stands out amongst all those who want to speak to you is someone who is arguably the most important person in the country.   The double doors open, security personnel surrounding him, but with a nod, they take their places a few meters away and the doors close. It’s just you and him, and probably a hundred other guards around the premise.   Still, you’re honoured that he scraped up time in his busy schedule to see you.   “Mr. President.”   You bow your head.   “Oh, please, Y/N.” Taehyung’s father laughs heartily and comes over to squeeze your shoulder and tell you to sit down. His eyes are crinkled, more wrinkled in his face that showed just how many times he smiled over the years. His presence is still warm and inviting, reminding you of all the times he used to give you snacks and juice boxes and helped you with homework. “Didn’t you used to call me uncle all the time?”   It’s different now — that’s one thing for sure. But while much time has passed and you don’t know his new wife well, you can certainly sense that he hasn’t changed one bit.   Taehyung bears a striking resemblance to his dad, but the latter is much calmer and more diligent and less….everything that makes Taehyung noisy. As if to prove that point, he quietly asks you how you've been doing, considerate enough to inquire if everyone’s been treating you well, where you’re staying — everything a parent would want to know.   You talk about going to the academy, what life was like as an officer for three years until you decided to come back home. To which he says it was the right thing to do. You’ve been gone for so long.   “And is everything alright for you?”   “It’s been busy.” He nods and sips his tea, choosing his words carefully. “Taehyung’s certainly a handful.”   As gentle as the man can be, he’s still a politician. He knows how to speak well. How to get what he wants. And as he stares from the corner of his eye, you give a polite smile, choosing to skirt around the issue. “I bet.”   He switches tactics, deciding it’s safe enough to be upfront and direct. “Y/N, the reason I wanted to speak to you today was because I have a request. A favour. Your dad probably already told you about it and I know you rejected the offer, but I want you to reconsider.”   “I’m….not sure if I’m the right one for the job,” you answer sincerely.   Taehyung’s dad smiles and leans back into the sofa across from you. “Taehyung doesn’t have a lot of friends. Not now, not when he was growing up. He’s energetic and outgoing, but unfortunately not many like him. It’s overwhelming for them. They get annoyed. They treat him poorly. And he’s too honest. He won’t lie to make others like him.” The old man seems tired and he sighs. “It’s both a bad and good thing.”   “Even now, he’s having a hard time,” he continues, “It’s my fault he’s constantly surrounded by security personnel. But he wants someone more discreet. Someone who can allow him more room to breathe and he won’t be...looked at so often. He wants you to be his personal bodyguard.”   “If I can be frank, sir.” You address him in a distant manner, awkward despite how he’s told you to be comfortable with him. But in your new positions, it’s easier said than done. “Taehyung’s request might not be in his own or yours best interest.”   “Hmm..” The polished man’s expression is tinged with amusement and curiosity. “Why do you say so?”   “If given the opportunity, I believe he will undermine my position and attempt to get his own way. It would defeat the purpose of what you’re trying to achieve.”   Taehyung’s father smiles and nods. “If that happens, I don’t think you’d allow him to do so.” He phrases it in a different way when he sees your hesitation. “He wouldn’t undermine you because you wouldn’t let him. But your father tells me you’re concerned that this wouldn’t be seen as…..impartial.”   “I don’t want to achieve things through connections,” you express.   “And that is a kind of integrity I respect.” He shifts in his seat, keeping his body language open and friendly. “It’s also a pleasure for me to tell you that your exceptional credentials and your prior history with Taehyung is enough to validate this position, even without any connections.”   “Sir, my history with Taehyung is a connection on its own.”   “Then it’s a connection that will be well leveraged in this position,” he affirms. “It’s a benefit. I insist, Y/N. No one is better suited for this than you. I know you and Taehyung had some issues here and there, but you’re the only one who’s stuck by the longest.” The President, no….the old man that you’ve known for decades bows his head and asks for a favour. “I trust you, Y/N. So, please, if you can. Protect my son.”   It’s bewildering. It makes you baffled, speechless. You watch him, not knowing what to say.   You’ve never been so sought after before, but there’s really no excuse you can make, no excuse you can think of. There was nothing for you here, nothing for you to do. An opportunity has presented itself and while you feel relatively apathetic towards the job, the desperate request has you re-considering for a long second before responding—   “What will I need to do?”   //   “Taehyung...he was fond of you,” his father said. “He talked about you a lot. Even when you were gone.”   Somehow, you doubt that.   The blonde college student is pacing in front of you with hands behind your back. You’re unimpressed, expression washing over with impassiveness. While Seokjin promised you wouldn’t be put on babysitting duty, there’s no choice now that you’ve accepted this particular job.   It’s hard to believe that the Taehyung you grew up with is this Taehyung. If not for his eyes, smile, and general mannerisms, you would’ve never guessed. He looks shabby, unemployed, like he hasn’t showered or looked at himself in the mirror in a couple of days. But maybe that suits him best — carefree, free spirited, doing what he wants without worrying about what anyone thinks.   At least you can admire those qualities.   “So….you’re my bodyguard now?” At your ongoing silence, Taehyung stops. “Why don’t you answer? Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore your boss?” He stares and you look at him blankly.    Taehyung sharply inhales. “Listen here, dumbo. You have a lot to learn about me and my life, okay? So you’re gonna have to listen carefully. But for now, I guess it’s only right that I welcome you to my life. So welcome!”   “Can you move?” you interrupt his theatrical introduction, “I’m trying to get to the washroom.”   Taehyung’s grin falls as you brush past him.   He follows after you, complaining, until you shut the door.   It’s déjà vu — five minutes and you’ve already given up, letting him do whatever he wants.

#btsboulangerie #bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff

[dungeondivebar]

Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl - Heck Knights In Space!

As we announced last week, we’ll be running a 24 hour stream for Extra Life on November 6 and 7! Check out that link for some more information on the stream and how to tune in.

Each Friday until the event itself, we’ll be publishing an interview with the GM of one of the adventures along with other material to get everybody super jazzed for the stream.

This week we’re talking to Megan, though you may know me better as Retha ;)

How long have you played TTRPGs in general? About five years now. I'd heard a lot about them beforehand, but could never find a group because no one in my tiny hometown was a nerd like me. Finally, in my freshman year of college, I found a group of nerd friends, including Alex, and started a D&D game. 5e was pretty brand-new at that point, so we started in 4e and then changed over not long after.

What is your favorite thing about TTRPGs overall? I love the character design. I'll usually start with a build and work out the concept as I go, but as I build further I usually find the character's personality solidifying in my head, and it's only a matter of time before they have a specific appearance, too. I'm an artist, after all. 

How long have you played Pathfinder and Starfinder in particular? I've been playing Starfinder basically since it was released. I was barely familiar with Pathfinder at the time; I'd played a game with some friends that fell apart after about four sessions, and at the time I wasn't a fan of all the rules and options. Starfinder seemed a bit more reasonable on the options side of things, though, since it was brand new.

I came over to Pathfinder via the lore. I've always been interested in divine casters, and I took an interest in the gods of Pathfinder as they were represented in Starfinder. It's a long story, but I started writing a Starfinder fanfic that had me digging deep into Pathfinder lore, and eventually I got interested enough to actually try to play the game, theorycraft some builds, and get involved in the community of a certain other Pathfinder podcast.

Have you ever been the GM of a campaign or module before? I'm not quite a "forever GM," but I have GM'd a lot. My GMing resumé includes a D&D 4e homebrew that turned into a 5e homebrew, a 2-year Starfinder homebrew, a running play-by-post of the Runelords trilogy, Against the Aeon Throne twice (plus a follow-up homebrew adventure one of those times), an attempt at Hell's Vengeance, a rewrite of Tyrant's Grasp for an all-divine party, the Pathfinder 2e adventure Agents of Edgewatch, and countless one-offs. (Notable one-offs included an all-Shelynite party braving Nidal and a tournament of universes where characters from the Forgotten Realms, Eberron, and Golarion came together to fight Tiamat.)

What is your favorite part of being a GM? Getting to make up my own stories or add my own elements to prewritten ones, and ultimately, getting to decide what system we're playing, though if we're doing a long-term campaign the players get some say in this too. I love setting up opportunities for roleplay. I also like seeing what characters people bring to the table, especially when they have a lot of backstory I can work into the campaign.

What will you be running for the Dungeon Dive Bar Crawl? Can you tell us a bit about it? I'm running a homebrew scenario I've temporarily called "Heck Knights In Space." As the name might suggest, I required all the other players to be Hellknights for this game, which mostly just translates to lawful-aligned in Starfinder, since there's only one archetype for it and I didn't want to force everyone to take it. I don't want to spoil anything for the players if they happen to be reading this, but the module's premise is centered around exploring an abandoned Hellknight Citadel that's been broken into and involves both starship and ground combat.

What are you most excited about when it comes to Heck Knights in Space? Getting the chance to combine two of my favorite things-- Starfinder and Hellknights. As far as the module's content goes, there are some enemies that I've been wanting to use for a while now, as well as some I built myself.

Why do you like Hellknights so much? 

...In all seriousness, though, I'm a very lawful person IRL, and also an edgelord. I first read about Hellknights in the Starfinder Pact Worlds book, and basically instantly fell in love. On a deeper level, I'm intrigued by the different Orders and their different philosophies-- I definitely don't like all of them. You've got everything ranging from a group of detectives whose specific objective is to take out bad-faith actors, to a group of bounty hunters that operate across multiple star systems while using their codes as protection from those systems' own enforcement organizations, to a group whose main "thing" is finding new and improved ways to summon devils and work infernal magic. And they all operate under the same overarching codes, the Measure and the Chain, with what I can only imagine are vastly different interpretations.

What do you like the most about the Starfinder system? The lore! The flavor! Watching people try to come up with a balanced party for starship combat (or not try, and then just utterly fail in starship combat... I’ve had that happen in a few Society games, oof) is always a good show. Building my own enemies to fit the campaign is always fun too, especially boss enemies.

Can you explain how starship combat works for the viewers? Screams internally well here goes nothing. PCs operate from within a starship and choose a role on the ship. The only part of their character build that's really relevant to what they're doing is the skill modifier they're using for that role. It usually becomes a team effort, though, because it's a collaborative game.

There's different phases in which different roles operate, though the captain and chief mate can operate in any phase they need to.

Engineering phase is first, and gives ships' engineers and magic officers a chance to repair any damaged systems or boost operational ones to give a bonus to anyone using them this turn.

Next is the helm phase, where pilots roll off for initiative. It's a bit like Star Wars X-Wings in how it handles initiative: the lower roll actually goes first, because whoever acts second has the positioning advantage. (I think at one point Paizo admitted that X-Wings inspired them). Also in the helm phase, the science officer can scan the enemy ship to gain info about it, or can move your shields around to defend the firing arc the enemy ship is facing.

Finally, there's the gunnery phase, where ships attack each other. Obviously, the gunners act during this phase.

It sounds really complicated, but it's easy enough to understand once you get going, as long as you understand what your role can do!

What do you think players are the most excited about? Depends on the player. I know David is super excited about the starship combat system. Alex is more interested in ground combat; he has a technomancer build he's been theorycrafting for a while. Sam is excited about the huge variety of race options; last I heard he was trying to make fetch shakalta happen. Though if that doesn't work, we might see a familiar face…

What do you think our viewers will enjoy the most? If my brother-in-law is any indication, the callbacks to a specific group of Hellknights in Pathfinder will be pretty fun. ;) 

And that’s it for this week’s interview! Tune in starting at 9PM Central on Friday November 6 for the stream and in the meantime, join us at the bar for new Dungeon Dive Bar episodes every Monday at midnight Central!

#paizo #extra life #pathfinder #podcast #tabletop #tabletop gaming #tabletop rpg #tabletop roleplaying game #pathfinderrpg #Pathfinder Roleplaying Game #Pathfinder 2E #pathfinder 1e #starfinder #Dungeon Dive Bar #dungeondivebar

[fictionalarsonist]

4 yoonkook 🥺

「 HEARTACHE」

pairing ›_ yoonkook (mentions of sope)content ›_angst ; some fluff ; underage drinking ; mild languagerating ›_pgword count ›_4.1k

―

premise ›_Jungkook’s a problematic brat who falls in love for his brother’s best friend.    ›  One-liners Inspired Drabbles  ― #4.“I’m not drunk, I s-swear.”credit ›_ thanks a lot to @chimknj​ for beta-reading this. 💖

a/n ›_ I’m still working on controlling myself when it comes to writing less, but I hope you’ll enjoy it anon!

「 ao3 | masterlist 」

[ heartache | part 2 | epilogue ] 

Jungkook‘s sitting on the couch snacking on his mother’s cookies, he’s not into desserts that much, but these he would never refuse. He hears a car pulling up thedriveway.

“Your brother’s here!” His mother said, all happy and cheerful. Rushing to see Hoseok walking in.

Jungkook only heard Hoseok most probably be greeted with a rib-crushing hug just like he was and their exchanged greetings. He didn’t mind any of it, only tossing another snack in his mouth and leaning his arms on the backrest.

“Yoongi! You made it!” 

Jungkook froze where he was. Barely remembering to swallow, crumbs from the cookie got stuck on the way to the wrong pipe and he coughed violently.

Yoongi’s here?

“Sorry for bothering.” Jungkook heard Yoongi’s voice coming from the hallway, he’d recognize Yoongi’s voice anywhere.

Jungkook felt his heart slam against his chest before sliding right up his throat, trying to punch its way out. Everything became fuzzy and hazy as all these things, these feelings came rushing, hitting him like a tidal wave. People say that two of the strongest senses related to memory are smell and hearing.

Just by Yoongi’s voice, Jungkook could recall so many of those memories, most of them he’s mortified to even think happened.  He couldn’t even hear what his mom was saying or what words came out of his father’s mouth as he smiled, bringing a bottle of beer to the living room. Hoseok walked in, throwing his luggage at the corner before opening his arms and giving him a smug smile.

“Little brother! Won’t you give me a hug?” Hoseok followed Jungkook with his eyes as Jungkook jolts to his feet and storms out the backdoor, absentmindedly grabbing his keys and wallet, ”I brought you a gift, at least take a look at it- Where are you going?”

“Jungkook!” He hears his mother calling, but he’s out the door and hastily driving away the very next moment without so much as a second glance at the house.

How long does a friendship between best-friends last? Because Jungkook thought that maybe by now… Well, this feels dumb. This feels really dumb, but he just wished he’d never see Yoongi again. He doesn’t want to remember when he used to chase his brother around. Not because he thought his brother was cool or looked up at him; he stopped thinking that when he was, what? Six- No, seven years old. Hoseok’s always been too weird and overly optimistic to be considered cool. It was because of Yoongi.

It was Yoongi whom Jungkook liked best, it was him Jungkook considered cool and looked up to. He liked everything about his brother’s best friend and he never understood how they could be best friends. Yoongi has always been chill, sometimes a little too problematic with that mouth of his.The only thing about Yoongi that has never been cool was the way he was always too tired to do any of the cool stuff Jungkook thought he should try. Like skating, for example. Jungkook pestered Yoongi, but the only reply he’d get was Yoongi whining: “My bones are too weak,” with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I’m tired. Try it yourself!” That kind of hurt the youngster Jungkook.

Jungkook did learn it though. He came out pretty good at it, but it was Hoseok who praised him. Yoongi didn’t even see it. Not a single glance. No matter how much he tried to get close to Yoongi, he was always pushed away, literally. When Yoongi came to fetch Hoseok and Jungkook tried tagging along, Yoongi would push him by his forehead.

“Go home!” Yoongi complained, “Just play with kids your age.”

Being a kid was very pathetic, though. Just following his brother blindly just so he could see Yoongi. Of course, Hoseok would get pissed too. He’d listen attentively when his brother would try sneaking out at night and try to follow, oftentimes being brought back with scrapes and bruises because he fell as he tried following his brother, knowing he’d meet Yoongi.

Also, there’s this one time when he fell from the tree when they rebuilt the house and had to be rushed to the hospital. Hoseok was grounded for the rest of the summer, which meant Yoongi had to come over to see his best friend. Jungkook could hear his voice from his room, so instead of playing outside or the living room, he stayed in his bedroom. 

Even in his teens, he found himself now and again searching for Yoongi. Often times when he was with his friends and saw Yoongi - just by chance, it’s not like he’s been hanging out in a place he knew Yoongi would be.  He’d pretend not to look and, sometimes, get in trouble so Yoongi would come rushing with Hoseok. He’d pull him aside and scream at his face. For that moment, it felt like he cared.

Jungkook never grasped what he felt for Yoongi, though. Not until this one night when he was bored in his room and frustrated because his stupid girlfriend didn’t understand him. He didn’t understand why everyone seemed happy with a relationship. All his friends were fine with what they had, but not him. He was bored and tired of trying to think about it, so he followed Hoseok.

By now Jungkook has become pretty good at sneaking around and Hoseok didn’t even notice he was there. Jungkook sat at a distance, planning on approaching later just to provoke them. Jungkook watched his brother talking in a reminiscing manner with Yoongi. They talked about their lives and this turning point when they’ll be off to college. It’s something Jungkook already knew, but seeing Yoongi smiles and celebrate the fact that he’ll be two states away from him in less than a month caused a painful stir in Jungkook’s heart. 

He might as well have poured a bucket of ice-cold water above his head. It made him shiver and lose his senses for a moment or two, too lost in his own feelings. It was like being swallowed by a black hole of sadness he never expected. Suddenly he wanted to walk up to Yoongi and tell him to stay; tell him to attend a college somewhere near instead of going so far away. It’s not like he didn’t know before. Hoseok, their parents and even Yoongi freely mentioned every now and then. But it’s different now that he can see how happy Yoongi seems to be.

Jungkook can’t think of a life without Yoongi to pester every now and then. It’d be different not seeing him in the living room, dozing off while Hoseok focuses on the homework they both were supposed to be doing. Yoongi’s harsh truths and problematic words; the way he’d nod his head dismissively to get Jungkook to do something. How he’ll call him “kid” in a way that seems to warm Jungkook’s heart. It always made Yoongi smile even when he retorted: “I’m not a kid anymore”, before walking away. There are too many things to miss and no one would fill them all.

Jungkook feels desperate. He has to say something. It was eating him inside and he had to tell Yoongi, he really didn’t know what it was, but if he told Hoseok to take a walk - which wouldn’t be easy - and looked Yoongi in the eyes, he’d figure it out. Jungkook moved to his knees from where he was seated, ready to stand up - still thinking of a way to get rid of Hoseok -, but… That’s when he saw it.

Hoseok pulled Yoongi by the nape of his neck and their lips crashed. Jungkook fell back, a breath caught painfully in his throat. Tears stung his eyes and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. Jungkook fisted his shirt as if it’d lessen the pain, but it didn’t help anything. He felt as though the wind had been knocked  rom his chest. 

His voice pushed his way through his throat and Jungkook had a very hard time keeping his lips shut. He did so by grinding his teeth so much so he felt one of them break. Yet he heard a strangled cry coming from his throat. He didn’t know if they heard it too, his eyes were overflowing with beads of tears falling one after another and as soon as Jungkook got any control of himself he bolted. 

He spent the night crying and it didn’t matter how much he cried, the pain never wore it off. The scene kept replaying itself in his head. If he tried closing his yes, it became worse. It was like the end of the world. Jungkook never cried like that his life. He couldn’t stop. He tried not to make a sound, but they belted out of him painfully. He felt pathetic that he woke up his parents and they came to see him. He tried coming up with something, but, in the end, could only ask to be alone.

“It’s a heartbreak,” he heard his mother saying quietly as she closed the door. 

“Maybe he broke up with his girlfriend,” his dad suggested not-so-quietly behind the closed door. Jungkook heard them walking away and curled himself into a ball under his blankets and cried more.

He couldn’t look at his brother after that. Above the perks of having a broken heart, refusing to eat and barely drinking anything, maybe a glass of water at times, Jungkook felt hurt. He couldn’t really understand this broken heart thing. It just hurts too much to not cry every now and then.

After spending some time tucked inside his house he finally went back to school, but he made sure to leave after Hoseok’s gone. He couldn’t look at his brother’s  face. Seeing his face brought the memory back along with a few fresh tears. He avoided both his brother and Yoongi at school like he was running from the devil in the flesh.

Jungkook skipped school with his friends, going to different places; places he wouldn’t see Yoongi even if he looked for him and Jungkook knew he  couldn’t even think about it. It became problematic. Jungkook started hanging out with new friends because the others wanted to stay on the team, while Jungkook wanted to drink. Jungkook didn’t give a rat’s ass about the stupid teams. He drank with his new friends, who felt the same way as him.

Whatever happened, Jungkook didn’t quite know, he was rather out of it. All he knows is that when he came to it Hoseok had gotten the worst from the fight. He hadn’t done it on purpose. He’d been walking along when those thugs came at him; Hoseok happened to be next to him and protected him. But Yoongi saw it, he always saw it. Jungkook came back to his senses when Yoongi threw him a punch across the face and shook him with a deadly grip on his shirt.

“Do you only care about yourself? Huh?” Yoongi screamed at him at this one time, panting. His face bright red and hot from all the fighting. The sound of the ambulance still loud as it drove away. “What if something happens to Hoseok? He’s your brother! He’s always covering your shit. Can’t you think of him too? Are you this fucking selfish? What if the worst happens?”

When he was pushed away and fell on his ass, Jungkook just stayed there. Guilty for what happened to his brother and heartbroken by Yoongi’s words. Because this time he really didn’t mean to.

And… After that, Yoongi disappeared. Jungkook didn’t know why and he didn’t care. He just looked out for his brother instead. Hoseok always smiled at him and told him it’s all good. Told him he did nothing wrong, but Yoongi words kept ringing in his ears, loud and clear. But, although Jungkook didn’t blame Hoseok anymore, he still didn’t want anything to do with Yoongi. Because he- well, he likes Yoongi. Not because Yoongi’s cool or whatever, no. Because he just liked Yoongi the way he was supposed to like his girlfriend.

When it came his turn to apply to college, Jungkook didn’t think twice about rejecting the college Hoseok attended at the time. He didn’t care if it was the best for his major. He didn’t want that game of possibly running from Yoongi again, even if Hoseok had said time and time again how big the campus is. He was too amazed by this as a freshman.

It has been Jungkook’s only hope to never meet Yoongi again. He avoided the topic when Hoseok mentioned him in passing until Hoseok never said a word about it again. Jungkook was careful of Hoseok’s social media. He saw Yoongi’s picture here and there with his brother and it hurt him because he knew. Until Yoongi wasn’t there anymore and Jungkook felt guilty for being relieved when he noticed that others filled in the gaps. He wished Yoongi wouldn’t be there anymore, he really did. As much as he wished to get over Yoongi, to forget him- and he thought he did, it’s pretty clear now.

It’s undeniable by the way his heart clenches painfully in his chest and tears sting the corner of his eyes. His only thought is to get far away. Jungkook didn’t know where, he just wanted to run away. Somewhere these feelings for Yoongi won’t exist. Somewhere that he doesn’t have to see his handsome face ever again. 

He pulls over at a familiar place and as soon as he realizes where he laughs pathetically at himself, hitting his head on the steering wheel. It’s one of the places Hoseok and Yoongi used to hang out, one of the places Jungkook would conveniently show up earlier than them. Hands gripping the wheel Jungkook sat there staring through the windshield, looking nowhere in particular. Watching the time be wasted, praying to go by faster. Thinking of ways to escape, somewhere to go.

As the day turned into night, a sign lit up, calling Jungkook’s attention. He stared at the station’s sign for a moment or so before getting out of the car. Without giving a second thought he brought a pack of beers and a couple bottles of soju and brought back to his car. It’s an old habit that never dies. He opened the truck and sat there, popping open his first can of beer.

This will do. I won’t think about him if I drink some more.

Then there’s two, three beers and many mixes with soju. One bottle and a half bottles of soju later, Jungkook started feeling sick. His stomach churned and his head began spinning. He slumped back on his truck and his phone slipped from his pocket.

“OH! May-Maybe I should-,” he spoke, his words slurred as he struggled to pick the phone in his hand. “I should call my bro. I really lo-love my bro.” He laughed at himself as the phone kept slipping from his hand and knocked over the bottle of soju. “Ah, shit!” He tried wiping clean with his hands before focusing on the phone again.

He made a few mistakes before getting the number right, his phone smeared with soju. Jungkook didn’t notice much. It rang a couple of times before someone picked up. Jungkook hiccuped and stuttered before calling Hoseok’s name in his drunken haze, gleeful tone.

“I’m not drunk, I s-swear.”

“Jungkook? You sound hammered. Where are you?”

Jungkook can recognize this voice anywhere.

“No!” Jungkook whined, “Not you!” Yoongi called out his name and it hurt almost physically, “Call my hyung! I wa-want my hyu-hyung, Hoseok!” Jungkook felt those free-spirited tears again and gasped, almost choking on his own saliva.

“Jungkook-”

“Don’t call my name!” Jungkook exploded and the sound of his own voice, too loud, startled him. He dropped his phone and let himself fall back on the truck. 

Jungkook’s conscious enough answer the phone when it rings again and Hoseok’s ID shows up. Then he’s suddenly out of it. It’s the voice of Yoongi that makes him open his eyes and he thinks all that drinking brought him one of his old dreams. One which Yoongi’s hovering over him like right now, but his arms seem to heavy to out them around Yoongi. Also, he can’t feel Yoongi’s hand on him either. It could be a new dream, then.

“Yah! Jungkook!” He hears Yoongi’s voice and the slaps on his face, not so strong. “Jungkook, wake up! C’mon. Hey!” Yoongi grabs Jungkook’s jaw, his fingers pressing the skin urgently, “Jungkook! Come to your fucking senses!”

Jungkook feels his stomach turning sickeningly and Yoongi’s fast to move him to his side and off the trunk just so he can throw up. It feels like he’s throwing up everything inside him, heavy tears spill from his eyes. His throat burns but he can’t stop it by himself. Not until he felt empty as a zombie would. Yoongi massages his back and tells him it’s okay, to let it all out. Yoongi says it’ll be okay, but Jungkook knows it won’t. He hates to hear Yoongi’s voice and he doesn’t want to come to his senses and look at Yoongi’s face. It’s bad enough feeling his hand massaging his back through his shirt. It’s bad enough how Yoongi sounds calm and understanding. Jungkook just wants him to go. 

As soon as he’s all done, Yoongi pulls him up, slowly and lets Jungkook lean his weight in his body. It’s nice in Yoongi’s arms. Jungkook closes his eyes, dizzy and tired, but feeling more sober now. Jungkook feels Yoongi’s breath on his temple and Yoongi’s arm loosely around him.

“Go away.” Jungkook whines weakly, “I’m fine. So- just leave”

Jungkook feels Yoongi’s body moving as he chuckles.

“You’re saying you’re fine? Are you crazy? I’m sure you were close to an alcoholic coma and you say you’re fine? What were your plans exactly? Drive home after drinking all of these?”

“I don’t need your help. Just leave.”

“Jungkook! I don’t care if you hate me. I won’t leave you here by yourself while you’re like this~” Yoongi whines his complaint, “I’ll get you some water. You’ll drink it and then I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Jungkook says, voice painfully hoarse.

“Pity? You’re Hoseok’s little brother. I care about you. We’re-,” Yoongi hesitated. “We’re- kind of like-,” Jungkook tilted his head up because he’s always too curious to his own good. He couldn’t see all of Yoongi’s face because his neck would hurt if he tried tilting his head any further, but he saw Yoongi licks his lips and pulled on them nervously. Jungkook wished he could kiss Yoongi like he did many times in his dreams. “We’re like family.”

Family?

“So, Hoseok and you-,” Jungkook hesitates. He’s way too weak for his tears, but he holds on. He didn’t mean to speak out loud.

“What about Hoseok and me?” Yoongi asks in curiosity and tries to look at him, Jungkook looks back down. The movement is too fast and makes him dizzy. It takes him a moment to get himself together to talk.

“You and him are together.” Jungkook says, slowly pushing himself away with the energy he has left. He already feels like crap, this is getting worse. 

“We’ve been friends since childhood. We’ve always been-” 

Jungkook cuts Yoongi short, as harsh as Yoongi would. “That’s not what I mean.”

Jungkook doesn’t know what kind of expression he has, but despite still being in this hazy state of his, he sees Yoongi for the first time in years. It’s enough to let him know that this isn’t something that could die down like he wanted to. Yoongi’s there and Jungkook’s still in love with him. Yoongi looks more confident than he did back then. He looks mature and self-assured, but still his laid-back self.

Yoongi watches Jungkook lean back against the opposite side of the truck and sighs. “I- wish we wouldn’t talk about this now.”

“It’s okay. I’ve known for a long time now. You and my brother are together.” 

Yoongi smirks and shakes his head. “You never change, do you? Me and Hoseok have always been friends, Jungkook. Nothing more than friends.”

Jungkook tries to show off his smug smirks, but it comes out too filled with bitter self-loathing. “I saw it. I saw you guys that night kissing in the park.”

“You still hold on to that? That kiss?”

Jungkook closes his eyes and takes a deep breath because he doesn’t want to cry and hearing Yoongi talking about it makes it all real. He always knew it was real, but he wished he could pretend it was a dream, buried deep inside his memories. He wanted to forget that moment and Yoongi being a part of it. That wouldn’t be too much to ask.

“If you gave me the chance to explain back then-”

“I don’t want you to!” He opens his eyes to see Yoongi and Jungkook thinks he seems something similar to hurt cross his eyes,.“I don’t want you to explain anything. I don’t want to hear anything. I wish I’d never see you again.”

“Jun-Jungkook-” Yoongi tries to call him. 

“Stop calling my name. I hate when you call my name.” Jungkook closes his eyes again because he’s about to cry. Again.

He hears Yoongi’s strangled breath. “I don’t care how stubborn you are, Hoseok dragged my ass all the way here for this, Jungkook.”

 Jungkook’s eyes fly open and despite feeling sick and hurt, despite getting worse as he pushes himself to sit up. The rage cursing through him makes it bearable and Jungkook knows he won’t be able to keep it for long, so he lets it burst out of his chest as it comes. “With all due respect, to my brother and to you. I don’t care about that kiss- or any kiss between you and him. I can’t be happy for you, so don’t expect me to be. If the two of you know as much as I think you do, you’ll understand why. Stop trying to patronize me, stop trying to explain. I know I’m a brat, okay? I know I’m selfish, so let me be-”

“—You think that’s what this is about?” Yoongi rage gets the best of him. Jungkook could see it bubbling underneath the surface. “Can’t you get over yourself for second and let me talk?”

Yoongi would go on, but Jungkook seems like he’s getting sick yet again, so he stops and leans back. A heavy silence falls over them as they stare at each other. 

“Look-” Yoongi tries, careful, “Hoseok knew I liked him for a while.” Yoongi sees Jungkook closing his eyes and turning his head and taking a deep, stuttering breath through his mouth. “I thought I liked him until he kissed me that night.” Yoongi swallowed hard and Jungkook grimace at the words.

“I- I don’t wanna hear it-” Jungkook whines too weakly to cause any effect, already feeling his chest closing on itself. He tasted this kind of hurt before; he’s not willing to let it happen again.

“Jungkook, if you ever let me talk to you after that I’d tell you,” Yoongi insisted. “That was a mistake. I didn’t feel anything with that kiss and Hoseok knew it’d be like that. I might be smarter than him, but he knew better than me-” Yoongi attempted a half-smile with his failed humor. “He knew I was always looking for you. I dragged him everywhere to make sure you were safe wherever you were and-” Yoongi paused, the weight of his memories too heavy for him to say out loud. “Do you know how scared I was when I saw you getting beaten up by those thugs? How guilty I felt for what happened to Hoseok that day?”

“You felt guilty?” Jungkook asks, the tears he’s been holding behind his eyelids streamed down his face when he turned to look at Yoongi, “I was the one who caused all that.”

“I said that because I was angry at you. They could’ve killed you, Jungkook!” Yoongi said, exasperated.  “I was the one who called Hoseok and told him to do something because he’s your brother. I didn’t want to be the one to do it because to me it’d be the same as admitting that I liked you and-” Yoongi licked his lips with a dark chuckle lightly moving his shoulder, “I thought I’d get over you if I disappeared. But- Fuck it! I liked you back then and I loved you when I left and Hoseok dragged my lazy ass across the country just so I would stop pining because-” Yoongi hesitated, his voice growing quieter, “I still love you.” 

Yoongi seems to run out of breath because he’s panting and Jungkook’s too dumbfounded to do anything but sit there and stare at him.

part 2 ⇾

#kwritersworldnet #hyunglinenetwork #mknlinenet #bangtanxm #yoongi.net #yoonkook #sope #yoongi #jungkook #hoseok #hobi #mine #mine:oneshot #bts #angst #fluff #one-liners inspired drabbles #requested #anon

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found -Chapter 21

Warnings: nothing really. Mentions of blood and gun violence I guess

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @alievans007

She arrives in Dhaka shortly before ten in the morning and takes a taxi to the hustle and bustle of the downtown market area. Her escape from the Mahajan home had gone much easier than she'd anticipated; the challenging part having to somehow slip from underneath the weight of Tyler's arm in an effort to sneak out of the bed. When he did manage to rest, he was a notoriously light sleeper; awakening at the slightest of noises or the smallest hint of trouble. That morning he'd been resting heavier than normal. On his stomach with his arm draped over her, snoring louder than she'd ever heard him. And her heart had nearly leapt clear out of his chest when he stirred, mumbling incoherently but never awakening.

 From there on out, things had been simple. Catching the overnight guards on a joint coffee break out by the pool; laughing and chatting and paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around them. She'd been able to pinch the keys to the rental off the kitchen counter where her husband had left them the night before, along with an extra loaded Glock revolver he kept store in a lock box on a shelf in the master bedroom closet; freshly cleaned and holding a full magazine. 

 She once again considered telling him; shaking him awake and announcing that she was heading to Dhaka. That if he wanted to come along so be it, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. His resistance would have been legendary, especially now that they knew she was indeed pregnant. And she knew his already overwhelming need to protect her would become even more so.  He saw it in the same way as he did the job; she and Amelia were his priorities and responsibility and failure was simply not  an option.

 So she let him sleep.

 The market is just as she remembers; sights, smells, sounds. The dirty streets and derelict  buildings,  the scent of diesel gas and strong coffee hanging in the air, the chatter and laughter of pedestrians and the blaring of horns and humming of engines. She stands across the street from the hotel that they had stayed at a year ago; run down and in disarray, faded paint and cracked mortar, crumbling balconies with missing railings. She can see the patio that had belonged to them; on the third floor, a heavy wool rung over over the wrought iron balcony railing and two simple plastic patio chairs tipped on their sides. Every morning they'd sit out there. Sipping strong coffee and filling their bellies with whatever Tyler had been able to grab that morning. Sometimes they'd simply people watch and make commentary on what was happening on the street below. Other mornings they'd be painstakingly surveying the crowds and sharing notes on anything and anyone that seemed even remotely suspicious. 

 Most of the time however, they would just engage in small talk. Those little yet entirely eye opening conversations that take place between couples when they're just in the 'getting to know you' stage.  Sure, they had quickly come realize what they both liked and enjoyed in bed, but they still very much needed to see if they clicked outside of a tangled mess of sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets.

 Her feelings are mixed.  It is both enlightening and disheartening to be back in Dhaka, where she'd fallen in love with the man she now called her husband.  Where she'd been made to feel alive again; deserving of love and adoration,  respect and worship.  She had long ago forgotten what it had felt like to be in love; the butterflies in your stomach,  the way your heart began to race when they so as much smiled at you, those jolts of electricity that passed between the two of you every time you touched or kissed.

  She had thought she'd never experience those  again;  she had a failed marriage, an abusive narcissistic ex under her belt, a job that she enjoyed and could not see herself walking away from.  She had no more trust left. No faith. 

 And then she'd walked into that shack in the Australian outback.

 It is bittersweet. The good memories and the horribly bad co-mingling. And she forces herself to walk away, not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She needed to keep her head on straight. She needed clear thinking and her instincts to steer her through those busy and often violent streets. And she needed to hold onto that overwhelming need to revenge.  To see things through  to the end of the line.  Nik hadn't been able to finish things off a year ago. But she was determined to.

 She grabs a herbal tea in hopes of soothing her queasy stomach; nerves and anticipation not mixing well with ferocious morning sickness. She'd had to take three Dramamine tablets just to make it through the short flight.  She promises herself that when this is all over, she'll go back to the things that helped her get through the first pregnancy: proper diet and sleep, a psychologically healthy way of coping with stress. If she could get through the first one despite all of the angst surrounding her, she could get through anything.

 She wanders the market to kill time. Talking to the vendors and browsing their wares, attempting to drive away any suspicion as to why someone like her would be in a place like that. Especially alone.  She hides her eyes under the brim of a baseball cap but they are always watching.  Casually observing the people around her. Some of the locals watch her intently; perhaps recognizing her face yet unable to place where and how they actually know it. And she gets friendly smiles and pleasant hellos, readily welcomed into the area.

 It is so easy. It always has been. Blending in in order to to garner valuable information had been her specialty when she was still on the job. Able to gain peoples' trust, casually asking all the right questions without seeming overly interested. The people in the market had taken to her. Taken to them. A young, attractive newlywed couple who'd forgone a traditional honeymoon in favour of outreach work. The premise had seemed wild and far fetched when Nik had pitched it. But it had worked.

 A little too well.

 Her cell phone vibrates in the front pocket of her shorts. Another frantic and downright furious text message sent on Tyler's behalf. He's been calling and texting non stop since he'd woken up and found out that not only she was missing, but also the keys to the rental and one of his weapons.  He's worried. Pissed off. The texts a and voicemails a mixture of of him worrying about if she's okay and demanding to know where she is, and angry please for her to just call him back.  She feels guilty as she stands there, staring down at the last message he'd sent.  Knowing the rage that he must be in; anger and worry are powerful combination. And her fingers linger on the screen, attempting to come up with a suitable reply. She should at least tell him that she's okay. That she'll be home by night fall and he doesn't need to worry. But when the phone rings in her and his cell number pops up on the screen, she hesitates. Thumb over the green talk icon.

 She opts to send it to voicemail instead.

 ***

 He knew something was wrong the moment he awoke. Torn from an unusually deep and peaceful sleep by the baby's shrill, incessant crying and one of the maids pounding on the door and  asking if everything was okay.  He hadn't had a sound sleep like that in years; his senses and instincts always running on high.

 Esme would never leave the baby to cry; believing that you could never spoil a child, especially an infant, with too much attention and cuddles. So when he'd bolted up in bed and saw that her place beside him was empty, he lost it. A combination of rage and worry driving him through the roof. Attempting to stay calm for his daughter that so desperately needed him and failing miserably; relinquishing all care to the now visibly frazzled nanny. 

 His brain immediately switches to auto pilot; propelling him through the room, searching  for clues as to where she's wandered off to. Her purse is missing. The pyjamas she'd worn to bed discarded in the hamper in the en-suite bathroom. And then he sees it: the closet door ajar.  He knows. He just knows. Storming across the room and throwing the door open and grabbing the lock box on the shelf.

 It's empty. The lock picked.

 His first reaction is absolute rage. At her, at the guards for completely fucking up and being so oblivious to what was going around them that they didn't even her sneak out. How does someone get away that fast? Stealing both a gun and a car without anyone noticing? And he's pissed that she won't return any of his calls or texts. Rage and frustration growing with each passing second.

 Worry comes next. That maybe the first anniversary of his near death experience has pushed her over the edge. And it's then that he begins to slowly piece if all together: the freak out that she'd had back home when she'd seen Farhad's picture. Her incessant, almost obsessive need for revenge. How she'd talked about wanting to go back to the bridge. The one place she felt as if she could finally let go of the past and move on.

 He calls the one person he knows can help.

 “Where the fuck is my wife, Nik?” he doesn't even give her a chance to say hello of give her trademark 'talk to me'.

 “Your wife? What are you talking about? What...?”

 “I woke up  and she was gone. You were worried that I'd be the one taking off? My wife is missing, Nik. She's gone. And she stole my gun and my car and I have no fucking clue where she is.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Don't even try and bullshit me, Nik. I know that you know. There's no way she thought of this all on her own and the only other person she trusts other than me, is you. Where is she?”

 “I honestly never thought it would come to this,” she admits. “I thought she'd just move on. Let it go.”

 “What are you talking about? What...?”

 “She wanted me to find the kid that shot you. Farhad. She wanted me to track him down and arrange a meeting with him. At first I went along with it...”

 “What the fuck, Nik...” he closes his eyes and releasing a long, shaky sigh.  “Why? Why the hell would you agree to that?”

 “I changed my mind. I started dragging my heels. Making excuses. Hoping she'd just let it go.”

 “Well obviously she hasn't.  And she's obviously got someone else helping her.”

 “I think it's Jason. He asked for some personal time. I became suspicious and had Yaz track his cell . It says he's somewhere in Bangladesh. We have no idea of his exact location.”

 There's the rage again. Accompanied by so much more. Worry. Frustration. The burn of bile in his throat.

 “Tyler?”

 “I need to you to get me a flight to Dhaka. Right now.”

 “Tyler, I don't think...”

 “I don't give a shit what you think. I don't care what strings you have to pull or how many asses you have to kiss. Get me a flight.”

 “I need a little time. I...”

 'Now Nik,” he orders, and disconnects the call.

 ****

 “Hey, I remember you!” a cheerful voice calls from across the street. “The wife!”

 Esme is surprised to see him after all this time, still tucked away on a small side street away from the hustle and bustle of the main market.  The vendor that that sold Tyler the bracelet that she'd wandered away to admire. A simple piece of jewellery becoming the catalyst for so much more.

 “I'm surprised you even remember me,” she says. “What with wearing a hat and all.”

 “I never forget a pretty face. Or such a sweet smile. It's been a long time, friend.”

 “A whole year,” she confirms, returning the hug that he offers.  “You've been well?”

 “I have. Things have been busy, busy. You still have the bracelet?”  he nods down at her left wrist,  a prideful smile spreading from ear to ear. “Looks as good as new!”

 “The clasp broke  and my husband fixed it for me.”

 “Ahhh...the husband...nice guy..very tall...very strong...where is he? He here?”

 “Off doing his own thing,” she lies, and immediately feels guilty for it. “We have a baby now. A little girl. Amelia,” she produces her cell phone from the pocket on her shorts, once again ignoring the dozens of text messages that she's received in the past ten minutes alone. Instead, she brings up a photo on the phone and holds it out to out to him. Their first ever family picture; Amelia a mere ten days old, in her father's arm in a white eyelet sundress,  the three of them sitting in the sand.  Barefoot. Tanned. Smiling.

  It seems like a lifetime ago.

 “She's beautiful!” he gushes. “Like her mother. But definitely looks like her father. How have you been? Good? Everyone is fine? You just disappeared last year. Out of thin air. I just stopped seeing you one day. We had some trouble here. Right after you left. Between those drug people that we talked about last time you were here. And some white fellow.  There was a big shoot out out on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Did you hear about it?”

 “I heard a few things,” she says. Not feeling the need to tell him that she'd been right in the damn middle of it. “Do you still have your ear to the ground? Is there anything new going on?”

 “Trouble,” he throws up his hands in exasperation. “Always trouble.”

 She browses his various items as she speaks. “What kind?”

 “Some white fellow is in town. Not your white fellow, though. He's been asking a lot of questions. Wanting to know about one of the street kids.”

 Jason.

 “I thought maybe he was here to cause trouble. Or take the kid away. But they already seemed to know each other. Like they weren't strangers when they met.  They were on a first name basis.”

 She arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don't think this white guy was just playing nice to get something he wanted?”

 “Perhaps. But it didn't seem that way. I'm very good at reading people. And I could read him well. They knew each other. No doubt in my mind. Very casual when they spoke. Not angry. Or in a hurry. Just like old friends.”

 Her stomach clenches. And she has to  force the vomit down.

 “Why you ask?”

 She manages a smile. “Just curious. Is there anything else? Did you see anything? Hear what they were talking about?”

 “Just that they left together. Yesterday. From the hotel up the street. The one you stayed at last year. I never saw them again. You know them?”

 “The white fellow is a colleague of mine. Or at least I thought he was.”

 She selects a child's size bracelet for the baby and produces her wallet from her bag; removing  two twenties and holding them out in offering. Too much money for the jewellery, yet not enough for the information he'd given her.

  That was invaluable. 

 “Thank you,” she says, as she drops the wallet and bracelet into her bag. “I honestly can't thank you enough. I have to go. There's some things I need to do.”

 “It was nice seeing you!” he calls after her. “Tell your husband to stop by. Nice guy he is!”

 Esme gives a small wave in farewell, then disappears into the crowd.

 ****

 The hotel manager gives her an extra key with little more than twenty bucks and a brief description of who she is looking for.  And she waits outside of the door, straining her ears for any kind of life inside.  The creak of footsteps on the rickety, bowed floor,  the sound of the shower running through this ancient pipes.

 Silence.

 She lets herself into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. In case a quick getaway is needed and there's no fumbling with knobs and hinges. The room is tiny; much smaller than the one that she and Tyler had shared a year ago in this very building. Sunlight streams through the window, highlighting the particles of dust that hang and float in the air. Like the rest of the hotel's rooms and the building itself, it is a complete dive:  the hardwood floors scuffed and decaying, various stains marring the walls, water marks on the once white stucco ceiling; crude patches of plaster covering where work had been done to fix a leak. 

 Like the room she'd stayed in, the linens on the bed are fresh and new. A crisp white that makes the damage and filth around it even more noticeable.

 She snoops. Going through cupboards in the tiny kitchenette. Rummaging through silverware drawers, cupboards full of chipped mugs and plates. Not knowing exactly what is she's looking for, but letting her logic and instincts guide her; the old aspects of the job quickly returning and filling her with much needed confidence and courage.  There's a coffee cup in the sink; water and soon to dissolved dish soap filling it to the brim, a sponge floating in the midst.  

 He's been gone a while.

 She moves into the combined bedroom and living area next. Leafing through pamphlets, two days worth of newspapers, and discarded sheets of writing paper. Still nothing.  Placing her hands on her hips she takes a step back to get a look at the room. It is surprisingly tidy considering the actual state of the building. The patio door has been left open a crack; allowing the dirt and debris from the busy street below to trickle into the room.  The air is hot and heavy. Suffocating. And the sweat has already begun to gather at her hairline and across her brow.

 The bed is made, sheets pulled tight, and she moves towards it. Pausing long enough to pull open the drawers on the nightstand. Empty.  Frowning, she moves along. Running her hand along the top of the sheet in hopes of feeling something hidden underneath them. Then drops to her knees and slides her hand in between the mattress and the box spring; blindly feeling her way along the smooth surface until her fingers come in contact with something smooth.

 It's a file folder. Brand new. The colour still fresh and vibrant, the corners unbent and still sharp.  And she perches herself on the edge of the bed, preparing herself for what she may find inside. It could be nothing; just some paperwork that included sensitive information and names that preying eyes weren't privy too. 

 Photographs.  Some black in white.  Others in colour.  The bile rises in her throat once again and the nausea kicks into high gear.  Her heart pounds within her chest; hands shaking, the sweat trickling down now. 

 Tyler. Her. Their baby. Dating as far back to his release from the hospital, when Esme was still pregnant and they'd been struggling to keep things together but were optimistic about the future.  One of the moment they were leaving the medical facility with their three day old infant. There's more. So many more.  Outside of their apartment, on the street, at the beach. Snapshots of private and personal moments. Where they're smiling and laughing and completely oblivious to the fact someone was watching them.

 Her cell phone rings and she nearly jumps clear out of her skin.

 Nik.

 She would have just let it go to voicemail. Ignoring it and the text messages that would start pouring in. But she needs to tell someone. Anyone.

 “Where the hell are you?” Nik hisses, before Esme even has a chance to offer a greeting.

 “I'm in Dhaka.”

 “What is wrong with you? All hell is breaking loose.  Why would you do this? I told you to just drop it. To let it go.”

 “You said you would help me.  Where are you, Nik? Why didn't you follow through? You promised you'd help.”

 “I was hoping you'd change your mind. This is insane. You're insane. What...?”

 “I'm in Jason's room,” she announces.

 “Excuse me? What? What the hell are you doing in there? Are you...?”

 “No. I'm not having an affair. It's not what you think.  I sent Jason to Dhaka. To find out more about that kid Fahrad. Only he already knows him. He's in on it, Nik. All the bullshit that's been happening to Ovi. All the threats, all the letters, all the dead animals. He's involved in it. Somehow.”

 “You're crazy. I'm sending Yaz to come and get you and Tyler.”

 “Tyler? What...?”

 “He left for Dhaka four hours ago. He's freaking out, Esme. He's pissed and he's worried and he's on his way to you. I had to tell him. I had to.  He's your husband. The father of your child. He loves you. And he has a right to know what the hell is going on and if you're okay.”

 “There's pictures,” she says. “A whole folder of them. Of Tyler and I. And of the baby. Taken back in Australia.  As far back as when he was still in the hospital.”

 “What are you talking about? Esme...did you break into his hotel room? What the hell are you doing? You need to get out of there. Before he comes back. Just get the hell out of there and don't look back.”

 “I've gotta go, Nik.”

 “Esme, listen to me. Just get out of there and go somewhere safe. In public. Tell Tyler where you are and he'll find you.  Don't make this any worse than it has to be.”

 “I've got to,” she insists, and disconnecting the call, drops both her cell and the folder into her bag. 

 ****

 She returns the key and gives the manager another ten for his troubles. He's grateful; business has been slow and the owner is two weeks late with his pay.

 “Did you find everything you were looking for?” he curiously inquires, and she smiles and slips her sunglasses onto her face.

 “More than I expected to.”

 Her stomach churns. The sweat comes in rivers. Yet she violently shivers as she steps out onto the busy street. Head down to avoid any unnecessary eye contact. Keeping a casual pace, wanting to avoid drawing any suspicious towards her.

 She's half a block from the main part of the market when it happens. A hand roughly snatching her by the top of the arm and yanking her into the alley. A second hand coming down over her mouth to stifle the startled yelp.  Someone big and strong using their power to pin her up against the brick wall.

 “Don't fucking bite me.”

 The voice is low. Savage almost.  Accompanied by furious blue eyes. And instead of sinking her teeth into the flesh of his palm, she shakes her head vigorously to get him to release his grip.

 “Tyler, what the hell?! You scared the shit out me!”

 “I scared the shit out of you? That's fucking rich. What the hell are you doing here? I wake up and you're gone and I find out you're here? In Dhaka? What the fuck?”

 “I told you I needed to come back here,” she feebly attempts an explanation. He's too livid; nothing will get through to him when he's in this kind of state.  “I told you and you refused to listen.”

 “Because I thought it was fucking insane. But if you'd just asked me to come with you, I would have. You know that. What the fuck, Esme? Why were you in the hotel?”

 “You've been following me?”

 “Since the market. Since you talked to that vendor from last year. He's the one who told me you were looking for some colleague of yours.”

 “I broke into Jason's room,” she admits.

 “What the...”

 “He isn't who he says he is, Tyler. He isn't who anyone thinks he is. He even fooled Nik.”

 He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 “He's one of them. One of Asif's people. And I know this sounds insane and I would probably think so too if I just hadn't gone through quite possibly the most messed up year in my entire life.”

 “Considering the shit I've seen and done, nothing is crazy any more.”

 “The vendor told me that he saw Jason and that Fahrad kid together. Which would make sense at first because I'm the one who told him to come here and track him down. But he said they acted as if they knew each other. And that they left together. So I decided to go to the hotel and...”

 “Commit break and enter,” he finishes for her.

 “Well technically it wasn't B and E because I had a key. But  I found these...” she reaches into her bag and pulls out the file folder.  “Pictures. Of us. Of Millie. Going back to when you were still in the hospital. This is fucked, Tyler. He's fucked.”

 He takes the folder from her and flips through it. She sees the way his jaw clenches and the way the vein in his throat begins to throb, making that thick, jagged scar even more noticeable. Those blue eyes growing darker with each photo.

 “What are we going to do?” she asks.

 “We're going to the bridge,” he tucks the folder back into her bag. “We're going to give him what he wants.”

 “Tyler...no...we can't...you can't.”

 “Do you trust me? I need you to trust me.”

 She nods. “With my life.”

 He takes hold of her hand, pulling her out onto the sidewalk. “Let's go.”

 ****

 “I've done all that I can,” Nik announces.  “Pulled every string and called in every favour I could. I can have the bridge closed for twenty minutes. That's it.”

 “I won't need that long,” Tyler informs her, cell phone pressed to his ear as he and Esme sit in a stolen car on the west side of the bridge. It's all coming together now: alarmingly vivid recollections of the last time he'd been there.

  The sights and the sounds; boots crunching against pavement as he stepped over the sea of bodies that Saju had already collected on his own.  The rapid pops of gunfire further down the bridge, terrified bystanders fleeing from the area, the moans of those that lay dying in the roadway.  He'd already been injured; shrapnel from bullets, shards of glass embedded in his skin, combining with the wounds that he'd suffered the day before.  Shoulder in agony; every movement causing pain like a white hot poker to shoot from the nape of his neck to the tips of his fingers. He'd been vaguely aware of the fact he was bleeding; remembering the way it softly trickled down the left side of his face and both arms.  He was weary; panting and out of breath.

 But he kept going.  With each bullet he fired and each life he took, he counted down the steps...the seconds...until freedom.  Until he'd see her again. Thinking of the plans they'd made while tangled up in bed, naked and sweaty bodies pressed up against one another. His fingers tangled in her hair and her head resting on his chest, their voices sleepy as they talked about all the things they would do as they got to know each other in all the ways that didn't involve. Not that the sex wasn't going. It was incredible. But there'd been so much more to discover about one another and he'd been looking forward to it. They'd travel; that was their final decision. Taking some of the money they'd be paid and taking nothing more than their passports and a few change of clothes and just seeing where they'd end up.  Colorado was first on the list.  He wanted to see the mountains.  Where she lived. Maybe even meet her family. 

 And that..along with seeing Ovi's safe return home...had been what had kept him going. Despite the blood and the pain and the mounting injuries. The thought that someone was waiting for him on the other side of that bridge.

 “Don't kill him,” Nik implores.

 “I will if I have to.”  He is expecting to have to make the decision. Whether to take the younger man's life or just beating him within inches of his demise and then letting him live. 

 “If you can find cover afterwards, I'll send Yaz to get you. An hour. Two at the most.”

 “We'll manage,” he says.

 “Be careful, Tyler. I know you're angry. I know you want revenge.”

 He's not sure if she means against Jason or the kid who'd nearly taken his life.  He choose the former.  “He put my wife in danger, Nik. Who knows what he was going to do to her once he got a hold of her. It wouldn't have been good. You and I both know that.”

 “You don't know how many other people are involved in this. He can't be working alone.  It's too much work for just one person. Don't let your guard down. Make sure you come back in one piece. Both of you.”

 He disconnects the call and slips his phone into the pocket on the leg of his cargo pants. Reaching for Esme's bag that sits at her feet, he takes out the Glock; removing the magazine and one in the chamber.

 “Are you sure this is going to work?” she nervously inquires.

 “It'll work,” he assures her, and drops the gun back into the satchel before placing it in her lap.

 “I wasn't going to kill him, you know. That kid. Scare him. But not kill him.”

 He wants to believe her. But he knows the power of revenge. How loving something and someone so much can cloud your judgment. There was a time where he wanted what she did:  Farhad lying cold and dead in the street. But with the physical healing came some mental repair as well.  Revenge only dragged you down. Hardened you. Made you just as bad as the person who caused your harm.  You'd never be able to fully go on with your life and enjoy your future with that kind of baggage weighing you down.

 “I'm sorry,”  she's staring out the window as she talks; voice low, eyes glassy. No doubt filled with her own memories of the last time they'd been there. “I know you're pissed.”

He snorts. “You think just a little bit?”

 “I know this isn't where you want to be.  In Dhaka. Back on this bridge.”

 “You really think that that's what I'm upset about? That I had to come back here?” he shakes his head incredulously, and placing his elbow on the window ledge, places the side of his head in his palm and closes his eyes. His head feels as if will explode. So many emotions. All of them too powerful and all consuming. And the memories...come back with the force of a tsunami. “How can you know so well one minute and then know fuck all the next?”

 She shifts uncomfortably beside him, knee brushing up against his,  her hands nervously twisting at the strap on her bag.

 He cracks open an eye and casts a sidelong glance at her. This woman that he was wildly and crazily head over heels for. Who had walked into his life and filled the enormous hole inside of him in the way no amount of drugs, pills, and self loathing could ever do.  Who had so willingly and unselfishly given up her life in order to improve his.  Who'd give him a child. Two now, if you considered the one currently growing inside of her.  He lays a hand on her thigh; stilling the anxious twitches. Then closes his eyes once more.

 “That's not why I'm pissed,” he says. “I'm not pissed I had to come here. I'm pissed that you did what you did. You were the one that was worried about me sneaking off. I never thought you'd be the one doing it. All you had to do was tell me. I would have given you a hard time about it, but I would have come here with you. But you didn't give me that chance, did you.”

 “I thought it would easier just to do it on my own,” she confesses. “I didn't want to put this on you.”

 “You're not putting anything on me. The second we put rings on each other's fingers, we said we'd bear the weight of each other's burdens.  That we wouldn't have to deal with things alone. And the fact you just went ahead and left...”

 “I'm sorry,”  he can hear the tears in her voice. Can see the image in his head: those dark eyes filling to the brim, the way her lower lip always trembles. Even when she's crying she's beautiful.

 “And you just didn't leave me. You left the baby.  My  baby. And she needs her mother. What if you'd never come home? She'd spent the rest of her life wondering about you and I'd spent the rest of my life trying to make sure she never forgets you. And what about the other baby? The one that's inside of right now.  Did you even stop to think about them? What could have happened? Not just to you but that baby too? You didn't make these kids on your own. They're mine too. You're not the only one that loves them and would die for them.”

 “I know...” her voice cracks, and he can feel her hand as it settles on top of his.  And he laces their fingers together, squeezing tightly.  “I know you hate right now.”

 “I could never hate you. Ever. There's times where you piss me off and I don't like you very much. But I could never hate you. I love you too much. With everything I am. With everything I have.”

 She raises their hands to her lips and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I love you. I don't think you'll ever realize how much. And I am sorry. I didn't do this to hurt you. Or make you mad. I did it so that I could finally move on. Because it's been so hard...so fucking hard.”

 She cries in earnest now, and he opens his eyes and reaches across the car; a hand on the back of her head as he pulls her into him. Her face tucking into the hallow of his throat. His face in her hair as he takes in the scent in that lingers on those dark tresses.

 “It's time to go,” he says, and presses a kiss to her temple.

 “Tell me it's going to be okay.”

 “It's going to be okay,” he promises, and places a kiss to her forehead.  “Trust me.”

 “I do,” she assures him and then gives her bravest smile as she pushes his hair off his forehead. “I'd sort of miss you if you weren't around.”

 “I'd sort of miss you too. Even if you do  do stupid shit sometimes.”

 She kisses him. Her lips soft and warm against his.  Then pulls away and opening the car door, slings her bag over her shoulder and steps out.

 All he can do is sit there and watch her walk away.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #i found

[facelessfrey]

Roswell New Mexico Season 2, Episode 2

- I’m starting to feel like last season already where I just end each episode in frustration? I just feel like I never know what to make of these episodes.

- The parts of it I did like were the Rosa scenes. Those felt like they made sense for me as a through line for the episode. It’s sad to see her feel so isolated and learn what actually happened with the staged car crash and to find out that everyone hated her and racial violence that stemmed from the incident. And as sad as it made me to see her give in and drink at the end, it makes sense that she’d relapse with all of this and it makes sense that she’s not just magically better. So it’ll be good to see her work through all of that. 

- Liz, by extension made sense to me in this episode. We saw her all last season dealing with the same things that Rosa is discovering now. We saw her work through it all and so it makes sense that she’d want to protect Rosa from that as long as she can. But it’s good conflict for them to have to deal with it and I’m looking forward to seeing how their relationship develops over the season too. Especially with Liz’s tunnel vision on saving Max. 

- And then...there’s the rest of it...

- I don’t know, everything just sort of feels haphazard and thrown together and I don’t feel like I get enough of anything and some things have me just scratching my head. 

- Like what on earth was all that nonsense between Kyle and that random girl at the hospital? Other than to use the dialogue to get in a few more political jabs. Is that really necessary at the expense of other stories???? Why? 

- And the Jesse Manes stuff continues to frustrate the hell out of me because I just don’t feel like he’s a well enough developed character/villain and he was in a coma but now we’re waking him up and making vague threats and for what? What does any of it amount to? Are they actually going to really use him this season? I just don’t get it. It feels out of place with the rest. 

- And then there’s Isobel. I like the idea of her trying to take control of the situation with the lentil and I liked her getting to have those scenes with Maria. And I can even make the narrative connections that Maria clearly needs money for her private detective and so she’s doing this class. But like...I want more context for these things on screen and not just scenes randomly happening. I feel like I’m probably the only person bothered by this but I’m always just like “wait how did we get here?” 

- Also...we just randomly had a two week gap? I mean, I guess. And it’s nice that they told us but why?

- And I mean I like that we saw one scene of Liz and Alex helping with the posters for Mimi but it was like 2 seconds in a montage. Where’s the support? I want to like Maria so much more than I do because she’s always so isolated. I just need her to know about everything really. It drives me insane that she doesn’t. 

- As for her and Michael. I mean...sure. I’m definitely pro Malex but I don’t mind them together but I wish again that it felt based on more. I don’t feel like they’ve shared enough screen time for any of this. Or that we’re just supposed to accept all of this implied stuff that happens off screen. I just want more things to feel connected. 

- It also still feels very much like Carina just wants to have a love triangle for the sake of having a love triangle and I don’t feel like she’s developing either of the two relationships enough. I mean I feel that way about Malex in a lot of ways too. They keep having these little deep chats but they never just have time together. I mean from the trailer, I know they’ll at least have a scene but I just want more. 

- I’m glad we had a brief get together of everyone in the know to clean up their new lab but I need more of that too. Also...where the fuck did this place come from? Haha. I know Alex explained but still..where do all of these random places come from? It always feels so far fetched. 

- And the investigation into Noah’s death that Sheriff Valenti is conducting just seems....lazy? I don’t know, in the original show, when Valenti was honing in on something, I feel like there was more tension and pressure on the crew and they were all in it together. Everyone still feels so separate. They sort of meet randomly throughout the episodes but I never feel like they’re really all on the same page at the same time. 

- Mostly I just feel like there’s still too much going on and not enough and I just end each episode perplexed by many of the writing choices and then I yell. Haha. I like the premise, I like the characters. I like the cast. I just don’t get the writing at all ever. 

- That said, I’m hopeful for this upcoming meeting between Rosa and Maria. Maybe she can finally get clued the fuck in a bit. 

#roswell new mexico #roswell reviews #this is a long rant #i am sorry #someone please explain this show to me

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited

Chapter 29: Thorns and Flame

"Remember Horseman...what happened the LAST TIME YOU USED THAT THING. What happened, after it BROKE?"

Death felt a chill run up his spine at each growl. The hands also each tightened their grip as he spoke. When they finally let him go, all was quiet again, he could breathe again. Death then glanced back at the shard in his hand before quickly putting it back and shutting the box. He then took a moment to compose himself before hearing his younger brothers.

"Hey big bro, lunch is ready! You comin?" Strife called out to him.

"Don't tell us you're skipping out again." War adds on.

Death quickly rushes the box under a small cloth from nearby, and hurries on out to greet his brothers. Playing the usual part of their calm brother he responded, "Don't worry, I'll be eating for sure. Was just...taking care of a few things. That's all."

With that he followed his brothers to the main hall. Meanwhile Fuzzball had gone into his room, his little leg having healed enough to allow some limited movement. War however paused as they walked, having noticed something on Death's neck. Strife looked at him confused, whilst Death gently pushed War's hand to the side, "I'm fine, nothing's wrong War."

"Death, you can't hide everything. Certainly not from me. There's a mark on your neck, let me examine it."

"I accidentally hit my throat don't worry about it." Death casually pointed out.

"How the hell'd you get all the way around though?" Strife asked unconvinced.

"Nevermind it. Just know that I'm fine, I swear it. Now, shall we get some food?"

With that Death quickened his pace to the main hall. His brothers followed him, but found themselves still unconvinced. Death meanwhile ignored their concerns for now. Instead he began eating and noticed Aleyn seemed more lively when walked in. He wasn't as pale and almost looked as though his frailty had melted away. Course Death happened to glance outside and saw more of those Styxian Roses. Thinking back, he began to think to himself, *"These roses don't just randomly appear to me. There needs to be a graveyard, or a large mass of the dead. Unless....someone here has been marked by them."*

Death glanced back at the roses behind Aleyn, they were actually moving, albiet extremely slowly. They also occasionally tapped at the window, seemingly trying to match their timing with gusts of wind. It was almost as though they wanted to reach Aleyn. Death couldn't be certain though, and wasn't about accuse him of anything. Not without sufficient evidence first. Course the more he thought back, the more he realized the roses couldn't be after anyone else. The burning lesions on his body, the strange concoction he needed for his health's sake. The extreme frailty he exhibited just a day before. It all made too much sense, Aleyn must've been marked. How or why Death wasn't sure, he did know one thing though, he had to be careful. Fuzzball may be a good actor, but still, better safe than sorry. Suddenly his musings were interrupted by Aleyn, "Something wrong Horseman?"

"Hmm? Oh nothing. Just thinking to myself."

"I see. Is Morgen's condition worrying you still?" Aleyn inquires.

"I suppose...yes." Death tells him, using his concerns from earlier to mask his true intentions.

"Ah of course, I suppose it's only natural. Even so you needn't fret over it, I believe I have a blend ready for her that won't cause nasty side effects. If anything, I'm certain the current one's shall cease. I ask only that you trust me on this."

Death searched for any disingenuousness to his tone, but finding nothing he relented, "Very well."

Aleyn took the simple answer for what it was and finally made his way out, having finished his meal. He then went to his room to fetch his supplies before receiving another message from his Father.

"Aleyn, I don't trust the Horseman. Something didn't seem right with him."

"I'm pretty sure he's always that way usually."

"Even so, I have a bad feeling about him Aleyn. You should return home, preferably soon." His Father implored him.

"I shall Father, once Morgen is well. I can't just leave a patient to handle the side effects one of my blends left them with. As a doctor I refuse to do so, I CANNOT do so."

His Father groaned, "You only remain because you once cared for her. I can't understand why you wish to help her. Given what she nearly did to you, how she destroyed you."

"ENOUGH. Morgen may have left but, I cannot blame her. Nor shall I ever. Besides, I...nevermind..."

"Aleyn.."

"Nevermind Father! I have work to do, so if you don't mind."

He left Aleyn be at this, but decided enough was enough. His disembodied gold skull floated about before reaching a locked door. He only just merged through it and was met with the withered, slightly mummified body of Aleyn's Mother. His Stepfather's body, had seen far better days really. He paid no heed to it though, only focusing on the Mother.

"It seems you are to be useful again. I cannot say I am at all amused at having to do this again, but for our son's sake I must. Enjoy the sunlight whilst you can bitch, if you can at all that is. Given that you'll still be under my reign."

From there he began to use his own necromancies on the woman to give some semblance of frail life to her flesh. With that he lifted her up by seemingly invisible strings. Then he quickly entered her body for possession. After completing that step, he looked over himself.

"We currently look about one missed meal from the grave. But this is nothing that your precious makeup and perfumes cannot mask my dear. As embarrassing as it is for me to put this on for you. Perhaps I should find a fresher dress for you as well. And a cloak in case there's anything I cannot hide with your trinkets." He spoke using her own voice, which sound as though she were a smoker for a vast majority of her life. Which wouldn't be far off from reality, given that she was rarely without a cigarette stick.

It took a VAST amount of time to 'freshen her up'. But eventually it was done at long last. He had a knight carry them by carriage to Aleyn's location. Meanwhile Baccara had decided to return back there, as she could sense something was wrong earlier through the roses. Or rather the ones that she left there to watch over him. All of sudden she senses the Father and is forced into hiding. The Father senses her as well, but only vaguely. It's still enough for him to send a knight to look for her as he approaches the castle. Then he called to a guard as Aleyn's Mother, "Might one of you go and fetch my boy? Or at least find someone who can?"

The guard looked at the cloaked woman with confusion and fear. She looked as though she'd crumble to dust in that cloak if she moved just an inch. A bony finger pointing at him however sent him running to do 'her' bidding. Running into Death first, he began trying to give the message to him, "It's a - it's a - it's a.."

"Get a hold of yourself, spit it out man!" Death shouts at him.

"Strange lady....at the gates." He lets out in a high pitched whimper.

Death groans before walking outside to greet her, only to immediately freeze. Sensing an undead presence about this older woman before him. Casually as possible he walked over to her, "Uhm excuse me miss...you wouldn't mind if I checked you over for illness would you? We have an ill lady inside and so we only wish to be sure with visitors."

"I'll not be remaining long, but if you insist." The woman's voice tells him.

Death then uses his necromancy to sense for anything off once she gives him her outstretched hand. Instantly he senses exactly what they're dealing with. Not just the fact they've got a Lich's attention. But also a Death Knight roaming around the premises. "Uh alrighty then....you stay out here and I..will go get him. Uh who's your son by chance?"

"Aleyn." The Father responds in the shell. Then once Death hurries off, Aleyn's Father cocks his head as the Mother, "Did I give something away that easily?"

Aleyn meanwhile is met with another guest, this one far more welcome. Baccara comes rushing up through the rose vines reaching up to his room in a pure panic. Shaking badly as Aleyn quickly checks her over, knowing her panicking means only one thing.

"What happened? What has he done? What did he say?"

"He only sent something to find me. I don't know what he would do if I was caught." Baccara tells him in fear.

"Easy there you're safe now. Whatever he sent can't hurt you here." Aleyn informs her gently before looking outside. Where he spots one of his Father's Death Knights. "Father what are you doing?"

Then they hear Death making his way over in a rush. "Aleyn?"

"Quickly, over there. Stay inside this and don't come out until I say." Aleyn quickly says to her before hurrying Baccara into a closet.

Death then makes his way into the room, "Aleyn...we've got a problem. Your...'Mother' is here for you."

Aleyn turns around highly annoyed, "Oh, has she now?"

"Yes, she's indeed outside waiting for you. And also how the hell is your Mother a Lich?! And what does that make you?!"

"Shhhhhhh! Not so loud damn it. Please stay calm."

"I AM CALM!"

All of sudden Death is hit with a spell and immediately goes down. Falling asleep. Aleyn realizes what's happened and goes to get out of the way of the window. Only to get surprised by his Father, "Hello son."

"Huuuuragh! Oh do NOT scare me. Agh." Aleyn says as he grasps his chest, trying to calm down.

"Sorry. Is she here?"

"Of course Morgen is here." Aleyn replies sarcastically.

"I'm not speaking of her, and you know that well enough. I won't tolerate her being near you, where is she? I sensed her some time ago on my way here."

"Even if I did know where she is, I wouldn't tell you. You want her dead after all, you always did." Aleyn tells him.

"She broke your heart just as Morgen did."

"ONLY BECAUSE YOU TOLD HER TO!" Aleyn suddenly shouts before having to grasp his chest again.

His Father floats closer to him on instinct, "Aleyn take it easy. Stay calm."

Suddenly he's smacked out of the air by a vine. One from Aspen funnily enough. Course her pissed off gaze meets Aleyn first, "Start explaining. NOW."

"Right...explain...uhhhh...." Aleyn begins to say before quickly teleporting both himself and Baccara out of there. He brings Baccara to Morgen, who is at first quite concerned.

"Aleyn...what are you doing? And who is that?"

"I don't have time to explain, please just make sure she's safe for me. When I told you of having met someone, this is whom I spoke of. She means the world to me Morgen, I nearly lost her once, I never want to know what it's like for her to truly die. Please keep her safe."

"Aleyn I....I'll do my best. But who am I protecting her from exactly?"

"My Father. He doesn't particularly like you, but he full on hates her. I don't know why he can't seem to let it go, but he won't. So I am forced to keep her hidden and safe." Aleyn explains quickly.

Morgen nods and gently holds out her hand to Baccara. She hugs Aleyn tightly though, "Aleyn please...I sensed your pain earlier. The roses showed me. I can't leave you."

"I have no choice Baccara, just please stay safe for me. I don't want to lose you, ever. So please, stay here with Morgen and your Mother. PLEASE." Aleyn implores of her.

Baccara finally relents, the high emotions she'd been experiencing beginning to fade away. Aleyn couldn't help but deflate inside, knowing how she can be when he isn't with her. But he inevitably has to let her go and calls to his Father. Morgen meanwhile ushers Baccara around the corner for her safety. She tries her best to comfort her, but Baccara gives little response to it.

"Enough of this Aleyn, you're coming home right now." His Father growls at him.

"I will, just let me give Morgen the newest blend of mine. I still wish to fix my mistake." Aleyn pleads with him.

"So be it. But you'd better be quick."

Aleyn then rushes over around the corner and presses two tea bags into Morgen's hand, "They're labeled with your names, that way you'll know which is which. Thank you Morgen, and forgive me Baccara."

With that he returns to the floating gold skull, who then leads him away. Morgen notices a few of the brand new rose vines wither whilst the others quickly flock to her and Baccara. They gently nudge at her as if trying to be comforting. But Morgen doesn't trust them and heads inside with the girl. Or she tries to, but Baccara remains in place. Her emotions having faded away faster than autumn leaves. She then takes root into the ground as the roses surround her. Becoming a tree before Morgen's eyes. Morgen is left unsure of what to do, but places a protective charm on one of her branches to be safe. Then she heads inside to find help. Only to be met with Nergal trying to calm down Aspen again whilst Death is sprawled out on the ground in Aleyn's room. Naturally Morgen rushes to his side and checks him over.

"Death can you hear me? Death?!"

He begins stirring a slight bit and his eyes slowly start to flutter open, "Mmmmnnrgh...ugh...Morgen? When'd you....wait a minute...SHIT! I'm gonna kill that asshole."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"For one I'm assuming a sleep spell was used on me. Secondly, it was either Aleyn, or someone else." Death explains in aggravation.

"Perhaps Aleyn just panicked?"

"He was panicking some, but I was freaking out..a bit more..admittedly. Get ready to fight a Lich."

"LICH?! Since when?!" Morgen shouts in worry.

"Since today. Sensed it when that strange lady arrived. Claimed she was Aleyn's Mother, but I kinda doubt that now."

"He does have a Mother, although I've not seen or heard from her in quite some time. Not that I'd wish to myself, she was a dreadful woman." Morgen says matter-of-factly.

"She definitely sounded like a smoker, come to think of it." Death replies shaking his head to rid of his current daze.

"Oh I recall that much being true. Rarely did she ever like being seen without a cigarette stick. Believed they were a symbol of 'sophistication', ugh. She was about as sophisticated as a stubborn llama, and spat just as much at anyone she hated. Even her own son."

Death then looks at her a bit shocked, "Really?"

"Oh yes. 'Course she did begin to look, frailer, when I got older. She was still very much a crotchety bitch, but she could never truly do anything. Not without Aleyn's help, and part of me feels she knew it. I honestly felt bad for him everytime I saw the two of them."

"That explains why you two hit it off back then. Another case of kindred spirits." Death says.

"Likely yes. Even still, what do you plan to do per chance?"

"I need to find him, get to the bottom of this. Besides, Aleyn may prove helpful in our current endeavors." Death tells her.

"I do recall where his home lies, although....it's in the Seelie Realm. Close to the border, but on the Seelie side nonetheless."

Death thought for a moment before stating, "Alright, you'll stay here then. Just give me a crystal with his location on it."

"Only if you swear you won't go alone."

"I won't. I'll have my siblings with me. Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about." Death promises before Morgen uses the crystal to retrieve her memories of where Aleyn lives and how to get there.

With that done Death hurries off to get himself and his siblings ready. Morgen meanwhile went back outside to see how Baccara was doing, only to find Aspen there. She was singing calmly by the tree Baccara had become, clearly trying to coax her into doing anything else but that. Morgen chose ultimately to leave them to their moment, before Aspen asked of her, "Morgen, if you could, might you bring some water? I find myself parched. Ash....I mean Baccara may need it herself."

The tree moved slightly in response before a disinterested ghostly voice sighed, "You rarely call me by my chosen name."

"I have a reason to use it now my child. I may wish this fate wasn't your own, but I'm slowly starting to understand something."

"And that is?"

"That I cannot change what happened. Nor could I have predicted it. But most importantly, I still failed you as a Mother after your trauma. I failed to accept you, what you'd become, what had happened to you."

A hand sprouts from the tree, placing itself on Aspen's shoulder, "Mother, just the fact that you kept coming despite everything was always enough. Although it's hard to know when anything is enough anymore. When things such as happiness and love are lost to me now. That is unless Aleyn is close by. It feels as though, all that's left of the original me stays with him. As I can't feel anything without him."

The hand retreats back and Aspen places her own hand on the trunk, "I know you care for that man but, he led to your demise."

"It's not him who I blame, nor do I fear him."

"Then...who do you fear child?"

"His Father, the Lich who possessed him that night."

Morgen returns with the water just in time to hear that bit of intel, "Wait....the Lich is Aleyn's Father?"

"Yes. His name is Achiron." Baccara explains plainly.

"I need to go. Here's your water ladies, I'll return shortly." Morgen says before rushing off quickly.

She's able to catch Death and the others just as they're leaving. Death in particular is kind of surprised and a little worried, "Hey slow down, what's the rush?"

"I just found out who the Lich is. It isn't his Mother, it's his Father. I don't recall the name Achiron, but Baccara seemed certain of..."

"Wait wait slow down, who the hell is Baccara?" Death questions her.

"Wait a minute, she wouldn't be a Dryad by chance would she? A pretty creepy looking one? Freaky ass mask?" Strife quickly asks her.

"You could always ask her yourself." Morgen states.

"Uhm.....probably wouldn't be a good idea..."

"Why is that brother?" War inquires.

"I may have...threatened to shoot her in the head...last night..." Strife slowly tells them.

Fury facepalms, "Really Strife?"

"How was I supposed to know she'd be important?! I mean...seriously! All I knew was I saw a creepy ass Dryad and I was running for my life from a ghost child!"

"Actually I was carrying you. You passed out like a wuss." War declares.

"Shut up!"

Death chuckles before saying, "Alright Strife if you're gonna keep being a massive baby, I'll go meet her."

"Hey! One I'm not a baby and two, Fury would've done the same!" Strife retorts.

"No I wouldn't!" Fury shouts at him.

Death just groans before walking off annoyed. Then follows Morgen to where Baccara's tree self is. Death then notes Aspen's sullen expression, and her being there at all, "Why be near this tree? Do Dryads have natural sympathy for each other?"

"No, this is my daughter Baccara. Although when I told you of her, I was using her birth name, Ash." Aspen explains softly.

Death's eyes widen, "This is her? Holy shit. What exactly...happened to her?"

"I do not know. Baccara does, but doesn't like speaking of it. Although maybe Aleyn could tell you if you really wish to know." Aspen responds with a hint of malice towards the end.

"I know you once told me she was murdered. But something tells me you were still processing things."

"My Mother still blames Aleyn despite him being possessed at the time. His Father attempted to end me, but Aleyn saved me. As best he could with what he had. Aleyn could explain better, as I don't want to talk about it. It still gives me nightmares." Baccara explains to him.

"I see. I'll ask him about it. For now try to relax, both of you. I'll go and bring Aleyn back, somehow."

Aspen then stands, "Nergal will go with you, I'll accept nothing less."

"Very well, but why? Aside from the fact that you're 'dating'."

"I've never once told him this but...Baccara is his daughter too."

"Excuse me...WHAT?! THAT'S SOME PRETTY IMPORTANT STUFF YOU'VE BEEN KEEPING TO YOURSELF!" Death yells at her in shock.

"Why haven't you told him?!" Morgen shouts at her.

"I feared what he'd do if he knew!" Aspen tells them.

"What exactly are you three yelling about?" Nergal suddenly inquires coming out due to having overheard them from inside, "And what were screaming at my woman for?"

Aspen sighs before nervously asking him, "You recall how you're...'barren' right? Unable to..produce children?"

"How would I not? And why?"

"This tree here...is that of a Dryad. One of my daughters..in fact. More specifically...she's...also yours..." Aspen responds fiddling her hair a bit.

Much to her surprise and worry, Nergal laughs, "Ah...HAHAHAHA. That's one heck of a joke. It actually gave me some sense of humor, for a small bit. Anyway is that the reason why you three are yelling?"

"I'm...not joking Nergal. She truly is your daughter. I....found a way to...make you fertile...but it didn't last. I only wanted...to make you happy...to please you...My only intent was to give you a....chance...." Aspen admits to him as she begins to shrivel up with anxiety. Only then does Nergal realize she's dead serious.

"What? Hmm...well then, what seems to be the matter then?" Nergal inquires simply.

That's when Baccara reveals herself, albiet a tiny bit nervously, "Uhm....hello Father."

"Hmm, daughter?" Nergal says in greetings, even offering his hand.

Baccara however grabs his hand before pulling him in for a hug. Matching both her Father's height and strength. Surprising him in quite a delightful way. "I'm glad to meet you finally...I just wish you got to see me before...I looked like this."

"Wait....you didn't always look this way?"

"No....do you see the roses on my tree?" Baccara tells him plainly.

He turns his head and after analyzing the roses, his skin color slowly begins to shift from brown to blue. The runes on his body glow and his horns start to look metallic. Nergal then tells her in a dangerously calm tone, "Show me what happened to you."

She allows him to enter her mind, albiet reluctantly. From there he sees it all. A Lich-possessed Aleyn with soul green glinted eyes casting a blight spell through a special dagger made for Dryads. Aleyn trying to save her life and begging her to hold on. Then Aleyn being dragged away by the Lich, only to fall as he rushes back to aid her. His head was cut above his right eye, revealing black blood. The Lich then reveals himself, as a disembodied gold skull. Bejeweled but very much not a pretty sight. The last thing he hears from Baccara's memories as her vision seemingly started fading is,

"Reap what you sew whore. May you rot away to dust, your voice fade to only an echo, and your soul disappear into the ether."

Nergal clenches both fists before he releases Baccara, backing away slowly. Only to sit down as he's left to process everything going through his mind. His skin finally having changed color, his horns completely metallicised, finally the runes and his three eyes are glowing fiercely. Two blue eyes, with the center one red and slited like a snake's. He's completely silent, weeping a mix of distressed, angry, bitter, sorrowful, and pained tears all at once. Baccara's own emotions overwhelm her as well, and she sobs herself. Her own tears being distressed like her Father's, but also fearful. Saddened by his reaction, and fearing that he'll now think less of her. Aspen meanwhile has no idea what to do. Watching as both her daughter and beloved have their own breakdowns. Baccara's being a nervous breakdown whilst her Father has a complete emotional breakdown. Something he never expected to have in his entire life. Suddenly, Baccara takes off in her panicked state.

Morgen just shouts to Death, "Go after her, and bring both Baccara and Aleyn back! I'll watch these two with the others, now go, hurry!"

He nods before doing just that, his siblings each having their own reactions to a panicked and sad Baccara running at top speed past them. Death then shouts to them, "GET GOING! GO AFTER HER! I'LL CATCH UP!"

War leads the charge after her, with Death soon catching up with them as he said. Morgen and Aspen meanwhile watch Nergal keenly as he's seemingly about to topple over. Aspen is apologizing profusely to him. Morgen is noticing him finally fall over, causing her to panic. Lunara has been watching this go down and is mortified for Nergal. Quickly she tells Morgen, "Summon your sheep Morgen, do it for his sake! I'll try and find something that Aries may have for him!" Morgen does so as best she can as Lunara goes to her husband. Or rather the version of him that's currently ruling for him. "Aries! Aries!"

"What is it my dear?"

"It's Wyzemon, I fear he's dying! He's having an emotional breakdown!" Lunara frantically says to him.

"Lunara my love, why worry? He's been a thorn in our side ever since his existence, has he not?"

"HAVE YOU NO HEART?! He's your SON!"

Aries then booms at her, "HE IS NOT MY SON, HE IS A THING I CREATED BY MISTAKE! SO WHY SHOULD I CARE WHETHER HE LIVES OR DIES?!"

Lunara then begins to cry, and begs him, "If not for him...then for Morgen...the Dryad he loves...and his child. Please..."

"Why? And the fact that he has a child is...not a good thing...at all."

"She grew up not knowing what she was until today! The fact that you would call her a thing as well truly disturbs me! Why must your stubbornness and pride tear this family apart forever?! WHY?!" Lunara shouts at him before flying away in a hurry. Aries only sighs to himself, unsure of what could possibly be up with her. He shuts his eyes, choosing to sleep on it.

Lunara soon gets an unlikely visitor as she weeps in sorrow over everything, "Why do you keep letting yourself be disappointed? Why do you allow him to keep doing this? Why do you keep trying? Suffering?"

Lunara looks around and vaguely sees Verdak's silhouette through her tears, "For my family...."

He doesn't reveal himself beyond the silhouette, "What seems to be the matter with 'Nergal', as he's calling himself?"

"He's having an emotional breakdown after being shown his daughter's fate. I fear it may be too much for him. Aries will do nothing for him, as I feared."

Verdak sighs, "I may have a solution for that."

"What is it?"

He summons forth this dark orb, full of various lights swirling within, "This will heal him, and give him structure. This will fill him, and grow his heart."

"He'll be able to feel again? To handle strong emotions?"

"He never felt anything to begin with. But this will allow him to now, and to handle his emotions. One more thing, for my Grandchild." Verdak informs her before summoning forth a vial and giving both items to Lunara.

"What will this vial do?"

"Allow her to feel again as well, without requiring the boy being nearby. You'll have to take that orb to Nergal, the TRUE Wyzemon." Verdak tells her.

Lunara nods, "Thank you Verdak, I'll do it. Just try to delay Aries if you can. He'll not let me remain for too long if he finds out I'm helping Wyzemon."

"You know as well as I do, as long as I'm here, as long as I exist physically, he sleeps. Trust me, he'll be asleep long enough for you to do your task."

Lunara flashes him a smile, one he hasn't seen from her in so long. A smile so sweet it takes him back to a certain memory, one that belongs to the true Aries. The memory of when Lunara and he first fell in love. Verdak decides to treasure this memory, for as long as he can, considering it payment enough for now. Lunara then hurries over to Titania's castle, finding both Morgen and Aspen panicking badly as Nergal is crashing mentally. Vortigern is doing his best to comfort Morgen whilst Titania is begging Aspen to move aside so they can try and help him. Lunara however quickly freezes everyone in place for but a moment and enters Nergal's mind. Once there, everyone is released from the spell. With Morgen being asked by Lunara, "Join me in his mind dear, I may need the extra help." Morgen naturally lets Aspen know what she's going to do and Aspen allows it hoping it can help Nergal. Morgen then meets her Mother within Nergal's mind and they hurry to search for him. Lunara however lets Morgen know, "We'll be searching for Wyzemon, Nergal's true self. The item I have can help, but only if Wyzemon is the one to receive it."

"I've not met that version of my brother before." Morgen tells her nervously.

"You have my girl, you just...don't remember the encounter. Now, let's try and see if calling to him works or not. Wyzemon! Wyzemon!"

"Brother?! Brother!" Morgen shouts, joining her Mother.

All of sudden they are met with a representation of Nergal's Nightmare form. The same shadowy outline with translucent skin that looks like the night sky. They can see his metal bones completely as when they were first seen. Finally Morgen sees the three sockets on the skull, two blue and one red. The runes in this case look bright red. "Why have you come here?"

"We need to find Wyzemon, in order to save him." Lunara declares to him.

"Please let us pass, so we may find him." Morgen pleads.

"Fine, I'll let you go..see him." He says pointing behind them.

They both turn and Morgen is shocked to see a VERY giant entity. With a skull like Nergal's, but with horns that jut out like elongated lightning bolts. Being symmetrical on either side of his head. The rest of him seemed to be covered in a fancy dark cloak with no sleeves. Showing his royal status as the Prince he is.

"Forgive me for disturbing you Wyzemon, I know you likely have no desire to see me in any form of yours, but I have something that can help you. Verdak asked me to give it to you." Lunara explains gently to him.

Morgen however is unsure of what to say, but a large disembodied hand suddenly scoops her up. Morgen recognizes it from her dreams with Verdak and finally asks, "It was you. You were the version that saved me, aren't you?"

"I am, and I'm relieved that you are still safe." Many more metal hands with rainbow slitted eyes then come close to her, "What have you brought?"

Lunara is then brought up from the void by another hand, "This orb here, Verdak told me it would grant you emotions. As well as the ability to handle them."

"Would it now? Or is it just a meal?" Wyzemon inquires before grabbing it from her. He then proceeds to try and crush it. It predictably shatters and the lights all travel down into his hands. On which the eyes turn into mouths for this affair. Morgen and Lunara are a bit spooked as Wyzemon enjoys the meal, "Euphoria...and something else."

The women then see a small change, a slight breeze moving the cloak. Beneath it they see a spine and ribcage around a heart. Then these things begin to grow. A full skeletal structure grows, and his heart becomes larger with a vascular system. With a heavy contented sigh he tells them, "Thank you, that did indeed help with things. It indeed gave what he promised, emotion. Thank you again."

With that he shuts them both out of his mind. Leaving them with a partially confused Nergal. Morgen about asks him if he's ok, but Aspen barrels into him, "Oh Nergal, are you alright?! I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine I'm fine yeesh. I have one emotional breakdown and everyone thinks I'm about to die yeesh."

Aspen just looks at him and straight tells him, "You almost did."

"That...was supposed to be a joke. Clearly I should work on that. Anyways, I'm actually glad you're here Aspen. Just need you to be closer, right now."

Aspen is then surprised by him wrapping his arms around her, naturally she returns his embrace tightly and quietly says to him, "I love you."

Nergal then finally whispers to her the one thing he's been dying to say for MILLENNIA, "I love you too. You have no idea how long I've been trying to say that. So where's our daughter at this point? Everything kind of went black after..."

As he gestures to the floor, Aspen tells him, "She took off. Why she did I don't know. But I'm scared to think of where she might be. Baccara took off so fast I dare say she may not even realize where she's going."

Nergal just embraces her again, "Calm down Aspen, I'll find her. I won't let that Lich harm her. I won't let him succeed in taking our daughter from us." Then he looks to Lunara, "Mother, would you care to assist me in meeting your Granddaughter?"

Lunara nods like crazy as she resists the urge to squee at this breakthrough. Morgen then summons a jar, "Here Mother, try squeeing into this."

Nergal chuckles at the attempt and watches keenly as Lunara squees into the jar, but ends up shattering it with her pitch. That's when he laughs, "As adorable as it would be watch you keep trying other methods of letting it out, we need to hurry Mother."

Lunara nods again, "Oh of course, forgive me son. Let's hurry on then."

"Lets."

Meanwhile Baccara has caught up to the carriage Aleyn is in. Only for her to suddenly be frozen by a frost spell from the Lich. She topples over shivering badly and Achiron has the carriage move on. But Aleyn immediately shouts at him, "Stop right now! She'll freeze on her own! Please stop! The least we can do is bring her inside!" Achiron notices his son's collar smoking from the inside as his undead side kicks in, beginning to burn him immensely. He relents against his 'better judgment', on letting Aleyn go to Baccara. He rushes out to her, luckily for him she's close enough that he won't run out of breath. Gently he wraps her within his coat and scoops her into his arms. Despite noticing that the frost spell's effect faded already. He doesn't want his Father to change his mind. So he plays along with things as if she were still cold and whispers to her, "Pretend you're still cold, shiver occasionally. We have to fool him, at least until we're in my room. Ok?"

She nods quietly and a bit stilted, already proving to be a good actress. Which he expected of her, given the dream she once expressed to him. Once back in the carriage he catches his breath and keeps his hold on Baccara. 'Course when his Father goes to touch her with his Mother's hand he pulls her away, "Don't you dare. Especially not with that bitch's bony talons."

"If there's one thing I can say, is that she'd likely agree with me for once. That this...'thing'...isn't meant for you." Achiron tells him in her voice.

"How dare you?! Firstly, I couldn't give a DAMN what she would possibly want me to do with my life anymore. As for you, you won't ever stop me from being with Baccara. Morgen may have left, but that void was overflowing with love when I met Baccara. I would trade anything for her to be able to live freely again. To see the free spirit that would run into fields of wildflowers with no care at all. What I wouldn't trade for anything, is the memories I have of her and continue to make with her even now." Aleyn replies smoking all the more. The scar on his head burning even more.

Achiron sighs and lets him/herself out with Aleyn following behind. He's still carrying Baccara, and refuses to let the knights take over for him as his Father asks them to. No matter if she's taller than him or not. Gently he brings her up to his room and lays her down on his bed to 'rest' the spell off. His Father is at least 'courteous' enough to bring the crystal containing the dresses she used to wear during her visits. Aleyn then works on relaxing and cooling down whilst watching over Baccara. He then caresses her face, feeling the lingering remains of a tear trail on either side. Tenderly he grabs a handkerchief and wipes her eyes.

"There. Now you almost never weep anymore. What upsets you so?"

"I will not trouble you with it." Baccara replies in that familiar dead sounding tone.

"Baccara please don't use that tone on me, it worries me. I know you have trouble feeling much anymore, but I'm here now. I promise you my feelings are the same as ever, I just wanted you safe from him. Please tell me what's wrong." Aleyn pleads with her.

"I'm....scared Aleyn. That my Father will feel the same as my Mother does about me....nothing but sorrow....and pity....He even had a breakdown and....it scared me more." Baccara tells him before her emotions finally begin to show themselves whilst she cries again.

"Come now Baccara, you're alright. I'm here, you're safe, everything will be fine. I have you now, and I will NEVER let you go. I'll never let you be alone again. You can stay with me, we can be happy together. I'll find a way to help you further. So that you can be yourself again, if you so choose that is. If you consider this to be you now, then I will accept it. I'll find a way to keep up with you in either form. To become the man you deserve more than anything."

"I already have the man I deserve. I'm looking at him right now. Aleyn, you don't have to change who you are. Nor do I wish to change myself, I cannot do so anyway." Baccara tells him sweetly.

"Cannot change or cannot want to change?"

"The second. I know I probably should, and that I could if I wanted...maybe. But, I cannot want it, not truly. It's, extremely hard."

"Don't worry, I'll figure something out for you. My only hope is that you'll remain here with me. I understand if you need to go back to the forest every so often, but I can find a way to make things easier. I could move your tree here to my garden, your original one. I know you still reside in it despite it being dead." Aleyn promises her.

"It stills gives me some nutrients, so it would work, but how would the forest stay under control?" Baccara asks whilst tenderly reaching up to his face at his scar.

Aleyn however grasps her hand, "I'm alright Baccara. Please don't worry. Now, how about we see about getting you dressed? If you're up for it. As for the forest, it should be fine without you for a time."

"If you say so. Would the dresses still suit me, after all this time?"

"Of course, you'll see." Aleyn promises her before helping Baccara to her feet. He then tenderly kisses her forehead and helps her get dressed. Baccara ends up choosing a beautiful black velvet dress with a red tinge to it. The sleeves hang off the elbows in a trumpet shape. Aleyn then presents her with a box, "How's this my love?"

Baccara is dazzled by the Styxian Rose inspired jewelry. The chain on the necklace looks like black rose thorns, with roses dangling off of it with tiny soul green gems on the petal edges and the center of each rose. Next came a beautiful headpiece with a single large Styxian Rose with the same green gems on the edges and center, with a few thorns and a single leaf on the side for extra flair. Finally a single small box that was obviously meant for a ring. Aleyn wasted no time in picking it up before carefully bending a knee to her. Baccara found herself surprised and shocked by the gesture as she realized what he was doing. "Aleyn...are you?"

"Baccara, when I met you as Ash you had returned my desire to live. Given me a reason to continue to do so. Now as Baccara, you grant me more love and forgiveness than I deserve from you. I want to know this everyday of my life. Even if I end up dying tomorrow, I could do so being the happiest man, with no regrets. That is...if you'll be my wife."

Baccara's original personality actually starts to shine through, delighting Aleyn immensely. It takes her some time to finally tell him, "Yes Aleyn, I will be yours."

With this Aleyn quickly holds her close for a passionate kiss before placing the ring on her finger, "You have no idea, how long it took me to find someone who would actually accept and stick to that design. People really do fear the roses that follow me."

'Course at this time, Death and the others have arrived. Only to be met with immediate resistance from Achiron's forces. Achiron in the meantime has actually overheard the exchange, and is fuming. The one thing he wanted to avoid happening has just happened right in front of him. His son has proposed yet again to a woman he loves. Achiron, being so certain that this exact love will be the end of his son, opts to find an alternative way to be rid of her. Intimidation failed, and even his previous murder attempt failed. So whatever he'd choose to do, it'd have to be something careful this time. He sends a knight to deal with the rose vines that are now sprouting near the couple like weeds. Only for the poor thing to lose his hand in the process. Naturally Aleyn notices that and is a tiny bit worried. He ushers Baccara inside, only to hear his Father speaking to another Death Knight.

"What?! What do you mean they're here?! Agh, first my son gets engaged to the harlot and now this?!" He shouts having gone back into his normal golden skull self.

Aleyn's scar begins glowing again, "Father, the 'harlot' is now my fiancé. You WILL respect her far better than THAT. Now apologize to her for that HARSH WORD."

His Father is surprised by a small flame jutting from the scar briefly, "Aleyn, relax. Your scar is reopening."

"Apologize, and swear to me you'll never bother her again. Maybe then I will." Aleyn demands.

Achiron relents, but only his son's sake, "Fine then. My humble apologies to your girl. I'd use your name, if I remembered it. For that I suppose I must also apologize. Now I need to handle the Horsemen being at our door."

Aleyn sighs, "They probably want to know if I'm well. Let me address them."

"So be it, but remember to keep yourself safe."

"I will Father." Aleyn informs him whilst gently taking Baccara's arm in his own.

'Course meanwhile the Horsemen are met with Nergal rushing in full force. Hell one may have mistaken him for Samael through his entrance alone.

"Uhm....Nergal?" Death inquires nervously.

From inside a fresh crater in the ground, with bolts of lighting dying out slowly, Nergal comes out, "Where. Is. My. Daughter?"

Aleyn then comes outside with Baccara and immediately tells him in a concerned tone, "Right here."

Baccara waves to him and quickly asks him, "Are you ok?"

"I'm alright, my ticker is finally up to par. How about you? I heard you took off, worried your Mother and I sick."

"I'm fine, Aleyn being near me has helped. In fact...I want to remain with him." Baccara tells him.

"Right. About that. Horseman, take him. We're not letting you stay near this place. I have a bad feeling about it." Nergal tells her.

"Ok no. You are NOT taking my son anywhere. I am, against my better judgment, allowing this girl to stay here. Because my son adores her so. And NO ONE is taking him from me." Achiron tells him straight off.

Nergal nearly says something angrily, before noticing a glint on one of Baccara's fingers, all of a sudden his mood shifts, "Surely you'd want them to have a celebration before the union becomes official?"

Lunara, having caught up a moment before, notices the ring as well and gets all giddy again. Nergal notices her and decides to let her keep up holding it back until she's near exploding. Death and his siblings all share a collective, "WHAT?!"

"Excuse me?" Achiron inquires in confusion.

"Father it's fine. I'm actually fine celebrating this moment." Aleyn tell him a bit excitedly.

"Aleyn your health is.."

"Father not in front of guests, please." Aleyn implores him.

"Don't worry I understand, I've seen it. Fuuuuck." Death says concerned at having revealed that he knew.

"Wait you've seen me?!" Aleyn quickly questions him.

#Darksiders Fandom #Darksiders Fanfics #Darksiders OCs #Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited #Death #Strife #Fury #War

[literaryhedgehog]

So I was inspired recently by the amazing @katsens-writing to write a Good Omens piece. I started it at the end of November but decided I would release it today (A bit unedited maybe) as a New Years' present. Happy 2020 everyone.

This could be an AU, but I tried to write it within the context of the show. This is the first fanfic that I have actually completed, so please let me know what you think!

Aziraphale sat down expectantly at one of the tables, and ordered the local wine while he waited. It had only been a few weeks since he and Crowley had encountered each other again. What an amazing coincidence that they both had work in the same place this week! That hadn’t happened in over a century. He, of course, was rather looking forward to hearing about all that Crowley had been up to over the last century. They had meant to talk last week of course, but then the food arrived so promptly, and as they were finishing a messenger arrived requesting Aziraphale’s presence at the Library. (He decided to become a patron of it, he thought it was just wonderful that they were working to spread knowledge from around the world, even if mainly to the upper classes). Before he left he and Crowley had agreed to meet up again, at least one more time before either had to leave the city. Aziraphale knew a lovely place for drinks down the road, and they agreed that at noon on Friday they both could meet and discuss the happenings of the last millenia.

His wine arrived at his table as he was glancing up at the sun again. They hadn’t settled on a specific time to meet of course, just planned to eat a light repast for a mid-day meal. Aziraphale hated to be late, so he had arrived as the sun rose high in the sky. “there’s no reason to be concerned” he told himself, sipping the wine as he turned intentionally away from the sky. “He is likely very busy. Slithering about causing mischief somewhere no doubt.”

His glass was almost empty when he checked the sun for a fourth time. So consumed in looking up – surely two hours hadn’t passed already – that he initially didn’t notice the child approach and stand next to the table.

“Judge Aziraphale?”

He straightened, “yes, what can I do for you?”

“ I’ve got sent with a message for you. Mr. Crowley says sorry, a things came up and he can’t come today.”

He couldn’t come. Aziraphale told himself that the feeling in his stomach was just for want of food, he was just fine eating alone. It was no matter, really. He had looked forward to hearing stories about other parts of the world, but that was all. It was the stories, not the teller that was important. Eating lunch with Crowley was no different than eating with anyone else, Gab—well perhaps not Gabriel, but he was sure given enough time he could think of several beings he would equally enjoy eating lunch with. Five, at least.

“Well that’s perfectly all right. Lunch between two good friends can happen any day of the week can’t it?” He smiled at the boy, trying to give off the air of nonchalance and paternal affection – children liked that didn’t they? “It was so very good of you to carry that message for us! Did Mr. Crowley make sure you were paid for your time?”

“O’Course!” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, the child looked offended. “ Mr. Crowley isn’t the kind who expects you to kiss his sandals for none but the blessings of the gods.”

“How silly of me, I should have expected it.” Crowley always did have an affection for children, though it would take more effort than it was worth to get him to admit it. He had a way with them that Aziraphale never quite managed. He was never quite sure how to talk with them, logical conversations never quite held their interest and he was terrible at their small talk.  He had tried saying the things he usually heard from adults – you have grown so tall, what an interesting toy you have, and the like – but he assumed his statements must lack some genuinely because no child ever seemed to like him. It might have hurt his pride, but Aziraphale had long decided that he could serve the great plan just fine by solely interacting with adults. “Is that all you needed from me?”

“Yessir” Aziraphale finished his wine as the child left. He still had some time left in the afternoon to fit in a good work or two. Perhaps he could even get some food on the way. There was this vendor near the forum that always had the most lovely tarts…

                                                      …

It wasn’t quite two days later when Aziraphale had a bit of an incident with a robber. It was a rather minor event really – the man was looking for some money, and he cut Aziraphale with his knife before he realized that it was unnecessary. He did apologize after the two had a nice heart to heart about his long-forgotten dream to become an artist, but Aziraphale turned down his offer to fetch a healer. He had little confidence in the healers on this side of the city, and truth be told he was fairly confident that for a small injury like this his body would heal faster than could be easily explained. No, far better to return to his home and rest. That was all he needed. For now, he could do well enough just wrapping the area tightly with cloth and walking home.

It was a few blocks later when he started to feel a little odd. His eyesight did the strangest thing where little golden dots crept in from the outside of his vision, and he started feeling dizzy.

“It must be the blood loss,” he told himself, leaning against a cart and ordering himself a drink, any drink they could get quickly. “Or perhaps some shock. Nothing a little water can’t solve until I can make it home. I’ll just have to breathe more deeply until then.” He took a sip of whatever they handed him, barely tasting it as he realized his hand was shaking slightly. “It’s only a twenty-minute walk.”

He began again, walking up the hill towards his housing. He watched the ground as he walked, following the lines left behind by the carts. It wasn’t far. He could walk home, there was no need to stop.

As he was entering the temple district his vision began to cloud again, this time accompanied by a ringing in his ears. He found one of the pillars of the nearby temple and sat down, leaning against it for support. It was the sort of place normally occupied by the pour and injured, who had to live off the generosity of others. Luckily no one was at this particular pillar today, so he would just sit until his sight had returned to normal. Nothing to it.

When Aziraphale stood up a few moments later, he realized very quickly that this blood loss might be a bigger problem than he had anticipated. He was beginning to feel faint when he heard a familiar voice a few steps later.

“For a minute there, Angel, I thought you were sitting on the street planning to become a beggar.”

It was at that moment that the gold sparks had begun to close over Aziraphale’s eyes again, and he knew rather than saw himself reach out and grab Crowley’s arm for support. Or perhaps he grabbed his hand. He wasn’t quite sure. He thought he heard himself saying something like “Hello. I am currently trying to avoid fainting. Just a bit of blood loss, you know.” But at that moment his ears were ringing and his memory was hazy until the point where his vision and hearing cleared slightly to find his hand gripped in Crowley’s, arm resting on his, and Crowley saying “I think there should be somewhere to lie down in here.”

“Excuse me, my friend here’s taken a bit ill, you wouldn’t mind if he used one of your couches to die down for a bit?”

“Yes of course.” A fluttery female voice answered. “Right over here. What do you think is wrong? We have a healer on site, though not nearly as fine as I’m sure refined gentlemen such as yourselves are used to.”

“That would be lovely” Crowley answered, just as Aziraphale found the voice to say “Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“What?” Crowley looked down at him, shock on his face. “Angel, you said you were about to faint from blood loss.”

“From mild blood loss.” Aziraphale sat on the sofa and leaned back, suddenly feeling the need to have his head back. “ I was lightly stabbed-“

“-STABBED-”

“-LIGHTLY stabbed. It was a slight misunderstanding, but it’s all right now. The gentleman realized that his skills are much more suited for the painting of statues – if its not refreshed it fades to the white of the marble you know – and I thought I would feel perfectly better with a little bit of rest.” He opened his eyes to find Crowley staring at him. The demon seemed at a loss for words, almost frustrated as he stared at Aziraphale.

“Right, you’re seeing our healer,” the female voice said. Aziraphale turned to see the speaker clearly for the first time. She had long brown hair left lose and flowing over her shoulders, which somewhat covered what her sheer dress was clearly not designed to. “Don’t worry though” she said, as another woman smelling faintly of herbs carried a small bag from the adjoining room and sat down on a cushion next to the sofa, “sewing cuts is one of her specialties.”

“Oh, how lucky you are to have a medical professional on your own premises! Is that common around here?”

“One of us had to learn,” the girl he supposed was the healer said, as she leaned over him, pulling his robe around so she could see the wound. Her hair, unlike that of her compatriot’s, was bound, and she barely glanced at his face as she sat up to stick a knife near the fireplace and thread a needle. “Girls need babes delivered, or a customer gets violent when he doesn’t feel satisfied with his service.” She turned to see the shock on his face, and smiled. A thin thing, slight enough that with very little effort it could be turned into a scowl. “ Doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it pays to have someone with even basic midwifing skills around. For anything complicated we run for my teacher. Now this will hurt, so I’ll thank you not to cut my hand off.”

“All right.” Aziraphale had no intention of cutting her hand off, deciding just to ignore what she was doing. If he didn’t think about it, all he felt was a light tugging sensation. He opted to scan the room, now that his eyesight had recovered and his head felt light enough again to notice his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that Crowley, who was now standing staring into the fire, had draped his cloak over Aziraphale’s legs. Then he saw that though the sitting room he was currently in was empty, he was being watched by numerous women, who were peering through the entrance of what looked to be a hallway. A few were wearing thin silk similar to the woman who had ushered them in, while others appeared to be wearing bright togas, or less. Aziraphale looked away quickly. “I do hope I didn’t disrupt anything. I would hate to be a bother.”

“Its fine,” a new voice came from the doorway, “we hardly have business at this time of day. In a couple hours though, you should probably be gone. I doubt you’ll have the stamina to keep up with our usual crowd.”

Aziraphale smiled briefly, but otherwise chose to ignore the snickers that came with that comment, and those from other women following it. He instead looked at the woman sitting in front of him, who had now taken her knife back from in front of the fire and was using it to cut and singe the ends of her thread. “Is that it then?”

“Just about.” She sat back and adjusted her toga, then began to repack her bag with the thread and needle, and other herb mixtures he hadn’t noticed her smear around the area. “You were lucky. It was only a small wound, and it had slowed bleeding enough that I could sew it up instead of cauterizing it.” He heard noises from the other girls then, sounds of disgust, and comments like “the smell takes forever to leave.” Crowley looked over at them, and they quickly grew silent.

“May I leave then?”

“I think you should lay there for a few more minutes, and hire a cart to carry you home, if you can afford it. I would definitely avoid going on any stairs for a while at least.” She stood up, and Crowley crossed the room to shake hands with her. He thought he might have seen the glimmer of coin pass between them. She turned to look at him once more before leaving the room, “I do hope you feel better soon.”

Crowley came and sat down by his feet. He had gotten a cup of wine somewhere and was sipping it slowly as he stared at the fire. Aziraphale cleared his throat, “so any interesting assignments lately?”

Crowley turned to look at him. “Really, Angel? That’s what you want to talk about? Not the fact that you were, as you said, ‘lightly stabbed’?”

“Not particularly.” They were silent for a few minutes. “I was just curious what came up the other day. I haven’t seen any major catastrophes around, so I thought you might have left the city.”

“Oh, that. No, it was nothing really. Just some demon drama. Nothing major, just some reports to sort out and all.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale went silent for a minute, looking at the demon’s profile. “Crowley, I-“

“There’s a cart here for you” a young boy ran in the door. He had to be 8 or 9, though Aziraphale reminded himself that he really had no idea how children aged. He had the nose of the first woman they had met. “He said he could take you anywhere you needed to go.”

“Oh. All right. Thank you very much.” With Crowley’s help he stood up and made his way towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crowley flip the child a coin. Slithering softie.

Crowley helped him onto the cart and stood back. “Well, I’ll see you around Angel.”

“Oh, er, yes. Goodbye, Crowley. He gave the driver his address, then watched Crowley turn and disappear down a side street.

The next time they saw each other, a few months or millennia later, Crowley said that it was “good to see you well.” But that was all the mention they ever made of it. Aziraphale supposed that, to Crowley, it wasn’t anything to fuss over. Just an incident in their acquaintanceship, nothing more. And if it didn’t mean anything to him, then Aziraphale surely wasn’t going to bring it up. The fact that, in what might have been the most helpless moment of his existence, he felt instantly safe once he heard Crowley’s voice was irrelevant. Nor was the fact that he didn’t remember grabbing Crowley’s hand, they just naturally connected. Nothing worth fretting over, so he wasn’t going to mention it. Thanking him would only embarrass the demon.

And so, neither of them ever mentioned it again. Aziraphale certainly never thought about the feeling of Crowley’s hand when they were sitting next to each other on park benches feeding ducks. And why would Crowley ever feel the need to tense up when he saw Aziraphale within 100 meters of a sharp, malicious blade? That would be ridiculous, beyond suggestion. This incident meant nothing to either of them, so neither would ever admit thinking about it briefly every time they saw each other for the next few thousand years.

#my writing #good omens fanfiction #Ancient Roman setting #feedback is welcome #Happy New Year